Saying anything against their mother—even to their older brothers—just felt disloyal.
“Hi, Mom, it’s Barry. I hope this isn’t a bad time to call.”
“I really did expect to hear from you sooner than this. I left a message on your phone at ten last night.”
Barry had put the call on speaker, so Jesse could hear both ends of the conversation.
“Sorry about that. I thought you might be in bed by the time I heard it last night. And since I was up at the crack of dawn, I thought you’d prefer if I didn’t call you then.”
Norah Benedict had never adapted herself to ranch hours. She liked to sleep late.
“Well, you’re right about that, at least. I wouldn’t have appreciated a call at dawn.”
“How’re Dad and Addison doing?”
“Oh, they’re thick as thieves these days, those two. Since you and your brother deserted us, Addison has become your father’s right hand. He doesn’t seem to listen when I tell him that his daughter should be engaging herself in more feminine pursuits instead of being off doing all that boring ranch stuff. The club’s annual cotillion is coming up in a few weeks, and I need for Addison to get fitted for her gown. This is important!”
Boring ranch stuff. That was pretty much the way their mother had always characterized the work they did that paid for her lavish lifestyle.
“I’m sure Addison won’t forget about the cotillion, Mom.”
To hear their mother talk, Addison was the perfect daughter. Just as Cord and Jackson had always been the perfect sons.
A quiet thought was born then that Norah Benedict had always played one child off against the others—not so much twin against twin, usually. But the two of them against her oldest boys, and of course, Addison against Veronica. And he wondered, just for a moment, if the real total fault for the lack of harmony between him and the rest of his siblings lay with Norah, and not with her kids.
“Well you can be sure she will make her fittings and do her duty attending that event if I have to drag her off her horse and make her.”
Jesse raised one eyebrow as he met his brother’s gaze. Now that had sounded a bit more hostile than usual.
Barry was usually the best of all of them at placating their mother. “My money’s on you, Mom. Was there a particular reason you wanted me to call you today?”
“You make it sound as if you think a mother can’t expect a phone call from her son once in awhile.”
“Sorry, Mother, I didn’t mean to. I just wondered, because in your message last night, you sounded upset. I was worried that something might be wrong.”
“Well of course something is wrong. Poor Liz is positively inconsolable. She’s asked us all to write letters to the judge, telling her what good boys Phil and Gord are. I mean, they’ve never been in trouble with the law before. So I promised her that you and your brother were contrite over having set them up, and that you’d both be happy to write letters. The lawyer seemed to think that your doing so, especially, would go a long way in seeing the boys didn’t have to go to prison.”
“I’m really sorry that Mrs. Maxwell is upset, Mom.”
“Upset? Of course she’s upset! Any mother would be, seeing her boys railroaded…”
“Mom, stop. Phil and Gord were not railroaded. They poached horses that were in a protected area, they stole those horses, and some of them they sold to be slaughtered.”
“Well, it’s not as if they killed people, for God’s sake. They were only horses! Everyone makes mistakes.”
“Yes, and when they do, they have to pay the consequences of those mistakes. Phil and Gord deserve to go to jail. Personally, I hope they get really long sentences.”
“Oh, you’re as recalcitrant as your twin! I don’t know why I thought I could reason with you!”
“This has nothing to do with reason, and everything to do with seeing justice served.”
“You, especially, have a lot of nerve, citing justice to me. Is it justice that you’ve deserted your family? Oh, why can’t the two of you be more like Cord and Jackson? They understand their duty to their family. They never turned their backs on us!”
“I’ll give them—and their lovely wife Ari—your regards at supper. Bye, Mom.” Barry ended the call. He shook his head, and then scrubbed his face with his hands.
“Is it just me,” he asked, “or is talking to Mom on the phone getting more and more like stepping into an alternate universe?”
“It’s not just you.” Jesse sighed. “It’s really not you, and now I have to question the resentment I’ve always felt toward Addison all these years.”
Barry sighed. “Yeah, me, too. Can you recall when those jerks are scheduled to be sentenced?”
“Not really,” Jesse said. “Why? You thinking of writing a letter to the judge—the top ten reasons those scumbags should be sent to lock up forever?”
Barry snorted. “That’s exactly what I was thinking. Maybe after supper we should call Deke Lawson.”
Lawson was the investigator from the BLM—Bureau of Land Management—whom they’d worked with when they’d heard what the Maxwell boys—and their partner in crime Brent Haygard—were up to.
“Sounds like a plan. We should at least touch base with the man.”
They hopped off the tailgate, closed it, and picked up their gear. It was time to call it a day, head back to the bunkhouse, and get cleaned up for supper.
“Do you recall how we used to get our asses to bed extra early on Christmas Eve when we were kids? How we thought that would make the time go faster?”
Jesse laughed. He didn’t have to ask where his brother’s mental train had traveled to. “Yeah, I’d kind of like to call it an early night, too. Make tomorrow get here faster so we can see Shar again.”
“What do you think she’d going to say? Think she’ll be interested in spending time with us?”
“I’ve been thinking positive thoughts since we left her yesterday, Barry. I ain’t going to do different now.” Jesse slapped his brother on the shoulder. “So let’s get to it.”
