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Sam slipped his key card into the apartment building's lock, pulled the heavy door open, and stepped into the lobby, which still, after all these years, smelled faintly of cigar smoke and waxed wood. He pried off his dirty shoes, set them next to Jonah's sodden sneakers, and quietly closed the door. 'I don't think anyone's asleep, but Owen gets so few hours of uninterrupted sleep, I don't want to wake him if he is. Since Corey's still up at the capital, maybe Jonah's over for a visit.' As he climbed the stairs to the two apartments, his steps muffled by the thick carpet, he heard low voices, followed by Owen's carefree laugh. 'Well, he's not asleep.' Sam paused. 'I wonder...,' he thought to himself, as he took extra care to climb the remaining steps in absolute silence. The scene which greeted him, as he looked into the apartment, was a fantasy come true. Jonah and Owen, both naked, were sprawled on the rug in front of the fireplace. Owen was on his back, one knee bent, his foot resting flat on the rug. Jonah was lying on his side, propped up on an elbow, with one leg lying across his brother's. Owen softly laughed at something Jonah said, then tenderly caressed his brother's flawless cheek, pausing at his mouth, before moving over his jaw and down his neck. They continued speaking, in voices too low for Sam to hear, while Jonah lovingly ran his hands over his brother's belly and chest, then trailed his fingers through his hair. He murmured something, then leaned forward and tenderly kissed Owen's lips, his warm smile, and the look in his eyes, speaking volumes. Both men were nearly the same height, but, since Owen was more muscular, he appeared shorter. Jonah was long and lean, his pale skin continuing uninterrupted by a tan line. Like Owen, he seldom had to shave, which left his face baby-smooth. 'I've never seen anything like this,' Sam thought to himself, as Jonah leaned down to meet his brother's lips for another slow, deep kiss. 'Oh geez,' Sam inwardly groaned, as, from time-to-time, the two men's tongues were visible. He knew exactly what they were experiencing. Owen's kisses were wonderful, as were Jonah's. A kiss, with either, is a gentle exploration of one another's mouth and tongue. 'Lucas is a good kisser,' Sam mused, but absolutely nothing like Owen or Jonah. 'You'd think they'd been practicing all their life, but Owen says not.' "We've never kissed one another until a couple months ago, so the only practice I had, until I moved back to Riverton, was with you and Lucas. Why?" he asked, when Sam once mentioned the subject. Sam had shook his head in amazement, in response. "One of your or Jonah's kisses leaves a guy weak at the knees. He's ruined for life," Sam teased. "Forever after, he's gonna compare any kiss he gets with yours." Owen had smiled. "Well . . . since you're already . . . ruined-for-life," he said, in a droll tone of voice, "let's get in some practice time." He crooked an eyebrow, his smile causing his grey eyes to twinkle. "I haven't tasted your tongue for . . . geez, at least an hour." Sam stepped away from the open door and quietly skinned out of his shirt, then, after dropping his jeans and underwear in a heap on the floor, he returned to watching the two brothers, taking care to remain in the shadows. Jonah said something which caused Owen to laugh. 'Oh,' Sam thought, 'he doesn't laugh nearly enough. Neither of 'em do.' He rubbed a forefinger over the head of his penis and licked the finger clean, savoring his own taste, so different from Lucas', or either of the men in front of the fireplace. 'I'm glad they're able to relax with one another.' Jonah tenderly caressed his brother's cheek and lips. When Owen opened his mouth and began sucking on the finger, Sam's knees went weak. 'I havenever seen anything like this,' he thought. 'Watching the two of 'em, has been a fantasy of mine since before I knew Jonah was gay, and this is way better'n any fantasy I ever had . . . and I've had plenty.' The light cast by the fire gilded Owen's blond hair, coloring his light tan, bronze. Each movement became a slow dance of shifting shadows, as the two brothers kissed, cloaked in quiet, untroubled, happiness. * * * Lucas restlessly turned onto his stomach, irritated by the stuffy motel room and too-soft bed. 'There's really no problem with it,' he guiltily thought, silently apologizing to the motel's owners. 'It's just not home, and, the guys aren't here. I don't like sleeping alone. I miss the joking and horseplay, just like I miss the sound of the guys' breathing'. He listened to the sound of the crickets in the trees outside the open windows. 'Even they sound lonely,' he thought. 'At home, someone is always saying or doing something. It's never this quiet.' He compressed his lips, thinking of Owen's increasingly frequent nightmares, and his frightened shouts. 'That's the sort of noise I can do without.' Lucas shook his head. 'The poor guy. He never had nightmares when I met him. They began though, shortly after he returned to Riverton, and he saw his father die.' Lucas closed his eyes, but sleep did not come. As always, his mind was awash in plans, ideas, goals. The grocery store, his primary reason for being in Evanston, was foremost on his mind, followed closely by the welfare of the greenhouses, and their contents, and by the major problem of how to transport the vegetables and flowers they were growing, to the various markets Sam had begun developing as clients. He and Bailey had spoken briefly about the problem. Then, Bailey and Riley had gone back to the City. Lucas linked his fingers behind his head and stared at the dark ceiling. 