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When I left the house, Cass headed back up to the ballroom. Lost in thought, I meandered over to my room in the far bunkhouse where I lay in bed and thought about Cousin Cass. It was amazing how he looked so much like my dad.

When I was a little kid, Gran gave me some photos of my dad. My favorite was of him kneeling behind me with his arms around me. She gave me a bible that had belonged to him to keep the photos in. As a kid I'd kept it hidden in the back of my bottom drawer and only took it out to look at them when I knew I'd be alone. If my stepdad had known I had them, he'd have confiscated and destroyed them. Now that I was a grown man, I kept the bible on my bedside table where I could look at the photos whenever I wanted.

I took them out and compared the image of my dad to my memory of Cass. Other than Cass having more hair, they could have been identical twins. As I lay there, I recalled my young teenage fantasies of my dad coming back and taking me as his lover. I wondered if all young queer kids had that kind of fantasy - maybe only those that didn't have their dads to raise them, like me. I wondered if it would be incestuous to make it with Cass. Then I wondered what it would matter. It wasn't like we could make babies. I'd kind of gotten a feeling that he would be receptive, but then it was probably just my over active imagination. It would be fun to get to know him anyway. I fell asleep looking forward to tomorrow's picnic.

* * *

Gran had conscripted me to oversee the barbeque. Barbeque does not mean meat burnt over charcoal. No, this was real barbeque - Mexican Barbacoa - meat buried in a pit, slow cooked over heated rocks. The whole process takes a couple of days. A yearling calf and two young hogs were prepared for the pit. Slivers of garlic were pierced into the flesh an inch apart over the entire carcass of each quartered critter. They were salted and peppered, then sewed up in washed cotton cloth to keep off the ashes and dirt.

A huge fire of oak logs burned down to coals in the bottom of the pit with eight inch boulders placed in the fire. Once the wood was reduced to glowing coals, two large sheets of corrugated steel were lowered into the pit to cover the stones. The sewn up hunks of meat were then placed on the steel sheets and covered with two more sheets of steel and then the pit was filled in with dirt. It was left to slowly cook for twenty-four hours. That's real barbeque.

Gran had a recipe for barbeque sauce that was supposedly an old Texas cowboy recipe handed down for generations. It may have been, all I knew was that there was none I liked better. It called for four pounds of chopped onions sautéed in a couple of pounds of butter. Two gallons of mild tomato catsup, a couple of bottles of Worcestershire sauce, two cups of yellow mustard, and Tabasco to taste mixed with the onions, then simmered on very low heat for two days. I've cut the recipe to one quarter and it tasted as good, but any smaller it's flavor changed.

* * *

Midday Saturday the meat had been disinterred and I was busy playing chef, slicing it up and putting it out with all the other food that the lady folks had piled in with when a firm hand landed on my shoulder. I looked up to see Sammy's dad. I dropped the big knife and kitchen fork and grabbed him around the neck. It had been too many years since I'd seen him.

"My God, Dad Bowden. It's so good to see you. I'm ashamed it's been so long since I dropped by."

He gave me a big strong hug, then grasping my forearms, he held me away so he could look at me. I felt like a kid again.

"You've matured into a fine man, Jack. Your Gran tells me you've taken over the Pecos spread and doing a fine job of it."

When his wife died about five years ago, I'd been over in Northern California at the Lazy J ranch, which was well known for their superb quarter horses, buying a couple of mares. I'd sent flowers and a condolence card with the intent of stopping to see him. But it was round up time and I had the ranch up north of Pecos to oversee. By the time things had settled, I'd forgotten about it. I suspect my dread of facing Sammy might have had a lot to do with it. Anyway, Gran had conveyed my sympathy to both men.

While we talked, we wandered over to the coolers and each got a beer and found a shady place to sit and talk some more - mostly about ranching. We were interrupted by a little boy coming up and sidling into Dad Bowden's arms. I'm sure I turned white as a catfish's belly. The boy was the spittin' image of his daddy.

