Family Reunion by Margaret P.

(With thanks to betas Suzanne Lyte and Terri Derr)

Part One (Words: 3,539)

"He's an arsehole!"

Jack scowled at the dirt at his feet, determined not to look up. The horses in the neighbouring stalls moved restlessly.

"You don't even know him, Jack. Give him a chance."

Jack imagined his father staring daggers into the top of his head through the gloom. He still refused to look up. Hunched down, back against the wall, he shredded the straw in his hand. "I didn't want to come here in the first place, and now you're forcing me to spend time with some daddy's boy with a silver spoon in his mouth."

"I admit Garry laid it on a bit thick, but he's proud of his son. I used to be able to say the same. I don't know what's got into you lately."

Jack did look up then. "Well, you'd have to be home occasionally to know that, wouldn't you?"

There was a dangerous silence. When it came to a war of words his dad could normally wipe the floor with him, but maybe Jack had hit a nerve. Maybe—those blue eyes were unreadable as usual, but the fists clenched tight by his side—yeah, he'd hit something.

"My not being home enough is no excuse for you losing the plot just now. Walking out was uncalled for. We suggested you spend some time with your cousin. Is that so awful? You're the same age. You must have interests in common."

Jack bit his lip and said nothing.

Hands on hips his dad turned his back and kicked at the ground. Then he swung around and slammed his hand hard into the end of the stall. "Damn it, Jack, you're being a little shit! Your marks are down the toilet. You're rude to everyone…. Don't you care how much you're upsetting your mother?"

"It wasn't me who had to sleep a week on a mate's fucking couch!" Jack jumped up and pushed passed his father. His stupid cousin wasn't the only arsehole.

A crew of drovers were riding through the yard, moving heifers and their calves to fresh pasture, as Jack barged through the stable door. He waited impatiently to let them pass, and a cowboy came up beside him. "Never as bad as it seems."

Jack glowered sideways, taking in the man's pinkish-red shirt and Mexican style. "Mind your own business." That's all he needed, another adult telling him what to do—probably another fucking cousin. They were everywhere and the reunion celebrations weren't for weeks yet. Being a dick must run in the family like blue eyes and black hair.

Shit!

Jack looked down at his boots. Now who was being a dick?

"Look mate, I'm…" Jack stopped short. What was the guy wearing on his hip? Was that real?

"Cuidado!" A vaquero rode towards them. A heifer had broken wide of the herd. Jack stepped forward with his arms outstretched and drove the animal back towards the others. The vaquero raised his hand as he reined in and swerved away. "Gracias, joven."

When Jack turned around again the cowboy was gone—nowhere to be seen. Crap. He'd have to say sorry another time.

He crossed the yard to the hacienda through the cloud of dust kicked up by the horses and cattle. His mother intercepted him in the hall. "Jack—is your father…"

"He's in the stables. And I'm going—all right?" Jack took the stairs two at a time up to his bedroom. He knew there would be no peace if he didn't make some effort to be friendly to his douchebag cousin. May as well get it over with.

Scott Lancer was unpacking when Jack entered their room. A pile of neatly folded shirts sat on the end of the bed while he put underwear away in a drawer.

Jack dragged his own bag up from the floor and started stuffing what was left inside into another chest of drawers. He had hung up his T-shirts and his one and only tailored shirt the day before; he was no slob, but for real that Boston pretty boy looked like he'd even ironed his underpants. "You been here before?"

"A few times when I was a kid. You?" Scott threw his spongebag onto the bed, but he didn't turn round. Maybe he was a little pissed off by Jack walking out earlier.

"I used to come every two or three years until Dad—" Jack wrenched the zip closed on his bag, and tossed his good shoes towards the bottom of the open wardrobe. "Last time I was twelve."

Crap! The shoes had bounced off the oak panelling of the wardrobe and hit a pile of school books neatly stacked on its floor. The top books went flying. Jack picked them up, straightening bent pages and closing covers. "What are these for? I thought American schools were on holiday now?"

Scott glanced over, but he didn't seem very interested in Jack or the condition of his books. "Preparation for next year."

