by Reece Butler
She heard his words, as well as what he left unsaid. She’d felt the restlessness, knowing something was missing, but not what. She’d tried to fill that void with work. Her family was wonderful, and Rascal was great company. She’d craved…something. At the same time, she was afraid of what it might do to her.
“I know you’re afraid, little one. You think you’re broken, that no man will want you.”
Oh, god! Her throat tightened. She ducked her chin to ease the pain.
“Simon and I were forty years old before we found a woman who accepted us. Simon had given up. Marci thought she would never find love. Yet look at what we’ve enjoyed all these years, with more to look forward to.”
“Are you saying I’ll be alone until I’m forty?”
“It’s up to you, Lila.” He tilted her head up with a finger. “Are you willing to blow the ashes off your banked embers? To allow a man to add tinder to your spark, creating a welcoming fire for you to share?”
The words were fancy, but the meaning was plain. She’d have to change, to reveal a part of herself she’d hidden away. A part she considered weak. She’d cried so many tears when Danny died, and he was just a friend. A very good friend, but never a lover. What would it be like to lose someone even closer?
“Fire burns, Uncle Lance. I don’t want that pain.”
“There is risk in any choice, including refusing to make one.”
She let her uncle’s calm presence sink into her. It would be so easy to give up and give in, letting her family take over. But Lila Frost never gave up, and never gave in. If she did, she would crumple into an exhausted ball of tears and never stand tall again. She’d survived this way all her life. It worked well enough, and until today she didn’t know she could live any other way.
One day with Jet and Houston blew apart everything she thought she knew about herself. She wanted them to hold her tight, but with a different kind of love than that shown by her uncles and fathers. She wanted to be held as they soothed her, aroused her, and then made her scream.
“If you want something you’ve never had,” he murmured, “you have to do something you’ve never done. Isn’t that what you tell the girls that visit? They’re coming next weekend. You’ll be here with Jet and Houston, won’t you?”
One weekend a month in the summer, the MacDougal Ranch hosted six to eight girls at risk and their leaders. Aunt Marci was the grandma baking cookies, her uncles were kind grandfatherly figures, her cousins acted like big brothers, and she was the rough, tough, “you can do anything” female example.
“Of course we’ll be here. I’m looking forward to seeing how my hired hands cope with nine- to fifteen-year-old girls.”
“Jet and Houston will be staying on the Circle C unless Tom and I give them the green light. These kids might look tough, but they’re fragile inside.”
She knew, having volunteered a few hours each week while at college. “Do you know who’s coming yet?”
“There’s a fifteen-year-old who’s six months pregnant, a highly intelligent fourteen-year-old ex-cutter desperate to get to college, and a bunch of nine- to thirteen-year-olds who can’t wait to ride horses. I’ll be talking with the organizer on Wednesday to work out the final details. If you’ve got time on Friday, Marci will be baking up a storm.”
“More care packages?”
“If the girls bring something special home to share with their siblings, it spreads the joy,” said Lance quietly. “Cookies are a great equalizer, especially if the girls learn how to make them as part of the fun.”
“I’ll be here Friday, and I’ll be bringing Jet and Houston on Saturday.” She tried to keep a straight face and failed. “I want to see them surrounded by young girls peppering them with questions.”
“Only if they pass muster tonight,” said Lance.
Chapter Fourteen
“Next time I visit I’ll make sure to bring some hard-boiled eggs for you,” said Houston to the giant black bird riding his shoulder. Lila had been hauled into the house by her aunt just before the raven had landed on his shoulder. “If, that is, you like eggs. That might be a sore spot for you birds.” The raven made some sort of soft noise and tilted its head at him. “I saw a show about the rooks at Buckingham Palace. They liked hard-boiled eggs. So I thought, what the hell, you might too.”
Ross turned his head and glared. Houston grinned and waved with his free hand, pretending everything was wonderful. He sauntered along as if taking a walk in the park. Anything to piss them off. Of course, that might just make them take it out on Jet all the more. Houston had no doubt Jet was up to the task.