Dad Bowden studied me as I tried to regain my composure. He smiled sadly and said, "I don't know what happened between you two, but it's high time you put it behind you and made up. Sammy has never since been the happy go lucky boy that left on that high school trip. Gran tells me it's been much the same with you. Sammy misses you, Jack. He's stubborn as an ol' jackass and won't admit it, but I know what I see. I got a feeling you're as stubborn as he is."

I tried to smile and shrug it off. I wasn't about to discuss what had occurred between Sammy and me, but I got a strong feeling that Dad Bowden strongly suspected what happened. Sammy's little boy was looking at me with the same expression on his face as his daddy used to have when he was wondering what I was thinking.

"What's your name, Son?' I asked.

"I'm J.C. Bowden." It sounded like Jacy the way he said it.

Before I could respond, Dad Bowden said, "He was named after you, Jack. Sammy was adamant. It was one of the straws that broke up his marriage."

All I could think to say was, "Damn." I couldn't look at Dad Bowden, so I stared at the ground. Finally I looked up and asked, "Where is he?"

"He's sitting over there on his tailgate doin' some paper work, pretending he's taking care of business."

I stood up and looked down at J.C., then at his granddaddy. I swallowed hard before I could say, "Guess I'd better go bury the hatchet."

As I turned away, I heard him mutter, "Or something." I wondered how much he knew about our high school senior trip to Big Bend.

* * *

Sammy was sitting on the tailgate of his pickup facing away from the picnic doings writing something on a clipboard. I approached from that side so he didn't notice me until I sat down beside him. He stared big eyed at me, looking much like his son had a few minutes ago, then laid the clipboard aside, capped his pen and stuck it in his shirt pocket, never taking his eyes off me.

I watched a tenuous smile attempt to curl the edges of his mouth while his Adam's apple bobbed up and down. "Jack," he whispered.

"Hi, Sammy."

He stared at me a while before he said, "I've missed you, Jack."

"You've always known where to find me."

"Why'd you leave?"

I knew he was talking about that night in Big Bend. Suddenly the pain was as fresh as if it had just happened. "You turned your back to me. You were obviously disgusted with me, so I left."

"Disgusted with you? That's so much bullshit. I was ashamed of myself. Christ, I raped you, Jack."

My laugh was bitter. "How the hell could you think you'd raped me? I was as eager as you. As I recall, I had my tongue as far down your throat as yours had been down mine. I was pushing against you as much as you were pushing against me. I was so hot for you that I came before you did."

He sat there staring at me for several seconds, then that ornery amused look I loved so much was back in his eyes. "You did not. I came first."

"You're still full of shit, Sammy."

He grinned. "Yeah? As full of it as you?"

I laughed. It was as if all those years hadn't been.

"Hey," he said, "let's go find Dad and I'll introduce you to my little boy." Sammy had hiked his butt off the tailgate. He took my hand and pulled me to my feet.

"Dad Bowden and I've already had a conversation, and I've already met J.C., Sammy."

"Cute kid isn't he?" He asked, looking at me as I draped my arm around his shoulders. He stuck a hand in my rear pocket.

"Spittin' image of his dad," I answered. I wondered if he was prepared for all the comments we were going to be barraged with. If he was; then I was.

"So you think I'm cute?"

"No, I don't think you're cute… although you try to be." He looked hurt, so I grinned at him and added, "But I think you're damn handsome."

"You're the one that's good-lookin', Jack."

Damn, it was good falling right back into our old ways as if nine years were nothing. Unfortunately, my stepdad was near enough to not only see us with my arm around his shoulders, but to hear our silly banter, too.

He walked up and snickered nastily, "Well, well, looks like you ladies have finally made up."