'I wonder if Mother and Dad got home okay. It was sort'a emotional there, for a moment, when they were ready to leave. I've never known Mother to get choked up about anything. I would have expected it would be me who would get emotional, not her.' "Promise me you'll take care of yourself and the boys," she said, collectively naming Sam and Owen, as well as Jonah and Corey. She tightened her embrace. "I'm going to miss you all, so much." As she reluctantly backed away, she added, "I'm going to also miss all this," she said, gesturing to the surroundings. "I've found something here." "Peace?" Lucas suggested. Olivia thought a moment. "That, surely, but also a sense of . . . rightness, of innocence. It's not something one can put into words. It's something one . . . feels." She gave her son a wry smile. "I'm like Bailey, though. I love Riverton, the people, and all this," she gestured to the horizon, which seemed to go on forever, "yet I could not live here. Unlike you, this is not where my heart resides. This isn't home." "I'm going to miss you, too, Mother," he grinned, "and you, too, Dad," he added, surprising his father by giving him a quick hug. "Like your mother has said, we had a wonderful time. We're both very proud of you and what you've accomplished. I know you were worried about what we would think, but there was no need. Lucas," he rested a hand on his son's shoulder. "What you have already done is nothing short of phenomenal. I can not imagine what lies ahead. You do the family name proud." Lucas bowed his head. "It wasn't only me. I couldn't have done anything without the support of everyone, the guys, Bea and Daniel . . . everyone. I'm glad you approve." "Now, get busy establishing a grocery store," his mother said. "That grocer . . . person . . . bothers me. I keep wondering what she'll do next, to create even more agitation." Olivia shook her head, as if driving away thoughts of Maxine, then added. "You take care of yourself, dear. I've become very attached to you, over the years." "As I have you," Lucas said. "Now, you both had better leave. Bailey's folks are probably wondering what's taking you so long, and if you don't head out soon, I'll be bawling." He did his best to grin. "I never have handled good bye's very well." Olivia quickly kissed him on the cheek, then took her husband's hand and resolutely turned away. 'Ah, yes . . .' Lucas sighed, thinking of his mother's words. 'The grocery store.' He tried to fluff the limp pillow, and finally gave up, disturbed by thoughts of Maxine, a woman motivated by anger and revenge. 'I'm going to be experiencing all sorts of grief, by going into competition with that woman. I'm afraid of what she'll do when she finds out what I intend. I'm not only afraid for me and the guys, but for Millie. After all, she's the one who has volunteered her store to house the new business. Not only is it a nicer building than Maxine's, the atmosphere can't help but be better, and we'll have a larger selection of products.' Lucas thought for a moment. 'I'm not really going into competition with her. With all the enemies she's created over the years, there's no way she can compete.' He sighed. 'I'm sort'a sorry. My goal isn't to drive her out of business, it's to create an alternative, and to have a local place where Jonah and I can sell what we grow in the greenhouses. 'Now, if I can only entice Clyde, of Bessie-the-car fame, and his father, Hank, to relocate. Hank's experience is key to the entire idea.' Lucas yawned, and turned over, the sound of the chirping crickets finally relaxing him enough to sleep. He absently tried to fluff the pillow. "G'night, Cowboy," he said. "G'night, Sam. I love you both." * * * "Nathan!" Franklin Pruitt shouted in panic, awakened from a disturbing dream by the sudden sound of the telephone ringing. He blearily glanced at the bedside clock. No, not Nathan. He'll still be in the air. "What could be so important for someone to call me in the middle of the night?" he groused. On the third ring, he picked up the receiver, steeling himself. 'Bad news always arrives in the middle of the night.' "Hello," he managed, cursing his racing heart. "Hello, this is Franklin." * * * Sam leaned against the door frame, still out of sight, his eyes never leaving the two men in front of him, as he continued to slowly stimulate himself. Every few strokes, he would smear his pre-cum over the head of his cock, then lick his finger clean. 'I sure would like to be able to suck myself, like Jonah. All I can do is roll back on my shoulders and shoot into my mouth. Sometimes I'm so caught up in the feelings, my aim's not so good and my stuff splashes against my forehead, or my cheek, but most often, I get hit in the eye. When Jonah sucks himself off, he's working his cock with his tongue and lips when he shoots, so he never misses. I wonder if he's ever shown Corey what he can do?' Tonight though, Jonah was not sucking himself. Not a dozen feet away, he lay on his right side with his left leg and knee pulled back to his chest. His low-hanging scrotum rested on his thigh, while his penis rigidly stretched along his lower belly, exposing the darker skin of his hole. Owen positioned himself behind Jonah, his chest pressed to his brother's back. "Y'want me in you, Jo?" he murmured, running a finger over the smooth hole. From where Sam stood, he could see Owen firmly stimulating his brother's prostate from the outside. When Jonah's groans became louder, Owen ran the tip of his forefinger around the sphincter, teasing the moaning man with his touch, while kissing his neck and shoulders. "Y'want me to pump you full of my juice?" Owen asked, his light voice deepening, as his passion built. He penetrated his brother with his finger, causing Jonah to inhale deeply and make a sound, deep in his chest. "You've been wanting my sperm inside you since we used to sleep together . . . haven't you?" "Uhhhhmmm," Jonah groaned, loosely nodding his head. "When we were wanking our own cocks next to one another, in that big ol' bed, you were wishin' I'd spread your legs and sink my dick into your butthole, weren't you?" Owen asked, as he slid a finger into his brother. From the way Jonah's eyes widened, Sam could tell Owen had reached his brother's prostate. "Fuck me," Jonah gasped. "Pound me hard. I want t'be so full of your juice, it'll run down my leg if I stand up. You can lick me clean when you pull out." Sam knew Jonah loved having his cum-sloppy butthole licked. 