Owen

Owen

Chapter thirty-eight

By Roy Reinikainen

Lucas turned from the simmering pot on the stove as Owen burst into the apartment, his eyes alight. "The fireflies are here!" he announced. He made a hurry-up motion with a hand. "C'mon, slowpoke, I've been waitin' a year to see 'em again and you've been waiting a lifetime!" Owen looked around the apartment with lowered brows. "What is that smell?" he asked, before suspiciously turning his full attention on Lucas, who stood defensively in front of a steaming pot on the range.

"Dinner." Lucas quipped, knowing as he said it that he would not foist his latest creation on anyone. He plunged a spoon into the large stew pot, momentarily wondering if the liquid might take the finish off. He gave the spoon barely a glance as he held the steaming liquid at arm's length for Owen to taste. "Here," he urged, with a grin. "Tell me what you think."

Owen gave him an incredulous look, then turned toward the apartment's front door, suddenly very anxious to leave. "Maybe later, huh?" he temporized. "Um, what's it supposed to be?" he ventured, standing as far away from the kitchen as possible.

Lucas cast a doubtful glance at his latest culinary . . . effort . . . and decided that perhaps it would be better if the bubbling liquid . . . aged . . . or . . . something. Perhaps . . . disappeared. Hopefully! 'How in the world did it take on that disgusting gray color?' he wondered. "It's supposed to be beef stew!" he shouted over his shoulder. "I'm afraid to taste it though," he added. "I wouldn't have let you sample it," he added. "Really!"

If he hadn't known better, he would have suspected sour Maxine, at the small grocery store, of sabotaging his efforts. She certainly had let him know that she wouldn't serve him, the one time he'd try to buy things from her, making it clear that he needed to go elsewhere to shop. He smiled, another piece of his plan falling into place. "With pleasure, ma'am," he'd answered, pleased to see that he was messing with her head by being nice. 'I'll be messing with more than her head before I'm through with her,' he vowed, as he left the store, her poisonous gaze burning into his back. 'You don't mess with a Horton man,' he silently told her.

"C'mon Lucas!" Owen urged, breaking into his thoughts. Lucas waved a hand in front of his face, giving another glance to the . . . lethal looking concoction on the stove. 'And the . . . odor!' No one, no matter how charitable, could call the smell appetizing. Even perpetually hungry Owen seemed reluctant to approach the kitchen, choosing instead to remain in the slightly cleaner air of the living room, bouncing excitedly on the balls of his feet.

Lucas gave in to the hurry-up motions, while the stew bubbled and burped, causing him to grimace. He turned off the heat, slapped a tight fitting lid on the stew pot, then hurried towards the apartment's front door, anxious to make his escape. He followed Owen down the stairway, then through the building's vestibule, its terrazzo floors and brass fixtures once again shining, and out onto the twilit sidewalk.

The heat of the day had given way to a balmy evening. The last of the day's sunlight painted the horizon a blue-purple above a black horizon of silhouetted trees. In the nearby park, children were laughing. A dog barked, and a few birds chattered, preparing for the evening. As he and Owen passed, the old sign in the window of Sally's Restaurant intermittently buzzed and clicked in time with the flickering neon glow, which illuminated the sidewalk and bench adjacent to the building. 'She really should get that fixed,' Lucas couldn't help thinking, as he hurried to keep up with Owen.

"Where're we going?" he managed, as they turned off the main street, and walked past the building that Bailey was having renovated. Lucas hadn't a clue what Bailey intended to do with the building, and he doubted that Sam, who was handling the renovation for Bailey, did either. If he did, he wasn't talking. Of course, he hadn't been talking much since Jonah had left. He claimed he was staying home to tend to his father and help out his mother, but Lucas doubted that was the case. Both he and Owen had tried to get Sam to stay with them, after that first night, but he declined, giving each of them a lengthy hug, and mumbling something about intruding, before leaving.

"I thought you said the fireflies were mostly in the trees along the river," Lucas huffed, breaking into a slow jog to remain at Owen's side. He looked over his shoulder. "The river's back there."

"They are by the river." Owen glanced over his shoulder and smiled, not the slightest bit winded by the effort of running. "We're heading over to collect Sam. This is a special evening and I'd like for him to enjoy it with us. He needs to get out of the house for some fun."

"Good thinking," Lucas smiled, catching up with Owen, their steps echoing hollowly on the dry dirt road. "I miss seeing him."

A few minutes later, the two men rounded the bend, bringing Sam's folks' house into view. The yellow lights made the house glow, in the darkened clearing. As they approached, Dog barked a happy greeting and ran towards them, his tail wagging, as he greeted his friends.

