Chapters 1 23 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16
Hard Acre Farm
Chapter 1
“So I came to a decision,” Frankie Post remarked to his friend Sylvia Goldstein.
“Oh?” she arched a perfectly plucked eyebrow in enquiry. “And what’s that, darling?”
“Well, as you know I can’t keep going to school around here. It’s too expensive; even with my student loans and financial aide I still have to work almost full-time to survive. And that means I have way less time to study, so I might not graduate at all the way I’m going. I needed to do something.”
“Agreed,” his friend replied. “So what did you decide to do?”
He sighed. “I’ve decided to relocate to Minnesota,” he said grimly. Shocked silence. Sylvia gaped at him with her red mouth hanging open. “What?!” she nearly shrieked when she could speak again.
“I got a telephone call from a cousin of mine – actually, she’s only a second cousin, on my dad’s side – and she said that I could live at her house for free. All my rent and board taken care of. She wouldn’t say why she was being so generous, just that she owed it to me for some reason. I’ve thought long and hard about it, and it’s the best solution possible. I can go to school up there much more cheaply, and with free room and board I probably won’t have to work at all. I hate to go, but once I’ve graduated with my Masters I’ll come right back here, I promise.”
Sylvia slowly closed her mouth, shaking her dyed red head slowly. “But darling, how can you want to go live in the wilds of Minnesota?” she asked him.
Frankie chuckled. “It’s Minneapolis, Syl,” he reminded her in amusement. “A fairly large city, not ‘the wilds’. They have the biggest mall in the world there, and lots of cultural events to boot. I’ll be fine.”
“Well I suppose so,” she conceded. “But I’ll miss you terribly, darling, you know I will…”
His face softened. “Yes. And I’ll miss you too, sweetheart. But you’ll keep the home fires burning for me, won’t you? For when I come back?”
“Of course I will, except I’m afraid that you WON’T come back,” she replied unhappily. "Go to Minnesota, decide you love it there, and abandon me forever…”
“Syl, it’s MINNESOTA,” Frankie said. “How the hell could I fall in love with Minnesota? It’s an ice ball there three-fourths of the year round! I cannot live in below zero temperatures for eight months of the year. Not gonna happen.”
She perked up. “That’s true. Very well, then. I’ll help you pack and get ready to go, Frankie. When are they expecting you?”
“In a few weeks. I’ve got time to clear out my apartment and get everything in order with my school before I go. I just wanted to give you plenty of warning.”
“Thank you, darling, I appreciate it. Oh, Frankie, I’m really going to miss you,” she said, hugging him tightly.
He patted her shoulder. “And I’ll miss you too, love; but I’m sure you can find some nice college girls to help you through your grieving period.”
She made a face at him. “Rotten man. Just because I prefer younger women…never mind, let’s go shopping. You’ll need warmer clothes for the frozen wastelands of Minnesota.”
He gave her an exasperated look. "May I remind you that I’m a poor college student?” he pointed out.
She waved this way. “But I’M neither poor nor a college student, darling,” she told him.“And I’m not letting one of my best friends go to Minnesota unprepared. If your toes fell off from frost bite I’d feel responsible.”
He stared at her, then laughed and gave up. “Okay, Syl. But I’ll pay you back for whatever you spend one of these days.”
“I’m sure you will, Frankie,” she replied serenely as she led the way out of the drawing room of her mansion. “But only when you can stand on your own two feet financially. Until then, don’t worry about a thing. I’ve got loads of money and nothing much to do with it all. I can afford to send you to Minnesota in style.”
Frankie stepped off the train at the station and cursed as he was enveloped in a wave of frigid air. Christ, it was cold here! He shivered helplessly, despite the parka that Sylvia had insisted on buying for him. His fingers felt numb in his gloves, and he almost dropped the suitcase he was holding. He looked around, wondering if he should go back in and wait in the warmth for his ride. But his eyes found a battered old truck sitting on one of the parking spaces near the station. The color had faded into nondescript on the paint job, and rust hung in lacy fringes from the bed and the lower part of the doors. But there was a sign painted on the side of the truck, one so faded that he had to squint to read it: Hard Acre Farms. That was the place where he’d be living. Frankie plowed through the snow toward the truck, trying to see if there was anyone in side of it. Apparently there was. He heard the faint sound of country music playing, and saw a shadowy figure slumped in the driver’s seat. He knocked on the window, and the door was pushed open with a creak.
