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"What was it like for Owen, Bea?" Daniel asked, as they sat in the darkness, on the front porch of the house. This was the first time he'd had the courage to speak of his wife's first husband, Jonathan, the man who'd caused so much misery, and who was now dead. "How deeply was Owen scarred?" Bea scooted closer, as if for protection from the past. "I don't really know . . . how bad," she said, her voice shaking. "At the time, I didn't let myself know what was going on. That's something I've hated myself for, to this day. Jonathan, only one time, hit Owen in my presence. It was at the dinner table. Owen was excitedly talking about something he'd learned in school and saying how much he wanted to travel all over the world, and see the things he'd read about. His father slapped him hard enough that he knocked Owen out of his chair. "Without so much as a word, Owen righted the chair and silently finished his meal, as both Abigail and Opie quietly cried, and Jonah turned a look on his father which frightened me in the intensity of his hatred. "I never witnessed either of the boys crying, and they never said anything. But . . . I knew. Deep down, I must have known. I must have! Owen was such a happy child, always laughing and talking. Jonathan hated that sort of . . . frivolous . . . behavior. Those times when Owen was uncharacteristically quiet and wouldn't meet my eyes . . . I knew. "Often, I would hear the boys, softly talking, way into the night. At first, I thought I should tell them to go to sleep . . . they had school the next day . . . or chores, or whatever. But, if I'd slipped out of bed, he would have asked why, and if he'd heard the boys talking, he would have put a stop to it . . . or at least tried. There would have been a scene. So . . . I never said anything to them." She turned to Daniel. "That's why the boys are what they are, today, isn't it? They love one another in ways I can never hope to understand. It can't be possible that by turning to one another for support, it made them gay . . . can it? "I always knew Owen was not interested in girls. He was interested in Sam. They were inseparable. Jonathan despised Sam, but he dared not say anything. By that time, Owen was bigger than him, and Jonathan feared he would likely lose any physical argument." Bea sat silently, then spoke into the darkness. "I never suspected Jonah, though. He was never friends with anyone . . . but Owen. They love one another, don't they . . . in ways other than being brothers?" "Forgive me for saying it, Bea, but they do not only love one another, they are in love with one another. I would venture to guess that, if Owen was told he could have only one man in the world, as much as it would pain him, he would not choose Lucas, or even Sam. He would choose his brother. I believe Jonah feels the same way, or perhaps even stronger, about Owen." Daniel tenderly ran his fingers through his wife's blonde hair, as she leaned against his shoulder and remained silent. "I'm responsible," she finally said, as if one of the boys had a deadly disease transmitted by her. "I should have done something more to protect them. I don't know what, but . . . something. What must they think of me . . . for not being there for them?" she asked, clutching Daniel's arm. "No . . . you . . . are . . . not . . . responsible! There is nothing to be responsible for! "Bea, don't you see? You weren't avoiding seeing what Jonathan was doing to Owen because you wanted to avoid a scene. You had other children to protect . . . younger ones . . . more vulnerable ones . . . Abigail and Opie. You also had yourself to take care of. If you had done some indefinable something to help the boys, nothing would have changed, other than Jonathan would have seen you as a larger target than he already did. You helped Jonah and Owen most, by not helping them, in ways which were obvious to Jonathan. "Owen has told me, a number of times, how you did your best to deflect that man's anger, only to suffer because of your actions. Neither he nor Jonah blame you for anything. They admire you, more than just a mother, but as the woman who shielded them as best she could from the wrath of their father. "Sweetheart, the thing you have to understand is that the boys don't have their special relationship with one another because you did something wrong, or didn't do something you should have. You helped them grow in so many ways Jonathan never knew about. Both of them have talked to me about sitting out on this porch, late into the night, talking to you of their dreams. They've told me about how you taught them to read, and encouraged them to learn of the world beyond Riverton. "Owen has told me of the many times, you and he would sit side-by-side and hold hands. 'I learned so much from Mama, on those nights,' he said, once. 