by Sharon Sala
As per his prediction, the first of the family began arriving just before one o’clock.
Quinn was on the deck, turning burgers on the grill, when Mariah suddenly pointed.
“Ryal and Beth are coming.”
“Good timing,” he said. “These will be done soon, which is good, because when it comes to food James’s kids are just like him. When they’re hungry, they’re impatient as hell.”
The more Mariah heard about the brother she had yet to meet, the more she liked him. What could be wrong with a fun-loving family man who liked to eat?
Ryal and Beth came in through the front door on their own, put their food on the table and came out smiling. Sarah was riding Beth’s hip, and waving and pointing. Her baby babble made Mariah smile.
“Man, those burgers smell good,” Ryal said. “I hope you made enough.”
“If we don’t let James fix his plate first, there’ll be plenty for everyone.”
It was obvious to Mariah that there was more truth than humor to the statement, because none of them laughed.
Meg and Dolly arrived less than five minutes later, bringing their share of food and noise to the party. Dolly quickly took Sarah into her lap and began a conversation with the baby that only a grandmother could have.
Quinn was taking the first batch of the burgers off the grill when the final brother and his family drove up.
“There they are!” Dolly cried, and jumped up with Sarah in her arms, then hurried along the deck to greet them.
Meg rolled her eyes. “In case you’re wondering, Mariah, that excited exit she just made is because they’re bringing her other grandchildren.”
Mariah smiled. “I take it the pressure is on for the rest of you to reciprocate?”
“You could say that,” Meg drawled.
“The only reason Quinn and I have escaped her less-than-subtle hints is because we were partner-free.” She wiggled her finger at Mariah. “Consider yourself forewarned.”
The look on Mariah’s face made everyone laugh. She wasn’t sure she would ever trust herself with children. She had yet to prove she could take care of herself. She was still blushing when Dolly came back with two more children at her heels.
“Mariah…this little guy is my three-year-old grandson, James Junior, also known as Short Stuff, and the little girl is my six-year-old granddaughter, Meggie, and no she’s not named for Meg. Meg is Margaret, and this Meggie is Megan.”
The little boy hid his face against Dolly’s skirt, but the little girl turned loose of Dolly’s hand and walked up to Mariah as if they’d known each other for years.
Mariah had just scooted to the edge of her chair to say hello when Meggie surprised her with a small tissue-wrapped package.
“This is for you.”
“For me?”
“Uh-huh, for saving my aunt Bethie’s life.”
The gesture stunned her. She was struggling with what to say when she felt Quinn’s hand on her shoulder.
“Better open that right up,” he said, and pointed to the little boy. “Short Stuff is already heading for the food.”
Mariah tore into the tissue, then softly gasped as a small wooden badge with the word Hero written in red crayon fell out into her lap. A lump formed in her throat.
“Oh, Meggie, thank you! This is the best present anyone has ever given me.”
Meggie nodded. Now that she’d delivered her message, she was all about the food.
“Uncle Quinn, did you remember to make my booger flat?”
Quinn grinned. “Yeah, I made your booger flat, just like the ones you get at Mickey D’s.”
“Hey! We produced those adorable creatures. Surely that counts for something!”
Mariah heard that big, booming voice and was already smiling when she turned around to see the speaker turning the corner.
James. The last brother and his wife had arrived. She liked him on sight and got up to meet them.
James wasn’t standing on ceremony. “Oh, wow, Quinn, you must have told a whole lot of lies to get a girl this pretty.” Then he grabbed Mariah’s hand and promptly shook it. “I’m James, and this gorgeous woman on my right is my wife, Julie.”
Julie was half the size of James but obviously able to hold her own in the family. She elbowed her way past James and promptly hugged Mariah.
“It’s so nice to finally meet you. We echo Meggie’s sentiments. Beth is a treasured member of our family, and what you did in saving her life is nothing short of amazing.”
“Nice to meet you,” Mariah said. “This is what’s amazing,” she said, holding up the little badge.
Julie beamed. “It was Meggie’s idea. She wanted to make you a medal because, she said, brave soldiers get medals.”
Mariah’s voice was starting to shake. “Enough already. I’m trying not to make a scene.”
“Come on, you guys, don’t make my lady cry,” Quinn said.
Ryal caught the “my lady” reference and elbowed Beth, who was already grinning at Meg and Dolly.
“I hungry!” Short Stuff yelled, which put the event into perspective.
Julie rolled her eyes and took her son by the hand, while the others filed into the house behind her.
Mariah had a feeling the day would come when she would look back on this meal as the day she finally learned what family was all about.
The teasing, the laughter, sharing food and memories—and all she could think about was how blessed she was to still be alive to see it.
Once, when she got up to refill her glass, she paused, looked out at the people scattered about the room eating and talking with such ease, and it suddenly hit her. Somewhere, in another part of the country, Dewey Pomeroy’s family was probably together, as well. And they might be sharing food and memories, but she seriously doubted there was laughter. It was the only sobering moment in a day full of joy.
* * *
Even though they were now sharing a bed, Quinn had moved down to the living room with her, rather than make her climb all the way up the steep stairs to his loft.
