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'Tonight is a celebration,' Bea thought. 'Even though no one else is aware of it, I am celebrating the fact that both my boys seem to have cast off the cloak of gloom which they have often worn since the death of their father. Neither have recovered,' she reflected, as she watched each of them from across the dinner table, 'but they seem to be free of Jonathan's shadow, at least for tonight.' Later, as everyone lounged in the living room, visiting, Corey spoke up. "Y'know," he began. "Uh oh, I feel a story coming on." Jonah's snicker was quickly silenced by an expertly applied elbow to the ribs, allowing Corey to continue. "I'm convinced Duct Tape is like The Force, from that old space, shoot-em-up movie, Star . . ." He searched his memory. " Star . . . something." "Star Wars,"Daniel interjected. "And, it's not all that old. I was a kid the first time I saw it." He glanced toward Bea, who nodded agreement. Not so, Corey. "I rest my case . . . old. Real old." "Almost ancient," Owen added dryly, with a twinkle in his eyes. "Okay, so back to Duct Tape," Daniel surrendered, to all the young men and women who were nodding agreement with Corey and Owen. "Well," Corey said, scooting forward on the sofa. "Y'see, that stuff has a light side, and a dark side, and it holds the universe together. Y'know, I bet they prob'ly even use it in that far away universe they were always goin' on about. Y'think? I know I would'a used it to tape the mouth shut of that guy who dressed in black. Why'd he need to talk, anyhow? I mean, we all knew he was evil, just 'cause'a the music." "Profound, Corey," Jonah snorted. "You must'a been thinking about that for at least . . . oh . . . ten-seconds before blessing us with your observation." He had no sooner completed his sentence when Corey reached out with the intent of tickling him. Jonah yelped and jumped out of Corey's reach, nearly knocking Owen off the sofa, where they'd both been sitting. "Protect me, Mama! Corey likes to tickle me," Jonah cried, in surprise. "I'll hold him for you!" Owen volunteered, grabbing for his brother, while Abigail and Opie looked on, openmouthed. They'd never seen their brothers behave in such a manner. "You want me to tell everyone where you're really ticklish?" Bea laughed. "No!" Jonah yelped. "Where, Mama?" Abigail asked, getting into the spirit of the wrestling match which was taking place on the living room sofa. "Yeow!" Jonah shouted, as he twisted free, fell to his knees, then quickly stood, breathing heavily. "Y'all need to excuse Corey and me. We're going to continue this conversation . . . outside," he said, as he dashed across the living room and through the screen door, with Corey close on his heels, following Jonah's manic laugh. "Where's Jonah ticklish?" Opie asked. Before anyone could answer, Jonah shrieked with laughter. "Looks like Corey found . . . the place," Owen murmured. "Y'wanna know where it is?" he asked Sam. "Nope, I already know," Sam said, as he flipped through the pages of a magazine. "Me, too," Lucas grinned, ignoring Bea's wide-eyed look. "Well, I don't know," Abigail grumbled. Another shriek caused Opie to jump up and start toward the door. "Opie!" Bea shouted, unsure what her youngest daughter would see if she looked outside. She hurriedly thought of a way to distract the little girl. "Um . . . Go see if the dishtowel is dry, would you?" "Huh?" Opie asked, as her sister snorted with laughter. "Sounds like they're having a good time," Sam said, setting the magazine aside, seemingly undisturbed by the laughter, or the volume. "Trouble is, their good times are always loud," Lucas added. "And they go on all night," Owen interrupted. Bea glanced toward the front door. "Oh . . . my." She turned back to Owen. "Truly?" "What endurance!" Abigail said, drawing a, 'did-you-have-to-say-that,' glance from her mother. "And you boys are never loud?" Daniel dryly asked. "Lucas and I aren't," Sam quickly answered. "Owen is just like his brother." "Ticklish," Owen interrupted, as he nudged Sam, urging him to be quiet. Sam theatrically rolled his eyes. "Um, yeah . . . ticklish." "Among other things," Lucas added, scooting away from Owen. "Ahhh, isn't this refreshing," Daniel smiled, turning to his wife. "We're learning so much about the boys." "You're not talking about being ticklish, are you, Owen? What are you trying to hide?" Abigail asked. "In that shirt, there's nothing he could hide," Daniel observed. "Whatever he's thinking about, though, has had a phenomenal effect on his nipples." "What?" Owen cried, as he looked down at his chest, feeling his cheeks flush, while Sam, Lucas, and Daniel laughed at his reaction. Bea looked on, not quite sure what to think. "Daniel!" She finally laughed, pretending to be scandalized. "What? We all know about nipples." "I don't," Opie said, as she came back into the living room, and tossed her mother the dry dishtowel. "Why's Owen have his hands coverin' his chest?" "Cause'a his nipples," Abigail whispered. "Oh, you mean his tits," Opie said, as she climbed onto a vacant chair and turned an innocent face in her mother's direction. "Opie!" "What?" After a silence broken only by