No Strings Attached [Climax, Montana 4] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)

by Reece Butler

  “Is that all you two think about?” demanded Lila in feminine annoyance.

  “When there’s a gorgeous naked woman around, yes,” said Houston without any trace of shame.

  She threw on her shirt. Did her fingers fumble with the buttons because of her worry over her horse, or because she had a good idea what they wanted to do with her, and agreed?

  The night air was cold as they hurried across the yard. They stepped in quietly, not wanting to disturb the pregnant mare. Houston walked over to the large birthing stall and rested both arms on the edge. Rascal, who hadn’t bothered to follow him into the house, lifted his head, flopped his tail once in welcome, and went back to sleep.

  “Yes, I know it’s not fun,” he said to the mare in a soothing tone. “Not personally, mind you. I saw barn kittens being born once, but that’s about it. Soon you’ll have a new colt or filly, and you’ll feel much better.”

  “I didn’t know you knew anything about horses,” whispered Lila as she joined him.

  “Just enough to feed and clean up after them. I can ride, if I have to, but I prefer an engine under me. They don’t shy at snakes and plastic bags caught in bushes.” They also had armor, though not always enough of it.

  “How’s my beautiful mama?” she crooned, stepping into the stall. “You ready to have your baby?”

  The horse perked up at the sound of her voice. Jet leaned his elbows beside Houston.

  “That is a fine-looking mare,” he said to Houston.

  “The filly talking to her is pretty damn good, too.”

  Lila reached out to the huge black horse, which shuddered. A loud gush of liquid hit the floor.

  “That’s a good girl,” said Lila, beaming. The horse went down, then lay on her side, ribs heaving. “Good timing with waking us, Houston. This may take some time. You might as well make yourself comfortable.”

  “I’ll stand,” said Jet.

  Houston went back to his hay bale. Lila looked expectantly at Jet, then Houston.

  “Since we have nothing to do but wait, tell me about yourselves,” she said. “You already know lots about me and my family. The more I know about you, the better I’ll be able to put you to work.” She turned to Houston with a bright smile. “Where did you learn about horses?”

  How much should he tell her? He looked at Jet, who shrugged as if to say it was up to him. From what everyone said, Tom White would be finding out his particulars pretty soon anyway. He might as well tell Lila himself, and put his own spin on it.

  “I grew up in Houston, Texas. My grandfather sent me to work on a cattle ranch one summer.” There was no way to pretty it up so he looked her in the eye. “I was sixteen, a green city kid who’d had it easy and knew squat about anything worthwhile. The boss said they couldn’t kill me, but they did everything else short of it to toughen me up.”

  What he’d endured in boot camp was like gravy and biscuits compared to the things those cowboys had thrown at him. Being a stubborn cuss, and knowing if he gave in he’d never respect himself, he’d put his head down and got through it.

  “Before I went back to school they gave me a champion bareback belt buckle one of them had won in a rodeo. It was for finally sticking on the worst horse in the remuda. After I joined the army and realized all that summer had done for me, on my first leave I went back and thanked them.”

  “Oh, I’d love to see it! Do you have it with you?”

  He stared at the floor, shaking his head. That still hurt. He was a grown man and he still couldn’t let it go.

  “Sure wish I did, Lila. I was so proud of that buckle. However”—he curled his lip in memory—“Mother did not approve. I put it away where I thought it was safe. When I went to get it months later it was gone. I demanded to know what had happened.” He took a calming breath, not wanting to upset the mare. “Turns out she had the upstairs maid take it. When I demanded it back, Mother said she didn’t know where it had gone.”

  Lila’s eyes widened. “You had an upstairs maid? Just how rich are you?”

  “I’m not. At least, not anymore. The rest of them are rolling in it, though.”

  “What the he…ck do you mean by that?”

  Her eyes flicked to Jet to see if he’d noticed her close call with swearing. He acknowledged her effort with a slight nod. Houston wasn’t sure if she was relieved or disappointed.

