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"Sirs," Ernst Hirsch, Bailey's bodyguard said, sticking his head into the bedroom and awakening the two men, sprawled amid a tangle of bed sheets. "Sirs," he repeated, as Riley looked up with a bleary expression. "Mister Pruitt, and a woman are here to speak with you." "A woman?" Riley said, leaping out of bed, and looking around for something to wear. The guard pointed to a pair of brief . . . briefs, which Riley snatched from the pile of clothes on the floor, and slipped on. "Here, Gen'rl," he said, tossing another pair to Bailey, who had propped himself up, and was trying to blink himself awake. "Woman?" he asked, rubbing his eyes. "I hardly know any women." His eyes flew open. 'Elizabeth!' "Elsie!" Riley called, as he rushed into the living room, heedless that the woman might really be his mother, Elizabeth. "What are you . . . Dad! It's early. Why are you . . . both . . . here?" He glanced back to the hall. "Nathan will no doubt be gracing our presence with his naked body, dragging Micah with him, in just a few . . ." "Dad! Elsie!" Nathan called, indecently cheerful at the early hour. "It's good to see you!" 'It's barely light outside, and he's cheerful!' Riley silently grumbled. 'Micah, though, seems to be sleepwalking.' "They're joined at the hip," he added, in an aside, to his father, who was looking at his naked sons with an amused expression. "Elsie?" Micah said, the name finally registering, as belonging to a woman. His eyes flew open, and he slapped an open hand over his crotch . . . with too much force. "Owwww!" he complained. 'At least he isn't disgustingly chipper in the morning,' Riley thought. "Hello . . . boys," Elsie smiled, drawing out the word, and glancing from Riley to Nathan, and a furiously blushing Micah. "My, Nathan, but you've . . . grown . . . since I last saw you. And, Bailey," she smiled, turning to the half-dressed man as he entered the room, trying to stifle a yawn. "Hi, Elsie," he said, surrendering himself to the yawn. "It's good to learn there is at least one gentleman in this shooting match, who knows it's important to put on his pants when a lady is present." She studied him closely. "Now, for lesson number two. Zip up!" "Yes, ma'am," Bailey said, turning his back as he zipped his fly, and as Nathan asked his father about Elsie . . . the maid's presence, with a raised eyebrow. Franklin smiled, at his son's unasked question, but otherwise ignored his son's inquiry. "Boys," Franklin began. "We were on our way to breakfast, and thought we'd stop by. We've been given some news which could quite possibly have an impact on us all." "Sir," Scott Chen, one of the resident bodyguards, asked. "Where is your guard?" "He's taken up position outside the door. I figured you all would be sufficient while Elsie and I are inside the apartment." He made a placating gesture. "My apologies. As I was saying, we've received some information and I'm a bit shaken up by it. I don't know what to think." Riley watched as Elsie, the woman he always knew as the maid, put her arm around his father's shoulder, lending her support. Nathan nervously moistened his lips, his eyes flicking from his father, to Riley, then back to his father. "Is it Mother?" Franklin shook his head. "No, at least . . ." He shrugged. "Hell, I don't know!" Everyone watched, as the man who had no trouble managing ranks of angry contractors and subcontractors, turned and crossed the room to stare out of the expansive windows, unable to handle his news. When Elsie turned back to the boys, Micah was handing Nathan a pair of underwear and gesturing for him to hurry and put them on. "Boys . . ." she said, smiling and nodding her approval of Micah's efforts to clothe the youngest Pruitt boy. Nathan, however, managed to ignore Micah's efforts, the underwear dangling from his hand. "Your father got word, this morning, that Mister Winton, your mother's longtime attorney, was found dead, inside an elevator at his office building. No one's quite sure what to think about who might have done the deed." "He must have had a lot of enemies," Nathan began, casting a nervous glance from Elsie to Riley, as if asking for his opinion. "That's what some of those who are trying to analyze things think; but your father is convinced that your mother is somehow involved; whether she actually pulled the trigger, or arranged things, is the question." "It wasn't her," Riley said, with conviction. Elsie studied him closely, and Franklin turned, captured by the force of his son's statement. "At least, she didn't pull the trigger," Riley added. "It's not her style. There wasn't any drama to it, unlike the crudely done threatening notes she sent to you, Micah, or that fax she sent to Dad. The woman loves drama, with her being the star. That's how she's always thought of herself . . . as the star. If she was the one who killed Gustav, she'd have left a note, or something. She's a narcissist. She wants people to watch her. She's always thrived on attention. This may have been arranged by her, but she didn't do it. I'd bet it was the work of a professional." "You're right," Nathan added, as he considered what his brother had said. "I imagine she blamed Mister Winton for being at the root of her troubles, along with Dad, and us. Maybe she's gone from trying to do things herself to hiring someone who knows what they're doing, and won't send tip-off notes to the intended victim. If she hadn't made stupid moves, Dad and Micah wouldn't be alive today." "Thanks," Micah grumbled. "That was certainly a comforting