'Without any words being spoken, she taught me about strength, and perseverance. She taught me the meaning of love, by her example . . . and her touch.'" Daniel paused, recalling how Owen had struggled to control his emotions, as he described his mother. "'I knew what was happening to me hurt her, but . . . what could I say to her? She gave Jonah and the girls and me so much of herself that there was hardly anything left for her. Just remember what she looked like when I came back, after Pops had been sent to jail. If he hadn't died, Mama soon would have. She'd given us kids all she had to give. She wasn't much more than skin and bones.' "It was not possible for you to be more to them that you were, Bea. You were everything. Them turning to one another is not a condemnation of you. If you have to blame someone, blame Jonathan. I hesitate to even use the word, 'blame,' because it makes it sound as if what Owen and Jonah have with one another is somehow bad. It isn't!" "But there's Lucas and Sam . . . and Corey, to consider." "Yes, there is, and if you'd really listened to Sam, when he was standing there . . . naked . . . in front of us . . . making me feel imminently inferior . . . ahem. Where was I?" "Sam," Bea said, trying to hide the smile in her voice. "Oh, yeah. Bea, Sam told us that everything between all of them was cool. I believe those may have been his exact words. They've discussed the boys' relationship with one another. They've reached some sort of resolution, which seems to suit them all. The five of them have such a complex relationship with one another, I can't hope to understand it. It works for them though, and that is all that matters. "I don't imagine Owen and Jonah spend a great deal of time . . . expressing their love for one another, but both of them know that whenever they need support, or an unfailingly strong shoulder upon which to cry, they have one another. Oh, if only all of us could have someone like that in our life." "What?" Bea asked, when Daniel had been silent. "I was just thinking how once, back when Owen and Lucas had just arrived, and Owen was helping me out with my broken arm, n'all, he sat across the kitchen table from me, and talked to me about love. "I am so lucky," he said, in a low voice. "So many people go through life searching for love and never finding it; while me . . . I have done nothing; yet I am deeply loved, not only by Mama, but by three men . . . Lucas, Sam, and Jonah. I wouldn't change a single thing in my life, if making that change would mean that I would not have that love. Not a thing." * * * "Bailey! Why the shouting? What's going on?" Riley asked, trotting out of Nathan's and Micah's bedroom, in his underwear. He gestured toward the open door, and the two guards who were dividing their attention between him and the two men remaining in the bedroom. "We were in there, joking around, and heard you raising your voice." He looked to Bailey, then Ernst, Bailey's guard, who shrugged, and gestured toward the pacing man, for an answer. "I just spoke with Owen. He's a mess . . ." Riley gathered his partner to him, tightening his arm as Bailey leaned into the embrace. "He's been having nightmares about his father. They're bad enough that he's frightened, even when he's awake. Heaven knows what else has gone on that I'm not aware of! And," Bailey emphasized the word by raising his voice, "because he's a mess, I'm a mess. I've never felt cooped up in this place, like you guys have, but now, I do." He looked toward the nearby guard. "I want out! I want to be able to go to Owen. He needs me, whether he knows it or not," Bailey added, in a dry tone. "If Bailey leaves," Riley said, "I leave." "Where are we going, and how soon are we leaving?" Nathan asked, walking into the living room, naked as the day he was born, with Micah at his side. He grinned, unrepentantly, at Ernst's reaction, then returned his attention to his brother. "You're going to have a full scale rebellion on your hands, Scott," Bailey warned one of the guards. "You and Mister Pruitt can keep them here, but no one can keep me, so don't even so much as think about it. I've stayed here because of Riley; but, right now, Riley is not crying out for help. Owen is!" "What's wrong with Owen?" Nathan asked, moving to his brother's side, his mood turning deadly serious. "Who's Owen?" Scott Chen, one of the guards murmured, to Micah. His answer was a small shrug. "Owen saved my life!" Bailey shouted. "And, I will not allow him to suffer, if I can help him!" "The man is wonderful," Nathan elaborated, while Bailey stomped across the room and stared out of the expansive windows, his straight back and hands-on-hips pose, radiating his anger. "His whole life has been rough; so, if Bailey says he needs help, we're not staying here. We're going to be with him. Owen is the sort who helps everyone, yet never asks for anything in return. If he's broken down and called Bailey, things must be especially awful for him." "Will our presence make a difference?" Micah asked, not sure if leaving the relatively safe apartment was the best idea. "I don't know," Bailey answered, turning back to the other men. "All I know is that I have to be there. When I was at the end of my rope," Bailey began, "I counted on Owen's presence, his support. He gave it, unstintingly, even though I had given him every reason not to. Never once did he abandon me. Not once, and believe me, guys, I gave him plenty of reasons to. "I am interpreting his telephone call, of a short while ago, as a call for help. He didn't ask for my help. He said he wanted to hear my voice, and that may have been his only motive; but, even if that was the case, I want to be with him. I want to help in any way I may. Lucas, Sam, Corey, and Jonah are all doing everything they can, but I get the feeling they're worn down. If that's happening to them, what must Owen feel like? He was at home tonight, and no one, no one, was at his side!" Bailey said, once again, raising his voice. "He's having to face those memories of his deranged father, alone!" "What?" Riley and