When he came around the corner of the barn, instead of watching Jet face off against Lila’s cousins, Lance was pointing out a big pile of logs. They were round, needing splitting to fit in the old black stove Lila said her aunt insisted on using.
“My wife has been baking for days,” said Lance. “She goes through a lot of wood.” He picked up something that looked like an axe, only the end was blunt. “You likely know about an axe, but do you know what this is?”
Jet nodded. “I’ve had my hands on a maul before.”
“Then have at it,” replied Lance. He waited a moment to make sure Jet was ready, and then tossed it. Jet caught it easily by the handle.
The MacDougal cousins looked about six years younger than Houston. They’d worked hard all their lives and had the muscles to prove it. The Elliotts were closer in age. The quiet, intense one, Sam, moved little other than his eyes. Trey grinned eagerly, as if expecting Jet to fail. Staring him in the eyes, Jet set the maul on the ground, where it stood by itself. He put his hands on his shirt and ripped the snaps open, then tossed it to Trey, who caught it easily.
“I bought that with wages I haven’t earned yet,” said Jet. “Take good care of it.”
Jet stretched out his arms and shoulders. It was partly for show, and partly necessary. It also gave him time to get the lay of the land.
“If Jet is chopping, I guess you boys are loading wheelbarrows,” said Houston pleasantly. “Or are all y’all just gonna stand there with your thumbs up your asses and watch a man work?”
That took the attention off Jet. Houston wanted to make sure they weren’t watching Jet if someone had messed with the axe.
“And what are you doing?” demanded Trey.
“I am discussing important matters with this fine corvid,” replied Houston. “We have been discussing Poe.” He shook his head making a tsk-tsk sound. “This poor fellow’s education has been sadly remiss. He did not understand my reference to “nevermore.’”
As expected, the cousins stared blankly at Houston. All but one. Sam Elliott’s narrowed eyes suggested he might have caught the reference.
“I heard you’re a mechanic,” said Sam.
“That I am,” replied Houston, blinking his baby blues. “And why is that apropos of anything?”
“What the hell’s he on about?” muttered Trey.
“Strange that an ex-army mechanic knows about Edgar Allen Poe and corvids,” continued Sam.
Houston was delighted someone local might have a decent knowledge of literature. It would be nice to have somebody around who knew what he was on about. He turned his easy smile into a feral grimace.
“You boys know my nickname, that I’m from Texas, and I’m a mechanic. Other than that, you don’t know shit.” He pointed with his cane to the pile of wood where Jet steadily worked, chopping round logs into quarters and fifths. “You know even less about my buddy here. Who we are, what we did before we set foot on this ranch doesn’t matter a damn. All you boys need to be concerned about is that we know how to work, will take orders from the ranch boss no matter who that is, and that we’ll be keeping Lila Frost safe.”
He gathered them all with his eyes. Lance stood off to one side, arms crossed, face blank.
“Now, we already had this discussion with Lila’s fathers. If you have anything you want to say about the situation, say it to them. If not, shut the
fuck up. Lila is of legal age, and can do any damn thing she wants, with anyone. She chose us, so back off.”
He then grinned like a fool, ignoring their sidelong glances, and winked.
“A lot of words for a guy hiding behind a cane,” said Brody.
“Let’s you and I set a date, laddie,” replied Houston. Brody bristled at the reference to his younger age. “Before we leave this valley, I’ll take you on. Deal?”
Brody nodded slowly and deliberately. “Deal.”
“That’s enough, Houston,” said Jet without breaking rhythm. “We’re guests. Use some of those manners you got beat into you.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Mr. Quartermain,” said Lance, finally speaking.
Jet finished his swing before looking up.
“Lila chose you as her companions. In this part of the world, that makes you close enough to be kin, not guests.” He turned his gleaming blue eyes on Houston. They didn’t match his hawk nose, dark skin, and long braid. “Kin don’t fight kin in this valley.” His bared teeth showed white against his skin. “We do, however, have a tradition of enjoying wrestling and friendly games of fisticuffs.”
