Chapter 9

Being married to Mercedes an adventure, but a relaxed one. We agreed on so many things, but we always had things to talk about. Whenever we found a difference of opinion, we always discussed alternatives and decided on a path together. Sometimes, I adopted her slant on a particular difficulty and, occasionally, she came over to my side.

Honestly, the worst things that plagued us were times when Mercedes got into a “what might have been” mood. Mercedes sometimes worried that she should not have been so adamant about keeping her dancing career so sharply in focus. She wondered where we’d be in our relationship if she hadn’t left me behind to pursue her career.

I took a more pragmatic view. First, what happened, happened. All of that was history—we couldn’t change it. Second, we had three small children to love we wouldn’t have otherwise had, and there was no way we could ever regret our children.

We both knew, even if she didn’t want to admit it, if she had not stayed with her dance troupe, she’d have come to regret it—perhaps bitterly—later. Any deep relationship we’d explored back then might not, probably WOULD not, have survived and we wouldn’t be together now.

In spite of everything that had happened to us, we were married now, and we had three wonderful children. We found ourselves deeply in love and having a wonderful time with our blended family. We fit together beautifully and settled into our roles easily. Mercedes was Mom to all three children and I was the Dad. We worked together to establish boundaries and rules within the family. In the process, we taught the children, by living it, what a loving relationship was like every day.

One of the things we did, was to make certain Mercedes and I had date nights every so often—actually, quite often. We were newly wedded, after all. My mom and dad (AKA Grandma and Grandpa), loved having the kids over for a sleepover and a couple of times, for a whole weekend.

Whenever they weren’t available, we had a pair of sisters take care of all three kids. Many years ago, I’d sold a horse, Ginger, and another young mare to two young teenage girls by the name of Ingram who still lived not too very far away. Amber and Pamela were in their late teens now—just the right age for babysitting a trio of adorable young children, and we took advantage of them a lot. We paid them pretty darn well too.

The kids often stayed in daycare during the week. I wanted them to, and I got Mercedes to agree. The daycare we chose was fairly small with a great caretaker to child ratio so there was plenty of excellent supervision. We thought it was important for our three kids to meet, play, and work on projects together with other children. I think Tommy, Judy, and Mattie all had a great time, judging from the stories they recounted to Mercedes and me. I was pretty sure they learned a great deal about getting along with others and working in concert with them too.

Things were settling down very nicely. Actually, things were just darn near perfect.

The overhead bank of TV monitors said the 3:18 flight from Philadelphia had landed, on time even. Mercedes and I were waiting beside the carousel where the luggage should be making its presence known shortly. We were waiting for Mercedes’ latest recruit for her dancing school. She told me only that it was a woman she knew from the dance troupe who was also retiring.

Mercedes had retired from touring after an ankle injury, and a lengthy recovery. The injury was severe enough so that while the injury did heal, the ankle was never again going to be strong enough to withstand the constant stress of on-stage dancing plus the enormous number of hours of practice. So now she taught, and she was having a great time doing it.

I was absentmindedly watching departing passengers down the long concourse checking in for their flights and wondering why all, or at least most, of them didn’t used the check-in kiosks set up all over the place. It didn’t make sense to me to wait in long lines rather than use the touch screens, but ... whatever!

“Hey ... did someone say this is national ‘Fly Naked Day’?” asked a soft voice behind my left shoulder.

I flinched, my shoulders hunching defensively as I turned around to find—

“Stephanie!” I gasped. “My God, what’re you doing—?” I flicked a glance at my dear wife who was smiling smugly at me a couple of steps away. I’d been set up. I’d deal with it later, when we weren’t in an international airport’s main concourse.

I turned back to Stephanie, took her hands in mine and held her at arm’s length. A few years had done nothing to diminish the effect the blonde, big-boobed, and leggy woman had on me, and every heterosexual male in sight—plus a fair number of the women too.

“I should have known,” I remarked, and I truly should have. Come on, a new dance instructor, and from Philadelphia... ? I just wasn’t paying attention.

“It’s great to see you,” I told Stephanie and gave her a kiss on her left cheek. “And ... who’s this?” I asked, moving a long step backward. There was a little Stephie-clone hiding behind Stephanie’s left leg, which I noticed was bare beneath a skirt that came only to mid-thigh. Clearly Stephanie still had a streak of exhibitionism running through her.

“This is Daphne ... Daphne, honey, can you say hello to Matt?”

I squatted down on my haunches to get on eye level with the little girl, obviously Stephanie’s daughter. Smiling, I held out my hand. “I’m very happy to meet you, Daphne. Did your mother tell you she and I were friends from a long time ago?”

The little moppet nodded hesitantly, then grinned. Without warning, she closed the distance between us and threw her arms around my neck and gave me a hug. I wasn’t expecting it, so she almost toppled me backward. I had to save myself with my left hand thrust quickly behind me on the fake marble floor.

