LED ASTRAY

by Sandra Brown

  He brought the car to an abrupt halt that almost sent Jenny through the windshield and made the tires skid fifty feet before coming to a complete standstill.

  Cage cut the motor, creating a sudden silence as the blaring radio died with the engine. He propped his arm on the open windowsill, took the cigarette from his mouth, and replaced it with the spout of the flask. He drank deeply again and smacked his lips with satisfaction after he had swallowed.

  He turned to Jenny, who was watching him in silent reproof. "I'm sorry. Where are my manners? Drink?" He tilted the flask toward her. She didn't move and her bland expression didn't change. "No?" he said, shrugging. "Too bad." He drank again, then offered her the pack of cigarettes. "Smoke? No, no, of course not."

  He swigged more liquor. "You're the lady without blemish, aren't you? The viceless Miss Jenny Fletcher. Untainted. Un­touchable. Fit only for saints like our dearly departed Hal Hen­dren." He dragged a goodly portion of nicotine into his lungs and released the smoke in a long gust aimed directly at her face.

  Still she showed no reaction.

  Then, as though her composure angered him, he threw the cigarette out the window. "Let's see, what would rattle your cage? What would get you to shriek in terror? What would provoke you into getting the hell out of my car, out of my sight, and out of my goddamned life?"

  He was shouting. His breathing was labored and harsh. Jenny watched him visibly rein in his temper and control him­self. When he spoke again, his voice still shook with hurt and fury, but he was calmer.

  "What would disgust you enough to flee in fear for your virtue? A barrage of dirty words? Yeah, maybe. I doubt if you even know any, but we'll give that a try. Should I put them in alphabetical order or just say them as they come to my mind?"

  "You can't disgust me, Cage."

  "Wanna bet?"

  "And nothing you say or do will make me leave you now."

  "Is that right? You've set out to save me. Is that it?" He laughed mirthlessly. "Don't waste your time."

  "I won't leave you," she repeated softly.

  "Oh, yeah?" A sardonic curl lifted one corner of his lip. "We'll see."

  He lunged across the console. One hand cupped the back of her head and hauled her against him. His lips crushed down on hers, hard and bruising. His teeth brutally ground against her tender mouth. She didn't fight him. Even when his tongue plunged between her lips to violate her mouth in the most demeaning way, she withstood its violent pillage without re­sistance.

  The dress she had worn to Hal's funeral was a two-piece black knit. Cage fumbled at her waist, lifted her top, and plowed his hand beneath it.

  "You've no doubt heard of my reputation with women," he rasped hotly against her neck. "I'm ruthless, without scruples. A despoiler of virgins, a wife-stealer, a sex machine run amok. It's said I'm so horny, it's tough for me to keep my pants zipped." He parted her knees with one of his. "Know what that means to you, Jenny? Bad news. You're in a heap of trouble, girl."

  He brutalized her mouth again with another insulting kiss as his hand found her breast beneath her top. He pressed his hand over it, then dug into the fragile cup of her brassiere to lift her out. He massaged her breast roughly and rolled his thumb over its tender crest.

  Despite her determination not to react, Jenny's back bowed off the seat. She drew herself up taut and tense against him. But she didn't fight or struggle. She resisted with passivity.

  Her soft gasp was as effective as a siren's blast in Cage's head. He came to himself, realized what he was doing, and sagged against her like an inflatable toy someone had just punctured with a hat pin. He drew in several restorative breaths against her mouth, where his lips no longer exacted their revenge.

  The oxygen served to clear the fog of alcohol and rage from his head. Contritely he withdrew his hand from her brassiere and in a pathetic attempt to make amends, tried to adjust the lace cup back over her breast. When he pulled his hand from beneath her top, he moved back to the driver's side of the car and got out.

  Jenny buried her face in her hands and gulped in shuddering breaths. When she was somewhat composed, she straightened her clothing, opened her door and stepped out.

