Owen

Owen

Chapter fifty

By Roy Reinikainen

Bailey faced the four burly truck drivers while Riley stood by his side, amazed to see yet another side of the man to whom he was growing increasingly close. Bailey looked each of the drivers in the eye, then settled on addressing their leader, a plaid-shirted, tattooed, and cigar-smoking gorilla of a man, with a crew cut, gold ear ring, and a stubbornly jutting jaw. 'This one is accustomed to giving orders, not taking them,' Riley thought.

The four men had complained . . . at length . . . about how they were not accustomed to the lack of nightly . . . female companionship. They were demanding that Bailey grant them permission to, "return to civilization," where they could at least, get a, "decent drink."

"It is not for you to ask why. It is for you to do as I am asking, and am paying you to do. You guys can cool your heels . . . here in Evanston . . . until the scheduled time arrives for you to show up." He held out a warning hand.

"I do not care that you can't find . . . companionship . . . or that the town doesn't have a bar to suit your . . . tastes. You're not being paid to sew your wild oats, or to drink yourselves silly. I am paying you to do as I say . . . period . . . end of argument."

His voice rose. "Are you able to do as you have agreed, and fulfill your contract?" When none of the men answered, Bailey's voice rose. "I asked you a question, and I damn well want an answer! So . . . what is it? Are you able to complete your contractual obligations, or shall I seek someone else, who is able, then deal with the four of you at my leisure?"

The leader of the truck drivers grumbled an answer.

"And, don't try to get surly with me, Mister. I have plenty of personal experience with surliness, so nothing you may do will either impress or intimidate me. You men have been provided with a perfectly good motel room, one for each of you, so, make use of them! There's no reason for you to moan and groan. I'm not asking you to go out and shovel rocks, or dig ditches or something equally disagreeable. All I'm asking you to do is to do nothing until the appointed hour. How tough can that possibly be? THEN, when I notify you, you will drive those lovely trucks of mine, the fourteen miles to Riverton, and unload them where you are told, and your job, as onerous as it may seem, will be finished, and you will be paid. THEN you can seek out companionship, or a stiff drink, or whatever else your hearts desire.

"Got it?" Bailey asked, when the leader of the group had drawn himself up, prepared to argue. He stepped closer, ignoring the burly man's smoldering cigar and puffs of noxious smoke.

After a few moment of eye contact, the driver seemed to deflate. "Yes," the man's rattled grumble was echoed by his buddies.

"That's not good enough. Try again."

"Yes, sir," the leader finally managed, mortified to be calling a twenty year-old, sir."

"Good! Now, we're all on the same page." Bailey backed up a step. "You know when to expect my telephone call. Be ready to move out the moment I give you the word. Timing is essential."

The four men nodded their understanding, then turned and slowly walked away.

When they were out of earshot, Bailey turned to Riley and smiled. "Damn, but that felt good!"

Corey pushed the chair back and stood, uneasily glancing at the mounted elk trophy head, hanging on the office wall. Janie Johnson, doctor Johnson's sister, followed his glance, and smiled. "That is my first trophy," she grinned, looking at the dead animal with pride. It, in turn returned a glassy-eyed, unblinking stare which gave Corey the willies.

"Um . . . very nice," Corey mumbled, wondering if the poor animal had any offspring which were left without a parent.

"You find sport hunting distasteful, don't you?"

Corey's mouth twisted into a crooked grin. "Well, I don't wanna be impolite, but I was just wondering if that poor beast left behind any small ones, who suddenly found they had to fend for themselves. I wonder if they made it." He shrugged and grinned sheepishly. "I guess I'd never be a hunter. I'm one of those make-love-not-war type of folks. I can barely stand the thought of raising my voice, much less killing something. That must be tough for you to understand, being a hunter and lawyer, n'all. You're sorta trained to be aggressive."

"True," Janie Johnson perched on the edge of her desk, looking anything but like a small town attorney, as one levi-clad leg slowly swung.

'Sheesh,' Corey thought. 'She and her brother wear the same, lumberjack, plaid shirts!'

"There are similarities between being a sport hunter and an attorney," she mused, studying him. "I would consider you aggressive, Mister Hatfield. After all, you are meeting with me. You are not willing to lay down and let someone run over you. One does not need to shout, fight, or," she nodded toward the trophy, "kill, to be aggressive. With your physique and tan though, I would have expected you to be an outdoorsy type of guy."

