The women took a break, sipping sweet tea and chatting. “I can recall my first time making jam,” Chelsea said. “The fathers all got together to build a fire outside and volunteered to keep it going for us.”
“Was it hard to regulate the heat, to keep the jam from burning?” Abigail asked.
“There was a trick to it, that’s for certain. Even with the wood stove, you learned, from the doing, from the making, how to keep the temperature just right for baking, roasting meat, or making jams and jellies and such.”
“You must think we have it easy today by comparison,” Pamela said.
“All the modern conveniences we have like the electric range and other appliances make it so much less work, you must want to shake your head when you hear women of our generation complain about hard work.” Samantha nodded.
“Oh, I don’t know.” Chelsea turned her chair slightly to look around the room. Kate and Miranda passed out glasses of sweet tea. Three large batches of jam began to simmer, so it was a good time to take a break.
“Certainly, the doing of chores is physically easier today than when I was a child and, later, a young bride. But there are other difficulties to modern living that take their place. I never questioned my future. I knew what I wanted from the time I was ten. Today, it seems, there are all sorts of pressures on young women. Do you get an education, become a professional, or get married and raise your children?
“Do you burn your bra or burn the supper till you get it right?” Chelsea shook her head. “I don’t understand why men today think they can be the lords of the castle just because they earn the money. Oh, not any of our men, because I can assure you their fathers knocked that foolishness out of them at an early age. But men in the rest of the country. My mother-in-law was a private investigator before the turn of the last century and worked with her husband, Warren, who was a lawyer. When she was pregnant and after she gave birth, she still worked, though she hired others to do the running around. Her husbands never would have considered telling her she couldn’t do anything. And I can promise you that, if anyone else tried, why, they’d earn themselves a quick introduction to Pocahontas, her knife.
“Your mother-in-law had a knife named Pocahontas?” Abigail knew her jaw had dropped.
“So named, she said, because giving a good ‘poke’ was what the knife was all about.”
Laughter filled the kitchen, and a warmth filled Abigail. Somehow, in this communion of women that spanned three generations, she began to feel that part of her that was daughter and granddaughter begin to heal.
“All I’m saying is that life being hard or easy is relative.” Chelsea took a moment to take in the faces of all the women, Abigail included, listening so intently. “You younger women may no longer have to lug and labor the way we did to make meals and tidy our homes, but I wouldn’t necessarily say you have it easy. There are other, modern considerations and complications, modern pressures that we, of my generation, never faced. Some of the challenges y’all have in these contemporary days? I don’t know if I’d have the mettle to surmount them. So my advice to all y’all? Be a little kinder to yourselves.”
* * * *
It had been a very enjoyable day. Abigail offered, of course, to help with supper. Kate grinned as she told her that since the women had spent most of the day in the kitchen, the men were in charge of the meal—and the cleanup. She’d already heard from Mattie that both her oldest sons were good cooks.
So she took advantage of the freedom and spent some time after a quick shower sitting in one of the large rocking chairs out on the front porch of the Big House, thinking about all the words of community shared in the making of jam. Very good jam, as it turned out. The pop, pop, pop of the metal lids, announcing each jar as it sealed successfully was a satisfying sound indeed.
Abigail hadn’t seen Carson or Michael since early that morning because they’d gone out to help their brothers at the ranch for the day. The image of them engaged in physical labor brought a smile to her lips. Jonathan was the only full-time rancher, and Caleb was a Texas Ranger. Both Gerald and Patrick had officially retired, and yet, she’d learned, several times a year all of those Benedicts got together to ride the range or chase cattle or do whatever it was cowboys did in these modern times.
Abigail knew they’d returned and that she would likely see them before long. She missed them, and that was a strange sensation for her. She hungered for them, and that was completely new. She understood why, the day before, they’d stopped short of making love to her during their interlude by the creek. And while she really did appreciate their consideration, a part of her wished they’d all simply let themselves be carried away by passion and their hormones.
She heard footsteps, not once wondering who approached. Thinking of the devils… Though she didn’t really think of them as devils, she grinned at the way her mind had conjured that image.
“I love your smile.” Carson sat on her right and took her hand in his. He brought it to his lips and kissed it. His hair was slightly damp, and Abigail secretly preened, thinking he’d been in such a hurry to join her he’d rushed his shower.
Oh, Abigail, you’re becoming a bit full of yourself. She dismissed the inner voice. It wasn’t egotism coursing through her. It was feminine confidence, and it felt wonderful.
“An enticing smile indeed, a sweet mixture of innocent and temptress,” Michael said. He sat on her left and mimicked his brother’s gesture.
Neither brother released her hands, and that suited her just fine.
“I hear you were a great help with the jamboree today.” Carson shot her a quick grin.
“I don’t know how much help I really was, but it was a very good day. I really like every one of those women.”
“We do, too,” Michael said. “Most of the time.”
“Ha, ha.” Abigail knew beyond doubt these two men not only loved but respected the women in their family. “How was your day as ranch hands?”
“It was good to get back to that,” Carson said. “When we were kids, we often had to work with the dads, doing whatever chores needed to be done.”
