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

by Cara Covington

  Carson had brewed the coffee while Michael had made toast. They’d both set the table, seating Abby between them. Eggs and toast and coffee made for the best meal he’d had in a long time. As they ate, Carson looked at his brother and knew, by the expression on his face as he kept his gaze fixed on their woman, that Michael was as smitten with her as he, himself, was. They’d experienced enough of life and knew their own minds well enough. They didn’t need any more time, either of them, to know that here was the woman they wanted to spend the rest of their lives with.

  His only concern—one he nearly pushed out of his thoughts because it was contrary to his own best self-interest—was that, while Abigail was the perfect woman for them, she was also a woman just beginning to truly experience life. She’d only begun to spread her wings, to enjoy the freedom of being an adult, free and unanswerable to anyone.

  She might not agree with his assessment, but Carson Benedict believed she’d been stifled and controlled all of her life by the women who’d raised her. Now, at twenty-four, she’d been free and on her own for only a few very short months.

  Was it fair of them to want to tie her to them when she was just experiencing that freedom for the first time?

  “You look worried, Carson. Is everything all right?”

  The sensation of her small, feminine hand covering his larger male one snapped him back to the moment. Surely, the thoughts he’d just had held merit. He’d talk to Michael, see what his brother thought about the situation. But later.

  Carson met her gaze. The look of concern on her face made him want to ensure she never had to worry about anything ever again.

  “How can things be anything but wonderful, baby? You’re here, with us.” The meal had been eaten, and all Carson wanted now was something sweet to finish the experience off.

  “Supper was good. But now it’s time for dessert.”

  Abby tilted her head to the side. “I’ve perused your cupboards, sir, and they’re bare. What do you propose for dessert?”

  Carson couldn’t resist. He sent her as lascivious a grin as he could muster. “I propose getting you bare so Michael and I can feast on your sweetness.”

  He’d given her his shirt to wear down from the bedroom. Her cheeks heated, but she smiled and then stood. Crossing her arms in front of her, she used her hands and lifted his shirt off, tossing it on the back of her chair. She’d worn nothing beneath that single garment and stood before them, gloriously naked.

  “There’s the first part done. I’ll leave the rest up to the two of you.”

  * * * *

  Abigail loved being with Carson and Michael in the evenings, and she loved spending her days at the bookstore. Neither of the men wanted her to be there alone, which was sweet.

  Michael had offered her the use of the office, but she much preferred using the long counter for her work, instead. And she’d pointed out that he could use that office to work on his latest manuscript while she saw to the bookstore.

  Carson brought her one of the most modern electric typewriters for her use. There were far too many books to catalogue, but she thought she could at least make a note of all the categories of books the store held. And she also planned to type up his manuscript for Michael, rather than have him use a secretary at the university.

  As Abigail rolled up her sleeves and started to organize the bookstore, she could see there’d been some sort of effort on the part of the former owner to arrange the books in just such a way. It seemed to her, as she made notes and examined each shelf, that some of the previous customers had taken a hand to the organization, too, moving books without putting them back in their original spots.

  “We should probably schedule in cleaning out his apartment, too.” Michael grimaced. “I asked the lawyer, after the sale went through. I thought his cousin might like some of his personal effects, but all she was interested in was the money from the sale of the building.”

  Abigail frowned. “Cleaning out a living space is something I’ve had a great deal of recent personal experience with. In a way, it’s like going through the remnants of a life. We can see what there is up there that could be donated.” She cocked her head to the side. “You feel uncomfortable with the idea of going through the man’s personal belongings.”

  “I really am.” He shrugged, and his smile let her know he thought his aversion was a personal foible. “I went up and cleaned out the fridge and scrubbed down the kitchen. I performed the same chore with the bathroom. I figured to use those two rooms, at least for now. I thought that we could think about perhaps adding on a little in the back, make a small kitchen and bathroom for use by the store’s staff and clientele downstairs. Originally, I’d planned to perhaps rent the apartment out to whomever I hired to manage the place.” Then he leaned forward and kissed her. “But you’re going to be too busy sleeping with the boss at the apartment to need your own place.”

