T minus 48 hours. The construction trucks were on their way. The greenhouse addition forms were stacked on the future parking lot next to the glass panels covered with tarps and a dusting of snow. In two short days, my kitchen would disappear and the north wall of the room we'd been sleeping in would be history. From there, the professional kitchen and brand new dining room would bloom and grow before the first crocus of Spring.

On Monday John went to the doctor's. He came back with a short cast that barely reached his knee and a smile bigger than the mountain. We'd done as much as we could at home to help strengthen his body. His arms were becoming massive from pushing and pulling himself. His good thigh looked fantastic, but the pale, freshly un-casted thigh was sadly withered. That's when he made the decision to go to town for his rehabilitation sessions. He'd gotten the recommendation for a wonderful therapist working at a gym in Stowe from Dr. Forsythe. The only problem was that the therapists name was Francine and John would be working out with Francine for a few hours, three times every fucking week.

I'm sure you can imagine where my head was. Some beautiful ex-ski bum from Sweden with muscle tits and strong thighs. But John never talked about her. Probably because he was plain beat when he got home. Mostly he complained that once the small cast came off and the brace was put on his leg, he'd be starting all over again. Then once that was eliminated, well, you get the point. Needless to say, John was bound and determined.

With so much to do, I relegated Francine to the back of my mind, grateful that John was feeling some semblance of success in her hands. Argh!

I took those few hours he was gone to do what I had to do. Andy had roughed out the new bathroom entry and sealed off the original one connected to the soon to be destroyed bedroom. He'd also shoved the living room love seats back against the wall before shuttling John to Stowe.

It was Friday, and as good a day as any to shuffle the guest room furniture to an unused portion of the old house, then our bedroom furniture to the guest room. I started with the closets, hauling clothes, hangers and all. Then carried the full drawers and stacked them out of my path in the living room. Back and forth, back and forth. Of course I was washing clothes and watching a simmering pot of Osso Bucco at the same time. As I groaned to fold a sheet, the radio snapped on.

"What the --"

It blared and crackled. I was buried in a king sized fitted sheet, trying like hell to fold the damn thing and decided to deal with the radio when I was out from under the volumes of cotton.

"Hello there, Love Dove."

Don't you hate those fitted sheets? I had actually hooked two of the four elastic corners over my head to reach for the next. I stopped dead. My heart skipped a beat. Love Dove? Ah shit.

Rather than give SID the satisfaction of knowing he'd startled the hell out of me, I pulled the third elastic corner of the sheet over my head and reached for the forth. "Go away, SID. I'm busy."

When I had the thing folded, alright I confess, rolled like I always end up doing, I reached for the top sheet. Now the TV snapped on. I turned a glare into the living room. There he was, on the screen, pretty as can be.

"Go away, SID," I repeated.

"Ah, some Innkeeper. So inhospitable," he whined. "Can't you find just a moment to play, Riley?"

"No, I'm busy."

By this point, Sophie had skittered to the bedroom and hid in the empty closet.

Suddenly the other edge of the sheet rose, billowed and was pulled taut. Quick as a wink, it was folded and sitting on the table. And against my wishes, SID was standing there, smoothing his hand over it.

"Manual labor. I suppose it has some satisfactions. Now, will you play?"

"No."

I headed for the bedroom, screw driver in hand. I'd already dragged the mammoth mattress and box springs to the guest room, that left bed dismantling. I walked around it several times, decided to remove the headboard first. I grunted and groaned, setting each bed piece aside as I took it apart, and SID leaned casually against the wall, buffing his nails.

"Do you ever sit still, Riley?"

"Too much to do." Grunt. "Can't play till the work is done." Groan. "There!"

I stood, proud as a peacock, then I dragged each heavy wooden piece across the house to its new location. As I sweat, SID strolled beside me.

"All work and no play, you know, Love Dove."

I turned a wicked glare his way. The headboard weighed a ton and I was struggling with it. "Help me, or get the hell out, SID!"

He scratched his ear. "Help you or get out. Help you . . . or get out." Then he giggled like a toddler.

I groaned and lifted the head board again, pushing past him and into the room. When I walked out, he was sitting on the love seat, sipping a purple drink with a goofy miniature umbrella in it.

