Owen

Owen

Chapter 12

By Roy Reinikainen

The two men stood side by side in the dimly lit bedroom, safe from the blizzard buffeting the building. "Now that everything's out in the open, I'm findin' that I'm feelin' sorta shy being around you." Owen spoke in a lilting, furry baritone, which melted the hearts of all who met him. Tonight however, his words were for Lucas alone. "Lots has changed between us in only a couple hours. I'm feelin' a lot like the night we met. I'm afraid to touch you now, just as I was then." Wet darkness had fallen outside, turning the bedroom windows into dim mirrors, which reflected his hesitant move to link fingers, and the shy smile as Lucas' fingers tightened with his.

Both men looked up as an unusually strong gust of wind slammed against the large panes of glass, the branches of the trees flailing in rhythm to the wind. "I'm thinkin' I've 'bout had my fill of snow." Owen heaved a sigh, gazing thoughtfully at the wind-driven curtain of white, as he dragged a finger of his free hand over the cold window. He rested the side of his head against Lucas' and silently chuckled.

"What?"

"Just thinkin'. Seems you just rescued me . . . again. From freezing to death," he added, responding to a questioning sound. "We're gonna have to do somethin' about me constantly needing your help."

"Umm," Lucas hummed, a sound of contentment, having nothing to do with Owen's comment.

"Me too." Owen turned his head, inhaling the scent of Lucas' shower-damp hair. "This is nice, isn't it?"

Lucas opened his mouth to comment, thought about what he might say, then closed his mouth slowly. He took a deep breath, vowing to voice his thoughts. "Owen . . ."

"Hmm?"

"I . . ." Lucas wet his lips. "It doesn't matter how good being here with you like this is . . . I don't want to do anything to cause trouble between you'n Sam." He spoke without turning. "I want to be with you . . . sexually, so bad I can't stand it, but if doing anything would cause a problem for either of you guys, I'll deal with my . . . frustration. Sam's here, even if he isn't present. Know what I mean?"

Owen turned Lucas to face him, tenderly brushing his fingers through Lucas' short dark hair, coaxing the unruly strands into a semblance of order. The aroma of him was intoxicating, the spicy scent of his aftershave suffused the air like a caress.

He was once again lying on the grass at the river's edge, the night blooming flowering jasmine filling the air with perfume. He blinked and the illusion began to fade. "Don't worry about Sam'n me," he managed to say, finding it difficult to banish the image he had conjured of Sam smiling, naked and aroused. "Like I said earlier, I'm sure he'd understand what I'm feeling. The thing I'm worried about is how rough it's gonna be for him to find someone while I'm gone."

He tilted his head back and took an abashed deep breath, "Oh geez," he murmured. In response to Lucas' questioning sound, he continued. "I'm sorry for makin' it sound as if you were only someone to occupy my time with until I get back to Sam." He pulled Lucas closer, snaking both hands beneath Lucas' robe. They had lain next to one another many times, yet this was the first time they held one another in something more than friendship. "You are not a substitute. Tonight, there is no one else I would rather be with." He tightened his embrace, his splayed fingers at the tops of Lucas' buttocks. The man he held was so different from Sam, yet in many ways, so much the same.

Lucas dismissed the concerns with a small shake of his head.

"You're not worried that he'll find someone and lose interest in you?" There was no question in Lucas' mind, of Owen losing interest in Sam, not with his attachment to the photograph propped up on the kitchen island counter. He had to wonder though, if Sam was as devoted.

Owen thought a moment, frowning into the distance, not seeing the driven snow beyond the window. "No, I'm not worried. If anything, Sam's feelings about our . . . relationship . . . are stronger'n mine. And, mine are pretty strong." The silence continued, as Owen thought of the man he loved. "He's more sensitive than I am, Lucas. He grew up in a different . . . environment, than I did. He didn't face the same things." Owen shrugged, his mouth melting into a smile. "There were many nights, m'brother Jonah, helped me keep my sanity by holdin' me and letting me cry. I guess it would be too much to hope, that he would help Sam in the same way."

"But . . ."

Owen interrupted, backing off far enough to focus on Lucas' eyes and face. "My friend, wondering what Sam will or won't do, or what you or I will or won't do is like a puzzle made up only of ifs and perhaps. There are plenty of questions, but no answers. I know Sam. I know you, and I know me. None of us will intentionally do something to hurt the others. Let's leave things at that, and not worry what might happen at some vague time in the future. Each of us will deal with things as they present themselves."

Lucas nodded once, leaving whatever remaining reservations he had, unsaid, and wrapped his arms around Owen's shoulders, resting his head on his shoulder. He spoke in a soft voice, still unsure of how his words would be accepted. "I love you, Owen," he murmured, beginning to nuzzle the crook of Owen's neck. "I can't help what I'm feeling, even though I know what you and Sam have. I think I've felt this way since I first saw you in the airport, looking so alone."

Owen sighed, running his hands down Lucas' bare back, beneath the fabric of the robe, to his buttocks. "And I love you." His voice was barely more than a murmur, the barest hint of a breath against Lucas' neck. The warmth, as much as the words themselves was a caress, as surely as Owen's hands on his back, the combination of the two causing Lucas' penis to thicken. He took a deep breath, surrendering himself to Owen's slow, deliberate line of kisses from his jaw to his lips, and to the low cooing sounds of contentment he made with each kiss.

He moved back slightly and traced a finger over Lucas' lower lip, pausing and smiling when Lucas extended his tongue to lick the tip of the finger. 'This,' he thought to himself, 'is what I've been missing. Physical contact with another man is what's important to me.' His eyes flicked to his finger, still in Lucas' mouth. 'I'm not a person who can be alone. I know that now.'