“Weekends and summers, that was our fate. But there was always a camaraderie in the work, as well as a visceral connection to our heritage, and that’s what was best about today. It did seem like we were back to the days of our youth—with the dads hanging over the railing, telling the four of us what to do.”
Abigail could see in crystal clarity the picture Michael painted with his words. The sense of family, of history, of purpose, was so strong with them. “How did the current ranch boss feel about being bossed around?”
“Jonathan is as easy going as any man I’ve ever known,” Carson said. “I don’t mean that as any kind of a slight, either. He knows how to manage people, and he’s got a mind that never quits working. His keen intellect and intuitive people-sense allow him to project a kind of unflappability, and that’s a true inner strength. Not that he doesn’t have a bottom line or is incapable of strong emotion.”
And right there was likely Carson’s great talent, the one that allowed him to be an effective CEO. He said Jonathan was intuitive, but so was he. Abigail tucked that little kernel of knowledge away. The more she learned about these men, the more she wanted to know. “So, it appears we all had a good day.”
“It was a great break for me, that’s for sure,” Carson said. “Being in charge of a large company can have its moments.” He kissed her hand again. “Abby, we have a proposition for you.”
“Ohhh…an indecent one?” Whenever Abigail had thought about flirting, she’d thought it to be a silly, definitely overrated pastime. She could never, in a million years, imagine herself simpering. Her concept of flirting had been way off because now she found the words and the inclination to flirt to be the most natural thing in the world.
“Yes, ma’am.” Carson gave her what she knew immediately was a mock-lascivious once-over. Then his expression turned serious. “We’d like you to come to Houston w
ith us tomorrow and stay with us for the week. We have an apartment there—a very nice one. We’d like you to stay with us in that apartment. It has three bedrooms, and one of them is a master suite, much like the one here.” Abigail’s eyes widened. The bed in the master suite here was definitely big enough for three. “It would give us some private time together.”
“I’m not teaching again until the early fall,” Michael said. “And if you were wondering what you could do in Houston while Carson is slaving away being a corporate titan, you could help me. I recently bought a bookstore in an estate sale but haven’t had much time to get it ready to open because I’m also working on a manuscript.”
“So, what they say about academia is true? Publish or perish?”
“Pretty much.”
“What do you say?” Carson rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand. “I should probably tell you that we spoke to Mother, to let her know we were going to make this offer to you. I didn’t want you to think that this was something we wanted to do on the sly or that we intended to sneak around.”
“Mother’s quite taken with you. She made us promise to be complete gentlemen and respect your wishes in all things. She also told us to make sure you knew that your room will be here for you, for as long as you want it to be.”
“I’m enjoying getting to know the people here in Lusty…but what we shared, yesterday? That’s so new to me, so…compelling.” Being honest had never been so hard. Was it just human nature that she felt as if every vulnerability she possessed was suddenly on display for these two men?
No wonder some women shy away from relationships. This honesty can be intimidating. There was no question in her mind at all to be anything but completely honest. If that meant laying herself bare—metaphorically speaking—then that was what she would do.
This was far too important to mess up by playing silly games.
Carson and Michael both waited, quietly, letting her speak, letting her think. And in the end, it was their patience, their obvious integrity that allowed her to reach for what she wanted more than she truly wanted her next breath.
“I want more of that, that passion. I want it all. So, yes, I’ll come with you to Houston.”
At dinner, and despite their assurances that they’d spoken with their mother, Abigail worried what Kate would think about her going off with her youngest sons. Conversation flowed easily, something in the few short days she’d been in Lusty she’d begun to cherish.
While meals with her mother and grandmother hadn’t specifically been silent, Abigail never would have called the conversation enjoyable.
“I’m glad you’ll be helping Michael with his bookstore.” Kate set her fork down and her napkin to the side and then turned to her. “I understand why you purchased the business.” She directed that comment to Michael. “And I hope you don’t take this with anything other than the kindness in which it’s offered, son, but I did worry how you would manage, as you also have that thesis to write. But Abigail is a sensible woman, and I have a feeling the two of you will do well in this enterprise, together.”
Abigail felt her cheeks turn warm with her blush.
“Gentlemen, let’s clear the table and bring in the tea, coffee, and dessert.” Grandfather Sam stood, and apparently his word was law because every man at the table immediately obeyed.
When it was just the women—Mattie, Kate, and herself—Kate took Abigail’s hand. “You don’t need to be embarrassed. I remember what it’s like, coming under the scrutiny of a couple of Benedicts.”
“My grandsons do take after their fathers, who were just like their own dads,” Mattie said.
“I’ve never experienced anything like them. I’ve never felt…” Abigail didn’t know what to say.
“Whatever happens between you and them, that’s your business. But this relationship between me and you? Mattie and you? That’s between us, and it’s forever, no matter what.”
“We women need to stick together.” Mattie’s smile soothed Abigail’s worries. “So please remember, your room will be here waiting for you, if you need it.”
They made noise before they entered, those wonderful Benedict men, and Abigail didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. And she wished, perhaps foolishly but not meanly, that her own mother and grandmother had known—and shown—familial love like this.