"Sam!" Owen called, as they neared the house. The floor boards of the porch made a hollow, thudding sound as Owen bypassed the steps, happily waving at Sam's mother as she pushed the screen door open with a look of alarm. "The fireflies are here!" Owen breathlessly announced, before Sara Bridgers could ask why he was shouting. "Sam's here, isn't he?" he nodded in answer to his own question.

"Hey, Sammy!" Owen called over Sara Bridgers' shoulder, as Sam hurried into the living room, drawn by the sound of Owen's voice. The expression he wore was almost embarrassing, in the depth of emotions it conveyed. "Get your rear moving, the fireflies are here!" Owen announced. "We need to show Lucas! You'd better bring a shirt and get some shoes on; we may be a while," Owen concluded, smiling at Sam's mother, while Lucas knelt and petted Dog.

Sam made a 'wait a moment' gesture and trotted back to his bedroom.

"Is he doin' okay?" Owen asked, in a low voice. "Lucas n' I have been worried."

Sam's mother glanced over her shoulder. "He keeps sayin' everything's okay, but it's not. He mopes around, eats three meals a day, and otherwise pretty much stays in his room."

Owen briefly rested a hand on Sara Bridgers' shoulder. "We're here to change that."

"Got that right," Lucas added, standing up as Dog, finally realizing that no one was going to offer him food, abandoned the attention he was receiving, and wandered off.

"And, how's Mister Bridgers?" Owen asked. "It's great to have you both home. Now, if we could breathe a little life into Sam, things would be close to perfect."

"Thank you for trying, Owen," Sara murmured, then added, "you too, Lucas. If anyone can bring him out of his depression, you two can."

Owen changed the direction of his conversation, as Sam hurried back into the room. "He and I have always loved fireflies, y'know," Owen explained, as if continuing a conversation, "and Lucas has never seen 'em, so tonight's special." Sara Bridgers made a face and shuddered.

"They're just bugs, as far as I'm concerned." She laughed. "Tell me, would you boys get so excited if a cockroach lit up?" Owen laughed and dismissed her question with a wave of his hand as Sam approached, grinning at his mother and carrying a couple of blankets. While he'd been away, he'd slipped on a t-shirt, but hadn't spent the time to tie the laces of his tennis shoes.

"Knowing Owen, we'll be sitting on the ground someplace, taking in the view," he explained to his mother's raised eyebrow expression and nod toward the blankets. "These firefly expeditions often turn out to be all night affairs." Sam knelt to tie his shoes, then draped one blanket over his shoulders and kissed his mother's cheek. "Bye, Dad!" he called, to his father, who was sitting in an armchair resting. The older man raised a hand in farewell.

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do," Henry Bridgers called, then chuckled.

"Yeah, well," Sam murmured, as Owen rolled his eyes. Sam tossed the second blanket in Owen's direction, as the three men headed away from the house, followed by Sara's call of, "have fun."

As they walked out onto the darkened stretch of road, Owen slowed to a stop and touched Sam's arm. "The meadow?" he asked, communicating a world of meaning in the two words. "This is a special night, and I'd like for all of us to be in a special place."

"Of course!" Sam stopped walking. "Thanks guys," he said, "for includin' me. Your thinking of me means a lot."

Lucas pulled Sam close, with an arm over his shoulder. "I'm thinking that there's more being said than what you two are saying with words, but," he turned to Sam, "we couldn't let a special night like this go by and leave you sitting home alone. I still think you should be living with Owen and me, no matter what you say," he added, holding out a hand to prevent Sam from protesting. "Owen's always told me how much the two of you enjoyed sitting on the grass by the river's edge, watching the fireflies. If you weren't with us, it wouldn't be the same. You're important to us, Sam. There is no reason for you to be alone, tonight, or any night."

Lucas took Sam's left hand while Owen took his right. "Now," Lucas said, as they walked down the lane, hand-in-hand-in-hand, leaving the glow of the Bridgers' house behind. "Where's this meadow you guys were talking about? Is it private? The night's a little hot, and I want to get out of some of these clothes."

"Uuuuu," Sam laughed. "Lucas wants to get nekkid. Sounds like he's askin' for some attention."

"Then let's hurry," Owen urged. "Fireflies always did look better when we're bare assed nekkid."

"You've done this before, I take it?" Lucas asked, with a laugh, not at all sure how everyone in Riverton seemed to have no trouble finding their way in total darkness.

"Of course; why'd you think I brought the blankets?" Sam asked, as if it were obvious.