Corey laughed. "Me?" He barked a laugh. "Um, no. I guess looks can be deceiving."

The woman nodded, wearing an unreadable smile. He looked down at his chest, and the tight polo shirt which stretched over the muscles. His nipples were plainly visible, as were the ripples of his flat belly. "Ah . . . um," he temporized, suddenly feeling self-conscious. "It only looks like I am . . . macho, or . . . something." He grinned, and cleared his throat, giving his chest another glance. "Actually, I hadn't thought about it, but this shirt's sorta embarrassing. It's about as tight as a pair of spandex undies."

The woman who had been studying him threw back her head and barked a most unladylike laugh, then, while she continued to smile, motioned for him to continue.

"When I put on my glasses, I look more like a geek than an outdoors guy. Actually, I'm not much of a geek, either. I'm a teacher, and I'd like to think, a damned good one. There is so much unhappiness which I'd like to do my best to stop. I hate it that many children, for whatever reason, go through school without any sort of encouragement or kind words from their folks or teachers. Except for one teacher, who made all the difference, it happened to me. At the time, I was ready to blame everything on myself.

I . . . I guess that's why I started liftin' weights . . . to develop some sort of self respect. I figured out though that having muscles and having folks notice you does not give you self respect. That's something which happens up here," he said, touching his head. "It's like happiness. No one can give happiness to you unless you have it in you, in the first place." He grinned. "A kind word or a hug can work wonders though."

"And, are you happy, Mister Hatfield? Do you have it in you?"

"Yes ma'am, I'm happy. For most of my life, I would never have imagined being where I am today, feelin' the way I do. I'm pleased to say, since coming to Riverton, I've found that I have it in me to be many things I only dreamt of. Happy, is only one of 'em."

Janie Johnson smiled, as she stood. "Good. Now, it's our job to make sure nothing interferes with what you have recently discovered within yourself . . . right?" she asked, patting him on the back.

The two men walked hand-in-hand, their footsteps crunching the gravel of the roadbed. "Owen?" Jonah murmured, his voice barely louder than the sound of the breeze moving through the leaves of the surrounding trees, and the occasional chirp of an insect. He stopped and turned to his brother.

"Is it wrong for me to feel about you the way I do? I mean, most everyone, if they learned what I feel for you, would freak, 'cause we're brothers n'all. If bein' brothers didn't bother 'em, they'd most likely think my . . . our . . . feelings are wrong, 'cause of Lucas, Sam, and Corey. I know what I feel for you doesn't change what I feel for Corey, and I'm sure he would understand my feelings. He'n I have talked about . . . y'know . . . being with other guys, just like Lucas told me you guys have."

"Owen nodded."

"That's why I'm sure Corey wouldn't be upset by you'n me . . . sometimes . . . having sex. Same's true if I had sex with Lucas or Sam. I'd feel the same about him being with any of you guys." Jonah thought for a moment. "There's some sorta freedom, within our small group. Things are okay when the five of us do it with one another, that would not be okay if we did it with someone outside." There was another pause. "I guess I shoulda included Bailey and Riley, in that group, huh?" He laughed. "Sheesh, the group of guys it's okay to have sex with seems to be growing."

Owen smiled his understanding, never quite releasing his brother.

"But . . . what about you?" Jonah asked. "What are you thinking? About us, I mean. About me?

"I remember, out on that big ol' rock at the river's edge, you told me what you felt. Are you still feeling the same thing?"

Owen ran a fingertip over his brother's cheek, blotchy from crying. "Jonah," he murmured, drawing his brother into a hug. "I've always loved you . . . first, as my brother, then, as the one person I knew I could always turn to when Pops . . ." Owen's voice trailed into silence.

"I've told you how much I missed you, while I was away, and . . ." Owen swallowed, "as much as I hate to say it 'cause I know it would hurt the guys, leavin' you is probably going to be even harder for me than leavin' Sam and Lucas, and you know how much they mean to me."

Owen removed his brother's trademark red baseball cap and stuffed it in his own back pocket, then tenderly rubbed a hand up and down Jonah's back as they embraced. "I love you Jonah, as a brother, of course, but also as a friend, or . . . lover. Does that answer your question?"