He knew he was right about Sam understanding his feelings. He also knew he was right to fear Sam might not be as lucky as he. Riverton was so small, finding anyone with whom to have any type of relationship was close to impossible. Sam's letters spoke of how much he missed Owen, but not of being lonely.

'I love you, Sam.' Owen thought to himself as Lucas sucked the finger deeper into his mouth. 'Someday soon,' he vowed, 'we're gonna be together again, and I'm never gonna let you go.' He pulled Lucas closer, digging his fingers into the muscles of his butt, causing him to groan. 'But, if I'm with Sam, where will that leave Lucas, the other man I love?' He huffed a silent laugh. 'Here I go telling him not to worry 'bout the future, and that's exactly what I'm doing.' He swallowed, trying to push that future out of his mind and not let Lucas see his worry.

"We're giving anyone who might be watching, quite a show," he murmured instead, in what he hoped was a playful voice while Lucas continued to suck on his finger. "Y'think we should move away from the window?" Lucas shook his head. "To the bed, perhaps," he ventured. Lucas immediately released the finger and grabbed his hand, pulling him in the direction of the bed.

"Whoa, cowboy," Owen laughed, slowing him down. "I've dreamt of this happening for so long, I don't want it to be one of those, 'slam-bam' things . . . over with before we even know it started." He gently turned Lucas to face him, the back of Lucas' legs touching the bed. "You are such a special man," he murmured, tracing the curve of Lucas' jaw with a thumb. "Always looking out for other people, always giving of yourself . . ." He nuzzled Lucas' hair, still slightly damp from the shower. "I'm sooo lucky to have met you . . . so lucky to be here with you . . . like this."

He moved closer, the warmth of his breath mixing with Lucas' as their lips touched in their first kiss. He vaguely was aware of a soft whimper, unsure whether it originated with him, or the man he held.

The first touch of Owen's lips was almost hesitant, the merest hint of a touch, more of a promise than the actual thing. "Ohhhh Lucas," he sighed, as they parted, his voice husky with pent up emotion. "I've wanted to do that for so long." He felt the length of Lucas' penis begin to stiffen, pressed against his own, and drew Lucas closer.

Their next kiss wasn't polite or delicate. It was the culmination of months of desire and fantasies for both of them. He plunged his tongue into Lucas' mouth, welcoming his in return, intensely aware of Lucas' erection pressing against his.

"Ohhhh." Lucas exhaled, feeling weak at the knees. "You have no idea how much I've wanted that to happen."

"Mmmmm," Owen chuckled deep in his throat as he slowly slipped the robe off Lucas' shoulders, a sensuously slow movement, accompanied by an almost continuous kiss. The thick fabric slid down Lucas' back, exposing the pale skin of his slender body, falling into a fluffy white heap on the carpeted floor. "I've dreamt of doin' other things too," Owen murmured, drinking in the sight of the man he held in his arms. "I want to taste all of you, so bad," he murmured, licking a broad swath over Lucas neck, stopping at an ear.

"I've tasted your tongue," he gently kissed Lucas' slightly parted lips. "There is so much of you to enjoy," he murmured, as he kneaded the cheeks of Lucas' butt. "Your pits." He nuzzled into one of Lucas' armpits. "Your nipples," he added, moving to engulf the firm nub with his mouth, teasing it with the gentle pressure of his teeth.

Lucas' penis jumped at the touch. His murmured groans had taken on a pleading tone as he ran his fingers through Owen's short hair, his entire body tingling with the excitement.

He jumped, his knees almost giving way, as Owen squatted and slowly engulfed Lucas' erection until he buried his nose in his pubes, all the while teasing the underside of the cock with his tongue. The penis filled Owen's mouth, its head pushing against the back of his throat. His cock throbbed and knew he had forced out some pre-cum to coat Owen's tongue. Lucas grinned. 'A promise of the future.'

Owen reluctantly released the cock, sucking one of Lucas' testicles into his mouth, and rolling it over his tongue as Lucas grasped his shoulders and tried to still his trembling legs.

"And lastly," Owen murmured, pushing against Lucas' testicles with his nose. "Now, I wanna taste your butt hole." Lucas groaned and lost the battle with the trembling muscles of his legs. He fell back onto the bed, his arms out to his side, his knees bent, his toes curling into the thick carpeting.

Owen slowly pushed Lucas' knees back to his shoulders, exposing his hole, a small hairless opening between the smooth cheeks of his butt. He smiled as Lucas whimpered and tightened his sphincter. "Oh, yes, my handsome friend," Owen murmured. "I've wanted to kiss your hole almost as much as I've wanted to kiss your mouth." He leaned forward and rubbed his nose across the opening, feeling the sphincter relax at the pressure. He gently probed the hole with the tip of his tongue.

Lucas had begun to squirm, clutching at the bed clothes with both outstretched hands, arching his back as he urged Owen on. "You enjoy what I'm doing?" Owen murmured, grinning at Lucas' frenzied groans. "Are you ready to shoot?" he asked. Lucas groaned loudly, rocking his head from side to side. He was clutching fists-full of blanket, his body writhing on the bed, his legs spread wide, allowing total freedom to the kneeling man. "Are you going to fill my mouth?" Owen continued, teasing Lucas both with his words and his fingertips.

"Fuck yes!" Lucas' shout became a pitiful whimper. "Please, Owen. I need to shoot so bad. Pleeease," he begged. "Lemme cum."