"Damn, I can hardly see a freaking thing," Lucas said, in good natured complaint, as he accepted Owen's hand to clamber up the grassy slope, the slowly moving river at his back. "If you guys weren't with me, I'd be lost for sure. Hey!" he jumped in surprise, as Sam pushed him from behind in a final effort to urge Lucas up the slope. "Watch where you're putting your hands. At least wait till I've gotten out of these clothes." He slipped to his knees and grabbed at the nearest thing . . . "Sam!" he called, his voice rising, as he slipped on the wet grass. At the top of the hill, Owen laughed, a grey shape in the darkness.

"Hey, handsome," Sam murmured, as Lucas clung to him. "Wanna dance?" Lucas began to laugh so hard at the ludicrousness of it all that he feared he might slip further, and slide into the river, taking Sam with him. "I tell 'ya," Sam chuckled. "Some people will do anything to get a hug."

Lucas took a couple deep breaths and returned Sam's embrace. "Thanks," he murmured. "If you hadn't stopped me, I'd have been going for a swim." He quickly kissed Sam's cheek. "Having you hug me is way better than that."

"Grab him, Owen," Sam urged, heaving and pushing Lucas up the embankment.

Behind him, Sam climbed the grassy slope with seemingly no effort. "C'mon, City Boy," Owen laughed, tugging Lucas to his feet. "We've gotta move away from the water a bit, 'cause the gators come out at night. I don't like the idea of anyone chewin' on one of my favorite men."

"What?" Lucas almost screeched, Sam's snort of amusement barely registering. "Alligators?" When Sam and Owen could contain themselves no longer, Lucas realized he was being teased. "Not funny, men," he grumbled. "Alligators, indeed!" Still, he couldn't keep himself from looking over his shoulder, wondering if alligators were night hunters, and cursing the fact that it was so dark he wouldn't be able to tell if something was indeed stalking him. 'I don't suppose alligators live this far inland,' he mused, then almost snorted. 'Hell, I'm beginning to sound like Bailey.'

"Be nice, guys," he said, in warning. "Otherwise, you're going to have to eat some of my beef stew."

Owen gulped. "No way am I touching that," he complained, barely more than a voice in the darkness. "By the time we get back home, it'll probably have solidified into bad smelling, lumpy concrete, or something. Be nice, Sam," he added. "Lucas can't even make toast and scrambled eggs."

"Well, I'm trying," Lucas responded, with a good natured laugh. "All great chefs have to learn somehow."

"Sam can cook," Owen added.

"Y'see?" Lucas answered, quickly. "Another reason for you to come to live with us. You can cook, clean house, wash the windows, vacuum the floors, do the laundry, and things like that, all naked, I might add, and Owen and I will be very kind to you each night, in the bedroom."

"Sounds like a plan to me," Owen chuckled, as the three men moved away from the riverside to the grassy, and dry, meadow. Away from the canopy of trees, the crescent moon provided the barest of light to see by. Around them, the trees seemed to sparkle as the fireflies, they'd come to see, danced.

"Yeah, right," Sam laughed, as he walked shoulder-to-shoulder with Lucas. "For me to do all that, you guys are going to have to be very, very nice. In fact, once a day might not be enough."

"I can do that," Lucas' laugh was followed closely by Owen's, "me, too."

"So," Lucas, said, as he felt Sam move closer on one side, and Owen on the other. "Didn't someone mention something about losing the clothes." He paused. "You guys really were joking about the alligators, weren't you?" he asked, still not totally sure.

Owen laughed, as he pulled Lucas into a tight embrace, accompanied by a fierce kiss. "Yeah, there hasn't been an alligator attack in years," he chuckled.

"Owen . . ." Sam warned.

"Okay, there hasn't ever been one," Owen surrendered. "But y'never know . . ." he added, surrendering Lucas to Sam's embrace.

"I'm really glad you're with us," Lucas murmured, as Sam nuzzled the crook of his neck, then kissed a trail up to his jaw, his cheek, and, finally, his mouth, as Owen joined them.

"This is the way things should be," Owen murmured, after a three-way kiss. "This is what I've been wanting ever since coming back home."

"He always did talk too much," Sam murmured, amusement coloring the voice which had been dull grey for months.

"I've noticed that," Lucas chuckled, joining Sam in stripping the unresisting Owen. Sam tugged the tight t-shirt over Owen's head, and they began to kiss, while Lucas worked Owen's shorts and underwear down his legs, then dropped to his knees and began to suck on Owen's stiffening cock. When Owen began slowly fucking his mouth, Lucas turned toward Sam, and unzipped his shorts, and tugged them down his legs The moment Sam stepped out of his shorts, Lucas engulfed his cock with his mouth. He swallowed the penis, burying his face in Sam's wiry black pubes. "Fuuuuck," he sighed, as he gasped for breath. "You smell so good." He snaked his hand between Sam's legs and roughly pulled him closer. 'Damn,' he thought. 'I'm in heaven!'

