Something... Talk About in Tx Ch. 02

She sobbed, "Do you? Do you love me, Jonathan?"

His leg moved between hers, spreading her open, and he was rubbing her pussy softly. His finger glided up and down her moist channel, before sliding inward. "I've always loved you, baby." His lips moved across her neck, nipping gently.

"Love me, Jonathan. Please," she begged.

"God, I wish I could. I want you so bad," he lied, his breath tickling her ear.

"You can. I haven't been with him. Not since that last night. I'm yours, honey."

Still lying. Madge had reported seeing her at his place only a week ago. Three hours there. At least she was lying about it, not throwing it in his face. Progress of a sorts.

"I'm afraid," he said softly. "I know you're not the only woman he's been with. I don't know if he's given you anything, any disease."

She tensed up. "How could you think that?"

"You don't use a condom with him, do you?" Jonathan asked.

"I... I don't want to talk about it," she whined, twitching as his finger pumped inside her, his palm pressing down against her sensitive clit in waves.

"I can't be with you until I know you're clean."

"But we've been doing it for a year, with no problems."

Thanks for reminding me. Slut. "I was checked. I'm clean. It's not fair to risk the lives of both our children's parents. He's fucking other women. Who knows what diseases they may have."

"He wouldn't do that. He loves me."

"You love me, and you did it," Jonathan reminded her.

Her hips were driving up against his hand, and he could feel her getting close, he backed off, rubbing her gently.

She groaned her need. "I'm your wife, Jonathan. Make love to me. Fuck me. Fuck me, honey."

He pulled her close, hugging her. "How I wish I could, baby. Not until I know you're clean and done seeing him."

* * *

The magazines started showing up. Ms. Cosmo. Good Housekeeping. Southern Living. Homes and Gardens. All addressed to Heather Patton. A constant reminder.

A large picture had been taped to his front door. Her gravestone. Defaced. Under the words Loving Wife, someone had written, 'Murdered and Replaced with a Cheating Slut."

He'd torn the picture into little shreds, and spent hours scrubbing the gravestone clean of the chalk message, long after every speck of writing was gone. The police found him after being called, and questioned him about his actions, threatening him for vandalism.

He went berserk, screaming and crying, and had to be handcuffed before he calmed enough to explain. They checked his ID, and compared it to the gravestone.

One of the officers looked at him in distaste. "Oh, you. The wife stealer. Yeah, we know you."

Three days later, he was scrubbing her gravestone again.

* * *

"Yes, I got your previous messages. No I can't make a payment. I've lost my job and I don't have the money." Max Schritter hung up, grinning.

Third call in two weeks. Things were definitely going according to plan.

He looked at the picture in his hand, smiling. He'd give it to the boy after work. It should help. It didn't prove anything, but should help sow the seeds of discontent.

He examined the papers scattered across his kitchen table. Sightings, comments made, background. Information retrieved from the bastard's house. A wealth of information.

For Max, it was exciting, fun to have something to do. A new purpose, if only temporary. Righting a wrong. Punishing the guilty. Those two were very, very guilty.

* * *

Ranch's don't shut down on weekends. Jonathan worked, but brought his family with him. He lifted his eldest onto the saddle of the old quarter horse.

"Do you really think that's safe?" Susan asked.

"Been doing it for four generations. Buttercup's a gentle horse. She'll take care of our girl."

Cindy was glowing with pride, her hand petting the horse's mane, leaning over and talking to her.

Jonathan took the bridle in his hand and started walking, watching his first-born, seeing how she kept her balance, pushing on her knee to show her how to sit properly. He thought it was funny how the girls always took to riding so readily.

After a few turns, he handed the reins to his baby girl, and let her smile warm his heart. She was getting the handle of it already, shifting in the old western saddle, gliding along with the horse's movements. He saw the change in the horse, a settling. She knew her handler was comfortable, and that made everything right.

"Your turn?" he asked Susan.

"Me? Are you crazy?" she asked.

"C'mon, Susan. Lighten up a little. Try it."

With only a little goading, he had her up in a saddle, explaining things. She was nervous, far more nervous than Cindy had ever been. His daughter seemed like she'd lived in the saddle already. She steered her horse up along side her mother, talking to her, laughing, until Susan relaxed enough to move along at more than a crawl.