thought. If she's begun hiring people who know what they're doing, we're in serious trouble." "If she's doing things long distance," Bailey began, speaking slowly, as he ordered his thoughts, "it means she might not be in Atlanta at all, but, like Owen thinks, could be on her way to . . . where he is." Franklin Pruitt returned to the conversation, standing at Elsie's side, and seeming to welcome her arm around his waist. "We understand you all are dead-set on heading back to Riverton." Riley winced. "Well . . . we've never actually mentioned where we were planning on going, but, yes." "If the guys aren't able to go, I am," Bailey said, doing his best to ignore Franklin Pruitt's thin-lipped expression of displeasure. "She doesn't know me. I've been staying here, because my presence makes it easier for Riley to remain in hiding." He glanced, apologetically, in Riley's direction. "But . . ." "If Bailey leaves, so do I," Riley interrupted. Micah sighed, as Nathan turned to him. "I guess that means we will, as well." Franklin closed his eyes and bowed his head. "Bailey . . ." he began. "Is there anything I can say or do to get you to reconsider leaving? I realize Elizabeth doesn't know you, but . . . my boys." Bailey looked away from the pleading look Franklin Pruitt turned in his direction, realizing he was defeated. "I understand, Mister Pruitt," he said, in a soft voice. "I don't like it, but I'll stay, at least until we have more information about what she's doing or where she is. "I will feel free, however, to let Riley's and my friends know what has happened here, and of the possibility that they may be right, and she could be heading in their direction. Geez, I hope that's not what's going to happen. Owen'll find himself in the middle of it, I'm sure. So, there he'll be, singlehandedly trying to handle a gun-wielding crazy woman, when all the professionals, none of whom seem to have a clue about what to do, are here in Atlanta, milling about, like a confused herd! I swear," he said, his voice rising, as he warmed to his irritation. "It's as if the FBI is taking a wait-and-see attitude toward the whole thing! Surely they can't be this inept, all the time! I mean, this woman is stumbling around trying to kill people, and since she's not been successful, no one seems to take a friggin' interest in what she's doing! "'Just stay put,' everyone tells us. Well, how long are we supposed to stay put? Riley and I have a business to run, and it's becoming darned near impossible to manage things long distance. And there's Nathan," he said, gesturing toward the naked man. "He's lost his scholarship because of all this, and Micah! He's lost his house, not to mention his illusions about his mother! I realize I should be pleased we're still living, and I am, but . . . geez!" Bailey heaved a deep breath, his anger having been spent. "There! You having to listen to me rant is the price of me staying here . . . until we get more information. This isn't an open-ended arrangement, Mister Pruitt. I hate to see you suffer, but dammit, somebody needs to light a fire under the authorities! "If something doesn't happen, and soon, you all are going to have four rebellious guys on your hands. My father's been doing his best to calm me down, too, but this . . . sitting around waiting for someone to do something, has got to stop!" "So . . . there," Nathan murmured, into the silence. * * * "What are you thinking?" Franklin asked, as he eased himself onto the restaurant chair and faced his one-time downstairs maid. A hint of a smile flicked over Elsie's lips as she looked over the rim of her coffee cup. "Um . . . I'd have to say, the boys have certainly . . . developed, since I saw them last. I was impressed," she concluded, then proceeded to sip her coffee, while watching Franklin with dancing eyes. "And . . . Micah!" she said, fanning her face with a hand, "It was everything I could do, not to stare." Franklin Pruitt looked skyward, as if imploring patience. "You've seen naked men before," he mumbled. "The boys don't sport anything you haven't already seen." "Hmmmm, yes . . . that's true, though it is educational to see the other men of the family, naked." She playfully rested a hand on top of his. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't be joking. You're obviously concerned. Besides, men tend to put a great emphasis on . . . things. Comparing n'all, y'know," she said, with a twinkle in her eyes. "Now, I would never make comparisons, of course, but . . . mercy! That boy Micah could get a stone statue excited! And Riley and Nathan are tied for a close second place. And, Bailey!" she continued, shaking her head in wonder. "Get him out of his suit and he's quite the stud." She thought a moment. "I certainly am glad that at least one of the men in the family isn't attracted to other men. In my opinion, I'm hanging out with the sexiest one of the lot. He's got everything to keep a girl happy . . . looks, a body to die for, and a nice size . . . um . . . well, you know." She frowned. "Now, what were we talking about?" "I asked you what you thought." "About what, m'dear? I have opinions on a great number of subjects. Choose one, please. My mind is a bit focused at the moment." "Have patience," Franklin sighed, to himself, causing Elsie to grin. "I was asking what you thought of the boys returning to Riverton?" "Ahhhh, yes. Well . . . I don't think it's going to be possible to stop them. They are, after all, adults. They've been behaving themselves, cooped up in that apartment for far longer than I would have believed