another burst of laughter from outside, Lucas stood. "Um, I think it's time we mosey on home. Pretty soon, we're not going to be able to get out of the hole we're digging." "Why leave?" Daniel asked. "I'm having fun." "If you would like to go with them for some more 'boy' fun, feel free," Bea grinned. "Who knows what else you might learn about Owen." Daniel sank back into his seat. "Um, I think I'll pass. I know all I need to know." "Why?" Owen asked. "I'll show you whatever you want to see." "That's what I'm afraid of," Daniel sighed, as he heaved himself out of the armchair. He walked to the screen door, and flung it open. "If I was at someone's house, I'd leave," he said. "Good thing you're not at someone's house," Owen responded, sinking back into the sofa. "Owen," Bea said, in a menacing voice. "Leave." "Well . . . since you put it that way." Owen stood. "Can we take some dessert home with us?" "You finished it, remember?" "Oh yeah." "We'll get you some sugar when we get home," Sam said, gently herding Owen toward the open doorway. "I ate it all." Everyone looked up as Jonah shouted, "Damn, Corey. You are sooo uncoordinated!" "Ahem." Lucas glanced from Bea, to the open doorway, then to Owen. "If we don't have any sugar, we'll have to think of something else for you to do with your . . . um . . . eating," Lucas said, changing course in mid-sentence. In the distance, Jonah shouted. "You can't run through the forest like that! We're never going to find all your stuff." "Leave . . . now," Daniel urged the three men, closing the front door and turning off the porch light, the moment they passed, effectively shutting out any more of Jonah's narrative, and plunging the surroundings into darkness. Only a few feet along the gravel path leading away from the house, the guys stopped. Jonah and Corey, both naked, were oblivious to the audience, as they embraced and kissed. "Y'okay Owen?" Lucas murmured, when Owen suddenly quieted. Owen watched, as the moonlight illuminated the two naked men. After a few moments silence, he seemed to come out of a trance. "Yeah, why?" * * * Elizabeth was jubilant. "The text message worked!" She laughed, aloud, clapping her hands. "They're within reach!" She looked at the number still glowing on her telephone screen. 'It's a Georgia telephone area code! I would have thought they'd want to get as far away from me as possible. It just proves that, not only is Franklin stupid, they are, as well. The three of them underestimate me! Everyone underestimates me! The telephone number has given away their hiding place. 'Now that I've put the fear of the unknown into both of 'em, they'll be running scared, and frightened people make mistakes. That's one thing Daddy always said. He was another weak man, whose mistakes cost him everything. Him and Mother . . . what a match. It's a good thing I learned not to repeat their foolishness. Witless wonders, . . . Daddy, Mother, Franklin, Riley, Nathan . . . all of 'em, dumb as dirt!' she snorted, then shivered with delight. 'Oh, it feels good, to mess with people's heads.' * * * Bailey handed the cellphone, with its glowing message, back to Nathan. "The woman certainly has a way with words." "It's not possible!" Riley bellowed, casting a dirty look in Bailey's direction, irritated he was taking things so lightly. "She can't know where I live . . . not even in which city!" He rounded on his brother, wide-eyed. "You sure you didn't leave a hint for anyone about where you were going?" Nathan held up both hands. "Not a word! I followed your orders. All Dad knows is that I'm with you. That's it! For all he knows, we might not even be in the country! I made sure he saw that I was taking my passport. So . . . no. No one's heard anything from me." "She's trying to scare you," Bailey interjected, trying to convince both himself and the two other men. "Well, she's doing a damned good job of it," Riley muttered. "How'd she know my telephone number? I never gave it to her. If she knows my phone number, it's likely she knows where I am." He threw up his hands, as he paced across the room. "Here I thought I was being so clever, buying my phone in Georgia, so the area code would be one she's familiar with." Nathan looked at the phone in his hand. "Riley." When his brother continued talking, Nathan raised his voice. "Riley! Listen to me!" He held the phone out for his brother to see. "See . . . she didn't call your phone. She called mine! I'm not surprised she has my number. She just took a chance and sent a message to the only number she had . . . mine. So . . . she has my number, so what? There's no way she knows where the two of us are. Be reasonable, and stop freaking, when there's no reason!" "Good advice," Bailey interjected, drawing a hands-on-hips scowl from Riley. "Turn off your phone," Nathan told his brother. "That's what I've done. We need to get new ones, with numbers from someplace other than . . . here or Georgia. Then, I'm going to bash my phone with a hammer, or something heavy . . . just to take out my frustrations." "Before that, though, we are heading to the police to file a report." Bailey looked from one brother to the other, both of whom gave him the same stubborn