Part 18 (2/2)

She stares at me, her full lips parted, her breath coming in quick little pants.

”Um... what kind of lesson?” she breathes.

I slide my hand up to squeeze her breast. ”A lesson about control.”

”Control?”

”Uh huh.” I pinch her nipple. ”You're not allowed to get me jacked up and leave me unsatisfied anymore. In fact, you're not allowed to do a d.a.m.n thing unless I say you can.”

”Um...” Her slender throat ripples with a swallow. ”What does that mean, exactly?”

”You'll find out. In the meantime, you don't think about s.e.x. You don't fantasize about pirates or gladiators or anything else. And you sure as h.e.l.l don't touch your pretty p.u.s.s.y. Got it?”

Liv nods, her eyes still wide and faintly shocked.

”Good.” I push away from her, tugging the folds of her robe closed, my gaze on hers. ”Now go make me some bacon, woman.”

Without a word, she starts back to the kitchen, pausing only to give me a rather dazed look over her shoulder.

Satisfaction fills my chest. I f.u.c.king love a good plan.

The abandoned freight and pa.s.senger line of the Electric Railroad Company once ran from Mirror Lake to Wessington Springs, South Dakota before it folded due to lack of profits. The tracks are still in place, though overgrown with weeds and brush now, and the Mirror Lake Depot-now fallen into disrepair-is a Gothic Revival, brick building with arched windows and a bell tower.

After parking near the depot, I open the pa.s.senger side door for Florence Wickham. As she gets out of the car, Archer's motorcycle rumbles up the road. He comes to a halt, pulls off his helmet, and approaches us.

”Well, I can certainly see the resemblance,” Florence says brightly, after I introduce her to Archer. ”You're brothers through and through, aren't you?”

Archer shrugs, looking away from me to the station. A knot pulls in my chest because we both know it's not true. We're half-brothers, not brothers ”through and through.”

”Archer, Liv showed me the chair you painted for the auction.” Florence claps her hands. ”It's just incredible. I can't thank you enough. I'm thinking of bidding on it for my grandson. Oh, yoo hoo! Mr. Jenkins!”

I look up to see an elderly man emerging from the train shed, which is a wooden barn-like structure a short distance away. Florence waves and smooths down the front of her powder-blue suit.

”Over here, Mr. Jenkins!” she calls.

The old guy shuffles over to us. Dressed in greasy overalls and a hat bearing a Electric Railroad Company logo, he extends his hand and introduces himself as president of the Historic Railroad a.s.sociation.

”Dean has offered to be the project director,” Florence tells him. ”He's a professor of medieval history at King's.”

”Medieval history?” Mr. Jenkins looks at me askance, as if wondering what the h.e.l.l a medievalist is doing heading a train restoration project.

I wonder that myself. I don't have the time-or frankly the knowledge-I need to devote to the project, but I also don't want to let Florence down.

”Dean will do an excellent job,” Florence tells Mr. Jenkins, patting my chest.

”He'd better,” Mr. Jenkins remarks, throwing me a look of warning. ”We've been trying to get this place protected for years. Thank heavens for the good Ms. Wickham here, because if the Historical Society hadn't gotten involved, the transportation company would have sold it off to developers. Now we stand a chance of saving it. Don't need any pansy-a.s.s professors mucking things up.”

Archer snorts with suppressed laughter.

”I won't muck it up,” I a.s.sure Mr. Jenkins gravely.

He doesn't look convinced. I'm not either.

”How many trains are there?” Archer asks.

”An old steam engine and a few cars,” Mr. Jenkins says, leading us toward the shed. ”I'd love to get that engine restored. It'd be a beaut.”

”Archer, Dean tells me you're very knowledgeable about engines,” Florence says, as Archer takes her arm to help her over a rocky patch of gra.s.s. ”How to oil them up and all. Get the pistons moving nice and smooth.”

”Yeah,” Archer admits. ”I know a thing or two.”

”Oh, I don't doubt it, my dear.” She smiles at him. ”I'm just delighted you've agreed to help us.”

Archer shoots me a look that tells me he agreed to no such thing. I shrug, like I don't know anything about it.

Mr. Jenkins opens the shed door, and we go inside. An old steam locomotive and train cars loom like monsters in the dim light. The smells of coal, oil, and grease hang in the air.

”Whoa.” Archer stops, his eyes widening. ”This is incredible. Dude, you need to bring Nicholas to see this.”

”I believe the cars were all original to the railway,” Florence says. ”Isn't that right, Mr. Jenkins?”

”Sure enough.”

”You can still see the train numbers.” Archer points to the Great Midwest Railway logo and number 3457 on the side of the engine. ”Whyte notion of engines based on wheel arrangement.”

”You know your trains, son,” Mr. Jenkins says, his eyebrows lifting.

Archer starts talking about the engineer he once worked for who taught him how steam engines were cla.s.sified. Not for the first time, I'm impressed with my brother's knowledge, which proves again that his years on the road shaped him in ways I'd never considered.

We look around more, with Archer and Mr. Jenkins getting deep in conversation about what it would take to fix the engines.

”This is really cool, man,” Archer tells me as we leave the shed. ”Thanks for bringing me on board.”

”Thanks for agreeing to do it.”

I'd never imagined Archer and I could find common ground and work on a project together, but maybe this is it. The combination of his mechanical knowledge and my research skills could be a good partners.h.i.+p.

”You remember the bandits from the Castle train robbery?” he asks.

I almost smile. Sometimes our tree house was a Old West train, usually carrying newly minted gold eastward, that we had to defend against masked bandits.

I hadn't remembered the train robberies until now. Makes me wonder how many other memories I haven't managed to preserve. It's easy to look at a dilapidated place like this or the b.u.t.terfly House, to imagine restoring a property to its former glory, to see the value in saving it. It's easy for me to look at a historic castle, a cathedral, a fortress, and advocate for its preservation.

It's not so easy to do that with your own life. To know what's worth saving and what's faded enough to let go.

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