Lucas jerked and hissed an indrawn breath as Owen swallowed the full length of his erection and began to tease it with each exquisitely slow movement of his mouth and tongue. Owen's actions were torture . . . agonizing torture of the most sublime kind. Owen would work him up to the brink of a climax, and back off, only to tease him with the possibility that this time, he might be allowed to shoot.

"You're torturing me," Lucas whimpered. "I need to shoot." His hand was batted away as he reached for his own cock.

"Ohhh, pleeeease," he moaned, twisting slightly from side to side and continuing to buck his hips, his body demanding release. Owen was not to be hurried. If anything, the more Lucas pleaded, the slower he moved, grabbing Lucas' wrists and holding tight. He was in control, and Lucas would be allowed to shoot only when he wished.

Owen's slow actions left Lucas sweating, trembling, and limp from exhaustion. His penis throbbed and pumped out a steady stream of pre-cum, as Owen once again stopped sucking only a second before he shot. Lucas felt as if he was a musical instrument, and Owen a master musician.

"I'm lovin' this," Owen murmured, sliding out of his own robe and slowly crawling onto the bed. He straddled the exhausted man beneath him and rubbed the length of his own erection over Lucas' penis and through the puddle of pre-cum on his belly.

Lucas trembled as Owen lowered himself until their legs were intertwined. It felt so . . . right . . . to feel Owen's weight on top of him, feeling each thrust of his hips and the pressure of his erection as it rubbed against his belly, sliding through their combined pre-cum. He was so close. From the urgency of Owen's movements, Lucas knew he was close as well.

"C'mon, lover," Owen mumbled, breaking their kiss for only long enough to speak. "Shoot for me. Gimme your cum." He found Lucas' tongue, and, after two more massive thrusts, gasped. His body jerked, and began to pump out his load. The hot liquid against his skin drove Lucas over the edge. He forced his tongue deep into Owen's mouth as his body shuddered and cock pulsed, emptying itself, his sperm mixing with Owen's.

He grunted, meeting each of Lucas' thrusts with one of his own. "Give it all to me." Their breath was hot, their bodies sweaty, and the room reeked of spent passion. Each man's fantasies had become reality. Their relationship with one another had changed dramatically and they could only wait to find out what impact that change would have on their lives.

"Oh, my love," Owen murmured, his body limp with exhaustion. "What can I say . . ."

"Shhhh," Lucas whispered, rubbing a hand over the rippling muscles of Owen's back, luxuriating in the feeling of his weight. "You've just said it."

Owen slipped his arms into the dark chocolate-brown suede sport coat Lucas held for him, feeling uncomfortable wearing borrowed clothing. 'Mama wouldn't recognize me,' he thought, as he caught an image of himself in the bedroom mirror. 'I don't recognize me!' Lucas stood nearby, grinning like a child on his birthday. He reached out to smooth the fabric of the coat over Owen's back, an excuse to touch the man he'd become so close to. Owen returned the smile, capturing Lucas' hand and bringing it to his lips.

Lucas seemed to melt at the touch, and at the faint touch of Owen's warm breath against his hand. "Thank you for last night."

Owen chuckled at the comment, refusing to relinquish the hand. "What about the morning, and earlier this afternoon?" He smiled and shook his head. "I tell you, Lucas. I've never been put through a workout like you've put me through." His smile broadened. "I loved every minute of it!" He leaned closer, lowering his voice. "Are you always so . . ." Owen seemed to pluck the word out of the air, accompanying it with a mischievous smile. "Horny," he concluded, pleased to see Lucas' blush.

"I haven't had all that many opportunities to find out," Lucas responded, playfully kissing Owen's nose. "And, speaking of horny . . . what about you?" Owen's grin was unrepentant. He shrugged, holding his arms out to his sides.

Lucas moved back a step to examine Owen's new look. "You look wonderful," he said, restraining himself from reaching out for another touch. 'That's how the last time we had sex started,' he warned himself, 'and the time before that.' He curled his fingers at his side in silent frustration. They were on their way to his folks' house for Thanksgiving dinner, and didn't have time for anything more . . . adventurous.

Owen continued to study his reflection in the mirror. "You sure you're throwing these clothes away?" he asked, turning from side to side, not believing the change in his appearance. The dark coat looked as if it had been tailored specifically for him. It covered a heavy white turtleneck sweater which clung to his shoulders and lovingly followed the contours of his chest, teasing his already-tender nipples. His slacks were crisply creased and felt wonderful against his legs. 'So different from my jeans. Even the shoes are a perfect fit,' he thought in wonder.

"I've never worn clothes this nice," he said, catching Lucas' pleased expression reflected in the mirror. He turned and opened his arms, welcoming Lucas into an embrace.

"Thank you," he murmured. "My handsome cowboy." He nibbled at Lucas' ear, something he'd found Lucas enjoyed. "And, speaking of cowboys . . ." A mischievous expression flitted across his face. "We still haven't had a chance to ride one another . . ." He paused for a brief kiss. "Have we? For some reason, we never seem to get beyond the kissing and sucking before we shoot. We have to learn to pace ourselves."

Lucas seemed to melt against him. "I don't want to go to the folks' for dinner," Lucas murmured, nuzzling Owen's neck. "I wanna stay here with you . . . in bed." Lucas pushed his groin against Owen's, as he continued speaking. "I wanna be naked, with you on top of me." Lucas' eyes sparkled. "I want to ride you." Owen chuckled, slowly shaking his head as he gently kneaded Lucas' ass cheeks, a promise of what would happen when they returned home from dinner.