expression. "I don't know about you two, but someone saying they know where two men I care about are located, and is going to kill them, is unnerving. They've committed a crime, just by saying that. The police need to know. You can tell them the FBI is involved. That'll make them sit up and pay attention." He turned to Riley. "You guys' mother is certifiably wack-o." "He learns these high-sounding medical terms by watching television," Riley murmured, in a dry tone, turning to his brother. "After two more years of law enforcement programs, he'll qualify to either become a psychiatrist, or a cop. I'm gonna be a brain surgeon. I saw a program, once." He paused. "Looked easy enough to me." Nathan burst out laughing, and fell back into the cushions of the armchair. "The two of you are a little on the weird-side, too, y'know?" Bailey messed Nathan's hair, much as he would a child's. "Why, thank you, Master Pruitt. Stay with us long enough, and you'll realize that we're more than a little weird. We are not, however, so weird that we won't go to the police to report your mother's antics," he added, glancing expectantly at the brothers. "What if she has connections with the police back in Atlanta, and they put out some sort of notice to all the agencies around the country to report in if we show up? I'm not going anywhere near the police, Gen'rl. I know it's the right thing to do, but, knowing how sneaky Mother is, I'm not doing it. It's a risk I'm not willing to take." Bailey looked from Riley to Nathan, his mouth open, trying to think of a convincing argument. Nathan held out his hands to his sides and shrugged, as he shook his head, giving Bailey the same answer as his brother. "Well, this is a fine mess!" Bailey huffed. "You're letting the woman win, you know? You're giving her the power to decide how you behave." He stopped in front of Riley, and touched his chest with a forefinger. "That . . . is . . . not . . . cool. I would have expected more of you, and you, too," he grumbled, turning toward Nathan. "You guys have got to trust someone!" * * * "G'mornin', Sammy," Owen murmured, leaning close to his still-sleeping partner. "Get uuuuup," he murmured, tenderly kissing Sam's cheek. "The rooster's been making a racket for the past hourrrr." "I hate that bird," Sam grumbled, as he turned onto his stomach, and buried his face in the pillows, while the few wisps of an erotic dream tantalized his memory, as it faded away, like a fog in a gentle breeze. "Someone should eat him and put the rest of us out of our misery. Besides, he's just crowin' 'cause he wants us all to know that he got some last night. That's why the barnyard chickens are smiling." "Then, why aren't you out there doing some crowing, too? After all . . . you n'Lucas . . ." Sam rolled onto his back and pulled Owen into an embrace, on top of him. "Whoooo hoooo," he called, softly, speaking to an invisible audience. "I had Owen last night," he continued. "Bet'cha you all are jealous as all get-out, 'cause I'm in love with the most wonderful man in the world!" The unhurried kiss the two men shared was vastly different from the kisses of passion they shared with Lucas the previous night. "Thank you, Sammy. Have I told you today, how much I love you?" Owen tenderly kissed Sam's lips, as he lay half across his partner. "I love your laugh, your kindness, your gentleness," he murmured, kissing one of Sam's closed eyes, then the other. "You've always been so good t'me, even when I've made your life miserable with my nightmares n'all." His lips met Sam's in a lengthy kiss. Then, in a typical mercurial change of mood, in one fluid movement, he threw off the sheets and flung himself out of bed. Sam propped himself up on an elbow, and watched as his naked lover crossed the room and slipped into one of the plush white robes hanging inside the bathroom door. "Here . . . in case you wanna get up," Owen smiled brightly, as he threw a second robe toward the man on the bed. "Hey!" Sam called, his voice muffled from beneath the heavy fabric. "I like you on top of me better'n this." "I need to have some orange juice, to revive me from last night," Owen called, as he headed for the kitchen. "Lucas is over meeting with Millie, 'bout using her building for the store. Ol' Clyde McCorkle's father, Hank, is supposed to show up to talk to 'em both." A few moments later, Sam left the bedroom, preoccupied by a fight with the robe. After some grumbling, he finally thrust an arm through one of the sleeves, dragging the rest of the robe on the floor, as he watched Owen pour two glasses of juice. "You screwed up my robe on purpose," he groused, casting an irritated look in Owen's direction, before tugging at the robe in an effort to find the second arm hole. "Y'know I'm not at my best in the morning," he said, casting an accusing glance in Owen's direction. "You did this on purpose, didn't you?" Owen grinned, from where he leaned on the counter, watching his lover. "Just an observation . . ." "Yeah, what?" "You're putting the thing on, inside-out." "Nag, nag," Sam grumbled, as he stripped off the robe and put it on, correctly. "There," he huffed. "Satisfied?" Owen shrugged, as he set a glass of juice onto the counter