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Owen leaned his elbows on the library table, and stared, unseeing, across the room. 'Seems like life is either full of people wanting a piece of your time, or absolute quiet. For a while there, everything was pretty hectic, with Riley, Bailey, and Nathan here. Whether any of them wanted to admit it or not, they were worried that Riley's and Nathan's Mom would show up and they'd be forced to confront her, which would not have been a good thing. After all, who wants to confront anyone who wants to kill them, especially one's mother?" 'Since they've gone back to Atlanta, everything here seems soooo quiet. I'm spendin' most'a my time working on assignments for my online classes. Lucas, Millie, and Hank, Millie's live-in friend, have spent all their time putting the finishing touches on the grocery store. Sam's at school, or going to meeting, with Lucas, a lot. Jonah's doing his thing out at the greenhouses, and Corey's teaching. I actually see more of him than I do most anyone else. 'I have heard from Bailey.' Owen smiled. 'He says Nathan has found himself a new boyfriend . . . his half-brother, a very squeezably, handsome guy named Micah, whose house was burned down by that crazy mother of theirs.' Owen grimly smiled. 'At least, the parent who's driving me crazy is dead, and can't go around starting fires, or terrorizing anyone but me. 'Because of their mother's threats, and what she did to Micah's house, Bailey, Riley, Nathan, and Micah all have their very own, personal bodyguard.' Owen imagined what it was like being surrounded by people whose job it was to watch your every movement. He shuddered at the thought, then smiled. 'Those guards better have a pretty open mind. Otherwise they're gonna be in for a shock. 'Bailey doesn't seem to mind the guards, though. "I just ignore them," he laughed. "After a while, you learn to practically make them disappear."' Owen closed his eyes, imagining what anyone assigned to guarding him would have thought of his recent experience with unconsciousness, and his apparent visit with his dead father. 'Hell, what do I think about things? I'm afraid to talk to anyone about what happened. They're all so anxious to protect me from . . . everything . . . including myself, that they are leery of saying anything which they think might upset me. That's not what I want! I want to be able to talk to someone . . . anyone . . . about my experience. Maybe just vocalizing what I think happened will make me more able to figure out what to make of . . . things.' He looked up as his little friend, Nicky, bounded into the library for his daily reading lesson. "Hey, Owen!" he shouted, giving his friend a high-five greeting. "How's my very favorite teacher?" he asked, as he dragged one of the heavy chairs closer to Owen and crawled up onto the seat, plopping down with a satisfied sigh. Owen laughed. "I'm your only teacher!" "Wouldn't matter how many I had, you'd still be my very favoritest." "Most favorite," Owen automatically corrected, grinning when Nicky made a dismissive gesture. "What are you reading?" the little boy asked, craning his neck to examine the book which lay on the table in front of Owen. He mouthed the word on the cover, trying to figure out how to pronounce it. "Trig-o-nom-et-ry." He glanced from the book to Owen. "I give up. What's it mean?" "It's complicated math," Owen replied, casting a disgusted glance at the textbook. "Ugh." Nicky flopped back in his chair and crossed his arms. "Arithmetic! Yuck." He glanced at his smiling friend. "I guess we better read something more simple. I can't even add yet. I bet stuff in that book is hard, huh?" Owen sighed. "Yeah, but I'll get the hang of it." Nicky leaned forward and lightly punched Owen on the arm. "Of course you will! It won't matter how hard something is, you can do it . . . right?" Owen grinned, crookedly. "I'm glad you think so. Some things are harder than others." Owen turned in his chair. "Nicky, do you mind if I tell you about a . . . a . . . dream I had the other day? I want to tell Sam and Lucas about it, but I'd like to talk to someone else about it first." "Is this a bad dream, like you told me about before? I don't like bad dreams much. I have those sometimes, and wish you were there to hold me, like Mom says you did when I was little." Owen smiled, recalling the many nights he'd spent at Nicky's parents' house, volunteering to hold his very sick little friend, and carry him, allowing the boy's parents to get some sleep and not worry about their son. Since those days, he and Nicky had become like brothers. In fact, Nicky sometimes called Owen his big brother. "No," Owen answered the young boy's question. "It's a good dream . . . at least I think so." Both Owen and Nicky looked up as the little boy's father, Will, knocked on one of the library windows and waved. "Hey, men," he said, as he entered the building. His smile faltered when he noticed Owen's serious expression. "Hi, Dad!" the little boy called, in greeting. "Owen was going to tell me about a dream." Nicky turned. "Can Dad listen, too?" "Owen, I'd be happy to leave you and Nicky alone," Will volunteered. Owen shook his head. "No, Will. Like I was telling Nicky, I had a . . . I guess you would call it a dream . . . the other night . . . about Pops. I want to talk to Sammy and Lucas about it, but," he shrugged, "I'm afraid they're both too emotionally attached to me, to be able to really listen." "And