Chapter 2

Once Bette's things had been put away in the spare bedroom, and she had freshened up after her long journey, the three of them sat on the patio, where it was cooler, and drank iced lemonade, which Ken made in two large pitchers. There had not been much said since the tearful reunion on the porch, for a shy awkwardness still existed between the three; but there was no more tension, and each knew that it was only a matter of time before they could be easy and natural with one another.

Bette found herself looking again and again at the handsome face of her son, and she felt a deep ache of pride and love and hope each time. The finest moment in the past year--no, in the past five years--had been the feel of his body pressed against hers there on the porch, for she knew that she had not lost him after all--that there was still a chance for togetherness, for renewal of the once powerful affection they had once had for each other.

Bette sipped at her lemonade, truly at peace for the first time in long, torturous months, and let her gaze wander over the rear yard of Ken's home. She had been here before, of course, but it had been such a long time ago that she had forgotten just how pleasant and comfortable it was. In addition to the large kidney--shaped pool, the patio, and a good- sized dressing cabana on the far side, there was a large expanse of cushiony green lawn, a landscaped rock garden, even a small fountain which seemed to draw birds of several different varieties, their chattering and fluttering filling the quiet afternoon air. The porch behind them was large, with windows facing out on the pool that were covered by rattan curtains, and off on their left was an impressive stone-and-mortar barbecue which Ken had built himself and of which he was inordinately proud.

Yes, it was a beautiful, serene home, Bette thought, and it was too bad that Ken had not taken another wife, after Luci's untimely death, to share it with him. This was the kind of home where a woman could be happy, could know peace and relaxation. Ken should be married again; he was such a fine man, with so much to offer a woman, physically and emotionally as well as materialistically

Ken leaned toward her, smiling, his face radiant. "You wouldn't happen to be just a little hungry, would you, Bette?"

"Well, as a matter of fact, I am," she admitted. "I haven't eaten anything since breakfast this morning "

"Good!" Ken enthused. "I've got three thick, juicy steaks in the refrigerator, some French fries, and maybe a tossed salad. How does that sound--steaks barbecued on the grill over there, of course?"

"Wonderful," Bette smiled.

"How about you, Tony?" Ken asked.

"I guess I could go for a steak," the teenager agreed.

Ken left Bette and Tony alone for the first time, and there was a faintly strained atmosphere between them. Her son could not seem to look her in the eye, and he fidgeted on his chair. Bette fervently hoped that the uneasiness was only a temporary thing which would vanish with the passage of time. Watching her son covertly, Bette couldn't help but marvel at how handsome he had become, at the firm, muscled contours of his young body, at the fluid, graceful way he moved and carried himself. He was going to be even better looking than Ken--certainly much more virile than David. Still, there was much of his father in the way his mouth quirked at the comers, in the shy movement of his hands, in the sensual lidding of his eyes--especially the eyes, bedroom eyes, the girls had called them when she'd been a teenager. She remembered how David had looked at her when he'd been in a loving mood, when he had wanted to press her warm softness close to him and to slide his hot, hard penis deep up between her open thighs and moan out his love for her

Bette felt her cheeks flame red, thinking back to the lovemaking which had existed between her and David. She stifled a low moan of despair which threatened to erupt from her throat, and tried to block the mental image of herself and her dead husband locked together in unimaginative but still powerful desire. She couldn't allow herself to think that way, not now, not when she had been celibate--a self-imposed celibacy, while she tried to sort out the tattered remains of her life-- for the past six months. And especially she couldn't allow herself to think that way when she was looking at her own son, her beloved Tony. What kind of woman was she to think such carnal thoughts in the presence of her own flesh and blood?

Ken returned shortly with the steaks, and the strained atmosphere dissipated. It was much easier when Ken was around, talking in his quiet way, drawing both Bette and Tony into the coversation, forcing them gently to speak to one another so that a camaraderie was built up between them. He got a fire started in the barbecue, and soon the air was filled with the smell of woodsmoke and with the succulent odor of grilling meat. Bette insisted on helping, and Ken gave her the task of making the salad while he supervised the progress of the steaks. Tony set the round metal patio table for the meal, and there was an almost party--like aura there by the pool as afternoon faded into evening.