Jonah silently nodded, his face buried in the hollow of his brother's neck. "Would you kiss me," he mumbled. "So often, when you were lying in bed, hurtin' . . . after Pops . . . I wanted to hold you, like we are now, and kiss you." Jonah exhaled a rough sigh. "Seems like you'n I have spent most of our lives comforting one another, never able to show how much we care for the other." He bowed his head. "It's sorta sad.

"Then, when you left for school and you were saying goodbye to Mama, Abigail, Opie n'me, I thought I'd 'bout die, from hurtin' so bad. Yet, there was poor Sam, cryin' his eyes out and feeling awful. Things were hard enough for you, without having me bawling on your shoulder too. Besides, I'd have had to deal with Pops . . . after." Jonah sniffed. "It was a long time before I didn't cry myself to sleep at night, for missin' you. I'd hold your pillow, but . . ." he took a shuddering breath, "It wasn't the same as holdin' you."

"Oh, Jonah," Owen murmured, stroking his brother's hair. "You're torturing yourself. Things are a little different now, than when I left for school. You've got Corey. You don't have to hide how you're feeling from him, or from Lucas or Sam.

"Also, you can use Lucas' laptop computer to send me email messages. I still have the money everyone gave me when I left. I'm gonna get myself a computer. So . . . it'll be way different than telephone calls or sending letters n'stuff."

He tilted his brother's chin up, and did his best to hide his own pain. "Doin' better?"

Jonah looked away. "Yeah, I guess." He paused a moment. "No, not really." He ignored his brother's soft snort of understanding.

Jonah ran an open hand over his brother's chest, feeling the firm nub of a nipple pass beneath his palm, and the small shudder of excitement which coursed through Owen's body. He knew he could go further, drawing his brother, involuntarily, into a sexual encounter which would leave them both physically satisfied, but emotionally bereft. So, instead of focusing on Owen's ultra-sensitive nipples, he gripped his brother's upper arms with both hands. "Don't worry about me askin' for more," he murmured. "If we're intended to make love, we need to be in a place, with enough time, where that's what we can do . . . make love. This isn't the time, or the place."

He released Owen's arms, and half turned away. "Here I am, thinkin' only about how much I'm hurting. What I'm feeling must not be anything, compared to what you're goin' through." He paused. "I'm sorry for making things harder for you, with my whining, n'all."

Owen shrugged. "You're not . . . making things any more difficult." He scratched his neck, looking away from his brother, who stood close by in the twilight. "I just wish I knew what to do! One moment, I know that the best place for me is to be back at school. Then, a few seconds later, I know . . . I mean, know . . . that's the worst possible place for me to be. I can't want both to be there and to be here. That's not possible."

He searched his brother's face. "Where does happiness lay? Do I even have it in me to be happy? Maybe . . . Pops stole that from me, just as he did my childhood." Owen turned away, sending a small stone skidding across the road, with a kick. "Or . . . maybe, it's easy for me to blame stuff on Pops. Supposedly, I control of my life . . . not him." He snorted. "Control! Yeah, right. I don't really believe I've ever been in control. Ever!"

"Owen," Jonah urged, trying to remain calm, as his brother's pent up anger and frustration threatened to boil over. "Take it easy. Getting all riled up isn't gonna help."

Owen stooped, picked up a larger stone, and tossed it into the underbrush. "Yeah, you're right, 'bout getting worked up. I know you're right. I just wish you . . . someone . . . anyone . . . knew the right answer about me stayin' or leavin'. I'm afraid of makin' a mistake, Jonah! I'm afraid, if I leave, I'll lose what I have with Sam and Lucas. If I stay, I'm afraid I'll lose whatever chance I have to be somethin', or to have my existence mean something. There aren't any second choices, here. I need to make the right choice the first time!"

Riley and Corey returned Bailey's wave, as the rented sports car raced down the road, trailing a plume of dust. "He's gonna have to exchange that car for something more sensible," Riley mused. "I don't think either of his parents would appreciate having to curl up in what passes for a back seat. Unlike you," Riley grinned.

"Did you get your business taken care of?"

Corey nodded. "Yeah, I was seeing someone who might be able to help me out, should ol' Maxine's campaign become even nastier than it has been. I don't know how much more I can do, other than wait and see what happens." He thought a moment. "'Ya know . . . with the way she treats people, I'd be willing to bet the farm that there are a lot of nooses in her family tree."