"Never turn down someone offering food," he murmured, continuing to nip at Lucas' ear with his lips. "And," he continued. "Since, we've been too busy to do much eating . . . of food," he'd said, after a pause and a wink. "I think we should go. I, for one, am hungry. Besides, if we don't show up, you know Allison will surely be knockin' on the door, wondering where we are."

"She'll want to join us," Lucas groaned, realizing Owen was right.

"What better reason is there for having dinner with your folks?" He nuzzled Lucas' neck while teasing one of Lucas' nipples with his fingertips. "I, for one, do not intend to share you with your sister. She's a lovely woman, but . . ." He scrunched up his face in comic distaste. "I don't wanna see her naked."

Lucas barked a quiet laugh of agreement. "You never answered my question," Owen continued. "About throwing the clothes away," he supplied.

"I wasn't going to throw them away. I was going to give them away . . . to someone who'd see that they were given to someone who could use them. There is no one I would rather have them than you." He could see that Owen still did not understand his motivations.

"Since meeting you, I've been re-evaluating many aspects of my life, and have come to the conclusion that I've been a spoiled rich kid. Mother and Father have made that claim about both Allison and me, but of course, neither she nor I agreed." He smiled. "You've changed me in many ways. I realize now that they were right."

Owen raised his brows and smiled. "Are you planning on living the simple life?" Lucas had shrugged. "You should spend some time back home in Riverton," Owen continued, his words accompanied by a tender caress. "Then, you would know what simple really is." As he finished the sentence his smile faded, his gaze drawn to the photo of him and Sam on the counter, propped up on top of his computer.

Lucas followed Owen's gaze. "You miss it . . . don't you? Not only Sam, but Riverton as well."

Owen bit his lip and jerked a single nod. "I never thought in a million years that it could happen, or that I'd admit it, but yeah, I'm missin' all of it, the town, Sam, Mama, my brother, and sisters . . ." He huffed a soft laugh. "Al, the barber . . . the river, our meadow. All of it." He stared, unseeing, out the apartment windows, where the wind of yesterday had blown itself out, leaving ice, drifts of snow, and lazy flurries behind.

He spoke as he walked to the window. "One of the reasons I came to school here was so I could see snow. Imagine!" He glanced over his shoulder and smiled. "I was so excited to hear that a storm was on the way. At first, when I saw it, I thought it was so great. Then, we walked home in it. Now . . ." He slowly shook his head from side to side. "I don't care if I ever see it again." He looked over his shoulder to see Lucas studying him. "You know those pretty pictures of snow you see on Christmas cards and books and stuff?" Lucas nodded, trying to conceal his smile at Owen's description. "Well," he continued. "Those pictures don't say how cold it is, or what the wind is like!" He shuddered.

"I've got a solution for that!" Lucas held up a finger, as he spoke.

"If sex is what you're thinkin' about, I'm worn out," Owen teased, following Lucas with his eyes. "I don't think I can cum again, at least for a couple more hours." He raised his fingers to his mouth. "My lips even feel worn out, not to mention my jaw! Besides, we're both dressed." Lucas rolled his eyes in exasperation as he rummaged about in the closet.

"Is sex all you think about?" He asked, pulling out a heavy leather coat, long wool scarf, gloves, and a hat.

"Mostly," Owen replied, his eyes widening as Lucas crossed the room and handed him the coat. He opened his mouth to speak then closed it, unable to go on, his eyes getting watery. He gave Lucas an embarrassed grin as he slipped on the coat, continuing to run his fingers over the supple leather.

"I've never even felt somethin' this good." He examined the silk lining of the coat's interior, caressing the fabric with a reverent touch. "Thank you for lettin' me wear these things to your folks'. I'm feelin' like a million dollars." He smiled brightly as he draped the white wool scarf Lucas handed him around his neck, throwing the fringed end over his shoulder with a flourish.

"I'm not letting you wear these things. All the stuff you're wearing, plus anything else in those boxes that'll fit you, is yours. Like I said, I'm planning on giving that stuff away. I would love for you to get some good out of it all. Simple life . . . remember?"

"Truly?" Owen's eyebrows rose. He was silent a moment before he turned away. Lucas saw him take a convulsive swallow as he slowly sank onto the sofa. He leaned forward, rested his elbows on his knees, and covered his face with his hands.

Lucas rushed to his side and sat close-by, his arm over Owen's shoulder.

"It's not like me to be so emotional." Owen sniffed, with an apologetic expression. "But, no one's ever treated me like you have." He shuddered, his hands muffling his voice. "Except for when I was with Sam, it seems as if I was always either bein' beaten or yelled at." He gulped a swallow. "I grew up feelin' so alone. During all those years, I never cried, except in private, at night, with Jonah." He shook his head. "Now, I seem to be teary all the time." He sniffed, knuckled his eyes and tried to smile. "I am so happy I can't stand it." He swiped at his eyes. "I'd better stop bawlin' or Allison and your folks will be wondering what's been goin' on. I mean, look at the two of us! I've got puffy lips and red eyes, and . . . you, you're walkin' funny. You're gonna give everyone the wrong impression." His smile faded, as he reached out and took Lucas' hand.

"You don't know how much knowin' you means to me. It's not the clothes; it's you. I . . . I owe you so much. You . . . you treat me so good." He bit his trembling lower lip and seemed unable to go on.

"Shhh," Lucas murmured, gently wiping his fingertips over Owen's tear-streaked cheeks.

"Why are you don' all this for me, Lucas? Takin' in a poor farm boy 'n all." He choked back a laugh. "I mean, I know I'm sexy as all get out, but . . ."

