Part of the Bargain

by Linda Lael Miller

  Muttering, holding on to her waning courage tenaciously, Libby made her way up over the rise to the top of the ridge. Jess was standing with his back to her, looking in the opposite direction, but the stiffness of his shoulders revealed that he knew she was there.

  And suddenly she was furious. Hadn’t she climbed up this cursed mountain, her heart in her throat, her pride God-only-knew-where? Wasn’t the current situation as much his fault as her own? Hadn’t she found out, the very day after she’d left him, that she was going to have his baby?

  “Damn you, Jess Barlowe,” she hissed, “don’t you dare ignore me!”

  He turned very slowly to face her. “I’m sorry,” he said stiffly and with annoying effort.

  “For what?” pressed Libby. Damned if she was going to make it easy!

  Jess sighed, idly kicked dirt over his campfire with one booted foot. There was a small tent pitched a few feet away, and a coffeepot sat on a fallen log, along with a paperback book and a half-eaten sandwich. “For assuming that the scene with Cathy was your fault,” he said.

  Libby huffed over to the log, which was a fair distance from Jess, and sat down, folding her arms. “Well, praise be!” she murmured. “What about that stupid fistfight in your father’s study?”

  His green eyes shot to her face. “You’ll grow horns, lady, before you hear me apologize for that!”

  Libby bit her lower lip. Fighting wasn’t the ideal way to settle things, it was true, but she couldn’t help recalling the pleasure she herself had taken in stuffing that crab puff down the front of Monica Summers’ dress at the party. If Monica had made one move to retaliate, she would have gladly tangled with her. “Fair enough,” she said.

  There was an uncomfortable silence, which Libby finally felt compelled to break. “Why did you have a fire going in the middle of the day?”

  Jess laughed. “I wanted to make damned sure you found my camp,” he replied.

  “Dad told you I was coming!”

  He came to sit beside her on the log and even though he didn’t touch her, she was conscious of his nearness in every fiber of her flesh and spirit. “Yeah,” he admitted, and he looked so sad that Libby wanted to cry.

  She eased closer to him. “Jess?”

  “What?” he asked, looking her squarely in the eyes now.

  “I’m sorry.”

  He said nothing.

  Libby drew a deep breath. “I’m not only sorry,” she went on bravely, “I’m pregnant, too.”

  He was quiet for so long that Libby feared she’d been wrong to tell him about their child—at least for now. It was possible that he wanted to ask for a separation or even a divorce, but he might stay with her out of duty now that he knew. To hold him in that manner would break Libby’s heart.

  “When did you find out?” he asked finally, and the lack of emotion in his face and in his voice made Libby feel bereft.

  “Day before yesterday. After Cathy said she was pregnant, I got to thinking and realized that I had a few symptoms myself.”

  Jess was silent, looking out over the trees, the ranges, the far mountains. After what seemed like an eternity, he turned to her again, his green eyes full of pain. “You weren’t going to tell me?”

  “Of course I was going to tell you, Jess. But, well, the time didn’t seem to be right.”

  “You’re not going to leave, are you?”

  “Would I have climbed a stupid mountain, for pity’s sake, if I wanted to leave you?”

  A slow grin spread across Jess’s face, and then he gave a startling hoot of delight and shot to his feet, his hands gripping Libby’s and pulling her with him. If he hadn’t caught her in his arms and held her, she would probably have fallen into the lush summer grass.

  “Is it safe to assume you’re happy about this announcement?” Libby teased, looking up at him and loving him all the more because there were tears on his face.

  He lifted her into his arms, kissed her deeply in reply.

  “Excuse me, sir,” she said when he drew back, “but I was wondering if you would mind making love to me. You see, I’d like to find out if I’m welcome here.”

  In answer, Jess carried her to the tent, set her on her feet. “My tent is your tent,” he said.

  Libby blushed a little and bent to go inside the small canvas shelter. Since there wasn’t room enough to stand, she sat on the rumpled sleeping bag and waited as Jess joined her.

  She was never sure exactly how it came about, but within moments they were both lying down, facing each other. The weight of his hand was bliss on her breast, and so were the hoarse words he said.

  “I love you, Libby. I need you. No matter how mad I make you, please don’t leave me again.”

  Libby traced the strong lines of his jaw with a fingertip. “I won’t, Jess. I might scream and yell, but I won’t leave. I love you too much to be away from you—if I learned anything in the last two days, it was that.”

  He was propped up on one elbow now, very close, and he was idly unbuttoning her blouse. “I want you.”

  Libby feigned shock. “In a tent, sir?”

  “And other novel places.” He paused, undid the front catch of her bra.

  Libby sighed, then gasped as the warmth of his mouth closed over the straining peak of her breast. The sensation was exquisite, sweeping through her, pushing away the weariness and confusion and pain. She tangled her fingers in his rumpled hair, holding him close.

  Jess finally left the breast he had so gently plundered to remove his clothes, and then, more slowly, Libby’s. When she lay naked before him in the cool shadows of the tiny tent, he took in her waiting body with a look of rapt wonder. “Little enchantress,” he breathed, “let me worship you.”

  Libby could not bear to be separate from him any longer. “Be close to me, Jess,” she pleaded softly, “be part of me.”

  With a groan, he fell to her, his mouth moist and commanding upon hers. His tongue mated with Libby’s and his manhood touched her with fire, prodding, taking only partial shelter inside her.

  At last Jess broke the kiss and lifted his head, and Libby saw, through a shifting haze, that he was savoring her passion as well as his own. She was aware of every muscle in his body as he struggled to defy forces that do not brook the rebellion of mere mortals.