  Cage was sitting on the hood of the car, staring out at noth­ing. She recognized their surroundings now. They were on the mesa, a table of land that rose above the surrounding country­side. It extended for miles. Beneath them the prairie was dark and still. The hot, dry wind plastered her clothes to her body and whipped through her hair. It whistled mournfully, nature's keening.

  She moved to stand directly in front of him, blocking his view, such as it was. Their knees almost touched. He raised his head, looked at her briefly, then let his chin drop to his chest.

  "I'm sorry."

  "I know." She touched his hair, smoothing it back from his forehead, but the wind immediately whisked it from her fingers.

  "How could I have—"

  "It doesn't matter, Cage."

  "It does," he insisted through gritted teeth. "It matters."

  He raised his head again and reached out to gently lay his hand on the breast he had assaulted only moments before.

  There was nothing sexual in his touch. He could have been touching the shoulder of an injured child. "Did I hurt you?"

  His hand was warm, healing, and Jenny brought her hand up and covered his where it lay. "No."

  "I did."

  "Not as much as they hurt you."

  They stared deeply into each other's eyes. An unlabelled emotion arced between them like an electric current. Jenny dropped her hand. He lowered his just as quickly.

  Jenny sat down beside him on the hood of the car. The waxed surface was hot even through their clothes, but neither of them noticed.

  "Sarah didn't mean what she said, Cage."

  He snorted a laugh. "Oh, yes, she did."

  "She's distraught. That was grief talking, not her."

  "No, Jenny." He shook his head sadly. "I know how they feel about me. They wish I'd never been born. I'm a living reminder that somehow they failed, a perpetual embarrassment to them and a constant insult to what they believe. Even if it is never spoken aloud, I know what they are thinking. It's probably what everyone is thinking. Cage Hendren deserves to die. His brother didn't."

  "That's not true!"

  He got up and walked to the brink of the mesa, sliding his hands into his pockets. His white shirt showed up starkly against the blackness. Jenny followed him.

  "When did it start?"

  "When Hal was born. Maybe before that. I can't remember. I just know it's always been like that. Hal was the fair-haired child, literally. I should have had black hair. Then I really would have been the black sheep."

  "Don't say that about yourself."

  "Well, it's true, isn't it?" he asked brusquely, turning to face her belligerently. "Look what I almost did to you. I came close to raping the woman I—" He broke off in mid-sentence and Jenny wondered what he had been about to say. He made a taut, thin line of his lips to seal the unsaid words inside and turned away again.

  "I know why you did that to me, why you were drinking and driving fast. You were trying to make your point that they're right about you. But they're not, Cage." She moved closer to him. "You're not some bad seed that turned up as a genetic accident in an otherwise flawless family. I don't know which came first, your naughtiness, which your parents didn't handle well, or their scorn, which made you act naughty."

  She caught his sleeve and forced him around to face her. "Isn't it apparent? You've been reacting to them all your life. You work at being bad because that's what you know people expect of you. You've made a career of being the black sheep of the minister's family. Don't you see, Cage? Even as a child you did outlandish things to get their attention because they doted on Hal. That was wrong of them. Their failure, not yours.

  "They had two sons and each of you had a different per­sonality. But Hal's suited them best, so he became the model child. You tried to win their approval and wh
en that failed, you turned around and did just the opposite."

  His grin was patronizing. "You've got it all figured out, I see."

  "Yes, I do. Otherwise I would have been terrified by what happened tonight. Even a few months ago I would have been. But tonight I knew you wouldn't hurt me. I know you better now. I've watched you lately. I saw you cry over your brother's body. You're not nearly as 'bad' as you want people to think you are. You couldn't compete with Hal's goodness, so you made it your goal to be a champion in another arena."

  She had his attention. He was listening. And as much as he wanted to dispute her, what she said made sense. He stared at his feet as the toe of his shoe stirred up clouds of dust that swirled in the wind.

  "I just worry about how far you'll carry it."

  His head came up. "Carry what? What do you mean?"

  "You've been made to feel you have no self-worth. How far will you go to prove them right? How far will you go to prove just how unworthy you are?"