"Your turn," Owen murmured, a voice in the darkness. He pulled Lucas to his feet and hurriedly stripped off his shirt, then fumbled with the zipper on Lucas' jeans, while, above him, Sam and Lucas kissed. It was as if the floodgates of passion had suddenly opened for all three men. Owen knelt and was madly sucking both men, first Lucas, then Sam. He nuzzled Sam's balls, expertly rolling one, then the other over his tongue, just as he knew Sam loved. Then he worked on Lucas' cock, kneading his butt cheeks, squeezing tightly, just as Lucas always asked him to do.

Above him, both Sam and Lucas kissed, sighed, then moaned, as Owen worked on them. "Fuuuck, men," Sam finally said, pulling away. "My legs have gone all rubbery. I've gotta lay down." He and Lucas pulled Owen to his feet. They both gave him a brief kiss, then, hand-in-hand-in-hand, walked to the center of the meadow, and into the silvery moonlight. The fragrance of night-blooming flowers hung on the still air, while, overhead, the arch of the Milky Way hung suspended from horizon to horizon, the pinpricks of millions of distant suns adding their brilliance to the dancing of the fireflies.

Lucas took one step away from the two other men. "Guys, just a second. I have something to say."

"Awww," Owen groaned. "He's gonna talk."

"Shhh." There was a sound of a playful swat and a yelp of surprise.

"Just wait, Sammy. I'm gonna have my way with you."

"Ooooh," Sam teased. "I hope that's a promise?"

"Guys!" Lucas's exasperated voice rose slightly in the stillness of the meadow. "I've been thinking about this for quite a while, and now seems the appropriate time to talk about it."

"Tonight's not about talking," Owen murmured, reaching out for Lucas, who grabbed his wrist.

"About this, it is. It'll only take a moment."

"Let 'im talk Owen; he sounds serious. But, only for a moment," he added. "If he goes on too long, we'll tackle him and show 'im what's what."

"He's already seen your what's what," Owen snickered.

"Owennnn," Lucas groaned.

"Okay, okay."

"I'm serious." Lucas reached out and drew the other two men into an embrace. "I haven't talked this over with either of you, but . . . " Lucas huffed a laugh. "I guess this is something like a proposal, and I'm deadly serious about it." He paused, noting how both men he was holding had stopped their horseplay. "Sam," he began, "would you consider being partners with Owen and me? I've already asked if you would live with us. This is different. Would you live with us so we can share your life at the same time you share ours?" The only sound to be heard was the soft murmur of the river. Even the nighttime insects had become silent, as if they too were waiting for Sam's response.

"Thank you, Lucas," Owen murmured. "Thank you, so much. I've been sayin' all along that the perfect way for things to play out would be for the three of us to be together. But, I have to ask something first."

Lucas made a slight noise of permission. "Do you love Sam like I do?" Owen asked.

Lucas took a deep breath, intensely aware of Sam's arm over his shoulder. "No," he began, "not yet. Those are the key words guys, 'not yet.' You may remember me telling Daniel that I do not give my affections away easily. I like you, Sam, a great deal. I love how you took Jonah in and showed him his first kindness at the hands of someone outside his family. I love how you defended him, when describing how he asked that the two of you end your relationship. I love the dedication you've shown to your folks during your father's illness. The list could go on. But, I've not been around you enough to say that I love you.

"I did love the couple times we spent in bed together, with Owen, during Christmas vacation," Lucas went on. "I love how you've not exhibited any jealousy about me being with Owen." He leaned close and kissed Sam on the cheek. "I could very easily come to love you. As I've already told you once, you are an easy man to love."

"Sam?" Owen asked.

"Um," he temporized, searching for the correct words. "Whatever I say won't sound as good as when Lucas says it," he laughed, "but if you're asking if I love Lucas, I would have to give the same answer. Everything I've learned about you, Lucas, or have personally seen, tells me that you are a wonderful person. You've been so kind to Owen, and, if for no other reason than that, I could love you. I . . . I would like to be given the chance to . . . to . . . feel about you, as I do about Owen." There was a grin in his voice. "It won't take much, I assure you."

"Then, will you come live with Owen and me?"

"Sammy," Owen murmured. "Together, forever . . ."

"And, always," Sam concluded, in a voice barely more than a whisper. "Yes, Lucas, I would be . . . honored." There was a slight pause while he audibly swallowed. "Thank you."

"Are we done talkin' now?" Owen chuckled. "Someone spread out the blankets."

