Pap chuckled, “We are finally going to get Avery Jean married off to a decent fella!”
“Say what now?” Pecola asked as the truck sped away towards town.
25. A Twisted Up Fairy Tale...
What am I doing here?
Zachary Peters found himself standing in a courtroom before a judge in the middle of nowhere Montana getting married to a burly rancher’s daughter with tender eyes and thick black hair because...shit hell, he didn’t know why. All he knew was that a gun was pointed at him and a half blind man holding a knobby cane with a knot on the end of it kept hitting him. His bride-to-be’s mother was very happy for her daughter, although a black man wasn’t what they had in mind for Avery Jean’s future. Even for a decent looking woman like her daughter, Avery had a horrible dating history, combined with being caught in the barn with two football players, one that her father shot, a simple blessing rained from the heavens that they never had a chance to connect their bodies physically. Ruby had taken her to the doctor several times to make sure her little girl was still intact. One weekend away from home and some muscled black guy had deflowered her angel. This was not the way the story was supposed to go for their Avery Jean. Such an imbalance in the fairy tale is what pushed Ruby to this ending for her daughter. Today Zachary Peters of New York City was getting hitched to Avery Jean Johnson.
In Montana.
In the middle of nowhere.
To a raven haired beauty with gorgeous gray eyes.
“Do you, Avery Jean Johnson, take Zachary Peters to be your lawfully wedded husband, keeping only unto him and forsaking all others, as long as you both shall live?” The judge was speaking to her with his thin lips and weathered face, a face so taut it looked as if he’d spent the better part of the night licking on something sour and aggressive that snuck up on him in the middle of the morning for a surprise visit.
“I do,” Avery said with a shaking voice.
“Do you Zachary Peters, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward?”
“Hell no,” he said.
Ellwood clocked him on the back of his shoulder with his stick. Brooks loaded another shell into the shotgun chamber. He leaned forward, voice low and ominous, “Ask that question again your, Judgeship,” Brooks said.
The question was asked again.
Zach said no again.
Ellwood clocked him with the stick again.
This time, Brooks pointed the shotgun at Zach’s foot.
“Shit hell, I guess I do,” Zach said real low.
He looked around the drab little courtroom to ensure no one else had answered for him. The benches were as weathered as the audience who came to witness the ceremony. Again his eyes searched the room with its peeling wallpaper and pictures of old white judges who hung on the walls like ghosts of shotgun weddings past.
I am agreeing to this; I am actually marrying this woman.
Judge Martin posed the question once more to Zachary, who seemed to come to terms with his current circumstance. Those beautiful gray eyes of his blushing bride, still adorned in one of the fancy outfits he’d had Angie send over for her. The pretty pink sundress with matching pink sandals that showed off the perfectly polished toes gave him a sense of pride. Zach looked at her and softened up all over again. She was being forced into this as well. She would not be stuck with some sour faced man who had taken something from her and not be ready to own up to the deed. His chest stuck forward the same instant Billy Joe and Pecola walked through the door.
“I do,” he said with pride.
Pride is what got me here. Pride and the desire to kill a horse named Buster.
“You won’t regret this,” Avery Jean said to her new husband. Her eyes searched his face for understanding. “You will learn to love me,” she said to him.
“Loving you, Avery Jean Peters, is going to be the easy part,” he told her as he lowered his head to kiss his new wife. The hard part would be to introduce the country mouse to his fast-paced world without ruining the beauty that was Avery Jean.
If nothing else, he had time. His football career was on its last legs and he had been wondering what was next for him. Investing in the ranch would be a nice getaway from the lifestyle which had taken his youth, used up his body, and nearly compromised his morality. Avery Jean was an opportunity to build something substantial and be a daily part of his sister’s life.
For some odd reason, I am okay with this.