you think Nicky and I aren't?" Will Saunders murmured. "Owen, neither my son nor I are impartial, when it comes to you. Are you sure it's us you'd like to speak with?" Owen nodded, once, chewed on his lower lip, then plunged on. "Guys, do you believe it's possible for someone to speak to you from the grave?" "After they're dead?" Nicky asked, wide-eyed. "If they're dead, how can they talk to anyone?" Owen smiled. "I'm talking about hearing something they have to say, up here," Owen said, pointing to his head. "Pops didn't talk to me, like you and your Dad and I are talking, right now," he said, closing his eyes and rubbing his forehead, as if hoping to fend off a looming headache. "I don't know what to think. It all seems so real, yet . . . I don't see how it can be." "Do you think your father spoke to you, while you were sleeping?" Will asked. "No, while I was unconscious." Will's eyes widened, in an expression very much like his son. "I fell and hit my head, and was unconscious," Owen explained. "Did it hurt? What's unconscious mean?" "Yeah, hitting my head hurt some, and being unconscious is something like being asleep, only deeper." Will Saunders interrupted. "Owen, please forgive me, but may I ask why you feel comfortable telling Nicky and me of your dream? I would have expected you'd be telling your mother, or Daniel, or Sam, Lucas, or Jonah." Owen bent his head. "I trust you guys. It's not like I don't trust everyone else, but I trust you . . . differently. Will, you didn't directly have to deal with Pops; Mama did, Jonah did, Sam did, and Lucas has heard so many awful stories, he can't be impartial. You may have heard stories, but I trust you not to tell me something based on your feelings about Pops, or about me, but listen to me without any preconceived notions. Everyone will try to tell me what they think I want to hear. They're afraid of saying or doing anything which might hurt me. I trust you . . . and Nicky . . . to tell me the truth, without regard to how I might feel about it. Is that something you can do?" Will heaved a breath. "Owen, I must tell you, I did not like your father, and, like I said, a bit ago, you are like a son to me. I'm like everyone else. I don't want to do or say anything to hurt you. I'll listen . . . gladly . . . and I'll promise to try and be impartial. But, with your father, I'm not sure I can. The one thing Nicky and I will do, though, is always give you our honest opinion. I'll do my best not to say something hurtful, but if I think something needs to be said, I'll say it. Same with Nicky. Right?" he asked his son, who solemnly nodded. "Will," Owen began, then hesitated. "You guys have always stood by me, like when I was holdin' onto Maxine, when she attacked Nicky, or when we were in that courtroom. Will, you are the father I wish I'd grown up with. Nicky is certainly lucky to have you as a Dad. He may not realize it yet, just how lucky, but he will, the more he grows up. Then, whenever he has children of his own, I'm betting he'll be a great dad, just because he's using you as an example." "I'm not getting married, Owen!" Nicky wailed, looking from his father, to Owen with a panicked expression. "I'm just'a kid! I think I should prob'ly learn to read before that other stuff." Owen and Will laughed, as Nicky, once again, sat back, with crossed arms, looking stubborn. "I'm not ready to get married!" he groused. "Maybe, after I can understand that hard arithmetic book Owen's reading." Owen smiled, ruffling his little friend's hair. "I've heard that when someone is unconscious, parts of the mind we don't normally pay attention to can be heard," Will Saunders said. "Is this what you're thinking might have happened?" Owen shrugged. "I don't know. All I know is that when I was lying on the floor, out like a light, Pops talked t'me. He wasn't the Pops I knew all my life, though. He wasn't yelling or calling anyone names, or anything. He was speaking to me, just like I'm speaking to you guys." "Sounds sort'a spooky," Nicky shuddered, his eyes wide. "Like a ghost, or something." "It wasn't spooky. I was sort'a angry with him, at first, figurin' he had trapped me, or something . . . like he wasn't finished with me yet. Will," Owen said, in a plaintive voice. "He told me he loved me, and was pleased with the man I've become. He even told me how happy he was that I'm loved by Sammy and Lucas! "He told me how . . ." Owen's voice caught. He swallowed, and tried to smile his thanks when his young friend quickly slid off his chair and rested an arm over his shoulders, offering what comfort he could. "Pops told me how . . . sorry . . . he was, for everything he did, while he was living, and told me the reasons . . . why he . . ." Owen's voice caught. "Why he . . . treated me like he did. Pops did most all the talking, and ever since I woke up, surrounded by Sam, Lucas, Corey, Jonah, Daniel, and Mama, all looking like I'd returned from the dead, I've been trying to figure things out." * * * "Hellloooo, Jonaaaah!" Owen called, as he held open the door to the greenhouse. 'Sheesh!' he thought, as he looked across the seemingly endless expanse of growing things. 'Pops would be soooo jealous.' He compressed his lips into a thin line, as he recalled that his father was one of the reasons he was here to visit his brother. 'This is Jonah's world,' he thought. 