Day, Xondra - Menage on the Prairie (Siren Publishing Ménage and More) (5 page)

Under the glow of the lamplight, Joe watched as Maggie undressed, her long flaxen hair trailing down over her bare shoulders.

Standing there, just in her corset and bloomers, she was a vision of loveliness. He was young and naive but she was there to teach him, and through the course of the next two hours she did, in every way possible.

When they had finished, she lay on the bed watching him dress. “So, honest opinion, what did you think of it?”

He guessed
it
meant sex. “It’s something I’ll never forget.”

She laughed. “I don’t s’pose you will. We always remember our first time, even a whore like me.”

Joe sat back on the bed. He couldn’t understand how she had gotten to this place in life. Maggie was attractive, smart, and a great talker. “If you don’t mind me asking, how did you end up here, doing this?”

“Circumstance, you could say. I had me a life once, beyond all this. I had a husband and a baby. Now can you imagine that, me a mother?”

“What happened?” He was more than curious to know.

“My husband.” She looked off to the other side of the room. “He robbed banks. I knew about it, but we never actually talked about his “business,” as he liked to refer to it. And one day, he didn’t come home. He ended up getting himself shot dead, just like a dog.

“I was alone with a baby to raise. We had no money to start with, and no one wanted to help out the widow of a bank robber. A month after, my baby died of consumption, in her sleep.

“After she was buried, I pulled up and left that place, I never
wanted to see it again. There was no reason for me to stay there, all I had left was memories, bad memories, and bad memories can be pressing for a person, especially if you think too much.

“I found my way here. It’s work, I get a bit of money, food, and a roof over my head, and to tell
you the truth, it ain’t half bad.”

Years later, he’d heard that Maggie had gotten herself killed. Some man she’d been messing with didn’t like her line of work, and when she refused to give it up, he killed her in that very same room. Joe remembered her story and he hoped wherever she was, that she had found some sort of peace.

Chapter Four

Entering the mercantile, Ryan had one thing on his mind.

Mrs. Roswell was quick to get to her feet when she spotted him. She’d been sitting there behind the counter, awaiting her next customer.

Ryan despised the woman. She was the one who had perpetuated the rumors about him and Joe; she was the one who had brought unwanted attention to them.

“Can I help you?” asked Mrs. Roswell, her tone abrupt and to the point.

Ryan couldn’t force himself to address her properly. “I’m looking for a gift, a wedding gift.”

“Well now,” she replied, saddling up to one counter. “I can’t imagine who would be getting married in this town without my knowledge.” She stopped and waited for him to reply. It was obvious she was seeking information.

Ryan rolled his eyes. “If you must know, Mrs. Roswell, it was Joe. He’s taken a bride, they married this very morning.”

“Joe? You can’t
be serious. Why, I thought—”

“You thought what?” snapped Ryan. “Tell me, Mrs. Roswell, just what do you think? I’m extremely curious to know.”

The woman turned crimson and began fiddling with her hands. “I didn’t mean anything.” Her eyes traced the countertop. “Anyway, it makes no difference to me who that man has married. Let’s get back to business.”

He fought hard not to smile, yet inside he felt triumphant. He’d put the old gossip in her place and it felt damned good.

“We have some very nice things. So my next question is, are you looking for something practical or impractical? Personally, I think impractical is more suitable when it comes to a special occasion such as a wedding.”

For once, he agreed with her.

“I, myself, love this.” Mrs. Roswell presented a small heart-shaped porcelain box. She placed it gently on the counter. It was a delicate looking piece, hand-painted with tiny pale pink roses and blue, flowing ribbon. “It’s a trinket box. And since I assume the bride and groom have rings, it’s the perfect keepsake. They can store their rings in here if needed.” She lifted the lid. “It has a rich, lush interior as you can see.”

Ryan nodded, he’d seen enough. “It’s fine, I’ll take it.”

“If you give me a moment, I’ll wrap it all fancy-like.”

He nodded again. “I can wait. I’ll just look around the store while you do that.”

When she had finished with the wrapping, Mrs. Roswell called to him. He accepted the package and handed her the money. Without further word, he left.

Damn it all to hell! Ryan stood on Main Street in front of the mercantile with a knot in his stomach. Things had been perfect for so long and now he wasn’t sure if he knew his place in all this, or if he even had a place in Joe’s life anymore.

* * * *

He’d been looking for work.

Starving and desperate for anything, Ryan still remembered that day when he had stumbled onto Cottonwood and Joe, and what had led him to that in the beginning.

At fifteen he knew he was different, different from the other boys, and at age eighteen it was apparent to those who knew him. When twenty rolled around, it was apparent that he had to make a move.

“You need to find yourself a girl. Your brother’s been married for two years now. It’s about time you found yourself a potential wife,” stated his father, one night after they had finished supper. “Folks will be wondering about you, Ryan.”

“Leave him alone,” said his mother. “Ryan’s interest just lies elsewhere and there isn’t anything wrong with that.”

