Best Laid Plans Page 12

  Rush knew he was trying to distract himself from the announcement his… his fiancé was about to make.

  “What is it, Thaddeus?” Mr. Jack was giving his son the hairy eyeball, and Rush would have backed away, mumbling something about coming back later, but Tadder grabbed his hand and pulled him forward.

  “We’re getting married!”

  “Excuse me?” Mr. Jack blinked and hit his ear. “It sounded as if you just said—”

  “We’re getting married!” Tadder began to singsong, “We’re getting married! We’re getting married! We’re….”

  “Don’t you jump up on the bed.” They could see that was exactly what Tadder was about to do. Well, except for JT, whose head was still under the pillow.

  The order halted Tadder, and he grinned, but there was nothing repentant about it. “We’re getting married!”

  “I guess it’s safe to assume you’re getting married, son?”

  “Yes, yes, yes!” He pulled Rush into his arms and began to waltz around the room, singing softly in his ear about loving him for a million years or more.

  “So who’s the lucky person?”

  Tadder just grinned and kissed Rush on the nose. “Rush, Daddy. I asked him, and he said yes.”

  Rush stood on tiptoe and peeked at Mr. Jack over Tadder’s shoulder. “Do… do you mind, Mr. Jack? Do you object?”

  “If I say yes?”

  “Daddy! Don’t tease him! Daddy doesn’t object at all, Rushboy. Do you, Daddy?” Tadder was pretty good with the hairy eyeball thing too, Rush noticed.

  “I’m sorry, Rushboy.” Mr. Jack grinned, ignoring Tadder’s sudden frown, and extended his hand. Rush approached and took it hesitantly. Mr. Jack was a big man, and if he really was unhappy about the news and was going to crush Rush’s hand in a surreptitious display of disapproval, Rush would be unable to use that hand for days, weeks, maybe even months, but Mr. Jack just squeezed it lightly and patted it. “Tad is right. I don’t have any objections. I think the two of you will make a perfect couple, and I’m very happy for you both.”

  “Um… JT?”

  “I’m happy too,” he mumbled from under the pillow.

  “Would you like to see my ring?”

  “Yes, show Daddy the ring.”

  “It’s… um… very nice.”

  Rush held it up and admired it. “It is, isn’t it?” He couldn’t seem to stop admiring it; he’d never thought he would be wearing a ring; he never thought anyone would want to give him one. “Tadder picked it out all by himself and figured how to make sure it was my size. He’s so smart. What do you think, JT?”

  “He’s smart,” he mumbled again, still from under the pillow.

  “No, my ring!”

  “Pretty.”

  “But you didn’t see it.”

  JT raised a corner of the pillow, peered out blearily, and stuck his head back under it again. “Pretty.”

  “Now, if you two will get out of here….” Mr. Jack glanced pointedly at the alarm clock on the bedside table. “Some of us like to sleep in on Saturday morning.”

  “You’ve got to get up soon anyway, Daddy. Home Depot opens in about half an hour and you’ll want breakfast before you go. Rush and I will make breakfast. Oh, don’t say anything to Becca and Jan. We want to surprise them.” He grabbed Rush again and danced him toward the door.

  “I’ll bring you a can of Coke, JT,” Rush called. JT mumbled something, and he laughed breathlessly. Once the door was closed behind them, he said, “They really don’t mind, do they?”

  “Why should they? You’re smart, you’re a hard worker, and….”

  Rush knew Tadder was deliberately drawing out the moment. “And?”

  “And they love you almost as much as I do.” He frowned again. “Let’s get breakfast started.”

  “Tadder, what’s wrong? Are you… are you having second thoughts?” He clenched his fingers to prevent Tadder from removing his ring. It was his, and he was never giving it back.

  Tadder smacked the back of his head and scowled at him, and he sighed in relief. He didn’t think Tadder would do that if he had changed his mind.

  “Well, if you’re not having second thoughts, what’s causing these lines between your brows?” Rush smoothed his thumb over them.

  “Daddy called you Rushboy.”

  “So? He and JT have always done that. Everybody does.”

  “Yeah, well… I don’t like it. You’re mine, and that’s my name for you.”