with a clink of glass against stone. "Inside out would'a been okay with me. Or . . . better yet, you could'a stayed nekkid," he concluded, as he wiggled his eyebrows. "Oh?" The corners of Sam's lips twitched in amusement. Sam turned, as Owen rounded the end of the counter. "Why?" he grinned. "D'you have something on your mind?" "Oh yes," Owen murmured, as he stood in front of Sam. He slowly pulled the belt of Sam's robe free and dropped it on the floor; then, with his gaze never leaving Sam's, did the same with his own. Next, he parted his robe and stepped into a skin-to-skin embrace with his lover. "Ohhhh, Sammy," he murmured, as he nuzzled his lover's hair. "Did you ever think we'd be able to be together . . . like this?" he murmured. "It's some change, from laying on the grass, out in the meadow." "Our meadow," Sam corrected, as he pulled Owen close, reveling in the warmth. "Our dreams have come true," Owen murmured, his face close to Sam's neck, his breath warm against his skin. "In some cases, our dreams have more'n come true." "Still, I miss those times. Things were so quiet then; just the sound of the river, the crickets in the trees, and the smell of grass, and the yellow flowers." "We were afraid then . . . of people knowing how much we love one another." "And, of you leaving for college." "I'm not goin' anywhere, Sammy. What are you afraid of now?" Sam hesitated. "You, Owen." He backed up and looked into his lover's eyes. "I'm not afraid of you, but for you." Owen held Sam in a tight embrace. "I'm doin' my best." Sam rubbed a hand up and down his lover's back, beneath the heavy fabric of the robe. "I know you are." There was a long pause. "Owen?" "Hmm?" "Trust me, okay? I will never hurt you. Whenever it seems like the . . . right time. Trust me enough to talk to me . . . okay?" There was no response, other than Owen's silent nod, as he rested his head on Sam's shoulder. * * * Lucas was pleased. He'd introduced Hank McCorkle to Millie Wolston, in hopes that the two would hit it off, and Hank might be persuaded to leave Evanston and work with Millie and him, to set up an alternative grocery store in Riverton. As always, Art, the barber was standing at Millie's side. "My guardian angel," Millie often called him. She would have called him her boyfriend, but for Art's wife. Today, there was no need for a guardian angel. Hank and Millie were behaving as if they were long-lost friends, leaving Lucas, Art, and Hank's son, Clyde, with little to do but listen to Millie and Hank laugh at one another's jokes. Lucas caught Clyde's eye, and motioned for them to leave the group, for a few minutes. "Dad thinks Millie's great," Clyde murmured, as he and Lucas stepped into the shade. "You should'a told me Millie was a large woman. If Dad had known, he would'a been here long before now. He loves big women," Clyde laughed, glancing over his shoulder, at another outburst of laughter. "What's up?" he asked, turning back to Lucas. "I was wondering where Bessie-the-car is," Lucas asked, smiling when Clyde bowed his head. "Well, I'm afraid it's 'bout time for me to put Bessie out to pasture. She's been a good ol' girl, but, lately, she's gotten so she's not very reliable." He looked up, his eyes brightening. "I've been savin' so I can buy a new car, but that's a ways off. Prices keep goin' up, and, I'd rather wait than buy a junker. I'm sort'a tired of having to hold a car together with some Duct Tape and a prayer." "Not so far off as you might think," Lucas grinned, at Clyde's puzzled expression. "Clyde, when my friends, Riley and Bailey, were visiting . . ." He paused. "You remember them?" Clyde smiled, his flawless teeth shining white in the sunlight. "Yeah, I don't think Riley liked Bessie much. 'Course I can understand. I should'a warned him 'bout that spring in the back seat." Clyde shook his head, regretting the oversight. "He wasn't too happy 'bout that." Lucas chuckled. "Well, when they were here, Riley started a collection to help you get a replacement vehicle, for whenever Bessie gives up the ghost. You've been such a great guy to us all, each of us added what we could." Clyde's eyes widened. 'How does he stay so clean looking?' Lucas wondered. 'I've never seen a white shirt with such a crisp crease. Same with the jeans. While everyone else is wearing clothes full of holes, and thinking they're looking cool, Clyde looks . . . perfect. Of course, his flawless skin, rosy cheeks, green eyes, beautiful smile, and thick blond hair, might have something to do with it. Oh, and his slender body. What a package!' Lucas hesitated. 