"Is he always this bossy?" Sam murmured, patting Lucas' back a final time in thanks. "He wasn't always this way."

"He's just horny."

"Isn't he always? Besides, he likes to pretend to be macho, once in a while." Sam chuckled, as he helped Lucas spread one of the blankets on the grassy floor of the meadow. "I think we should let him pretend, since we both know that, deep down, he loves to have someone on top of him."

"Damn right," Owen murmured, "and I can still be macho, even with two guys on top of me. Wanna try me out?" Owen dropped to his knees in the center of the blanket,s then lay on his back, a light spot on the dark blanket, lit only by the fading moonlight, the stars of the Milky Way, and the flickering of the fireflies.

Corey rolled on top of him, a welcome weight in the darkness. He could feel Corey's warm breath against his neck, as well as his thick cock which pressed against his own. "Are you happy, lover?" he murmured, as he began to slowly thrust himself against the man beneath him.

"Oh, yes," Jonah murmured. It wouldn't take much of this before he'd shoot. That was always the case, when he and Corey had sex. He pulled Corey's face to his for a deep and lingering kiss.

"Jonah!" He jerked awake at the sound of his young sister's voice, his dream dissipating like so much smoke. "Jonah!" Opie repeated, along with another insistent knock. "Mama says to tell you breakfast is ready, so get up, or I'll eat yours."

He shook his head, and answered. "Yeah, I'm awake, okay?" He sat up and rubbed his eyes. He heard Opie run down the hallway and shout to their mother. "Alright, I got him up. Is the food ready yet?"

Jonah flopped onto his back, his bare legs hanging over the edge of the oversized bed, his erection stretching for the ceiling. It was like this every morning . . . hard and frustrated. He already knew that not even an ice cold shower would cause him to lose his erection. "There's only one way to handle this," he said, aloud. He swung off the bed, padded across the room, and opened the bedroom door, making sure neither Opie nor Abigail were nearby. "I'll be a few minutes," he shouted, to his mother, hoping to prevent another door-pounding visit from his youngest sister, then turned back to the bed, locking the door behind him.

He fell back against the white bed sheets, feeling their crisp clean-ness against his back and buttocks. He placed his heels on the edge of the bed, and spread his legs wide, imagining he was giving a show to Corey, who would be sitting nearby, watching as he fingered his hole and slowly stimulated himself to an orgasm.

"C'mon, lover," Jonah imagined Corey saying, as the man who had become dear to him, even though they barely knew one another, began using his bare feet to toy with Jonah's balls. Jonah removed his finger from his hole, as, in his imagination, Corey pressed against the bulge of his exposed perineum, then against the darkened skin of his pucker. "You're wanting me to fuck you, aren't you, handsome?" he imagined Corey murmuring, barely loud enough to be heard. He pressed against Jonah's sphincter with his toe, and chuckled low in his throat. "You wish it was my dick, getting ready to push into you . . . don't you?" he asked, pushing harder, stimulating Jonah's prostate into producing more lubricating pre-cum, creating a wet sound as Jonah stimulated himself.

"Oh yes," he mumbled, rolling his head from side to side, completely caught up in his imaginary lovemaking. "Push it into me," he begged. "Shoot in me, Corey," he whimpered, as he imagined Corey dragging the head of his cock over his hole, leaving behind a slimy trail. A moment later, he would have sworn he felt Corey slowly penetrate his hole, his cock stretching the muscular opening as it slid in, until the coarse hair of Corey's pubes pressed against the skin of his buttocks.

"I'm coming back to Riverton," Corey said. "I'm coming back to you. Then. . . ," the pressure against his prostate prevented Jonah from drawing his dream out. "Then," Corey repeated, "we're gonna do this for real." Jonah whimpered, curled his toes at the edge of the bed, arched his back, and shot. He flinched, as the first of his sperm splashed against his cheek, then gasped for breath, as the second shot left a wet line over his chest, and the third ran down his fingers, to puddle in his own pubic hair.

"I'm here, Corey," he murmured to himself, as he used a finger to scrape the sperm off of his cheek, then sucking his finger clean. "I'm yours."

Lucas lay on his back, with Owen snuggled against him on one side, and Sam on the other, laying on his stomach, one leg thrown over Lucas'.

'Dear God,' he thought to himself, as a meteorite streaked across the sky, its brief flash mimicking those of the fireflies dancing in the darkened trees. 'I hope I've done the right thing.' His thoughts returned to the two men at his side, as Owen snuggled closer and draped an arm over Lucas' chest, in an unconscious effort to touch his boyhood love at Lucas' other side. 'There was no other way to end the stalemate the three of us had reached. I can no more give up Owen than I can stop breathing, and, at the same time, I believe that Owen really does love me as he claims . . . but . . . he's also in love with Sam. He always has been.'