"And full of humility, too," Lucas responded, rolling his eyes, but pleased at Owen's attempt to lighten the mood.

"You may consider yourself nothing more than a farm boy, Owen, but you are wealthy in all the important ways. You're kind, and generous. You love to laugh and tease. You're smart, and I'm proud to know you . . . and grateful to have you call me, friend."

Owen grinned through a watery gaze. He swallowed and blinked, giving Lucas a tentative smile. "Thank you . . . for bein' my friend, for the clothes, and for tryin' to build up my self esteem." His eyes sparkled, a sure sign he was feeling better. "But, you left out one thing." When Lucas gave him a questioning look, he responded. "You didn't say anything about how lucky I am to know you." He hesitated, the sparkle of his eyes growing. "Or, about how much fun we have in bed."

"Is sex all you think about?" Lucas asked, pulling his own coat out of the closet and slipping it on. He tossed Owen his hat and gloves before grabbing his own.

"When I'm around you, it is," Owen chuckled, pulling Lucas into a lingering embrace. "Besides, we've got a lot of time to make up for."

Lucas fished in his pocket for his car keys. "I gotta get some food in me," Owen laughed as he waited for Lucas to close the apartment's front door. "Otherwise I'm not gonna be able to go riding later this evening." He wiggled his eyebrows and giggled, jumping away from Lucas' playful swat at the seat of his pants.

"Oh, geez." Owen sat forward as Lucas drove down the cobblestone drive between snow-laden trees. They rounded the final bend in the drive and Lucas' home became visible, a sprawling two-story brick pile whose lower floor windows glowed, illuminating the surrounding drifts of snow with narrow stripes of light. Wispy clouds scudded overhead, pushed along on a breeze which didn't reach the ground.

"Oh geez," he repeated, stepping out of the car, nervously running gloved fingers over the front of his coat. "I'm already feeling so out of place." He turned to Lucas. "You have no idea how different this is from where I grew up." He swallowed and reached for Lucas' arm. "Promise not to abandon me, Lucas. Don't go runnin' off to . . . to . . . walk the dog, or whatever."

Lucas smiled and nodded. "I promise." He leaned close for a quick kiss. "Relax. You're going to be fine. The only people who will be here are Allison and my parents."

Owen jerked a silent nod and took Lucas' hand as they slowly crossed the car court. The thin coating of ice on the intricate pattern of the cobblestones reflected the light of the house, a treacherous path to the broad curving steps. He noticed someone moving the drapery aside in one of the rooms. A moment later, the massive door to the house swung open and Allison smiled a greeting, urging them to hurry inside with a series of quick hand motions.

She gave her brother a sisterly kiss on the cheek then turned to Owen, giving him a hug identical to the one she gave her brother.

"My goodness, don't you both look handsome?" Her smile broadened as she paused a moment, examining both men.

'The woman's positively psychic,' Lucas thought to himself. 'All she has to do is look at us and she knows we've had sex. Hell, I would be willing to bet that she knows who did what to whom.'

She lowered her voice as she leaned close. "Congratulations, guys! You're perfect for one another." Lucas stiffened, trying to ignore the sudden flush of pink on Owen's cheeks. Without another word, she took their coats and left to hang them up.

Owen spared Lucas a glance before looking around the entry foyer with its pale limestone floor and large center table and tall flower arrangement. The many-tiered chandelier over the table sparkled, lighting the room as well as the curving stairway, leading up to a semicircular balcony. The room smelled of spices and fresh baked bread, a promise of the Thanksgiving feast.

"I've only seen pictures of places like this in books and stuff," he murmured, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, when he noticed Lucas watching him. "My stomach's all full of butterflies, or somethin'." He tried to smile at Lucas' comforting touch on his arm.

"You'll be fine. No one's going to bite your head off or anything. My parents are just like yours."

Owen snorted a soft laugh. "Hardly. Any more than this house is like where I grew up. I'm feeling really uncomfortable bein' here, Lucas. I'm gonna embarrass myself and you, I just know it. No matter how nicely you've gotten me dressed, I'm still nothing more than a country boy." He flicked a glance to the curving balcony overhead then back to Lucas. "I'm nothin' like you. My folks are nothing like yours, and the house I grew up in is nothing like this." He swept the room with a glance. "I'm just pretending to be somethin' I'm not."

"Nonsense." Lucas took Owen's arm. They crossed the large foyer, past the waist-high table and impressive flower arrangement, towards an opening flanked by a set of white columns. At the far end of the dark wood paneled room, a fire burned in a great fireplace.

Two people stood as Lucas and Owen stepped through the opening into the room, full of leather sofas and large wooden tables. A heavily-patterned oriental rug stretched across the breadth of the room, while imposing paintings of pastoral landscapes graced the tall walls. Tall narrow windows looked out onto the entry court, illuminated by the flickering light of gas light posts, while lamps, scattered around the room, cast pools of light which glinted off of silver and crystal accent pieces.

'Wow,' Owen thought, doing his best not to stare, open-mouthed.

Both people smiled a bright welcome, the woman holding open her arms to her son and accepting a brief kiss on the cheek.

Lucas gave Owen a reassuring squeeze on his arm.

"Mother, Dad, this is my good friend, Owen Carver. Owen, this is my mother, Olivia and Neil, my father."

"Welcome to our home, Owen," Olivia smiled, surprising him by giving him the same hug she gave her son. Neil held out a hand in greeting, grasping Owen's in a firm handshake. He was an older version of his son, slender, dark haired, with dancing eyes and a ready smile. Olivia was a small woman, dressed as though she had stepped from a magazine advertisement. He couldn't help but compare this woman with his mother.