“Yeah?” a voice drawled as a pair of dark eyes stared at him from under towering white eyebrows.
“Umm…I’m Frankie Post, I think that you’re here to pick me up,” he said through chattering teeth.
“Oh, yeah,” the man replied, his lined face never breaking out of the scowl set permanently upon it. “Get on in,” he waved a hand at the passenger’s seat, “And we’ll get going.”
Frankie trudged around the truck and struggled to open the passenger’s side door, which seemed to be rusted shut. He pulled it open at last and gingerly climbed in the cab, his feet colliding with old hamburger wrappers and drink cups. He grimaced as the driver started the truck’s engine with a roar. They pulled out of the parking lot slowly. The heaters in the truck barely seemed to work; it was almost as cold in the cab as it was outside. Frankie huddled in on himself. “So you’re from my cousin’s farm? Are you a cousin, too?” he asked after a moment’s silence.
“Nah,” the man replied. “I’m just a farm hand turned handyman and gardener. Name’s Adam. Adam Landess. Your cousin Meredith sent me to pick you up at the station. She’s busy,” he went on dryly, and something in his voice said that he didn’t think much of whatever it was that Frankie’s cousin was occupying herself with at the moment.
“Oh, I see. Err…so what can I expect exactly?”
The handyman snorted. “Chaos and craziness,” he replied enigmatically. “But I won’t say anything else, since I might scare you off. And Miss Meredith wouldn’t like that.”
Frankie didn’t know what to say to this. He was beginning to wonder just what he was getting himself into. Adam seemed to be concentrating on his driving anyway, which was good. The roads were icy, and he didn’t want them to get into an accident. The country music wailed out of the speakers, making him wince. But he was too polite to ask Adam to change the channel, so he just tried to endure the bad music and the freezing cold alike. Eventually they arrived at their destination, a suburb of Minneapolis with a view of the city. Adam came to a gate that opened onto a drive, for the house was apparently set back from the road, unlike the houses around it, which were typical suburban dwellings. Huge old trees shaded the drive, their boughs covered with long spears of ice. Frankie eyed these worriedly, wondering in concern if some of them might not come crashing down on the truck. But none did, and finally they pulled up in front of a very large white farm house with black-painted shutters. Adam stopped the engines and grunted: “Here we are,” phlegmatically.
“Err, right,” Frankie said, fumbling for the door handle with half-frozen fingers.
Adam got out on his side, slamming the rusty door hard to close it. Frankie scrambled out, picking up his suitcases from the floor of the truck. He hauled these toward the front door, and Adam didn’t try to help him in any way. The handyman strode ahead of him up the shoveled walk and knocked briskly at the front door. After a moment, it opened wide on a blaze of light and warmth. “I’ve brought him,” Adam said laconically to whoever was standing there.
“Good. Come right in, Frankie,” a woman’s voice said. He squinted against the bright light, and gratefully stepped into the house. He found himself in as tiny hallway with a bench that doubled as a coat rack, and a mirror hung over the bench. An older woman with faded graying hair held out her rather boney hand to him. “Hiya,” she said. “I’m your cousin Meredith Starke. You must be Frankie Post.”
He took her hand, although he was afraid that his were icy to the touch. “Yes, I am,” he replied. “Thank you for inviting me to stay in your home, Meredith.”
“It’s no problem at all,” she assured him gravely, her face somber. “You’re most welcome here. Come on into the living room out of the cold.” He was very glad to go with her down the short hallway and into a large, warm space beyond. It was full of furniture that was as faded-looking as Meredith, although a lot better padded and more comfortable. The living room was also dusty and untidy, with heaps of magazines stacked here and there, along with piles of books and scraps of paper. It didn’t look like anybody had bothered to clean in there for some time. “Please sit down and I’ll get us some tea,” Meredith said, waving a hand at the over-padded floral couch nearby. He sat down gingerly on it, and then sank rather alarmingly into the padding. He wondered rather desperately if it was going to suck him in like quicksand, but at last he stopped sinking when he was a few good inches into the couch. Frankie wondered rather wildly how he was going to get up again, and if he’d need a fork lift or at least ropes and a pulley system to save him.