'Geez, if I could only suck Owen's juice out of Jonah's hole,' Sam thought. He squeezed the length of his cock, forcing out a strand of pre-cum, which he rubbed over the head and underside of his cock. Often, when Sam and Jonah were living together, Jonah would stand up, immediately after having his asshole filled. "Lick it up!" he'd demand, as he stood with his legs spread, and Sam's sperm oozing out of his hole, leaving behind a slick trail, as it ran down his legs. Sam's cock twitched, as he recalled how, on hands and knees, he would start licking Jonah's feet, then move up his calves to his thighs, slurping up his own juice as he moved. He would spread Jonah's muscular ass cheeks, exposing his sloppy hole, then would lick and suck on it until it stopped leaking. Afterward, he and Jonah would kiss, sharing the taste of their lovemaking. "Slap my butt!" Jonah ordered, squirming on his brother's two fingers. When the fingering suddenly stopped, he looked over his shoulder. Owen's eyes were haunted. His mouth moved, but he seemed unable to say anything, merely shaking his head. "I . . . I . . ." "Do it!" Jonah ordered, his voice brooking no argument. "Slap my butt. Hard! You're not beating me, you're giving me what I want. Do it!" Sam watched Owen, the battle going on in his mind, clearly reflected on his face. He bit his lower lip, determined to do as his brother demanded, and tentatively slapped the side of Jonah's butt. Sam grinned as Jonah shouted. "Fuck! A girl could do better than that!" 'Uh, oh! He knows exactly how to get Owen to do what he wants,' Sam thought to himself. 'Owen detests being told that a girl can do something better than him.' "You want to feel it?" Owen asked, trying to overcome the struggle which was going on behind the tough-man facade. He swallowed, and slapped the ass cheek with a sharp smack, causing both Jonah's and Sam's eyes to widen. 'Well . . .' Sam mused. 'Maybe that girl comment might have been better left unsaid.' The first slap was followed closely by a second, equal to the first. Jonah flinched, then glanced over his shoulder, as he felt the head of Owen's cock against his hole. "Yeah," he exhaled. "Do me. Make me feel it. Pound me hard." Sam watched, fascinated, as Jonah's sphincter stretched to admit the head of his brother's penis, then tightly snapped around the shaft. Both men sighed, as Owen buried himself pubes-deep in the hole, in one move. He thrust a few times, then pulled free, only to aggressively push the firm head of his cock past Jonah's muscular ass-ring, until his tight balls slapped against his brother. "Fuuuuck," Jonah sighed, as he strained to turn his head, searching for his brother's tongue. As the two men's tongues battled with one another's, Owen rocked his hips in a steady rhythm. In . . . out . . . thrust . . . withdraw, until only the tip of his cock head remained inside his brother. There was another loud smack. "Y'like what I'm doin'?" Owen grunted, sliding free, then shoving back inside. 'Holeeeey!' Sam inwardly groaned. 'I've never seen Owen be so assertive. From now on, I'm gonna tell him a girl could fuck me better than him. Wait . . . there's something wrong with that image. No,' he corrected himself. 'I'm gonna demand he spank me before we fuck.' He grinned, wondering what Lucas would think. "Ahhh geez," Jonah panted, when Owen grabbed his cock and began to stroke in rhythm with each thrust. A moment later Jonah's groans had turned to whimpers. "Please," he said, between taking deep breaths. "Shoot in me. Fill me with your juice." Owen wasn't the only person who was approaching the point of no return. Sam's hand made squishy sounds as it slid over the length of his cock, and Owen's movements had become more frantic. Jonah gasped, and reached out to both sides, madly grabbing at the rug, as Owen pounded into him. "I'm gonna shoot!" Jonah gasped. He pushed his brother's hand away from his cock, and stroked himself the last few times before he loudly groaned, jerked, and his sperm erupted, leaving a puddle of white on the dark rug. Owen's answer to the rhythmic contractions of his brother's sphincter milking his cock, was a series of forceful grunts. Then, as Sam watched, he jerked and pumped his thick juice into his brother. It was all too much. From where he stood, Sam gasped a breath. 'Aw geez!' he groaned, as he felt his cock thicken. His hand slid over the slick penis, as it thickened, then blasted a jet of sperm in a broad arch, out, over the carpet. A second contraction produced an equal strand of juice, while the third and fourth were not much more than his body draining his nuts dry, forcing out everything he had, onto his fist. He gasped for breath, and waited until the last contraction faded, then licked his hand clean, slurping up everything. "Ab-so-lute-ly amazing!" Jonah shouted, as he lowered his legs to the floor, and stretched his muscles, gathering his brother close to his side. "You can come in now, Sam," he called. 