Was he serious? Jack put the books back on the stack. Bringing textbooks on holiday when you didn't have to? Never in a million years would Jack do that. He was stuck with doing some school work while he was at the ranch, but that was because most of their stay was term time in New Zealand where he lived, and because his mother had his books in her luggage. "I noticed you had 'forgotten' them." Well, it was easy done. If he could get away with it, he still wasn't planning to do much study. He would take the flak when he got back. No way was he going to research the causes of World War One when everyone else was on holiday. But this guy? God help him—six weeks sharing space with Mr Diligent Spit and Polish—six weeks of hell unless… "Do you ride?"

"A little bit." His cousin shoved the drawer shut and turned around with a smile that Jack didn't quite trust. "I can finish this later. Do you want to explore?"

Scott only took a couple of minutes to change out of his all-American schoolboy gear and into jeans and a blue t-shirt. He looked almost normal. Still a bit Stepford by Jack's standards—polo was not a style Jack would be seen dead in—but it was a definite improvement.

The cousins threw their empty bags under their beds and went in search of some saddle horses. The foreman let them take their choice. Jack nabbed the palomino before Scott even had a chance to check out the animals on offer. Jack had spotted the colt the day before when he had first arrived with his parents and younger sister, Ellie. They had been chatting by the corral rail to his aunt, Terri, who managed the ranch for the family trust. The colt had come right up and nuzzled his shoulder. He was a beautiful animal: gold coat and a creamy white mane and tail. Jack had wanted to saddle up then and there, but he couldn't admit it when he'd been complaining and bad-tempered the whole way across the Pacific. He had his pride.

Scott chose a chestnut gelding. Right off he started calling him Ulysses. "According to the family history, my forebear and namesake called the first horse he had here 'Ulysses'."

Jack stared at his cousin's back as he mounted. He's read the fucking family history. Christ!

Within twenty minutes Jack knew he had been right to mistrust his cousin. He was gobsmacked how well Scott jumped on an unfamiliar horse. "Yeah, I see you have ridden 'a little bit'."

"You're not bad yourself." Scott grinned back, reining in a sweating Ulysses after soaring over three fences in a row.

"Let's see what you're like on the hills." Jack spurred the palomino forward, and for the rest of the afternoon they had fun racing and daring each other to make jumps or tackle some of the steeper slopes. The palomino invariably won any competition on the hills. He was as sure footed as a mountain goat. All Jack had to do was hang on.

Jack was knackered by the time they returned to the hacienda, but he definitely felt friendlier towards Scott and the world at large. The two families joined Terri for dinner in the great room. They talked so much they didn't leave the table for nearly two hours. Jack's dad and Scott's dad reminiscing mostly, but Scott's mum told some pretty cool stories as well. Karen worked as an events manager of some kind. It was her job to reel in and look after the celebrities, and it didn't always go to plan. Jack liked the story about the diva with nits. When he wasn't skiting about Scott, even Garry was pretty interesting. He was some kind of doctor in Boston now, but he had been in the army. Scott had been an army brat until he was ten. Guess that could explain a few things.

When they finally did leave the table, the adults moved out to the patio to continue their conversation over a few drinks. Ellie disappeared to watch TV with the foreman's daughter and again Jack was left alone with Scott. Not really knowing what to do, they started poking around on the bookcase looking for ideas, and Scott uncovered an old chess set from beneath a pile of magazines. "Do you play?"

"A little bit." Jack shrugged. Scott looked at him a moment longer than necessary, but Jack knew his face gave nothing away. It was one of the more useful traits he had inherited from his father.

"That's one of the few things from the original bookcase that survived the fire." Coming in from outside to get another bottle of wine, Garry Lancer took the set from Scott and pointed out the metal plate on the bottom of the slightly-charred wooden case—date of manufacture 1882. "This whole end of the great room went up in smoke in 1906, the day of the earthquake. San Francisco was worst hit of course, but it fairly shook here as well. An oil lamp was thrown off the table. The papers and books on the bookcase went up like tinder. By the time the fire was brought under control every single photograph was gone."

"So there aren't any photos of the original Lancers?" Jack was not particularly interested in genealogy, but he had been curious to see what the members of the first family had looked like.

"There are a few when they were much older like that one of Murdoch Lancer with his great grandchildren, but almost none from before 1906. Except for the Ambrotype of this Murdoch's maternal grandfather on the wall near the desk, the albums and photographs were all on the bookcase. The photos taken on Murdoch Lancer's ninetieth birthday, just before he died, are all we have of him." Scott's father looked sad. Jack knew he was a keen genealogist; photographs must mean a lot to him.