  “Oh, Tadder-my-Tad. Do you know what I hear when Mr. Jack or JT or anyone else calls me Rushboy? People who… who like me and consider me a… a nice person.”

  “You are a nice person.” Tadder scowled, and it should have made him look like a spoiled, sulky little boy, but for some reason, it struck Rush as arousing, and he burrowed his fingers into Tadder’s thick, silky hair, rose up on tiptoe, and kissed him. The kiss was hot and wet and passionate, the kind of kiss Rush would have thought twice about bestowing on his boyfriend in the kitchen, but that was before his boyfriend had become his fiancé.

  Tadder was hard and shaking by the time Rush slowly drew back, and Rush was proud of himself for reducing such a… a nice guy to a shivering mass.

  “And….” Tadder caught his breath and licked his lips. “And what do you hear when I call you Rushboy?”

  “I hear someone who loves me and wants me in his life forever.”

  “I do, you know, Rush,” Tadder said solemnly. “Forever and ever and ever and…” His face lit up, and his eyes lit up. “We’re…”

  Rush rose up on tiptoe again, this time licking Tadder’s lips himself, and finished for him, “… getting married!”

  Yes, they were!

  Interlude – Could You Be the One

  Chapter 1

  BILLY BOB BOLT, who’d been called Ragg Mopp by the men he worked with for the past six years, woke with a start and listened carefully, but the house was quiet. He groaned under his breath. It looked like it was going to be another one of those nights. They’d been happening every time he spent the night in the big house. He’d fall asleep after making love with his girlfriend—although not before cuddling. He was a good boyfriend, after all. Then, a couple of hours later, he’d wake from a dream he could never remember. And he’d stay awake pretty much the rest of the night. He wished he could figure what those darned dreams were about.

  Who’d have thought 2001 could be such a weird year?

  He swung his legs off the bed, propped his elbows on his thighs, and rested his chin on his palms. Frank Sinatra once sang about twenty-one being a very good year. It sure hadn’t started that way for him.

  The weirdness began early in the spring, a few weeks after his twenty-first birthday in March, when he’d had a confrontation with his momma and daddy—well, mostly his daddy—because Mopp had grown tired of the Reverend Sales constantly preaching they were all going to hell, even his tiny nieces and nephews, and he’d been foolish enough to say something about it out loud.

  “They’ve got to be born again,” Daddy stated flatly. “They’ve got to find Jesus.”

  “Would Jesus really mind if they got a little bit older before they went looking for him?”

  Daddy had slapped him so hard he’d knocked Mopp off his feet and left a bruise on his cheek. “Get out of my house, and don’t you come back until you can speak of the good Lord with more respect.”

  Mopp figured he was lucky Daddy let him pack some things. He tossed his duffel into his battered old Jeep and drove to the latest jobsite.

  He’d given his paycheck to Momma, as he always did, but maybe Mr. Jackson, his boss, would give him an advance on his salary so he could rent a room.

  Of course Mr. Jackson had noticed the bruise. “What happened, Mopp?”

  The whole sad story came pouring out.

  M
r. Jackson sighed. “Your Reverend Sales sounds just like my daddy. That’s why I don’t go to his church anymore. You’re gonna need a place to stay, right? There’s an empty room in the bunkhouse.”

  Mopp knew it wasn’t really a bunkhouse, the kind with cowboys and horses and cattle, but that was what everyone called the building that sat at the edge of Mr. Jackson’s property.

  “That is, if you’re interested?”

  If he was interested? Mopp bit his lip to keep from crying or throwing himself into his boss’s arms. He’d been terrified he’d wind up sleeping on the streets. “Thank you, Mr. Jackson. I promise you won’t be sorry.”

  “I know I won’t, Mopp. You’re a good man. Do you need any help moving your things?”

  “I don’t have much.” Even if Daddy had given him more time to pack, Mopp really didn’t have a lot of earthly possessions, something else their church didn’t believe in.

  “Take the day off—with pay, I won’t see my men abused—and get yourself settled in.”