  Finally these forces prevailed, and Jess was thrust, with a raspy cry, into Libby’s depths. They moved together wildly, seeking and reaching and finally breaking through the barriers that divide this world from the glories of the next.

  Cathy assessed the large oil painting of Jim Little Eagle, the child Libby had seen at the powwow months before, her hands resting on her protruding stomach.

  Libby, whose stomach was as large as Cathy’s, was wiping her hands on a rag reserved for the purpose. The painting was a personal triumph, and she was proud of it. “What do you think?” she signed, after setting aside the cloth.

  Cathy grinned. “What do I think?” she asked aloud, sitting down on the tall stool behind Libby’s drawing board. “I’ll tell you what I think. I think you should sell it to me instead of letting that gallery in Great Falls handle it. After all, they’ve got your pen-and-ink drawings and the other paintings you did.”

  Libby tried to look stern. “Are you asking for special favors, Cathy Barlowe?”

  Cathy laughed. “Yes!” Her sparkling green eyes fell to the sketch affixed to Libby’s drawing board and she exclaimed in delighted surprise. “This is great!”

  Libby came to stand behind her, but her gaze touched only briefly on the drawing. Instead, she was looking out at the snow through the windows of her studio in Ken and Becky’s house.

  “What are you going to do with this?” Cathy demanded, tugging at Libby’s arm.

  Libby smiled, looking at the drawing. It showed her cartoon character, given over to the care of another artist now. Liberated Lizzie was in an advanced state of pregnancy, and the blurb read, “If it feels good, do it.”

  “I’m going to give it to Jess,�
� she said with a slight blush. “It’s a private joke.”

  Cathy laughed again, then assessed the spacious, well-equipped studio with happy eyes. “I’m surprised you work down here at your dad’s place. Especially with Jess home almost every day, doing paperwork and things.”

  Libby’s mouth quirked in a grin. “That’s why I work down here. If I tried to paint there, I wouldn’t get anything done.”

  “You’re really happy, aren’t you?”

  “Completely.”

  Cathy enfolded her in a hug. “Me, too,” she said. And when her eyes came to Libby’s face, they were dancing with mischief. “Of course, you and Jess have to understand that you will never win the Race. Stacey and I are ahead by at least a nose.”

  Libby stood straight and tried to look imperious. “We will not concede defeat,” she said.

  Before Cathy could reply to this, Stacey came into the room, pretending to see only Libby. “Pardon me, pudgy person,” he began, “but has my wife waddled by lately?”

  “Is she kind of short, with long, pretty hair and big green eyes and a stomach shaped rather like a watermelon?”

  Stacey snapped his fingers and a light seemed to go on in his face. “That’s a pretty good description.”

  “Haven’t seen her,” said Libby.

  Cathy gave her a delighted shove and flung herself at her husband, laughing. A moment later they were on their way out, loudly vowing to win what Jess and Stacey had dubbed the Great Barlowe Baby Race.

  Through with her work for the day and eager to get home to Jess, Libby cleaned her brushes and put them away, washed her hands again, and went out to find her coat. The first pain struck just as she was getting into the car.

  At home, Jess was standing pensively in the kitchen, staring out at the heavy layer of snow blanketing the hillside behind the house. Libby came up as close behind him as her stomach would allow and wrapped her arms around his lean waist.

  “I’ve just had a pretty good tip on the Baby Race,” she said.

  The muscles beneath his bulky woolen sweater tightened, and he turned to look down at her, his jade eyes dark with wonder. “What did you say?”

  “We’re on the homestretch, Jess. I need to go to the hospital. Soon.”

  He paled, this man who had hunted wounded bears and fire-breathing dragons. “My God!” he yelled, and suddenly they were both caught up in a whirlwind of activity. Phone calls were made, suitcases were snatched from the coat-closet floor, and then Jess was dragging Libby toward his Land Rover.

  “Wait, I’m sure we have time—”

  “I’m not taking any chances!” barked Jess, hoisting her pear-shaped and unwieldy form into the car seat.

  “Jess,” Libby scolded, grasping at his arm. “You’re panicking!”

  “You’re damned right I’m panicking!” he cried, and then they were driving over the snowy, rutted roads of the ranch at the fastest pace he dared.

  When they reached the airstrip, the Cessna had been brought out of the small hangar where it was kept and fuel was being pumped into it. After wrestling Libby into the front passenger seat, Jess quickly checked the engine and the landing gear. These were tasks, she had learned, that he never trusted to anyone else.

  “Jess, this is ridiculous!” she protested when he scrambled into the pilot’s seat and began a preflight test there. “We have plenty of time to drive to the hospital.”

  Jess ignored her, and less than a minute later the plane was taxiing down the runway. Out of the corner of one eye Libby saw a flash of ice blue.

  “Jess, wait!” she cried. “The Ferrari!”

  The plane braked and Jess craned his neck to see around Libby. Sure enough, Stacey and Cathy were running toward them, if Cathy’s peculiar gait could be called a run.

  Stacey leapt up onto the wing and opened the door. “Going our way?” he quipped, but his eyes were wide and his face was white.

  “Get in,” replied Jess impatiently, but his eyes were gentle as they touched Cathy and then Libby. “The race is on,” he added.

  Cathy was the first to deliver, streaking over the finish line with a healthy baby girl, but Libby produced twin sons soon after. Following much discussion, the Great Barlowe Baby Race was declared a draw.

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  ISBN: 978-1-4603-1937-6

  Part of the Bargain

  Copyright © 1985 by Linda Lael Miller

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada, M3B 3K9.

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