  Lila reminded him of a Wheaten terrier. She was exuberant, demanded affection, needed daily maintenance, was stubborn, and would keep digging until she found what she was after. If he wanted a chance to stay with her, he had to tell her the whole story. He’d never told anyone, not even Jet. He began pacing, unable to keep still.

  “Both my father and mother’s families are wealthy. My parents set up a trust fund for each of their children to avoid taxes. I disagreed with their lifestyle. They disagreed with me joining the army. So, when I got control at twenty-five, I gave my entire trust fund to a support program for teen suicide prevention. It’s an outreach program to help kids. They need to know there’ll be a better day down the road, if they can get through today.”

  He rubbed the ache in his breastbone. Damn, after all these years, it still hurt!

  Lila was silent for a moment. “Who did you lose?”

  Houston turned to the mare and the promise of new life. His gut clenched as he gripped the edge of her stall. He held on, arms stiff and head down, fighting to breathe without roaring his rage.

  “My baby sister committed suicide when she was seventeen.”

  “Oh, God, that’s terrible!”

  He sensed Lila just before she wrapped herself around him like a living blanket. She didn’t speak, but her touch said so much. Her warmth flowed into him, calming and filling some of the empty places in his heart.

  Was this what it would’ve felt like if he’d been hugged as a child? If his family cared about their children rather than what their small, corrupt world thought, Sonia might still be alive.

  Tears formed in his eyes. He suddenly had a massive headache pounding against the inside of his skull. He needed more than Lila’s arms around him. He needed to hold her back. He turned and grabbed her like a lifeline. She hugged him just as tight. Her scent filled his nostrils. Her breathing filled his ears. Her touch sank into him like hot sun after a long winter.

  He felt as if he’d been in a state of hibernation and was now waking to find the world was no longer cold and dark. Her caring warmed his frozen soul, bringing it to sluggish awareness.

  Her touch was nothing like the air kisses women exchanged in his mother’s world. This touch was visceral, and real. He knew Lila’s love was just that of a friend. It was still more than he’d experienced before. He inhaled, drawing that love deep into every starving cell of his body.

  “Let go of the pain,” she whispered. “I’ve got you.”

  He believed her. Believed that she cared enough to help him heal the festering wound that had scabbed over so long ago.

  Damn, Sonia, why didn’t you call me? I’d have ditched my classes to be with you. I don’t blame you. It was impossible for you to take it anymore.

  A few tears escaped at Lila’s caring touch. She gripped him tighter, squeezing out the revulsion and contempt he held for those who called themselves his family. Finally, his tight chest eased, allowing him to breathe once more. He felt lighter, as if sharing the pain had spread it out, making it easier to bear.

  Sonia was dead, and he lived. She would not have wanted him to hide in the dark just because her ashes were kept in a crypt. She would love it here. He could see Sonia riding out with Lila, the two of them laughing as they complained about what he’d done to tease them.

  He realized his family no longer had a hold on him. He didn’t hate them, because that would mean he cared. He exhaled, shuddering as he released the last emotion he would waste on them. Sonia would live on in his memory as a laughing, happy girl. He would ignore his mother and older siblings. One of these days he might look his father up. He’d trie
d to be there for them, but his mother managed to sabotage almost every effort. Only recently had he realized how much his perception of his dad was colored by his mother’s vicious tongue.

  The reason he and Jet left San Antonio was because his mother had finally tracked him down. She’d demanded he be put on display as a warrior at fund-raising galas for her pet causes. When he told her his face was badly scarred she’d immediately insisted on a plastic surgeon to make him perfect. He’d refused, ducking out and running away like a frightened child.

  In the week or so since, he’d come to terms with himself. His face might look like hell, but he was still a damn good man inside his skin. He’d never meet her definition of a dutiful son because he rejected her shallow excuse for a life.

  Mother hadn’t a clue why he’d vowed to make his own way in the world. How else could he be proud of what he accomplished? There was nothing he had today that he had not gained by his own hard work. And now, thanks to Lila, he was free of her talons.