Mariah had fallen asleep waiting for him to come back from his shower, and he didn’t have the heart to wake her. He checked the locks, turned on a night-light, then turned off the lights and crawled into bed.
Even after he’d scooted up close, spooning himself against her back, the whole scene felt surreal. A few days ago she’d been part of his past, and now here she was, lying in his arms—a part of his future.
As he pulled her close, he realized her breathing was short and panicked. The moment their bodies touched, she began to mutter.
“…gonna die…get a medic.”
The fear in her voice brought tears to his eyes. He rose up on one elbow, then whispered in her ear, “You’re safe, Conrad. I’m here.”
She mumbled something indecipherable, but her breathing began to slow down until it fell into a normal rhythm.
He lay back down and closed his eyes, but what she was going through hurt his heart. Then he thought of Dewey Pomeroy, reminded himself to be grateful that she was still alive, and let go of the pain.
Thirteen
According to the Bible, it took the Lord six days to create the heavens and the earth, and on the seventh day He rested.
Lonnie Farrell never got the message.
Three days after he put the crew to work clearing brush and fixing the road, he had two teams of carpenters inside the tunnels, shoring up old timbers, with Buell as site overseer.
The front part of the mine was a natural cavern that was over sixty feet high and more than a hundred yards long. The first actual tunnels branched off in two different directions from there. One had ended quickly when the owners broke through into a natural passage without the veins of ore they were seeking.
They’d abandoned that route and gone in the opposite direction, which had proved to be a good move. For the next forty years the Foley brothers dug, blasted and ripped the ore out of Rebel Ridge, until there was nothing left but a rat’s ma
ze of underground tunnels.
The genius of Lonnie’s planning came into play with the way he decided to use that cavern.
He’d had a small portable building hauled in and set up just inside the entrance as an office.
The first part of the carpenters’ job was to encase a hundred yards of what had been the second tunnel with walls, ceilings and floors, which they did, transforming it into a long, narrow warehouse set up to grow mushrooms in tiers of floor-to-ceiling shelves.
Grow lights and misting systems were in place, along with bins that would hold the nutrients in which the spores would be seeded, and a special ventilation system had been added to ensure safe oxygen and temperature levels that were necessary. It was impressive cover for the rest of the plan.
At the same time, a second set of carpenters were finishing out a section of the abandoned tunnel, but these renovations were entirely different in makeup. Besides the floors, walls and ceiling, he’d left the far end of the tunnel open for ventilation, and had the entrance walled off and fitted with a heavy metal door and lock. Neither tunnel was visible from the cavern entrance, and if anyone came on-site to tour the mushroom facility, he would pass the locked area off as storage.
He planned to set up both a day crew and a night crew in the drug room, with only a small number working in the mushroom nursery. The workers in the lab would be cutting and adulterating the pure cocaine that was coming up from Mexico, then bagging it for street sale before it was flown out by chopper to the distributors he’d lined up.
All the equipment needed to make both ventures happen was in place, his chemists were on notice and the first shipment of cocaine was coming up from Mexico in two days. All he needed was on-site living quarters for the chemists and he was in business.
* * *
Buell had been out most of the night and was just sitting down to breakfast. He popped a couple of NoDoz in his mouth and washed them down with coffee just as the phone rang.
Gertie glanced at the Caller ID, then yelled over at him, “It’s Lonnie. Probably for you.”
Even though Lonnie Farrell couldn’t see him, Buell smoothed down his hair and retucked his shirt into his pants, making sure it covered his beer belly, as he went to answer.
“Hello?”
“Buell, it’s Lonnie. Glad I caught you at home. Got a new task for you today.”
“Yeah, sure. What’s up?”
“A trailer house will be delivered up at the mine today. Look for it around noon. I want it set on that concrete slab where the old mine office building used to be.”
“Yeah, I can do that. I’ll make sure they get it in the right place.”
“Some electricians and a couple of plumbers will come out tomorrow and hook everything up. That’s going to be where my organic experts will stay. They’ll be training the men and working with them to make sure they comply with organic methods. Bigger profit in organic, you know.”
“Oh, yeah, sure, sure,” Buell said.
“I’ve leased a small delivery truck and had it painted with the Mountain Mushrooms logo, and that will be delivered today, too. You’ll need to sign for it and make sure I have three sets of keys. I asked for them on purpose, so make sure they’re there. I’ll check in with you tonight to make sure everything went as planned. If there’s a big problem, you have my number.”
“I’ll take care of it. Don’t you worry none,” Buell said.
He was stepping high when he sat back down to breakfast, and, unlike other mornings, he didn’t dawdle over his food. He was out the door and on his way to work before the grease had cooled in the frying pan where Gertie had cooked his eggs.
* * *
Lonnie had everything lined up in Kentucky. The only thing left was to firm up the deal with Bert Warwick in Chicago, who, for the time being, would be in charge of distribution for all Lonnie’s products. Bert already had an established route and runners on both coasts, as well as a large clientele of pushers. Lonnie wasn’t demanding that he buy exclusively from him. He just wanted into the pipeline. What was pissing Lonnie off was that Bert was hedging now, wanting a bigger cut of the profits than he’d originally agreed to. He needed an attitude adjustment, and Lonnie was the man to do it, but he would deal with that later in the day. Right now he had other things on his mind.