He heard the sounds of someone moving around in the room next door, probably Meredith making the tea. But before he could call out to her, the front door crashed open rather dramatically. He heard the clatter of boots on the wood floor, and then a man burst into the living room in a dramatic entrance. He was about Frankie’s age, and he had a bold, handsome face. He absolutely exuded sex – it practically oozed out his pores. His magnetic eyes came to rest on Frankie, and he tilted his head a little to the side. “And who might you be, eh?” he asked with interest.
“I’m Frankie Post,” he replied, wondering who this man was.
“Oh, ayuh. You’re that relative of ours that Ma said was going to come and live with us. From San Francisco,” he drawled.
“That’s right,” Frankie agreed warily. “And who are you exactly?”
“I’m Seth, Seth Starke. I’d be your third cousin, I guess. Is my Ma here?”
“She’s in the kitchen making tea,” Frankie said.
“Oh. I guess we could talk until she comes back out,” Seth replied. To Frankie’s shock, Seth boldly looked him up and down. “So what do you do for fun in San Francisco, cousin?” he asked with a faint leer.
He was being hit on by a distant relation. Frankie didn’t know quite what to make of this. “Err…not much, at the moment, since I’ve been concentrating on my studies,” he replied carefully.
Seth shook his head. “Sounds dull. I’ll have to find ways to liven up your stay here to make it up to you,” he added with a randy gleam in his striking golden-brown eyes.
“That’s okay, you don’t have to,” Frankie said hurriedly.
Seth walked over and flung himself down in an armchair. Dust rose in a cloud around him. “I don’t mind,” he said, stretching his booted feet out in front of him. ‘But I do’ Frankie thought wildly. Just then, Meredith emerged from the kitchen carrying a tray.
She frowned at the sight of her son sprawled in the chair. “Seth, what are you doing back? I thought you’d be out all night as usual,” she remarked with asperity in her voice.
He snorted. “You could show a little more love for your offspring when I come home early to keep you company, Ma,” he pointed out.
“Keep me company? That’s a good one. Couldn’t find any man to take you home with him? You must be losing your touch,” she sniped as she came over to set the tray down on the coffee table.
“I’m not losing my touch, it’s just that the bar I went to was filled with fugly guys,” Seth replied cheerfully. “Nothing good at all. Which is why I’m glad I came home early to meet our new cousin,” he added, leering once more at a disconcerted Frankie.
“You leave him alone, Seth,” his mother said reprovingly.
He looked wounded. “Who, me? You know that I’m a total innocent, Ma. He’s safe from little ol’ me.”
She gave him a grim look, and then turned to Frankie. “How do you take your tea, Frankie? Plain, or with a bit of milk and sugar?”
“Plain, thank you,” he replied warily, thinking to himself that Adam Landess had been right so far about the craziness. And he’d only met two of the people in this family so far! She poured some tea into a cracked cup and handed it to him. He took it, shooting Seth a wary glance. The other man winked at him deliberately, and then grinned slightly. Frankie hurriedly looked down into this teacup. He didn’t want to give this Seth any more chances than he had to to hit on him. The guy was good-looking and charismatic, it was true; but he’d never liked the pushy sort who thought that they were God’s gift to everything. Not to mention the fact that his third cousin seemed to be a man-whore. Guys like him could never keep it in their pants for long.
“Don’t I get any?” Seth asked his mother, sounding wounded.
“You don’t drink tea, and you know it,” she replied acerbically. “And if you want a beer, you have to get it yourself.”
“Fine, then,” he lunged to his feet and strolled toward the kitchen. “I’ll be back in a minute,” he told Frankie, who wanted to roll his eyes.
“I have to warn you about my son, Frankie,” Meredith said. “He’s a bit of a player. He runs around after other men like a bull after a cow. If it makes you too uncomfortable, just tell me and I’ll take care of it. If only he were more like his brother Roger…” she went on, shaking her head.
“You have another son?” Frankie asked.
“Yes, and a daughter. Roger should be home from work any time now, and Elena is at band practice until seven. My husband Andrew will be coming home soon, too. He’s still at the church.”
“Church? He goes to church at night?” Frankie said in surprise.