'Well . . . that package looks pretty . . . substantial, too. And . . . what a butt!" "Well," Lucas said, forcing himself to think of something other than what Clyde might look like, naked. He pulled out his wallet, and handed Clyde a check, which he'd been carrying around since Riley and Bailey's visit. "All us guys want you to have a reliable vehicle. So . . . please accept our donation to the Clyde McCorkle-deserves-a-new-car-for-being-such-an-outstanding-guy, fund. Add this to whatever you've already saved, and get yourself something you'll be proud to take Abigail out on a date in . . . okay?" Clyde's mouth opened and closed, as he held the check in a shaky grip, his eyes shifting from the check to Lucas'. "Um, ah . . ." Lucas laughed. "No need for a big speech, or anything. Just say 'thanks'. You can thank Riley and Bailey next time they're in town. Don't make a big deal of it, though. All us guys took up a collection to help out a great guy, that's all." "All?" Clyde answered, wide-eyed. "Well . . . DANG! Thank you, thank you so much" he said, as he vigorously shook Lucas' hand. This is wonderful! Geez, Lucas, this is awesome! Can I show Dad?" he asked, bouncing with pent-up excitement. "Sure . . . it's your money. Get something nice, okay?" "Sure thing!" Clyde turned and ran back to his father, Art, and Millie, waving the check in the air, and speaking in an excited voice. Lucas followed a few steps behind. While Clyde was describing his plans to his father and Art, Millie hugged Lucas. "Thank you, sweetheart. You and the boys have made that young man very, very happy." "All of us chipped in something, but it was Riley's idea. I told Clyde all of us thought he needed a car he could be proud of whenever he invites Abigail out for a date." He lowered his voice. "Besides, Riley was determined to never ride in Bessie again." "I can understand that," Millie laughed. "The only time I rode in the ol' girl, I needed the assistance of two strong men to help me get out." She lowered her voice. "Too bad one of 'em wasn't Clyde's daddy. I think Hank and I are gonna get along just fine." Millie kissed the tips of her fingers and touched Lucas' cheek. "So . . . my young friend, you've made two people very happy today." * * * "I'm horny," Owen murmured, as he held Sam in a possessive embrace. "Huggin' you like this has made me hard." "Umm, I can tell," Sam murmured, as his own cock thickened to a full erection. "What'cha wanna do about it?" He circled Owen's cock with his hand, and gently squeezed. "Feels t'me like you're 'bout ready to burst." "Y'think?" Owen asked, as he backed away from Sam and examined himself. He watched Sam with a mischievous smile, as he sat on one of the dining room chairs and perched the heel of his right foot on the edge of the chair, causing the bottom half of his robe to part, displaying himself to his partner. "Y'think maybe we can do something to keep me from bursting?" he asked, in a low, seductive voice. His penis twitched, and stood straight, it's broad head overhanging the shaft. "Maybe you'd like to milk me?" He ran his fingers through his thick, light-brown pubic hair, then circled his erection with a hand, and squeezed. "Oh, yessss," Sam murmured, as he knelt between his lover's spread legs, and ran his tongue up the underside of the throbbing cock. "Where d'you want it?" Owen asked, shaking his penis, demanding attention. "You can drink my juice, or," Owen paused, while he held his cock at its base and smeared a clear line of pre-cum over Sam's cheek and lower lip. "Or," he repeated, "I can fill your butthole." Owen shivered with pleasure, as Sam pushed the fabric of the robe aside and ran his hands up and down the exposed skin, pausing to tease Owen's nipples, before he began to seductively caress his lover's chest and stomach. "My nuts, Sammy," Owen groaned, as he placed his other foot on the edge of the dining room chair. "Lick my nuts." Sam cupped Owen's smooth ball sac, feeling the testicles within, shifting beneath his touch. He leaned forward and sucked one testicle, then the other, into his mouth, before teasing the underside of the thick erection. After a few minutes, he sat back on his heels to better appreciate what he was seeing. Owen, his blond hair a mess after the previous night's love making, was watching him, his grey eyes smoldering with passion. His broad, smooth chest tapered to a narrow waist . . . his heavy scrotum and pulsing erection, prominently displayed between his spread legs. "I love you," Sam murmured, as he stood, his breath warm against his lover's skin, as Owen leaned forward and drew him into an embrace. "I've always loved you. Always . . . and forever." His voice was a tender caress, a familiar touch which sent erotic shivers up and down Owen's spine. Where they touched, their skin seemed to burn, melting, and combining, until their bodies became one. It had always been like this, since the first time they had clumsily made love, lying in the grass of their meadow, with the heavy scent of the yellow flowers hanging in the still, night air. "Ohhh, Sammy," Owen exhaled, as they parted. "What'd I ever do to deserve you?" He leaned forward and playfully rubbed the tip of his nose against his lover's, causing Sam to whimper with pleasure. Owen's mouth quivered, on the verge of a smile, as he wrapped his arms around Sam's waist, then, with seemingly no effort, lifted Sam and carried him the few steps to the dining table. "Yeow!" Sam yelped in surprise, wrapping his legs around Owen's waist. 'This is so freakin' awesome,' he wanted to shout, as he felt Owen's erection press against the bare skin of his asshole. 