Riley laughed. "Yeah, she's so ugly, when she was a baby, her mama fed her with a slingshot!"

"Uuuuu, good," Corey grinned. "Slingshot, huh?" He chuckled, touched by Riley's efforts to bolster his mood. "You have always been there for me, whenever I needed a kind word, or a good laugh. Should the occasion ever arise, I hope I'm able to help you out as much as you have me. Bailey's a lucky man. I hope he knows it."

Riley patted his friend on the back. "Things'll work out for you. One good thing, is that you're not having to face things alone. With the guys . . . and this new person you're talking about, you should be able to handle just about anything. Now . . . tell me about . . . things," Riley urged. "Everything. You're happy? Jonah seems sweet, just like his brother.

"Geez, Corey," Riley continued, not giving his friend an opportunity to speak, "Owen is as wonderful as you described." His voice lowered. "He's also tied in knots, he's worrying so much. I was over visiting with him, when y'all were out, lookin' at the greenhouses, or something. One minute he was 'bout ready to bawl, telling me how much he loves Sam and Lucas. The next minute, he's wigglin' his butt in the shower, very much aware he was turning me on, big time."

Riley continued. "Reminds me of the saying about asking the doctor to cure himself. Owen's able to help everyone else, yet doesn't have a clue what to do to help himself."

The two men paused as a . . . car . . . lurched to the curb. "Hey, Corey!" the driver shouted, waving out of the driver's window. "I understand you're lookin' for a lift back to Riverton." The young driver added, pushing open the squeaking door and stepping out. "Bessie n'I are at your service," he announced, gesturing toward the rumbling car, with a flourish.

"Bessie?" Riley muttered. "Sounds like a cow."

"The ride would probably be smoother," Corey murmured, with a smile, finding it impossible to ignore Clyde McCorkle's infectious good humor. The young man left . . . Bessie's . . . door standing open as he rushed around the vehicle. He wiped his hand on his jeans, then extended it in greeting, first to Corey, then Riley, vigorously pumping both men's hands in a firm handshake.

Clyde was a slender man, with a ready smile, dark green eyes, and thick straw-colored hair. Unexpectedly, for a person driving such a beat-up, rusty, old, vehicle, he was dressed well, in a pair of tight jeans which might have been more accurately called a second skin, and a pristine, white button-up shirt, whose sharp creases could be likened to a knife's edge. His hands were clean, and large, his face smooth, and boyish. 'A stunning man,' Corey thought, to himself. 'The first time I saw him I guess I didn't notice, I was so intent on getting to Riverton, to be with Jonah.' He grinned to himself. From Riley's silent reaction, his friend shared his opinion of the man who was standing in front of them, behaving like a puppy that wanted only to please.

"That Bailey fellow," told ol' Blanche, at the restaurant, that you both were in need of transport. So, Blanche, who's my father's cousin's step-sister, gave my daddy a call, and here I am!" Clyde held his arms wide, turning a blinding smile on both men.

"You're lookin' good," Corey said, steering a seemingly reluctant Riley toward the shivering car.

"Yeah?" Clyde asked. "Thanks. Must be the haircut. Ol' Art, the barber told me it'd be nice to look my best, since I was takin' Abigail to a dance n'all. Took all my nerve to ask her, so I wanted to look decent. 'Course, we never made it to the dance," he looked abashed. "Ol' Bessie was misbehavin', and left us stranded.

"Jealous, is what she is." Clyde grinned. "Bessie, I mean. Not Abigail."

He turned a bright smile on both men. "Well, even though ol' Bessie broke down, Abigail and I had a nice walk. And," he blushed, the color faintly tinting his fair skin, "As we were walking back to Riverton, I got to hold her close while we did a few slow dances, right out there on the road, with her hummin' a nice song." His blush increased. "We held hands, all the way back to Riverton. She's a real nice girl. She's patient with me. That's nice of her. I can be kinda scatterbrained, sometimes.

"I'd like to be a mechanic, y'know?" he announced, as he reached for the handle to the backseat door. "Sorta on account of ol' Bessie, here. I know the old girl's on her last legs, but, when I graduate from high school, next year, I'm hopin' to go to the Community College." He smiled. "Abigail . . . she's real smart. Sorta takes after her Mama. Pretty too. I'm partial to blonde girls, who sorta take charge."