Shaking my head, I returned to the bedroom and pulled the dresser away from the wall, aimed it at the doorway. With straight arms, using all my strength to move the damn thing, I leveraged my feet and pushed. Nothing. I pushed again. Nada. Not even an inch. Damn, I was frustrated. I really wanted this finished before John got home. I ran a sleeve over my sweaty brow and pushed again, letting out a yell in the process.

"Help you . . . or get out, Riley?"

I looked up. Sid was blocking the doorway. Not that I was making any progress, but he was in the damn way. I stood straight, as tall as I could.

"That's right, SID. Help me, or get the hell out." I pointed to the door.

"Are you under the impression that you make the rules, Little Sister?" He said in a calm, menacing voice.

I attempted to stare him down. "Move!" I pushed again. Again, got nowhere.

His hand pressed on the opposite end of the dresser. "You do not make the rules, I do."

There was no way I was letting him bully me. I'd spent way too much of my life being pushed around and bullied by a man. It sure as hell wasn't happening in this world. Over my dead body!

"SID, listen to me and listen good," I hissed. "You can make all the fucking rules you want, but I am not playing. This is not the time to play."

His glare was frightening, but I stood my ground, softened my voice. "Sid, tell me something. Why do you look that way?"

"Perfect?" He glowered.

"Yes. What does it take for you to look like that?"

"Not much, I choose a color, a style, the exact mood I want." His eyes twitched around the room as he spoke. Poor Sophie whined in the closet and I kicked the door closed for her. At least she'd be safe, huh?

"Doesn't sound like 'not much' to me. It's work to look good. After you work, then you play. You wouldn't come out looking like . . ."

"Biebe?"

"Hey!"

"And how is our broken Brother?"

If there wasn't a six foot dresser between us, I'd have swung a slap across his perfect face.

"What?" He asked with mock indignance. "Have I inquired about his recovery incorrectly? How should I have asked? How is Sweetness?" (His voice was a perfect mimic of Darcy's.) Is Pappa Bear feeling better these days? (Jesus, it was Izzy's voice!) Oh, my sweet Johnny, is he well? (Reagan's concerned question.)

I narrowed my eyes at him.

"Tell me, Little Sister."

I pushed and pushed, pretending that it was his hands keeping me from moving the heavy piece of furniture. "You expect me to believe you actually care?" I grunted and pushed again. "First you insult the way he dresses . . ."

"No insult intended, Love Dove. Just an observation," he grinned.

I huffed and pushed again.

"So, how is he?"

God, my heart thumped. It was a direct question. Straight. Honest. I blinked, felt my heart soften.

"Recovering, SID. Working hard at it too."

He walked around the dresser, set his fingertip to the edge of it and pressed. Damn if the thing didn't just slide; drift like it was on casters. He maneuvered it through the door and across the living room.

"I can only assume that things are moving ahead as planned here. The communications are flying fast and furious. But there are a few concerns I have about the plans."

He pressed that finger and the dresser slid right into place, exactly where I wanted it.

"What concerns?" I asked, staring at the dresser.

He put his arm around me and walked me to the kitchen. Sat and crossed his leg elegantly, picking imaginary lint from his knee.

Hell, I guess it was time for a break. "Coffee?" I asked as I poured a mug for myself.

"Shorts my wiring, Love Dove," his grin was wicked and I stood near the counter.

"Oh no, lover boy. I've got two hours to finish this up. Why don't you wait for an official visit like all the other Brothers?"

"Because you never ask," he growled. "Sit. Now."

"Fine, for a minute. But no more than that, SID." I sat across from him and sipped coffee. "Tell me what you've been doing since Thanksgiving."

"This and that. Watching your IM's with Max and Bud and Cort. John's IM's
with--"

"Hey!"

"But most of all, monitoring the plans for this establishment, Love Dove. There are a few minor problems with the electrical system that your so-called New York experts haven't identified."

"Uh huh. And you want to help." It came out harsher than I meant it to, but it was what I felt. Who can trust SID?

"Yes, Riley, I want to help you. Right now."