possible. They were doing it for you, mostly, but also because they were afraid of what she might be up to, and rightfully so, after the unpleasant incidents at the House, and at Micah's grandparents' place. "We learned today, that they have every reason to remain afraid; yet, we human beings seem to easily become accustomed to such dangers; and, after a while, merely being afraid isn't quite so frightening." She frowned. "Did that make sense? It did when I was thinking it; but, somehow, it didn't sound quite right when I said it." She thought a moment longer, before making a dismissive gesture. "Learning of Gustav Winton's death, however, has impressed on them that danger . . . lethal danger . . . may lurk close by. I mean, who would have thought? Being killed in an elevator!" She shuddered. "Blood, no doubt, everywhere! I hate blood." She paused, then grinned. "It is so difficult to clean up." Franklin couldn't help but laugh at the woman's humor. "You are so refreshing, Elsie," he said. Elsie's mouth curved into a pleased smile, crinkling the corners of her eyes. "The young men are also taking cues from you, m'dear. They see that you are no longer surrounded by bodyguards. Her eyes flicked to the two remaining guards, who sat stiffly at a nearby table, prepared for any contingency. "You are no longer confined to the house. The boys see that, I'm sure, as an indication that you believe Elizabeth is no longer a threat to you. If she doesn't pose a threat to you, then surely . . ." "Yes, I understand. However, who needs a cadre of bodyguards? I've got you at my side. You're worth a slew of guards, y'know." Elsie patted her Franklin's hand. "Thanks. You're sweet. Being told one is worth a slew of bodyguards is something every girl is positively dying to hear her boyfriend say." * * * Nathan softly knocked on the doorframe to Riley's and Bailey's bedroom, while two guards stood behind him, ready to jump into action, should the need arise. "Um . . . guys," the young man said. "Micah and I are wondering if you'd like t'take a shower, or something. Okay?" he asked, clearly wishing he was free to say more. "Uh . . . sure," Riley agreed, wondering what his brother had in mind. "Gen'rl?" Bailey frowned, then pushed himself off the bed. "Sure," he said, shrugging at his bodyguard, as he followed Riley and his brother into the adjoining bedroom. "Showers are good." "You guys need t'have our friend Lucas' shower. He can host a party inside that thing," Riley commented, glancing at the guards who hovered outside the bathroom door. "He has," Bailey added, as he joined Micah, who was already standing beneath the water's spray. "This one's not so bad. It's certainly a nice way to get to know someone." He smiled. "Isn't it amazing, how I can't seem to move without touching guys like you?" "What's up?" Riley asked his brothers, "besides, Bailey, that is." "Hey! It's natural for me to get hard when I'm pressed skin-to-skin with a shower-full of sexy men. I take it we're here for something more than pleasure, however?" he asked, glancing to where Micah's cock had begun to thicken. Riley's wasn't far behind. Surprisingly, Nathan was totally soft. "We're here for some privacy," Nathan said, intentionally keeping his voice low enough not to be heard over the sound of the shower spray. "This is where Micah and I come whenever we want to have a bit of time to ourselves. The guards insist we keep the bathroom door open, but, the place steams up, so they can't see us very well, and the sound of the water muffles what we say." "You guys have many things to keep secret?" Riley asked, as he wrapped his arms around Bailey and pressed himself close, slowly rubbing his erection between the cleft of Bailey's ass cheeks. "You all are going to have to ignore my erection. Seein' Bailey naked, and hard, does it to me every time." "I can see why," Micah smiled, as he reached out and gently tweaked one of Bailey's nipples. "Damn, Bailey! You're quite the stud. You should hang out, naked, more often." Bailey smiled, wondering if the flush of heat he felt was from his blush, or from the heat of the shower. 'I've come so far, since Owen and Lucas came to visit me, in jail. Owen started me on this road; yet, now he's the one who needs help, and I'm locked up . . . again. It's a much nicer jail than the one he saw me in, but it is still a jail.' Riley leaned close and kissed him, momentarily diverting his attention away from what might be happening in Riverton. "See, Gen'rl. I'm not the only one who thinks you're hotter'n hell." "Guys," Nathan said, doing his best to ignore Micah's hand running up and down his back and over his butt cheeks. "What are we gonna do . . . about staying here . . . about Mother? It was nice of you, Bailey, to volunteer to stay, but that's not an option for the long-haul. Dad knows that. It seems to me we should come up with some sort'a plan, or something, instead of just waiting for news to reach us. It'd sure make me feel better if we had some sort'a idea what we were gonna do." Bailey paused, from where he was slowly and rhythmically pushing back against Riley's cock. "Plans are always good, but, why can't we stay here? Everyone seems to think that your mother, at least, masterminded the death of her attorney. If she's leaving her dirty work up to the pros, wouldn't we be safer, here, surrounded by folks who know what to do in case of an emergency?" "When I was ranting about going back to Riverton, I was being selfish, as if I'm the only one who wants out of here. My father has been trying to persuade me to stay