“He’s a pastor, so he’s there day and night. Somebody’s got to preach fire and brimstone, or else how would anyone know that they were doomed?” she said dryly.
Frankie didn’t know quite how to reply to this comment. So he didn’t, sipping at his tea instead. Seth arrived back from the kitchen with an open beer can in his hand. “Will we be having dinner anytime soon?” he asked his mother. “I’m starving.”
“You’re always starving. You know we have to wait until everybody else comes home. Rena’s already finished it.”
“Rena cooked? Great. So we’re all sure to die of food poisoning before morning,” Seth remarked sardonically.
“She’s not that bad a cook,” Meredith said, defending this unknown person.
Seth snorted. “That’s like saying that Hitler wasn’t that bad a guy. Why couldn’t you cook for once, Ma?”
“I was busy taking care of your Grandmother, and you know it. I don’t have time to chase after her and cook as well.”
“Of course you don’t,” Seth’s voice was dry, and Frankie wondered about the undercurrents in it. But he was too polite to ask. Before Meredith could say anything, the front door opened again. More footsteps, and a man who was a slightly older and thicker version of Seth came into the room, followed by a slim girl in her late teens wearing a heavy parka. “Roger,” Meredith said, getting to her feet. “Elena. I’d like you both to meet your cousin Frankie Post.”
Both man and girl looked at him. Roger frowned slightly, while the girl cocked her head and studied his face. “Nice to meet you,” Roger grunted after a moment.
He opened his mouth to reply, but kept it open in silent shock when the girl asked coolly: “Are you gay?”
“Elena!” her mother exclaimed reprovingly.
She lifted her shoulders defensively. “What? I just wanted to know if he is. Are you?” she asked him again.
“Umm, yes,” he replied after a moment.
“Yes! My gaydar works!” she yelped in excitement. “Told you, Seth! Hah!”
Her brother made a face as Meredith shook her head. “Elena, this is not a good topic of conversation. If you have something constructive to ask him, then so be it. But if you’re only going to poke your nose in where it’s not wanted, I suggest you go upstairs and do your homework.”
The girl pouted. “Oh, come on! It was just an innocent question! Are you upset because I asked you that?!” she demanded of Frankie.
“No, I’m not,” he replied cautiously.
“See, Ma?” she said to her parent triumphantly.
Meredith sighed. “Go and do your homework, Elena, we’ll be eating dinner soon. Hop to it.”
The girl made a face but ran off toward the stairs with a wave for Frankie. “See ya later, new cuz,” she called to him as she darted off lithely.
Silence descended in the wake of her leaving. Then Seth drawled: “So, Rog, how was work today? Did you show everybody else up like normal?” Meredith frowned at her son, while Roger gave him a hard look.
“I make no apologies for working hard,” he said coldly. “You could do a little work yourself, you lazy bastard. Instead of chasing other men all the time.”
Seth lifted a brow. “Sure I could,” he agreed cheekily, “But why would I want to? You’ll work yourself into an early grave while I’m out having a good time.”
“It’s you who’ll end up in an early grave, either from cirrhosis from too much booze or getting a sexually transmitted disease,” Roger replied, stung. “And I‘ll be sure to dance on it, believe me.”
“I’m sure,” Seth replied as Frankie cringed mentally from the tension in the air. Clearly the two brothers didn’t much like each other.
Meredith stepped in between them. “Roger, go get washed up for dinner. Seth, get your feet off that ottoman and go change your clothes. Get going, both of you,” her voice was commanding.
Roger shrugged and plodded off toward the staircase that Elena had disappeared up a few minutes ago. Seth winked at Frankie before strolling after him, hands in his pockets and whistling loudly. Meredith turned to Frankie. “Let me show you your room,” she told him. “I swear, those two will be the death of me someday,” she added in exasperation as he managed to haul himself out of the quicksand couch and pick up his suitcase.
He didn’t know what to say to this statement, so he kept quiet as they walked toward the stairs. Meredith didn’t say anything else either, and a pall of gloom hung over her as they climbed up the narrow, creaky staircase leading to the second floor. Frankie wondered yet again just what he was getting himself into. This might have been the worst mistake that he’d ever made in his entire life, but unfortunately there was no going back now…
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Hard Acre Farm
Chapter 1
“So I came to a decision,” Frankie Post remarked to his friend Sylvia Goldstein.
