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  She screamed softly, but her exclamation of fright was muf­fled by the smothering embrace she had been wrapped in.

  "Scared you, didn't I?" the as-yet-unseen attacker growled in her ear as he pulled her close.

  "Let me go."

  "Say please."

  "Please!"

  Cage released her and peered around the sheet, laughing at her efforts to extricate herself from its folds. Miraculously it had stayed on the clothesline in spite of their tussle.

  "Cage Hendren, you scared the daylights out of me!"

  "Aw, come on, you knew it was me."

  "Only because you've done that to me before." She made exasperated attempts to push her windblown hair out of her eyes. They were as futile as the efforts she made not to smile. Finally a grin broke through and she laughed with him. "Some day…" She let the threat dwindle, but she shook her finger at him. His hand whipped out and snatched it, entrapping it in his fist.

  "What? Some day what, Jenny Fletcher?"

  "Some day you're gonna get yours."

  He lifted her finger to his mouth and closed his teeth around it in a playful bite, growling cannibalistically. "Don't bet on it."

  Just the sight of her flesh imprisoned between his strong white teeth flustered her and she wished she could think of a way to pull her finger away from his mouth without creating an awkward moment. At last he released her hand and she stepped back as though she had moved too close to a fire and hadn't realized it until the flames singed her.

  She wondered why he had come to the parsonage today, though his visits weren't nearly as rare as they had been before Hal left. Since then Cage had been dropping by frequently on unimportant errands.

  Ostensibly these visits were to ask if they had received news from Hal, but his excuses were so lame that Jenny wondered if he was coming around for the benefit of his parents. If so, she was touched by the gesture.

  He had made several trips to the parsonage in order to empty his former bedroom of all the "junk" Sarah had asked him to remove, though it all could have been handled in one load.

  Then he had come by bearing a cake he had bought at the FHA fund-raising bake sale and offered it to them, since he knew he couldn't possibly eat it all.

  One evening he had stopped by to borrow an electric sander from Bob so he could polish his car with the buffer attachment. All these devices were valid enough, but Jenny still thought there was an ulterior motive behind them.

  It wasn't like Cage to show such interest in the goings-on at the parsonage. His evenings were usually spent in local watering holes where he caroused with roughnecks and cow­boys and businessmen—when he wasn't in the company of a woman.

  And the more time she spent with him, the less Jenny liked to think about Cage and his women. The pangs of jealousy she felt were uncalled for and she couldn't imagine why they should have suddenly sprung up from nowhere.

  "Is the clothes dryer broken?" Cage asked now, swinging her empty laundry basket over his shoulder and following her toward the back door.

  "No, but I like the way the sheets and pillowcases smell after they've dried outside."

  He smiled down at her as he held the door open. "You're a hard case, Jenny."

  "I know, hopelessly old-fashioned."

  "That's what I like about you."

  Again she felt the need to put distance between them. When he was standing this close, looking at her in that peculiar, penetrating way of his, she couldn't breathe properly. "Would you … would you like a Coke?"

  "That'd be great." He returned the basket to the laundry room, off the kitchen, while she went to the refrigerator. She plunked ice cubes into the glasses she took down from the cabinet and poured the fizzing soft drink over them.

  "Where are Mother and Dad?"

  "There were several people in the hospital they needed to visit."

  Realizing that she and Cage were alone in the rambling old house made her unaccountably nervous. Her hand was shaking slightly when she set his drink down in front of him on the table. She didn't want to risk touching him. She had always avoided touching him if possible, but lately…

  Nervously she dropped into the chair across the table from him and thirstily sipped at her cold drink. He was watching her. Though she wasn't looking directly at him, she could feel his eyes touching her. Why wasn't she wearing something beneath the old T-shirt she had on?

  Then, to her mortification, as though thinking about them had coaxed forth a response, her breasts began to bead against the soft cloth.

  "Jenny?"