put; and, with today's news, maybe that's the best thing, for the time being. I hate that I can't be at Owen's side, but I have to remember that he's not alone. As Lucas said, my being there could only lead to him questioning why I'm there. "I fear I've already screwed things up, so maybe it's best that I'm not nearby." "What?" Riley asked, moving back to look at Bailey's troubled expression. "I said more to Owen about why Lucas and Sam are staying home than I should have. I tried to explain things away, but I don't think Owen bought it. I'm going to have to call Lucas and warn him, so he won't be blindsided." Bailey paused, then shook his head. "Enough of me. We were talking about what our intentions are." "I agree with Bailey," Micah said, as he squeezed behind Nathan, wrapped his hands around his brother's waist and held him close. "Maybe it's because of what she did to me, personally." He lowered his voice. "I want her to hurt, guys, for what she did to me, but also to what she's done to your father, and to you both. There was no need for any of it to have happened. If she didn't harbor these insane ideas, your father would have given her whatever she wanted. She would have been happy, and all of us would be happy." "Not Riley or me," Nathan said, turning to look over his shoulder. "If she'd behaved like that, we'd never have known we have a brother." "Half-brother." "Brother!" Riley corrected. "And, for that alone, I'm thinking that all everyone's gone through has been worth it." He sighed, reaching out to squeeze his brother's shoulder. "Micah, you still are trying to believe that Mother has a decent bone in her body. That's not the case. That woman is rotten to the core. She would never have come back from Germany, after the death of . . . everyone else . . . and meekly accepted a divorce. She would have made Dad's life hell until she came away from the divorce with everything. I'm not kidding. She would have claimed a right to everything Father, and his father before him, have built." "Mother is a bitch," Nathan added. "Who constantly works at honing her bitch-skills," Riley added. Bailey could only shrug, when Micah glanced in his direction. "I never met the woman." "What do you think we should do?" Micah asked, glancing at Riley. "What I want to do, and what I think is the best thing to do are two different things," Riley said, after thinking a moment. "I want to get out of here, but, after what happened to Mister Winton, I know that's probably not the wisest thing to do. We need to know what the experts think is the likelihood that she's hired more than one killer. "I don't have a clue what something like that might cost, or even how to go about finding someone who would do something like that; but, it's got to be very expensive. She no longer has what amounts to inexhaustible funds. We assume she paid for the attacks on Dad, which, considering the number of people involved, must have cost so much that she decided to take matters into her own hands, with you, Micah. "Well . . . that didn't work out the way she wanted; so, it seems to me that she's most likely blown the last of her money on hiring a professional to get rid of Mister Winton." "That's a reasonable analysis," Micah interrupted, before Riley could continue, "but it's all conjecture. Guys! I've felt what it's like to be in the woman's sights." Despite the water's heat, he shuddered. "I even spoke to her . . . twice. At the time, I thought she was creepy. I just had no idea how creepy. I escaped once, with the help of one of those guys out there in the bedroom, that we're trying to hide from. I don't relish the idea of putting either myself, or any of you, in the same position. I've just discovered my brothers, your father, and you, too, Bailey. I don't want to lose any of you. "If we were voting on what to do, I'd vote to stay . . . until we have more information upon which to make plans," he added, when Nathan looked over his shoulder. "I'd vote for the same thing," Riley said. "Me, too," Bailey added. "Nathan?" Riley asked. "I don't have a choice, do I? Personally, I'd like to find the woman and kick her in the butt." "He gets his fiery personality from Mother," Riley said, barely loud enough to be heard. "Riley!" Nathan shouted, playfully punching his brother's shoulder. "There's no need to be insulting!" "Well, now that that's settled," Bailey said, as he sensuously pushed against Riley's wet body. "I've always wondered what it'd be like to have three brothers shoot their loads onto my face. Maybe it's time to find out." * * * "Lucas!" Bailey nearly shouted, as his friend answered the phone. "I'm so glad you answered. I didn't want to leave a message." He took a deep breath. "I'm afraid I may have put you and Sam in a difficult position . . . with Owen. Have you seen him since yesterday? I'm sorry. Of course you have. Geez, I feel awful. You're going to hate me for making your life more difficult. I'm sorry." He stopped talking when Lucas interrupted. "Oh, yes. I'm sorry. Um . . . I've already said that, haven't I? "Oh . . . okay." He took a deep breath. "I'll explain. I called Owen yesterday. I've been worried about him, since I learned about him knocking himself unconscious, and having a . . . discussion . . . with his dead father. Well . . . I blurted out something about you and Sam being home more often, so you could look out after him." He was silent, as Lucas reacted. "You're right to say, 'oh geez.' That's why I'm distraught! I'm sorry. I tried to explain away what I said by telling him that it was useless to have you