Lucas briefly closed his eyes, memories of him and Owen flickering against his closed eyelids, like an old-time movie, or like the fireflies in the trees, flickering, then fading, only to reappear. It was as if his life had started on that fateful evening when he and Owen had met. Before that meeting with Owen, he'd been an entirely different person. The change had started the moment Owen had stepped into his apartment, and Lucas had realized that his past, and all of his possessions, meant nothing. He'd been the quintessential spoiled rich boy, only marginally better than Bailey. In minutes, Owen had begun the change in him, as surely as he'd started the change in Bailey, and now Corey.

Lucas could never have imagined that, by Owen giving him his affections, Sam, would be injured. 'Would I have done anything differently, if I had known what would happen to Sam? Would such a course have even been possible?' Lucas asked himself. He hated to admit that he probably would not have.

'Now though,' he thought to himself, as Sam mumbled something in his sleep, 'now, I have done all I could to make things right . . . for the three of us.' If he'd had any doubts about whether what he had planned was the right thing to do, they evaporated after he . . . proposed that the three of them live with one another . . . as partners. Sam's mood, reserved and withdrawn, ever since Lucas and Owen had arrived in Riverton, had changed, as the three of them shared one another on the grassy meadow, until he'd finally become the man Owen had always described . . . laughing and teasing, loving and tender. 'If for no other reason than that, I think I've done the right thing. I've made the man I love happy, and the man he loves, happy. Because of that, I am happy.'

Owen, always a restless sleeper, shifted in his sleep, this time tenderly kissing Lucas' neck. "Love you, Lucas," he murmured, half in a dream state, before returning to deep sleep, his breath soft against Lucas' neck.

'And I love you,' Lucas thought. 'Owen claims to love Sam and me, equally.' Lucas compressed his lips. 'Can I love both him and Sam . . . equally? And, is it possible for Sam to love me as much as he does Owen?'

"Mama!" Opie shouted, running into the living room, as Bea and the doctor walked into the house, holding hands, walking shoulder-to-shoulder. Opie came to a skidding stop on the polished wood floor, the rug bunching up in front of her.

"You're holding hands!" she exclaimed, her eyes wide, and a smile blossoming on her face. In the next move, she ran to the doctor and threw her arms around his waist and pulled him to her. "You gonna make my mama happy, Doctor?" she asked, with her face buried against him. "She needs to be happy." Opie reluctantly released her grip on the doctor, and took his free hand.

"You guys gonna get married, or something?" she asked, looking from the doctor to her mother, then back to the doctor. "You could come and live here," she cried, spreading her arms wide. "We've got lots and lots of room for all your stuff." She ran to the home's entry closet, throwing the door open wide, in an attempt to display exactly how much room. When she turned to look into the closet and realized how full it was, she slammed the door shut, wearing a sheepish expression. "We've got lots of junk we can throw out," she added, brushing her hands together, as if all the arrangements had been completed.

"Hey, Abigail!" she shouted, her short legs carrying her from the room at top speed. "Abigail! Mama and the doctor are gonna get married, or something! We've just figured out that we need to clean a couple closets to hold all his junk. Let's get busy!"

In the distance, the astonished adults looked at one another, as Abigail's bedroom door opened to an exclamation of, "what!?"

"Well . . ." Daniel said, turning to Bea. "I'd hate to let Opie down." The corner's of Bea's mouth twitched. "Would you marry me, Bea?" he asked. "Please."

Bea melted into the doctor's embrace. "Oh, yes, Daniel," she murmured, close to his ear. "I would love to marry the man who has watched out for me for so many years. My white knight," she murmured. As their lips met, both Abigail and Opie came careening into the room.

"See! I told 'ya!" Opie screamed in her sister's direction, pointing to the kissing couple, as she began running around the living room waving her hands in the air. "Mama's gettin' married!" she chanted, over and over. On her third circuit around the room, she abruptly stopped in front of the smiling adults.

"Does this man I'm gonna be a big sister any time soon? I'd really like to be a big sister, 'ya know."

"Opie!" Bea laughed, astonished by her daughter's question. "Daniel's only just asked me to marry him. Other . . . things will have to wait."

Opie rested her fists on her hips. "Well . . . hurry up! We've waited long enough." She turned to her older sister. "Huh, old girl?" she laughed, jumping out of Abigail's reach, with a childish screech of excitement.