  "What?" She jumped as though she had been caught doing something dirty. She felt feverish and light-headed, much as she had the night she had made love to Hal. He had been dressed as Cage was now, in jeans and a cotton western-cut shirt.

  She could almost feel the different textures of fabric against her naked skin, the cool bite of his metal buckle before he had unfastened it, the warm proof of manhood when he did. She squirmed in her chair and pressed her knees tightly together beneath the table, trying to keep her face impassive.

  "Have you heard from Hal?"

  She shook her head fiercely, both in answer to his question and to deny the sensations rioting inside her. "Not since that last postcard dated a month ago. Do you think we should read anything into that?"

  "Yes." Her head snapped up, but Cage was smiling. "That everything is okay."

  "No news is good news."

  "Something like that."

  "Bob and Sarah keep up a good front, but they're worried. We didn't think he'd have to go into the interior of the coun­try, only to the border. We thought he would have been well on his way home by now."

  "He might be, but just hasn't had the opportunity to notify us yet."

  "Maybe." Selfishly she was hurt because the few times Hal had written, the notes had been addressed to them all. They had stressed that conditions in Monterico were bad, but that he was well and safe. He hadn't included one private word for her. His own fiancée. Was that characteristic of a man in love, especially after what had happened the night before he left?

  "Do you miss him?" Cage asked her softly.

  "Terribly." She raised her eyes to his, but they fell away almost immediately. One couldn't lie while staring into those tawny eyes. One couldn't even fudge on the truth. She missed Hal, but not "terribly," not like she had thought she would, not like she should. In a way, she was relieved that he wasn't constantly underfoot. And wasn't that odd?

  Now that she had been to bed with him, didn't she want him anymore? What kind of depravity had she sunk into?

  Oh, she longed to experience that kind of total joy again, that indescribable physical high, but she wasn't particularly anxious to see Hal. Probably because she was still angry with him for leaving without even saying good-bye to her. At least that was the answer she gave herself. It wasn't satisfying, but it was the only one she had.

  "He'll be fine. Hal always comes out of scrapes smelling like a rose." Cage leaned back in his chair, balancing it on the two rear legs. "There was a family who lived through the alley there … long before you ever came to live with us. I was about twelve; Hal was eight or nine. Their poor daughter was extremely overweight. Obese. All the kids at school called her Tank, Fatso, Porky, unkind things like that. A group of bullies used to wait for her on the corner and laugh and catcall when she walked past them on her way home."

  Jenny was lulled by the tone of his voice. It was deep, a shade raspy, as though some west Texas sand had collected on his vocal cords. As he talked his fingers idly slid up and down the glass where condensation had made it slippery. The hairs on his knuckles looked very fair against his bronzed hand. Funny, she had never noticed that before. The way his fingers stroked the glass was mesmerizing and she could imag­ine…

  "One day Hal was walking home with her and flew into the bullies when they started the name-calling. He got a bloody nose, a black eye, and a busted lip for his efforts to defend her. But that night Mother and Dad hailed hi
m a hero for taking on a foe larger than himself. Mother gave him a double helping of dessert. Dad analogized Hal's good deed by comparing him to young David taking on Goliath.

  "I thought, hell, if that's all it takes to make them happy, I can do that. I knew how to fight, and a lot better than Hal did. So the next day, I waited for those bullies behind the garage. I had two scores to settle with them. One, for beating up my kid brother. The other was for making fun of that poor girl."

  "What did you do?"

  "They were real proud of themselves and came chasing down the alley, laughing. I stepped from behind the garage and slammed the lid of a garbage can into one's face. Broke his nose. I buried my fist in the other's gut and knocked the wind out of him. I kicked the other one in the … where it hurts little boys."

  Jenny smiled in spite of herself and ducked her head blush­ing. Then she lifted her eyes back to him. "What happened?"

  "I was expecting the same kind of praise Hal had gotten the night before." A wry grin twisted his sensual mouth and he shook his head. "I got sent to my room with no dinner, a blistering lecture, a spanking, and a suspension in my allow­ance and the use of my bike for two weeks."