Nathan asked, simultaneously. "Where is everyone?" Riley asked, finding the idea of Owen having to face his fears alone, deeply disturbing. "Lucas and Sam are out of town, setting up new clients for us," Bailey said, in exasperation. "They're no doubt worried sick, but they're continuing to do their job." He flung up his arms. "Sometimes, dedication to duty is not a good thing! This is one of them. Business be damned! Owen is important! * * * Sam propped himself up on the motel bed. At his side, Lucas was stretched out, his hands behind his head, staring, unseeing, at the ceiling. "Hmm?" Sam murmured the question, and rested his head on his partner's chest. "Hmm?" "What'cha thinking about? Rough meetings today?" Lucas took Sam's hand. "No. The meetings went well. Everyone's happy with our first delivery. Bailey and Riley have been really working at scheduling their first few trucks. They've done a good job, but Bailey is one of those hands-on managers. He wants to make sure both trucks and drivers represent him well. The pictures I've taken don't convince him. If he wasn't locked up in that apartment, out in Atlanta, he'd be out here, personally overseeing things." Lucas chuckled. "Sometimes, he can manage too much. Of course, the way I manage things is perfect," Lucas added, in a self-deprecating tone. "So . . . all those responsibilities aren't what's bothering you," Sam began. "Sam . . . What does being in love mean to you? I mean, how do you know you're in love with Owen, or with me? I'm not just asking you that question. I'm asking myself. Are the three of us going along like we are 'cause we're best friends?" "What started you thinking about this?" "My sister. She's asking herself the same questions, about some guy she's been seeing. Of course, Allison has always been overly analytical. She tells me I don't think things through enough. She wasn't talking about our relationship, if you're wondering. She's always accused me of acting before I think things through, and I got t'wondering if maybe all of us had acted before thinking, when we got together." "Are you having regrets, about coming to Riverton, or about me, or Owen?" "NO! I don't regret any of those things. Nor do I regret the businesses, or how you or Jonah manage your portion of things. I don't really have a problem with anything; yet, at the same time, I feel as if I should." "The one person you haven't mentioned, other than Corey, of course, is Owen. I'm thinking that he's bothering you in some way." "Owen worries me in a lot of ways. I'm scared to death of what's going to happen to him, every time he's out of my sight. I keep telling myself I shouldn't worry. He's a big boy. He can take care of himself." Sam spoke in a low voice. "Can he?" Lucas shrugged. "Hell, I don't know." He thought a moment. "No, he can't. He's a hurting little boy in a man's body. He's searching for answers to why is father treated him like he did, and there aren't any answers. Sooner or later, he's got to realize that, and find a way to go on." "Are you questioning your love for Owen?" Sam asked. There was an unexpected pause. "No, I don't question mine for him. Sometimes, though, I wonder what he really feels for me. Things were so much more simple before we came back to Riverton." Sam softly snorted. "I doubt that! When you moved from the city, you exchanged one set of problems for another. You've told me yourself, that, since you've come to Riverton, you've been able to follow your dreams, in ways you would not have back where you grew up, living in your father's shadow. Are you feeling overwhelmed by everything you've begun, or by the expectations of the people who have grown to depend on you?" "Yes, I'm overwhelmed, but not to the point where I regret a single decision I've made. I talk with Dad many times a week, and he tells me that what I'm feeling is not at all unusual; it's just the first time I've experienced these things which makes them seem so daunting. I keep wondering if I'm doing something wrong . . . something I'll regret down the road. Sometimes, I wonder that about Owen, too. I wonder if picking him up at the airport, like I did, was one of those impulsive . . . failure to think . . . things, Allison talks about. "Does Owen love me?" Lucas asked, closing his eyes, as if prepared for bad news. "What!?" Sam asked, feeling as if he'd been slapped. He propped himself up on an elbow. "Love you? How can you even think that he might not? Has he done something, or not done something, or . . . something? Hmm. That didn't come out quite the way I intended. Lucas, are you serious?" "I . . . yes," Lucas managed to choke. Sam lay back and gathered the anxious man to him. "He loves you, Lucas. I have no doubt. Deep down, I believe he loves you more than anyone. Certainly more than me." Lucas softly snorted. "Not likely." "It's true. A while ago, you asked what love is, and wondered if us guys all have the same definition of love. There's no way to know. People don't analyze love, no matter what your sister might think. They just know when it has happened to them. Well, most of the time, they do. "Before Owen left for school, I never had to really think about my feelings for him. Same was true of what Jonah felt for his brother. The relationships we had with one another just . . . were. It wasn't love; it was just Sam and Owen, or Jonah and Owen. Simple! "I realized though, on the day he was set to leave, how much he meant to me. Ohhhh, how I cried as