'His efforts produce near-instant gratification. Same with Lucas' and Sam's, while Corey and I plant seeds of learning which we hope will grow. We won't know though, for years and years,' he thought as his eye was caught by the activation of an overhead spray of water which swept across the plants, much as a summer thunderstorm. The visit with Will and Nicky Saunders hadn't accomplished much, other than giving him a chance to tell someone of what happened, and to organize his thoughts. Both had offered their unconditional support, but neither had come up with any, eureka-like insight. One thing he had realized while visiting with the father and son, though, was that he'd seen very little of his brother since the night when he'd lain on the floor, unconscious. He couldn't understand why that should be so, and decided to find out. 'Besides,' he thought, as he surveyed what appeared to be acres of greenery, 'I miss Jonah.' "Owen?!" Jonah's surprised voice came from the lighted office. He stuck his head out of the office door, then rushed to his brother, engulfing him in a tight embrace. "Ohhhh, it's good to see you," he murmured, close to Owen's ear, as the held his brother close. "Is everyone okay? Can you stay a while?" he asked, before his lips found his brother's. He wrapped an arm around Owen's waist, and led him into the office. "I hope you can stay a while," he said, pulling his brother closer. "Corey's meeting with the parents of his students, so I've got all the time in the world." Owen frowned as he studied the only place to sit, other than the desk chair, a piece of furniture on the far wall, beneath a window looking out onto his brother's domain, the vast carpet of greenery. He crossed the office and sat, rubbing his hands over the fancy . . . tufted black leather surface, then looked up at his brother. "What do you call this thing? Sort'a low, for a sofa, isn't it?" Jonah grinned. "I asked the same thing. Lucas tells me it's called a day bed, or bench, or something, designed by some famous guy named Mies something-or-other. Strange name." Jonah thought for a moment, then shook his head. "Anyhow, I told him . . . Lucas, not this Mies person . . . that this is a greenhouse not a furniture showroom! There're going to be people with dirt on them in this office. We don't need high-priced stuff like this, or that, set-up," he said, gesturing toward the modern desk and the glowing computer screen. "Lucas just laughed and told me dirt'll wipe off. He wanted the office to look cool for when his clients come t'visit, or something. I don't like having to take off my shoes n'stuff, just t'come into the office." He grinned, "but I'll survive." "He wanted a place you n'Corey could use whenever you guys get frisky, is what he wanted," Owen laughed. "Yeah, well," Jonah grinned, sheepishly. "We've used it for that a couple times. Y'know, this cushioning isn't so bad when you lick jiz off of it, either . . . sorta like licking a shoe or something. Hmm," he frowned, his mouth twisting crookedly. "Not that I've known many guys who even wear leather shoes! I know I've never licked one. A shoe, I'm talking about; not a guy," he grinned. "Neither Corey nor I have had to lick the furniture very often, though. Most'a the time we're swallowing what we shoot. We lick the furniture only when we overshoot, or . . . drip . . . or something." Owen laughed. "You always were a high-powered shooter." "Yeah, well." Jonah looked up, from beneath lowered lids, and smiled. "You're no slouch either." He hesitated. "Owen," he continued, not looking up, his voice becoming serious. "I'm sorry about the other night . . . when you were unconscious, n'stuff. I'm sorry how I acted. I was so scared that you . . ." His voice caught. He worked his mouth, trying to finish his thought, but gave up, and shook his head, making a helpless gesture. "I love you so much," he managed, in a ragged voice. "I figure Sam knows about how I feel . . . and Corey, and maybe Lucas, but . . . Mama, or Daniel?" He bowed his head and rubbed his forehead. "I've sort'a been afraid to see either of 'em, 'cause of what they must think of me." Jonah gestured, asking to be heard out. "When Corey told me, that night, that I needed to get over to your place, 'cause you were lying on the floor, I wasn't thinking of anything but you, and how much I . . ." He gulped a swallow, and smiled, crookedly. "I can't even say it!" He turned his back, took a couple steps, then turned back. "Now that I know you're okay . . ." he shrugged. "I feel like a small kid who doesn't think before letting his emotions get out'a hand." "C'mon, Handsome," Owen murmured, as he scooted back on the day bed until his back was against the wall and his legs stretched out in front of him. He pried off his shoes, patting the area between his spread legs, urging his brother to sit. "Sam told me that he told you he explained to Mama and Daniel about what you and I feel about one another, and why we feel like we do. He didn't need t'do that, I'm thinking. Neither Mama or Daniel are blind. If they've thought about you and me at all, they know what we feel for one another goes way deeper than just what brothers usually feel." Jonah tossed his red baseball cap onto the office desk and knelt on the day bed, on hands and knees, leaning into a tender kiss. "Ahhhh," he exhaled, as he and Owen parted. "Why didn't we ever kiss when we were growing up?" He shook his head in wonder, as he turned and scooted into a sitting position between Owen's legs and relaxed, while his brother wrapped his arms around his waist. "There's nothing