"Thank you for coming, Owen," Neil smiled his own greeting. "I'm pleased you are able to join us."

Owen swallowed and smiled, tentatively at first, but gradually with more confidence. 'Maybe everything would be alright, after all.' "Thank you both for the invitation, and for makin' me feel like I'm part of the family."

Olivia put her arm through his and walked him toward one of the sofas. "Both Neil and I already feel as if we know you well. You're all Lucas and Allison talk about."

"Mother," Allison chided, entering the room and claiming a chair and ottoman for herself.

Lucas blushed at his mother's comments. "I talk about some other things too, Mother," he objected. Olivia laughed, a bright, happy laugh.

"True, sweetheart, but you only become animated when speaking of Owen, here. I don't believe I've ever seen you so happy." She paused, studying her son before turning to Owen.

'Damn,' Lucas thought, sinking into the sofa, aware that his sister was studying him as thoroughly as his mother. 'Not only Allison, but Mother too! I hope she doesn't ask what we've done! It'd be like her to do something like that, just to get me all flustered.'

Olivia's smile only brightened as she sat down and patted the cushion next to her, inviting Owen to relax.

"Don't worry, sweetheart," she teased her son. "I'm not going to get personal." Lucas sank back and covered his eyes with a hand as his father laughed, and Owen looked on in confusion.

'So unlike Mama,' he thought, wondering what his folks would be doing today. 'Mama's probably worked herself to exhaustion trying to cook a nice meal. Pops will treat the meal as he does any other, wolfing it down quickly, with no word of appreciation, assigning chores to everyone as he eats. Jonah, Abigail and Opie will try to visit with one another in the uneasy silence. Afterward, Mama will do the dishes. The only thanks she'd receive for her efforts would come from her children, and even those compliments would be delivered quietly.

'I should call her,' Owen thought, 'and let her know how much I miss both her and her cooking.'

He swallowed around a lump in his throat, attempting to push thoughts of his mother aside. He was saved when Neil offered him a drink, fragrant with the aroma of apples, cinnamon and clove. He smiled his thanks, as Lucas' father crossed the room to give another steaming cup to his son and daughter.

"I thought you and Lucas might appreciate something warm," he said, smiling as he sat down next to his son and turned toward Owen. "I expect you both had a rough time of it walking home from class, yesterday. The blizzard was unusually strong."

Owen smiled. "I've never been colder in my life. It was the first time I've seen snow."

He sipped at the drink, feeling its warmth suffuse his body, trying to ignore the wave of homesickness the fragrance of apples caused. 'I bet Mama's made one of her apple pies for tonight's dessert,' he thought.

"Intellectually, I knew snow would be cold." He was beginning to feel at ease in the surroundings. 'I should have known,' he thought, 'that Lucas' family would be as kind as Lucas.' He took another sip of the warm drink. "Even though I knew it would be cold, I wasn't prepared for how cold." He shivered as Neil and Olivia laughed. "Lucas has been great, lettin' me stay with him for a couple days. I don't think I'd have been able to get to where I live, what with the wind and everything."

"You live near Lucas?" Olivia asked, sipping from a glass of wine. Owen nodded.

"I rent a room from an elderly couple a few blocks away from Lucas' apartment. I help 'em out with things they're gettin too old to do. It makes me feel useful, and they appreciate the help. Since the blizzard, I've been worryin' about them . . . how they're handlin' the snow 'n all."

"We'll check on them in the morning." Lucas offered. "If they need something we can get it for them." Owen smiled his thanks, unable to keep from thinking about what he and Lucas would be doing when they returned home, and how late tomorrow's trip to his apartment might end up being.

"That'd ease my mind. That house is pretty old. They've lived in it for over sixty years. Besides, I've sorta gotten attached to them. It'd be good to know they're alright."

As the afternoon faded into evening, and everyone relaxed after the huge meal, Owen asked Lucas if he could borrow his cell phone to call his mother.

"Nonsense, dear," Olivia interrupted. "Please, use the phone in Neil's study. That way you can have some privacy. I hope your family is having as wonderful a Thanksgiving as we are."

Owen smiled and stood, turning to follow Lucas into a room large enough to have held a quarter of his parents' house. He shook his head in wonder as Lucas showed him where the phone was, gave him a brief hug of support, and left the room, quietly closing the sliding doors behind him.

He dialed, steeling himself to speak with his father should he answer the phone. The chance wasn't great, but still . . . 'I'm a coward,' he berated himself. 'Just 'cause I don't want to talk to Pops is no reason not to call home.' The phone rang a second time, and a third. Finally, someone answered. It was his mother.

"Hello, Mama?" Owen almost choked as his emotions threatened to overwhelm him. "It's me, Owen." He swallowed. There was so much he wanted to say, so much he wanted to find out, but he knew he'd have to keep the call short in order to not make life difficult for his mother. "I'm calling to wish you a happy Thanksgiving." He sniffed, not realizing until that moment exactly how much he missed his mother.

She began crying, asking him about school, how he was doing, and if he was getting enough to eat, all the while trying to control her tears.

"I'm doing good."

He nodded, answering another question, as if she could see him. "Yes, I'm havin' a good Thanksgiving. I'm at a friend's house. He invited me to have dinner with him, his sister, and his folks. We just finished eating a while ago. Everything was very good, Mama, but nothing compared with your cooking." He laughed. "Nothing I've ever eaten is as good as the things you make. Hey, have you ever had a cannoli?" He chuckled at her response.

