Jerry's POV

She's still testing me, seeing how far she can go. That's understandable. Can't expect her to settle in to such a changed situation without a little thrashing around. I'm really pleased with the way things are going. In her situation, some women would just give up and go wonky. What do they call it? Catatonic. Others wouldn't stop screaming and fighting unless they were beaten senseless. I guess they'd call it pride and defiance. I'd call it stupid.

It's those novels and movies, I guess. A lot of them have situations something like this in them. And they all go on about the captive fighting gallantly till their final breath, enduring all sorts of painful shit. In reality, most folks will do an awful lot to avoid pain, or even discomfort.

Scribe hasn't bought into the popular resist or die thought, thank goodness. She pushes back till I let her know in no uncertain terms what has to be, then she behaves. I'm glad, because I wouldn't have the heart to really hurt her.

Like just a minute ago, when she rebelled about my carrying her. It's a small thing, but having her own way on this would be bad for her, so I won't allow it. I have to take control again, show her who's in charge. I do it as quickly and painlessly as I can. A lot of men would have smacked her into submission. I think it works better to kiss her into submission, and it's a hell of a lot more fun, too.

In a minute more she's soft and pliable again, willing to do what I say. But I don't forget the desperate glitter I saw in her eyes. I remember the lines she laid on Benji's arm back in the van, and the way she went for me just now. She thinks she's all civilized and rational, but she's got a wild streak in her, and I've got to get it gentled down. Not gone, though. I don't want a mindless fuck doll.

I kick on the door to Justine's cabin, and someone opens it for me. I carry her inside and let her slide back down my body till her feet are on the ground. James is just shutting the door, and he's looking at her, smirking. I realize that the slide has rucked up the hem of her skirt, catching it between us far up over her knees. I quickly push it back down, keeping an arm around her waist.

He may be my brother in law, but his eyes wander too much. I don't like it one bit.

Scribe's POV

This cabin is bigger than Jerry's. The front section is almost twice as large, and there are doors that lead off to what must be bedrooms. Still, the place seems a little cramped, from the number of people in it.

Besides myself, Jerry, and James, there are Ron and Lally, sitting at a dining table, close together. A little dark haired boy of about ten sits with them, eating a bowl of oatmeal. He pauses, spoon halfway to his mouth to watch me with dark, interested eyes.

A thin woman with puffy ankles visible beneath a loose housedress is standing in the kitchen area, beaming at us. Her face is pretty, but a little puffy also, and tired. She has the same blue black hair as Ron and Jerry, and I decide this must be their sister, Justine.

My eyes skate around the room, and I see a tiny, beribboned bassinette against the wall not too far from a potbellied woodstove. That must explain her tired, bloated state. She's had a baby not too long ago.

"Okay, Scribe. That's my sister, Justine. James, you met, and Ron and Lally." He points at the little boy. "That bruiser there is Joshua, Justine's boy. The baby is Janelle, and she's brand new. Not more'n three weeks. Everybody, this is Scribe."

There are murmurs and nods. I just stare at them, not really having anything to say. Joshua finally gets the spoon to his mouth, and makes a face, probably because it's cold. His uncle Ron looks at him sternly, though, and he doesn't spit it out. He swallows quickly, and takes another bite. I think about the number of kids I've seen in public petulantly spitting and throwing food.

Jerry escorts me over and holds a chair for me. I sit, and he pats me, then goes over to speak to his sister. They speak in low voices, occasionally looking my way.

Joshua smiles at me shyly, and offers a piece of toast. Before I can reach for it, Jerry calls, "Uh uh, Josh." When I frown at him, he says, "Scribe, remember that your throat is still sore. You don't need anything scratchy just yet. Be patient and I'll bring you something."

I flush with angry embarrassment, then tell myself that I'm being silly. None of these people could possibly understand why I'd have a sore throat, that it could be caused by... Then I notice James sitting opposite me, smiling. I shudder and turn away.

