The Cross of Sins (7 page)

He thought about the secret book, and the information Marco had given him—eventually—after they made love once more on the floor of the artist's loft.

Luca thought about Marco's naked body, covered in paint, panting with exhilaration and heaving with passion.

As he lay there naked on his bed, recalling the night spent with Marco, he let the tips of his fingers coast gently down the length of his own body, over his chest and along the vale that ran down the center of his stomach.

He felt like he was twelve again, secretly discovering himself beneath the roof of the convent. Caressing himself gently. And although, as a boy, Jesus watched from above—from the wooden crucifix hanging over his bed—Luca never felt as if Christ judged him. God made Luca in his own image. It seemed wrong to him, even as a boy, to take on any blame, or feel any shame, in feeling every emotion and exploring every sensation his body was made to experience.

Now, once again, he took himself quietly to the threshold of pleasure beneath the accepting gaze of Christ.

He felt the hot burst spill up his stomach.

He let his seed bake against his hot skin on that warm Italian night.

Then, he drifted into a deep, deep sleep.

But his dreams were far from peaceful. His arms flinched, his legs kicked and his body jolted as his unconscious mind flooded with terrible visions of the torture and murder of the artist Videlle—his eyes being sliced open and scooped from their sockets, his beautiful artistic hands being severed at the wrist, his creative soul tumbling in coils and loops from his body as he was strung up and cut open like a pig.

In the dead of night, Luca sat bolt upright in bed, gasping for air, his eyes wide open, his body drenched in sweat. He turned suddenly, as though he was being watched, and looked at the wooden crucifix on the wall.

"Marco was right," he said to the cross above his bed, still panting and sweating from the nightmare. "Faith does have many faces."

IV

Broke Ridge Ranch, Texas

Shane Houston was asleep, slumped low in the front passenger seat of the limousine, one boot slung out the open window, his cowboy hat in his lap, his sunglasses sliding down his nose, the wind playing with his short blond hair.

When Gertie's driver, Sinclair, had picked him up at the airport, Shane asked the family chauffeur why his mother had requested his company so urgently.

Sinclair had explained he was under strict instructions not to steal her thunder. The comment had been followed by a roll of the eyes. Shane had fallen asleep in the front passenger seat a short time later.

The drive to Broke Ridge Ranch—the ten thousand acre property that had been in the Houston family for the last forty years—took a little over two hours. As the limousine veered down the road that led to the gates of the property, something inside Shane woke him. Perhaps it was instinct. Perhaps it was the gentle deceleration of the car as they approached the tall timber gates of the ranch. Perhaps it was the scent of the hay and the dust and the horses, drifting in through the open window.

Whatever it was, Shane knew he was home.

He opened his eyes, stretched, and saw the name of his family's ranch on the sign, swinging in the wind above the gate's threshold.

That's when he saw his horses, too—Arturo and Acacia, and the new colt, Jax—racing along the fence of the property, Jax's lanky young legs doing their best to keep pace with his parents, as though all three horses sensed that Shane was home.

Shane smiled at the sight of them. "God, it's good to be back."

"Enjoy it while it lasts," Sinclair muttered with a sigh.

Shane looked at his mother's driver. "Sinclair, what aren't you telling me?"

Always one to opt for a sarcastic gesture over the simple truth, Sinclair made an exaggerated zipped-lips sign. He emphasized the point by pretending to lock a keypad on his tightly-clamped lips, and then threw his invisible key out the car window—not his own window, but Shane's, for added effect.

Shane pulled his head back for fear of being hit by the invisible key. It annoyed him greatly that he still fell for Sinclair's melodramatic pantomimes. "Sinclair, what the hell's going on?"

They were already cruising down the long drive toward the majestic old ranch house, although since he had last visited, it looked more rambling and rickety than it did majestic. The eaves were dilapidated, the paint was peeling and the dry desert grass around the porch was overgrown and full of weeds and wildflowers.