Settled again on my heels, I put my hands on her waist and tugged her toward me to return her hug and give her a little kiss on her cheek. “So ... let’s do the question game all grownups do,” I suggested. “How old are you... ?”

She held up four fingers, smiling happily.

“What’s your name?”

“Daphne Mercedes Walton,” she answered brightly. I shot a quick look up at Mercedes.

“You know that lady?” I asked, pointing at my wife.

Daphne nodded vigorously. “Aunt Mercedes... , “ she replied.

“I think Aunt Mercedes needs a hug, too, don’t you?” I told her.

The little four-year-old nodded again and raced to Mercedes. My wife bent over to pick up the youngster and the two of them hugged tightly.

When I stood up, Stephanie walked into my arms, wrapped her arms around my waist and gave me a more thorough hug than she had before. “I missed you, Matt,” she murmured. She kissed me lightly on the lips, pulled me tight against her body, then deserted me and moved to Mercedes. The three females did a three-way hug for a long moment.

A warning buzzer went off and the luggage carousel began moving along its serpentine path, carrying all the passenger’s belongings around for retrieval. Stephanie pointed out her and Daphne’s bags as they moved past so I could snatch them and wrestle them off the belt, and then onto the floor beside us. Stephanie and Mercedes grabbed a large suitcase each and rolled them off toward the exit while I pulled two huge duffle bags—fortunately they had wheels on them—behind me. Little Daphne shrugged on a tiny pink backpack decorated with bunnies and trudged along with us to the temporary parking.

I loaded everything into the bed of the pickup, climbed into the driver’s seat, and adjusted how my Glock was riding in its belly-band holster. The airport wasn’t supposed to be a place of danger, but—stuff happens!

I started the engine and turned on the air conditioning. Mercedes and Stephanie were already engaged in what appeared to be the start of a long, long conversation and Daphne was listening intently.

“So ... where we headed?” I asked. I was sure I already knew.

“The guest room’s already made up,” Mercedes replied serenely.

I’d known where we were going—just wanted it verified.

At home, Daphne was reunited with Mattie and introduced to Tommy and Judy who welcomed the new girl without hesitation. Tommy did ask if I had any friends with little boys, but he didn’t seem too upset about being outnumbered.

In moments, all four of the children ran outside to the playground we’d had built in the backyard. Mercedes and Stephanie continued their marathon chat and I sat on the deck to watch the children play.

“Talk!” I told Mercedes when she couldn’t escape me any longer. We were in bed and I’d rolled her onto her back and was leaning over her after a lengthy make out session.

“About Stephie?” she asked innocently.

“About Stephie!” I said firmly. “What’s going on?”

“She needed a job, I had a job for her, she’s like my little sister—you know that. I love her, I wanted her to work with me in the studio, she agreed, she came down here, and I want her to live with us so I can have my sister around all the time, okay?”

There was nothing threatening in the whole run-on explanation. She’d clearly rehearsed it beforehand. Actually, none of it surprised me. But—

“The last time you brought Stephanie here to the ranch, you did it to drive a wedge between you and me,” I told her bluntly. “Is there some reason you feel a need to put some distance between us now?”

Mercedes chuckled. She wasn’t disturbed at all. She put her hands on the back of my neck and pulled me down for a long kiss.

“That didn’t work out so very well back then, did it?” she murmured softly. “You and Stephie connected pretty darn well, and we ended up like ... like the three musketeers, huh?”

Well, not really. The three of us had been involved sexually for two of the three weeks I’d spent with Mercedes back then—wild, steamy sex that went on virtually all day, every day. I didn’t remember Alexander Dumas ever having the musketeers engage in sex with each other.

I shifted uneasily in the bed and Mercedes captured my right leg between her two thighs and held me still. “Mercedes,” I began, “ ... we’re married now, not single, unattached and ... I don’t know what ... irresponsible, maybe? We can’t just...”

I was reassured Stephanie wasn’t there to push Mercedes and me apart, but the alternative was a minefield that needed to be negotiated also.

“Shhhhhh,” Mercedes whispered in my ear. “Stephie came here to work with me in the dance studio and I love her to death and I want her close. She’ll be a good friend to you, too, honey. She’s not going to come between us in any way ... understand?”

I didn’t answer immediately. I was still mulling over her reply because I wasn’t quite sure she’d answered the real question—

Mercedes slid closer to me and wriggled the hem of her nightgown above her waist. Before I knew it, she was guiding a hard-on I didn’t even know I had between her pussy lips and deep inside her.

I never did get to ask any more questions.

It worked. It worked very well. We became Mercedes’ version of the Three Musketeers again, reprising our relationship from years ago, sans the sex. Mercedes and I were a typical married couple, and Stephanie was our house guest. Sort of, anyway. For a guest, Stephanie sure did a lot of the work around the house.