Standing by the barbecue, watching Bette move to the table with the salad, Ken was struck by her beauty--a beauty that pain and anguish could never truly mar. The sight of her, the sinuous way her hips and breasts and thighs moved beneath her dress when she walked, stirred embers in him which had been too long cold, desires that were at once deeply emotional and definitely physical. He was touched at the very core of him by her unaffected sensuality, and there was a building fire in his loins, the fire of burning need. God, he wanted Bette! He wanted to possess her body, to hold her close, to whisper soft words into her ear, to caress her and to love her. He knew he shouldn't be thinking carnal thoughts about her, not now--perhaps not ever--and yet he couldn't help himself; he was captivated by her, more now than he had ever been, and the passion which seethed within him was volatile and demanding. He couldn't do anything about it, of course, and yet maybe, someday, he could

The steaks were delicious, the salad superb, and the meal itself a complete success. The festive mood deepened as dusk settled. It grew cool on the patio, and Ken suggested that they retire to the living room.

Tony built a crackling fire with pine logs in the stone-and-mortar fireplace, and when it was warm and cheery in the large room, he turned the lights down. They sat in quiet contentment before the blaze for a time, not speaking, thinking their own thoughts as darkness blanketed the house outside and crickets and tree frogs began singing in the shrubbery and grasses. Then Ken said almost shyly that he had a surprise for Bette and hurried out of the room, only to return moments later with two chilled bottles of imported champagne in a silver ice bucket.

"What's a homecoming celebration without champagne?" he said lightly.

"Oh Ken you shouldn't have," Bette whispered.

"But I wanted to," Ken told her simply. He smiled at her, then said to Tony, "Will you do the honors, nephew?"

"Sure," the youth eagerly replied. He worked quickly with a corkscrew, opening one of the bottles, and deftly poured some of the bubbling liquid into three long-stemmed glasses. Bette, watching him, was filled with a glowing pride at the sure movements of his hands--the movements of a man--and she was struck then with a terrible sense of loss for not being there to watch her son, her own flesh and blood, grow from a boy into the handsome, almost adult which he now was.

Ken said, "A toast, to Bette and to her homecoming."

"To Mom," Tony said.

"And to you both," Bette added, her words thick with emotion.

They raised their glasses and there was a brief, embarrassed moment, then they all drank. The festive mood heightened, and it was as if there had never been a five-year hiatus in their relationship, Ken thought happily, as if they were a close-knit family group that had never been separated by tragedy and human folly

The champagne seemed to make Tony loquacious. He told his mother how he had caught the pass which won for Westridge High School the conference championship this past year; that he was thinking of entering State next fall, hopefully on a football scholarship, and planning to study Engineering; that he was going steady with a girl named Debbie Mason, who was beautiful, and that things were pretty serious between them.

He was just starting to voice some of his views on the current political situation, and Ken was pouring more champagne into their glasses, when the doorbell rang.

Ken frowned, glanced at his watch; it was almost eight-thirty. Now, who could be calling at this hour? He sighed, excused himself, and went to the door, opening it. Standing on the flagstone porch outside was a petite and yet well-endowed and firmly rounded girl of Tony's age. She wore hot pants, revealing slim, tanned legs, and a summer blouse without sleeves, and her jet black hair was worn long, caressing her shoulders, wisps curling down to touch the full, pear-shaped globes of her breasts. She had an hourglass waist and a round, smooth face, with high cheekbones and a pixieish nose; her eyes were a hot, frank brown, very large, containing a smoldering intensity that told of thoughts and emotions far exceeding her eighteen years--a feral look that was enhanced by the richness of her breasts and the tautness of her buttocks beneath the thin material of the hot pants.

She was Debbie Mason, Tony's girlfriend.

Ken did not particularly like the lovely teenage girl--he thought she was a bitch at heart, that she was a conniving little wanton who cared about nothing and no one but Debbie Mason, and Debbie Mason's pleasures and happiness, and he wished that Tony had not begun to talk of a permanent attachment to her. She would hurt him in the long run, Ken felt that instinctively--but he had not tried to interfere, knowing that Tony would have resented any intrusion into his private life; still, he hoped that his nephew would find out the truth about Debbie one of these days, and soon before it was too late.