“Oh?” she arched a perfectly plucked eyebrow in enquiry. “And what’s that, darling?”
“Well, as you know I can’t keep going to school around here. It’s too expensive; even with my student loans and financial aide I still have to work almost full-time to survive. And that means I have way less time to study, so I might not graduate at all the way I’m going. I needed to do something.”
“Agreed,” his friend replied. “So what did you decide to do?”
He sighed. “I’ve decided to relocate to Minnesota,” he said grimly. Shocked silence. Sylvia gaped at him with her red mouth hanging open. “What?!” she nearly shrieked when she could speak again.
“I got a telephone call from a cousin of mine – actually, she’s only a second cousin, on my dad’s side – and she said that I could live at her house for free. All my rent and board taken care of. She wouldn’t say why she was being so generous, just that she owed it to me for some reason. I’ve thought long and hard about it, and it’s the best solution possible. I can go to school up there much more cheaply, and with free room and board I probably won’t have to work at all. I hate to go, but once I’ve graduated with my Masters I’ll come right back here, I promise.”
Sylvia slowly closed her mouth, shaking her dyed red head slowly. “But darling, how can you want to go live in the wilds of Minnesota?” she asked him.
Frankie chuckled. “It’s Minneapolis, Syl,” he reminded her in amusement. “A fairly large city, not ‘the wilds’. They have the biggest mall in the world there, and lots of cultural events to boot. I’ll be fine.”
“Well I suppose so,” she conceded. “But I’ll miss you terribly, darling, you know I will…”
His face softened. “Yes. And I’ll miss you too, sweetheart. But you’ll keep the home fires burning for me, won’t you? For when I come back?”
“Of course I will, except I’m afraid that you WON’T come back,” she replied unhappily. "Go to Minnesota, decide you love it there, and abandon me forever…”
“Syl, it’s MINNESOTA,” Frankie said. “How the hell could I fall in love with Minnesota? It’s an ice ball there three-fourths of the year round! I cannot live in below zero temperatures for eight months of the year. Not gonna happen.”
She perked up. “That’s true. Very well, then. I’ll help you pack and get ready to go, Frankie. When are they expecting you?”
“In a few weeks. I’ve got time to clear out my apartment and get everything in order with my school before I go. I just wanted to give you plenty of warning.”
“Thank you, darling, I appreciate it. Oh, Frankie, I’m really going to miss you,” she said, hugging him tightly.
He patted her shoulder. “And I’ll miss you too, love; but I’m sure you can find some nice college girls to help you through your grieving period.”
She made a face at him. “Rotten man. Just because I prefer younger women…never mind, let’s go shopping. You’ll need warmer clothes for the frozen wastelands of Minnesota.”
He gave her an exasperated look. "May I remind you that I’m a poor college student?” he pointed out.
She waved this way. “But I’M neither poor nor a college student, darling,” she told him.“And I’m not letting one of my best friends go to Minnesota unprepared. If your toes fell off from frost bite I’d feel responsible.”
He stared at her, then laughed and gave up. “Okay, Syl. But I’ll pay you back for whatever you spend one of these days.”
“I’m sure you will, Frankie,” she replied serenely as she led the way out of the drawing room of her mansion. “But only when you can stand on your own two feet financially. Until then, don’t worry about a thing. I’ve got loads of money and nothing much to do with it all. I can afford to send you to Minnesota in style.”
Frankie stepped off the train at the station and cursed as he was enveloped in a wave of frigid air. Christ, it was cold here! He shivered helplessly, despite the parka that Sylvia had insisted on buying for him. His fingers felt numb in his gloves, and he almost dropped the suitcase he was holding. He looked around, wondering if he should go back in and wait in the warmth for his ride. But his eyes found a battered old truck sitting on one of the parking spaces near the station. The color had faded into nondescript on the paint job, and rust hung in lacy fringes from the bed and the lower part of the doors. But there was a sign painted on the side of the truck, one so faded that he had to squint to read it: Hard Acre Farms. That was the place where he’d be living. Frankie plowed through the snow toward the truck, trying to see if there was anyone in side of it. Apparently there was. He heard the faint sound of country music playing, and saw a shadowy figure slumped in the driver’s seat. He knocked on the window, and the door was pushed open with a creak.