Chapter Eight
Michael was behind the wheel of Carson’s 1975 Cadillac Fleetwood while Abigail sat in the backseat with Carson. The buttery leather seats were the most comfortable she’d ever sat on, but that comfort paled in comparison to the sensation of having Carson Benedict hold her.
When they’d set off from Lusty at the very early hour of five thirty a.m., Michael had given her a sweet kiss as he’d held the door to the back seat open for her. “I get to have you to myself all day.” His gesture had answered a question that had nagged into her consciousness just after she’d awakened at four. How could two men mean to share her and not be jealous of each other? Oh, she knew it was possible because she’d seen it already with three generations of Benedicts and Kendalls.
Carson tilted her face up, and she closed her eyes as his lips brushed over hers. “We’ll each of us have private time with you, Abby, just as we’ll have times when we’re a threesome. It’ll all work out.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to let my concern show.”
“Don’t apologize, sweetheart.” Michael’s gaze connected with hers in his rearview mirror. “We know this is all new for you. There’s nothing you can’t ask, and every emotion you feel is valid.”
“Michael is absolutely right. We know this kind of a relationship is a balancing act—any relationship is, really. The good news is there are no rules except the ones we make ourselves.”
“That’s good to know.” She looked out at the passing scenery as they headed southeast toward Houston. “What about when we’re in Houston?” She met Michael’s gaze and then looked at Carson. She saw by the expression both men wore they understood exactly what she was asking.
“There are no rules, but we do have some traditions—ones that our parents and grandparents adhered to because it made the best sense. I know Mother told you the way our marriages work.”
“Yes. There’s a legal marriage between the wife and one husband, usually the oldest, and then a community commitment ceremony where all three, or four, pledge their vows.”
“Exactly. Our tradition is that the oldest man is the legal husband and head of the family.” Michael grinned. “Big brother has a couple of years on me, and this is a tradition I not only grew up with but one I embrace.”
“At home in Lusty, we’re a ménage. Outside of Lusty, to the world, you and I are dating.” Carson’s expression turned tender. “I wish we could be completely open.”
“It’s unfair. What if I want to kiss Michael, and we’re not in Lusty?”
Carson grinned. “Then kiss him, baby. I won’t have you twisting yourself in knots over things.”
Abigail sighed and took great comfort in the solid embrace Carson gave her.
“We’re just beginning to discover what this is between us, sweetheart,” Michael’s gaze held such tenderness Abigail felt her throat tighten. “But know this. Whatever this is? It’s not casual for us.”
Abigail might not know much, but she did know that. “Good. This isn’t casual for me, either.”
It took just over three hours to reach Houston. Michael, apparently, had a lead foot. She hadn’t been to the large city in years. It seemed to have grown since her last visit, and at a quarter of nine, they were smack-dab in the middle of rush hour. She’d understood they were going to drop Carson off at work. Michael took them directly to the headquarters of Benedict Oil and Minerals.
Carson held the door and held his hand out to her. She got out of the car and looked up and up. The company name was right there on the building, above the main entrance. She looked from it to Carson. He simply smiled.
“That’s…a pretty impress
ive place to be the boss at.” She was thinking of what she knew of the families, from the way they lived. They didn’t put on airs, and they didn’t have the latest everything except, maybe, vehicles. She’d figured they were doing well.
In light of what she was staring up at, Abigail Parker reassessed her original assessment upward.
Carson had mimicked her action of staring up at the building. “I guess I can sometimes take it for granted. I’m proud of what we’ve built here, something I think that would shock my great-grandparents. When they settled on what Tyrone Maddox left Sarah, all the land he’d bought speculating on oil seemed a pipe dream to them. But they decided to keep it, thinking to decide sometime in the future what to do with it.”
Abigail grinned. “I bet you’re all happy they made that decision.”
“We are, indeed.” He cupped her face. “Enjoy your day. I’ll see you this evening.” His mouth settled on hers. The taste of him, the heat and the strength and the power of him saturated her—heart and mind and body and soul. Her tongue caressed his as they drank each other down. She didn’t even care that people were passing by, staring, as they entered the giant building. All she cared about was savoring this moment.
The kiss was over far too soon. Carson’s gaze on hers let her know without a doubt that he wanted her. He gently used his thumb to rub back and forth over her bottom lip, as if sealing his kiss in. He didn’t say another word, just opened the front passenger door, and gallantly helped her into the car.
He ducked in, fastened her seatbelt, and then placed one more kiss, this one quick and chaste, on her lips.
“Take good care of our woman.”
“You know I will.”
It didn’t bother Abigail one tiny bit to be spoken of in the third person. All she felt in that moment, as Michael took her left hand in his and brought it to his lips, was cherished.
* * * *
Michael negotiated the parking facility, gaining the second floor, and driving his brother’s vehicle into the reserved spot beside his own car. He turned off the engine and then kissed Abigail’s hand once more.
Labor Day in Lusty, Texas [The Lusty, Texas Collection] (Siren Publishing Menage Everlasting) Page 7