and Sam in meetings together, and that Sam needed to be able to schedule classes without so many hindrances, but . . . I don't think he bought my argument. He seemed unusually quiet during most of our conversation. "I'm sorry I haven't called earlier to tell you what I did. Things here have been a mess. Riley's mother's attorney, Gustav Winton, was found murdered. Nathan, especially, wants to get out of this apartment. I can't say as I blame him, and I would have agreed wholeheartedly, before we learned that the woman most likely hired someone to kill the attorney. Now, everyone is thinking that she may be going to do the same thing with the guys. "Micah's being sensible, as is Riley, to a slightly lesser extent. But, Nathan! He grudgingly agreed that we should wait until we learn more about the possibility of what the woman may have planned. "So . . . we're staying put, which upsets me, because I want to be there, with Owen. "I know. I know. I agree, it's best for me to not complicate things with my presence, but . . . really . . . how much more complicated could I make things than what I've already done? I feel awful. I wouldn't hurt Owen, or you and Sam, for the world, no matter what it seems." * * * Jonah stepped closer, as Lucas ended his telephone call. "Trouble? You look rotten." "That was Bailey. He was calling to apologize for telling Owen that the reason Sam and I came home early, and why we shuffled our out-of-town schedule, was to keep an eye on him." Jonah's eyes widened. "Bailey told me he realized immediately what he'd done, and did his best to smooth things over, but he didn't think Owen bought his argument." "Don't be too hard on Bailey, Lucas. He really does care for Owen. When you guys were gone, Corey got a call from Bailey. He told Corey Owen had called him . . . just to talk . . . but was more down than he'd ever heard him. He even explained all that stuff about his talking to Pops n'all. Bailey was really worried, that Owen shouldn't be alone. He asked Corey and me to check in on him. "Bailey likes to control things. We both know that. He's finding it rough, being unable to manage the business, or keep available to do whatever he can to help Owen." Lucas sighed. "I know all that, Jonah. I really do," he added, when he saw Jonah's skeptical look. "It's just that . . . I don't know what to do! I'm soooo frustrated! Owen's scared of . . . of . . . everything! He's getting worse, not better. Now, Bailey tells me that he believes that somehow, Riley's mother has tracked the guys to Riverton, and that she's on her way. "Bailey thought that was pretty unlikely . . . at first, but her attorney has just been found dead, and, for some reason, Bailey's now agreeing with Owen. He's really afraid that Owen will find himself confronting Elizabeth, and all the fears about him becoming his father, or whatever, will come to a head." "So," Jonah heaved a sigh. "We're now worrying about Owen, for more reasons than we were, before that phone call." "Yes, I'm afraid so." Lucas looked around, at the two trucks being loaded with flowers and produce. "Can you finish up here? I need to leave." "Sure. But . . ." he reached for Lucas' hand. "Remember, Lucas, that you, Sam, Corey, and I can only do so much to help Owen." "I know that, but I hate to see him suffer." "Believe me. So do I. I have to keep telling myself, though, there's only so much you, or anyone else, can do. Ultimately, Owen is the only one who can help Owen." * * * "Lucas!" Millie called, from where she, Art, and Hank McCorkle sat around a table, surrounded by construction debris. "I thought you and Sam would still be away, meeting with folks, drumming up new business." She gave him an over-the-glasses look. "Is everything okay? Nothing's happened, has it? I mean, with one of the boys, or your clients, or Maxine, or anything?" "Millie," Lucas laughed, hugging the woman, then taking the seat Art had scooted close. "No, nothing's wrong. Jonah's growing things faster than we can sell them. Bailey's added another truck to his fleet, and our clients are thrilled with our product. "Jonah's over at the greenhouses, overseeing everything. He's wonderful, you know. Everyone seems to enjoy working with him. He doesn't order anyone around, but pitches in and does as much, or more, work than anyone else. No one could ask for a harder worker. Besides, he's a sweetheart." Lucas glanced at Hank. "Sorry, if I'm making you uncomfortable, by calling him a sweetheart, n'all." "You're not bothering me," Hank laughed. "When we met, Millie gave me a crash course on acceptance." "The dear only needed a few reminders," Millie broke in. "Jonah's not the only sweetheart in town, y'know?" Lucas smiled, as Millie turned an adoring look on her . . . boyfriend. "You mentioned Maxine?" Millie's smile faded. "Yes . . . she's doing her best to try n'keep the store from opening. She even went to the Mayor to tell him to do something! Trouble is, she's forgotten all the nasty things she's called people over the years. Folks never had a choice 'bout where to shop. Soon, they will, and everyone's letting the old girl know that she doesn't have any supporters. Still, I worry about her, and what she'll do." "How is Owen doing?" Art asked. "I haven't seen him around as often as I'm accustomed to. He's not sick is he?" Lucas hesitated. "No, he's not sick, but he isn't totally well, either." "Oh?" Art asked, flicking a glance from Lucas to the apartment building, and back. "The other day, Maxine had no sooner gotten back in town, from her stay over in the Evanston town jail, than