  If his mother found him, so be it. She meant nothing to him. Jet, who’d had his back for years, and Lila, who he’d known only a few days, were more his family than any of those who shared his last name. So were the people who’d welcomed him into Lila’s life. He wanted a family who openly cared about each other, a family like Lila’s. He released her to swipe his forearm across his eyes. The soft cotton absorbed the evidence of his tears.

  “Tell me about your sister,” she said.

  “You would have liked her,” said Houston quietly. “She was built like my father’s mother, good peasant stock. She was short and stocky with big bones and a bigger heart.” He grimaced. “Mother was the opposite. She was tall and I swear her hips were as big around as my thigh. She has lots of money, but no heart. She is a manipulative, selfish narcissist. Nothing exists unless it pertains to her.”

  He had to stop for a moment, his chest tight in memories.

  “Mother said her daughter could not be a size twelve. She accused my sister of refusing to lose her baby fat just to make Mother look bad in front of her friends. She insisted my sister get down to an almost acceptable size six, though she’d prefer a four or two.”

  “That’s ridiculous, you can’t do anything about your bones!” Lila glanced at Sable and lowered her voice. “That’s as stupid as saying my mom, with her Viking father, should look like Aunt Marci, whose father was a short, dark Spaniard. I mean, look at me.” Lila held her arms out wide. “Can you imagine me as a size six?” She wrinkled her nose. “I wouldn’t have the muscle or stamina to work all day and half the night. I wouldn’t have boobs, or a butt for you to hold onto.”

  “And that would be a crying shame,” said Jet with false seriousness. Or maybe it wasn’t false. Both of them loved Lila’s curves, and admired her ability to work hard.

  “Mother does not let reality affect her view of life,” said Houston, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice. “She made my baby sister step naked on the scale in front of her every morning while she made biting comments.”

  “She did what?” demanded Lila. Sable shuffled her feet, making Lila wince at her outburst.

  “My sister was smart, funny, and beautiful just the way she was, but all Mother saw was her body, and that was not acceptable.”

  “What a horrible bitch!”

  “Watch your language,” warned Jet.

  “Be-yotch,” she corrected. “How did she die? You don’t have to tell me,” she quickly added.

  “On her seventeenth birthday she wrote a long note and hanged herself in the bathroom of the perfect school, upsetting their perfect students.” He gave a sharp, sarcastic laugh. “Of course, the family lawyers kept the note and circumstances from getting out. Instead”—he twisted his mouth into a snarl—“the troubled youngest child of Sheldon and Bettina Simpson experienced an unfortunate, untimely death.”

  He’d always wondered if his father felt guilty. The last straw was his written refusal to attend the father-daughter graduation banquet unless she lost twenty pounds. The message had been left on the table with the birthday card Houston had sent. He suspected the requirement was a demand by his mother. When he arrived home for her funeral, he overheard the servants mentioning a massive argument, with shouting, the night after her death.

  He hadn’t thought of it since, but looking back brought perspective. His mother had clung to his older brother at the funeral, not her husband. Dad had stood alone, hands clasped in front of him, head down. Haunted. Houston hadn’t seen or spoken to him since.

  “Oh, Houston, I’m so sorry. It must have been horrid for you.”

  From the anguish in her voice he knew Lila meant it, and understood. She’d lost Danny, who was like a brother to her.

  “I was away at school,” he said. “No one called to tell me. A friend of a friend heard something about the funeral and passed the word. Mother didn’t want me to know because I would have told the truth to the media.”

  Jet came up behind Lila. Without releasing Houston, she accepted Jet’s comfort. Houston felt a nudge at his thigh. Rascal. He gave a wry smile, letting Jet take over Lila, and bent to scratch the dog’s ears.

  “What really hurts,” he said softly to Rascal, “right to the marrow of my bones, is that my mother insists she had nothing to do with my sister’s death, that a seventeen year old was selfish for ruining their good name by taking her life.”

  “Do you have brothers, or other sisters?” asked Lila.