wrong with how you and I feel about one another, Jonah," he said, in a low voice, "nothing," he added, tightening his arms in emphasis. "And even if there was, I wouldn't change a thing. So . . . don't be embarrassed about how you feel, when you're around Mama and Daniel. They understand. Same with Sam, Lucas, and Corey. So . . . all this boils down to both of us loving one another . . . more than anyone else. So . . . relax, okay?" Jonah nodded once, then sighed, as Owen nuzzled his hair. "You've always made things right," he began. "Shhhh." Owen tightened his embrace and inhaled the unique scent of his brother. On those awful nights after he'd been beaten by his father, Jonah had held him as he cried, and Owen had grown to associate his brother's scent with safety, and love. He inhaled deeply, sending a sensuous shiver through his body, stunned by the memories the aroma conjured. He and Jonah were once again sprawled in that big bed of theirs, as they masturbated, side-by-side. Before Owen left for college, he'd taken his brother's presence for granted. Jonah and he had always been together. When they were older, they'd discovered masturbation, and had played with themselves, at one another's side. Often, after they both climaxed, they would run their fingers through one another's sperm, licking their fingers and humming with pleasure. They had shared everything . . . except their bodies, or acknowledgement of their love, and need, for one another. Then, when they were separated, they both had learned how deeply they felt about each other. When he'd returned to Riverton, Owen had been overjoyed to be reunited with Sam, his mother, and sisters, but he'd experienced something inexplicable when reunited with his brother. He smiled tenderly, recalling how Jonah had burst out of the house, and had about knocked him over in his enthusiasm to reaffirm that . . . connection, and their love. 'Now, more than a year later, we're still attempting to work out . . . or justify . . . our feelings for one another. Well . . . Jonah's working on it,' Owen thought. 'I'm comfortable with my feelings, and with everyone knowing how I feel. I love Jonah, more than a brother. He is as . . . or more . . . important to me than . . . anyone.' Owen paused, feeling as if he was betraying Sam. 'No,' he told himself, after a brief moment, when Jonah tried to snuggle closer. 'Sam knows how things are. So does Corey. What Jonah and I feel for one another isn't betrayal. Just because I love Jonah, with all my heart, doesn't mean I can't also love Sam, and Lucas.' As he held his brother in a loose embrace, reveling in their closeness, he was struck by a thought. 'Jonah and I grew up in a home where expressions of love were not tolerated. Hell, neither of us ever heard the word. Now that we're both surrounded by love, and are free to love one another, we somehow feel . . . guilty about how we feel.' "Ummmm," he hummed, his breath soft against Jonah's neck. "You smell nice." He kissed the exposed skin of his brother's neck. "C'mon, strip out'a this T-shirt." Jonah obediently raised his arms, allowing his brother to pull the shirt over his head. Owen quickly followed suit, and soon the two men were skin-to-skin, Owen's chest against his brother's back. "Oh, yeah. This is nice," he said, as he nuzzled Jonah's thick hair, covering his brother's shoulders and neck with kisses. "I love you so much," he murmured, close to Jonah's ear. Jonah rested a hand on top of his brother's, where they held him in a loose embrace. He gently squeezed a response. "Owen," he finally said. "Are you okay?" "Ummmm," Owen hummed. "Never better." "You sure?" "Before coming over here, I had a long visit with Nicky and his father, talking about a lot of stuff, so yeah, I'm sure. When I was closing up the library, I got to thinking about you. I don't know . . . I just had to come over here to be with you for a while, to touch you, and hear your voice." Owen tightened his embrace, "To touch you." He chuckled. "I was also hopin' . . . to taste you," he added, in a playful voice. "What?" Owen inhaled deeply. "I also wanted to smell your sweaty body." "What!" Jonah raised his voice, in playful indignation. "I've been working hard all day, not like some people I know," he said, twisting his head to the side, seeking his brother's mouth. "What can I say? I love sweat," Owen said, in a husky voice, licking over his brother's neck and tasting the saltiness. "I mean, I love your sweat, whether it's on your neck, your pits . . . your . . . crotch, or ass. I love it." He paused a moment. "Hmm. I'm not too keen on feet, though, so you can keep your socks on," he teased, aware of how much Jonah considered his feet a major erogenous zone. In response to the teasing, Jonah quickly stood, turned, and pushed Owen onto his back. A moment later, he was straddling his brother's body. "You're makin' fun of me and my feet," he laughed, as he ground the seat of his jeans against his brother's groin. "You should know better than t'do that." "Uuuuu, I'm impressed" Owen said, in a laughing voice. "The guy's tryin' to show me how strong he is, by pushing me around, and talkin' tough. Just 'cause you work all day, y'think you can overpower me and make me lick your sweaty armpits, or sweaty crotch and ass." He reached out and ran appreciative hands over his brother's hairless chest, toying briefly with the small nipples. "Maybe you'll want me to sniff your underwear, next," he added, as he