We divided all the chores and other things that needed doing around the house. We didn’t have a working ranch, so the tasks we had to complete outside the home were minimal. I usually took care of them, but I was often joined by the women.

Mercedes and Stephanie would leave every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday morning in Mercedes’ SUV en route to the dance studio for the adult classes they taught. In the late afternoon on Tuesdays and Thursdays, they held classes for younger girls (and a few boys) after school let out.

I would fix breakfast for our four children, get them dressed for daycare if I needed to go into the office that day, or in play clothes if we had a “free” day. If the weather cooperated, the kids would spend most of the morning playing outside. They liked me outside on the deck, where they could see me and where I could watch them as they played. Occasionally they even dragooned me into playing whatever pretend character fit the fantasy of the moment.

After an early supper on Tuesday and Thursday, I’d take all four of them in their dancing clothes into the studio where they’d join dance classes of other children in their age group. Tommy wasn’t terribly enthusiastic about dancing classes, but the three girls were totally enthralled with learning how to dance with Mercedes and Stephanie. Tommy put up with it though, and even seemed to enjoy himself some of the time.

We settled into the routine but, at the same time, we made sure things were fresh and spontaneous. Mercedes’ and my date nights expanded, more often than not, to include Stephanie coming out with us to go to dinner, dancing, concerts or to just to a movie now and then. We got involved, on a minor level, with some of the local charities and movements, too.

A few months later, we were invited to a ball at the home of a Mr. Kyle Mulvane. The purpose was to raise money for the preservation of a number of local historical sites and properties.

The joke around town was the Mulvanes owned half the southwest side of the city and had options to acquire the remainder. They were, in their own estimate (and most everyone else’s also) movers and shakers in the big city. I had an invitation for myself plus one, but I wangled another one so Stephanie could go with Mercedes and me.

The event was black tie optional. Mercedes and Stephanie elected to wear full-length evening gowns. The color of Mercedes’ was “sea foam” (I’d have called it a greenish-grey if I’d been asked). It was an off-shoulder number with a slit down the lower left-front that exposed her long, slender leg as she stepped. It looked fantastic.

Stephanie’s gown was a beautiful royal blue that went well with her blonde good looks. It had a deep V that showed off her cleavage to maximum advantage. There was a slit in her dress to show off her leg on the left side.

I was the ugly duckling of our little trio in a black tuxedo jacket and pants, a white formal shirt and black bow tie and a cummerbund along with a pair of patent leather Wellington boots. I liked my cummerbund; it felt good around my waist ... and it helped hide the print of the Glock 38 I was carrying in a belly band holster.

I’d thought of leaving the .45 caliber weapon at home, but I actually felt naked without it. I’d had a concealed carry permit forever and, if anything, I felt even stronger about self-protection and protecting all the children and women in my extended family circle. One of the first things I did after returning to Texas from Alaska had been to get my carry permit renewed.

The three of us got a lot of notice when we walked in, mostly because the two women I was escorting were utterly gorgeous in their gowns. We captured a lot of attention when we began dancing, too.

Mercedes and Stephie loved to dance. They’d danced professionally for years, of course, and now taught dancing in their own studio on the west side of the city. More than that, they wanted me to enjoy dancing also.

I knew enough to be able to shuffle my feet around and hold on to an attractive woman while she danced even before I met Mercedes and Stephanie, but they took everything to a much higher level in their short visit when we’d been together before. Though I considered myself born with the proverbial two left feet (and those tacked on backwards), my two ladies coaxed me into greater and greater efforts, the longer we were together.

They had, in fact, developed a new step, designed for two women and a man to dance together comfortably. I thought of myself as just a prop, there to showcase Mercedes’ and Stephanie’s dancing skills. They could probably have used a manikin from a retail store in my place, but I was ambulatory and could move myself onto the dance floor, so they chose me.

What we were doing was adapted from a routine they’d danced while touring with the troupe, the three of us were always in motion and always in close contact. After months of practice, I was just beginning to have enough confidence in myself on the dance floor to start having fun holding one woman and then the other in my arms while we whirled around each other in a complicated pattern. It was fun and I enjoyed it immensely. Who wouldn’t? I was the focal point around which two lovely women were dancing.

Apparently, we looked good doing it, too. We attracted more interest the longer we danced. I hadn’t realized it, but we’d worked our way very close to the low stage where the band was playing. When the number was over, I saw the orchestra leader smiling down at us and clapping silently, motioning behind me. When I turned, the dance floor for a good distance around the three of us was clear of other dancers. There was some nice applause for our efforts.

I bowed as best I could. Mercedes and Stephanie curtsied and smiled prettily. We strolled off the dance floor in the direction of the bar. This was all fun, but dancing with these two was hot work!