Clyde bowed his head and nervously ran his fingers through his hair. "Sorry, guys. I'm doin' too much talkin. Sorta typical of me, it is. It's just so exciting, Abigail n'all, y'know. And," he said proudly, standing straight. "I'm all psyched, 'cause I just figured out, I'm close to havin' enough money to buy me a new, used car. It'll be a shame when I have to put ol' Bessie out to pasture, but. . . Maybe, then Abigail will think I'm good enough for her, and I can show her that I can be more than I am now."

Corey stepped close and rested a hand on Clyde's shoulder. "Don't you start thinkin' you're not good enough for Abigail, or any other girl, Clyde. You're a nice guy. I think you and Abigail would make a great couple."

"Really?" Clyde's voice squeaked upward. "Y'don't think I'd scare her off by being so klutzy n'all?"

"Have faith in yourself." Riley added, speaking for the first time. "Don't start off thinkin' you're not good enough, before you've even started seeing the young lady." He turned to Corey. "This is Owen's sister, right?" Both Corey and Clyde nodded. "Well, if she's anything like Owen, she's a wonderful person. You treat her well, Clyde, and she'll do the same to you. If she's important to you, let her know. You may be surprised at her response."

"Geez, guys! Thanks! I'm feelin' pretty good. I'll take you in to Riverton at no charge, just for the pep talk you gave me."

"Never ever give your source of revenue away, Clyde," Riley warned. "You provide a valuable service. Once you start givin' your service away, people will grow to expect it to be free, then, where will you be? Corey n'I'll pay. Besides . . . who knows? Once you get a new, used car, you might be surprised at the services you can provide to everyone. People are always needin' things moved back and forth between the two towns. You might find your services in pretty high demand." He smiled at Clyde's wide-eyed reaction.

'Has no one ever told this poor boy that he's a nice person, or that he's a real looker?' Corey asked himself. 'From what I've seen, Abigail would be lucky to hook-up with Clyde. They'd make a great couple.'

"Aw thanks. You guys are treatin' me really nice." He cleared his throat. "Now, Abigail, on the other hand. She's sorta peeved at me. But, she ripped ol' Bessie's door handle off!" he added, aggrieved. "It never was the same after it fell off, that time I gave you a lift into town," he concluded, studying Corey with a frown. "Well," he added, in a mercurial shift of mood. "It's all fixed now."

"Coreeey . . ." Riley muttered, as Clyde lovingly stroked Bessie's flaking paint. It was well and good to talk about Clyde's future new, used car. It was quite another to ride in the current one.

"It'll be okay," Corey assured him."

"Like I said, I've been workin' on her," Clyde announced, as he held the back door to the car open, for Riley, who gave Corey a dubious look before easing himself into the vehicle. "She's all gassed-up, and rarin' to go. In fact, she's feeling her oats."

"Oats?" Riley squawked, from the back seat, searching for a seatbelt.

"Um, Clyde," Corey said, as he jerked the reluctant passenger door open, praying nothing . . . such as the door . . . fell off. My . . . friend, here, has a bit of a weak stomach." He glanced to the backseat, apologizing to Riley with his glance. "Don't mention food, okay? Also, for this time, at least, let's try and make the ride to Riverton as smooth as possible." He nodded toward the backseat. "After all, we don't want the poor man losing his lunch all over Bessie, now, do we?"

Clyde's smile faded, as he glanced at Riley, who did his best to follow Corey's lead, by looking imminently ill.

'I wonder if it would be too much, if I threw in a groan, or something,' Riley wondered. 'I certainly wouldn't be acting.'

"Oh, I see what you mean about getting the door handle fixed," Corey grinned, as he sank into the extremely soft front seat. He pulled the door closed, deciding it was probably best not to ask what happened to whatever support the seat . . . must have . . . at one time, had. When the door bounced open he slammed it harder in an attempt to get it to latch. Clyde revved the engine, throwing Riley another uncertain look, while Corey slammed the door, a third time. The car jerked, backfired, and belched a blue-black cloud of noxious smoke, which made Riley's groan seem very appropriate.

Clyde smiled, in Corey's direction. "Yep. About that ol' door handle. I decided to have a friend weld it in place. If slammin' the door doesn't work, I also cut off the seat belts from the back seat. That's what that strap dohickey thing is. Just hook the . . . door belt . . ." he laughed at his joke, "onto that hook, and things'll be fine."