'Uh oh, busted.' Sam timidly moved into the faint light of the fire. "I hope you guys don't mind. I've had fantasies about seein' you have sex with each other. Well . . . when I got home and saw what you were up to, I just had to . . . watch," he finished in a soft voice. "Do we care? Are you kidding?" Owen laughed. "The Carver boys love an audience." He turned to his brother. "You're gonna spend the night, aren't you? If Corey gets back, he can join us." "Y'sure?" Jonah asked, as he accepted Sam's hand, to help him stand, then shook himself, much as a dog would. "I'm feelin' limp as an old dish rag. "Oh," his expression was mischievous. "I think something's leaking and running down my leg. Does that give you guys any ideas?" * * * "Finally!" Corey shouted, as he passed some familiar landmarks and saw the few lights of Riverton in the distance. "I am never gonna go out driving in the dark, in the middle of a freakin' thunder and lightning storm, by MYSELF, again . . . ever!" He laughed at himself. "All those horror movies I watched in college have come back to haunt me. Those things should come with a warning label. 'After watching this, you will never want to be alone again!'" He pulled up to the curb in front of Lucas' buildings, and stopped the engine. The upstairs rooms, of both apartments, were dark. 'I wonder if Jonah's over, sleeping with Owen and Sam. I know I would be. I hate sleeping alone. 'Well . . .,' he thought, as he stiffly climbed out of the pickup's cab, and stretched. 'Those beds of ours are big enough to handle a crowd. If Jonah's with Owen and Sam, I'm joining 'em.' He yawned as he let himself into the building's lobby and secured the door. 'All I wanna do is get nekkid, and cuddle up with the men I love.' * * * "I'm glad to be on the ground," Riley said, as he and Bailey left the plane. "It's been a long trip and I, for one, am as tired as a cat trapped in a room full of rocking chairs. I'd swear we've crossed 'bout a dozen time zones, goin' the wrong way. Who made these travel arrangements anyhow?" he asked, glaring accusingly at Bailey, who grinned and shrugged. "Remind me to never let that person play travel agent again. There are other ways to see the entire country, than from 35,000 feet, traveling at 500 miles per hour, and I have no desire to visit airports in three different states." He held up a finger. "And, don't blame the fact that we had to land because of those thunderstorms and tornadoes n'all," he said, with a twinkle in his eyes. "I mean, really. That pilot, and the folks on the ground, tellin' him what to do, had us going in the freakin' wrong direction there for a while! We must have been driving around in circles up there." "Flying in circles, not driving," Bailey corrected, grinning. Riley smiled and made a dismissive gesture. "Yeah, whatever. I sometimes think that the people who we put in charge of our lives, when we fly, don't have a clue what they're doing. For a while there, I half expected one of those flight attendants to stand at the head of the aisle and shout, 'Is there a real pilot on board?'" Riley laughed, holding both hands to his mouth, imitating the stewardess. "Can't you hear it, Bail?" he asked. "The guy steering this thing has just told me he never finished his How-To-Fly correspondence course!'" "Well, we're safely on the ground," Bailey grinned, running a comforting hand up and down Riley's back, as they left the jetway and stepped into the brightly lit terminal. "Yeah, well, I just hate flying, is all. M'brother, Nathan, has a favorite saying. If humans had been meant to fly, we would have been born with aluminum skin." He laughed. "Speaking of Nathan . . . I hope he doesn't get rerouted umpteen times from Sunday." Bailey watched Riley pull out his phone and turn it on, no doubt hoping for a message, either from his brother or father, explaining when Nathan could be expected to arrive, as well as some of the news he'd been given about the family blow up. Riley frowned. "Lots of messages," he murmured, stepping away from the rush of people leaving the plane. He listened to the first message as he and Bailey headed to the valet station to claim the car. "Nathan called just before getting on his flight," Riley told Bailey, as they approached the valet station. "He says he'll be here around three in the morning, and not to wait, or anything. He says they were delayed, 'cause of the weather, and he'll get a cab, hitch hike, or, as a last resort, sell his body." Riley smiled. "Sounds just like him. He wouldn't have any trouble hustling. He's sort'a cute. I imagine he can be pretty frisky, when he's in bed with someone." "Is he gay?" Bailey asked. Riley shrugged. "I don't know. We've never talked about it. I'd say not, if I had to guess, but . . . who knows?" Riley leaned close and lowered his voice, but not so low the valet manager couldn't hear. "Nathan's got a real nice one. It's the spittin' image of mine . . . for real," he added, at Bailey's glance. "Though I think my nuts are nicer'n his," he ingenuously grinned, trying to embarrass Bailey, who was in the midst of dealing with the valet manager. "If you're trying to make me squirm," Bailey murmured, as he turned back, "You'll have to do something more outrageous than that! I'm not gonna tell you what, though, since you'd probably do it." "Your car will be here in a moment, sirs," the valet manager said. "If you'd be pleased to wait over there, the driver will deliver it to you presently. However," he added, before turning away, "If you figure out what would make your friend squirm, I'd enjoy seeing you do it." He winked and tipped his imaginary hat, then turned to the next person waiting in line. Riley's brows rose, as he smiled. "I like him," he murmured. "I'll finish listening to the rest of the messages on the way home," Riley added. He frowned, as he gave the phone a last glance. "I