Labor Day in Lusty, Texas [The Lusty, Texas Collection] (Siren Publishing Menage Everlasting)

by Cara Covington

  Abigail took the bundle, recognizing her grandmother’s writing on the front of the envelope. “Thank you, Mrs. Jessop-Kendall.”

  “Now, Abigail, you need to call me Grandmother Chelsea. Perhaps, if you do, it might ease your heart some? And my sister-in-law—truly my sister in every way but blood—Mattie feels the same. She’s Grandmother Mattie to you. It’s a tradition begun by my mother and my mother-in-law, for I was born a Benedict and married a Jessop and a Kendall.”

  “I think I’d like to hear that story someday.”

  Chelsea smiled. “Some day, I’d like to tell you.”

  Talk of preparing supper ensued, and Abigail, after setting her newly acquired letters up in her room, headed back downstairs to pitch in on the preparations.

  The one thing she’d already noticed was there were no servants in this house. She suspected the families held a fair bit of wealth, but they weren’t showy about it. Another thing that surprised her was when one of Kate’s husbands, Patrick, came into the kitchen to lend a hand.

  “I’ll set the table,” he volunteered.

  “The boys will be here for supper,” Kate said.

  Abigail wondered about the twinkle in Patrick’s eyes at this news. She wouldn’t ask, of course. Kate and Mattie, along with Miranda and Kate’s daughter-in-law, Bernice, whom she’d just met, were busy preparing food—a lot of food.

  Perhaps the boys were teens, with very healthy appetites? She’d heard that teenaged boys ate their weight in food every day. Of course, she’d also heard the same about men.

  Abigail realized she was a bit of an odd duck, having grown up without any real male influences in her life.

  Those thoughts fled as she made a salad, chopped veggies, and did whatever needed doing. When it was time for supper, she carried a large bowl of steamed carrots into the dining room. Amid the chatter of people coming to the table, she heard the door slam and Patrick’s teasing voice.

  “Wouldn’t you just guess they’d arrive too late to pitch in?”

  “They can pitch-in with the clean-up crew,” Gerald said.

  “Pitch in?” Kate laughed. “I think they are the clean-up crew!”

  Abigail grinned at the banter.

  “And hello to you, too, parents! Nice to see our presence is appreciated.”

  “And there are the old men, standing next to their Bernice, imaginary halos hovering above their heads. I say they should get to be clean-up crew, too.”

  Those had not been the voices of teens. Abigail looked up, the large bowl still in hand, and took in the newcomers.

  They both resemble Patrick. Though one had blond hair, the other light brown, they were similar not only in their facial features—she thought they were far too handsome by half—but in their height. Abigail didn’t need to stand next to them to know she would just barely reach their shoulders. She didn’t think they were twins because she’d been given to understand that Bernice’s husbands were often referred to as the twins.

  Then, as one, both men caught sight of her. The one with the brown hair and chocolate eyes seemed as impacted as she. When, helpless to resist, she looked at the blond man—and my, what light blue eyes he had—a second wave of…of something hit her.

  “Gentlemen, say hello to Abigail Parker. Turns out she’s a great-granddaughter to Terrence, Jeremy, and Phyllis Parker-Jones. Abigail, may I present my youngest sons, Carson and Michael. Carson is now the head of Benedict Oil and Minerals, and Michael is a professor of English at Gilson University.”

  Each man had nodded at his name as Patrick introduced him. Then Carson Benedict approached. Someone took the dish of carrots from her hands. Not knowing what else to do, she extended her arm in greeting. The jolt of contact was nearly electrical. Then Michael Benedict flanked his brother.

  “How do you do?”

  “Much better now, Miss Parker.” Carson shook her hand and then gave her hand over to his brother.

  “Yes, much better.” Michael Benedict ran his thumb over the back of her hand.

  Then both men slowly smiled, and Abigail had the sense she’d just stepped off a cliff.