  “Thank you,” he said again and gave Mr. Jackson a crooked smile. “I’ll be in early tomorrow. But… uh… Mr. Jackson? Could I ask for an advance? I give my paycheck to Momma, and…”

  “And you don’t have any cash.” Mr. Jackson patted his shoulder. “Go see Tom. He’s in the office at the ranch. He’ll take care of you.”

  “Mr. Jackson, if there’s ever anything I can do for you, all you have to do is ask.”

  “Thank you, Mopp.”

  Mopp gave him a smile and jogged to where he’d parked his Jeep.

  He drove the dilapidated vehicle to Mr. Jackson’s house. It was in a gated community, and he was afraid the guards at the gate wouldn’t let him in, but Mr. Jackson had called ahead. Mopp knew where the house was, having been there any number of times for the Friday afternoon barbecues, and he turned the Jeep into the drive and let it roll to the back.

  Mopp switched off the engine, then got his duffel bag and walked to the gate in the stockade fence that bordered the property. He could hear the roar of a lawn mower.

  He opened the gate and let himself into the backyard. A big blond man, shirtless and in shorts and work boots, was riding a mower over the huge lawn.

  Mopp stood there, uncertain as to what to do. It would have been rude to just ignore him, but the sound of the mower blocked out everything else. And the man might not be happy to be observed without his knowledge.

  The man reached the end of the yard and turned the mower with such ease that Mopp had to smile. And then he held his breath, knowing he’d been spotted. He offered a small wave and a half-hearted smile.

  The man turned off the mower, dismounted, and crossed to a lawn chair that had a shirt draped over it. “Yes? Can I help you?” He shrugged into the shirt.

  “I’m Ragg Mopp.” Mopp had to look way up. He was tempted to ask the man how the weather was up there—he had to be at least six foot six, making Mopp feel like a midget, even though he was five nine, not a shabby height in his family.

  “Well, what can I do for you, Ragg Mopp?”

  Mopp realized he’d been staring, and now he blushed. “I work for Mr. Jackson. He said it would be okay for me to stay in the bunkhouse.”

  “It’s right over there.” He pointed it out. “The door’s unlocked. My name’s Josh Cooper. I’m a friend of Tom Weber.”

  Mopp had met Mr. Tom a few times. He was his boss’s boyfriend, and although the church said they were going to hell… along with Mopp’s nieces and nephews, he guessed—and probably himself as well—they were better than some of the men he knew back home, so he kept his thoughts strictly away from what they might do in bed. As far as he could see, it was none of his business.

  Just like whether or not Mr. Cooper was gay.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Cooper. Um…” Mopp tightened his grip on his duffel. “I’ll just get out of your way.”

  “Ragg Mopp.”

  “Yes, sir?”

  Mr. Cooper grimaced, and Mopp wondered what he’d done wrong, but all Mr. Cooper said was, “Dinner is at six. Just let yourself in the back door. That opens into the kitchen, and whoever is there will show you to the dining room.”

  “Thank you.” Mopp headed toward the bunkhouse and let himself in. It didn’t take him long to find an empty room, and he stepped in cautiously. “Whoa!”

  The room was much larger than the one he’d had at home, and much nicer. Since it was at the end of the bunkhouse, it had two nice-size windows. A twin-size bed was against one wall, and on the wall opposite the bed was a dresser that held a nineteen-inch TV. One door opened into a closet roomy enough to hold all his work clothes, while another led into a three-piece bathroom. There was also a small kitchenette that contained a tiny sink, fridge, and microwave, and cabinets where he could stock snacks and some nonperishables if he wasn’t in the mood to dine out.

  It didn’t take him long to unpack, but while he did, he wondered how long this room would be his.

  ***

  AT FIVE MINUTES to six, Mopp washed his hands and face, made sure he looked presentable, then left the bunkhouse and crossed the yard to the kitchen door. In spite of what Mr. Cooper had said, he tapped on the door.

  “Hi. You must be Mopp.” The man who opened it was probably a few years older than him.

  “I am.” He held out his hand.

  “I’m Rush.” Rush studied his face for a minute but didn’t say anything about the bruise that had turned purple. He took Mopp’s hand and shook it. “Come in. Becca, this is Mopp.”