can't figure out why Dad would be calling . . . four times, no less! He knew we were going to be spending the day flyin' cross country n'back, building up those frequent flier miles." He grinned. "I'm not complaining, Gen'rl; I'm just tired, and I get cranky when I'm tired. It's nothing a good night's sleep, at your side, won't cure." "Ah, here we are." Bailey tipped the driver and smiled his thanks, as the man held the car door open for him, and wished him a good evening. As soon as they pulled away from the curb, Riley held his phone to his ear, listening to his father's first message. "Oh, shit," Riley groaned. He leaned his head back against the headrest. "Ohshitohshitohshit," he repeated, his voice rising as he spoke. "Shit!" He shouted, at the top of his lungs. "What!?" Bailey turned to him in alarm. "You've gone all white. What's going on? Why all the shouting? "Riley?" Bailey asked, frantically looking for a place to get out of traffic. He swerved his car onto a side road and lurched to a stop. "What's happened? Riley! Talk to me!" Riley gulped a breath of air and tried to swallow. "The . . . the plane carrying m'mother, sister, brother, and sister-in-law was involved in some sort of on-the-ground collision with another airplane." Riley's voice went flat. "It was foggy, and someone made a wrong turn, or something. All of 'em are dead, along with who knows how many other people." "Oh, damn," Bailey muttered, feeling as if the air had been knocked out of him. "For sure?" he asked. "I mean, there's no chance of a mistake, is there?" Riley shook his head. "Father says to call him when I'm ready. He says there's no hurry, that there's nothing I can do." Riley took a shuddering breath. "He knows me, well enough. I don't handle things like this well, at all. "Oh, geez! Nathan! He's on his way here, and won't have heard!" * * * Jonah awoke with a start at the touch on his shoulder. "Huh?" 'It's the middle of the frickin' night,' he groused, to himself, as he forced his eyes open. He was exhausted from the events of the evening, and wanted nothing more than to sleep until noon, at the earliest. "Hey, handsome." Corey murmured, leaning close, drawing Jonah back from a dream of him and Owen in one another's arms. "I didn't want to startle you." He grinned, as he ran the tip of a finger over Jonah's lips, causing Jonah to instinctively, open his mouth. "Y'mind if I join you?" he murmured, close to Jonah's ear. "I'm naked, exhausted, and would like to cuddle up against you." "S'alright?" Jonah murmured, holding up the light blanket for Corey to climb beneath. "'Bout me and Owen n'all?" Corey kissed Jonah's forehead. "Sure; after all, Owen and I are brothers, too." He yawned, as he snuggled close to Jonah, then tenderly kissed him good night and rested an arm across his chest. "Time to sleep," he mumbled, as his breathing slowed. 'Brothers?' Jonah wondered, as sleep claimed him. On one side lay his lover, on the other his brother and Sam. 'Good thing it's a big bed.' * * * Owen looked up from where he knelt, unpacking a box, to see Maxine enter the library, amidst a cloud of cigarette smoke. "Please don't smoke in the library, Miss Maxine," Owen said, climbing to his feet, and brushing his hands together. "Who says I can't?" She snorted, intentionally blowing smoke in his direction. "I do," Owen added, simply. "This is my library, and I make the rules. If you need to smoke, you can go outside. When you're finished, you're welcome to come in to visit." "Why'd I want to visit with you?" she snorted, taking one last puff on the nearly spent cigarette. She casually blew another noxious cloud in Owen's direction, then dropped the cigarette on the floor and ground it into the polished wood. "There . . . ," she smiled. "Satisfied?" Owen looked at the sorry black patch marring the surface of the floor, then looked up, at her triumphant expression. "I should have expected such a petty behavior from you," he said. "Sort'a makes one wonder what your home looks like, doesn't it?" "Listen . . . fag-boy," Maxine sneered, advancing on Owen, and wagging a claw-like finger in his direction. "You need to learn to not talk back to your betters." Owen perched on the corner of one of the tables and idly swung a foot back and forth, as he studied the stick-thin woman. "I never talk back to my betters, Maxine," he responded. "You, are a different story." "Why you sorry excuse for a son. Your daddy had it right when he told me he shoulda killed you when you were a baby. He always talked about how he wished he'd broken your sorry neck." She shook a finger at him, as a red flush suffused her cheeks. "I bet he never knew you were a fag, did he?" "Yes," Owen responded, trying to control his breathing. "He did." "Liar!" the woman shouted. "I hate you, and everything you stand for, just like I hate that sorry excuse of a mother of yours. Some women should never have children." "I agree," Owen interrupted, grinning. "We are all thankful, for instance, that you never had any." 'Geez,' he thought. 'I shouldn't have said that. Mama would have a fit if she knew I was talkin' t'someone like that, even if it is Maxine.' "Not only a fag, you are, but a liar and a child molester. I keep tellin' folks they need to watch out for you and the other fag-boys you keep bringing to town, disrupting everyone's lives." With those words, the full fury of Maxine's hatred turned on Owen. She waved her arms, and shrieked, calling him every name she'd ever heard. When she paused to take a breath and assess any damage she might have inflicted, Owen smoothly stepped in. "If you think you're going to either shock or intimidate me, you're mistaken. I'm having a tough time to keep from laughing, though." Maxine raised an arm, poised to strike. "You'd better think before you do that," Owen warned, steel in his voice. "I could break you like a dry twig." He paused, while Maxine tried to figure out if he was bluffing. "Touch me . . . Maxine, and you'll personally experience a few of the things Pops taught me about discipline." His voice lowered even further. "Are you willing to bet I won't do what I say? I'm sure folks have heard you shouting. D'you think anyone will come to your rescue? I wouldn't count on it, if I were you." Suddenly, as Maxine resumed her vocal attack, Owen deflated, exhausted by his effort to deflect the irate woman's anger. 