  The front legs of the chair hit the floor with a finality compared to the way he had concluded the story. "So you see, Jenny, if I'd taken on this Central American mission, I'd have been labeled as a troublemaker and a rabble-rouser looking for a good fight. But Hal, Hal is considered a saint."

  Without even thinking about it, her hand shot across the table to cover his. "I'm so sorry, Cage. I know it hurts."

  His hand automatically covered the one clutching his and his eyes speared into hers. There were tears of empathy stand­ing in the emerald depths.

  "Jenny? We're home. Where are you?"

  The Hendrens were coming in the front door. Cage and Jenny remained captives of each other, releasing their hands and eyes only heartbeats before his parents blustered into the kitchen.

  "Oh, here you are. Hello, Cage."

  Jenny jumped up, offering to get the older couple a cold drink or coffee. Cage rose to his feet, too. "I've got to be going. I just stopped by to see if you'd heard from Hal. I'll check back later. 'Bye."

  There was no reason to prolong the visit. He had wanted to ask about Hal, but his main reason for coming to the parsonage had been to see Jenny.

  He had seen her.

  She had touched him.

  Actually reached out and touched him.

  He felt good.

  * * *

  Jenny bent over to place a sack of groceries in the backseat of her car. The Hendrens had given her the economical com­pact when she graduated from TCU. A long wolf whistle brought her around quickly, so quickly she almost bumped her head.

  Cage was sitting astride a vicious-looking motorcycle wear­ing an expression that matched his whistle. A shiny black hel­met was dangling from his hand. He had on a blue chambray shirt from which the sleeves had been ripped. Either the wind had tugged all the buttons from their holes, or he had left them carelessly undone. In either event, the only thing that saved him from indecency—and then just barely—was that the shirt was tucked into the waistband of his jeans.

  There was nothing decent about them.

  A faded red bandana was knotted around his neck. He looked like a bandit. Hell's Angels would have welcomed him with open arms and probably elected him their president.

  Jenny was intrigued by the network of light brown hair that matted his chest. It fanned out over the upper muscles and grew inward toward that satiny ribbon of hair that bisected his stomach. She had a difficult time tearing her eyes away from the beguiling sight of all that tanned skin and the crisp carpet of masculine body hair.

  "You're not very nice," Jenny chided insincerely.

  "Thank you, ma'am."

  She laughed.

  "You're not very nice either," Cage countered.

  "What did I do that wasn't nice?"

  "You wore a tight pair of jeans that could inflame a man's imagination."

  Glancing down at herself, she retorted, "Only some men. The ones with their minds in the gutter."

  "Hm. I suppose that means me."

  "If the shoe fits… No other man has whistled at me today."

  "Then no other man caught you bending over."

  She shot him an acid look. "Sexist."

  "And proud to be one."

  Placing her hands on her hips, she demanded, "What if I came up behind you and whistled like that?"

  "I'd drag you into the bushes."

  "You are incorrigible."

  "That's what they tell me." When he smiled, his teeth shone brightly in the sunlight. Bracing his hands on the handle bars of the bike, he leaned forward slightly. The muscles in his arms bulged and Jenny could detect the strong veins be­neath the taut skin. "Go for a ride with me?"

  Drawing her eyes away from him, she closed the backseat door with emphasis and opened the driver's. "A ride? You're insane." She looked askance at the cycle.

  "Nope. Only incorrigible." She made a face at him and his grin broadened. "Come on, Jenny. It'll be a blast."

  "No way. I'm not getting on that thing."

  "Why?"

  "I don't trust your driving."

  He barked a short laugh. "I'm stone sober."

  "For once."

  It was his turn to make a face.

  Jenny said, "I've ridden with you in a car before and risked life and limb every mile. Even the highway patrolmen salute you when you whiz by. They know they couldn't possibly catch you."

  He shrugged, sending all sorts of muscles into play. "So I like driving fast. I'm safe."