There is a soft padding sound, and suddenly a preschooler in footsie pajamas squirms up between me and the empty chair beside me. I can't tell whether it's a boy or a girl. The little body is sturdy. The thick, wavy hair is dark blonde, and there are sharp bones beneath the baby plumpness. His eyes are turquoise. James's child, beyond doubt. It regards me with that peculiar intensity only infants, small children, and the possibly deranged are capable of.

Joshua points with his spoon. "'ats Jacob, my baby brother." Jacob studies me, then favors me with a wide grin that sports a not-quite- complete set of baby teeth. He's decided he likes me. The look is so open and friendly that I can't help smiling back.

He extends stubby arms, grabbing at me, and begins to try to climb up into my lap. I bend down and scoop him up, bundling him onto my lap, and holding him securely. He sighs happily and settles against me. He plugs his right thumb securely into his mouth, reaches up and back with his left hand, and begins to comb his fingers in the fringe of hair under my ear that he can just barely reach.

"Just pitch him off if he bothers you," says James.

I give him a blank look. "He doesn't bother me." I hug the child, and he gives a burbling chuckle. Jacob is a charmer, and knows it. God, this feels so good, so normal.

I never get enough of children, or babies. My sister only had the one child, and Eva has been grown a long time. I'm not close to anyone else with infants or small children. No one seems to need babysitters, at least not unrelated single woman babysitters. I have to get my babylove fix by volunteering in the church nursery. And even then, you have to be careful how much you cuddle, or people will think you odd. I've put away infants after noticing the other volunteers in the nursery exchanging pitying poor old maid looks.

I had an acquaintance once ask me why I didn't have children of my own, as I loved them and seemed to do well with them. I'd replied, rather snappishly, that I supposed my mother would prefer it if I got married first. Another new acquaintance asked if I had a child, and I replied that they hadn't seen a star in the east lately, had they? Yes, I guess I'm a little touchy about that subject.

Jerry comes over, carrying a full plate, and sits beside me. He puts the plate on the table, setting a spoon beside it. Huh, a spoon. Apparently they're still keeping sharp objects away from me. I wonder whether he's worried that I'll try to use them as a weapon, or to hurt myself. I wonder which I'd do, if either.

Jerry ruffles the toddler's hair, and receives a bright smile around the thumb. "So, Jakey, you like your new aunt?"

Jacob removes his thumb with a pop. "Whas 'er name?"

"Scribe."

"An' Scwibe." He resumes his thumb, his free hand patting my face.

"You got a permanent lap pet there, Scribe." says Jerry.

"He's your nephew?"

Jerry nods. "Him and Janelle are Justine and James's kids. Josh there, well, his daddy died a few years back. Albert was Justine's first husband. A good man." He adjusted the plate a little, not looking at James.

The atmosphere was a little strained, and not just because of me. I got the impression that the Bellewood family wasn't best pleased with Mr. James.

Jerry dipped up a spoonful of scrambled eggs, and Jacob made a grab. "Uh uh, big guy, these aren't for you. Go see your mom. She has cinnamon buns for you."

I understood perfectly when the little boy hopped down and toddled quickly to the kitchen area. Mom and cinnamon buns should come first at that age.

Jerry slid his chair closer and offered the spoon. But when I tried to take it, he held it back, shaking his head. "Open you mouth, hon."

I flushed. It would be embarrassing to be fed in front of all these people. "No."

He is calm, but unmoved. "Put your hands in your lap and let me feed you."

"Why?"

"Because I want to, that's all the reason you need." I look around miserably, but Ron and Lally are studiously involved in each other, and Justine is fussing with Jacob. Joshua has taken his empty bowl to the kitchen, and is helping himself to the cinnamon buns.

James is watching, elbow propped on the table, chin in hand, blue green eyes fixed. I feel the spoon nudge my lips. "Scribe, c'mon." I take the bite and chew, eyes downcast. I suppose they taste good. I'm really not in any state to judge right now.