“Yeah?” a voice drawled as a pair of dark eyes stared at him from under towering white eyebrows.
“Umm…I’m Frankie Post, I think that you’re here to pick me up,” he said through chattering teeth.
“Oh, yeah,” the man replied, his lined face never breaking out of the scowl set permanently upon it. “Get on in,” he waved a hand at the passenger’s seat, “And we’ll get going.”
Frankie trudged around the truck and struggled to open the passenger’s side door, which seemed to be rusted shut. He pulled it open at last and gingerly climbed in the cab, his feet colliding with old hamburger wrappers and drink cups. He grimaced as the driver started the truck’s engine with a roar. They pulled out of the parking lot slowly. The heaters in the truck barely seemed to work; it was almost as cold in the cab as it was outside. Frankie huddled in on himself. “So you’re from my cousin’s farm? Are you a cousin, too?” he asked after a moment’s silence.
“Nah,” the man replied. “I’m just a farm hand turned handyman and gardener. Name’s Adam. Adam Landess. Your cousin Meredith sent me to pick you up at the station. She’s busy,” he went on dryly, and something in his voice said that he didn’t think much of whatever it was that Frankie’s cousin was occupying herself with at the moment.
“Oh, I see. Err…so what can I expect exactly?”
The handyman snorted. “Chaos and craziness,” he replied enigmatically. “But I won’t say anything else, since I might scare you off. And Miss Meredith wouldn’t like that.”
Frankie didn’t know what to say to this. He was beginning to wonder just what he was getting himself into. Adam seemed to be concentrating on his driving anyway, which was good. The roads were icy, and he didn’t want them to get into an accident. The country music wailed out of the speakers, making him wince. But he was too polite to ask Adam to change the channel, so he just tried to endure the bad music and the freezing cold alike. Eventually they arrived at their destination, a suburb of Minneapolis with a view of the city. Adam came to a gate that opened onto a drive, for the house was apparently set back from the road, unlike the houses around it, which were typical suburban dwellings. Huge old trees shaded the drive, their boughs covered with long spears of ice. Frankie eyed these worriedly, wondering in concern if some of them might not come crashing down on the truck. But none did, and finally they pulled up in front of a very large white farm house with black-painted shutters. Adam stopped the engines and grunted: “Here we are,” phlegmatically.
“Err, right,” Frankie said, fumbling for the door handle with half-frozen fingers.
Adam got out on his side, slamming the rusty door hard to close it. Frankie scrambled out, picking up his suitcases from the floor of the truck. He hauled these toward the front door, and Adam didn’t try to help him in any way. The handyman strode ahead of him up the shoveled walk and knocked briskly at the front door. After a moment, it opened wide on a blaze of light and warmth. “I’ve brought him,” Adam said laconically to whoever was standing there.
“Good. Come right in, Frankie,” a woman’s voice said. He squinted against the bright light, and gratefully stepped into the house. He found himself in as tiny hallway with a bench that doubled as a coat rack, and a mirror hung over the bench. An older woman with faded graying hair held out her rather boney hand to him. “Hiya,” she said. “I’m your cousin Meredith Starke. You must be Frankie Post.”
He took her hand, although he was afraid that his were icy to the touch. “Yes, I am,” he replied. “Thank you for inviting me to stay in your home, Meredith.”
“It’s no problem at all,” she assured him gravely, her face somber. “You’re most welcome here. Come on into the living room out of the cold.” He was very glad to go with her down the short hallway and into a large, warm space beyond. It was full of furniture that was as faded-looking as Meredith, although a lot better padded and more comfortable. The living room was also dusty and untidy, with heaps of magazines stacked here and there, along with piles of books and scraps of paper. It didn’t look like anybody had bothered to clean in there for some time. “Please sit down and I’ll get us some tea,” Meredith said, waving a hand at the over-padded floral couch nearby. He sat down gingerly on it, and then sank rather alarmingly into the padding. He wondered rather desperately if it was going to suck him in like quicksand, but at last he stopped sinking when he was a few good inches into the couch. Frankie wondered rather wildly how he was going to get up again, and if he’d need a fork lift or at least ropes and a pulley system to save him.