"Oh, oh, oh!" Opie continued, jumping up and down. "I've gotta go tell everyone!" She ran out of the house, leaving the screen door to slam behind her. "I'm gonna tell the whole world!" she continued shouting, as her voice faded into the distance.

"Bailey?" George Wilkins stuck his head into his study, where his son had thrown himself across one of the overstuffed leather chairs. One of Bailey's legs was draped over an arm of the chair, and he rested his head against the chair back. At his father's questioning tone, he looked up.

"Please . . . come in," he invited. He looked around the wood paneled room, smelling of leather and old books, as his father closed the door behind him and lowered himself into a chair adjoining his son's. Bailey smiled. "I've always loved the quiet of this room. It always was so conducive to thinking." He rested his head against the back of the chair.

"Your mother and I have noticed that you've been more quiet than usual, since returning from your visit to your friend, Owen."

"Indeed," Bailey murmured. "Father, I'm at one of those turning points in my life. Meeting Owen was one. Now, I'm at another, and it's no less daunting."

"And this troubles you?"

Bailey nodded, not opening his eyes. "It's one of the first times I've had to make a decision which will have an impact, not only on me, but a person I care about."

"Owen?"

This time, Bailey shook his head. "No, Corey." Bailey shifted position, turning to face his father. "Corey wants . . . no . . . needs to leave the city. He's been able to exist here, while going to school, but it is not a place where he can live. Owen's hometown, Riverton, is such a place. But," Bailey sighed, "is Riverton a place where I can exist? One minute I tell myself that it's not possible. The next, I'm almost able to convince myself that such a move would work. In neither instance, though, do I get the same feeling of being thrilled with the prospect of moving that Corey does. So, if I trust my gut feelings, I would say that Riverton is not the place where I can be happy, in the long term.

"That, however, means that Corey and I will have to go our own ways, and that will hurt him." He shook his head. "At one time, that prospect would not have troubled me at all. Now though . . ." He shrugged. "I am greatly troubled." He smiled.

"On the other hand, I am pleased that I have fundamentally changed, to the extent that the prospect of hurting Corey hurts me."

"Daniel!" Art called, from across the street, as the doctor rounded the corner to his office. "I just heard the good news! Congratulations!"

The doctor crossed the street to where Art, the barber, waited, and shook the large man's hand, as Millie came out of her shop next door to add her own congratulations. "Thank you, both. The news sure spreads fast," he laughed.

"Only as fast as Opie can run," Millie chuckled. "She came running into the store, all smiles, and told me you and Bea were gonna get married, and that there'd be lots of candy at the wedding, and that she's gonna get to be a big sister soon." Millie looked at the doctor, as if looking over a pair of glasses.

"Millie, Opie, hopes to be a big sister, someday. She is unaware how expressing her hopes might sound to others. I can assure you both, Bea and I have been very proper, in all respects. I would also like for Opie to be a big sister, but those things must wait. She's a little over-enthusiastic, and tends to distort things without knowing she's doing it. Bea's going to speak with her."

Millie shivered with excitement. "I just love weddings," she smiled. "Especially if there's lots of cake." She grinned unrepentantly. "Of course, it's nice when the bride and groom love one another, too," she added. "Uuuuu, cake for me, candy for little Opie! This is gonna be so much fun!"

The lights of Lucas', Owen's, and Sam's second floor home shone in the twilight. Next door, the second floor of another of Lucas' buildings was being renovated into another apartment; while the third building was awaiting remodeling as a bed and breakfast, Riverton's first. 'Apartment?' Jonah shook his head, thinking of Lucas' and Owen's home. 'The place is more like a palace, if you ask me. I've never seen anything like it!'

"Lucas' house has rock countertops!" Opie shouted, the first time the entire Carver family, and Doctor Johnson had toured the completed apartment. She'd lovingly ran her hand over the polished granite, wonder written on her face. She wasn't the only person who looked at the home with amazement. Everyone who saw it came away talking about the apartment, and the changes Lucas had already begun bringing to Riverton.

'The place not only has stone countertops,' Jonah thought, recalling his own wonder at a home unlike any he'd even imagined. Its dark wood floors were polished to a near-mirror sheen; fancy stainless steel appliances seemed to fill the kitchen; and furniture he'd only seen in magazines, during his visits to the barber, when he'd grudgingly let Art 'give him a trim', was scattered around the large open space. 'Sheer luxury!'

Lucas had joked with those who were exclaiming over the state-of-the-art kitchen. "Maybe all this stuff will help me make a meal that's edible." Owen had silently shaken his head, and whispered to his mother.