'She's just like Pops,' he thought. 'She's so full of anger, she probably doesn't know what she's doing.' She seemed to be aware of a change in Owen's mood, and her attack intensified. 'Pretty soon,' Owen thought, 'She's gonna hit me, daring me to make good on my threat to break her like a twig.' Five year-old Nicky Saunders slowed to a walk, as he approached the library and heard the shouting. 'What's going on?' he wondered, as he quietly climbed the steps and hid at the side of the door. 'It's Miss Maxine,' he thought to himself. 'Why's she hollerin' at Owen?' He listened for a few minutes, not understanding much of what the old woman yelled. 'I've gotta do something,' he told himself. 'But, I'm just a kid. She won't pay any attention to me.' He chewed on his lower lip, frowning in concentration. 'I just can't let her hurt Owen.' With that thought foremost in his mind, he tiptoed down the steps, then, excitedly called Owen's name, as he climbed the steps and rushed past the open door, and into the library. Owen was tiredly lowering himself onto one of the library chairs, looking miserable. Maxine, was standing within arm's reach and was shaking a finger only inches from his face. Nicky slid to a stop, visibly wilting as Maxine rounded on him. "Um . . . Hi, Miss Maxine," he said, trying to act casual as he walked to Owen's side, and rested an arm across his friend's shoulders. "I'm sorry to in . . . inter . . ." He turned toward Owen. "Interrupt," Owen automatically supplied. "Yeah, I'm sorry, for that, but I always get excited when it's time for my lesson." "Lesson," Maxine snorted. "What sort of lesson can a person like him give you? You should be home, safe, with your parents; not here, where who knows what might happen to you." "Oh, my Dad's on his way over." Nicky looked over his shoulder, as if expecting his father to arrive, any moment. "I just ran ahead. Besides, I'm safe with Owen. He's been lookin' out for me since I was little. Now, he's teaching me to read. That's what's so exciting." "Read . . . what?" Maxine snorted. "No telling." "Y'wanna see?" Nicky asked. Without waiting, he went to a shelf containing a few children's books, studied the shelf for a moment, then hauled down a book and ran back, carrying it in front of him. He flopped the book onto the table next to Owen and opened it. "This is the book we're reading," he announced, looking toward Maxine, who hadn't moved. "It's about Chester. He's a farmer, just like Owen's brother, Jonah. Well, Jonah doesn't have any animals, but Chester does. Owen and I are reading all about 'em. D'ya wanna stay and listen? I know some big words." Nicky patted Owen on the shoulder. "He's the best teacher there is." Maxine spun on her heel, snorted disdainfully, and left the building. When it was clear she was gone, Nicky closed the book and returned to Owen's side. "You must have a book about someone named Chester around here, someplace, don't you?" he asked, with a giggle. "Someone named Chester, with animals, and a farm." "Oh, Nicky," Owen grinned, pulling his young friend close. "You heard what she was yellin' and decided to interrupt. That was sweet of you . . . and smart, too." "Yeah, I heard her carryin' on when I came for my reading lesson. You guys' backs was to the door, so I listened." Nicky's brows drew down. "I don't know what lots'a the words she yelled at you mean, but they don't sound nice. I never heard 'em before." "And, you should not repeat them," Owen warned. "You're right, they're not nice. Your folks wouldn't be happy to learn that you heard the words here, at the library." "Miss Maxine's not a very nice person, huh?" Owen sadly shook his head. "Why didn't you yell back at her? You just let her yell at you. Why?" "Oh, Nicky . . . it's a long story," Owen sighed, visibly sinking back into his chair. "Besides, your father's comin'." "No, he's not." Nicky turned to Owen with an unrepentant expression. "I lied. "So, why didn't you fight back. I would'a given her a good smack on the face, or somethin'," he said, as he began rubbing a small hand up and down Owen's arm. "I thought about giving her a smack," Owen murmured, "but . . . I . . . couldn't. It wouldn't have been right." "Why not?" "C'mere," Owen said, holding Nicky by the waist and hoisting him onto the table to face him. The little boy reached for Owen's hand and tightened his fingers. "I'm gonna tell you a story," Owen began. "'Bout you, I bet, huh?" Owen bowed his head and nodded. "When I was a little kid, like you, my father was something like Miss Maxine. He was always goin' around shouting, calling people names, n'stuff, whenever they didn't do everything he wanted 'em to do. Miss Maxine reminds me a lot of him, and how he behaved. When she was yellin' at me, it sort'a felt like when Pops got mad at me. I was afraid of him, Nicky . . . afraid of what he'd do. I never felt safe when he was around. I kind'a feel the same way about Miss Maxine. I never know what she's gonna do t'me. So . . . whenever anyone yells at me, I start wonderin' when they're gonna hit me." "Hit?" Nicky asked, his eyes wide. "But, you're big n'strong." Owen heaved