  He nodded. “My older brother and sister are perfect.”

  He’d purposefully shoved the horrid memories away, and lost the good ones as well. How could he forget sneaking into Sonia’s room and holding her when they were four and nine? They’d been warned about open displays of affection. The only time their mother touched them was to straighten a collar or smooth their hair. She treated them as extensions of herself.

  Sonia did everything she could to be as perfect as her mother and older sister. The only way she failed was her body size, having inherited their father’s DNA. Houston went the opposite way, purposefully scuffing his shoes or making his tie go askew. Small things that few would notice, except Mother. It was petty, but it was all he had control over at the time.

  When Sonia died, he’d decided he could never have children. He was afraid he’d be as bad as his parents, and destroy a child. Even if he found a woman who’d put up with him, he told himself he couldn’t give love because he didn’t know how to show it.

  He was wrong. Lila had helped him remember those times with Sonia when they’d shared love and laughter. A few times, his father had been there as well, a shadowy figure in the background.

  Houston buried his face in Rascal’s fur, hiding his surge of hope. Would Lila accept him as he was, an ugly mechanic with no money or family? If she did, and they were ever blessed with children, he would love them fiercely, hugging them daily. He wouldn’t care what they looked like, or if they were differently able. He would support them in their dreams, no matter how awesome or ordinary.

  “What did you do after her funeral?” asked Lila.

  He gave Rascal one more scratch.

  “I went back to school. An hour after my last college exam, three weeks after her funeral, I took my car and drove to Fort Sam Houston in San Antonio and signed up. My mother did everything she could to get me out but Uncle Sam doesn’t listen to outraged parents, no matter how many oil wells they have.”

  “Oil wells?” Lila turned her raised eyebrows to Jet. “Is he joking?”

  “You ever hear of the Dallas TV show?” asked Jet.

  “Granny Gibson has DVDs of the whole series. She made me watch a bunch of them with her so I’d learn about what she calls fashion.” Lila grimaced, making a shiver of disgust.

  “So you know about J.R. Ewing?” asked Houston.

  “Yes, the head of the whole crazy family. Granny G said he’s a womanizing, money-grubbing, mean, miserable, conniving so-and-so. She probably had a few more words, but you get the pictur
e.”

  “Psychopath? Egocentric? Manipulative?” asked Houston. Lila laughed, nodding her head, but Houston was stone-cold sober. “Imagine J.R. for a grandfather.”

  “Come on, he’s just a character in a TV show.”

  “A character based on reality,” replied Houston seriously. “My grandfather controls his family and their servants, the county, half of Texas, and has his greedy fingers pulling the strings of a pigsty of politicians. My mother is the same, only she works behind the scenes.”

  “What a bi—” Lila pressed her lips together. “Bitter woman. She’s unfit to be a mother. No wonder you don’t want anyone to know your name.”

  It was so freeing to tell her about his family’s wealth, and it not make a difference. His so-called friends growing up were in awe of his grandfather. Houston could see the dark, dirty reality, but everyone else saw the wealth and the power. They wanted it, and too many of them would do whatever they could to get more.

  Houston braced himself for the final indignity.

  “My name is Roger Sheldon Simpson.”

  “Roger? The only Roger I know was a wacky cartoon rabbit. Are you named after him, honey bunny?” She made a big show of blinking her eyelashes like the cartoon character’s wife.

  “Very funny. And the answer is no. I was about five when Who Framed Roger Rabbit came out.” A memory flashed before his eyes. “I just remembered something.” He paused, speaking slowly as he recognized the scene. “My dad took me to see the movie. Just the two of us. For once, we were like ordinary people. We even stood in line to get tickets. He bought me popcorn and a soda, which we weren’t to mention to Mother. After that, he called me ‘Rabbit’ when Mother wasn’t around.”

  Why had he forgotten such a wonderful memory? Shutting down the bad parts had taken the good with it. Maybe his dad had done other things, and been a greater part of his young life than he’d realized. He waited, hoping, but nothing else came forward.