Part Four

It was the best Christmas of my whole life. Having Frenchie there with me, knowing she loved me as wildly as I loved her - well, it's difficult to even put into words how that made me feel. It's kinda like when you were a kid at Christmas and opened a package that held the one thing you wanted most in the whole world. Frenchie was that thing, that incredible gift I'd always wanted, and here she was, in my world and in my heart. I found myself just sitting, looking at her several times, unable to even say a word.

Of course, Terry and Mark found this hilariously funny and they both teased me about it endlessly and rudely. No stern warning to bugger off persuaded them to leave me alone. No threats of mayhem or manure shoveling duty in the cow barn worked. They found me entertaining, and I have to admit, I probably was pretty ridiculous. So sue me.

 

Russell was following me around like a new puppy. I couldn't even go to the bathroom without him following me. I threatened him with dire consequences the third or fourth time I emerged from answering Nature's call to find him dithering back and forth from one foot to the other, waiting for me. "Russell, I just went to pee - for God's sake, don't you have anything else to do?"

He looked surprised that I raised my voice. "Well - uh - no, actually, I don't. And I wanted to be with you, honey."

I gave him the fish eye, arms folded across my chest belligerently. "Honey? Next you'll be calling me 'bunnytoes' or 'sweetie pie' - I might just gag, Rusty - what IS it with you?"

"What d'you mean?" He still had that look of affronted innocence on his face. I guess I never realized someone so butch could be so stupidly besotted. Granted, it was nice to be the object of that, except when it came to being literally hounded by the person in that condition.

"I mean," I explained patiently, "that I can pee by myself. Heck, I can even - under duress - crap without your help, not that you needed to know that. So stop following me around - give me some room here, Russ!"

Of course, he didn't get it. I could almost hear the "whoosh" as my meaning flew right over his head without passing through his brain on the way out into Neverland. "So - you're mad at me?"

I nodded, figuring that might at least give me some breathing space. "Yeah, I'm mad at you - now go bug somebody else for awhile, I need to be alone."

He drew himself up, gave me a look of wounded innocence and said in this little hurt voice, "Okay - I just wanted to be with you - Frenchie - I love you, ya know."

"God! Will you listen to yourself?" I exploded. "You sound like a pathetic little child - and I don't want a child-man, Russell, I want that big, potty-mouthed, self-assured, arrogant arsehole I fell in love with - not some pansy whose lower lip trembles when I raise my voice at him!"

"Well," he finally managed after an interval of shocked silence, "well - I'll, um, just go outdoors and see if Terry needs any help, uh, doing anything - see you later, Frenchie." And he walked past me, hands jammed in the pockets of his worn out old riding britches. I suppose he did that so he wouldn't be tempted to touch me as he went by - I know him pretty well.

When he had gone, shutting the door very softly behind him, I heaved a guilty sigh and went over to his parents' house. I needed to help his mum bake cookies or something - I needed female companionship. I hated to shout at him, but Gawd - he just was driving me up the wall with the companionship bit!

Halfway to the other house, I pulled up, stopping short in the middle of the walkway. What, it suddenly occurred to me, would he be like if we got married? If he was this bad now - wouldn't he be twice as bad after we became a married couple?

"Oh, fuck me."

Terry's amused voice interrupted my reverie, "Sorry, luv - don't think Russ would much like it if I took you up on that invitation."

I smiled at the other Crowe brother, "No, I don't suppose he would - but tell me, Terry, when he's brought women here before, the ones he was serious about, did he follow them around like a bloodhound on a trail?"

Terry gave me a funny look, then understanding dawned over his face and he chuckled. "Well - he hasn't brought that many sheilas here, mind you, Jen - but no, I can't say I've ever seen him act around any woman the way he does about you. Gettin' on your nerves, is he?"

I nodded. "It's flattering as hell, Terry - but I'm so used to doing for myself, living alone except for my dog and the housekeeper - I'm not sure I'm cut out for having a man permanently attached to my ankle."

"Kinda a reverse ball and chain, is it?"

I nodded in answer to Terry's question.

"Shall I have a heart to heart with him?"

"You actually would? I mean - wouldn't he take exception to that?" I couldn't see Russell accepting advice from anybody, even his older brother whom he loved dearly. After all, I'd seen them argue a couple of times since I'd been there - to say they turned the air blue with their language and temper was an understatement - and that had been over something relatively minor.

"Of course he would, but I can still knock him on his arse, not that he'll admit it."

"Well - only if you promise not to get into a physical altercation with him - I'd hate to have you two actually exchange blows over this. And I'm used to fighting my own battles - it's just that - well - he's worn me down, Terry."