  "I'm safer. No, thank you," she said politely and slid beneath the steering wheel of her car. "Besides, the ice cream's melting," she said through the window as she started the en­gine.

  He followed her home, weaving the cycle in and out and around her, making her stop and start lurchingly a dozen times in an effort to keep from crashing with him. Beneath the shaded visor of his helmet his grin was wide. Through her windshield she tried to look stern and disapproving, but she was laughing by the time they reached the parsonage.

  "See?" He parked the motorcycle beside her car and pulled off his helmet. "Perfectly harmless. Come for a ride with me."

  The sun struck his hair just right, turning it the color of ripe wheat. Through his dense, sun-tipped lashes, his eyes were compelling. Jenny hesitated, the sack of groceries growing heavier in her arms.

  "When's the last time you did something spontaneous?" he asked her temptingly.

  The night I seduced Hal.

  But she didn't even want to think about Hal. He had been gone for ten weeks. Cage visited the parsonage often. He al­ways popped up unexpectedly, as he had today in the grocery store parking lot. If she didn't know better, she would think he was following her.

  "I can't, really," she hedged.

  "Sure you can. Hurry. I'll help you put away the ice cream."

  There was no arguing with him. The groceries were stashed in the pantry and refrigerator with dispatch, and since Bob and Sarah weren't at home, Jenny was fair game. Cage knew ex­actly how to sniff out weakened prey and bring it down.

  "Pretty please," he begged, bending his knees to bring his face down on a level with hers. The lines on either side of his mouth deepened into dimples that should have been outlawed as a public menace. "With sugar on it."

  "Oh, all right," Jenny surrendered with an irritated sigh. Actually her heart was pounding with anticipation.

  He gripped her arm firmly and dragged her outside before she could change her mind. "I even have a helmet for you." He eased it over her head and reached beneath her chin to snap the strap closed. For an instant, only an instant, their eyes locked. He touched her cheek. But before she could determine exactly what the gleam in his eyes meant, the moment was over and he was instructing her on how to mount the motor­cycle.

  When she was situated on the padded seat, he swung his leg over an
d said, "Now put your arms around me."

  She hesitated, then gingerly closed her arms around his middle. When her hands came in contact with his bare front, the fuzzy hair tickled her wrists, and she yanked her hands away. "I'm sorry," she muttered, as though she had bumped into a stranger on an elevator. Her heart was knocking painfully against her ribs.

  "It's all right." He took her hands in his and folded them together just above his waist, pressing them against him. "You have to hold on tight."

  Jenny's head was buzzing. Her throat had gone dry. If she hadn't been afraid of becoming dizzy and possibly falling off, she would have shut her eyes as he started the motorcycle and guided it down the street. She kept her hands perfectly still, though she had the mad urge to comb her fingers up through his chest hair and to knead the hard muscles of his chest with her fingers.

  "How do you like it so far?" he shouted back at her.

  Having gotten over her initial shyness, she could honestly answer, "I love it!"

  The hot wind beat at them mercilessly as they left the city limits and Cage opened the cycle's motor to full throttle. They sped down the highway with the straight flying precision of a hornet. There was something wildly exciting about having only the two wheels of the cycle between her and the macadam that sped past beneath her. The motor thrummed up through her thighs, her middle, her breasts. That steady vibration was thrilling.

  He turned off the highway onto a narrow blacktopped road and eventually drove through a gate. The house at the top of a gradual rise in the otherwise flat barrenness was authentically Victorian. Grass and shrubbery had been planted in the fenced yard and there was a variety of trees lending their shade. The front porch, which wrapped around three sides of the house, was shielded from the sun by the balconies of the second story. An onion-shaped cupola domed one front corner. The picture­-book structure was painted the color of sand with an accent trim of rust and slate.

  To one side there was a garage. Jenny noticed the Corvette parked there, along with a selection of other vehicles. Beyond the garage was a stable. Several horses grazed in the pasture behind it.