Four pairs of eager eyes hit Houston straight on.
“If you can get this raven off my shoulder, I’m in.” The bird, as if hearing its name, crooned into his ear again.
“It’s a form of after-dinner entertainment,” continued Lance. “Since this is a special party, I suggest we tone it down.” He held up a hand to stop their grumbles. “Arm wrestling at the kitchen table after it’s cleared.”
Houston’s arm wasn’t up to par, having been in a hospital for too many weeks. That wasn’t going to stop him.
“I’m in,” he said. “Jet?”
“What are the stakes?” he said, grunting as another piece split in two.
“The usual. Pride and respect.”
Jet stopped. He set the axe on his toe to keep it out of the dirt, and met Lance’s direct look. “Those are high stakes.”
Lance slowly nodded, watching Jet closely. “Pride comes from within. Respect has to be earned.”
He was saying a lot more with his words. Houston understood. If they wanted to be respected while they were in Climax, they would have to prove their worth. Jet and Houston expected this. What they didn’t expect was to have someone say it so clearly. Houston knew there’d been many years when Jet could not afford pride. It was always inside him, but if shown, was seen as a threat.
There were different types of pride. He’d seen a lot of the loud, boastful type of boys pretending to be men. Lance had the quiet, calm type of a real man who had nothing he needed boast about. The MacDougal twins might be barely into their twenties, but they were men.
“You say when, I’ll be there.” Jet looked at the four cousins and raised an eyebrow. He gestured at the pile of split wood. “You’ve got opposable thumbs. Put them to work.”
“Where do you want the wood stacked?” asked Houston, all business now. “I’ve got one good arm.” He turned his head to the raven. “Lila wore her hair down. I bet you could get a few blonde hairs for your nest.” The bird dug its talons into his shoulder as it took off. He inhaled a hiss. “Dammit, you didn’t have to draw blood. Are you a raven or a vampire?” The bird’s mocking laughter floated behind as it flew over the barn.
“Lila tell you about that?” asked Lance, walking over. The cousins began stacking the split wood on a pallet.
“About what?” asked Houston. He ripped open his shirt and pulled it off his shoulder. Bright red spots showed where talons had been. “Damn, he did draw blood. Good thing Jet picked out a red plaid.”
“Wait,” said Lance. He put his hand on Houston’s shoulder, right over the marks. A second of intense heat made Houston curse, then it was gone. Lance nodded. “Now you won’t stain your shirt.”
He looked at his shoulder. A few pink dots showed where a moment ago there’d been holes. He raised a questioning eyebrow at Lance. The man shrugged.
“You do this for other things?”
“I’ve got some cream that will heal your face and stop it itching,” said Lance. “As for that leg, I’ll take a look the next time I stop by the Circle C. Good to meet you.” A last nod, and he followed the raven toward the house. He wasn’t in a rush, but he quickly covered a lot of ground.
Houston rested the crook of his cane on his left wrist and did up the snaps again. He set the cane against the barn wall and added his effort to the others.
“I thought you had a bum leg,” said Trey, working beside him.
“That’s what I wanted you to think.”
“You must’ve been almost as good looking as me before you got whacked.”
It was the last thing Houston expected. People either cringed and turned away, or carefully looked him in the eye, pretending nothing had changed. The honesty was refreshing. It meant he didn’t have to keep up a false front.
Houston laughed. He shook his head, continuing to stack wood. “You have no idea the shit you can get away with if you smile and wink at the ladies when you look like a Hollywood movie star.”
“Come on, you couldn’t be that good.”
“Jet? Tell Trey how good looking I was before the bomb.”
“After a three-day drunk you looked like—”
“No, man, before I got drunk.”
That brought a laugh from all of them. Jet stooped, picked up the next log and set it on the block.
“Think Heath Ledger in A Knight’s Tale, with a touch of a young Brad Pitt.”
“A pretty-faced, mouthy jerk?” said Sam, straight-faced. “And the name?”
Jet, about to lift the axe, flashed a quick grin. He chopped the chunk in two and went for another.