"He has a way about him, doesn't he?" Terry asked, laughing. "Never you mind - I'll track him down and see what he has to say for himself. He's such a bloody idiot about women, y'know - but don't tell him I said that."

I put on a blank expression, "Said what?" We grinned at one another and Terry walked on down toward the stables, which must be where the younger Crowe sibling was attempting to keep out of my way.

I was grooming Honey when Terry came in. "Hey," I said glumly, brushing out the long black tail I had a grip of.

"Hey," he said back and planted himself outside the box stall, looking over the door at what I was doing.

This is never good. When Terry just stands still and looks it usually means he wants to voice an opinion. Usually he's too busy to be bothered and he likes it that way. "What?" I asked when the silence had stretched out for several minutes. I knew it was going to be something I didn't care for.

"I saw Jen on the way over to Mum's house."

I ran the curry comb over Honey's glossy rump. "Yeah, and?" Definitely didn't like it already.

"She's not happy, Russ."

Sweep sweep of the comb. Swish swish of Honey's tail.

"I said she's not happy, Russ," he repeated when I didn't stop or look up or answer him.

"I heard you," I said in a low voice, and dropped the comb into the tack box. I bent down and shut the lid, flipped the latch and picked it up by the handle. "Excuse me, you're blocking the gate," I told him.

He stepped aside and I walked out, put the tack box in its place and washed my hands in the cast iron sink. The whole time, Terry just stood by Honey's stall and watched me. I dried my hands on the old blue bit of toweling that hung on a nail. I sighed. This wasn't going to go away. I turned to look at him. "Not happy? And she told you this herself?"

"Actually, no - but I can read her mood pretty well by now - and the sheila's unhappy, Russ - you're following her around too much, treading right on her heels, mate. I think you'd best. . ."

That was all he got out because my fist connected with his jaw right about then and I knocked him on his ass. He landed in a pile of hay, sending up a cloud of chaff, bits of hay and dust that had us both coughing, but I have to hand it to him, he didn't stay down long. He was up and I was down on MY ass so fast I just stared up at him in shock.

For about ten seconds.

Then things got serious.

We were talking over coffee and cake when the back door slammed. Mrs. Crowe looked up, over my shoulder since the back door was behind me, and her eyes widened.

"Tell me it's not Russell with a black eye," I said to her.

"It's not - well, not precisely," she hedged.

I sighed. "Okay, I'm going to look - but I don't really want to see...fucking shit! Both of you?"

Terry and Russell stood just inside the kitchen door, both of them covered in dust and blood and bits of hay. Russell had a fast-swelling eye, a bruise on the left side of his face and skinned knuckles. Terry had a black eye on the left, a bruise on his forehead, one on his right jaw and equally skinned knuckles. They both had bloody noses.

"Jesus Christ," I said into the silence.

"Mum," Terry spoke first, "We got any of those quick ice pack things? I, um, hurt my eye."

"Yeah," put in my Knight in Shining Armor, "he hit it on something hard." And he lifted his right hand to show off his bloody knuckles. Both of the fools grinned like it was something to be proud of, some macho pissing contest they had both won.

Their mother just sighed and got up to hunt for ice packs in the fridge. I fixed Russell with a look that had his grin slowly fading.

"You proud of yourself?" I asked him, "Feeling like a big macho stud now cause you two had fisticuffs in the barn?"

"Fisticuffs?" he echoed me in a mocking tone. "I knocked the shit out of him."

"I hit you pretty fuckin' hard, too, mate," Terry chimed in. He was also grinning.

I wanted to knock their heads together. Why had I ever mentioned anything to Terry? He was as bad or worse than Rusty. "Give me strength!" I said, eyes turned towards Heaven, and before anybody could say anything else, I was out the door and walking swiftly down to Russell's house.

I wondered if I could pack my stuff and get a plane out within the hour. And there came Mark, wandering up from God knows where. I grabbed his arm, whipped him around and dragged him after me, "I need your help," I informed him.

"Uh - sure, Jen - anything you want," he panted, trying to keep up with me. He glanced back over his shoulder when the door slammed behind us. "Er, Jen - something happen between you and Russell?"

"Why," I asked, not looking back, "Is he following us?"

"At a dead run," he answered.

"Good, then he'll love this," I said, shoving Mark in the door of Russell's house ahead of me. I looked out at Russell, grinned real big, and shut the door in his face, turning the deadbolt as he put his hand on the doorknob. "Stay the fuck away from me," I said to him through the glass.

"Jesus Christ," Mark commented.