"My seat belt?" Riley muttered, his voice rising in disbelief.

"Might not hurt for you to hold onto the door though," Clyde added, glancing at Corey, "in case we jump around a bit . . . just so it won't fly open. We don't want you bouncin' out."

The driver looked over his shoulder at another . . . very realistic . . . high-pitched groan, from the back seat. "Oh, you don't have any worries, back there," Clyde smiled. "Your door stays closed. All you need to do is hang on."

"Maybe we should walk back," Riley muttered. "My stomach, y'know," he added, when Clyde glanced over his shoulder. "This vehicle doesn't come equipped with a barf bag, does it? I hate adventures," he muttered. "I really do."

"Barf bag?" Clyde hooted a laugh. 'Course not!" He shook his head. "We don't have in flight meals either."

Corey grabbed the door and braced himself as the car lurched forward . . . and they were on their way.

"Mother! Father!" Bailey called, holding his arms wide, welcoming the approaching couple. He kissed his mother's cheek and shook his father's hand, then turned to the two other people, standing at his parents' side. "Mrs. Horton," he nodded. "Mister Horton," I didn't know you'd be arriving with my parents." He glanced over his shoulder to the bus station parking lot. "I'm glad I rented larger transport. Actually," he grimaced, "The vehicle would more accurately be called a bus."

"Not exactly your preferred method of conveyance," his father laughed, resting a companionable arm across his son's shoulders. Olivia, Lucas' mother smiled at her friend, Louise, Bailey's mother, as both women noted both father and son's pleasure of being close to one another.

"I never would have dreamt it possible," Louise had told Olivia, as she described her son's metamorphosis. Young Owen is truly a miracle worker."

"Owen only got the ball rolling," Olivia had gently chided her friend. "Bailey is to be credited for following through. It was his will which made his change possible." Both women returned their attention to father and son, while Olivia's husband, Neil, walked at his wife's side, absorbing the surroundings.

"Well, the roadster I left back home would really look out of place, out here," Bailey laughed. "The bus station does have a selection of pick up trucks for rent, but someone would have had to ride in back. So," he said, apologetically, "This'll have to do." He slid the side door open while everyone looked around.

Olivia shielded her eyes from the bright sunlight and surveyed the surrounding landscape

"Oh, my word," she smiled, her eyes alight. A slight breeze carried on it, the scent of new mown hay, and even here, in Evanston, the vault of the sky seemed to extend forever, until it merged with the green of the fields, in the hazy distance. "This is stunning." She turned her smile on Bailey. "It is everything you, Owen, and Lucas have said it would be!" She linked arms with her husband, inhaling deeply. "Smells like heaven t me." She smiled brightly, accepting Bailey's hand, as she stepped into the rented . . . bus . . . yet another example of how much Bailey had changed. "This is going to be so much fun!"

"Lead on, son," George Wilkins laughed. "Before, Olivia, here, starts quoting poetry, extolling the wonders of the countryside, or, worse yet, singing."

Riley did his best to smile pleasantly and wave as Clyde and . . . Bessie . . . jerked into motion and moved away from the curb, presumably heading back to Evanston. "Oh, my," Riley sighed, leaning against the nearest . . . solid . . . surface. "I'm feelin' about as graceful as a sow on ice, my legs are so rubbery." He gave Corey an accusing look. "You knew about his driving, yet you said nothing!" He lowered his brows. "You have much to answer for, Mister Hatfield."

He took a shaking breath. "If that . . . animal . . . had been a little slower getting out of the way, Clyde would have run the poor thing over."

Corey laughed. "Well, like he said . . . he needs a warning before tryin' the brakes."

"Yeah, five or ten seconds lead time! We could have drowned in that river he plowed through, without stopping!"

"That was a puddle, Riley, not a river."

"It was water, much of which now resides on my shirt!"

"Better watch out," Corey dryly commented, giving his friend, an over-the-eyeglasses-look. "You're starting to sound like Bailey once did."

"Oops," Riley grinned. "Worse yet, I'm sounding like my mother. But, geez!" He slapped at his clothes, in a vain attempt to beat out some of the dust from the fabric, and shuddered. "Still . . . if you intend for me to ever, and I mean ever ride as a passenger in any car Clyde is driving, give me advance warning. That way, I can buy him a new, used car." He leaned toward Corey. "Here, look at my hair. Am I starting to turn grey?"