he rode away in the Doc's old car. It was as if my world had ended. Later, I found out that Jonah felt the same way. "I figure Owen missed us, too, though in a different way. He was being confronted with bunches of new stuff. Back here, in Riverton, Jonah and I were familiar . . . comfortable. I imagine he could have convinced himself he felt love for us, when what he was really loving was his life before he left. "Then, there's you. You were the first person who was not from Riverton with whom he'd ever felt something. He wasn't mixing up what he felt for you with anything else, like he could have been doing with Jonah or me." "I . . . rescued him. Don't you think he could have thought he felt more for me than he really did, because he was grateful for finding a friendly face?" "Maybe . . . at first. I don't think that lasted long, though. "Lucas, when I was visiting, during Christmas that time, I could see what he feels for you. So could your mother and father, and your sister. The way he would look at you across the dinner table, the way he would seek out your hand, or hold you, resting his head on your shoulder, or the way his eyes would light whenever he talked about you. He was in love; whether he ever used the word or not, I don't know. But what he felt was clear to see. It was love. "Then, you guys came back to Riverton, and Owen had to face a bunch of tough things. Most importantly, he had to deal with his father and the damage that man had inflicted on his family. But once that was in hand, he had to confront what he felt for both Jonah and me, and we had to figure out what we felt for him." "And what did you figure out? You talk about how clear it is to you that he loves me, because of the way he holds me, or looks at me, or whatever. Well, I see those same things when he's around you, and Jonah." "That may be. He may actually feel those things, but . . ." Sam paused, gathering his thoughts. "Lucas, I don't think Owen has really analyzed his feelings for Jonah or me yet. He's too wrapped up dealing with all those fears of his father. Right now, I think he's looking at Jonah and me in the same way he did before he left. We're comfortable. We're familiar. We're what he grew up with. That's not love . . . that's a child's comfort blanket. He holds onto us because we feel . . . right. "Of course, Jonah is his brother, but what am I?" "So you believe Owen doesn't truly know what he feels about you? I would disagree." Sam made a noncommittal sound. "Sam, you've analyzed what you believe Owen feels for you, but you've not said anything about what you feel for him. Is he nothing more than a remnant of your childhood? Watching the two of you together, I don't think so. "Sam?" Lucas murmured, after an extended silence. "I love him, Lucas. I've thought about it long and hard, and I love him. I don't know what I'd do if he weren't in my life. I get all cold and afraid, just thinking about that eventuality. He's way more than a security blanket to me. He's way more than a remnant of my childhood. "Those are what he is to me. I figure he'd say the same thing about me, if he were asked, today. Once he's gotten the specter of his father off his back, though, I'm not sure what he'll be thinking. What worries me as much as him realizing he doesn't love me, though, is him realizing he doesn't, and feeling guilty about it. That's just like Owen. He'll be afraid of hurting me, and that fear will make him behave in ways he shouldn't." "There's one thing you haven't mentioned," Lucas murmured, turning to Sam and tenderly kissing his forehead. "Neither of us has said anything about what we feel for one another." Sam inhaled an unsteady breath, then slowly exhaled. "For me, that is not a difficult question. When I've thought about what I feel about Owen, I've also analyzed my feelings for you. When you asked if I would join you and Owen in a relationship, I was grateful. I liked you. You were a nice guy. You'd been great to Owen, and I was thankful you'd asked me to join you both, because I was feeling pretty rotten, both 'cause Jonah had decided to go his own way, and because I hardly ever got t'see Owen anymore. "During the months that followed, though, you became something much more important to me than what you were when I moved in with you guys. You were always the man who made this three-way relationship work. You've always been supportive, always the first to step back and let Owen or me take center stage. You've never been demanding. You've been caring . . . always, loving, of both Owen and me. "And . . . during those months, right after I moved in with you guys, I felt cared for in a different way than I ever had. I felt loved by you, in the same way I know you love Owen. You were not a person from my past. We didn't grow up together. You didn't have to care for me, like I was your brother, or something. I could have remained the guy who you invited into the relationship just to keep Owen happy . . . but, you didn't act that way. "You treated me just like you treat Owen, and, for that reason alone, I could love you. But, there is so much more that makes me love you. "When you come home, and give me a hug and a kiss, I know you love me, not because of the hug and kiss, but because of how you do those things. When you hold me, or go to visit with Mom and Dad, and sit on their living room sofa, at my side, with your arm around my shoulder, I know you love me. Your touch tells me of your love. Your eyes tell