  Chapter Five

  Carson had never had a moment like that in his entire life. He didn’t have to ask Michael if he felt the same. He’d only had to meet his brother’s gaze to know that he did.

  Carson and his brother had just met the most beautiful woman in the entire world, the woman he knew down to his soul he was meant to spend the rest of his life with. He used to scoff at the way his fathers spoke of that first meeting. A sudden sense of destiny? A moment of seeing their forever right there in front of them? Oh, please, Carson had argued. Not that he faulted his fathers’ tastes—his mother was the best woman he knew, bar none. But Carson Benedict was a modern man. There was no such thing as destiny and certainly no such thing as love at first sight. How often had he said that, and how often had his fathers both sent him the most pitying of looks?

  The smug expression his father Patrick sent him said it all. Carson supposed he wouldn’t really mind the taste of crow—not when it meant he’d met Abigail Parker.

  “What is it you do, Miss Parker?” He thought if he was going to stare at her he needed to engage her in conversation. He wanted to know everything about her. Already his mind was etching her image in his memory. Her shoulder-length sandy-blond hair looked soft to the touch, the style simple, clean, and somehow, Abigail. Her hazel eyes reflected her emotions perfectly. They’d sparkled when she’d laughed and seemed to change to a slightly greener tint as she appeared to think in response something someone had said. He’d been watching and known that she was a tad uncomfortable when the meal had begun. He thought he understood the reason for that. Having been raised in a house without any men would make men an unknown quantity.

  Abigail Parker showed grace under pressure, and he realized he was becoming more and more enamored of her with each minute that passed. Carson wondered if the fact that he and Michael were sitting across from their guest was a sign of parental approval. He’d refrain from commenting on that, but hoped it was so.

  “At the moment, I’m on leave from my law clerking position with Peterson, Bates, and Associates in Abilene. I began the job six months ago, in advance of beginning law school in the fall.” She looked around the table then returned her gaze to him. “I’m actually in the position that Grandmother Maude held before she retired. She’d started out as a file clerk with the firm and became a general assistant by the time she ended her career. Mother was a partner with the firm.”

  “Following in your mother’s footsteps, are you? Going into the family business, as it were.” Michael’s voice held a thread of compassion. Carson wondered at the look that crossed Abigail’s face.

  “It was what Mother wanted for me.” Abigail’s tone held no edge to it, so he wondered why he felt certain that being a lawyer wasn’t necessarily what Abigail Parker wanted for herself.

  “I imagine there was a lot to be done with regard to your mother’s estate, especially since she passed so soon after your grandmother,” Kate said. “It was good of them, that your employer granted you a leave to deal with it all.”

  “It’s been very helpful,” Abigail said. “It took me quite some time to clear out the house and prepare it for sale.”

  “For sale? Isn’t that your family home?” Mattie asked.

  “Yes, ma’am, it is. Maude bought it not long after she had my mother. But it’s far too large for just me. The house is in a good neighborhood and close to the university, both, I’m told, major selling points. The house might as well become home for people who’ll appreciate it. I’ve always thought it was meant for a family.”

  Carson wondered if Abigail understood how revealing that last sentence was. Did she not consider herself, her mother, and grandmother to be a family? He’d have to tread carefully. He didn’t want to blunder around sensitive topics. “Do you have a place in mind where you’d like to live, once your house sells?” he asked. “Perhaps an apartment f
or a change of pace?”

  “I haven’t really thought about it. The truth is I’m not sure what my future may hold. Coming here, trying to get a sense of who I am, where I come from…this was my first concrete step forward, something I believed I had to do.”

  Kate nodded. “You’re on a journey that’s more than a trip to where your grandmother was born, where your roots are. You’re looking for yourself.”

  Carson caught the surprise on Abigail’s face and thought her smile just then was the prettiest he’d even seen. Why, she looked like a woman who’d finally found someone who understood her! He wasn’t getting a very good impression of her mother right then.