His hands were on the table, but I could swear a finger pressed against the crotch of my jeans. My knees slammed shut under the table, crushing the offending appendage in a vice grip. Terrified to look, I took a cautious glance down. Oh Jesus, a cock head peeked at me between my denim covered thighs! I slid the chair back and SID giggled.

"That felt interesting, Love Dove. We can do that all day if you like, but it's much better the regular way."

Holy shit! The regular way? With a cock that can reach the distance of my kitchen table? "No." I stood, glared down at his smug face. Damn, what a pretty face too. "I have two hours before John gets home, and that bedroom has to be put together, dammit!"

He stood so fast I gasped. In the blink of an eye, I was looking at the floor as he carried me like a sack of flour under one arm. "Hey! Let me down! SID! Now!"

And he did, plopping me on my face in the guest room floor with an umph. How did my Persian carpet get rolled out? My eyes moved up to my bed. Completely assembled, mattress, box springs, sheets, quilt and a rose on my pillow. Of course, SID was lying back, naked as a jay bird, his head propped on the other pillow.

"All right, Little Sister. We played by your rules. The work is done. Now . . . we play by my rules."

***

Okay, I thought over the sound of my racing heart. Fair is fair. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Pulled off my tee shirt and wriggled out of my jeans. As I climbed onto the bed, I suddenly glanced around.

"My cigarettes. I need my cigarettes." Thought I'd make a clean getaway, too.

"On the table, right where you keep them. Everything you need is right here." His huge cock lurched and he giggled. "And now, for the rules." He tugged my arm until my head was lying on his shoulder. His fingers ran soft circles on my back. "Let's see. What game shall we play?"

"How about the 'normal sex' game?" Well, I tried.

"Boring," he offered a dramatic groan. "I prefer teaching games. Games where YOU learn a lesson."

"Ah, I see." For the first time in a week, I was actually hoping John would bring Francine home with him. I'll bet she could kick the shit out of SID. And if she couldn't, it would be worth the show anyway.

"Forget about Francine," SID hissed. "Biebe's cock only has eyes for you. Now, concentrate, Little Sister. What do you need to learn?"

"Well, I'd tell you if I thought you cared." I said, strains of fear threading my voice.

"I do care, Love Dove. Now, tell me."

I swallowed. Hard.

"Tell me!" He shouted at the top of his lungs.

I must have jumped a foot from the mattress. SID laughed and pulled me back into position.

"Okay, okay." Could I tell him? Should I? Would it make a damn bit of difference? My suspicion was that SID was going to do what SID wanted to do, no matter what I said so what the hell.

"SID," I said softly. "I need to learn to relax. I'm going bonkers here with all this work, with John struggling to get stronger. And I'm terrified he's doing too much, you know. Working too hard at it. We still need to get the left tower completely gutted, and we have some men from town who want to help us, but I just can't--"

"Enough!" He shouted. "I get it. You need to learn to relax."

And suddenly we were in the other bedroom, standing across from each other, the ten ton dresser between us. "What the hell?" I groaned.

"Push it, Riley."

"I can't, you saw me. I'm not strong enough!"

"You're not patient enough."

"What the hell does patience have to do with the weight of this thing?"

"Think, Little Sister." His eyes glowed. Christ, I could almost hear the little clicks of the mechanism inside his head. "Relax, and think."

Think. Think. I walked around the dresser. Got on my knees, looked under it. Inspected the floor, Huffed and walked around it again. Looked down, and there it was. My obstacle. A chip in the floor board the size of a quarter. The foot of the dresser was buried in the hole. "Oh my God!"

Again, a change of venue. This time I was at the bottom of a tree, staring up at SID, who was smugly sitting comfortable on the limb, exactly as Terry had that day. The day I was terrified Dee would wring my neck if she found out her injured Number One had climbed all the way up there.

"Jump," SID shouted.

I almost said I couldn't reach the limb, that I'd tried, but after my dresser discovery, I decided to go for it. I jumped and jumped. "I can do this, right? If I relax, and am patient, I can reach it."

"No, Love Dove. You can't," he laughed and laughed. Then sharply became dead serious. "What lesson did you learn about patience that day, playing your silly games with Thorne?"

