Part of the Bargain. Linda Miller Lael

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.”

      The spacious sun-filled kitchen seemed to buckle and shift around Jess. “Why didn’t she tell Ken, at least?”

      “What would have been the point in that, Jess? He couldn’t have made the boy well again or transformed Aaron Strand into a devoted husband.”

      The things Libby must have endured—the shame, the loneliness, the humiliation and grief, washed over Jess in a dismal, crushing wave. No wonder she had reached out to Stacey the way she had. No wonder. “Thanks,” he said gruffly, standing up to leave.

      “Jess?”

      He paused in the kitchen doorway, his hands clasping the woodwork, his shoulders aching with tension. “What?”

      “Don’t worry about Libby. I’ll take care of her.”

      Jess felt a despairing sort of anger course through him. “What about Cathy?” he asked, without turning around. “Who is going to take care of her?”

      “You’ve always—”

      Jess whirled suddenly, staring at his brother, almost hating him. “I’ve always what?”

      “Cared for her.” Stacey shrugged, looking only mildly unsettled. “Protected her…”

      “Are you suggesting that I sweep up the pieces after you shatter her?” demanded Jess in a dangerous rasp.

      Stacey only shrugged again.

      Because he feared that he would do his brother lasting harm if he stayed another moment, Jess stormed out of the house. Cathy, dressed in old jeans, boots and a cotton blouse, was waiting beside the truck. The pallor in her face told Jess that she knew much more about the state of her marriage than he would have hoped.

      Her hands trembled a little as she spoke with them. “I’m scared, Jess.”

      He drew her into his arms, held her. “I know, baby,” he said, even though he knew she couldn’t hear him or see his lips. “I know.”

      Libby opened her eyes, yawned and stretched. The smells of sunshine and fresh air swept into her bedroom through the open window, ruffling pink eyelet curtains and reminding her that she was home again. She tossed back the covers on the bed and got up, sleepily making her way into the bathroom and starting the water for a shower.

      As she took off her short cotton nightshirt, she looked down at herself and remembered the raging sensations Jess Barlowe had ignited in her the day before. She had been stupid and self-indulgent to let that happen, but after several years of celibacy, she supposed it was natural that her passions had been stirred so easily—especially by a man like Jess.

      As Libby showered, she felt renewed. Aaron’s flagrant infidelities had been painful for her, and they had seriously damaged her self-esteem in the bargain.

      Now, even though she had made a fool of herself by being wanton with a man who could barely tolerate her, many of Libby’s doubts about herself as a woman had been eased, if not routed. She was not as useless and undesirable as Aaron had made her feel. She had caused Jess Barlowe to want her, hadn’t she?

      Big deal, she told the image in her mirror as she brushed her teeth. How do you know Jess wasn’t out to prove that his original opinion of you was on target?

      Deflated by this very real possibility, Libby combed her hair, applied the customary lip gloss and light touch of mascara and went back to her room to dress. From her suitcases she selected a short-sleeved turquoise pullover shirt and a pair of trim jeans. Remembering her intention to find Cathy and persuade her to go riding, she ferreted through her closet until she found the worn boots she’d left behind before moving to New York, pulling them on over a pair of thick socks.

      Looking down at those disreputable old boots, Libby imagined the scorn they would engender in Aaron’s jet-set crowd and laughed. Problems or no problems, Jess or no Jess, it was good to be home.

      Not surprisingly, the kitchen was empty. Ken had probably left the house before dawn, but there was coffee on the stove and fruit in the refrigerator, so Libby helped herself to a pear and sat down to eat.

      The