“Yeah. Let’s take care of business so we can get to the good stuff.”
Jesse met Barry’s gaze. “I’m all for that. And under the heading of taking care of business, I think we need to tell Cord and Jackson about the shit storm playing out back home.”
“They’re going to be really pissed with Mom,” Barry said.
“Likely. But I think they need to know—especially since it just occurred to me that she might get it in her head to call them next.”
“Maybe one of them will call Dad, and, you know, let him know what’s going on with Mom. Maybe Dad can explain to her just how bad a crime those shitheads committed.”
“Maybe.” Jesse didn’t bother to say that he didn’t think George Benedict would have any luck reining in his wife. Personally, Jesse thought that boat might have sailed too many years before to count.
Chapter 5
Charlotta had never spent a day quite like this one—functioning on two levels at the same time. The professional psychologist in her kept an eye on each of the three riders making their way around the circuit of the indoor arena, in this last of two sessions, watching for signs of trouble, listening to the interaction of the volunteers with the clients and the horses. Pitching in where she sensed she was needed, and generally being on duty—listening and evaluating.
The woman in her had been focused on Jesse and Barry Benedict, and everything in her urged her to give them a try.
The first thing she noticed right off the bat, by the way both brothers had with the animals and the kids was that the Benedicts were in their element. Ernie Morris had decided to divide his attention between Barry and Jesse, because none of them knew what level of skill the newcomers had, despite the glowing reports from Dr. Wainwright in Montana.
Ernie was the most experienced of the two certified instructors, and this way he could keep an eye on each of the brothers, evaluating their skill level, while his wife
Paulette worked one-on-one with her two clients for the day.
In very short order, Ernie reported to her that both of the Benedicts were very good at mentoring their young charges.
Today had been the first day Healing Rides was able to accommodate three children in each session, and Charlotta couldn’t help but feel exhilarated by the growth of the program. The sessions were three hours long, with an hour break in between morning and afternoon. Charlotta believed one hundred percent in the value of equine therapy for emotionally disturbed children. When offered the opportunity to oversee the center’s program, she’d jumped at the chance.
The program wasn’t all about riding. As a client arrived for their very first session, they were first introduced to their horse, and then taught, by the horse professional, how to groom, feed, and care for their mount. Horses required a lot of attention, and this part of the therapy helped the clients to get their minds off themselves and their problems, and put it on the horses instead. Caring for the horse worked to instill in the client the concept of caring for another living being. Sometimes the children were intimidated by the size of the animals. That allowed the therapist an opportunity to discuss coping techniques to help the client overcome that fear—techniques that could then be applied to other fears in his or her life.
The last portion of each session of equine therapy was the actual riding. The stables had an indoor arena and an outdoor paddock. Both were utilized, giving the rider a sense of adventure, adding to the fun of the session.
Charlotta had discussed with the director of the center, Dr. Roberts, and with the Morris’s, the possibility of having a real trail ride for the last session of each semester. There would be a lot of details to be ironed out, but she thought it would be a wonderful way to instill further confidence in her clients. Dr. Roberts had promised to bring her suggestion to the Board of Directors.
As they worked with the last three clients of the day, Charlotta was conscious of not only the reactions of the kids during the session, but she was very aware of the two newest members of the team.
Yes, it’s the program’s progress responsible for that sense of excitement coursing through me and not the nearness of those two smokin’ hot cowboys.
As a trained psychologist, Charlotta understood perception was everything. If a person told herself something long enough, it would subtly become her reality.
Oh, who the hell am I kidding? I know what’s got my juices flowing. It’s those two men with delicious looking Wrangler butts.
She let her gaze wander over to Jesse Benedict. He had fourteen-year-old Ty Jenkins in the saddle. This was Ty’s first day in the program, and Jesse had used that as a common starting point for building a rapport with the boy. Since Ty hadn’t yet bonded with an animal, they used one of the Benedict’s two horses, Domino, for him.
Ty had serious behavioral issues—his father, a single parent, had finally asked for help in trying to reach his very angry son. Ty had been seen associating with gang members and had had a couple of brushes with the law. Everyone wanted to avoid the next step. For too many inner city kids like Ty, brushes with the law led to being arrested.
Sammy Shaw, the eleven-year-old girl Barry was helping, had been in a car accident the year before, an accident in which the rest of her family had been killed. Although healed from her physical injuries, the trauma of being left alone had wounded her psychologically.
Paulette continued to help and work with Kelley Allen, a ten-year-old girl whose stepfather had sexually abused her. Kelley was getting better, being near the men in the program, but she wasn’t ready to work one on one with any of them yet. Charlotta had decided to keep her with the grandmotherly Paulette—the one person on the team that Kelley seemed to really relax with.
Charlotta was still getting to know these young people, and while she hadn’t been with the program all that long, she could already see some small improvements in these two young girls.
Whether it took three months or three years, there were almost always measurable results with equine therapy.
Charlotta’s cell phone vibrated in her pocket—the alarm alerting her that it was time for them to begin to wrap up the afternoon session.