a breath. "Being big and strong doesn't mean a guy can't be afraid. There are many forms of strength, my friend." He gave Nicky a crooked grin. "There's the strength of muscles, the strength of character, which means tryin' to always do the right thing, and there's the strength to face something to keep it from botherin' you 'til you're sick. "That's the kind of strength I don't seem to have enough of. I'm always afraid, Nicky." The little boy reached for his friend's hand, his hand engulfed by Owen's. "I've learned that a guy can only be fearful for so long, before something inside you . . . gets sick. You stop bein' yourself and start being some sort of shuffling thing, with that fear eating at you like a disease. You have nightmares which never seem to end. Sometimes, they even follow you when you're awake. If a guy can't figure out what to do, I'd bet that pretty soon I won't be able to move, fearin' . . . something . . . anything . . . everything." Owen's voice sank to something barely more than a whisper. "I won't have any pride in what I am, and then," he shrugged, "where will I be? I'll be a shell that looks like Owen, but the Owen you and I know won't be inside that shell. There'll be someone who's hiding in a corner, afraid of coming out." Owen studied the young boy's eyes. "Do you understand any of what I said?" Nicky thought a moment. "Some of it. But, Owen, why are you afraid? 'Cause'a your father? He's dead. How can he hurt you?" Owen gave his friend a watery-eyed smile. "I wasn't a very good boy, like you, when I was growin' up. That's what made Pops so mad at me all the time. I wanted to do stuff other than work on the farm." "Like goin' to school, and teachin' me to read?" Owen gave his friend a sad smile. "Yeah, something like that. Well, my father didn't like those ideas, so he . . . spanked me, lots'a times, trying to make me do what he wanted." Nicky blinked, unable to imagine Owen being spanked. "Did you cry?" Owen thought a moment. "Not when he was hitting me, I didn't. Or, at least, I tried not to. But, after he'd finished, and I was alone with Jonah, at night, I did. Jonah held me." Owen paused, bowed his head, and did his best to hide his tears from his little friend. "I love Jonah, so much, for all he did for me, when he must'a been hurting, too," he said, choking out the words. When Nicky patted him on the head, though, it was too much. Owen took a gulp of air, then turned aside, embarrassed by the tears. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, "for cryin'." Nicky scooted off the table and hurried to Owen's side, then laid an arm across his shoulders, doing his best to comfort his friend. "It's okay," Nicky murmured. "Sometimes it's good to cry . . . don't you think?" Nicky asked, sounding as if he were only moments from crying, himself. Owen shrugged. "I don't know if it's good or not. Truly." "My mama says that sometimes cryin' helps, and she knows lots'a stuff," Nicky said, with authority. "Those spankings hurt, even today," Owen continued, brushing away the tears. "Not like they did at the time, when my bottom hurt. Now, they hurt up here," he said, pointing to his head. "Whenever I think about him . . . Pops . . . , I hurt, and I'm afraid. I think about him a lot. Now that I'm all grown up, I know that it's wrong of me to let people yell at me n'stuff, but, just 'cause they're doing stuff to me, doesn't make it okay for me to yell at them. Besides . . ." Owen heaved a deep breath. "Y'see, I'm afraid if I let myself go and . . . yell at people like my father, or like Maxine, it might make me think that, if yelling is okay, and I'm still not getting what I want, it'd be okay for me to hit them, like Pops did me. If I started acting like him, I might not be able to stop. I'd end up bein' just like him, and I don't want that. But . . . I can't go on like I am, either," Owen said, in a voice barely above a whisper. "But . . . she . . . Didn't she deserve . . .?" "Nicky . . . no one deserves to be treated like Miss Maxine treats other people. Just 'cause she does it, doesn't make it okay to do it back to her. D'you understand?" Nicky thought a moment, then reluctantly nodded. "Yeah, I guess. I don't like it, though." He studied Owen. "Are you sure you're right?" A puff of a laugh escaped Owen's lips. "Yeah, I don't like it either, but I'm sure." "When ol' Maxine came in here today, I started off trying to defend myself without touching or yelling at her . . . but I couldn't keep it up. When she realized I'd backed down, she got worse." "Did your father ever tell you he was sorry, 'bout spanking you and yellin' at you n'stuff?" Owen thought a moment, then nodded once. "Yeah, he did his best to say he was sorry. It was just before he died." "Didn't you believe him?" Owen shrugged. "I don't know, Nicky. I really don't. It was like, he hurt me all those times. It was probably wrong of me, but a simple, 'I'm sorry,' didn't seem like enough.' "What did you want him to do?" Another shrug. "I don't know. All I know is, when I have to face someone like Miss Maxine, I sort'a freeze-up, fearin' I'll hurt her, like Pops hurt me. I don't want to hurt anyone. Worse, I'm afraid she'll hit me. That's what Pops always did. "Is it fair?" "What?" "She gets to hurt you, and you can't even say anything back." They both looked up as Nicky's father came into the library. He paused a moment, when he saw Nicky standing at Owen's side, with an arm around his shoulder. 'Whatever could have caused Owen's teary cheeks?' "Ah . . . are things okay, men?" he asked, pulling up a chair, to sit by Owen's side. Owen's mouth twisted, as he shrugged. "Owen has been tellin' me about his father," Nicky said. "He's sad, 'cause they can't talk anymore." Will Saunders studied his son, then Owen. 