The spray of the water from the showerhead saturated the thick black hair on Billy Joe’s head as his arms pressed against the wall under the shower tap. The pressure of the water forced the hairs on his forearms to lie flat from the barrage of droplets. A feeble attempt was made to corral the mixed emotions stampeding through his head, leaving a spark of hope trying to break through the despondency that was threatening to fold him in half.
It takes a special sort of evil to try to kill a man to take over his belongings. Only a heartless bastard would poison nearly three hundred head of cattle. Those animals were food for a great number of people. The way the animals were poisoned was even worse; they had died in the middle of night, right between the shift changes, and were not found until the next morning. He didn’t even have a chance to try to save the hides. Half a million dollars in livestock, gone.
Because of greed.
“William,” Pecola called to him.
“Be out in a second, Honey,” he said as he lathered the thick black hair one more time, rinsed, then did the same thing for his body. No matter how many times he washed, the scent of half a million dollars in burning beef sat heavily in his lungs. Each time he exhaled, the sour stench of disappointment drifted about the bathroom on the puffs of steam.
Sore hands turned the taps to stop the flow of the cleansing waters. Phone calls continued to come in from neighboring farmers who had also suffered substantial losses. Chad fielded as many as he could. He answered as many of the questions as he could. He sounded as positive as he could when he responded to fretful landowners.
“Billy Joe has a plan,” he heard Pecola say.
“Yes, we will all benefit,” he heard Pecola tell a caller. “No one is going hungry this winter or any winter.”
Duncan, in his attempt to destroy the community, had inadvertently set into motion a new era for the residents of Johnson County. The Writers Retreat at the Rocking J would be ready to take its first residents in the fall. At least that is what he told Pap. The jobs would come to the locals who would be needed to help build the lodge house and small cabins for visitors. Lumber would be purchased from the lands of Johnson County’s residents. Meals in the lodge house would be prepared by the womenfolk to pick up extra funds. Teen daughters and sons who were not sports oriented would be employed by the Rocking J. Billy Joe Johnson’s staff of 10 would soon become nearly fifty people.
“Honey,” he called out to her, the towel slung low around his hips as he made his way down the hall. Zachary unwillingly had been pulled to his Uncle’s house to spend the night with his new bride.
“I’m in the bedroom,” she called back.
Billy Joe opened the door to find his wife of only two weeks perched upon the bed in one of her really fancy bras and extra special lacy panties, holding the little brown honey bear.
“There you go again in them fancy panties and matching brassiere. You know I could get used to seeing you in all that foofy. Shit hell, I feel like getting on my knees to lick those right offa ya cute little caramel-colored bottom!”
“I didn’t find those words cute on our wedding night, but right now, William, they sound right sexy,” she told him.
“Stand up, Honey,” he told her.
Pecola got on her feet as she watched him round the bed to the other side.
“I tell you what we are going to do,” he said as he walked around the side of the bed. “I am going to go to the other side of the room and drop this towel, and then meet you in the middle of that bed.”
<
br /> “...that bed...” she repeated just as she had on the first time they were about to make love.
“Yep. That one right there,” he said as he dropped the towel to the floor. His strong body, rippled with muscles from baling hay, roping, riding, and being a burly rancher looked as fine as wine next to a thick porterhouse steak. He was ready for her. Unlike their wedding night, tonight she was also ready for him. Billy Joe was trying patiently to fold down the covers, but Pecola grabbed them, yanking the sheeting to the foot of the bed.
“A little anxious, ain’t cha, Honey?” he said with a wry grin.
“Honestly, William, if I don’t make love to you soon, I think I might just burst wide open right here on this floor,” he told her.
“Ain’t those my words?”
“I will give you authoring credit in the footnotes,” she told him as she reached for him, dragging him down into the bed. His body weight landed on top of her. “Right now, I want to get to some jostling.”
“Pecola, we need to talk about the financial aspects of this venture. I don’t feel good about taking your money; your brother’s I don’t have a problem with. That asshole...” Billy Joe grumbled.