"You shoulda told me about 'em! Lucas, that's my friend, and I, went to a nice Italian restaurant. I'm afraid I made a pig of myself. The woman who runs the place teased me that the next time we go there for dinner, she's gonna make a whole batch of those cannollis, just for me." He bit his lip.

"Now, don't be crying' so, Mama. You'll have me cryin' too."

"Oh," he changed the subject. "I gotta tell you, I've seen snow! It's cold! Bein' outside was like standin' inside a freezer, plus there was wind. I thought I'd end up freezin' solid and blowing into the lake, what with the wind 'n all. The same friend who invited me to dinner offered to let me stay over at his place 'cause of how bad the weather was. I didn't think I'd be able to make it home. We had to walk home from school in it all. My pants almost froze to my legs, and my eyebrows and hair were all icy." He shivered, realizing he was rambling.

"I miss you, Mama. I never knew how much I'd miss you." He choked back a sob. "I wish I could give you a hug right now. I realize I never hugged you nearly enough." He sniffed. "Well, when I see you next, I'm gonna hug you real hard. I promise."

He paused, his eyes widening at her question. "Of course I've written! You mean you haven't gotten my letters?" He took two or three aimless steps across the thick carpet. "None of them?" He could hear the change in his mother's voice as she answered with a single word. "None." His father must have checked to see what she was doing. 'No wonder I haven't heard anything from home!' He heard his father's voice in the background, calling his wife. "I understand why you gotta go Mama." Owen's mind was in turmoil. "It wouldn't do to have Pops know I'd called." He swallowed around the lump in his throat.

"Say hi to Jonah and the girls." He sniffed, ignoring his watery eyes. "You take care, Mama. I miss you." He kissed his fingertips and pressed them against the telephone receiver, lingering for a moment before he hung up.

Doctor Daniel Johnson closed the kitchen cabinet door, poured himself another cup of coffee and wandered into the living room of his small apartment. It was Thanksgiving. Riverton was quiet. 'Quieter than usual,' he amended his thought, wearing a small smile. 'And here I am, the perpetual bachelor, spending another Thanksgiving alone . . . again . . . still.'

He had considered calling his brother or sisters, but they all had families, and would be busy. 'Where did I go wrong?' He asked himself. 'Why no family, for the doctor?' He sank back into the chair and propped his stocking feet on the ottoman. The room light, barely brighter than the light of a candle, engulfed him in a small world. The weather had finally cooled enough for him to have to close the front door. He felt cozy, surrounded by the nubbly upholstery of the over stuffed chair.

'I'll have to put a light blanket on the bed tonight,' he told himself as he sipped his coffee, giving in to his melancholy mood. 'No one to keep me warm this evening . . . no one to keep warm.'

He snorted, a sound of disgust. 'Everyone I know is paired-up,' he thought. 'Even Jonah.'

He smiled to himself as he recalled seeing a smile on Jonah's face. It suited Jonah well, and could only mean one thing. He and Sam had discovered one another.

'I'm pleased.' Daniel sighed. 'The poor boy deserves some happiness . . . as does Sam. They're both pushing themselves way beyond what a person their age should have to endure.' The doctor thought about the likelihood of Sam's parents ever returning to the farm, and sighed.

'Not good odds,' he thought.

'About the same odds of Jonah ever finding happiness,' he would have said. 'So maybe the odds against Sam's father aren't as bad as I would have thought." He looked at the lamp reflected in the mirror-like window. 'I wonder what ol' Jonathan Carver will do to spoil it for his son. I'm sure he'll try something. He's done his level best to spoil whatever chance anyone in that family has ever had to be happy.' He sighed.

'It tears me up to see what he's doing to the two girls . . . and to Beatrice.' He inhaled deeply, then blew out a long slow breath through puffed cheeks. 'She could be a beautiful woman,' he thought, 'if she wasn't so beaten down by her husband. She's where all the children in that family get their brains,' he thought. 'Now, if only she would use those brains of hers to tell her husband to take a flying leap . . . preferably off a very high cliff.' He grinned, feeling only slightly guilty at his less-than-generous wishes for Jonathan Carver.

He was shocked when he last saw Beatrice. She was never a large woman, but even so, looked as if she had lost weight. Her clothes were hanging off of her; her eyes were sunken and encircled with dark shadows. She had given him a wan smile and brushed a stray strand of limp chestnut-colored hair away from her forehead. 'Where is the beautiful woman hiding?' He asked himself, recalling the woman who laughed at his jokes at last year's Independence Day picnic. She had seemed so . . . carefree, then. At the time, it was Owen, he recalled being concerned about. Owen and Sam, and the relationship they did their best to conceal. He knew that, even then, Beatrice faced daily difficulties, but it hadn't been until Owen left that those difficulties seemed to overwhelm her. It was as if one of her ties to sanity had been removed.

"You're not well," he told Beatrice recently, falling back onto being a doctor in order to speak with her without drawing unwanted comments. "Would you like to talk about it? I know you have a difficult life." Maxine, the proprietor of the small grocery store snorted agreement before turning away, only slightly embarrassed at having been caught eavesdropping. He'd given her a withering glance, causing her to step further away, though not so far away, he thought, that she wouldn't be able to hear what he said. He turned his back to her and lowered his voice.

"Perhaps it would help to talk," he offered. Beatrice hesitantly reached out in silent thanks and had touched the back of his hand where it rested, on the store counter.