He heard the sounds of someone moving around in the room next door, probably Meredith making the tea. But before he could call out to her, the front door crashed open rather dramatically. He heard the clatter of boots on the wood floor, and then a man burst into the living room in a dramatic entrance. He was about Frankie’s age, and he had a bold, handsome face. He absolutely exuded sex – it practically oozed out his pores. His magnetic eyes came to rest on Frankie, and he tilted his head a little to the side. “And who might you be, eh?” he asked with interest.
“I’m Frankie Post,” he replied, wondering who this man was.
“Oh, ayuh. You’re that relative of ours that Ma said was going to come and live with us. From San Francisco,” he drawled.
“That’s right,” Frankie agreed warily. “And who are you exactly?”
“I’m Seth, Seth Starke. I’d be your third cousin, I guess. Is my Ma here?”
“She’s in the kitchen making tea,” Frankie said.
“Oh. I guess we could talk until she comes back out,” Seth replied. To Frankie’s shock, Seth boldly looked him up and down. “So what do you do for fun in San Francisco, cousin?” he asked with a faint leer.
He was being hit on by a distant relation. Frankie didn’t know quite what to make of this. “Err…not much, at the moment, since I’ve been concentrating on my studies,” he replied carefully.
Seth shook his head. “Sounds dull. I’ll have to find ways to liven up your stay here to make it up to you,” he added with a randy gleam in his striking golden-brown eyes.
“That’s okay, you don’t have to,” Frankie said hurriedly.
Seth walked over and flung himself down in an armchair. Dust rose in a cloud around him. “I don’t mind,” he said, stretching his booted feet out in front of him. ‘But I do’ Frankie thought wildly. Just then, Meredith emerged from the kitchen carrying a tray.
She frowned at the sight of her son sprawled in the chair. “Seth, what are you doing back? I thought you’d be out all night as usual,” she remarked with asperity in her voice.
He snorted. “You could show a little more love for your offspring when I come home early to keep you company, Ma,” he pointed out.
“Keep me company? That’s a good one. Couldn’t find any man to take you home with him? You must be losing your touch,” she sniped as she came over to set the tray down on the coffee table.
“I’m not losing my touch, it’s just that the bar I went to was filled with fugly guys,” Seth replied cheerfully. “Nothing good at all. Which is why I’m glad I came home early to meet our new cousin,” he added, leering once more at a disconcerted Frankie.
“You leave him alone, Seth,” his mother said reprovingly.
He looked wounded. “Who, me? You know that I’m a total innocent, Ma. He’s safe from little ol’ me.”
She gave him a grim look, and then turned to Frankie. “How do you take your tea, Frankie? Plain, or with a bit of milk and sugar?”
“Plain, thank you,” he replied warily, thinking to himself that Adam Landess had been right so far about the craziness. And he’d only met two of the people in this family so far! She poured some tea into a cracked cup and handed it to him. He took it, shooting Seth a wary glance. The other man winked at him deliberately, and then grinned slightly. Frankie hurriedly looked down into this teacup. He didn’t want to give this Seth any more chances than he had to to hit on him. The guy was good-looking and charismatic, it was true; but he’d never liked the pushy sort who thought that they were God’s gift to everything. Not to mention the fact that his third cousin seemed to be a man-whore. Guys like him could never keep it in their pants for long.
“Don’t I get any?” Seth asked his mother, sounding wounded.
“You don’t drink tea, and you know it,” she replied acerbically. “And if you want a beer, you have to get it yourself.”
“Fine, then,” he lunged to his feet and strolled toward the kitchen. “I’ll be back in a minute,” he told Frankie, who wanted to roll his eyes.
“I have to warn you about my son, Frankie,” Meredith said. “He’s a bit of a player. He runs around after other men like a bull after a cow. If it makes you too uncomfortable, just tell me and I’ll take care of it. If only he were more like his brother Roger…” she went on, shaking her head.
“You have another son?” Frankie asked.
“Yes, and a daughter. Roger should be home from work any time now, and Elena is at band practice until seven. My husband Andrew will be coming home soon, too. He’s still at the church.”
“Church? He goes to church at night?” Frankie said in surprise.