'He could fuck me like this,' he thought, a moment before Owen gently placed him on the dining table and rolled him backward, onto his shoulders, exposing his hairless hole. "Ah geez," he groaned, as Owen mashed his face between the mounds of his butt cheeks, penetrating the muscular opening with his tongue. He was like an animal, attacking Sam with all his strength, his morning whiskers brushing against the sensitive skin. He would pause a moment, spreading Sam's butthole with his strong fingers, then drag his nose, mouth, and chin over the hole, all-the-while making sounds, deep in his throat, as he returned to probing the tight opening. It wasn't often Owen exhibited the aggressiveness he was showing. More often, he was content to let either Lucas or Sam take the lead. Today was something special. The previous night had been free of nightmares, and, whether he realized it or not, Owen was demonstrating what he was like, when fully rested. He looked at Sam in breathless anticipation, his arm muscles flexing, as he gripped Sam's legs and held them wide apart. "My Sammy," he murmured, as he swiped the back of a hand over his spit-wet face. "Now," Sam gasped. He pulled his knees to his chest. "Do me now," he whimpered, as he watched Owen lick his lips. "You've got me so worked up, I know I'm gonna shoot, soon as you're in me." Owen's entire attention focused on the milky-white skin of Sam's butt cheeks. "So sexy," he breathed, as he rubbed a finger around the wet opening, causing Sam to whimper in sexual frustration. "Y'ready?" Sam could do nothing but mutely nod, swept away by the sensations he was experiencing, and the intensity of Owen's behavior. He was sprawled, flat on his back, on the dining room table, his legs bent at the knees, and spread wide. His penis pulsed with every beat of his heart, its head resting in a sticky puddle of pre-cum. He could already sense his imminent orgasm, a tingling centered on his prostate, as Owen wiped the head of his cock over the muscular opening. Owen was behaving like a wild man. He held Sam's legs back, positioned the head of his penis against the ring of muscle, and pushed the full length of his erection into his trembling lover. After giving Sam barely enough time to become accustomed to the invader, he began to slowly rock his hips. He would thrust a few times, then pause. After a few more thrusts, he quickly pulled free then slid back in, as Sam's sphincter clutched at him, like a tight fist, slowly bringing him to orgasm. They kissed one another's mouth, cheeks, chin, whatever either of them could reach, while Owen's increasingly aggressive thrusts created a rhythmic smacking sound of skin against skin. "Now," Sam gasped, breathlessly, tearing his mouth away from his lover's. "Shoot in me. You're drivin' me insane. I'm 'bout ready to cum." Owen pulled free; then, just as Sam was about to complain, slammed his cock back inside, burying its length and pressing his coarse pubic hair against the smooth skin of Sam's scrotum. "You want it?" Owen grunted, between each powerful thrust. "Y'want my juice in you?" he asked, in a voice rough with passion. There was another forceful thrust. "Yes . . . please," Sam whimpered, as his insides contracted, forcing out his first blast of sperm, which splashed against his chest, leaving a white trail, leading to his pulsing cock. Sam's sphincter tightened. Owen shouted, and rammed his cock to its full depth, then began filling Sam's insides with his juice. * * * Bailey sat in one of the small meeting rooms, next to the apartment building's staff offices, hoping to have a bit of privacy. 'I'm hiding,' he thought, to himself. 'That's the real reason I'm here. I don't want either Riley or Nathan to ask questions.' "Hello, Father," he said. "I need to talk a few things out. If you're busy, I can call back, but I'd really rather not. Y'see, I'm making this call behind Riley's back. He'd be upset if he knew I was calling you." Bailey launched into a description of everything that had happened since he and Riley had returned from Riverton, including the text message threatening murder, responding to his father's probing questions with all the information he knew. "I'm calling for two reasons, actually. The first is to let you know what's going on, which will explain why I haven't been by to visit you and Mother. The second reason, though, is the most crucial. It seems to me, you, Mother, and the attorneys you recruited for Mister Pruitt, are the weak links in all of Riley and Nathan's plans to keep themselves hidden. Anyone, with a modicum of intelligence, who knows of your connection to Riley's dad, could use that knowledge to deduce Riley's location. He's been too busy dealing with his mother's death, his brother's arrival, and his mother's subsequent resurrection to think things through, yet, and I fear what he'll do, should he ever figure it out. They're so frightened by their mother, they refuse to even go to the police to report her text message. "You and Mother are dangerous to Riley's desire to remain in hiding on yet another level; you both know where Riverton is." Bailey paused to listen to his father. "That's important, because, if Riley and Nathan come to believe that their mother knows for a certainty where they are, they will want to leave the city, and, most likely, that's where we'll go. There was a long pause, as George Wilkins spoke. "Yes," Bailey huffed a laugh. "I agree. I don't much like the danger aspect of this either, but we've been presented with a situation, and I intend to help Riley and Nathan deal with it, even if it is necessary to work behind their backs, as I'm doing now.