“You are ruining the sexy jostling time by talking about my brother...talking about money,” she said as she planted small kisses on his neck. Her left hand dropped low, gripping him, squeezing, tugging as her tongue slipped into his ear.
“Shit hell, that feels so good, Honey,” he moaned a little. “We still need to talk...about kids...land rights...Johnso... uuhhhmmm....do that again.”
“Three months,” she told him, her long legs wrapping around his as she maneuvered her body under him, preparing for his entry.
He kissed her hard on the mouth, his need for her starting to overshadow his reasoning. “Three months for what...,” his hands tugged at the lacy bra.
“Starting our family,” she said as she adjusted her back for him to remove the brassiere.
The soft gray eyes stared down at her, “Look at me, Pecola.” He adjusted his position, pulled her underwear off, aimed, and pushed.
Her back arched as she received him. Her toes dug into the mattress as she cried out. The lovemaking was sweet and slow as he used his body as an exclamation point on every unsaid sentence.
“I love you, Pecola,” he whispered as he took her with a newfound mastery. Every movement, her body reacted to. Each push, each thrust, every micro-movement brought her pleasure.
“William, I love you, too,” she whimpered as she began her ascent.
He did not disappoint her as he brought her to a loud, lusty finish. She screamed his name as she bucked against him furiously, feverishly, craving that ending. “Now William, take me there now!” she cried.
His body worked hard. Sweat rolled down his back. The hairs on his chest matted with sweat as he moved against her body. His back humped as he reached the summit. “You feel so damned good, Honey, I ain’t gonna make it much longer,” he said as he thrust harder. He rolled his hips down, then upwards as she let go.
Billy Joe let out a satisfied growl as he got there, knowing his wife loved him. He held her close, panting, enjoying the blessings she had brought to his life.
“Pecola, Honey, I was wondering...,” he said. A small kiss was planted on her forehead. “Why did you choose Montana Hart as a pen name?”
A lazy finger made small circles in the middle of his chest. “I have always been in love with the state of Montana, which is why most of my mail order brides are set here, pass through here, or end here. So I guess my heart has always belonged to Montana,” she told him.
“Now, your heart belongs to me,” he said.
“And mine to you,” she replied.
“I waited for you, Pecola,” he told her.
“My heart waited for you, William,” she told him as she kissed his chest.
“Shit hell, a fella couldn’t ask for more than that. Goodnight, Honey,” he said.
“Good night, husband.”
Epilogue...
One year later...
Avery Johnson Peters collected her paint brushes, easels, and paints and headed at full speed over to The Lodge at the Lake. Today, she had four students who had registered for her Intro to Brush Strokes class. Tomorrow a fresh group of writers would be arriving in the afternoon to begin a two-week residency at The Lodge at the Lake. She loved the name of the facility. Zachary had named it.
It was a big building with a quaint dining room and a kitchen that was staffed by two of the ladies in the town and serviced by Reger Wilmore’s son, Junior, who was genetically special, but functional-like. He loved having a job and worked really hard to keep the building clean. Billy Joe was good about that kind of thing. Anyone who wanted a job, he made sure they had one.
The Writer’s Retreat was making great money. Zachary loved the idea of the cabins for long term stays, but he really wanted a hotel type of facility for writers who wanted only to come out for a getaway. The lodge, built by the lake, was sleek and modern with all of the amenities of a modern hotel. Large desks were in each room with one corkboard wall and one chalk wall for plotting and storyboarding.
Check-in began on Wednesday for the five-day intensive, which included think tank sessions for story development. Other programs including Character Development and a course that Billy Joe taught personally, Setting as a Character. Not everyone wanted the writer education tracks, which included certificates and CEUS ; some authors wanted to come out and simply write. A special track was added for athletes and celebrities working on autobiographies and memoirs. Thus far, the lodge was booked for two years in advance.