she saw Sam, Owen, and me leaving your store. Of course, she had to tell us she, 'wouldn't tolerate any competition,' and things like that. When Owen welcomed her back, she told him she would see him in hell." Lucas' mouth twisted into a grim smile, as he recalled Owen's reaction. "Owen, ever the one to have the last word, told her, in a mild voice, that he wouldn't be heading to hell, so there was no need for her to waste her time waiting for him." "No!" Millie gasped, covering her mouth, her eyes dancing. "So, he felt bad and went to apologize," Art guessed. When Lucas grimly nodded, Art continued. "I take it, the effort was wasted." "By then, Sam and I were away. Owen won't give any particulars, but, yes, I think I would agree, the effort was wasted. Whatever Maxine said to him, though, sent him into a tail spin. He told me he felt as if he were back with his father, telling him how useless he was, and all that." "Damn," Hank grumbled. "I don't have a whole lot of experience with that woman, but if she treats everyone like that, I would be willing to bet the farm that there are lots'a nooses in her family tree." Lucas managed a hint of a smile. "Like I said, Sam and I were away. Corey and Jonah spent the night with him, and, according to Corey, they were glad they did, because Owen had one of his nightmares, about his father pursuing him, telling him he's going to become just like him." This time, when Millie covered her mouth, it was not because of laughter, and her eyes were not dancing. "Nightmares?" Art murmured, glancing from Millie, then back to Lucas. "They're awful, guys." Lucas said, looking away. "Sam and I talked about . . . stuff, and decided we're going to do as much as we can to limit our out-of-town trips, and will try to schedule them so one of us is at home with Owen. "Bailey just told me that he accidentally let on what Sam and I were doing, and he's afraid Owen's pride has been damaged. "Those nightmares are scary, Millie . . . Art," he said nodding to Hank to include him. "The other night, he had an especially bad one and hit his head as he fell out of bed. He knocked himself out. Daniel and Bea rushed over." Lucas paused, swallowing, finding it difficult to think about seeing his partner lying on the floor, unconscious. "Well, Daniel pretty quickly determined he was merely knocked out, and would come to shortly. "He did, but not before having this long talk with his dead father." "Oh, the poor boy," Millie said, welcoming Hank's comforting touch. "What was the man like?" Lucas asked. "Am I only hearing about his bad side? Wasn't there anything good to say about him? Was he always like Owen describes?" Millie looked to Art, who moistened his lips. "Jonathan was a . . . difficult man. He was no different while we were in school together. Nothing awful, just . . . difficult." "Everyone in town was surprised when Bea agreed to marry him," Millie said, taking up the story. "No one could understand why she would fall in love with him. She had so much going for her, and all Jonathan had was a piece of land his folks had left him when they passed on. "It wasn't until later . . . right after Owen was born, that he started on his downhill slide. As time went on, it became pretty clear that something was going on. Bea, who had always been the town beauty, began to look anything but beautiful. She was wasting away." Millie turned to Lucas. "You saw how bad she was, that day you and Owen arrived back in town." Lucas compressed his lips and nodded once, recalling the rail-thin, bruised, and battered woman who'd immediately welcomed him as part of the family. Today, she was a different woman . . . once again the town beauty. 'Even if she looks as if she's twelve months pregnant,' Lucas thought. 'It's clear where all her children got their looks from . . . all blond, but Jonah.' "And, poor Owen," Millie said, looking away, as if seeing Owen as a young child. "He was always laughing, talking up a storm, always wanting to visit with anyone, asking what the world was like. Whenever his father was around, though, Owen barely uttered a word. Whenever he did say anything, he was reprimanded. Every time Jonathan approached, Owen would flinch." "At first, all of us thought Jonathan was a strict disciplinarian. That would have been like him. But . . ." Art turned away, unable to go on. "Art?" Lucas murmured, looking from the barber to Millie, whose mouth was compressed into a tight line, as she fought with her memories. "What's wrong?" Lucas asked. "What's going on?" "We should have done something, Lucas!" Art managed to say, in a voice rough with suppressed emotion. "We finally figured out that Owen's behavior was the result of more than his father being a strict disciplinarian. Owen was the perfect boy. There would never have been anything to discipline him for." Art rubbed his eyes, not meeting Lucas' intense gaze. "We . . . all of us . . . everyone in town . . . are responsible . . . in some part, for what Owen experienced, and . . . for what he's experiencing now." "We could have," Millie began. "We should have done something to protect him." "No one ever talked about what was going on over at the Carver's. It was as if we believed if we didn't talk about it, nothing was happening, and that we had no responsibility for what was happening. No one discussed it. We did . . . nothing," Art concluded. "We knew, and we did . . . nothing." "If we had acted, maybe things would have been different," Millie murmured. "Maybe he wouldn't be suffering today, like he is." She looked across the table. "Ohhhh, Art," she choked, leaning into Hank McCorkle's embrace. "I feel awful." "What can we do, Lucas?" Art asked. "Is it possible for us to do something . . . anything . . . to help Owen?" Lucas thought for a long moment, reigning in his own anger at these people's lack of action. 