“Books,” replied his father, rolling his eyes. “Perhaps if he read less and got out there more to socialize, he’d be attached right now.”

Sitting there, they just talked back and forth, around him, like he wasn’t there.

“There will be lots of time for that, he’s still a boy.”

Ryan accepted the plate of apple pie she placed in front of him muttering a “thanks.”

“He’s a man, Bea. And it’s time he put himself out there. Jiminy Larson’s lass, the youngest one, Rebecca, I know they’re looking to marry her off. She’s decent-looking and respectable.”

“Decent and respectable without an ounce of personality,” said Ryan.

“Personality? Son, that should be the least of your worries, whether or not a girl has personality. What’s important is that she’s got the skills to make you a good wife and hopefully, at some point, a mother to your kids. Personality has no place in it. Rebecca’s a fine young woman and she’ll serve you well. I’ll speak to her father this week.”

“You can speak all you want,” said Ryan, his voice rising in anger. He stood up from the table, pushing his plate of pie aside. “But I won’t marry her and you can’t force me.”

Ryan ran from the house, his father behind him, yelling. But it was no use, his father couldn’t keep up to him, and soon, the man was left behind in the dust.

When he stopped running, he found himself at the edge of the Shawnee River. He stood there on the bank, watching the swirling water rush past him in torrents. It would be easy to just slip below the darkness to let it take him into forever. And for a bit he thought about doing it, just jumping head-on. Would it hurt? There was a strong possibility that it would. He didn’t care for pain, much.

To his left a bird chirped, perching itself on a nearby branch of a crab apple tree. It didn’t budge, but now chirped louder than before as he swiped at it to go away.

“Blasted thing,” he yelled. “Go, I don’t want you here!” Yet the bird, a magnificent blue in color, still sat there looking at him with curiosity while he yelled.

“You really are a stubborn thing, just as stubborn as my father,” explained Ryan. “What would you think about marrying someone you didn’t love?” Ryan paused, then laughed. “Look at me, I’m telling you my problem. As if you could even understand. I must be going crazy.”

The bird chirped again, flying off into the sky.

Ryan looked to the river again, but this time backed away from the edge of the bank. Would he have really gone through with it? He wasn’t sure, but he shivered at the thought.

After another hour passed and night had fallen, he made his way back to the house. Both his parents now sat in front of the fireplace, his mother stitching something while his father just stared into the flames.

“You will marry her,” said his father, his voice calm and collected. “It’ll be a fine wedding, and Rebecca will be a wife you can be proud of.”

His mother looked up from her stitching, flashing him a backward glance from where she sat. She nodded, now agreeing with her husband.

Ryan stood, said nothing, made his way upstairs, and went to bed.

Ryan was ready when dawn made itself known the following morning, and in those early hours, with some food and money he had saved over the years, he slipped out the front door and was gone.

Walking down the road leading out of town, Ryan felt more alone than ever. Never in his life had he fit in. Not with his parents, not with his two other brothers, and not with the other boys who he had attempted to befriend. He was always the outsider, sitting on the side, watching, trying to be a part of the game that was life.

While he walked, he remembered that first time when it was certain in his life, when without a doubt he knew there was something inside of him that most wouldn’t see as being right.

“Hell’s fire and damnation,” the preacher would have yelled at him. “You’ll burn just like the rest down in the pit of hell!” The preacher didn’t actually say this to him, but he imagined he would if he knew his secrets.

He had just turned eighteen and boy, was he ever changing inside. Even with the irony and sadness of the memories from then, he couldn’t help but smile as he thought back to that one summer.

* * * *

The heat that July had been unbearable, and it was a full-time job just keeping the crops irrigated.

“We need to rig some sort of a system and connect it to the river,” explained his father, looking over the vast expanse of fields. “This is lunacy, doing it like this. I’ve hired a new hand to help. He’s your age, Ryan, so I guess I can trust you well enough to show him what needs tending to around here.”

“Yes,” Ryan replied, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Who is he?”

“He’s from over in Rustago. He’ll be around today, and like I said, show him what needs tending to.”

Midmorning, Ryan found himself cleaning the stalls in the barn. He despised the dirty job, but like any other it had to be done.

“Hey.”

Ryan looked up to see a boy, who, like his father had said, was about his own age, standing , hands in trouser pockets, looking at him. Ryan placed the shovel he held to the side. “Hey.”

“Name’s Jason Winters. I was speaking with your father. He told me to seek you out to tell me what to do.” A hand was extended.

“Oh yeah, sure,” replied Ryan, walking over to the stranger who now had a name. He gripped Jason’s hand, and they shook, the shake lingering long after the motion put forth by the two had ceased.

Both stood there, sizing the other up. It was odd, yet Ryan didn’t dare move an inch.

Jason was slightly shorter than him, but blocky, muscular, which showed he was no stranger to hard work. His sandy-blond hair had been cropped short and his dark blue eyes contrasted with his dark, tanned skin.