There was something about the name Ben Gordon that I knew I should remember. When it came to me. Old Ben Gordon was supposed to be half crazy, and his...young wife was rumored to be loose with men. I'd heard some farm wives talking once while visiting with Aunt Linda. I was starting to question my uncle's motives for stopping at the Gordon place when I heard soft laughter coming from a bedroom window near the back of the house. A bed squeaked and I heard more laughter--Uncle Nat's. The female. I went to the semi-basement den, where we kept the billiards table, foosball, home theater and other toys. In the middle of the room there was a long coffee table made of rustic wood. It would do perfectly, I imagined, until we came up with something else.I placed the leather thongs, around each leg of the table, ready to tie wrists, knees, or ankles, as needed; a folded blanket would provide some necessary padding.I laid the crop, bullwhip and cane on the billiards table. Wafts of my own musk. More

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