Garry returned outside with three bottles of wine from a local vineyard, and the two boys spread out on the floor in front of the fireplace in the comparative privacy of the great room. The chessboard lay flat on the carpet between them. By concentrating hard during the first game, Jack managed to beat his cousin, but only just. Chess, like riding, was something his dad had taught him. It had been put on the back burner for a while so he was a tad rusty. From what Scott said, he had learned in a similar way, but he and his dad still played on and off. He clearly wasn't used to someone his own age beating him. "I'd say you've played more than just 'a little bit', cousin. Touché."

Jack grinned. "No hard feelings?"

Scott shook his head with a laugh, but took a lot more time over his moves thereafter. The next game ended in a stalemate.

Half way through the third game, Jack pushed a pawn forward. "Your dad sure is proud of you."

"Hmpf." Scott's eyes stayed fixed on the board. A burst of laughter came through the French doors. The adults out on the patio were settling in for a late night, it seemed.

Reclining on one elbow, Jack studied his cousin. Scott determinedly didn't look up. What's he hiding? "That's not very articulate for 'the winner of the Boston Latin School's highest award in English' and 'a future Ivy League man'."

Scott grimaced as his hand hovered over the board, weighing up different moves. "Dad's embarrassing. Do me a favour and don't listen to him when he starts."

"Yeah, but you did win that award, and what about all the other things he was saying? You're superman, Boston."

"Fuck you!" Scott glared at Jack, withdrawing his hand. He started to get up from the game.

"Hey, keep your shirt on. I was only pulling your leg."

"Well, you're not very funny." Scott stood over Jack, his grey-blue eyes like ice. He glanced towards the French doors, and Jack guessed he was weighing up what would happen if he walked out. "You have no idea."

"You think? I hate almost every class I take. I'd kill to like even one subject enough to win an award for it." Jack sat up and waved Scott down again. "Finish this game at least. I'm winning."

"In your dreams." The corner of Scott's mouth twitched and he got back down on the floor. He sat hugging his knees and pulling at tufts of carpet. "I don't enjoy most of the subjects I take. I feel like I'm in quicksand half the time, but my parents want me to go to Harvard. Nowhere else will do. I have to study every day, even in my so-called holidays." Scott looked over at the chessboard and took another of Jack's pawns, depositing his bishop down in its place. "Check."

"What?" Frowning, Jack hastily moved his king out of harm's way.

"You want to know why the reunion is during the summer holidays? It's not the anniversary of anything. That would be closer to Easter. We're having it now because six weeks is a long time and my parents didn't want me missing actual school. Your folks weren't so bothered."

Wow, was that true? Not only was he not alone in feeling like his life was an inescapable black hole, but in Scott's eyes his parents were liberal?

"Medicine or law—that's my choice. Seven years or four and end up in a career I'd hate. Mom and Dad are both so wrapped up in the idea of me going to Harvard. It would kill them if I said I didn't want to go. You think Dad was bad when we first arrived, spouting all that bullshit about winning this and that. You should hear him when he really gets going. It's like every time I'm introduced to someone these days I have to suffer him telling them I'm a 'shoe-in for Harvard' or what a great sportsman I am."

Jack's parents wanted him to go to uni and study law like his mother or business like his dad, but they weren't as hard core about grades as Scott's folks sounded, and the choice of university would be up to him. They weren't pushovers though. Actually, Jack wouldn't mind business, as long as it wasn't the corporate stuff his dad was into. Maybe adventure tourism or something like it. He was not sure if that was even possible now though. He had taken all the wrong subjects; stuffed his whole future up by spitting the dummy over fuck all. He'd left his parents and teachers to choose his subjects for the following two years and ended up in an academic nightmare. Unlike Scott, he didn't have the will-power to stick to the books when he was bored senseless. "Just don't try so hard. That's what I do. If you don't come top, he might lay off."

"Tried it. Even got drunk once. The lectures and Mum in tears were worse than the study. Does it work for you then?"

Jack shrugged. "No, not really. It wasn't bad at first; the letters from the dean at least got Dad's attention. Probably wouldn't have seen him at all last year otherwise. But failing and wagging school just seem to make me angry all the time. There's this kid in my class." Jack smashed his fist into his hand and looked up at Scott with a wry smile. "Shouldn't have let him get to me. There was hell to pay, but they still didn't disown me if that's what you're worried about. Tell your parents to stick Harvard."