  “That’s it, exactly, Kate.” She looked down at her plate then looked up again, taking in everyone but focusing on his mother. That was the second time she’d done that, and Carson guessed it was important to her that she not leave anyone feeling excluded. “I loved my grandmother and my mother. Becoming a lawyer—that was Mother’s greatest wish for me—and in lieu of any pressing dreams of my own, that was what I was going to do, what I was happy to do.

  “But I think it’s time for me to finally figure out what I want for my future.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with that, Miss Parker,” Grandpa Sam said.

  “No, indeed, there isn’t.” Grandpa Charles sat forward. “That’s one of the principles behind the founding of Lusty, Miss Parker, and something that we men here are very proud of. Women, and men, exerting the right to choose for themselves how to live—and who to love. No adult has the right to tell another adult how to live their lives. And it doesn’t matter what relationship exists between those adults, either.” He nodded then looked over at Grandmother Mattie. Carson could tell, just by the looks on their faces and the movements of their bodies, that Charles and Sam had both reached for their wife’s hands.

  That’s what I want. I want to be in my eighties and have that kind of love, the kind of love that makes a forever home.

  Then he looked over at Abigail, and truly saw her, maybe for the first time. In that moment, Carson felt such pride in his grandfathers. He understood something, and he wondered if it wasn’t a little bit of the knowledge he’d absorbed, all his life and in the company of these men, finally becoming heart knowledge.

  It was a good thing indeed for his mother and grandmother and aunt to bolster Abigail. But she needed the encouragement of father figures, something she’d never had her entire life.

  Judging by the tremulous smile on her lips and the sheen of tears in her eyes, Abigail Parker felt the approval of these men, men she’d never met before today. It means something to her. Carson began to get a glimmer of how to woo the woman he’d already decided was going to be his wife.

  “Please, won’t you both call me Abigail?”

  * * * *

  What an extraordinary place and what an extraordinary family! Abigail had been very nervous, at first, accepting the invitation to stay for a while with the Benedicts, people she didn’t know and, in point of blood, wasn’t even directly related to. But as the day progressed, as she’d met those that she could in fact call kin, she began to get a sense that they were her cousins, after a fashion.

  She’d met Parkers, Joneses, Parker-Joneses as well as Benedicts and Kendalls, and she could honestly say they all considered themselves one family.

  Today she’d met more men in a few short hours than she’d even actually known before. She’d certainly been very nervous sitting down to supper with so many males in attendance! That had most definitely been a new experience for her.

  She’d watched the way Caleb and Jonathan treated Bernice, the way she treated them, and thought the newlyweds were nothing short of adorable after nearly two years of marriage. But then to see the same love…no, not the same. Love, certainly, but love aged through a lifetime of experiences, of what she imagined were a series of highs and lows, joys and sorrows—the cauldron of life. Mattie with Charlie and Sam, and Kate with Gerald and Patrick—those two triads, in separate generations, their love, their steadfastness toward each other, had opened her eyes.

  Abigail Parker hadn’t been sure before today that man-woman love really existed in the world. She knew there was sex. That was simply a matter of biology. Pheromones and such working their scientific realities, drawing people together to mate and produce young. That was how the species ensured its own survival, and that certainly existed. She’d been drawn in college to a young man, one who’d been quiet and cerebral and gentle. She couldn’t say there’d been any burning passion between them, but he’d treated her kindly the two times they’d had sex, and in return, she had a fond memory of losing her virginity, a memory tucked away for the future. In the aftermath of that relationship, she would have sworn, if asked, that it had been a fair trade and she’d made out quite well.

  What she’d seen on display tonight between three triads of Benedicts was far more than anything she’d known existed. She understood now her own experiences—and maybe those of her mother and grandmother—had been, well, paltry by comparison. They, as she, had been cheated—although she wasn’t sure, one way or the other, if her mother or grandmother would think so.