pressed his erection upward. "Hasn't anyone ever told you, big brother," Jonah grunted, as he tried to control the squirming man, "that . . . you talk . . . too . . . much?" He grabbed both of Owen's arms and pinned them to the day bed, then found Owen's mouth, and, for the duration of the kiss, at least, Owen wasn't talking. "Noooo, no one has ever told me that," Owen laughed, answering his brother's question, as the kiss ended. "One surefire way to get me to shut up, though, is to kiss me," he suggested, thrusting upward. "I mean kiss, like a man. I want a full-body kiss." "What's that mean? I could let you lick my pits. Y'think that'd be as good as a kiss?" "Let me?" Owen laughed, incredulous. "LET me! If I wanna lick your pits, I will," he said, lowering his voice. "Yeah?" Jonah taunted. "It's big, macho Owen talking. Look who's on the bottom, though," he laughed, squirming around on top of his brother, pushing himself against the firm mound of his brother's groin, while lovingly running his hands over the muscular chest. "I'll show you who's macho." Owen grunted and tried to roll over. He'd forgotten the daybed's size, though. When he heaved, he not only pushed Jonah off him, but off the bed and onto the carpeted floor, where he landed with a thump and an 'umph' of expelled breath. "Oops," Owen laughed, as he rolled off the daybed and onto his brother, quickly burrowing his face in an armpit. "Ummmm," he mumbled. "Jonah-sweat, yum," he murmured, as he licked over the dark hair, then shared his tongue with his brother. "I wonder if his crotch tastes as good." He grinned. "I think I may just have to find out for myself. Heh, heh, heh," he laughed, evilly. "You are certifiably wacko," Jonah teased, "and you never did tell me what a full-body kiss is." Owen quickly changed position, until he was lying, full length, on top of his brother, pushing their crotches together, while at the same time he attacked Jonah's open mouth and waiting tongue. This was no . . . simple kiss. They were aggressive claiming one another's body. It was a sloppy kiss, a forceful kiss, celebrating what it meant to be a man. "This is no good," Owen finally grumbled in frustration. "We got'a be nekkid." In a smooth motion, Owen rolled off Jonah, and onto his knees. He quickly unzipped his brother's jeans, and pulled them off. Next, he tugged the very brief, briefs down his brother's long legs, freeing the substantial erection, then wadded up the underwear fabric and pushed it against his nose, loudly inhaling. He smiled ingenuously at Jonah's expression, then tossed the underwear aside and stripped out of his own clothes. "I want s'more sweat," Owen announced, as he pushed his brother's legs back until his knees touched his shoulders and repeatedly licked over his brother's hole. "What would you like?" Owen asked, as he firmly rubbed a finger over the prominent swell of his brother's perineum. "Y'want me to . . ." "Owennnn," Jonah groaned, in exasperation. "Shut up, and lick me, suck me, fuck me, or do whatever you want t'me, except talk!" "I was just fixin' to talk dirty." "Well, don't. Suck on my sweaty nuts instead." Jonah reached up between his own bent legs, intending to force his brother's face against his exposed hole. Instead, Owen opened his mouth and began nursing on a couple of his brother's fingers; at the same time, he rubbed his own fingers over the muscular ring of Jonah's sphincter. "Oh yeah," he said, in a breathless voice, finally releasing the fingers from his mouth and mashing his face against the exposed hole, plunging his tongue into his brother's body. Jonah groaned, writhing beneath Owen's attention. "Ohhhh, fuck me," he begged, in a breathy voice. "Please, Owen, shoot inside me." "Oh yeah!" Owen wiped the back of his hand across his spit-wet face, then quickly pushed two fingers into his brother's asshole. When he touched the firm prostate, Jonah's eyes flew open. He gasped, and loudly groaned, rocking back and forth, fucking himself on his brother's fingers. A moment later, he groaned even more loudly, inhaling sharply, as Owen slid into him, and his hole stretched to accommodate the intruder. "Now . . . fuck me, like you mean it!" he ordered, when he felt his brother's wiry pubes pressed against the skin of his butt cheeks. Owen needed no urging. His naked brother was beneath him, the tight muscle of his sphincter gripping the invading penis and milking it. He leaned forward and began to slowly work his cock in the tight opening. Three or four lazy strokes, accompanied by Jonah's groans of pleasure, then he'd pull free and press his open mouth against the gaping butthole. He'd lick for a few moments, then push back inside. Owen repeatedly brought both himself and his brother to the verge of an orgasm, only to retreat, wait for a few moments, while they kissed, or he plunged his tongue into the begging asshole, before he slid back inside. Soon, the room was heavy with the smell of sex and the perspiration which covered both men. Owen shook his head, sending droplets flying, a moment before Jonah pulled him close and hungrily licked his brother's face and neck. "Now, Owen!" he gasped, as he was, once again pushed to the brink of orgasm. "Harder!" he gasped, rocking backward, onto his shoulders in an effort to get more of his brother into him. "Cum in meeee!" he cried, as he tightened his sphincter and erupted, shooting his load into his own waiting mouth. The first jet hit the back of his throat, while the second and third splashed against his extended tongue, coating it with thick jiz. 