  He hitched his thumbs in the waistband of his pants and tilted his head arrogantly to one side. "You've gone this far. Why don't you just come right out and say what you're skirt­ing around? You think I'm living a death-wish."

  "People who have no self-esteem do stupid things."

  "Like drive fast and drink irresponsibly and live reck­lessly?"

  "Exactly."

  "Aw, hell. Ask anyone. They'll tell you about my self-esteem. They'll tell you how conceited I am."

  "I'm not talking about how you act, but how you feel on the inside. I've seen the other side of you, Cage, the sensitive side you don't show anyone else."

  "You think I'm committing a slow form of suicide?"

  "I didn't say that."

  "But that's what you meant," he said, shoving his hair off his forehead with aggravated fingers. "You've taken your armchair psychology a step too far, Jenny."

  He was defensive enough to convince her that maybe she had. "All right, I'm sorry," she said. "But I'm only worried because I care about you, Cage."

  He relaxed his stance immediately and his eyes softened.

  "I appreciate your concern, but you don't have to worry about me disposing of myself. I like driving fast and drinking irre­sponsibly and… What was the other thing?" he asked teas­ingly.

  But Jenny wasn't finished with being serious yet. "I think your parents care about you, too."

  His humor was fleeting. With bleak amber eyes he gazed over and beyond Jenny's head, out onto the barren landscape. "Doesn't Mother realize that I wanted to hover around her, around them both? Since we heard about Hal, I've wanted to go to them and hold them." His voice dropped a decibel. "I've wanted them to hold me."

  "Cage." Jenny reached out to touch his arm. He yanked it away. He didn't want anyone's pity.

  "I didn't go near them because I knew they didn't want me near them. So I tried to show my love and sympathy in other ways." He sighed. "Only, they didn't notice."

  "I noticed. I was grateful."

  "But you didn't let me come near you either, Jenny," he said abruptly, lowering his eyes to meet hers.

  She looked away quickly. "I don't know what you mean."

  "Like hell you don't. When we were in Monterico, you depended on me, leaned on me emotionally and physically. Since we've gotten back, I'm a leper again. It's 'hands off.' No touching. No talking. Hell, you wouldn't even look at me."

  He was right, but she wouldn't admit it.

  "Does your avoidance of me have anything to do with that night we shared in Monterico?"

  Her head snapped up and she wet her lips, though her tongue had gone dry. "Of course not."

  "Sure?"

  "Yes. What difference could that have made?"

  "We slept together."

  "Not like that!" she exclaimed defensively.

  "Exactly," he said, taking steps forward until he loomed over her. "But by the way you're acting, it could have been 'like that.' What are you feeling so guilty about?"

  "I'm not feeling guilty."

  "Aren't you?" he pressed. "Aren't you thinking that you had no business sleeping in my arms, wearing nothing but your slip? Don't you feel that we were somehow being dis­loyal to Hal while he lay dead in his coffin? Isn't that what you're thinking?"

  She turned her back on him and crossed her arms over her stomach as though it pained her. Tightly she clasped her el­bows with the opposite hands. "I shouldn't have been with you like that."

  "Why?"

  "You know better than to ask."

  "Because you know what everyone thinks of a woman who spends a night on a bed with me."

  She said nothing.

  "What are you afraid of, Jenny?"

  "Nothing."

  "Are you afraid that someone will find out about that night?"

  "No."

  "Afraid that your name will be added to the list of Cage Hendren's has-beens?"

  "No."

  "Are you afraid of me?"

  Even the relentless wind couldn't disguise the hesitation and heartbreak in his voice. She whirled around and saw the misery on his face. "No, Cage, no." To prove it, she stepped forward and put her arms around his waist, laying her cheek on his chest.

  Instantly his arms went around her and held her close. "I wouldn't blame you if you were, especially after what hap­pened tonight. But, God, I'd hate that. I'd hate that worse than anything else. I couldn't bear for you to be afraid that I'd hurt you."