"No, just Rusty Crowe on a rampage," I corrected him. "Now - I am leaving - would you arrange for me to get a flight home today - as soon as possible?"

Now I had Mark gaping at me like a stunned mullet and Rusty banging on the door and yelling at me to open up. I threw my hands up and marched into the bedroom where I began throwing my stuff into my suitcase. "Mark - just get me a flight and don't interfere."

I didn't hear anything so I imagined he was doing just that. When I heard footsteps come into the room behind me, I assumed it was him come to tell me about my arrangements. "So - what time's my plane and do we have time to get to the airport?"

"You're not going anywhere," Russell said in this deadly soft voice.

"Fuck me," I commented and turned to face him. "And that wasn't an invitation."

We stood eye to eye there in his bedroom. I heard the outer door shut and assumed Mark was beating a hasty retreat. "I take it that was Dumbrell running for his life?"

"It was," he answered. "And you're not going anywhere."

"So you mentioned. I take it you're going to keep me from it?"

"Don't tempt me - I've lost my temper once already today, Frenchie - and while I don't want to do that with you, I will fight with you if you want me to."

"You'd actually hit me?" I was aghast.

He waved a skinned hand impatiently, "Don't be ridiculous - of course I wouldn't fucking hit you - Jesus, Frenchie - I love you, woman! Don't you realize what that means?"

I processed his tone of voice as well as his words. There was anger, yes, but also an undertone, a note of desperation or - hurt? - there too. I tamped down my urge to reassure him. "No, what does that mean? Does it mean you can bully me? Drive me to distraction following me around like a little lapdog?"

"Lapdog?" he echoed me, then raised his voice and repeated it, "Lap-fucking-dog!?!?" He took a step and closed the distance between us to stand so close his chest brushed me when he took in a big breath. "Frenchie - I'm nobody's lapdog, least of all yours."

Gaping up at him, feeling about six years old, I went for the "you're not the boss of me" moment and answered him right back, "Oh, yeah?"

His eyes flashed silver. I swear his hair stood on end - I know mine did - and he put a hand on each of my upper arms. My mouth dropped open and I fleetingly thought to myself, "Uh-oh, went too far with the lapdog analogy." Instead of shaking me like I thought he might, he tipped me backwards onto the bed, sweeping my open suitcase onto the floor where it landed, spilling clothes and toiletries everywhere.

"Lapdog - no fuckin' way - I'm your man and don't you bloody forget it," he informed me in the deadliest, softest voice I've ever heard come out of his mouth. It went straight through me to my pussy and I was so wet for him so instantly I couldn't believe it. I swear he could smell it on me because his nostrils flared and he got a knowing look on his face just before he kissed me. It was a brutal, hot, breath-stealing kiss, and through it all, we were ripping at each other's clothing until we ended up naked and panting, staring at one another with our faces only inches apart.

Russell was crouched over me, holding my hands flat on the bed, one on either side of my face. He kneed my legs apart, lowered his body between them, and shoved his cock into me with so much force we both grunted. "Now," he whispered, his breath puffing hot across my face, "this is how I feel about you and it's nothing to do with being your pet, luv." He thrust as deep as he could and then rotated his hips, trying to go deeper still.

When I tried to free my hands, he just laughed harshly and held them down with a little more force. "No ya don't - this is me showing you something - this is me marking you, Frenchie - you cannot just walk away from me - not ever again," he panted, drawing almost out of me then slamming home with equal force. "Never," he repeated, and drew out, slammed back. "Never again," and he set about fucking me as seriously as I've ever been done - neither of us closing our eyes or looking away, even when my anger totally faded in the face of what he was making me feel. Even when we both tensed and yelled our lungs out with the force of our almost mutual orgasms. Only when he let go of my hands so I could wrap my arms around his sweaty body, only when he rested his damp curly head on my heaving breasts, only then did he say in this heart-squeezing soft voice, "Frenchie - don't ever scare me like that again - I love you so much - I can't live if you go."

I dragged my fingers through his hair and kissed his forehead. "Rusty - I won't go - I can't live without you either. God help me."

"God help us both," he said after a bit, and broke into his giggling laugh.

I joined him after a brief, startled moment. We ended up laughing so hard we rolled onto the floor and lay there in a tangle of naked limbs, my clothes and the ruined bed linens. After awhile, he climbed on me again, but this time it was a slow, tender love-making and the climax had us both sobbing. We slept after that - in the bed, not on the floor.

So much for my attempt to flee. Maybe I could get used to having him dog my every step, I thought before I feel deeply and profoundly asleep.

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