The girls were welcomed into a knot of men and women at one end of a long bar. Mercedes and Stephanie were being received with broad, admiring smiles and were getting tons of compliments. I made myself useful and went to the other end of the bar to get two glasses of white wine for them and a bottle of (flavored) water for myself. As the bartender finished pouring the wine, I heard an uproar from where I’d left my two dance partners.

“Lesss see ‘em, bitch! C’mon ... ya been flashin’ ‘em all night, showin’ off, so now... !”

My head snapped around. Stephanie was being accosted by a short, rotund little man who was all hands and aggressiveness. I caught a quick glimpse of him grabbing at her breast, catching the upper part of her gown and ripping it downward. Stephanie’s right breast, and then her left, popped into full view.

I was in motion before I formed the thought to get over to her. I must have run, but I never recalled doing it; time was doing that trick it has of slowing down in a crisis. Abruptly, I was behind and to the right of the man assaulting Stephanie. I had an instant to see Stephanie’s eyes on me. She didn’t appear to be under any stress—she was just waiting for me to make things right again.

Grabbing the guy by his right shoulder, I yanked him around with my left hand and buried my right in his gut, doing everything I could to punch my fist through to his spinal column. As he jackknifed, the point of his chin met my right knee coming up hard and fast.

His upper body was knocked back upright and he kept on going over backward until he stretched his length on the hard floor, bleeding and already comatose. I started to go after him; I was going to apply the toe of my size eleven Wellingtons to his rib cage, but it just wasn’t necessary. He was clearly down for the count.

I wheeled around, found Stephanie and took her protectively in my arms. She nestled there, wrapping her arms tightly around my waist.

“You alright, honey?” I asked softly, pulling back so I could look her in the face.

She nodded and put her cheek against my chest and held on even tighter. After a moment, I withdrew a few inches, pulled off my tuxedo jacket and put it around Stephanie’s shoulders to hide her nakedness.

There was considerable pandemonium all around us. Some people were asking plaintively what was going on and others were answering, giving accounts of what they’d seen. Not everyone, of course, had seen it from the beginning. The explanations were beginning to wander significantly from what had actually happened. I looked around for Mercedes. She was at my right elbow, looking concerned and a little worried.

Mercedes held up her phone. In this age, they’re apparently carried even into formal ballrooms. “I’ve got it all on video!” she yelled triumphantly. “I got everything. Short And Pudgy there tried to rape Stephanie right here on the floor, and I got it all on camera!” Her voice cut through the madness and shut down all discussion for a long moment.

I nodded my understanding and urged Stephanie around, captured Mercedes with my eyes and we began moving slowly towards the broad set of stairs leading up to the door we’d come in. We were intercepted a few feet short of the first step by a very tall, very beefy, guy in a tuxedo he barely fit into.

“Mr. Mulvane would like to see the lady’s phone, sir,” he said to me matter-of-factly. He motioned off to his left. Standing against a tall column was the Mulvane in question. His expression was not that of a welcoming host. Judging by the look on his face, he was anxious, angry, and worried by turns. Mostly, though, he was angry—totally pissed off!

“No!” I answered shortly, but I don’t think belligerently. “ ... Not goin’ to happen!” I started around the guy’s right—it was like going around a small mountain—but he stretched out his right arm and put his hand on my chest to stop me.

He looked at Mercedes and made a “gimme” gesture with his left hand while holding me at bay with his right. I moved and the man-mountain’s left hand grabbed my shoulder to hold me in place.

“Look ... down!” I growled gutturally. I was not in a good mood.

He didn’t bother. He was certain he had control of the situation.

I prodded him in the belly with the Glock I’d drawn from its holster. “Look. DOWN!” I warned him.

He did finally and, with more intelligence than I’d given him credit for, instantly understood the situation had changed. He wasn’t actually in control of a damned thing.

My trigger finger was inside the guard and all I had to do was apply a tiny squeeze. Glocks have the safety built into the trigger itself and I had already pulled through that tab ... any more pressure on the trigger and it would start throwing big slugs into Mr. Man-mountain’s body.

“It’s angled upward,” I said conversationally. “If I start shootin’, I’m gonna put nine .45 caliber slugs right through your stomach and then your goddam heart. Understand me?”

He nodded. His hands went up slowly to show me they were empty.

“You have a gun?” I asked.

He nodded. “Small a’ my back,” he explained.

“Take it out,” I told him. “Slow! Your left hand. Thumb and forefinger only!”

He did exactly as I ordered, moving very, very carefully.

I reached across my body with my left hand and took the big semi-automatic from his unresisting fingers. I backed up a couple of paces, keeping the muzzle of my weapon pointed at the man-mountain the whole time. There were gasps from behind me. It was the first time most of the crowd saw I was holding a gun on the man.