me of your feelings, in ways mere words could not. I know I love you, and I hope I'm right in believing you feel the same about me. "I love you, Lucas, not more than Owen, but the same as Owen. Owen is someone from my past, and you are someone of today. I would hope that the three of us can remain together, until we're old and grey. I cannot imagine it to be possible for me to ever be happy if both of you are not at my side, every night, until the end of my days. I . . ." Sam hesitated. When he turned, at a slight sound, Lucas' lips were pressed together, and his eyes were closed, as he willed himself not to cry. Even so, a tear escaped from the corner of an eye, and left a shiny trail as it headed for the bed sheets. "You're a damned poet. Did you know that?" Lucas choked. "Is there a reason we're here in this motel instead of being at home?" Sam asked. "Do we have to be here?" Lucas sniffed. "Um . . . I guess I could handle things on the telephone. None of the people I've been planning on seeing are expecting me. It would have been nothing more than a courtesy call." "Then, we can go home? We can be with Owen?" Lucas threw back the bed sheets. "Yes! There's no reason not to!" He grabbed Sam, who'd rounded the end of the bed, heading for their clothes. "I love you," he murmured, as he held Sam close, and I will love you," he added, nuzzling Sam's thick hair. "Until the end of our days." * * * A soft puff of cool morning air wafted through the open window and across Owen's naked body. In the distance, he could hear birds calling to one another, a dog barking, and the voices of someone on the sidewalk, as they passed below his bedroom window. He inhaled, sensuously stretching, luxuriating in the feeling of a warm bed. He smiled, refusing to open his eyes, as someone kissed his forehead. "Lucas?" he murmured. "No, it's your dear brother and his massively handsome sidekick," Jonah answered, in a low voice, as he smoothed his brother's short, sleep-spiked hair. "We're on our way to work and wanted to make sure you're okay, before we leave." Owen propped himself up on his elbows and groggily blinked, frowning into the morning light. "Jonah?" He glanced toward the living room then back to his brother. "Wha . . .?" He seemed puzzled. "How'd I get into the bed? Last night . . ." He blinked. "We were in the living room." His eyes widened. "I had a dream, didn't I?" After another glance toward the open door to the living room, then to Corey's solemn face, and finally, after his brother's slight nod, he flopped backward, wearing a haunted expression. "You guys brought me in here?" Jonah took his brother's hand. "Owen . . ." "You brought me in here, then slept at my side, didn't you?" Owen asked, interrupting his brother, as he flicked a glance at Jonah's partner, including him in the question. Corey perched on the edge of the bed. "You scared the beejeebers out'a us, Owen!" He took his friend's hand. "You were having a hard time and we thought it'd be better for the three of us to be in here, in the bed, than sprawled on the floor, where we'd fallen asleep. We stayed with you in case you needed something, just like you'd do for us, if the tables were turned. "When'll the guys be back?" Jonah asked, meaning Lucas and Sam. He wished he didn't have to head to the greenhouses, but, the trucks were scheduled to pick up another load of vegetables and cut flowers, and he needed to make sure everything was up to the standards Lucas and Bailey had established. 'As much as I would wish it, I can't be with Owen all the time,' he told himself. "Tomorrow, or the next day," Owen said, responding to his brother's question. "All depends on how the meetings go. "Guys," he said, in a low voice. "Thank you for lookin' out for me. I hate it that I'm messin' everyone's life up so much." He slipped out of bed and gave, first Corey, then Jonah, a kiss and a hug. "Thanks also, for last night. I do remember that. It was awesome. We'll have to do it again, soon. Only, next time, let's ask Sammy n'Lucas t'join us. I don't want'a be the one having all the fun." When Jonah hesitated, Owen reached out and touched his cheek. "I know . . . I'll be okay . . . really. Thank you, guys," he added, squeezing his brother's shoulder, then watched them reluctantly leave the apartment. He listened to the two men run down the stairs, shout of their love for one another, then heard the door to the building slam shut. He shook his head, as he wandered toward one of the bedroom windows, wondering if it were possible to be surrounded with more loving people than he was. He watched as Jonah, slipped on his red baseball cap, and headed toward the greenhouses, while Corey ran in the direction of the school, waving to someone who'd called out a greeting. Owen drew in a long breath of cool, moist morning air, on which the smells of damp earth and new mown hay, hung suspended. In the distance, he could see the tops of one of the greenhouses, and beyond that, the trees lining the river. 'This is where I belong,' he told himself. 'This is where I am surrounded by love.' He sighed. 'It's too bad that it is also a place steeped in pain. The pain's not only mine,' he thought. 'I wasn't the only one Pops hurt. In one way or another, he hurt everyone he met; but he never beat any of 'em. He never choked them, or slammed them against the wall, or slapped them, for no reason, other than he could. 