"We're becoming regulars at Sally's restaurant, and at your house." Bea had smiled benignly, and had patted his arm before making a low shushing sound. Owen had told her that Lucas and his family had money, but somehow she'd never imagined that someone only a year older than her son would be able to afford something like this. She smiled to herself, noting how none of those visiting commented on the single, enormous bed, for the three men.

'What a wonderful change for Owen,' she thought to herself. 'Now that he's with guys he loves, in a beautiful home, he's hopefully going to be able to put all the suffering of his childhood behind him. Now,' she frowned slightly, 'if only he could find something to do which would please him. Lucas has created a place for both himself and Jonah. Sam seems to be keeping busy with Bailey's construction project, and with the greenhouses . . . but . . . Owen?' She shook her head.

"Makes my place look pretty dowdy," Sam's mother, Sara, had murmured to Bea, as she lovingly ran her fingers over the nubbly upholstery fabric of a large sofa facing a beautifully restored cast iron fireplace. Nearby, two large leather chairs fronted a huge painting of a pink sunset, made dramatic by large indigo clouds releasing their burden of rain, in the distance. "I'm so pleased Lucas and Owen were able to break Sam out of his melancholy," Sara Bridgers continued. "His separation from Jonah wasn't the only reason for his mood, was it?" she'd asked Bea. "I'm thinking, he would never have been happy until he was with Owen."

Jonah had overheard his mother's low-voiced response, telling Sara Bridgers of his own case of the blahs. "I think there's more to it than the separation . . . for either of them," she'd said. "Like Sam, Jonah's always been a quiet boy. Owen's told me that his brother's in love. But," Bea added, her voice showing her displeasure at being told only half of a revelation, "But," she added, "he wouldn't tell me with whom I am to begin bonding."

Jonah had turned away, grinning. 'So, Owen thinks I'm in love, does he?' he'd asked himself, then was forced to admit that if he wasn't already in love, he surely would be, should Corey ever return. Owen had told him that Corey had recently graduated from college, just as he had just graduated from high school. 'He's four years older n'me,' Jonah thought to himself. 'I barely even know the guy, yet . . . but I get all tingly just thinking about him. All I have to do is imagine what it'd be like to be with him, naked and hard, and I have to jerk off. But, does that mean I'm in love, or am I in lust?' He'd thought a moment, and grinned, 'lust, for sure. Sayin' I love him will have to wait, though.'

He opened the door to the building lobby, then climbed the flight of stairs leading to the two apartments, Lucas' and the one under construction. "Geez," he said aloud. "From the sound of it, the guys must be having a party!" He smiled, finished climbing the last few steps, and knocked on the heavy wooden door. Instantly, the laughing stopped, and was followed by some low conversation. A moment later, Sam answered the door. His hair was mussed, his face flushed, and his clothing hung slightly askew. Behind him, in front of the fireplace, sprawled on the large brightly hued rug, Owen and Lucas lay on their backs, each breathing heavily.

"Jonah!" Sam smiled. "Come in, come in," he urged, giving Jonah a quick kiss, as the bewildered young man entered the apartment.

"Oops," Owen laughed, as he got to his feet and realized the zipper of his shorts was unfastened. "Caught me with my pants down," he joked.

"If he'd shown up a minute later," Lucas quipped, "we'd have had 'em off and he would have caught you bare-ass nekkid." He teasingly reached out toward Owen, intent on tickling him. Owen jumped away, with a yelp.

Lucas turned his attention to the visitor. "Hey, Jonah, what's happening? Did you come by to talk about the greenhouses, or can we all relax?"

"I wanna get nekkid," Owen playfully moaned. "Can I take my clothes off?"

Sam had returned to Owen's side, and swatted him on the butt. "Be nice, your brother's here."

"So? What's the big deal? He's seen me naked, lots of times."

"Everyone has," Sam murmured, behind his hand, turning to Lucas, who snorted.

"Guys," Jonah said, holding up a hand to prevent some sort of comedy routine ensuing, as Sam jumped away from Owen. "I just came by to tell you that Mama and the doc are gonna get married. They would have told you, but you've been out galavanting around, someplace, and didn't take your cell phone," he added, frowning in Lucas' direction. "Mama's talkin' about wanting some more kids."

"Married?" Sam said, abandoning his playfulness for a minute.

'What an amazing change,' Jonah thought to himself. 'If I ever doubted that setting him free was the right thing to do, I have no doubts now. He looks as happy as I've ever seen him. In fact, all three guys do.'

"Kids?" Owen murmured, appearing stunned, not by the news of the planned marriage, but by the idea of having some half-brothers or sisters.

"Wonderful!" Lucas added, on the heels of Owen's comment. "The doctor doesn't move as slowly as I thought he might."

~ to be continued ~

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