'They're good people, though,' he told himself. 'They're good people, who have . . . finally . . . admitted to having done something awful. There's nothing to be gained from me being angry with them.' He reached across the table and rested a hand, one on Millie's, and one on Art's. "Guys . . . there's nothing you can do . . . other than what you've been doing . . . being good friends. He needs those sorts of people in his life. He needs someone other than his family, or Sam, Corey, Jonah, and me. He needs you both, and you, too, Hank. He needs Gracie next door, and Nicky and his folks, and everyone else. He needs friends who'll stand by him. "I don't think anything you could say would help Owen at all. He's always . . . always . . . thought of you all as close friends. If you start apologizing to him or treating him differently, in an effort to cleanse your soul, you may end up feeling better; but Owen, I predict, would not. He might see you in a different light. He's never complained how no one came to his assistance. I would just as soon he not start thinking along those lines. Of course, I'm not a professional, but it's what seems right." "Why isn't he seeing a professional . . . for help?" Hank asked. Lucas shook his head, speaking in exasperation. "He won't do it! He, Sam, and I came as close to an argument as we ever have, when Sam and I suggested that's what he should do. "'I'm not going to have someone pick around in my brain, making me relive everything that's happened to me!' he screamed. I mean screamed. 'I've lived it once, and I will not go through it again, just so someone can say they cured me! Going to see someone might be the right thing to do, but I . . . will . . . not . . . do . . . it! So, do not . . . ever, suggest it again! If that's what it takes to be cured, then I will remain as I am!" "Ohhhh, Art," Millie cried, burying her face as she sobbed. "Are you sure we should do nothing?" Art asked, barely in control of his own emotions. "Yes. Don't change how you treat him, guys. He'll pick up on it, and wonder why. Don't treat him any differently than you have for his entire life. "I'm sorry if this means you'll have to continue to carry around the guilt you're feeling, but, as awful as it is to say, I'd rather you're carrying it around, than Owen having to bear one more thing." "And, how does knowing this about us . . . me . . . " Millie began, vaguely gesturing toward the store, as if what Lucas now knew would change their relationship. "It doesn't change a thing," Lucas said, doing his best to convey sincerity. "Wallowing in guilt over things which cannot be changed isn't going to help anyone. Don't ever forget that you failed Owen, and make sure that if you have it within your power to help someone else in need, that you take whatever action you can to help that person. Don't let what happened to Owen happen to another child, if you can prevent it. That is my only advice." * * * 'I wonder how things went between Lucas and Owen,' Jonah thought, as he left the path from the greenhouses and stepped onto the sidewalk along main street. 'I know Lucas was upset with Bailey, but there was no way Bailey could have known what subjects have become . . . sensitive. Knowing Bailey, and how deeply he cares for Owen, I'm sure he must be upset . . . especially since he felt bad enough to call Lucas and apologize. 'Geez, I'm beat!' he thought. 'The students from the college and I managed to get the trucks loaded, and sent on their way. Now we can go home and take a nap.' He yawned. 'That's what I intend to do . . . unless, of course, something exciting is going on over at Owen's and the guys' place. 'Corey won't be home for a while, yet, so I hope nothing too exciting is happening. I wouldn't want him to miss out.' Jonah glanced from his watch to his crisply pressed white shirt, emblazoned with his name and "Riverton Growers," in red letters, closely matching the color of his trademark red baseball cap, and smiled. 'Pops would never have imagined wearing starched white shirts to work in.' His smile grew. 'Lots of our stuff, though, is grown hydroponically, so we don't get as dirty as we would if we were out in the fields. Lucas would never admit it, but he's as much of a stickler for looking good as his friend Bailey is.' He glanced into the open door of the new grocery store and saw Lucas sitting at a table, talking with Millie, Art, and Hank. 'Well, he's not had a chance to talk to Owen. 'Ahhhh, Owen,' he thought, 'I don't know what else I can do for you. It tears me up inside, knowin' what you're going through and knowing no amount of hugs will help. You have let Pops gain control of your life. You know that's what's happening; yet,' he sighed, 'you seem to know as little as I do about how to take back control. 'Why are these nightmares happening now? Why only since he and Lucas came back? I mean, it was pretty awful watching Pops screaming and writhing about on that courtroom floor. I've had a few dreams of my own, about that, but what I recall most wasn't what Pops was doing, but how Owen was reacting to it. He was terrified. He wanted to run . . . yet, he couldn't. 