“The guys in the platoon tried to call him Hollywood for his pretty face. He beat up three of them at once, and was ready to take on the rest, so he stayed as Houston.”
“Is Jet your real name, or a nickname?” asked Ross.
He took so long Houston wondered if Jet would answer it. Finally, he shrugged.
“It’s the only one I know.”
Chapter Fifteen
“Should I have let Houston win the arm wrestling contest?”
“No.” Jet took his eyes off the road to squeeze Lila’s hand reassuringly. “He would have been more upset if you’d let him win.”
“Mom said they must have had him on his back in the hospital for weeks. It takes a while to get over something like that. Physically as well as mentally.”
She spoke quietly, as Houston slept in the back seat even though it was barely nine o’clock. Doctor Nikki told Jet that Houston had spent too much time standing, but he refused to sit. The arm wrestling after dessert was the nail in the coffin. He’d been knocked out in the first round by Lila. Oscar Peters had then gone after Lila, taunting her the whole time. She might have won if she hadn’t listened to him. Oscar said something, she’d gasped and glared, and then her knuckles touched the table and she was out. She didn’t complain as all was fair under Tanner’s Ford rules. He couldn’t wait to see how they conducted their “friendly fisticuffs.”
“He blamed it on too much food,” said Lila. “All the blood that should have been in his muscles was working in his stomach.”
Jet’s blood had gone a bit farther south of his belly. He was finally going to get Lila in bed, naked. Her parents had decided to stay over at the MacDougal ranch. They said their vacation had started and they could finally drink until all hours, knowing morning chores were up to the next generation. Oscar was dropping off Lila’s grandparents, since he lived in town and it was on the way.
“I hope you didn’t eat too much,” said Jet.
“I wish,” she said with a groan. “There was so much food, but I was too nervous to eat. All those relatives staring at me, wondering when I’d be calling them to rescue me. As if I’d ask for help!”
Lila absently stroked Rascal’s fur. She’d braided her hair a few hours back, and it lay over her righ
t shoulder. He wanted it loose while she rode him, her breasts peeking from between those blonde waves.
Not yet. Think of something different or you’ll go off the road.
Jet made the sharp turn onto the north road. He wanted to race at eighty miles an hour but instead took it steady. Lila was quiet for once. Contemplating what they were going to do? He glanced over. The soft snores he’d heard did not belong to Houston. Lila had slumped against the door, out like a light.
Jet bit back a groan, then chuckled. With his bad luck, she might not wake up until morning. He parked near the kitchen door and let Rascal out. He helped Houston up the stairs and to the far bedroom, as he said he needed sleep. Rascal was waiting when he came back for Lila. When he lifted her from the truck she curled her arms around his neck in total trust.
It hit him, hard. Few had trusted him, or vice versa. Her scent drifted to his nose. He hadn’t been this close to a woman’s bed in so long he didn’t know if he could trust himself to let her sleep. Yet he had no choice. This was about what Lila needed. He followed Rascal to her room. The dog curled up in his own bed in the corner with a long-suffering sigh. Jet laid Lila on the bed. He couldn’t leave her in her dress. She’d complained about the spanking, telling him how easily silk wrinkled.
Take off her boots and her dress, then tuck her into bed and leave.
“Easy for you to say,” he muttered.
It wasn’t as if she was a meek virgin. She and Houston had enjoyed a good time that afternoon. But she was asleep, and had not agreed to him touching her. He would not violate her trust. If she woke up, all bets were off.
Her boots came off fairly easily, and the thigh-high stockings. Since she was out cold, he took his time admiring those painted toenails. They were chipped, and there was an unpainted line near the bottom. He figured that meant it had been awhile since the polish was applied. Did she hide other signs of femininity from the world? He took off his own boots and socks since he’d have to climb on the bed to get her settled. Just in case, he removed his new shirt as well. Since no one was around to complain he unzipped his new Wranglers to release the pressure on his straining cock. He knelt beside her and began unbuttoning, starting at the top.