At twenty-six, I had never shown the son of a dog anything but respect even though he could hardly abide me. I dropped my arm from Sammy's shoulder and turned on him. One thing he didn't know about me was that I'd spent much of my free time during college years in a dojo learning martial arts, and I've continued practicing ever since. He's threatened to take a rawhide rope to me many times over the years. He had it coiled in his hand now. He'd been showing off his dexterity in using it - making his grandsons run zigzag across his path while he'd lazily tossed the loop over them, bringing them to an abrupt halt and usually a tumble. God, I had hated it when he made me do that when I was their age. I had an urge to rip the rope from him and use it on him. I wondered where Josh was and why he was allowing his dad to abuse his kids like that.

I got right in his face. "All my life I've put up with your crap out of respect for my mother, but I've had all I will take. One more bit of crap out of your mouth and you're going to find yourself flat on your back."

He smirked and slid his eyes over Sammy. "Girly here going to help you try?"

Before he could blink, his nose met the heel of my hand. He staggered back, wiped his hand across his bloody mouth and with a roar raised the coiled rawhide rope and swung it at me. I danced out of its path, grabbed it, and with a little yank, he stumbled forward and met the flats of my hands against the sides of his head. I resisted using enough force to burst his eardrums, but it would be a few days before the aching and ringing stopped. He dropped to his knees holding his head.

Just as I pushed the ass onto his back with my foot my two middle brothers raced over and grabbed my arms; I assumed to keep me from doing more harm to their father.

"Hold the bastard, Boys," the son of a bitch snarled, getting to his feet. "I'm going to show him what's for."

"Please, let go of me," I quietly said to them. "This is between me and him."

"He's our father," Dwayne protested.

"And I'm your brother."

"Half brother," Donny injected.

I raised an eyebrow at him and glanced at Dwayne. He nodded in agreement. I suppose they thought that since there were two of them I wouldn't resist. I nodded back. "So be it," I said, and with a couple of quick maneuvers they were both flat on their backs looking surprised.

My stepdad was still on his knees. I stepped back where I could keep all three of them in sight. The whole famdamily had gathered around. My oldest and youngest brothers were standing with our mother just to the right of their father.

I glared at Donny and Dwayne and used my chin to point at their dad. "You three want to gang up on me? You'll lose." I glanced at Josh and Jake. "How about you two? Five of you might have a chance of taking me down."

Josh answered. "You're my brother, Jack. Dad's always treated you badly. I stand with you."

"I do, too, Big Bro," Jake, my youngest brother, added. He looked at his dad. "Sorry, Dad, but it's true. You've always been a shit to Jack. I can no longer stand aside and let you get away with it."

I heard Gran quietly say, "Good for you, Jacob."

My stepdad staggered to his feet with fire in his eyes. Glaring at me, he said, "Now you're turning my own sons against me."

"No, Sir, I'm not. It's all your own doing."

"I want you off this ranch. I've had enough of your high handedness."

"You seem to forget who you're speaking to, Sir," I said quietly without emotion.

"Oh?" he yelled. "Just who in hell am I speaking to, if not my faggot stepson?"

I looked around at all my relatives wondering if any of them would align with him. I noticed Karny smirking. She said something to Cass who frowned and moved away from her. I inwardly smiled as I looked back at my stepdad. "If you'd paid attention, you'd have noticed that it has been my signature on your paycheck since the day I turned twenty-five. You're speaking, Sir, to the owner of this ranch. And if you will recall . . . you're only the foreman." I watched his florid face lose its color.

"I don't like you, Sir," I said, "any more than you like me. If you weren't my mother's husband and my brothers' father, you wouldn't be running this ranch. And if you wish to continue running it, you will apologize to Sam for your nastiness and keep a civil tongue from now on."

He stared at the ground while Dwayne picked up his dad's hat and Donny re-coiled his rope. They handed them to him and walked over to stand with Josh and Jake, who stood with Mom between them. My stepdad looked at them, then at me. He didn't look defeated, but he nodded his head once and said, "You win."

"There was no contest here. There is no winner, nor loser."

He glanced at me, nodded again and turned to Sammy. "Mr. Bowden, there was no call for what I said. Please accept my apology."

Sammy glanced at me, then nodded in return.

Gran called out, "Food's getting cold, Children." I love the way the grand old lady can put her whole brood back on track with just one word.