'I try to tell myself that Pops did all he could, as he struggled with whatever was eating at him.' "I never told you how proud I've always been of you . . . Owen, and your brother and sisters," Jonah remembered the husk of a man, who'd terrorized his family's lives, managing to say. "You're a good boy. You always have been," Jonah remembered his father saying, in a rasping voice, rough from screaming at his unseen tormentors. "I've treated you so bad,' he said, bowing his head. When he looked up, and spoke, his words barely carried in the stiflingly hot courtroom. "I'm so sorry, Owen. So sorry, for all I've done t'you and your brother. I love you, Owen. Jonah, too. "GO!" Jonah remembered his father scream, as he clutched at his head. "Please! Go! And, remember!" 'Owen didn't believe him,' Jonah realized. 'He'd suffered too much, for too long. He either can't, or won't allow himself to remember Pops' words. "I love you, Owen." 'Those words can't erase all the hurt Pops inflicted, but they're all Owen has. They're all of Pops he ever will have, and he's chosen to forget them.' Jonah paused, in the shade of a tree, lowering himself onto one of the chairs in the courtyard of Sally's Restaurant. 'Those are the same words Owen said, which Pops used, that night when he knocked himself out. So, he does remember them; he just can't believe them. 'I wonder if all this talk of his about being beaten n'all is what's really bothering Owen. 'He's talked about his fears that something may cause him to become like Pops, treatin' people bad. Owen fears that happening, 'cause he's so much stronger than Pops ever was. If he wanted to hurt someone, he could . . . easy. Until now, I've accepted what Owen said about his feelings. Now . . . I'm not so sure.' Jonah took off his baseball cap and crumpled it in his large hands. 'I wonder what's really the problem. I wonder if Owen even has a clue. 'He wants to be treated like an every day guy. The trouble is, he isn't that type of guy. No every day guy would have experienced what Owen has. It's like he's suffering from that post-traumatic stress thing I've heard about. He's been bruised . . . deeply. 'No, he's not an every day guy who grew up with a normal childhood. Neither Owen or I ever had a childhood. Owen had Sam as a friend. I had no one, other than Owen.' Jonah snorted. 'It's a wonder I'm not as screwed up as he is. 'Oh, I have my moments,' he thought, grimly. 'I've had a few nightmares . . . but nothing like Owen's. Mine aren't about Pops using me as a punching bag. They're about Pops using Owen that way. 'There were times . . . many times . . . when I could have killed that man for what he did to Owen and Mama. I think, after the first time Pops saw what I was thinkin', in my eyes, he backed off a little. He was afraid I'd do it. The thing he never realized, though, was that I could have gladly killed him, not because of how he treated me, but because of how he treated Owen . . . and Mama. 'It's as if Owen intentionally made himself a target, and I didn't. He allowed Pops to hit him, and I didn't. He did the same thing when he went over to apologize to Maxine. It's like he wants to be verbally abused. It's as if he somehow believes he deserves to be treated badly. 'He talked to me, once, about not being able to trust anyone because they would eventually turn against him. Does he want them to? Will he do something that will cause them to treat him badly, and then believe that all his fears are confirmed? 'He's a good guy. Everyone knows he's a good guy . . . even Maxine. That's part of what bothers her so much. He is everything she isn't. Yet, Owen does't believe it. Instead, he's chosen to believe all those things Pops screamed at him. Whether he realizes it or not, he believes, really and truly believes, that he's not a good person, and that he deserves to be treated badly. 'This whole thing isn't about Pops not loving him, or about fearing he might become Pops. It's about something more fundamental. He doesn't understand why other people love him when he doesn't love himself.' * * * "I spoke with Bailey yesterday," Owen said, lying on his back at Sam's side, his head cradled in interlaced fingers. "He said something that's bothering me." "Hmmmm?" Sam murmured, reveling in the warmth of Owen's naked body, pressed close. "Yeah . . ." Sam shifted position to look at his partner. Owen had spoken in a tone he'd seldom heard. "What'd he say? Is everything okay, where he is?" "I guess. The thing is, he's afraid things aren't okay here . . . and, that's why you and Lucas came home early, and have switched everything around, so one of you will always be around me." Sam threw aside the bed sheet and sat cross legged, at his lover's side. "Owen," he said, in a deliberate voice. "I've already told you that 'yes,' Lucas and I are changing the schedule, for a number of reasons; one of which is that we want to be away from you less. For no other reason than we both hate not being with you. This has nothing to do with anything other than that. It's not about nightmares, or thinking that you can't take care of yourself, or anything other than we . . . both . . . love . . . you . . . and . . . don't . . . want . . . to . . . be . . . away . . . from . . . you," he said, pausing between each word. "Have I made myself clear?" "Yes," Owen mumbled. "You don't believe me, though, do you?" Owen shrugged. "Bailey said . . ." "I don't care what Bailey said. He wasn't with Lucas and me when we decided what we wanted t'do, so I don't know where he gets off by stirring things up and sayin' things which aren't true." Both men looked up as Jonah hesitatingly knocked on the bedroom's door frame.
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