'Show-off,' Owen couldn't help but think, despite himself, as his own cock pulsed, filling his brother's hole with hot semen. He gasped as Jonah rhythmically tightened his sphincter, coaxing every last drop of semen out of Owen's cock. After a lengthy kiss, where he tasted his brother's load, Owen's cock finally slid free. He laughed in exhaustion, and rolled onto the floor at his brother's side. "Geez, but that was great. I feel like havin' a cigarette." "Owen." "Huh?" the sweaty blond man asked, rolling his head to the side, giving his brother a guileless look. "Have you taken up smoking?" "Uh, no. I guess a cigarette wouldn't be such a good idea then, would it? "Wait!" he added, a second later. "We're not done yet! I know something better than a cigarette." He scrambled to his knees and pushed Jonah's legs back, exposing the drooling opening. He probed the hole, sloshing around in the remains of his orgasm until his fingers were well coated. Then, with a twinkle in his eyes, he smeared his sperm onto Jonah's lips. "Don't lick," he ordered. "There's more." He gathered up as much of his own load as he could, and smeared it over his brother's face and lips. "Now, we can kiss." * * * "See you boys later!" Millie called, waving to Jonah, Owen, and Lucas, as she closed the door to the soon-to-be grocery store. Jonah and his brother arrived as Lucas explained that, with the arrival of the first trucks from Bailey's and Riley's business, they'd be able to meet their commitments for the vegetables being grown in the greenhouses, and would, soon after, be able to open the doors to Riverton's long-awaited grocery store. During the past six months, while Maxine cooled her heels in the Evanston jail, for attacking young Nicky Saunders, townsfolk had had to make the fourteen miles to Evanston, to buy groceries. They were pleased not to have to deal with Maxine's bullying ways, but were tired of the long drives, to buy the smallest thing, and were constantly asking, "when?" The three men waved their goodbyes, then stopped, as the woman they'd dreaded ever seeing again, stepped out of Clyde McCorkle's new car and slammed the door, cutting off the young man's protest. "I said, I'll pay you whenever I can!" Maxine shouted back, slapping the side of the car with her hand, to emphasize her words. She turned her back on Clyde, who had hurried to examine the car and see if the woman had caused his pride and joy, Bessie II, any harm. Maxine stopped, confronted by the three men who had haunted her every waking moment for the past six months. Her scathing gaze swept over the men, then moved to the new sign gracing the red brick building from which they'd just stepped. "Riverton General Store." She inhaled an outraged breath and cast a withering glance, focusing on Owen. "YOU!" she hissed, pointing a shaking finger at the blond man, who blinked, startled by the venom in the single word. In the sudden silence of the tension-thickened air, Lucas could hear a dog barking in the distance, and Art's laugh, as he cut someone's hair in the nearby barbershop. "Welcome back, Miss Maxine," Owen said, his voice calm despite his racing heart. "This place," she said, gesturing to the new store, "has got to go. I will not allow it in my town. I run the only store, and it will remain that way." She turned from the store to face Owen. "And I'll see you in Hell!" she hissed, her hate-filled glance becoming acidic. 'The woman is as vile a person as I've ever encountered,' Lucas thought, as he clenched his teeth, doing his best to avoid an angry retort. "Thank you for the good wishes," Owen responded, pausing a moment, as Lucas tried to urge him away from what could become a major confrontation. "I'm afraid I won't be heading to Hell, so . . . don't wait for me, okay?" Maxine jerked, as if stung, then gathered whatever dignity she could muster and turned up her nose, sniffing a response. "Owen," Lucas muttered, gripping his partner's forearm in a firm grip. "Enough." Owen removed Lucas' hand, and, seemingly without so much as a second thought, dismissed Maxine from his mind, and turned to Clyde McCorkle, who had been standing nearby, agog at the confrontation. "Hey, Clyde!" Owen smiled, taking the few steps to shake his sister's boyfriend's hand. "Very cool car!" Lucas and Jonah glanced toward one another, while, in the background, Owen visited with Clyde, and Maxine stomped down the street, heading toward her empty store. "That woman's going to be trouble yet," Jonah murmured, for Lucas' ears. Lucas glanced from the new grocery and general store, to Maxine's rail-thin image, as she stalked away, fury written in her every motion. "I'm afraid you're right." Jonah watched his brother. "I'm thinking that he shouldn't have said anything, other than welcome back, to her. She can take anything and twist it into something hateful, and Owen definitely does not need to be the target of her venom." "Hmmmm," was the only response Lucas offered. * * * The three men separated at the top of the stairs, Jonah entering his and Corey's apartment, and Owen and Lucas entering the apartment they shared with Sam. 