He tossed his cell phone onto the table beside his bed, and then dropped his bathrobe and turned to look at himself in the full-length mirror.
He’d come a long way from the skinny kid he’d been when he was arrested at fourteen. He’d filled out and grown up. He stood six foot two in his bare feet, and while he wasn’t handsome in any sense of the word, money turned heads faster than any pretty face. He was proud of his flat belly and even prouder of the way he was hung. He had a big dick that rose to majestic proportions when he got an erection. Between that and his dough, he could have any woman he wanted, and right now, he wanted the one still asleep in his bed. He couldn’t remember her name, but it didn’t matter. She was a number in his little black book and as transient in his life as the tissue he wiped his ass with.
As soon as he came again, she would be gone.
He strode to the bed and yanked back the covers. She rolled over, stretching slowly like a big cat waking up in the sun. When she saw him naked, she sat up and looked at him through her sleep-tousled hair, then cupped her breasts and flicked the ends of her nipples just enough to give them their own little erections.
“Tell Mama what you want,” she whispered.
Lonnie’s eyes narrowed sharply as his head came up, his nostrils flaring. She’d already said the magic word.
“I want to fuck you senseless.”
“Who do you want to fuck, little boy?”
His dick was instantly engorged. “You. I wanna fuck you.”
She leaned back, pulling her knees up and then spreading them wide, giving him full view of everything she had.
“Who am I, little boy?”
“Mama.”
“Come here, little boy. Mama’s gonna show you how to be a man.”
Lonnie fell on her like a rutting stallion, ramming into her so hard he slammed her head against the headboard time and time again. She was moaning and clawing, begging him to stop, but it was all part of the game.
“Say it,” he growled, as the blood hammered in his ears.
“Mama wants it hard,” she gasped, and dug her fingers into the flesh around his neck.
He hammered harder, until the bed seemed to be spinning—almost as fast as his head.
His eyes were closed, his entire being focused on the job at hand. Sweat was dripping down his forehead, across the bridge of his nose and onto her chin. All of a sudden he pulled out and turned her over.
She got up on all fours and arched her back as he shoved his erection into the wet depths of her sex, letting him ride her like a bitch dog in heat.
“Say it!” he screamed.
“Mama loves you, little boy. Show Mama how much you love her.”
He pulled out just as the orgasm hit. He shot semen all over her back, in her hair and on the bed in a series of hard, convulsive thrusts. When he was spent, he shoved her off the mattress.
“Money’s on the dresser. Get your clothes and get out.”
A shower would have been nice, but she knew not to linger, and the money was too good to piss him off. She knew what he wanted. He would call her again.
As soon as she was gone, Lonnie showered and dressed without looking at himself in the mirror. He never liked himself after he fucked, but he wouldn’t go there in his head as to why that might be. His introduction to sex had been twisted. He’d known early on that none of it was right, but he’d been too young to figure out how to stop it, especially when it felt so good while it was happening. He had been the man of the house, and Mama had always told him that meant he got a man’s share of everything else, as well.
It wasn’t until he’d been arrested and jailed that he’d come to terms with the perversion of w
hat she’d done to him. A subconscious shame had kept him from going home when he’d gotten out of juvie, and it had also kept him from ever going back in all the years since.
Until now.
However, one look at Gertie’s wrinkled face and sagging tits had killed his last nagging doubt about not being the one in control. He was the one with the power now, not to mention the money. He told them what to do, not the reverse. The fact that he couldn’t get it up without the “game” was of no consequence to him anymore. They were just words—the means to an orgasm.
And now that fucking was off his mind, he had more important things to do—like bringing Warwick into line. A deal was a deal, and Lonnie wasn’t about to begin this new venture by letting some asshole jerk his chain. He picked up the phone and direct-dialed his muscle, Freddie Joseph.
Freddie answered promptly.
“Hey, boss. What you need?”
“I’m at my townhouse. Come pick me up. We have places to go this morning.”
“Be there in fifteen minutes, boss.”
“Ring me when you get here.”
“Will do,” Freddie said, and disconnected.
Lonnie dawdled through a cup of coffee as he logged onto his computer, checked the stock market, then scanned his email. Nothing pressing. He was finishing his coffee when the maid let herself in the door.
As usual, she called out as soon as she was inside, her accent as thick as the day she’d arrived.
“Morning, Meester Farrell.”
He strolled out of the office with the empty cup in his hand.
“Good morning, Bonita.” He handed her the cup. “There are five suits hanging on the front of my closet door. Send those to the cleaners when they deliver my clean shirts today.”
Bonita was from Paraguay. She understood English better than she spoke it, and understood even better that whatever she saw and heard in this place stayed behind when she left.
She nodded, her dark eyes missing nothing. Her boss was in a good mood, which meant he’d probably had sex, which meant she would be changing the sheets, although it didn’t really matter. It was all the same job to her, no matter the tasks that went with it.