That's when the front door opened and Shane's mother, Gertie Houston, emerged from the house, looking as beautiful and radiant as she ever did—a true Southern Belle—even if her house no longer matched her charm and grace.

Shane smiled, but his happiness quickly faded when he saw a man in his late fifties, with slicked silver hair and twirled mustache, step out onto the porch behind Gertie.

With a suspicious crease in his brow, Shane asked, "Is that—?"

Sinclair nodded unhappily before Shane could put a name to the face. "It certainly is."

"Claudius Welles," said the man with the silver hair, shaking Shane's hand vehemently on the porch. "Perhaps you don't remember me, son."

"Yes, sir. I remember you, all right."

"Well I'm glad you're here. And I'm happy to say I'm not afraid to shake your hand."

"Why would you be?"

"What?"

"Afraid to shake my hand?"

"Well, because you're—"

Suddenly, Gertie jumped in, quicker than a coyote at dinner-time. "Why don't you two boys go grab a place at the table? I've fixed spare ribs from here to kingdom come, so I hope you're both hungry!"

With a grand wave of his hand, Claudius opened the door for Gertie and Shane to step inside their own house. Shane took off his hat and followed his mother inside, shooting Claudius Welles an uncertain, disapproving look as he passed.

Claudius simply smiled back.

Before he closed the screen door, Claudius noticed a flash of lightning over the mountains in the distance. Twilight was falling and rain was on its way.

At the dinner table, Gertie laid the spread and Claudius made himself very much at home by serving everyone their meal, just as the man of the house would. He loaded Shane's plate high. "Son, you look to me like you enjoy a good meal. You've filled out a lot since you were a little fella. Why, I remember your mother and father used to invite me over for supper and you barely ate a thing. You were kinda scrawny back then."

"And you were kinda rich back then."

Outside, thunder rolled across the sky.

"Sounds like something's brewing," Claudius muttered sarcastically.

Shane ignored it and cut straight to the chase. "It's true, isn't it." It wasn't a question, but an accusation. "It's true you laid hundreds of networks of pipes nobody knew about so you could steal all the oil from your neighbors, including my father."

Gertie spluttered and choked on her first sip of wine. "Shane!"

Claudius stopped cold, a spare rib dangling from his serving fork. "I never did any such thing. You believed the words of liars."

"Are you calling my father a liar? He killed himself because of you."

"Shane! Stop!" Gertie insisted sternly.

But Shane didn't stop. "Gertie, he took everything from Dad. He took everything from us!"

"Shane Houston! That's enough! I will not have this discussion at my dinner table!" Gertie turned to Claudius and muttered a humble, embarrassed apology. "Claudius, I am so sorry!"

Claudius simply put down the serving fork, smiled politely, and then reached across the table and patted the back of Gertie's hand. "It's all right, my dear. No offense taken."

Shane stared at Claudius' hand now resting on his mother's, quickly sized up exactly why he was here, and then shot a furious look from Gertie to Claudius and point-blank demanded, "Are you here to tell me you wanna marry my mother?"

"Shane! I said that's enough!"

"Well why else did you ask me to come, Gertie? You said it was urgent. You said you had something important to tell me."

"I... I..." Gertie squirmed, unable to speak.

Claudius cleared his throat awkwardly.

The uncomfortable silence was all Shane needed to confirm his fears.

He threw down his napkin. "Gertie, can I please see you outside!"

Gertie threw down her napkin, nervous and defensive. "Why, yes you can!"

Shane picked up his hat and Gertie picked up her shawl. Simultaneously, mother and son stood, and then both stormed for the door.

Shane and his mother let the screen door slam and pounded the boards of the dilapidated porch, far enough away from the door so that Claudius couldn't hear them.

As darkness fell and distant thunder echoed off the mountains, both Shane and Gertie started talking at once. But it was Shane who had the louder voice.