'Lucas isn't pleased with Owen's behavior,' Jonah thought, willing himself not to turn and watch the two men. He knew how serious things were, though, when Lucas closed the doors to the apartment. It was something that was hardly ever done, and shouted, Do Not Disturb, louder than any sign might have. "You're angry with me," Owen observed, as he poured himself a glass of orange juice, and did his best to look not guilty of any offense Lucas might lay at his feet. Lucas heaved a sigh, hoisting himself onto one of the barstools, opposite his partner. "No, I'm not . . . angry." He held his thumb and forefinger very close to one another, but not . . . quite . . . touching. 'I'm this close to being angry, though," he said, pleased his voice remained calm. "You taunted her, Owen! Maxine is not the person to ever taunt. Why?" he asked. "She . . ." "Hello! I'm home!" Sam announced, as he opened the apartment's door, and stepped inside, unwittingly interrupting what Lucas was about to say. He saw Lucas' serious expression, as well as Owen's look of determination, and quietly closed the door. "I asked you a question," Lucas repeated, wondering if Sam would immediately side with Owen, no matter what the argument was. Instead of moving to Owen's side, Sam stood silently at the end of the kitchen peninsula, equal distance to both of his partners, announcing his neutrality. "Owen?" Lucas repeated, in a steady voice. "Why? There was no need to behave toward Maxine, as you did." "I didn't think I'd said anything wrong," Owen began. "You didn't think, is more like it!" "Lucas, hear me out! Please. Honestly, I did not feel as if I was taunting her. But," he said, his grey eyes devoid of their usual sparkle. "I can see why you could think that's what I was trying to do. I can also imagine Miss Maxine believes that's what I was doing; if, for no reason other than she hates me. You're right, though. I didn't think . . . enough. "I'm sorry if I've done something which will end up making your life more difficult than it already is. "However," Owen added, his voice taking on a quality Sam had rarely heard. "I will not tolerate the sort of behavior from Maxine which she's gotten away with for all my life. She has become comfortable with being the town bully. Since no one would stand up to her, she's felt free to say . . . or do . . . whatever she pleased, and no one would say anything, because they were afraid of her. That was wrong of all of us. Maxine started off as a two cent bully, and we . . . everyone in town . . . allowed her to become the person she is today. "I agree that neither I nor anyone else should provoke her. However, none of us should back down from what we know is right. What you're asking is for me to continue with the behavior which created the problem in the first place, for no reason other than to avoid any potential trouble. I won't do it. My apology to you is genuine. I hate it that I've done something which upsets you, and I'm happy you felt like you could call me on my behavior. I always want to be told if I'm doing something . . . anything . . . inappropriate. "I agree with you. I should not have been as . . . flip . . . as I was, when she told me she'd see me in Hell. I could have said something less inflammatory, and still have stood up to her. "You could have also said nothing," Lucas grumbled, no longer on the verge of being angry. Even though he agreed with Owen's assessment of Maxine's behavior, Owen's casual comment focused Maxine's attention on the grocery store, which meant he felt personally threatened. Sam watched as Owen drummed his fingers on the stone countertop. "All I can do now, is attempt to apologize to Maxine, and to you. I don't figure Maxine will accept an apology, but I am hoping you will, and that you will understand the reason I believe all of us need to start treating her in ways which let her know that her bullying behavior will not be tolerated. If us guys stand up to her, we will serve as an example to others." He paused, glancing from Lucas to Sam, then back. "Umm. I guess that's all I have to say. Are things going to be okay between us?" "Of course things are okay between us! I hate to say it, but you're right about her, and how she needs to be treated. I always knew opening a store in competition with hers was going to be rough, but now that her store has been shuttered for the last six months, it's going to make things very difficult for her to ever get going again. I never wanted to drive her out of business. I did, though, want to provide an alternative for the people of Riverton." "Lucas," Sam said, in a chiding tone. "Be honest with yourself. Your goal may not have been to drive Maxine out of business, but, deep down, you knew that's what would happen. Given the choice between her store and your much larger, more friendly one, there was no contest. Maxine knew she'd lost, the moment she found out about your plans, but she's not the type to accept the existence of your store with any grace. It's not her style. She's going to . . . rightfully, feel as if you've removed her livelihood. You have . . . by creating a welcome alternative. If she'd treated people better throughout the years, though, you never would have created an alternative." Sam continued. "You're right. All of us need to not intentionally do anything to antagonize her, just as we wouldn't want to do anything to antagonize Millie, or Art, or . . . anyone. But Owen's also right. We have let Maxine get away with inappropriate behavior. Other people may choose to continue treating her like they always have, but you, Owen, and I do not." Sam took a slow breath, then gently slapped the granite countertop. "So . . . is everything settled? We're all happy? I still haven't