In spite of his dislike for Debbie, Ken still felt an involuntary quickening of his breath, a pounding of his blood, at the sheer sexuality the young girl exuded. He couldn't keep his eyes from straying over her breasts, over the clearly-defined cleft of her pussy displayed by the too- tight shorts as she thrust her hips forward provocatively. Then he shook his head slightly, feeling his neck flush with embarrassment, and snuffed out the impossibly lewd ideas which had leapt unbidden into his brain.

He put on a reluctant smile of welcome, said, "Hello, Debbie. How are you tonight?"

"Just fine, Ken," she replied, and he knew that she was laughing at him, mocking him, by calling him by his first name.

"Did you want to see Tony?" he asked her coolly.

"Yes, I did. If it's all right," Debbie answered, and her even white teeth flashed in a knowing smile, for she was well aware of the effect that she had on Tony's uncle and the knowledge that he secretly wanted her sexually was perversely satisfying; she was a girl who needed, coveted, the attention of all men. And he was handsome, she thought, even more handsome than Tony. She wondered speculatively if he was good in bed, and if he had a big cock--an even bigger cock than Tony had, maybe, and Tony's was huge and felt like a log deep up in her belly

"Won't you come in, Debbie?"

"Thanks, Ken," Debbie said, and stepped past him, allowing her breast to brush across his arm as she did so. Ken shivered slightly, and then guiltily fought down a renewal of his sexual fantasies; damn, what was the matter with him tonight? He had always been able to control himself in the past, his cravings and desires. Perhaps it was the champagne or perhaps, more probably, it was the arrival of Bette, the nearness of her that had bestirred the long-still fever inside him

Ken followed Debbie into the living room, and introduced her, again reluctantly, to Bette. The lovely blonde mother shook hands with the girl, and as she did so she felt a sudden dampening of her spirits. So this was the girl Tony had talked so glowingly of. Why why, she seemed like nothing but a little slut! Displaying herself in those tight shorts, acting haughty and aloof but certainly not fooling Bette with her attitude; the lovely blonde mother had seen a lot of girls like Debbie Mason in Chicago and environs, and they were all mercenary, hard-hearted individuals who used their youthfully sensuous bodies and their allure to get whatever they wanted. Debbie fitted perfectly into that category, and even though Bette tried to tell herself that she was over-reacting, she experienced a growing tide of resentment and dislike nonetheless.

"How do you do, Mrs. Clark?" Debbie said.

"Fine, thank you," Bette answered.

"I imagine you're very happy to be home after well, after everything."

Even though Debbie was smiling sweetly, Bette sensed a hidden undercurrent of malice in the girl's voice. She kept her own voice even as she replied, "Yes, I'm very happy to be home."

Tony crossed to the lovely black-haired teenager and put an arm possessively about her shoulders, kissing her cheek. He grinned happily, looking at Debbie with the love he obviously felt for the girl plainly mirrored on his big handsome young face--a look that made Bette turn away. "What brings you here tonight, honey?"

She smiled up at him. "Well, I know you told me your mother was coming home today, but I talked to Dan Krauter a little while ago and he reminded me of the Book Fair they're holding tonight over in Billings. I know how much you wanted to go, because there'll be used textbooks that you can use in college in September--and I kind of wanted to go myself. It closes at eleven, which is plenty of time if you still care to drive over, and so I thought I'd come by and mention it to you."

"Gee, I forgot all about the Book Fair," Tony said. "I would like to go, but " He looked at his mother. "Well, I don't think I can make it, Deb. Mom's home now and we're having a kind of celebration "

"Oh please, Tony," Bette said quickly, wanting to please him, wanting him to know that she was on his side. "If you want to go to the Book Fair, you go ahead. I understand perfectly."

"I don't know "

"Books are important, very important, and if you have a chance to pick some up cheaply you should do so," Bette told him. "Why don't you and Debbie go ahead?"

"Thanks, Mrs. Clark," Debbie said sweetly. "Well, Tony, shall we go?"

"I guess so," Tony replied. "As long as it's okay with Mom. And Uncle Ken."

