Chapter 2
Cindy Drucker stood in the doorway, holding the screen door open, watching a pair of dusty children scamper in the hot Texas sun. The children ran, laughing and shouting along the dirt road and rounded a ramshackle building, out of sight.
She smiled wearily and reached to rearrange a strand of golden hair that clung wetly to her sweaty forehead, remembering the happy carefree days of her childhood. It was hot, nearly a hundred degrees, but then summer days were always hot in Hurley, Texas-hot and dusty. The heat seemed to hang in the still air like a shimmering screen. Her thin cotton dress was soaked with sweat. Too hot for underwear, the garment clung to her young lush body, outlining her full breasts that required no bra to make them stand out; and to her woman's hips, her sturdy thighs.
She looked out at the weatherbeaten frame houses and beyond to the tall blue mountains on the horizon. The highway led right through town, and often Cindy would lie awake at night, unable to sleep, and listen to the sounds of the cars speeding, passing through Hurley as though it didn't exist.
But Hurley was her world, practically all she had ever known in her eighteen years of life-and she hated it. Often she had thought of running away, to find out what life was like on the other side of that mountain. In her fantasies, she would wait until her stepfather was asleep on the couch, and she'd take a few belongings and tiptoe through the house, gently ease open the front door, and find someone to take her away-to California, or Florida, or New York City.
She would leave him a note, of course-that was the least she could do. After all, he had taken care of her since her mother ran away. But she wouldn't tell him where she was going, or he might follow her and try to bring her back. She didn't want to live it in a small, dirty desert town.
It would be no trouble finding people going to distant places. Practically everybody coming to Hurley was just passing through on their way to somewhere else. Or else they came to visit the Prairie Flower Saloon which sold more than the beer its sign advertised.
She looked up suddenly at the crunch of gravel, her reverie broken. Quickly she closed the screen door and hurried to the kitchen where she busied herself with the dishes. In the front of the house, the door opened and closed. Her step-father's heavy footsteps came closer, then stopped.
She forced herself not to turn around. She could hear his heavy breathing and knew he was angry with her again. She hoped he wouldn't spank her.
"Is ... is that you, father?" she managed, finally.
"Who the hell were you expecting?" Fred Drucker said.
He was right behind her, and the loudness of his voice made her start. She turned and gave him a wan smile. His lean face was flushed with anger. He pointed an accusing finger at her.
"You miserable little whore!" he said.
She winced at the words, but she kept the smile on her face. Fred Drucker was standing in the doorway. He was wearing a white shirt and bowtie he wore at his job in the hotel. The shirt was dirty at the collar and stained by sweat. His blue slacks and loafers were covered with dust. His face was dark with anger as he clenched his fists and glared at her.
"You thought I wouldn't find out about you, Cindy Drucker," he said, daring her to deny it.
Cindy wet her lips which were suddenly dry. "Find out about, ... what?"
"About you and this-this boy you saw last night."
"Who told you about that?"
"Never mind who told me-I got friends around this town. I nearly sank through the floor with shame when I heard what you and he did."
It was a bluff. "I didn't do anything wrong," she said defensively.
He laughed harshly. "Didn't do anything wrong? You were seen driving out of town in the direction of the gravel pit. You think it's nothing wrong to park in a car and let some dirty boy put his hands all over you?"
"We were just talking, that's all," she lied.
He took a beligerent step toward her. "Don't you lie to me, Cindy Drucker. You're a rotten slut, just like your mother. All you can think about is what she always thought about-sex! Sex with as many men as she could find, in as many ways as she knew how."
"That's not true!" Cindy said. She fought to hold back the tears of anger and frustration starting to sting her eyes.
Fred Drucker stared at her, and his gaze wandered across her body, lingering where the wet dress was pulled tight by the dampness across her breasts and stomach and thighs.
His look frightened her, and she backed away.
His face softened, turned pleading. "Tell me about it, baby. About what really happened, I mean. I'm your father, remember. I'll understand."
"We had a soda at the drugstore," she said, "and then we took a ride because it was so hot, and we parked and talked for a while."
"Did he kiss you?"
"Yes," she said. "And what else?"
"Nothing else!"
"He must have done more than that," her stepfather persisted. "Did he put his hand on your breasts."
"No," she lied.
"Under your skirt?" he said, moving toward her.
"No, no, no."
"You're lying!" Fred Drucker shouted.
He reached out suddenly and caught the top of her dress. His lean, hard fingers closed about the material and pulled. His knuckles felt rough against the smooth skin of her breasts. Instinctively she pulled away and the dress tore.
For a moment she stood there, not comprehending what had happened, and then she looked down at herself, at the huge rip in the front of her dress which had fallen away to the navel, spilling her large, firm white breasts into the open. Quickly she put her hands in front of her.
Fred Drucker stared at her. "Beautiful," he murmured. He took a tentative step toward her. He wet his lips. "You're just like your mother, Mamie, was when I married her."
Cindy felt cold fear grip her. She had seen her stepfather this way before, looking at her in a way that made her skin crawl.
"Cindy," he said. His voice was hoarse.
He reached out toward her, and she shrank back from his eager hands. The dress fell open again, but her mind was too filled with terror to cover herself again. His fingers contacted her skin.
She screamed.
He recoiled, blinking in surprise. Then his face became angry again. "So," he said harshly, "you'll let some stranger paw you in the back seat of a car-but you won't even let your father touch you. Young lady, you need a lesson."
"No, please;" she begged. "I'm sorry."
"Not as sorry as you're going to be," he promised.
His fingers closed on the remaining material of the dress and pulled. The dress tore further, dragging a cry of hurt from her. She felt too numb with terror to do anything but stand there before him, trembling, naked, crying. Her breasts quivered as her body shook. Roughly he pulled her to him and sat quickly on a kitchen chair, dragging her across his lap.
"Remember, I'm still your father, and you ain't too old for a whipping," he said.
She opened her mouth to protest, but his hand came down smartly on her behind, forcing a cry of pain from her. His hand rose and fell again and again, until her cries took on a whimpering quality. Her eyes were blinded with tears of shame, hurt and humiliation. The sharp crack of his palm was loud in her ears. She felt his other hand move along her leg. She knew from her position across his lap and the hard masculine feel of him that he was very excited.
Finally, he stood up, dumping her off his lap.
"There, that should teach you a lesson," he said.
She sat on the floor, not looking up at him. What he was thinking was physically obvious. She scrambled to her feet, ran across the room to the bathroom, and locked the door .His mocking laugh followed her.
A moment later, he said, "I'm going out. You be here when I get back."
He didn't wait for an answer. The screen door opened and slammed shut. Cindy waited for a moment, then opened the bathroom door. Naked, she peered out into the empty room. Her behind was still sore where he'd spanked her, and by twisting around she could see that it was quite red.
She knew where Fred Drucker was going. To the Prairie Flower Saloon, to the bedrooms upstairs where the "barmaids" would do anything a man wanted for five dollars.
Despite the heat of day, Cindy felt cold. It was only a matter of time before her stepfather decided to save himself five dollars by getting something just as good or better-right in his own home-his stepdaughter Cindy!