  Abigail laughed. She looped her arms around Michael’s neck. “Perhaps, when you build on that kitchen and bath, you can also have them add in a separate entrance to the apartment, and then you can rent it out as an added source of income. Because, sir, I agree with you. Sleeping with the boss is one of the best perks, ever.”

  She knew she was falling and falling hard for Carson and Michael Benedict. She didn’t quite know what to do about that, but there was no hurry, was there? No one was demanding that she identify goals and set up a timetable in order to pursue any relevant objectives.

  Abigail Parker was free and unfettered and had all the time in the world.

  She had no one to answer to but her own conscience. That voice that she used to hear, the one that she’d associated with her mother, had gone silent. She didn’t miss that voice at all because it usually just scolded her for what she was doing wrong.

  It was very nice not to have to listen to a litany of her faults echoing in her own mind.

  She brought her attention back to the moment. She went up on her toes and kissed Michael. “Dr. Benedict, go write your book.”

  He grinned and returned her kiss. “Yes, ma’am. Don’t let me lose track of time in there, please.” He nodded toward the office. “You need to have lunch.”

  “That’s a couple of hours off yet.” Abigail pointed her finger. “Go.”

  “Bossy.”

  Abigail laughed because that one word was said in a tender tone. She had the sense that Michael would need a nudge every now and then. As he admitted just now, he did tend to lose track of time.

  In that way, he and his brother were polar opposites. If she read Carson Benedict correctly, he lived by a timetable that scheduled every minute of his business day. Much like her mother had, but her mother even tended to schedule those minutes that should have been free time.

  A small epiphany caused Abigail to pause on her way back to the front counter. Vanessa Parker didn’t believe in free time. A wave of sadness washed over her. Not for herself and the moments she and her mother had never shared, so much, but just for her mother. How many wonderful experiences could Vanessa have enjoyed if she’d just relaxed a little?

  Abigail thought of the joy, the excitement, the passion she had experienced in the last few days. All things she never would have known if she’d closed herself up the way her mother had—the way, perhaps, her grandmother had raised her own daughter to do, as she herself had done.

  There was no question in Abigail’s mind. Her mother Vanessa was indeed the very image of Maude Parker.

  Thinking that reminded her that she needed to get reading that journal and those letters to learn more about the woman who’d had such an impact on her life. Abigail had brought them with her when she’d left Lusty. Maybe she’d get to them tonight.

  A smile ghosted across her lips. Or maybe not.

  She looked around the store. She had several sections left to organize. She was dusting as she went, but even so, it shouldn’t take more than a day or two. Likely, by the end of the week, the lion’s share of the work would be done. If she didn�
�t get the opportunity to research her grandmother’s past beforehand, she would bring the material to the store with her and read it here.

  The morning sped past. Before she knew it, noon had arrived. She’d been just about to remind Michael about the fact that it was lunchtime when the door opened and Carson entered, carrying a pizza box in one hand and a six-pack of soda in the other. Clearly, Carson Benedict had brought lunch to them.

  “Seeing you looking so sweetly messed behind that counter is giving me some damn arousing ideas, woman.”

  Abigail wasted no time going to him. He set the lunch items on the counter and then wrapped his arms around her.

  His kiss was hot, sexy, and gave her some damn arousing ideas, too.

  He ended their kiss and stroked her bottom lip. “Where’s the professor?”

  “Right here. I actually smelled the pizza.” Michael joined them, an extra stool in his hands.

  Carson sat behind the counter with Abigail while Michael faced them on the other side of it. It was a pleasant surprise, having Carson drop in for lunch. As if reading her mind, he said, “I’ve asked Stella to rework my schedule so that I’m free at least three times a week for lunch with the two of you.”