Each of the horsemen took their client to the assigned post in the arena to begin the final grooming of the horses. Charlotta took time to stop at each of the three groups to see how things had gone, from the client’s point of view.
Sammy seemed thrilled to be brushing Sugar’s coat. That was something that Charlotta had noticed before. It was the one thing above all else that Sammy seemed to connect to. There were some square bales of hay kept along the edge of the arena, and after some discussion between Barry and Ernie, Barry went and got one and set it beside the horse. Ernie helped Sammy up onto it, and Charlotta grinned, because now the little girl could reach more of the horse.
She turned her attention to Jesse with Ty.
“See the difference?” Jesse asked. “You’ve relaxed some, and now Domino has more patience for you.”
“Sorta like he knows that I was pis…um, tense before, and that made him tense?”
“Exactly. Like when you’re with someone who’s in a really bad mood. It brings you down and puts you in a bad mood, too, and you just want to be somewhere else.”
“That’s the truth. Guess I should chill when I come here, huh?”
Jesse didn’t take the bait of telling Ty what he should or shouldn’t do. Instead, he said, “Domino likes being groomed, and I think he likes you, too.”
“Yeah?” Ty seemed pleased by the prospect. The smile he gave Jesse—as brief as it was—counted as a win in Charlotta’s book.
She liked the way the Benedicts chipped in to tidy the arena, and help the Morris’s with the other horses once the clients were gone. When the animals had been cared for, the five of them had a brief meeting, discussing the second session’s clients. She made some notes, and then it was time to leave. The week after next they were going to add a Wednesday evening session to the schedule—that would give them three sessions a week. Not a lot compared to some well-established programs, but it was a beginning. Healing Rides would to grow and Charlotta loved knowing she was a part of that.
Jesse and Barry led their horses out of the stable to load them into their trailer. Charlotta was just about to follow them.
“Do you have a moment, Charlotta?”
Gene Harris had appeared out of nowhere, startling her. He stood close—too close in her opinion—and Charlotta recalled what Jesse and Barry had said about the man Thursday evening. She decided that no matter what, she’d be polite and professional.
“That’s about all the time I do have, Gene. What can I do for you?”
“I’ve been trying to get your attention for some time, now. I’d like to take you to dinner. How about tonight? I think we have a lot in common and should explore this chemistry between us.”
Oh, shit. “Thank you for the invitation, but I have to turn you down. I’m seeing someone.” Or will be, shortly.
“Since when?”
Charlotta didn’t like the change in the man’s tone or the look on his face. She cocked her head to one side. “Since it’s not really any of your business, Mr. Harris. Now, if you’ll excuse me. Have a nice evening.”
It was all she could do to walk calmly away from him and toward the parking lot. Jesse and Barry were standing by their truck. The horses had been loaded for the hour’s ride back to Lusty.
“Trouble?” Jesse asked.
“No. I handled it.”
The men looked at each other for a moment. Then Barry said, “This is the point where you were going to tell us if you were interested in spending time with us.”
“I’m definitely interested.”
“Good. There’s a restaurant in Lusty that serves real good food. It would be a chance for you to get to see where we live—and no, we’re not going to show you our etchings.” Jesse grinned. “Our living arrangements at the moment are far too hu
mble for that.”
“Do you want me to follow you there?”
“Why don’t we follow you to your apartment, and then you can ride with us?”
“Sounds like a plan.” She grinned at Barry. “Ride with me?”
“You don’t have to ask me twice, pretty lady.”
Charlotta turned and looked at the open door to the stables just before she got behind the wheel of her car. She thought she caught the shadow of someone watching her. Then she blinked, and it was gone.
Barry got into the vehicle beside her, and as she buckled her seat belt she put the unpleasant moment with Gene Harris out of her mind. She was on personal time now, and she had a date with two hot cowboys.
It’s way past time for me to live just a little.
* * * *
He stepped back into the shadows and watched as that baby-faced asshole climbed into the passenger side of her red Buick. Seeing someone, was she? Yeah, he’d just bet she was.
It didn’t matter to him that Charlotta had fancy initials behind her name. He knew who she really was and, more importantly, what she really was.
And what she really was, was a whore.
He let his mind travel back to the very first time he’d seen her. He’d had a rough day, getting fired from yet another ranching job, and had decided what he needed was some beer and some boobs.
So he’d headed to the Dollhouse in Morehead to get exactly that.
The first dancer had been nice, if tiny. She’d sashayed across stage and shaken her moneymaker, but she hadn’t done anything for him. But the second dancer—yeah, she’d done something for him, all right. She’d been a gorgeous blonde Amazon, tall and slender, with moves that would make any man’s mouth water and wood stiffen.
He’d watched as she’d bounced her tits and her ass on stage, as she’d made love to that pole as if it was a man’s cock. As if it had been his cock.
He’d gotten hard, really hard for the first time in years. Something about that woman turned him on and turned him inside out. He’d go home and jerk off at night, imagining her kneeling at his feet, hands tied behind her back as she sucked him off.
Love Under Two Outcasts [The Lusty, Texas Collection] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) Page 5