Daniel eased himself into an easy chair, determined to call it a day. He watched as his wife, followed by Owen, moved from room to room, looking for something more to do . . . something more to clean or polish. The news that Lucas' and Bailey's parents would be arriving in Riverton had sent Bea into a cleaning frenzy, and Owen, as always, was at his mother's side, anxious to do anything to ease the burden she had taken upon herself.

"Bea!" Daniel called, as she bustled through the living room, looking haggard and disheveled.

"Yes, Dear?" she paused, brushing a strand of blonde hair away from her forehead.

"You've worn Owen and me out. The place looks fine.

"Better'n fine," Owen added. "Over the top fine."

"Bea," Daniel stood and took his wife's hands, handing Owen the cleaning cloth she was holding. "Really. We are not in any sort of contest with Lucas' and Bailey's parents. We are as we are. Besides," he grinned, "we've got your beauty and my stunning good looks to impress 'em with. Right, Owen?"

"Half right. Mama is pretty."

'Oh, if only Pops and I had been able to joke and tease one another, like Daniel and I do, how my life would have been different.' Owen grinned at Daniel's chuckle, and muttered response.

"I'm gonna get you for that, boy. When you least expect it, I'm gonna get you."

"If you can catch me." Owen added, quickly moving to put his mother between him and her husband.

"Daniel's right, Mama. Both Lucas' and Bailey's folks may be rich, but they're real down to earth sorta people. They both made me feel very welcome in their homes."

"Their homes are palaces," Bea began.

"No, they're large, but far from palaces. You'll be fine. Just relax and be yourself." He looked over his shoulder. "You too, Daniel," then jumped when Daniel tried to swat him.

"You're tired of cleaning too, aren't you?" Daniel asked, his tone of voice coaxing a weary smile from his wife.

"Yes," she sighed. "Truly."

"Besides, what sort of impression will either of you make if you haven't had enough rest?" Owen thought a moment then added, wearing a mischievous expression. "I'd recommend going to bed, but," he sidled away, "I'm not sure that's the best place for you guys to get any rest."

He laughed as he jumped out of Daniel's grasp. "Gotta go!" He trotted toward the front door, with a wave of goodbye. "Maybe you should sleep on the couch, Daniel," he shouted, as the screen door slammed shut.

Riley made a face as he studied his dusty clothes. "I need a shower!" He studied Corey, who was watching him with an amused grin. "You need a shower, too. In fact, we look like somethin' the cat spit up on the dining room rug. Sorta wet and soggy." He made a face. "Well, at least I am. The water didn't hit you. You're just very dusty."

He slapped Corey on the back, then playfully waved a hand in front of his face, as if to chase away a dust cloud. "I'm gonna hightail it to Bailey's and my room and scare up a few clothes. Then we're gonna go back to your place and scrub one another's backs while you tell me all the stuff you were going to tell me, before Clyde and the unholy Bessie showed up." He lowered his voice. "Besides, I've hardly had any naked-time since showing up in this lovely town.

"Bailey?" Corey hesitated.

"Bailey does not lock me in a chastity belt, Corey. I can be naked with whomever I please, and," he smiled, "it would please me to spend some quality naked time with you." He lowered his voice. "Naked does not necessarily mean sex. It means, sitting around with no clothes on.

"Do you and Jonah, have some sort of understanding about things like bein' nekkid with another guy whenever the other isn't there?"

"I guess you could call it that. We're free to do as we wish, with the guys in our small group, with no hard feelings or jealousies. Still, since coming to Riverton, I haven't done anything with anyone . . . unless he was present."," Corey added.

"So . . . you have had sex though?"

Corey nodded. "it wasn't sex, really. It was more like lotsa kissing, and everyone shooting all over me, then having everyone lick me clean." He grinned. "It was wonderful!"

"Owen and the guys?"

Another nod.

"Oh, you lucky man!" He heaved a sigh. "Well, I'm not asking you to do anything other than scrub my back, maybe engage in a little tongue wrestling, then sit around letting the goods air dry while we have something cold to drink, and catch up on all that's going on with you. I'll leave a note in the room, telling Bailey where I am. Deal?"

"Tongue wrestling?"