I stood, stared up at him. Realized in the flash of an instant what I had learned. Not to underestimate him. Terry knew what he was capable of. And he did it. Huh.

Again I was in the bed, snug against SID. "Biebe knows what he can do. How far to push it. What do you know about what you can do, Little Sister?"

"Well, I can slow down, maybe think before I push, or jump. Maybe I can relax into a problem, instead of fighting with it?"

"Now that you've learned your lesson, I get my prize."

Oh my God! SID took me captive and pounced over me. I found myself struggling, panting with growing terror. I was having flashbacks of my horrible ex-husband, having his way. Violently, abusively.

"Now see, Love Dove. You haven't learned your lesson at all, have you." SID scowled, pressing over me, forcing my knees opened. "Think!" He shouted. "I'm not him! Think!"

My breath caught in my throat and I nearly choked. No, SID was not that monster. A monster, but not that one. And as strange as he was, SID really only wanted to play. I tried to calm.

"Better, much better. Now, what is happening here, in this bed right this minute?"

I gulped, tried not to say that he was attempting to rape me. "Um. A problem."

His face beamed, eyes flickered with excitement. "And what do we do with problems, Love Dove?"

Flash. The lightbulb went off over my head. Jesus. "Relax, and think it through."

"Relax, and think it through," he mimicked belligerently. "Say it like you mean it! Or this will be rape, Riley!"

I looked into his eyes. At first it was a defiant stare sure to become submissive. But suddenly, I saw something. Something I never looked for before in SID's eyes. I saw John, and Terry. Bud and Max and Colin. I saw them all, rolling around in the beautiful blue-green crystal irises. I felt myself soften, trust. Relax.

SID grinned; spoke calmly about the specific electrical mis-design in the professional kitchen, and the whole time, without the slightest movement of his hips or sign of excitement in his voice, his cock moved. It was like something independent. Alive. Thrusting smoothly in and out. Bending and pressing a perfect rub on the magic G-spot. Vibrating. Pulsing.

I was going wild. My head thrashed from side to side. Climax after climax shook me like an earthquake until I was screaming in exquisite agony. In a sudden move, I was over him, riding him like a rodeo bronco buster. His hands clasped tight on my breasts, fingers oscillating, stimulating nipples and sending me soaring again to the moon.

He continued to discuss the quality of wires, the placement and the voltage. I didn't hear a damn word he said. Not one word. In fact, I can't even recall if or when or how often he came. I passed out cold somewhere between 'rerouting the breaker box' and 'the probable threat of an electrical fire'.

***

"Hey, baby? Sweetheart?" John was shaking my shoulder gently.

I was jolted out of a deep sleep, sat straight and suddenly found my mind racing for the perfect explanation as to why I was naked and in bed with SID. Looking into John's face, all I could do was wonder. Why wasn't he pissed?

I looked down at myself. Completely dressed. On top of the build and perfectly made bed. And in our new bedroom to boot. "Um."

"Baby, you did this all yourself? Jesus fucking Christ, no wonder you're so tired," he chuckled, running his hand down my confused face. "And this? This is fucking amazing? How the hell did you know to look into this? Shit, baby. We could have lost everything if this wasn't changed."

John held out a lined note pad. I took it and leafed through page after page, astonished to find my own handwriting on every one of them. Everything SID had told me was there. Every detail. I yawned, shrugged. Climbed off the bed and stretched.

"I made Osso Bucco for dinner. If it's not burned to a crisp by now."

"AIt's fine," John said, still looking at the volumes of notes. "Just checked it."

I headed for the kitchen and he followed behind, the cane thumping on the old floor with the cast.

As I set the table and made a salad, I decided that it was all a dream. That SID was never there. That I did a little sleep walking, sleep furniture moving and became a sleep electrical engineer. Nah. Wasn't possible. But I could swear it really happened. Trust me when I say, I know jack shit about electricity, except that when you turn the switch something comes on, you know.

It had to be a dream. Yeah. It was a dream. A nice one, but still, just a dream.

John hobbled into the emptied room, came back and glared at me. "What the fuck was Sophie doing in the closet, Riles?"

DUH