Jerry spoon feeds me scrambled eggs and home fries, the potatoes cooked to a barely firm consistency, but laced with miniscule scraps of bacon and fried onion. Instead of toast he fixes me soft biscuits, lashed with butter and homemade strawberry preserves, falling into crumbs that won't irritate my throat. Objectively speaking, it's one of the better breakfasts in my life, at least as far as food goes.

But when he is done with the biscuits, his fingers are smeared with butter and jam and, like in the plane, he presses them to my lips. He's sitting very close. He's wrapped his left arm around me, drawing me as close as the separate seats allow, pressing the sticky fingers of his right hand to my mouth, murmuring gentle encouragements in my ear.

Hands twisting in my lap, I close my eyes and do what he wants, licking them clean. This time, when I'm done, he doesn't slide them into my mouth, thank God. I think I'd have a screaming fit, because James hasn't taken his eyes off me the entire time. I can feel his gaze like a weight.

I'm not the only one who notices it. Justine comes over and sits beside him, rubbing his leg. He glances at her, smiles slightly, and tosses an arm negligently around her shoulders. It isn't really an affectionate gesture. It's like a half hearted caress you might give an over eager pet to keep it from bothering you when you're busy.

I manage a smile at her, at least twitching my lips. I hope she isn't going to be mad at me because her husband is, well, leering. "That was very good. Thank you."

"You're welcome, sweetheart. If you need any help in learning how to cook..."

"I can cook, as long as I have a gas stove." I'm expected to cook for him, too?

"You're from the Gulf Coast, right? High altitude can be a little different. Anything you need to know, just ask."

"Okay. Where the hell am I, and how can you people act like this is normal?"

There is sudden silence, then James barks with laughter. "Well, aren't you just a little laser beam, cutting through the bullshit?"

"Shut up, James." Jerry says quietly. "Scribe, they're just bein' nice."

"Nice?" I don't raise my voice, unconsciously trying not to alarm the children who are now playing in the living area. "For god's sake. I--have--been--kidnapped! Don't you people understand that? Hello, can you say felony? Several of them, in fact. Kidnapping during the commission of another felony, false imprisonment..." I choke for a moment, then manage to get it out. "...rape. Call it marriage by abduction if you want to, but I haven't been given any fucking say in this. I never wanted any of this, I never wanted to get married." I give Jerry a vicious look. "I think all that could add up to the death penalty in Texas."

The women look stunned. Ron looks sober, James is grinning, and Jerry... Dammit, Jerry has the nerve to look hurt. "Look, I don't know where the hell I am. I'd never be able to give anyone directions here. Slap a blindfold on me and drop me near a public road, and I'll find my own way home. I won't know anything when they pick me up. I'll have the most complete case of traumatic amnesia they've ever run across. They'll write fucking textbooks on me. Just let me go."

There is silence, and I look from one to the other. I didn't really hope to accomplish anything. It had just gotten so surreal that I HAD to state the reality of the situation. At least the reality as I saw it.

Nothing. Most of them are studiously avoiding looking at me, except Jerry and James. I put my face in my hands and breath deeply. Jerry says quietly, "Have you got that out of your system now?" I nod tiredly. "Good. Don't mention it again."

I rub my eyes and mutter savagely. "Yes, Master."

I wish I hadn't done that, because when I look up again, James is licking his lips. I glare, but he just smiles, and does it again. Jerry is busy returning the plate to the kitchen, Ron and Lally are preoccupied, as usual, and Jacob has come to Justine to have his sticky face wiped. No one notices.

James gets up. "Jer, I thought I saw a load of laundry over there at your place."

Jerry almost swears, before catching sight of his youngest nephew watching him. "Yeah. I gotta go get it."

"No prob, I'll take care of it." James is already dragging his coat on as he heads for the door. "Door's open, right?" Again, not waiting for an answer he breezes out.