'I know there has to be more to what's happening than that. I can't imagine Owen missing that foul man.' "I'm sorry, Will," Owen murmured, as he sniffed and wiped his eyes. "It's hard for me to talk about . . . stuff. Nicky's covering for me though. Maxine was in here, shouting n'stuff, and I backed down. Nicky being here chased her off. She wasn't ready to carry on in front of him, I guess. We talked some about what to do when faced by someone like her and I told him some about Pops. Somehow, Nicky is . . . safe to talk to. He's my best buddy." Nicky nodded. "He listens to me all the time, Dad. It was my turn to listen to him. It's like we're brothers. Jonah hugged him, when he was little. Now, it's my turn." Will Saunders felt as if he would burst with pride, as he watched his son rest a comforting arm across Owen's shoulders, radiating empathy. Owen bit his lip, and decided to take a chance. It was one of the most difficult decisions of his life . . . but, it had to be taken, and . . . somehow . . . Will was like his son . . . safe. It just felt right. "Will, there's more to my tears than feelin' bad 'bout Pops." "I understand," Will Saunders said, then asked Nicky to pull the door to the library closed. While Nicky was occupied Will spoke. "If you'd like to talk, I'm available," he said, as Nicky wrestled with the large door, and pulled it closed, then flipped the lock. "Will this be too much for my son to hear?" Owen bowed his head. "No. I don't think so. He prob'ly won't understand most of it. I'm not gonna get . . . graphic, or anything." Nicky returned and stood at his father's side for a moment, then asked to sit on Owen's lap. 'Oh, my wonderful boy,' Will thought, as he watched Owen lift his son and set him on his lap. Nicky immediately put an arm around his friend's neck. 'That was just the right thing to do,' Will smiled. "Will," Owen began, moistening his lips and speaking in a hesitant voice. "I've never told anyone what I'm going to tell you . . . because . . . I'm afraid." He took a ragged breath. "Y'see . . . Pops hurt me a lot more than anyone knows about." There was a long pause, when the only sound was of a dog barking, in the distance. "I could get over the physical pain," he said, breaking the silence, "But, I don't think I'll ever be able to get over the mental. "I hurt, Will. All the time, I hurt." He sniffed. "All my life, I was told what a useless person I am. I was told so often, I . . . I believe it." "Oh, Owen," Will began, but stopped when Owen raised a hand, asking him to not say anything. "Y'see, Will, 'cause of what Pops did, during all those years, and how I eventually grew to believe him, I am convinced that I'm a bad person. Deep down, I know it. I . . . I just know that, given a chance, everyone is going to hurt me, just like he did. 'Cause'a that, I won't allow myself to get too close to anyone . . . not even Sammy or Lucas. There's a wall between us. I don't know if they feel it, but it's there. It's not, with Jonah, 'cause he knew most of went on and he has never once betrayed me. Will, I know that sometime, somehow, they, or Mama, or Daniel, or . . ." Owen lowered his eyes, "even you, will hurt me 'cause I'm such a bad person. I'm so mixed up, I believe I deserve to be hurt. "It may look like I'm carefree n'stuff, but that's sort'a an act . . . one I don't even know I'm doing. Deep down, I don't trust anyone to . . . I don't know . . . talk to, I guess. I've always been hurt, and, since I'm such a bad guy, I figure I'll always be hurt. I've sort'a given up even trying to figure things out." He heaved a resigned laugh. "Maybe that's why I'm talkin' to you. There's nothing left. I've got nothin' to lose. "My life is not much more'n an act. Everyone thinks I'm so strong n'stuff. I'm not. All they're seeing is the outside. On the inside, I'm as young a little Nicky here, wondering when someone's gonna hit me, or tell me how useless I am." He leaned into an embrace from his little friend. Owen met the troubled gaze of Nicky's father. "That's the type of person you entrust Nicky to." Will Saunders quickly scooted forward on his chair and reached for Owen's hand. "Stop it!" he ordered. "You may be convinced you're worthless, but Nicky, and his mother and I, certainly do not. No one in Riverton does. "Owen," he continued, in a soothing voice. "I can't begin to fathom what you've endured, but please, do your best to open up to at least one person, other than me. Try to trust . . . just once. If, as you say, you've got nothing to lose, extend a hand, and ask for help, just like you're doing with me. You'll be surprised at the love you'll get back." He squeezed Owen's hand. "Not everyone is like your father. Not everyone is hanging around you just waiting to hit you or tell you how worthless you are. Owen . . ." Will said, scooting to the young man's side and joining his son in laying an arm over Owen's shoulders. "You may not believe you are worthy of being loved, but . . . you . . . are . . . wrong." "I know that, Will, but y'see, Pops' ghost, or whatever, is always standing right behind me, repeating the same things over and over, so, no matter how much I want to believe, I never can . . . quite, do it. Owen huffed a ragged laugh. "I don't know why I suddenly decided that it was okay to talk to you." He spoke in a voice barely above a murmur. "I've never told anyone what I've told you." His eyes widened. "Don't hurt me with what you know, Will." He grabbed Nicky's father's hand. "Please, don't, hurt me," he cried, as tears coursed down his cheeks. Will pulled Owen close and let him cry himself out. "Oh, my poor boy," Will said, patting him on the back. "My poor, poor boy."
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