"You don't know my father. Why did you hit the guy?"

"Long story." And one Jack wasn't going to share just yet. He'd said too much already. He'd almost told Scott about the cops escorting him home; they'd caught him doing 140k on the motorway on his restricted license. He'd only escaped with a warning thanks to being sober at the time and his mum bursting into tears and spilling her guts about her problems with his dad. That was way too much information for her or him to share in Jack's opinion. He wanted to be absolutely sure his cousin wasn't the dick he had first thought before telling him anything that personal.

Talking with Scott didn't change his situation, but Jack went to bed a lot happier than he'd been for some time, and he got up early to do his assigned chores. As the two families were going to be at the ranch for six weeks all up, the adults had decided the young people should be given a few jobs to do to help out. Terri gave him and Scott the task of mucking out the stables every morning. That was a big area. The stables had twenty stalls divided into two sections and if full, cleaning them out and replenishing the water and hay for each horse could easily keep the boys occupied until breakfast.

Jack and Scott tossed a coin to decide who would tackle which end before they went in. As it turned out there were only six horses inside, the rest were out in the fields or corral. Jack struck lucky because there were only two in his part so he decided to go and bring his palomino and Ulysses in from the corral. He could saddle up while Scott finished off. They'd decided to ride out to Cedar Canyon after breakfast. There used to be a good swimming hole there, and Terri said the stream had trout.

As he neared the corral where the two horses were waiting, he saw the cowboy from the day before. He was sitting astride the top rail, his back against the barn wall, feeding Jack's palomino a carrot.

"You're out of luck, mate. I'm riding that one while I'm here." Jack smiled to let the man know he came in peace and reached over to pat the colt's neck. The horse whickered contentedly and moved his head so Jack could scratch behind his ears.

"Just making friends. He reminds me of a horse I once had. What do you call him?"

"Good question. The foreman didn't have a name for him and I haven't decided what fits." Jack climbed up onto the rail too. The colt nuzzled at his jeans pocket. "Nothing wrong with your sense of smell." Jack pulled out the lump of sugar he pinched from the coffee table before coming out. Holding his hand flat, he enjoyed the rough feel of the animal's tongue on his palm as it licked up the white cube. "What did you call yours?"

"Barranca—means gully."

"Sure-footed on the slopes, huh?" Jack pushed the colt's head away. He was looking for more sugar, but there was no more to be had. "This ones the same. Maybe I'll borrow the name—if you don't mind? P'raps yours was this one's sire."

"Nope. Barranca was a gelding. Cousin maybe."

"Cousin is good—I'm getting to like them more at any rate."

The cowboy lifted his leg over the rail and slipped to the ground. He smiled crookedly up at Jack, still on his perch. "Seeing life a little different this morning?"

"Yeah, and look, I'm sorry I bit your head off yesterday. I had an argument with Dad. I was angry."

"I noticed." The stranger pushed his hat back on his head. "All right now?"

"Not really. Just keep out of his way mostly."

"I used to have problems with my old man. Talking helps—and doing things together."

"Yeah, well, it's hard to talk and I don't want to do stuff with him."

"I know it, but you'll feel different when you do." The cowboy slapped Jack on the knee and raised his hand to say goodbye as he disappeared around the corner of the barn, spurs clicking on his heels. Jack watched him go, his eye caught again by the firearm at the man's hip. Forgot to ask his name—never mind, Jack had a feeling he'd see the cowboy again.

R

Notes:

1. Because Jack is a Kiwi teenager and the story is from his point of view, there is some slang in this story and some of it is peculiar to New Zealand. Hopefully most will be clear from the context, but if you are having trouble .co.nz or www.newzealandslang or . /kiwispeak/index might help. ***Grrr! This site obviously doesn't approve of promoting other websites and keeps chopping the links. Just google 'New Zealand slang' and you should find some sites to help.***

2. This story loosely links to other stories I have written: Good Listener and From Highlands to Homecoming.

3. This story draws the occasional phrase from or refers to places mentioned in Lancer episodes, e.g. The Homecoming , Pilot movie, or The Highriders, Series 1, Episode 1; To Chase a Wild Horse, Series 1, Episode 3; and The Experiment, Series 2, Episode 18.