Jonathan slipped his foot into the stirrup, and hauled himself up on the big gray. With a cluck, a pat on the neck, and a press of the heels, he took off at a trot, easing back to a gentle walk when he was beside his two girls.

"Not so bad is it?"

"You do this for hours and hours each day?" Susan asked.

"Sometimes. Every day is different. There's times I rarely get out of the garage."

"You like this?" she asked.

"I love it." He looked over at his daughter, seeing the energy, the desire to do more, trot, gallop, become one with her horse. He chided himself for not getting her riding earlier. They were ranchers. Five generations now. It was in their blood. He'd been a fool to deny it.

* * *

Rich sat up in bed, listening. There, the crying, the sobbing, he thought.

It stopped. He closed his eyes, willing himself to sleep. Unsuccessfully.

When the soft crying started again, he pulled the pillow over his head, trying to block it out.

"I'm sorry," he weeped.

Outside, John took another sip of the tepid coffee. One more, hour and his shift would end. He adjusted the earphones, and listened to the bastard's whining. He pressed the remote control, starting recording three, the sound of a fire burning.

"IT WAS AN ACCIDENT!" he heard, screaming.

He'd give the bastard five minutes and hit him with number one, the miserable crying. That was a tough one. It sometimes gave him goosebumps, and he knew it was Diane on the recording.

* * *

"Jonathan?"

He reached over and put his arm around his wife's waist. "Yes, baby?"

"I... I need some money. I'm almost out of gas."

Jonathan pulled his hand away abruptly. "Get it from lover-boy."

"Please. I have an interview down at Jenkins's hardware."

"I didn't know you were looking for a job," he said.

"I'm worried about our finances. Nancy can start kindergarten this year, and I can work while the kids are in school."

"You're not going to use the money to go see lover-boy, are you?"

"No Jonathan. I promise. It's for gas so I can go on the interview and take care of our children. What if there was an emergency? I'm on empty."

He pulled out his wallet and gave her two twenties. "I trust you. Please don't make a fool out of me."

"I wouldn't do that. I love you."

"You've done it before," Jonathan said coldly.

She bowed her head. Why wouldn't Rich return her calls? Was he really seeing someone else? That picture of the slut from his old office, coming out of his house. Him hugging her. Had he replaced her that quickly? They hadn't spoken in over a week.

"I... I'm sorry."

* * *

Jonathan looked at his paycheck. The 50% he received directly was barely a third of what he'd earned at this old job. It wouldn't even have been that much if Uncle Len hadn't given him a raise when he took over maintenance of all the ranch vehicles. With the money that his Grandfather secretly received, it wasn't much less than he'd earned previously, before the overtime.

Uncle Len was talking about him getting a share of the profits if he'd stay with the ranch. It was only one percent a year, for the first five years, but that could be a nice little bonus. He'd be a partner. A minor one, but there was a certain pride that came with that. He'd never be a majority owner, that would fall on Len's oldest, although so far Will hadn't shown an interest in taking over the family business. It was the way they did things. But his mother got 10% of the business profits, and if he stuck with it, that could be his one day, as well.

He hitched up his pants, thinking he'd have to buy some new ones soon. Second time he had to replace them. He didn't know what size his waist was, but he'd had to punch two new notches in his belt. All this field work was changing him.

He joined the rest of the regular workers in a payday drink, at the Spur and Saddle.

Mikey, the giant of a man with the juvenile name, jabbed him in the ribs. "That filly seems to have her eye on you."

Jonathan looked over at the table where three women were seated. The cute little redhead was definitely giving him the eye.

He got the bartender's attention. "What are they drinkin'?" he asked, with a nod at the table.

"Pitcher of Shiner."

"I'll take one."

The old bartender gave him a nod and a wink and placed the pitcher in front of him.

He walked over to the table, and stood beside the empty chair, offering in hand. "Just so you know, I'm not Greek."

The girls looked at each other in confusion, until a smile popped up on the redhead's face. "And you're bearing gifts?" she asked.

He gave her a wink, put the pitcher on the table, lifted the old one, topped off their glasses, and returned with it to the bar.

The blonde was tapping him on the shoulder a minute later. "You're kidding right? You're not even going to join us for a beer?"

"I've sworn off beer," he explained.

She gave a glance at his glass.

Jonathan grinned. "Haven't sworn off Jim Beam yet."

"So bring your Jim Beam over and keep us company."

