Dallas, Texas
February 1979
Little John was one. They'd had him a full year, and what a year it had been. This time last year, she'd been miserable because of him, but now she was just unhappy, although not because of him. The problem was Ewing men. She'd cried in JR's arms just days ago, but she still wasn't sure if she could trust him to be a faithful husband. JR's wandering eye, and probably his wandering hands, had upset her in the past and continued to be a sore point.
She and JR weren't separated, not like Bobby and Pamela were, but he wasn't exactly her favourite person at the moment. Still, with their son's birthday, they had to be together. Even if they hadn't been, it seemed Jock would've been happy to step in, his hand resting far too low on her back as they gathered for a family picture, lingering longer than necessary as the rest of the group dispersed after the photo.
Jock was her other problem. He was too friendly, as evidenced by his constant presence in her daily life, even when John Ross wasn't around and there was no real reason for him to be.
At the birthday party, little John was everywhere, which made her feel secure. However, even her son couldn't protect her from awkward encounters. Now, as they sat at the patio table eating birthday cake, John Ross getting frosting all over his new shirt, she was certain that Jock's overly personal way of regarding her, which had started during her pregnancy, hadn't changed one bit.
"Bbbbb," John Ross babbled. He wasn't close to forming the word, but she knew what he meant.
"That's right, birthday cake," she cooed.
"Bbbbb," he repeated, clapping his hands, enjoying himself whether he understood what was going on or not.
"I think he's saying 'brother.' Baby brother," Jock suggested.
John Ross had no concept of a baby brother, and even if he did, she doubted he'd ask for one. She certainly hadn't asked for Kristin.
"I don't think so," she said, trying to dismiss the notion.
"Little John, would you like a baby brother?" Jock pressed.
"Bbbbb," the child babbled again.
"He doesn't know what we're talking about," Sue Ellen replied, hoping Jock would get the hint. She should've known better than to expect something to just happen because she wished it would.
"But you do. What do you think?" Jock asked.
"I think that's a very personal question," she said, trying to stay polite, aware that they had company and a toddler present. Scanning the crowd for JR, she was disappointed when she couldn't spot him.
"We're friendly, aren't we?" Jock continued.
"In a sense," she replied cautiously.
"Well, as a friend, anytime you want to broach the subject, I'm here," he offered.
Hearing his comment, she was speechless. She didn't quite understand what he was trying to say, but every possible interpretation that crossed her mind seemed more bizarre and inappropriate than the last.
She would talk to JR, or a doctor, about having another baby. She might even discuss it with Pamela, or, if she were desperate, Miss Ellie. But Jock? That wasn't likely. He had no opinion on her maternal future that she cared about.
What unsettled her more than his suggestion was the implication that he'd be more than happy to help her give John Ross a little brother. He hadn't said it outright, but the way he looked at her, touched her, and spoke to her, combined with his sense of entitlement as the Ewing patriarch, left her with little doubt. If JR were to disappear one day, Jock would find a way to keep her around, and it would come with strings attached.
March 1979
Sam Culver had himself a younger woman, a very pretty one at that. Jock figured he deserved the same; he had just as much going for him as Sam did. He knew the woman he wanted, and he wasn't the type to sit around waiting. Soon, he'd have what Sam did, and more.
His pharmacy contact had reassured him that the backaches Sue Ellen was experiencing were simply a women's issue, nothing serious. That helped ease any guilt he might have felt about offering his hands to soothe an ailment he was, in a way, responsible for.
Fortunately, her discomfort seemed to lessen as the days went on. His mental calendar began a countdown too, something he wouldn't have known to do if his contact hadn't explained the optimal times for achieving what he wanted.
He still wasn't sure how he'd get her to agree to his plan; her initial reluctance to let him even touch her was a problem, as was her increasing skittishness around him. But he knew what he wanted, what she had hinted she might want, and he had never been one to compromise once his mind was made up.