'It wasn't until I started lifting weights and bulked up, that he abandoned physical abuse and turned to just yelling, telling me how disappointed he was, and all sorts'a other stuff. At the time, I thought the yelling was nothing compared to being slapped around. Now . . . I know different. 'I wanted t'love him! I still do. He was my father! Why couldn't he accept the fact that I was not the sort of son he wanted? I wonder though, if anyone would have been able to meet his expectations. 'He told me, that night, when I was unconscious, that he loved me, that he was proud of me, that he was pleased with my relationship with Lucas and Sammy. Was that really him speaking, or was it just me giving a voice to all the things I wished he would have said while he was alive?' Owen slapped the wooden window frame. 'Pops is dead! He wouldn't ever say those things, even if it were possible. He would never have had such a change of heart. I cannot believe he'd have ever considered me anything but a thing to abuse . . . something beneath contempt.' "Owen," he remembered Nicky's father saying, recently. "Have you considered the possibility that you are the person responsible for the torture you're experiencing, and not your father? Do you think that perhaps it isn't your father who won't let you go, but that you won't let him go?" Will Saunders held up a hand, asking to be heard out. "Isn't it possible, that you've been abused for so long that you don't really know how to behave when you're surrounded by people who love you, and aren't abusing you? Do you really fear becoming your father, or do you need a crutch?" Owen remembered feeling as if he'd been slapped. Nicky's father had taken his hand. "Look at me, son," he urged, his voice tender. "You've endured so much. You've overcome and accomplished so many things. You are loved by an entire town . . . What your father did to you is in the past. He's dead. He can't do anything more to you. Believe it, Owen! It's all in the past. Don't let the memory of what that man did to you, ruin your future. Fight back! You didn't allow him win when he was living, don't allow it, now that he's gone." * * * "Lemme unload our stuff," Sam said, glancing toward Lucas, who was almost bouncing with excitement at being home. "Why don't you head up and say hi to Owen? He's prob'ly not left for the library yet. We wanna make sure and catch him." "Y'sure?" Lucas asked, glancing from Sam, to the apartment, as Sam slowed the truck. "Go!" Lucas jumped out of the pickup the moment Sam brought the vehicle to a stop in front of the apartment building. He took a couple steps, realized he hadn't closed the door, and turned back. "Go!" Sam laughed. "I'll get the door." Lucas dug in his pocket, slid the key card through the reader, threw open the door, then rushed inside and bounded up the stairs. "Owen!" he called, as he took two steps at a time. "We're home!" He called, as he cleared the last few steps. At the sound of his name being called, Owen turned away from the refrigerator, with a jug of orange juice in hand, and an empty glass waiting on the kitchen peninsula. "Lucas?" he called, as if unsure he was hearing correctly, just as the slender, dark-haired man ran into the apartment. Owen's grey eyes lit. "Lucas! You're back!" he called, as he pushed the refrigerator door closed, set the orange juice jug down, and ran to his lover with his arms wide. "Oh, I missed you," he said, between kisses. "I love you so much," he said, holding Lucas at arms' length, drinking the man in, before pulling him close, for another lingering kiss. "I hate it when you're gone." "Ohhhh, Owen," Lucas sighed, nuzzling his partner's hair, and inhaling the scent of soap, which carried on the blond man's shower-warmed skin. Any more conversation was halted by another kiss, this time not . . . quite . . . so frantic. "You feel so good," he murmured, as he ran his hands over the bare skin of Owen's back. "Underwear?" he frowned, leaning back and giving his partner a curious look. Owen grinned, sheepishly. "I was getting ready to head to the library. I usually wear underwear when I'm working, unless, of course,someone, who shall remain anonymous, but whose initials are Lucas Horton, wants to come by, after the place closes, to make love. Then, I'll leave 'em at home, just so I can strip-off faster. You've only done that a couple times, hint, hint. Hmm," he kissed a line across Lucas' neck, ending at his mouth. "Just thinkin' about you, all nekkid n'hard, makes me frisky." "You're always frisky, Cowboy," Lucas murmured, as he kissed over Owen's upturned neck. "And you're not?" Owen's smile faltered. He looked over Lucas' shoulder, wearing a puzzled frown. "Where's Sammy? Didn't he come home with you? I'm wantin' t'welcome him too." "Oh yeah, he's downstairs," Lucas answered, pulling his lover into another tight embrace. "He's bringing the stuff up. What he really wanted, was to give me a chance to greet you first." "Hi'ya Owen," Sam called, as he stomped up the last few steps, with a dramatic groan. He entered the apartment, laden with his and Lucas' computer and clothing bags, pretending to stagger under the weight, smiling brightly when he saw his two lovers in one another's arms. "Looks like you guys have had a chance to say hello. "Why'ya wearin' underwear?" He asked his blond partner. "I figure, when you've got it, you might as well flaunt it. So . . . why aren't you flaunting it?" he asked as he dropped the clothing bags on the floor. He set the two computer carrying bags on the entry