It was an enjoyable hour, well spent, with pretty girls. He got two phone numbers out of it, and three hugs, one with a nice little kiss. Maybe Grandpa was right. It was the easiest thing in the world.

* * *

Susan's life was turning to shit. She was the laughing stock of the town, ridiculed and insulted everywhere she turned. She had given up getting her fancy coffees and resorted to Dunkin' Donuts. It was all she could afford. She was waiting at the drive through, when the old man brought her the coffee. He took one look at her, and turned away from the window, walking around the corner for a second, before returning with a smirk on his face. He handed it out the window.

"One Cheater's Special," he said, grinning.

Her hand was trembling in anger when she took it. She noticed the lid was loose. She didn't want to think about what he'd done to it. She recalled the scene she'd made when complaining at McDonald's about the service. She'd been humiliated and laughed out of the store, the manager laughing as loud as any of them.

She glared at the geezer, opened the lid, and poured out the coffee. The bastard smiled. "Maybe you're not as stupid as they say."

* * *

Rich was afraid of plugging his phone in. He never knew when his wife would call again, hounding him, blaming him for her pain and suffering.

Logically, he knew it wasn't her. But when he was woken from his sleep, that whispering voice begging him to end the pain, all logic abandoned him.

He could feel the eyes on him, everywhere he went. Judging him. Blaming him. Condemning him.

It wasn't his fault! Why couldn't they understand? It was an accident!

The little notes were the worst. Tiny reminders, in her careful handwriting. "Remember that little bar..." "Do you still have that dress? The one I wore for our anniversary?" "Cancun, Richie, remember Cancun?" "Why, Richie? Why?"

Yes, he remembered it all. He opened the albums that Susan had hidden away, stealing his memories. How beautiful Heather had looked at the rail of the ship. Hiking through the ruins. God, how he'd loved her. And now she was dead. His fault.

He took another drink from the bottle, feeling the burn down his throat. She'd trusted him, and he'd failed her. He never meant to.

"It was an accident, love," he mumbled, tears falling onto the pictures.

* * *

Max, the Judge, the Colonel and John sat going over their notes. The Colonel had his map out, colored dots showing each encounter over the last month.

"Think he's gonna run soon? Hardly ever out in public anymore," John Krum asked looking over the latest entries.

"He'll break long before she does. Stubborn, she is," Max said. There was a hint of admiration in his statement.

"Maybe we should dial it back, give them both some time to realize how bad they've got it?" the Judge asked.

"Hell no," Max snapped. "She wants to be stubborn, we'll crank it up."

The Judge shook his head. "Judith's not going to be happy about this," he muttered.

The others laughed. "52 years and you're still pussy-whipped?" John teased.

"Least I'm still gettin' some," he said. "How's Rosie doing?"

"Alright, enough," the Colonel said. "We got some calls to make. Take it up a notch." Poor bastards.

* * *

Susan wiped her face in shock. That old woman had spit on her! Spit in her face!

She was sitting outside the coffee shop, where they used to meet. It has been almost two weeks since she'd heard from him. She'd even gotten up the courage to go to his house, but he hadn't answered her knock. His car was there, he must have been around. She used her key and opened the door, but it was chained.

"Rich?" she'd called out. "Rich, honey? It's me."

No reply. The place had a sour smell to it. It looked dark. Maybe he was gone. Gone with that slut from the picture. Driving her car. How could he do that to her? What had she done wrong?

She'd strolled down memory lane, going back to their coffee shop. Where they'd had those long wonderful chats. She'd been sitting there, remembering his voice, his touch. Lost in her recollections.

"Tramp," the woman had hissed, walking by on the sidewalk, just beyond the railing surrounding the drinking area. Susan had looked up just in time to feel the spittle land on her face.

She had been in shock. She heard the whispers around her. The open laughter. She wiped her face with her napkin, tears trailing down her cheeks.

How had her life turned to shit so quickly? She'd had it all. A loving family, a good man, a young love. Great sex. Now? All she had were memories and the hate of everyone she knew. It wasn't fair. What had she done wrong? She couldn't help it. She never had wanted it, never sought it out. It was love. Undeniable. It wasn't her fault.

She looked up when a college aged kid sat down across from her. He grinned, cheekily. "Pretty lady like you shouldn't be crying. What do you say I buy you a drink?"

She shook her head. "No thanks, I'm married."