gotten my welcome-home-you-sexy-man kiss." "Lucas?" Owen asked, in a soft voice. Lucas took a deep breath, then slowly exhaled. "Everything's fine, Cowboy . . . really. We both know where the other is coming from, and sitting here at the counter, with you guys, I am realizing how much I appreciate being able to talk through things with you both, without shouting n'stuff. Thanks," he said, pushing himself off the bar stool and opening his arms, welcoming both Sam and Owen into a three-way embrace. * * * Owen gently knocked on the doorframe of Maxine's empty store. The woman jerked her head up, and, when she saw who was at the door, seemed poised to scream a curse. By speaking first, Owen didn't give her a chance. "I'm here to apologize for my behavior yesterday, Miss Maxine. It was uncalled for, and I'm hoping you'll accept my apology." He gulped a swallow, determined not to wither in the face of her hatred. "That's all I wanted to say." "Why?" she asked, her voice dripping venom, as she gestured to the empty store. "Why have you done this to me? I have no means of making a living, all because of you! You're everything your father said you were . . . a failure. You couldn't make it in the Big City, so you had to come back with your tail between your legs, begging to be taken back. A kinder man was never born, than your father. "He saw, right-off, that you'd amount to nothing. He told me, days after you were born, that he hoped you'd die. He knew that early, that you'd amount to nothing. But . . . noooo . . . you didn't have the courtesy to die. You had to live, with vengeance on your mind, making his life miserable, just the same way you've made mine." Owen took an unsteady breath, willing himself to remain civil, willing himself not to react to words he knew weren't true. "Ma'am, I haven't done anything to you, other than restrain you from harming a child. I would do the same for any child, but, to me, Nicky Saunders is special. I could not stand by and pretend not to see how you were treating him. I could not stand by and pretend I didn't hear his screams for help. He's only five years old! He hasn't done anything to deserve your rough treatment. "While I'm sorry you think you can hurt me in some way by making up stories about my father, and for you having to spend so much time over in Evanston, if the circumstances were to repeat, I would do the same thing. I will always do my best to protect any child being mistreated by an adult. There is no reason to harm a child, any child . . . ever. "You have to remember, Miss Maxine, that you would never have had to go to jail if you'd not touched Nicky Saunders. You can call me all the names you want; they're not going to hurt me. Believe me, I've endured much worse. The same's true of everyone in Riverton. We can take care of ourselves, but a five year-old child cannot. It's for what you did to him that you were punished, not because I'm after you. You have nothing to fear from me, Miss Maxine. The only person you should fear, is yourself. "Now, as I said, a few minutes ago. I apologize for appearing to taunt you yesterday. It was wrong of me, and I'm sorry. You can accept my apology, or not, but I am being sincere." Owen paused, realizing he'd never really spoken with Maxine. 'Hell, I don't even know her last name,' he thought. 'She's always just been Miss Maxine, the sour, bully of a woman, who runs the store.' "May I say something?" he asked. "Go ahead. You've made it clear that nothing I do, or anyone else does, will stop you from doing as you like. Goody, goody Owen has led a charmed life," she said, in a sing-song voice. Owen took a deep breath. 'It's like talking to Pops,' he thought. "Miss Maxine, I am not your enemy. Neither is Lucas, Sam, Jonah, or Corey." "So, you speak for them, too?" "In this, yes, I do, because I know they'd agree with me." "Everyone always agrees with Mister goody-goody," she sneered. "No, not always. Ma'am . . . No one wants to be your enemy. No one gets up in the morning and tells themselves that today I'm going to make Miss Maxine's life miserable. All of us . . . ALL of us . . . Everyone you know, would much rather be your friend. It takes too much energy to stay angry with someone. Give us a chance, Miss Maxine. Give ME a chance." He rubbed his forehead, wondering if there was anything else he could possibly say which might make her see reason. "You're hurting," he observed. "It's easy to see how bad you feel, and . . . it's understandable. Your life hasn't been easy. No one's is. But . . . all we can do is muddle through, doing the best we can. I asked, a bit ago, for you to give everyone a chance to like you. More importantly, though, I would ask that you give yourself a chance to like yourself." "Um . . ." he hesitated. "I have to be going now. Thank you for listening t'me." Owen stepped away from the door, then paused, as Maxine spoke. It was as if she hadn't heard anything he'd said. "I will not take what you've done to me, lying down," she snapped, raising her head and spearing him with a hate-filled look. Owen hesitated, for the briefest of moments, before deciding there was nothing more he could do or say, either to respond to her threat, or to change her behavior. 'She's just like Pops,' he thought, as he turned the corner, returning to Main Street. 'She's prob'ly battling her own demons, just like he did.' Owen stopped, struck by a thought. 'Just like I am.'
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