"It's important that no one knows anything about my current whereabouts, and about me knowing Riley." He shook his head, and rubbed a hand over his forehead, overwhelmed by the possible angles a dedicated person might use to discover Riley's whereabouts. And, with each new angle, he felt less and less secure. "The FBI has ordered Riley's father to hire some security guards, both personal, and for the grounds of the house. I don't know if you and Mother already have such people, but if you don't, you might consider some. They can at least provide a barrier which most people won't be able to get past. I don't believe either of you are in danger, other than the danger of inadvertently saying something which could be used against Riley, Nathan, and me." Bailey nodded. "Yes, I agree. I would personally feel better to have a trustworthy guard at my side, but I cannot do that unless Riley and Nathan do, as well. And, that's just not going to happen." Bailey listened as his father spoke, amazed they could be having such a conversation. Not too long ago, the two of them weren't even talking. 'In fact,' Bailey thought, 'Father never came down to the jail to visit, when I was there, accused of arson. Owen and Lucas were the only people to show any interest in my welfare. Still,' he thought, 'I can't blame Father. I'd given him plenty of reasons to believe the worst about me. I'm glad we've worked through all that, and can now speak with one another as equals.' "Father, I couldn't agree more, but having someone to guard me, or us, won't work, at least not yet. May I suggest a compromise?" When his father grudgingly agreed to listen, Bailey continued. "I can imagine that . . . soon . . . Riley, Nathan, or both of them, will become so afraid of being here in the city that they'll want to leave. I believe that Riley, at least, will want to go to Riverton. "I don't think a bodyguard would be of much use there. But . . . And, here is the compromise. If we do end up in Riverton, and if, for any reason, Riley and Nathan are called away, either back to Atlanta, or anyplace else, I will insist that all three of us have a personal guard, selected by you . . . a person who cannot possibly be tainted by any of the Pruitt melodrama. Does that satisfy you?" Bailey listened. "Yes, I agree. If the three of us eventually do end up with a guard, we will all promise not to attempt to slip away from their care. We know this isn't a game, Father. We won't behave as if we are children." Both men were silent, for the span of a few heartbeats, then George Wilkins spoke. The words were ones his son had never heard. Bailey looked through a watery blur, and tried to control his voice. "And . . . I . . . I love you, too, Father. As Owen would say, truly." * * * "Are the Pruitt boys still missing?" Bryant Mitchell, lead attorney in the Gustav Winton Law Firm, asked his boss. "No, not missing. Someone knows where they are. I don't believe, for a moment, that their father doesn't know. He's just experiencing a convenient bit of amnesia, hoping to hide their location from dear Liz." Gustav shrugged. "I don't really care where they might be. Their location has no bearing on anything we do." "Has any mention been made of . . . ," Attorney Mitchell gestured vaguely, unwilling to even mention one of the law firm's and Elizabeth Pruitt's most sensitive . . . situations. "No, and it would be best if you n'I forget all about it. After all, it's no longer profitable for us to consider anything having to do with Elizabeth, or any of her . . . mistakes. "Our informant," continued Gustav, "has learned that, with Elizabeth's unexpected appearance, and her expressed goal of killing her husband, the FBI has told Franklin to hire some bodyguards, both for his person, and for the grounds of the estate." Gustav's mouth twisted. "I fear I made, what may end up being, a tactical mistake by mentioning that piece of news to Elizabeth. I can't imagine what she'll do with the information, to hurt us, but . . . I should have been more discreet. "Our informant has also passed along another tidbit, much more difficult to swallow." Mitchell raised his brows, in polite inquiry. He'd learned, long ago, never to hurry his boss. The man had a legendary temper, and was known to shout at important clients, as well as employees, such as himself. Gustav heaved a sigh, letting his breath and irritation trickle out through his nostrils. "It appears our telephone security has been compromised by an FBI wiretap. We can only assume they have listened to everything this office has discussed, by phone, since Franklin hired those would-be attorneys of his. Unfortunately, we have not been able to find out precisely when that wiretap took place. The move was done with such secrecy, even our source wasn't aware what was going on. Elizabeth is convinced that someone is behind Franklin, manipulating him. I don't believe that's the case. We've just been given