The cabins, which were for long-term stays of 60 days or more, were also booked for the next two years. Initially, only 4 pre-fab cabins were put on the property at the opposite side of the lake. A few canoes were added for each cabin, along with fishing poles, but no internet was available in the long term rentals. Writers who needed internet access had to make a conscious decision to leave the cabin to either hike over to the lodge or canoe across the lake. Once word reached the writing communities about the Rocking J Writer’s Retreat, six more cabins were slotted to be added to the ranch.
Billy Joe was able to retire his two uncles, who both moved to Florida and sent postcards. Chad moved into their home, modernizing and updating it. Brooks and Ruby wanted to come back once their new grandson was born. Avery wasn’t sure when that was going to be. She was scheduled to do a summer intensive painting program in Paris later in the year. Zachary wanted to make certain that his wife had a chance to live life a bit before she became a mother.
Zachary and Avery’s home was constructed the same time the lodge went up. It was a quaint four-bedroom cabin with lots of windows for natural light and a large family room. The large family room came in handy especially when Zachary was home. It appeared as if half of the defensive line wanted to come with him. Billy Joe never like to admit to it, but he looked forward to the times Zach was home as well. At least one game of flag football was played in the back yard with Pap keeping score of the pros against the hoes, which is the name the pro players gave Billy Joe’s team of farmers.
“Your brother is an asshole,” he told Pecola.
“You could have contested the team name,” she told him while her hand rubbed her enlarged belly.
“Nah. I want the pleasure of saying to him, “You and those overpaid friends got beat by a bunch of hoes,” he said with a chuckle. “Besides, I’m still pissed that he’s married to my cousin. You do realize our children will be double cousins?”
“As long as they don’t marry each other, we’ll be fine,” she told him. Amadeus, now a beautiful young yearling, made his way over to the back porch for his daily sugar cube treats. She would never learn to ride him, but Billy Joe had given her the horse as a wedding present after she named it. After his treat, Amadeus would whinny and nuzzle her belly, which caused the occupant inside to kick and nearly turn flips. Today, Amadeus’ proximity got a diffe
rent reaction.
She grabbed her stomach as a sharp pain shot through. A gush of liquid ran down her leg. “Oh crap,” she cried out.
“Pap!” Billy Joe yelled. “Call Doc. A new Johnson is on his way into the world.”
Pap was all gums as he grinned at Billy Joe, “I garaunbetcha she gonna name that child something all goofy and philisophigial!”
“Philosophigial ain’t a word, Pap!” Billy Joe said as he lifted Pecola into his arms and carried her to their bed.
“Shit hell, she’s probably gonna name him Milton or Shelly or something else that will get his tiny ass kicked his entire childhood,” Pap said.
“Focus old man,” Billy Joe yelled.
“I don’t think we have time for the Doc, William,” she said as the urge to push overcame her.
Zach came through the back door, checking to see what was holding Billy Joe up from coming to play flag football. He rounded the corner to see more of his sister than he cared to as well as the thick black hair on his nephew’s head that was hanging out of his sister’s hoo-hah.
“I’ll be Godda...” was as far as Zach got before he passed out on the floor.
“You can tell they’re related,” Pap said as he ran to the kitchen to boil water, get towels, and sterilize a knife. By the time he returned, the baby was crying, Billy Joe was holding his naked son and Pecola was in tears.
“Well, don’t that beat all?” Pap said as he watched the man, who as a child followed him everywhere, become a father. “I’ll be durn. Who’da thunk?”
- Fin-
About the Author
Olivia Gaines is the award winning bestselling author of Thursdays in Savannah. She also writes the best-selling serial The Blakemore Files. She lives in Augusta, GA with her husband, son and snotty cat, Katness Evermean.
Connect with Olivia on her FB page at http://on.fb.me/1eorEAr or her website at http://ogaines.com
@Oliviagaines
Montana (Modern Mail Order Bride Book 2) Page 16