"I think you should," Ken said, for he wanted, suddenly and acutely, to be alone with Bette. He felt a sense of impending excitement that he couldn't exactly define, a need to explore his relationship with his dead brother's lovely blonde wife, a need to be close to her with no one else around. It was a physical need as much as it was an emotional one, a product of his long-repressed feelings and desires for this woman who had been married to his brother, and even though he tried to tell himself that there could be no real intimacy between himself and Bette--tonight, maybe never--he couldn't rid himself of the growing fires of desire which suddenly flamed within him.

It was decided that Tony and Debbie would go to the Book Fair in Billings, and Bette and Ken walked the teenagers to the door. Once there, Tony seemed to want to kiss his mother, and she hoped fervently that he would do so; but instead, he just touched her hand and said, "Good night, Mom," and Bette knew that things were not yet back to any semblance of true normalcy--though she felt that the chance that they would one day be was strong and very real.

When Debbie and Tony had gone, Ken sighed and took Bette's arm, the touch of her flesh sending little shivers of delight through him, and guided her back into the living room. "How about some more champagne?" he suggested as they sat down facing the fire again.

"All right," Bette answered, and Ken poured their glasses full. They drank, then she said, "Ken, I don't like that girl that Debbie. I don't think she's right for Tony."

"Neither do I," Ken admitted.

"Is he really serious about her?"

"I'm afraid he's getting that way."

"Isn't there anything we you can do to dissuade him?"

"I don't think so. He's a pretty stubborn boy when he thinks something is right, and at the moment he thinks Debbie is right."

"Has it gotten to the marital stage yet?"

"No," Ken said, "but it may be pretty close."

"She's well, she's pretty obvious, Ken. Do you know what I mean?"

"All too well," Ken answered.

Abruptly, Bette laughed--a soft, bitter, painful laugh. "Look who's calling the kettle black," she whispered. "What right do I have to judge other people, after the mess I've made of my own life."

"That's all in the past," Ken comforted her. "There's the future to look forward to now, and that will all be different."

"Oh, I hope so, Ken. I hope so desperately."

"It will be," he said positively. He raised his glass. "To the future, Bette to your future, and to Tony's, and to mine."

"To the future," she replied, and they touched glasses and drank.

They had two more pourings of the effervescent liquid, emptying the first bottle, and Ken opened the second. He could feel his entire body growing warm with heat that had nothing whatsoever to do with the crackling fire before him. His breathing grew somewhat irregular, and he moved closer to Bette on the couch. There was a deep tingling in the pit of his stomach, down low in his groin, and no amount of mental urging would dispel it. He could no longer deny the obvious: he wanted his brother's wife, he wanted her now, tonight; it was almost as if he had to have her or else he would explode with the seething passions spiraling through his flesh

The more Bette drank of the champagne, the more warmly contented she began to become, putting thoughts of Debbie Mason completely out of her mind, reveling in the feeling of being wanted, cared for, at last after all the months of desperate loneliness. She felt happy, excited, with the potential salvaging of some of what she had lost when she made her foolish decision five years past. And not only these emotions and hopes and joys were once again living inside Bette Clark, another, baser need began to make itself felt in her mind, a restless wanting that she had not allowed herself to feel since Hale Bixby had forced her out of his home and his life, but which was reborn strongly in her present mood.

She had not had sex, had not had the release of her strong sexual passions, in six full months. She needed, wanted, a man--right now.

Bette moistened her lips, recklessly draining more of the champagne. She was completely, painfully aware of Ken sitting next to her--handsome, quiet, virile Ken, who resembled David so much, who had a lean, hard- muscled body just as David had had, who possibly would be a far better lover than David had ever been

No, no! Bette thought. Oh God, no, I can't think like that, I can't! He's almost like a brother to me, and he's been so kind and good these past few weeks and before that, too, taking Tony in, giving him a home I could destroy everything if I let my feelings run away with me, I could make him hate me, make him turn me out and away from Tony. No, as much as I might want a man, want Ken at this moment, I can't I can't I have to stop thinking about such things because they're impossible, completely and totally

Suddenly, Bette felt the pressure of Ken's warm, masculine thigh against her own as he moved closer to her on the couch, and she turned to face him. His eyes were shining, his cheeks flushed and sheened lightly with perspiration, and his gaze locked and held with her own.