  “Hi, Mopp.” She was tall, blonde, and beautiful, and Mopp would have sold his soul to date her, but he knew she was Mr. Jackson’s daughter. And anyway, he’d never stand a chance with a woman like her. She handed Rush a bowl filled with mashed potatoes. “Do me a favor and tell that brother of mine to get his butt in here. If he wants to eat, he can help.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She snorted and held up a number of bottles of salad dressing. “If you wouldn’t mind?” she asked Mopp.

  “Not at all.”

  “The dining room is this way.”

  Mopp followed Rush down a long hallway. A tall, handsome blond, his relationship to Miss Becca obvious, was coming from the opposite direction.

  “Hey, babe.” He leaned in and kissed Rush, and Mopp turned red. He’d never seen two men kiss before.

  “You’re making Mopp uncomfortable, Tadder,” Rush scolded.

  “Sorry, Mopp.” But it was clear from his grin that he wasn’t.

  Rush shook his head. “Becca wants you in the kitchen.”

  “Aye, aye, matey! Arrr.” He stole another kiss, winked at Mopp, and almost danced down the hallway.

  “I hope his kissing me didn’t disturb you.”

  “No.”

  Rush studied his face. “I’ll tell him to stop.”

  “Please don’t. I’m a guest in your home—”

  “All the more reason for him to behave himself.”

  “I appreciate that, but I’m serious, Rush. I don’t want you to have to… to censor yourselves just because I’m here.”

  “All right. But I’ll still tell him to behave. Meanwhile, don’t pay him any mind. He likes to think every day is Talk Like a Pirate Day.”

  “Um… Rush? Today isn’t September 19.”

  “You’re aware of that?” Rush grinned at him. “Tadder’s going to approve.”

  “Of what?”

  “Mr. Jack bringing home another... new member of the family.”

  “Oh, I’m not family. Mr. Jackson is just being kind to me.” He touched the bruise high on his cheekbone with the back of his hand, almost hitting himself in the eye with Newman’s Own Creamy Balsamic. “Uh… where do you want me to put these bottles?”

  “Anywhere. We’ll pass them around. Just leave the center of the table clea
r for the roast beef.”

  “That’s what we’re having for dinner?”

  “Yes.” Rush patted his shoulder and pointed to a chair. “Why don’t you sit there?”

  “Is it someone’s birthday?” The only time Momma ever made that was for Daddy’s birthday.

  “No. It was Becca’s turn to cook, and that’s what she felt like making.”

  “Oh.” Mopp sat down, trying to look like he was used to having roast beef just because someone felt like cooking it. He also tried to look as though it was commonplace for him to see such a large dining room. Because of the large number of Bolts who still lived at home, the rooms felt tiny and cramped.

  This dining room, though… it had a table that could easily seat sixteen, a buffet, which held a bottle of red wine and a two-liter bottle of Coke, and a china cabinet that pretty much took up an entire wall. In addition, a large potted plant—huge—stood in the corner by the window.

  Only six places were set at the table.

  “We’re a little short of company today. Mr. Josh was called in to work, and Jan’s got a date.”

  Mopp nodded, but before he could ask about who sat in the other chairs, the rest of the family arrived. Miss Becca put a bowl of salad greens at one end of the table, while her brother placed the platter of sliced roast beef in the center.

  Mr. Jackson gestured toward him. “Everyone’s met Mopp?”

  “Yes, Daddy,” Miss Becca and Tad chorused.

  “Yes, Mr. Jack.”

  “Hello again, Billy Bob.” Mr. Tom smiled at him. “Welcome to the ranch.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Tom.” Mopp had rung the back doorbell earlier, and when Mr. Tom had answered, he explained that he’d be staying in the bunkhouse and needed an advance on his salary. Mr. Tom had led him to the office and had given him a hundred dollars.

  “Just let me know if you run short before payday.”

  “Yes, sir.” Mopp thought he was going to cry again. These people were so much nicer than his own family. Well, except for his baby sister. He’d never had that much in his wallet at one time, and he decided he’d leave most of it in the bunkhouse, tucked under the mattress.