He shrugged. "Never heard that stopped you before. C'mon, we'll get a drink or two, have a little fun. You're sure pretty."

Fun? Is that all she was now? "Please, leave me alone," she said.

He stood and leaned over. "You change your mind, we'll be over at the Spur and Saddle. You ever been with three guys? We'll keep you going all night."

"LEAVE ME ALONE!" she shrieked at him.

"Jeez, lady! Don't have a cow. Just figured a party girl might like to party. No hard feelings, alright?"

She lowered her face into her hands, and didn't fight the tears.

* * *

Jonathan watched his grandfather place the rope in his son's hands. Showing him how to hold the loop open, how far down to hold the two ropes parallel, a foot or so from the honda, the eye of the lariat. Explaining how to coil it properly, how to hold your off hand. The pole sticking up out of the bale of hay was their target.

It was his third try, swinging the rope at his side, then over his head, learning the timing before casting his arm forward quickly, the loop maintaining its shape at it fell over the pole.

Both he and Susan clapped in appreciation, as did Cindy. Little Nancy was too busy rolling around with Grandpa's old work dog Blue, a 12 year old blue heeler. The ranch standard, he never remembered his grandfather not having at least one. They were working dogs, and lived out doors, but he had a soft spot for the suckers, and when they started limping, getting up slowly and awkwardly after setting a spell, he didn't put them down.

No, he couldn't do that. They were his friends, and nobody could ever say he wasn't loyal. They moved indoors, got old fat and spoiled. Lived their days out with their one master. Eager for the lightest touch, a single word of praise. Always at his side. Their faithfulness rewarded.

Grandpa reached down and squeezed Joey's shoulder. Jonathan remembered that touch. How good it made him feel.

"Sloppy, but it's a start."

As close to praise as he'd ever be likely to receive. One day he'd learn to treasure it.

He felt Susan lean against him, and he put his arm around her shoulders. "He's good with kids. I... I never would have expected that," she said softly.

"He always was. Some of the best days of my life were here, with him and Dad."

"We had some great times, didn't we?" she said, her arm reaching around his waist. It was so nice, together as a family, working with the kids, enjoying being outdoors.

"We did."

"It's not too late, is it? To have more. As a family. As a husband and wife."

He shrugged. "I don't know, Susan. I honestly don't know."

* * *

Rich stood in the reception area, pleading with the woman sitting there.

"Please, I have to see her. She must have some time in her schedule."

The silver haired woman made a show of checking the calendar. "I'm sorry, Mr. Patton. Dr. Schaeffer is booked solid. Maybe next week... oh, I'm sorry, she's on vacation next week. Perhaps the week after that. You really should call ahead."

"I've tried! You have to get me in. I... I don't know what I'm going to do."

"I'm sorry, sir. That won't be possible for at least two weeks. Would you like to schedule an appointment for then? I can put you down for Thursday, at 3:30, week after next."

"Five minutes. That's all I need. Five minutes. Can she at least renew my prescriptions?"

"She's very busy today, trying to get ready for her vacation. Why don't you go home, and I'll talk to her when I can. We'll give you a call if she can squeeze you in tomorrow, before she leaves."

Rich, nodded slowly, and turned to walk out the door, hunched over in defeat.

Slink away, you filthy wife stealer, Ellen thought. She picked up the phone and called in the contact.

* * *

Susan hung up the phone. She didn't know why she even tried. All she got was a busy signal anymore. He couldn't be on the phone that much.

Where is he, now that I need him? she thought.

She'd sacrificed so much to help him. Her time, her fidelity, her family, maybe even her marriage. She had come running any time he called, now he was ignoring her. It wasn't fair.

What Susan didn't know was that it was a simple matter to block her calls. The last time John Krum was in the bastard's house, he picked up the phone, dialed #60, and maneuvered the menues until both her home phone and cell-phone numbers were blocked. Jonathan had done the same thing to their home phone, and her cell-phone, blocking the bastard's incoming calls.

It would be a cold day in hell, before they'd be calling each other on those phones.

* * *

Jonathan jerked the reins to the side, heading off the stubborn old cow. He looked for some reason she'd shied away from the gate, instead of following the rest of the herd to the new pasture.

She turned, and looked to be headed for the scrub, when Vincent, his cattle dog, nipped at her foreleg, turning her. He saw the tentative shifting of weight, and figured she might have an injury.