  “Excellent.” Michael reached for a second slice of pizza. “Did she give you any lip about it?”

  “Wait. Your secretary gives you lip?” Abigail looked from Michael to Carson. Michael laughed while Carson looked just a little embarrassed.

  “She does, indeed. She’s a good friend of Mother’s and apparently changed my diapers when I was a babe. At least, that’s what she likes to tell me. And no, she didn’t give me lip. She only said that she wanted at least one of our lunches to be at the office so she could meet Abigail.”

  “Then that’s what we’ll have to do,” Abigail said. “She sounds like a woman one wouldn’t want to cross.”

  “Stella Wyse is a very efficient secretary, although that term doesn’t describe all she does for me.” Carson looked down at the opened pizza box and chose another slice. “She’s almost frighteningly efficient and, really, more like my personal assistant than a secretary.”

  “Well, that settles it, then.” Abigail grinned. “You say she’s Kate’s friend? I’ll have to see to it she’s mine, as well.”

  “Why Miss Parker, are you staking a claim?”

  Was she? Abigail tilted her head to the side. “The jury is still out on that, Mr. Benedict. Let’s just say, for the moment, that I’m practicing diplomacy with an open mind.”

  “Spoken like a seasoned business negotiator. Are you certain you don’t want to come and help me run the company? I could certainly use the help. I’d be willing to bet some of those good old boys missing Uncle Dalton would trip over themselves to be polite around you.”

  Before she could answer him, the door opened and a man she’d never seen before stepped inside. His eyes widened slightly at the sight of three people staring back at him.

  “Oh, I’m dreadfully sorry. I thought you were open for business.”

  He almost sounded British, but not quite. A moderately sized man who seemed ordinary in every respect, except for the way his eyes darted everywhere, as if he was trying to memorize every detail at once.

  Something about the man must have sparked Michael’s memory. He got to his feet and took a couple of steps toward the newcomer. “We’re not open yet, no. We’ve spoken, I believe, on the telephone. I’m Michael Benedict.”

  “Ah, yes, of course, and, yes, we have. Neil Farnsworth.” The man stepped forward and offered his hand.

  “Mr. Farnsworth was a close friend of Cleveland Arbuckle’s, the late former owner of the store,” Michael said.

  It was on the tip of Abigail’s tongue to suggest that the man might want to have a look around his friend’s apartment. But something about him held her back. Carson got to his feet and stepped around the counter, coming to a stop so that he actually stood between Abigail and Farnsworth.

  “We’re sorry for your loss, Mr. Farnsworth. As you can see, we’re not opened yet. But if you leave your card, we can give you a call when we are.”

  “Sadly, I’ll only be in town a few more days. I wound up coming over earlier than I had booked for annual my vacation with Cleve…” He let the sentence hang as he looked at Michael.

  “That is unfortunate,” Michael said.

  Farnsworth nonetheless handed his card to Carson then nodded to Michael and her. She wasn’t certain why Carson seemed on edge but knew that he was. So she remained quiet as the men shook hands and Farnsworth took his leave.

  “What kind of security do you have in place here, Michael?” Carson asked.

  “I don’t believe there’s a security system of any kind, aside from the double locks on the front door and single lock on the back,” Michael said.

  Carson’s expression turned implacable. “Well, until there is, I don’t feel good about allowing Abigail to be here alone even for a moment.” He looked down at the man’s card. “He’s a travel agent from London, England.”

  “He said on the phone a few weeks ago that he and Arbuckle traveled each year on vacation together.” Michael shrugged. “I wasn’t overly surprised to see him. You don’t like him?”

  “I don’t know him or anything about him. But to me it seemed as if he was casing the joint. It wouldn’t hurt to check him out. I think I’ll talk to Caleb about it. Maybe he’d be willing to look into Mr. Farnsworth for us.”

  Abigail knew that their oldest brother, Caleb, was a Texas Ranger.