an example of how canny the man can be. It's a lesson we best not ignore. "From here on out, no business concerning Elizabeth, or the Pruitt family, will be conducted over the telephone. Everything having to do with any of them will be handled by you, Branson Elledge, or me, and no one else." Attorney Mitchell nodded. He chewed on his bottom lip, then plunged on, but not before surveying his boss' desk to see if there were any dangerous objects which might be hurled in his direction. "Um . . . there is something else . . . not from our informant." "What?" Gustav asked in a voice devoid of emotion. "You mentioned Branson Elledge. He has disappeared. I have checked everywhere, with no luck. He always was a weak-willed bastard, and I can only assume he's gone over to the other side, and will provide them with information in exchange for favorable consideration, later on." Gustav bellowed, slamming the palm of one hand onto his desk. "Find him!" he ordered, his voice verging on panic. "If what you suspect turns out to be true, we're in deeper trouble than we imagined. He knows everything . . . everything! "Damn!" Gustav hissed. He abruptly swiveled his chair, knocking a knee into the desk. "Shit!" he swore, then thrust a shaking finger towards the office door. "Out! Get out, and find Branson! We cannot allow him to compromise us any further! Do whatever it takes to stop him!" * * * "I don't like it," Pete Adams grumbled, as he and the other two men chosen to guard Franklin Pruitt, were driven to the house in an unmarked Agency car. "Budget cuts can't be the only reason trusted guys won't be out guarding the grounds of the Pruitt house. Why, all of a sudden, should the bosses bring in a bunch of unknowns?" "Easy Pete," John Wilson laughed. "Ours is not to question why . . . ," he began. "Yeah, I know. 'Ours is but to do and die.'" He groused. "It's the dying bit that I'm not too keen on, and I'd feel a good bit safer if there were folks out in the bushes that I knew, for a fact, are on the same side as us. As it is, one of 'em could walk up to us, and we wouldn't know if they're one of the good guys, or one of the bad! That's pretty shitty, in my humble opinion." "Yeah, well, jobs are like that sometimes," the third agent, Bill Murphy, laughed. "When you're one'a the bosses, I'm sure there'll never be any bitching in the ranks of the guys out in the field." "Damn right!" Pete grumbled, as he crossed his arms, determined to be irritated. * * * Elizabeth approached the door to her apartment, and blinked, suddenly wary. The front door of her apartment stood, slightly ajar. 'What the . . . ,' she began, as she studied the nondescript apartment building she'd labeled as her base of operations. The building, with its row of apartments facing the street, stood dingy and forlorn. Weeds had won the battle with the lawn; the few trees which had any leaves on them, seemed to contemplate their current condition, recalling their past glory. Everything, even the paint on the building, was faded, like a photograph left too long in the sun. 'How the mighty have fallen,' she thought. 'I would never have even thought such places as this existed, much less ever believed that I would be living in one.' It was at times like this, that she would vent her frustrations on all the men in her life, and what they had done which had brought her to this situation. 'Surely, no one would have broken into this dump,' she thought, as she warily climbed the two steps and slowly swung the rusty screen door open. The only light came from the windows, a late twilight yellow-glow, which painted the apartment's interior in a sickly hue. She quickly looked through her few possessions, and found nothing missing, which confused her even more than the opened door. It wasn't until she went into the kitchen, the last room to be checked, that she stopped. There was a neatly printed note on the kitchen table. 'From the landlady?' she wondered. 'The ol' broad probably wants more money.' "You're in our sights," the note read. "Your days are numbered." * * * "I don't like it!" the head of the security firm, chosen to provide perimeter security for the Pruitt mansion, told his assistant, echoing the sentiments of the men the FBI had assigned to guard the mansion's owner. "Two new men, and the only thing we know about them are their names! Hell, they could be anybody, and how would we know?" "Apparently Mister Pruitt personally asked for these guys to be added to the group we sent over," the assistant added. "I've never heard of something like this happening before, but," he shrugged, "the guy's rich. He's accustomed to giving orders." "Yeah, well, that doesn't mean I have to like it. Something's fishy." The boss thought a moment, then came to a decision. "Okay, until we have something concrete to go on, we leave 'em in place, but let's get all the information we can on them. Why did Mister Pruitt ask for them in particular? Where'd they come from? What is their background, and how do we know they won't do something to bungle the job and ruin our reputation?" The man shook his head. "I've got the feeling that these guys are bad news."
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