  She could have told him that she wasn't as afraid of him as she was of her own reactions to him. When he was near her, she stepped out of the shell she lived behind in the parsonage and became another woman.

  He made her heartbeat escalate, her breathing accelerate, her palms grow moist. She was never herself when she was with Cage, whether it was riding a motorcycle and loving it, or sharing a bed with him. With him she forgot who she was and where she came from, living only for a moment.

  It was almost as if she had been in love with Cage all these years instead of Hal. She had made love with Hal, but the night she had slept in Cage's arms had been almost as won­derful. She couldn't quite reconcile herself to that. How was it that only a week after Hal's death, she could be wondering what making love with Cage would be like?

  Startled by the thought, she backed away from him. "We'd better go home. They'll be worried."

  He looked disappointed but escorted her to the car without argument. Ruefully he recapped the flask and returned it to the glove compartment. He tossed the pack of cigarettes out the window.

  "Litterbug," Jenny said from her side of the car.

  "Women," Cage muttered in exasperation as he put the car into low gear. "They're never satisfied."

  They grinned at each other. Everything was all right.

  When they arrived at the parsonage after a sedate trip back into town, he came around and opened the door of the car for her. He placed his arm around her waist as he walked her toward the door, and companionably, she did the same.

  "Thank you, Jenny."

  "For what?"

  "For being my friend."

  "Lately you've been mine often enough."

  "Thanks anyway." At the door they stood facing each other. He seemed reluctant to leave. "Well, good night."

  "Good night."

  "It may be a while before I come visiting."

  "I understand."

  "But I'll be calling you."

  "It breaks my heart for this chasm to be between you and your parents at a time when you need each other the most."

  His sigh was laden with sadness. "Yeah, well, that's the way it goes. If you need anything, anything, holler."

  "I will."

  "Promise?"

  "Promise."

  He squeezed her hand and bent down to press a soft kiss on her cheek. His lips lingered before he finally withdrew them. Or perhaps that was only her imagination. She hadn't quite decided as she let herself in and climbed the stairs to her room. The house was dark. The Hendrens were already in bed. />
  She opened the door to her room and stepped inside. She gazed around the childishly decorated bedroom. Now what? she thought.

  What was Jenny Fletcher going to do with the rest of her life?

  She pondered the question as she undressed, and for long hours after she got into bed the problem kept her awake.

  By morning she had an answer. But how was she going to tell the Hendrens? As it turned out, they made it easy for her to broach the subject.

  * * *

  Chapter 6

  «^»

  Bob was making toast when Jenny entered the kitchen the following morning. She smiled at his apron as she kissed him on the cheek. After pouring herself a cup of coffee, she sat down at the table with Sarah, who was idly shifting a portion of scrambled eggs from one side of her plate to the other.

  "Where did you go last night?"

  No "Good morning," no "How did you sleep?" Nothing. Just that bald question.

  As she asked it, Sarah's lips were pinched. There was a strained expression on her face.

  "We," Jenny stressed the word, "just went for a drive."

  "You came in awfully late." Bob tried to make the com­ment sound off-handed, but Jenny knew this conversation wasn't off-handed or spontaneous by any stretch of the imag­ination. There was an air of hostile suspicion among them, as though there were an enemy in the camp that had to be sniffed out.

  "How do you know when I came in? You were already sleeping."

  "Mrs. Hicks came by this morning. She saw … she saw you and Cage together last night."

  Jenny looked from one of them to the other. She was both bewildered and angry. Mrs. Hicks was the nosiest neighbor on the block. She loved to spread rumors, especially if they were bad. "What did she say?"

  "Nothing," Bob said uneasily.

  "No, I want to know. What did she say? Whatever it was, it obviously upset you."

  "We're not upset, Jenny," Bob said diplomatically. "It's just that we don't want people to start linking your name to Cage's."

  "My name is already linked to Cage's. He's a Hendren, your son," she reminded them angrily. "I've spent the last twelve years of my life in the Hendren household. How could my name not be linked with his?"