“He’s a pastor, so he’s there day and night. Somebody’s got to preach fire and brimstone, or else how would anyone know that they were doomed?” she said dryly.
Frankie didn’t know quite how to reply to this comment. So he didn’t, sipping at his tea instead. Seth arrived back from the kitchen with an open beer can in his hand. “Will we be having dinner anytime soon?” he asked his mother. “I’m starving.”
“You’re always starving. You know we have to wait until everybody else comes home. Rena’s already finished it.”
“Rena cooked? Great. So we’re all sure to die of food poisoning before morning,” Seth remarked sardonically.
“She’s not that bad a cook,” Meredith said, defending this unknown person.
Seth snorted. “That’s like saying that Hitler wasn’t that bad a guy. Why couldn’t you cook for once, Ma?”
“I was busy taking care of your Grandmother, and you know it. I don’t have time to chase after her and cook as well.”
“Of course you don’t,” Seth’s voice was dry, and Frankie wondered about the undercurrents in it. But he was too polite to ask. Before Meredith could say anything, the front door opened again. More footsteps, and a man who was a slightly older and thicker version of Seth came into the room, followed by a slim girl in her late teens wearing a heavy parka. “Roger,” Meredith said, getting to her feet. “Elena. I’d like you both to meet your cousin Frankie Post.”
Both man and girl looked at him. Roger frowned slightly, while the girl cocked her head and studied his face. “Nice to meet you,” Roger grunted after a moment.
He opened his mouth to reply, but kept it open in silent shock when the girl asked coolly: “Are you gay?”
“Elena!” her mother exclaimed reprovingly.
She lifted her shoulders defensively. “What? I just wanted to know if he is. Are you?” she asked him again.
“Umm, yes,” he replied after a moment.
“Yes! My gaydar works!” she yelped in excitement. “Told you, Seth! Hah!”
Her brother made a face as Meredith shook her head. “Elena, this is not a good topic of conversation. If you have something constructive to ask him, then so be it. But if you’re only going to poke your nose in where it’s not wanted, I suggest you go upstairs and do your homework.”
The girl pouted. “Oh, come on! It was just an innocent question! Are you upset because I asked you that?!” she demanded of Frankie.
“No, I’m not,” he replied cautiously.
“See, Ma?” she said to her parent triumphantly.
Meredith sighed. “Go and do your homework, Elena, we’ll be eating dinner soon. Hop to it.”
The girl made a face but ran off toward the stairs with a wave for Frankie. “See ya later, new cuz,” she called to him as she darted off lithely.
Silence descended in the wake of her leaving. Then Seth drawled: “So, Rog, how was work today? Did you show everybody else up like normal?” Meredith frowned at her son, while Roger gave him a hard look.
“I make no apologies for working hard,” he said coldly. “You could do a little work yourself, you lazy bastard. Instead of chasing other men all the time.”
Seth lifted a brow. “Sure I could,” he agreed cheekily, “But why would I want to? You’ll work yourself into an early grave while I’m out having a good time.”
“It’s you who’ll end up in an early grave, either from cirrhosis from too much booze or getting a sexually transmitted disease,” Roger replied, stung. “And I‘ll be sure to dance on it, believe me.”
“I’m sure,” Seth replied as Frankie cringed mentally from the tension in the air. Clearly the two brothers didn’t much like each other.
Meredith stepped in between them. “Roger, go get washed up for dinner. Seth, get your feet off that ottoman and go change your clothes. Get going, both of you,” her voice was commanding.
Roger shrugged and plodded off toward the staircase that Elena had disappeared up a few minutes ago. Seth winked at Frankie before strolling after him, hands in his pockets and whistling loudly. Meredith turned to Frankie. “Let me show you your room,” she told him. “I swear, those two will be the death of me someday,” she added in exasperation as he managed to haul himself out of the quicksand couch and pick up his suitcase.
He didn’t know what to say to this statement, so he kept quiet as they walked toward the stairs. Meredith didn’t say anything else either, and a pall of gloom hung over her as they climbed up the narrow, creaky staircase leading to the second floor. Frankie wondered yet again just what he was getting himself into. This might have been the worst mistake that he’d ever made in his entire life, but unfortunately there was no going back now…
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