"Thank you for offering Daniel. Truly. But . . ." She shrugged. "I'm having to think through things for myself." The wan smile reappeared. "Seems, I'm a slow study, doesn't it? I hate myself for my inaction . . . yet . . ." Her shrug was barely more than a twitch of her shoulders as her words faded.

"We all care how you and the girls are doing, Beatrice," he murmured, hoping Maxine's hearing wasn't as acute as it might be. If he was wrong, he knew his words would be all over town before he'd returned home. "We all care. I care." He'd laid a comforting hand on top of hers. "You're not alone, Bea. Remember that. Don't let things become totally overwhelming before you ask for help, if not from me, from someone." He raised his eyebrows and tried to be encouraging. "Promise me?"

She paused while she used a tissue to wipe her suddenly-watery eyes. "Yes . . . I promise." She bit her lip. "It's just that. . ." Out of habit, she seemed to be checking to make sure it was safe for her to voice an opinion. "It's just that, I feel so . . . alone. I've gotten myself into this . . . whatever it is I'm in." She tried to grin. "Mess, perhaps? Well, I'm going to have to find a way out of it."

She swallowed. "I really don't know what I'm waiting for. A signal, perhaps." Another exhausted shrug.

Her smile seemed brighter as she continued. "It is good to know that you . . . that someone cares." She bowed her head. "Truly." She glanced in Maxine's direction, apparently having the same fear of being seen speaking too long with the doctor. "Thank you Daniel. I'll remember what you've said. I don't feel quite so alone now." She moistened her lips and sniffed. "I'd better be going." The corners of her lips twitched into a semblance of a grin. She picked up her two bags of groceries and left the store. He'd followed her with his eyes until she'd turned the corner. When he turned around, he found Maxine silently watching him.

Beatrice slowly replaced the telephone receiver, unwilling to meet her husband's questioning look as she tried to conceal her anger. 'I knew he was lying about us never having gotten letters from Owen,' she thought, seething inside. 'I knew it!'

"Who's that?" Jonathan asked in a lazy drawl. "Y'talked for a long time."

"It was a friend," she managed to bite out as she headed for the kitchen, pointedly not looking in her husband's direction. "Wanted to wish me a happy Thanksgiving."

"Humph," Jonathan snorted, turning away, immediately dismissing his wife's words. "A friend." The way he said it turned the word into a curse.

"That's right, dear." Beatrice couldn't help herself, pausing at the door to the kitchen. "One of few I have left." Her husband hesitated and looked over his shoulder, not sure what to make of his wife's comments. It sounded as if she were criticizing him, but he wasn't sure.

Jonah swallowed, conscious of the tense emotional undercurrents in his mother's words, something his father apparently, was not. His father, apparently dismissing his wife's words as incomprehensible, stomped through the kitchen and out onto the back porch, allowing the screen door to slam. Beatrice's frown softened as she turned from the still-rattling screen door and saw her son. Jonah felt mildly uncomfortable, having seen the look which followed his father, convinced it should have seared the man's back with its intensity. Perhaps that unguarded expression on his mother's face had only been imagined. After checking to see if his father might have been reduced to nothing more than a smoldering heap, he embraced his mother and kissed her on the cheek, half-convinced the expression on his mother's face had been imagined.

"Thank you Mama," he murmured. "For the wonderful dinner . . . and for keepin' my bedroom window unlocked." He brushed a strand of hair away from her forehead and hugged her, wondering when she had become so frail. "I love you, so much. I've realized I don't tell you that nearly enough."

Beatrice blinked the moisture from her eyes, looking up at her son. She realized she still thought of him as a small child, like his brother, always into everything, asking questions and laughing. That was before her husband's reprimands had stifled both boys, turning them into quiet young men. She hated herself more every day for allowing her Jonathan's behavior to continue.

"Can you keep your voice low?" she asked, making a sudden decision. She wanted to share the joy she had been unable to express in front of her husband. Jonah looked puzzled, but nodded.

"Owen called a few minutes ago." Jonah's eyes lit. He was about to say something but caught himself, and nodded, bouncing on the balls of his feet, anxious to hear what his brother had to say. "We could only speak for a couple minutes," Beatrice went on. "He was calling to wish us a good Thanksgiving."

"Is he okay? What's school like? I bet he's one of the school's top students." Jonah's excitement was spilling over.

'Perhaps his enthusiasm for life hasn't been totally stifled,' she thought, secretly pleased Jonah first asked about school and Owen's grades.

"What's he been doing? Why hasn't he written?" Jonah found it almost impossible to keep his voice low as his questions continued. His mother glanced over his shoulder, checking to see if Jonathan might be within earshot, before continuing. This time, there was no mistaking the animosity her expression carried, yet when she looked at him, her expression had shifted, yet again.

"He says he's okay, but he sounded sad. Of course, I was crying, so I may be projecting my own feelings." Jonah nodded understanding, as his mother continued. "He's at a friend's for dinner, and that he missed my apple pie." She blinked, her eyes suddenly misty, thinking of Owen's words, and at Jonah's tender expression of agreement.

Suddenly, her eyes lit. "He says he saw snow!"

"Snow . . ." Jonah's eyes seemed to focus on a distant fantasy, as he exhaled the word on a reverent breath.

"He says he 'bout froze, because it was so cold."

"Froze?" Jonah couldn't believe what he was hearing. "But, he's okay?" His cheeks were flushed with excitement. She answered his question with a nod, but couldn't bear to tell him of his brother's letters being intercepted. He hugged his mother tightly, kissed her cheek and wandered off. She could hear him murmur as he left the room.

"He saw snow."

~ to be continued ~

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