table, then rushed to meet his lover, as Lucas stepped aside, but continued to hold Owen around the waist. "Lucas has prob'ly already told you how much we both missed you," Sam said, after he and Owen had greeted one another, parting from a deep kiss. "And . . . how much we both love you," he added. "We couldn't stand being away from you for another minute. That's why we're home early." He squirmed against his lover. "Geez, you feel good," he murmured, then turned and drew Lucas close, for a three-way hug and kiss. "This is the way things should be," he said. "The three of us together," he added, kissing Lucas, then Owen. "Like the three musketeers," Owen suggested. "Don't laugh," he warned, when the corners of Lucas' lips twitched in an attempt to keep from smiling. I'm reading that book, so I've sort'a got 'em on my mind." "All for one and one for all," Lucas hummed, nuzzled Owen, then kissed the tip of his nose. "They say that? I haven't gotten to that part, I guess." "Who cares if they say it! We're here for one another." "Except when it comes time to do dishes or clean the bathroom," Owen clarified, with laughter in his voice. "Those are Lucas' and your jobs. My job is to cheer you on by hanging around . . . naked, keeping your life interesting." Lucas snorted. "Interesting! Damn right, you keep it interesting! I learned not to bend over whenever you're in the room." "Well . . . if you'd been wearing clothes, or didn't have such a sexy butt, I would'a left you alone. Oh . . . the other part of my job is to bring you refreshments, of course." "Speaking of refreshments, have you ever noticed teeth marks on every piece of chocolate in a box of chocolate candy?" Sam asked, as the three men continued to hold one another, falling back into the familiar banter they loved so much. "That was him?" Lucas asked, glancing from one partner to the other. Sam nodded, wearing a knowing expression. Owen raised his voice in protest. "Was not! Must'a been some guy off the street . . . who only likes chocolates containing nuts." "Like you?" Sam wondered. "Purely coincidental. Hey, if you aren't grossed out by sucking my tongue, or other parts of my anatomy, a couple teeth marks shouldn't bother you! Assuming, of course, that I would ever do such a thing," he added, then ducked away and ran to the bedroom, laughing wildly, his behavior totally at odds with that of the melancholy man he sometimes was. He leapt onto the bed and squirmed about. "Make me nekkid, guys! All that talk about suckin' tongues got me turned on." "Brushing your teeth gets you turned on," Lucas mumbled, then shouted in surprise, as Sam pushed him onto the bed, next to Owen, and grabbed for a leg. "So? What of it? Hey! Watch it!" Owen shouted, in protest, when Lucas landed on top of him. "You could'a broke my weenie!" Lucas yelped, trying to escape, as Sam grabbed him by the leg and started tugging at one of his shoes. "I wonder if anyone's ever had a broken weenie," Owen mused, before returning his attention to the wrestling match. "Lemme hold him down for you, Sammy!" he shouted, flinging himself across Lucas' body and seeking out his mouth. "Wait! My weenie!" Lucas howled, squirming, as Sam tugged at his jeans. "We won't forget it," Owen laughed, as he tried to still the wiggling man. "What's going on? You never play hard t'get." "What?!" Lucas howled. At least I don't grab my ankles and point to my butt, welcoming all takers," Lucas shouted, twisting free, flicking a glance toward the open bedroom windows as he scrambled away from his partners. "Hey! Stop talking about Sammy like that!" Owen shouted, heedless of the possible audience, down on the sidewalk. "What?!" Sam called, as he tugged his T-shirt over his head. Owen was laughing uncontrollably. "Admit it, Sammy. You're not happy unless someone's got their thing up your butt!" Sam grabbed for him, but lost out to Lucas. "Yeow, Mama!" Owen howled, as he and Lucas slowly slid off the side of the bed, amidst laughter and a flailing tangle of arms and legs. "Wait for me!" Sam called, as he stepped out of his jeans. "No! Don't jump!" Owen shouted, when it appeared Sam, who was standing on the edge of the bed, was ready to leap into the fray. "Watch my weenie!" Lucas wailed. "What's it gonna do?" Sam laughed, as he dropped to his knees then crawled off the bed and into the middle of bedroom mayhem, and the noise hiccoughed into silence, as the three men reaffirmed their love for one another. * * * An hour later, once again on the bed, and sexually satisfied, the three men lay close to one another. Sam was asleep, curled up, with his back to Owen, who, as usual, was between his two partners. He rested an arm across Lucas' chest, and snuggled closer, his head resting on a shoulder. "You're wonderful," he murmured, in a whisper, close to Lucas' ear. "Thank you for comin' home early." He tenderly kissed his partner's cheek. "I love you, Lucas," he whispered, pleased when the dark-haired man turned to him and smiled. "I don't say that enough, do I?" "Shhhh." Lucas kissed the tip of Owen's nose. "My Cowboy." * * * Lucas jumped for the ringing telephone, hoping not to wake Sam and Owen, who remained sprawled in one another's arms. "Hi!" Lucas said, as he trotted out of the bedroom. He and Sam had returned earlier in the day, and, so far, had left the bed only long enough to take a shower, before returning for another round of lovemaking. He walked out of the apartment, quietly closing the French entry