Riley's smile broadened. "I'm wondering if you're as good a wrestler as you always were."

"I get hard whenever I kiss someone. You know that."

Riley laughed, as he opened the door to the Bed and Breakfast. "Good! I'd be offended if you didn't. I'll be back in a second," he called over his shoulder, at the same time Art shouted a greeting, getting Corey's attention.

"Hey, Art!" Riley called out, as he jogged across the street, carrying a rolled up bundle of clothing. "Millie hasn't gone into hiding, fearing that Bailey and I are gonna eat all of her ice cream, has she? We've been waiting until the rest of the troops arrive, so we can all head over to her place." He leaned closer. "You might warn her than Lucas' and Bailey's folks are gonna arrive, soon, so it'd be best of she whips up a double batch of this stuff Bailey carries on about so much."

"Are you and the parents lookin' to move to Riverton, like Lucas and Corey, here?"

Riley laughed. "No. I don't know of anyone else who intends to move. This is a vacation for all of us. We've heard so much about the place, we all wanted to see if someone was exaggerating about how great it is." He smiled. "They haven't. I'm not much of a country-type guy, but Riverton is wonderful."

"Meaning, that since arriving, he's not had to experience a barnyard, close-up," Corey added.

"Hey!" Riley replied in feigned indignation, "I experienced Bessie! That's as close to an animal as I wanna get!" He turned to Art. "Have you ever ridden in that . . . car?" He shuddered. "Never again! Clyde cut out the seat belts from the backseat . . . to hold the front passenger door closed! Imagine!"

"He got you here, didn't he?" Corey asked. He'd never seen Riley in such a wonderful mood. 'Maybe Riverton does agree with him.'

Riley gave him a disbelieving look. "Yeah, he got us here . . . barely. We almost killed some hapless animal, then almost sank in a muddy pool. And, you know, after this ordeal . . . Clyde didn't have a speck of dust, or mud, on him!"

"Well . . . we're gonna get cleaned up so we'll be presentable when everyone's folks show up," Corey added. "See ya, Art!" he called, as he and Riley jogged across the street, and let themselves into one of Lucas' buildings.

"Nice place," Riley said, examining the high tin-ceilinged room, as Corey locked the door to the building. A slowly moving ceiling fan stirred the Sandalwood-scented air, while the polished brass fixtures reflected the lights, which shone on the large painting of the sun setting behind billowing, summer thunder clouds.

Corey turned from securing the door and swatted Riley on the seat of the pants, herding him upstairs.

"Hey!" Riley called, as Corey grabbed his butt from behind. "Watch out! Don't start playing grab-ass unless you intend to follow through! I thought we were only gonna do some tongue wrestling."

"Oh. Okay," Corey smiled, as they reached the top of the s teps and he grabbed his longtime friend. "Tongue wrestling you wanted. Tongue wrestling you'll get!" He mashed his open mouth against Riley's. The familiar touch was like an electric current passing through his body. He and Riley had probably spent the majority of nights during their time in college, in one another's arms. It wasn't until Corey met Bailey, that his and Riley's times together had lessened.

"Am I invited to do a little . . . wrestling?"

Both men flinched, like two little boys, caught doing something they'd been warned against.

"Owen!" Corey's voice squeaked. "Um," he glanced toward Riley.

"Hey, Owen!" Riley smiled, not disturbed, in the least, by Owen's sudden appearance. "How'ya doin'? Corey and I were heading to his place to grab a shower."

"Clyde gave us a lift back to Riverton," Corey added, as if in explanation.

"In Bessie," Riley finished the thought, in a droll voice.

"Are you guys thinkin' you have to explain kissing one another to me?" Owen asked. "Hell, hearin' someone ask to be kissed, will wake me out of a dead sleep. Lucas and Sam have been out at the greenhouses, leavin' me all alone," Owen sighed. "With no one to kiss," he added.

"He enjoys kissing," Corey explained, flicking a glance at Riley.

"So I gathered."

"Well?" Owen thought a moment. "Y'know, I've been over at Mama's, cleaning. I think I could use a shower, and maybe get in on some of this tongue wrestling of yours . . . if that's okay with you guys."

Riley immediately gathered Owen close, turning toward the open apartment door. "Then, right this way, m'man."

~ to be continued ~

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If you have enjoyed this story, you might also like to read, Phalen, also in the Gay College Section.

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