  Abigail sure as hell thought so. Because what she’d witnessed tonight? That was what love looked like. She couldn’t have said this morning what the hell she hoped to accomplish in this undertaking, coming here to this small town unannounced and looking for her roots. But now, as she sat on the side of this guest bed in one of the guest rooms and brushed her hair, as she prepared for bed, she knew something, and it was solid.

  Abigail Parker wanted that kind of love for herself.

  How could her grandmother have grown up here in Lusty, among these people, and not seen that kind of love, not felt it? How could anyone want to trade that kind of caring, that kind of belonging, for a cold, sterile, lonely existence?

  Or had Maude experienced it, and somehow…she thought back to the way Chelsea had said that something had changed with Maude, and that it happened sometime when she was young, around ten or twelve. No one knew what had happened because Maude, who’d apparently been a quiet girl all along, never opened up about the reasons for her change in attitude.

  Abigail couldn’t explain it, but she felt compelled to try and discover what that something had been. She was a modern woman who believed in science, and she knew there was no such thing as behavior without reason.

  Maude had a reason for turning her back on Lusty, for moving away and eschewing not only a ménage family lifestyle but any family lifestyle involving a man.

  Her grandmother had never been one to heap aspersions on the male of the species, that Abigail could recall. No, her disdain for men was a much more quiet and very deeply ingrained learned behavior.

  Abigail looked over at her small suitcase that contained the letters and the journal she’d brought with her. Lying on top of that closed case was the stack of letters Chelsea had given her earlier that day. She considered that gift a kind of miracle and a justification for her doing something as, well, as impulsive as coming here so spontaneously.

  She’d always been discouraged from doing anything impetuous, so she never had. Abigail felt vindicated and yet convicted at the same time. I wonder how long it’s going to take me to become comfortable doing what I want, instead of what I know Mother or Grandmother would want me to do?

  She didn’t doubt, not for one minute, that she had the right to make her own decisions, choose her own destiny. Before her mother died, she had stood her ground on several occasions. Yes, those occasions had seen them battle mostly only over small things, but she hadn’t been a complete sycophant. She had stood up for herself when she’d felt the need to do so.

  There had been no logical reason not to pursue a career in law since she’d had no viable option or alternative in mind at the time.

  And didn’t that sound just like Mother?

  Abigail went over to the small case and extracted her grandmother’s journal.

  She’
d read the first few pages only and had wondered why she hadn’t been eager to read more, beyond discovering her grandmother had had a family. Now she pondered if her subconscious hadn’t somehow been waiting for this moment—being here in this community, where her grandmother had been raised—to go further.

  Abigail climbed into the double bed, a very comfortable double bed, arranged the four pillows to support her, opened the journal once again to the first page, and began to read.

  June 1, 1920

  Today marks the fifth anniversary of my exodus from Lusty. I received a letter from Mother yesterday, and it made me remember that I’d bought this journal more than a week ago with the intention of recording my thoughts. I’m not writing this for anyone to read. It’s mine. It’s a way for me to memorialize my thoughts and my experiences. A way for me to analyze my own desires and my own decisions since I’ve no one close with whom I can discuss them. I’m a twenty-six-year-old woman in these modern times, and I answer to no one—no woman, and certainly not to any man. I answer only to myself.

  Mother mentioned in her latest letter that the town is expanding. My brothers married Carmelita a few months ago, and I suppose I’m happy for them. I do know that whatever it is within a woman that draws her to want to wed a man or, in the case of Lusty, two or more, Carmelita had that reason. She has that desire inside her, and I do know she loves my brothers. I know she’s become a wife willingly, even eagerly, just as my cousin Chelsea did some years ago, marrying Dalton Jessop and Jeremy Kendall. They’re both—Carmelita and Chelsea—now in the family way. Carmelita for the first time, and Chelsea…goodness, for the third or fourth time, I think.