doors behind him. "Hi, Bailey," he repeated, as he sat on the top step and leaned against the brick wall. "Yes, we're home a couple days early. Sam and I had a talk and decided this is where we needed to be. All of our scheduled meetings had been concluded, so all we'd have been doing was making public relations calls. "Bailey," he said, prepared to argue. "Sam and I need to spend less time on the road, working as a team. At least one of us needs to remain here, with Owen. Neither Sam nor I like it when he's alone." Lucas laughed. "We're treating him as if he were a child, but . . . in some ways, until he gets his issues settled, that's exactly what he is. "Oh . . ." Lucas said. "I didn't know it had turned out badly," he murmured, responding to Bailey's description of Owen's meeting with Maxine. "The day we left, he said he was planning on going over to talk to her. We got back this morning, and have been . . . getting reacquainted . . . ever since." He cleared his throat. "Three times, so far," he snorted. "Being around Owen is like taking part in some sort of sexual marathon. "Oh . . ." Lucas repeated. "No, I'm not making light of the situation, and, I apologize for not telling you about the nightmares. Owen's sensitive about them, and I didn't know who I should or shouldn't tell. Corey and Jonah know, of course, but Daniel and Bea didn't until Owen knocked himself out and they rushed over to see if it was serious. Now, they're worried about him, too. "It's getting so everyone's sort'a tiptoeing around him, afraid to say or do something which will cause him pain." Lucas heaved a sigh, wondering how to answer Bailey's demand for a plan of action. "I don't know what to do! If he starts thinking he's being treated differently than usual, he's going to rebel. As it is, I don't believe he's being totally forthright with Sam and me about what's going on in his mind. Maybe with Jonah, I don't know. From what you've told me about what he said, you probably know as much as anyone. "I'm sorry you found out about . . . everything . . . in the way you did. I know how deeply you care about Owen, and, believe me, he feels the same about you, but . . . please, don't cause a stink about needing to come out here. There is nothing you can do to help, and, most likely, your presence would make him start wondering what we're all doing behind his back, to protect him. "I think, with Sam's and my new stay-at-home plan, that things will be better, since he won't be left alone to face a night full of terrors. I should have realized how likely it was that he would face that sort of thing, after talking to Maxine. Bailey, from everything I've been told, she's just like his father. JUST like his father. She pushes all the same buttons, calling him a failure, and stuff. It's like she knows what she's doing hurts him. Every time she sees him she brings up his father and tells Owen how much of a disappointment he was to the old man. "No, I don't believe he really had a conversation with his father. I believe it was Owen's subconscious, playing the role of his father, telling him all the things he wishes the bastard would have told him while he was living. If, believing that his father spoke with him, though, brings him comfort, who am I to say anything to make him think otherwise?" Lucas smiled tenderly. "Yes, everything between him and me couldn't be better. The same is true of everything between Sam and me. Bailey, sometimes, when I'm alone, in a lonely motel room, visiting clients, or whatever, I've wondered if this three-way relationship arrangement was a wise thing. Then, I come home, like this morning, and it could not possibly seem more right. I know some people don't believe an arrangement like ours can possibly succeed. They're just waiting for it to fail. I don't think it will, because I really don't know how any of us would be able to get along without the other two." Lucas chuckled. "Sorry for getting all philosophical on you. Now . . . tell me about Riley and Nathan's new brother." * * * "You guys came home early 'cause'a me, didn't you?" Owen asked, in a low voice. "Did Corey or Jonah call you? Or Bailey?" Sam propped himself up on an elbow. "No, no one called us . . . truly," he added, when Owen gave him a skeptical look. "But, yes, we came home early because of you. We missed you . . . a lot. We were lying in bed in that motel, and no matter what we started talking about, we always ended up talking about how much we missed you, and how neither of us like the way we've arranged the schedule, where Lucas and I are both away at the same time. He's gonna change things, to keep that from happening. That way, you'll always have one of us to torture with your singing." "You're afraid I might hurt myself, or something aren't you? I'm not talking about intentionally, but . . . you know what I mean." "Yes, I'm afraid you might hurt yourself, but that's not the reason we're rearranging the schedule. Like I said, neither Lucas nor I enjoy being on the road. We want to be with you, Owen. If both of us can't be, at least one of us can. That's it! That is the only reason the schedule-thing is going to change. "Now . . . tell me. What's all this about Corey, Jonah, or Bailey calling us? What happened that they would either want or feel like they needed to? Hmmmm?" he asked, tilting Owen's head toward him. "Don't give me any cockamamie story either. I wanna hear the truth!"
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