  Michael nodded. “I have great respect for your people skills. I’ll look into contacting a security firm first thing after lunch.”

  Abigail nodded when Michael and Carson turned their attention her way. She didn’t know if she had great people skills or not, but the very fact that at least one other person felt unsettled by Farnsworth and was doing something about it set her mind at ease.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Give me what you have on the man, Carson, and I’ll see what I can do.”

  Carson had closed his office door before making this call to Caleb. Now he sat back in his leather chair and read aloud the information from Farnsworth’s business card. He recapped what Michael had told him of the man, as well, recounting the phone conversation the two had shared a couple of weeks back. One thing about his youngest brother—Michael had an exceptional memory for detail. “I appreciate this, Caleb. I can’t even tell you what it is about Farnsworth that set me off today. My gut’s just telling me he’s not trustworthy.”

  “Did Michael have the same reaction?”

  Carson chuckled. “You know our baby brother. The man is as trusting as the day is long.”

  “He is that. I’d worry about him, but I know you keep an eye on him, and always will.” His oldest brother was very well aware that he and Michael hoped to share a wife, the same as Caleb and Jonathan shared their Bernice. Caleb was the head of that family. Jonathan and Michael shared one trait, and that was a kind of laid-back, happy-go-lucky personality tending toward naiveté.

  Carson thought back to the encounter with Farnsworth. She hadn’t said anything exactly, but Carson had noticed Abigail’s body language. Actually, that was the reason he’d left his seat beside her and stood between the stranger and his woman. He’d sensed her discomfort with the man. At first, he thought it was just his inner caveman making a statement, all on its own, but now that he thought about it, he realized the man had made Abigail uncomfortable. “She didn’t say so out loud, but I know Abigail felt ill at ease in Farnsworth’s company, too.”

  “That clinches it, then. Two people I know who had the same reaction to the guy. That’s good enough for me. I have a contact at Scotland Yard who can tell me if Farnsworth has a record or not. In the meantime, I think I’ll do a run on the man who used to own that bookstore—you said his name was Arbuckle?”

  “Cleveland Arbuckle, yes. What are you thinking, brother?”

  “Cop’s instincts, I guess.” Caleb sighed.
Carson could picture his brother sitting back in his own office chair, likely letting his gaze roam out the window to the city of Garland beyond it. “If the man had been, as you put it, ‘casing’ a jewelry store, we wouldn’t have to stretch our imaginations to figure out why. But to case a second-hand bookstore? There has to be a reason for that, but damned if I can come up with one. Are there any rare books for sale within it?”

  “I’ve never heard Michael mention rare books. But knowing him, if there were any on the premises, he would have removed them and likely told me so. Farnsworth said he only had a few days before he had to leave, but if it was a question of rare books, why not just say so? Or, he could come back when the store’s open and retrieve what he’s after. I’m certain that neither Abigail nor Michael would recognize a rare book if it was just sitting on the shelf mixed in with the rest. Well, maybe Michael would, but I don’t know if Abby is as tuned into the literary world.”

  “That’s what I mean. So, unless the guy is just plain weird, there has to be something else going on here. If I take a closer look at him and at Arbuckle, something might pop up. I’ll let you know. Are you going to go home for the weekend?”

  The next day was Friday, and Carson hadn’t broached the subject with Abigail yet. He knew how much she enjoyed being with the family, but he was feeling greedy. An entire weekend, just the three of them, shut up in the apartment for the nighttime, perhaps a little shopping and dining out beforehand—he had an almost visceral need to lavish attention and gifts on her. In fact, doing all he’d just thought sounded like a perfect weekend to him.

  “We haven’t decided for sure, yet.”

  “I can certainly understand why you’d rather stay in Houston, just the three of you. I like your Abigail, by the way.”

  “So do we.”

  Caleb chuckled. “Maybe even more than like her? Don’t blame me. I’m just anticipating Mother. You know she’ll ask, counting on our having talked during the week.”