Part of the Bargain

“I was looking forward to watching you work. What’s your process?”

Libby smiled, feeling sheltered by the love of this strong and steady man facing her. She explained how her cartoons came into being, thinking it was good to talk about work, to think about work.

Disdainful as he had been about her career, it was the one thing Aaron had not been able to spoil for her.

Nobody’s fool, Ken drew her out on the subject as much as he could, and she found herself chattering on and on about cartooning and even her secret hope to branch out into portraits one day.

They talked, father and daughter, far into the night.

“You deserve this,” Jess Barlowe said to his reflection in the bathroom mirror. A first-class hangover pounded in his head and roiled in his stomach, and his face looked drawn, as though he’d been hibernating like one of the bears that sometimes troubled the range stock.

Grimly he began to shave, and as he wielded his disposable razor, he wondered if Libby was awake yet. Should he stop at Ken’s and talk to her before going on to the main house to spend a day with the corporation accountants?

Jess wanted to go to Libby, to tell her that he was sorry for baiting her, to try to get their complex relationship—if it was a relationship—onto some kind of sane ground. However, all his instincts told him that his father had been right the day before: Libby needed time.

His thoughts strayed to Libby’s stepson. What would it be like to sit by a hospital bed, day after day, watching a child suffer and not being able to help?

Jess shuddered. It was hard to imagine the horror of something like that. At least Libby had had her husband to share the nightmare.

He frowned as he nicked his chin with the razor, blotted the small wound with tissue paper. If Libby had had her husband during that impossible time, why had she needed Stacey?

Stacey. Now, there was someone he could talk to. Granted, Jess had not been on the best of terms with his older brother of late, but the man had a firsthand knowledge of what was happening inside Libby Kincaid, and that was reason enough to approach him.

Feeling better for having a plan, Jess finished his ablutions and got dressed. Normally he spent his days on the range with Ken and the ranch hands, but today, because of his meeting with the accountants, he forwent his customary blue jeans and cotton workshirt for a tailored three-piece suit. He was still struggling with his tie as he made his way down the broad redwood steps that led from the loftlike second floor of his house to the living room.

Here there was a massive fireplace of white limestone, taking up the whole of one wall. The floors were polished oak and boasted a number of brightly colored Indian rugs. Two easy chairs and a deep sofa faced the hearth, and Jess’s cluttered desk looked out over the ranchland and the glacial mountains beyond.

Striding toward the front door, in exasperation he gave up his efforts to get the tie right. He was glad he didn’t have Stacey’s job; not for him the dull task of overseeing the family’s nationwide chain of steak-house franchises.

He smiled. Stacey liked playing the dude, doing television commercials, traveling all over the country.

And taking Libby Kincaid to bed.

Jess stalked across the front lawn to the carport and climbed behind the wheel of the truck he’d driven since law school. One of these times, he was going to have to get another car—something with a little flash, like Stacey’s Ferrari.

Stacey, Stacey. He hadn’t even seen his brother yet, and already he was sick of him.

The truck’s engine made a grinding sound and then huffed to life. Jess patted the dusty dashboard affectionately and grinned. A car was a car was a car, he reflected as he backed the notorious wreck out of his driveway. The function of a car was to transport people, not impress them.

Five minutes later, Jess’s truck chortled to an asthmatic stop beside his brother’s ice-blue Ferrari. He looked up at the modernistic two-story house that had been the senator’s wedding gift to Stacey and Cathy and wondered if Libby would be impressed by the place.

He scowled as he made his way up the curving white-stone walk. What the hell did he care if Libby was impressed?

Irritated, he jabbed one finger at the special doorbell that would turn on a series of blinking lights inside the house. The system had been his own idea, meant to make life easier for Cathy.

His sister-in-law came to the door and smiled at him somewhat wanly, speaking with her hands. “Good morning.”

Jess nodded, smiled. The haunted look in the depths of Cathy’s eyes made him angry all over again. “Is Stacey here?” he signed, stepping into the house.

Cathy caught his hand in her own and led him through the cavernous living room and the formal dining room beyond. Stacey was in the kitchen, looking more at home in a three-piece suit than Jess ever had.

“You,” Stacey said tonelessly, setting down the English muffin he’d been slathering with honey.

Cathy offered coffee and left the room when it was politely declined. Distractedly Jess reflected on the fact that her life had to be boring as hell, centering on Stacey the way it did.

“I want to talk to you,” Jess said, scraping back a chrome-and-plastic chair to sit down at the table.

Stacey arched one eyebrow. “I hope it’s quick— I’m leaving for the airport in a few minutes. I’ve got some business to take care of in Kansas City.”

Jess was impatient. “What kind of man is Libby’s ex-husband?” he asked.

Stacey took up his coffee. “Why do you want to know?”

“I just do. Do I have to have him checked out, or are you going to tell me?”

“He’s a bastard,” said Stacey, not quite meeting his brother’s eyes.

“Rich?”

“Oh, yes. His family is old-money.”

“What does he do?”

“Do?”

“Yeah. Does he work, or does he just stand around being rich?”

“He runs the family advertising agency; I think he has a lot of control over their other financial interests, too.”

Jess sensed that Stacey was hedging, wondered why. “Any bad habits?”

Stacey was gazing at the toaster now, in a fixed way, as though he expected something alarming to pop out of it. “The man has his share of vices.”

Annoyed now, Jess got up, helped himself to the cup of coffee he had refused earlier, sat down again. “Pulling porcupine quills out of a dog’s nose would be easier than getting answers out of you. When you say he has vices, do you mean women?”

Stacey swallowed, looked away. “To put it mildly,” he said.

Jess settled back in his chair. “What the hell do you mean by that?”

“I mean that he not only liked to run around with other women, he liked to flaunt the fact. The worse he could make Libby feel about herself, the happier he was.”

“Jesus,” Jess breathed. “What else?” he pressed, sensing, from Stacey’s expression, that there was more.

“He was impotent with Libby.”

“Why did she stay? Why in God’s name did she stay?” Jess mused distractedly, as much to himself as to his brother.

A cautious but smug light flickered in Stacey’s topaz eyes. “She had me,” he said evenly. “Besides, Jonathan was sick by that time and she felt she had to stay in the marriage for his sake.”