"Gertie, what the hell are you doin'? Has he asked you to marry him? After what he did to our family!"

"Shane, he did nothing to our family."

"Gertie, he drained the entire well. He bled us dry and made billions. And left Dad broke."

"What your daddy did, he did to himself. I don't know why you're taking his side, anyway. We both know he was a mean, angry drunk. You and he never once saw eye to eye! And stop callin' me Gertie in front of Claudius! He's a gentleman. And yes, he did ask me to marry him. And I said yes!"

"What! Why!"

"Because, damn it, Shane, I'm lonely!"

"You've got me!"

"No, I don't! You've got your own life! Shane, I love you. And in a lot of ways I loved your father, too, despite the things he said and the way he acted. But now I need you to understand my life, too. I'm all alone, Shane."

She reached for him then and touched his arm. Her shawl fell from her shoulder down to her elbow.

"Honey, you know nobody will ever take the place of you. But Claudius, he makes me feel alive. And for an old woman—"

"Ma, you ain't old."

"I'm getting old. And since you left home, I get lonely, too. And these days, when someone knocks on my door, I open it. And I ask them in for a cup of tea."

"Ma, I don't think Claudius is here for a cup of tea—"

"Hush!" scolded Gertie. "He keeps me company."

Shane sighed and wrapped his mother's shawl up around her shoulder. "He doesn't treat you bad?"

Gertie shook her head. "Heavens, no! Not at all."

"What can he give you?"

"He's got big dreams, Shane! He tells me he's working on something incredible! Something to do with new energy. Something that'll change the world. I don't know what it is, but he tells me he's cooking up a storm!"

"Yeah, but does he cook you dinner?"

Gertie laughed. "Goodness, I haven't met a man yet who can."

"Gertie, you need to meet more gay men."

Gertrude eyed him with a soft anger. "Shane Houston, I told you about that Gertie thing!"

Shane sighed. "Yes, Ma."

Gertie smiled and pecked her son on the cheek.

He wrapped his strong arms around her then. Either his arms and shoulders had gotten bigger than she remembered, or she'd gotten smaller. It didn't matter.

"Just be careful," he whispered into her neck as he hugged her tight. "I worry about you!"

As another bolt of lightning illuminated the distant sky, Arturo and Acacia galloped across the paddock toward the house. Shane could hear them. And he smiled.

Tomorrow he would take all three of them out—including young Jax—and let them run wild in the sun, trampling the earth, grazing the prairie, having fun. Just Shane and his horses.

"I'd better get these guys into the stable," he said now. "That thunder's getting closer."

"And I'd better get back inside and make sure Claudius is all right."

Gertie kissed him on the cheek once more and headed through the screen door.

Shane stepped down off the porch as Arturo and Acacia approached. He immediately sensed their anxiety. He saw their wide-eyed fear.

"Whoa, whoa, guys! You okay?"

Suddenly, Shane realized that Jax was nowhere to be seen.

Riding Arturo bareback, with Acacia by their side, Shane and the horses thundered across the land as the sky thundered above them. They came to a halt, Arturo rearing upward, at the edge of a shallow ravine.

Shane jumped from Arturo's back and stood staring down into the dark.

He heard a frightened whinny, and then, as lightning shot across the sky, he caught a glimpse of young Jax, trapped in the gully. He seemed unharmed, but somehow he had managed to fall or find his way down there and couldn't get back up.

Shane quickly sized up the steep ravine. "I'm comin' little buddy! Hold on!" Then, he turned to Arturo. "Arturo. Rope! I need you to get me a rope from the stables. Rope! Do you understand?"

Arturo's head bucked up and down, his hooves clomping, and as swiftly as he raced across the ranch, he disappeared into the darkness.

At that moment the heavens opened and the rain came down in a deluge.

It turned the sides of the ravine into a muddy slippery slide as Shane scrambled and rolled his way down, his clothes soaked through by the time he hit the floor of the ravine.