Chapter 5
Chapter Five
“Are you sure we shouldn’t stay, cowboy?” Coke hated leaving the Cajun in the lurch. On the other hand, Balta Silva was there, willing to help out, and Sammy was on the mend.
Dillon’s mouth set in that line, the one Coke was starting to label ‘stubborn’. “I’m sure, babe. Sammy is gonna be okay. They have Balta, and Tag says they got this thing whipped.”
Dillon did a mean Adam Taggart impersonation.
“If you’re sure.” The truck was waiting, the bassets taking up the back seat in their cushy crate.
“I am so sure.” Dillon stopped, turning to stare into his eyes. “You know I love Sammy. I wouldn’t leave him if he wasn’t in good hands. Now it’s your turn to rest a little.”
“Our turn.” Coke loved the mulish son of a bitch, so bad. “Take me home, then. I want to see our other place.”
“There you go.” Dillon chuckled, taking his arm. “I want to, too. Sis has done a bunch to fix it up.”
“You tell her you have a friend coming to stay?”
“I told her my lover was coming.”
Coke stopped, looked over at Dillon. Well, okay, then. “She’s good with that? ’Cause I wouldn’t have your people upset with you for nothing.”
“Well, she’s not gonna advertise.” Dillon started to swing his hand, but obviously thought better of it. “But we don’t have secrets, really.”
“I cain’t wait to meet her.” All of the sudden he was so fucking tired, so ready to be away from this hospital, that he couldn’t bear it.
“Cool. Come on, babe.” Dillon knew. Dillon always knew. Hell, Dillon went right to the driver’s side.
He slipped into the passenger’s side, murmuring his hellos to the pups and trying not to worry about his friends.
Dillon got them going, got the radio on. His cowboy did love music.
“You gonna sing to me?” He got the pillows moved around, got his stitched-up hand settled.
“I will, indeed. I have my iPod. Opera? Country? Booty-shaking rap?”
“No opera.” He chuckled, though, let himself admire.
“No, huh?” Dillon beat a drum on the steering wheel. “Okay, then we’ll go with Garth.”
“You do a good Garth. I like when you do Guns ’n’ Roses, too.”
“Yeah? Not so fond of my Aerosmith, though.”
No, that was screechy. That Stephen Tyler guy was just…eh.
“I think your Keith Urban’s good.”
“Oh, we can go for that!” The music changed, and Dillon started singing Somebody Like You, the sound easing him.
Coke hummed along, settling deep into the seat, muscles relaxing. Dillon’s hand landed on his thigh, warm and firm, just staying there. “You make me awful happy, cowboy.”
“Do I? Are we still people to each other?” Those pretty eyes cut to his just for a second, the smile reaching them easily.
“I don’t think the good Lord Himself could make us not people, Dillon. He could call one of us home, but you’ll always be one of mine.”
Dillon squeezed his leg, not saying much, but the singing got a little watery.
Coke leaned back, eyelids getting heavy. “We staying in Utah tonight, or driving straight through?”
He wasn’t too used to snow-driving, but he’d sure try.
“We’ll stay in Salt Lake, babe. I got us a room at the Radisson. It has a pool and hot tub.”
“I do like me a hot tub.” He took one breath, then another and another, feeling lighter with each one.
“I know. I like you liking. And hey, my legs haven’t met Adam’s rope in ages.”
“Thank you, God.” Those poor legs had been just brutalized.
“Yeah. Tag is still apologizing.” Dillon chuckled. The man loved to tease Adam Taggart.
“I told you that you were lucky he’s talking to you again already.”
“I know.” Dillon hummed along with another song, this one that Brad kid. Something with cloth last name, right?
“What did you want for Christmas?”
“Huh?” Dillon kinda stared at him for a moment before turning back to the road. “Uh. Oh, I don’t know. What about you?”
He thought about it, really thought. “I want to rest and laugh and drink coffee and watch Christmas specials. Normal stuff. With you.” Coke hadn’t ever done that, not quiet and home and all.
“Oh.” Dillon laughed and whacked the steering wheel. “That sounds great, eh? Rudolph and Frosty.”
“The Grinch and White Christmas.”
“Oh, yeah.” Dillon rubbed his leg a little. “I almost forgot Christmas was coming.”
“Yeah. This thing with Sammy just sucks.”
“It does. But he’s gonna be fine.” Dillon was back to drumming again, this time on Coke’s leg.
“If he can figure out I’m not Nattie…” Sam couldn’t get his words right for love or money. That scrambled brain was all about the speech center, according to Doc.
“He knows. His mouth just doesn’t anymore.”
“Yeah.” Thank God it wasn’t Dillon. That man needed his words.
“You okay, babe? Need me to get food or drinks or something?” There’d be stretches of highway with nothing where they were going, and Dillon was always thinking about him.
“I’m a go-baby. I’m good.”
“’Kay. Well, you let me know if you want to stop.” Dillon hummed some more, than sang, and sooner than not it had his head nodding, his eyes heavy.
His phone woke him, and he blinked awake, scrabbling with his good hand, trying to figure out where he was, who was calling.
He fumbled for his phone, but Dillon got it first, and the sound suddenly cut off. “No, babe. Sleep.”
“I... Could be Jase or the Cajun…” He blinked, all babyheaded. So sleepy.
“Nope. Was Ace.” Dillon had a real hard-on for Ace sometimes. Said the son of a bitch wanted too much access.
“Oh.” Then that was cool. Coke patted Dillon’s leg clumsily. “You ‘kay?”
“I’m doing all right.” Dillon had switched to the Carpenters. That was either really good or really bad.
“She died from not eating, you ’member that?” There’d been a movie about it on the TV, ages ago.
“I do. I might have cried a little. Does that make me a pussy?” Okay, that qualified as good. Dillon was laughing like a loon.
“Nah. It was sad. Not like Ole Yeller sad, but still sad.” Coke had cried when he’d seen that movie, so hard.
“Well, there you go.” Dillon’s words made Coke chuckle. Saying there you go like a bona fide Texan. “Not like Chris LeDoux sad.”
No. No, now that had been a harsh day for rodeo when Mr. LeDoux had passed. “Right. He was something. You ever get to meet him?”
Coke had, sorta.
Once.
The man could ride. Singing, eh. He had energy, though.
“In person? Nope. I saw him in concert a bunch. Oh, hey, I got some Chris here somewhere.” Dillon fiddled with the iPod, but Coke didn’t worry none. Dillon was a solid driver.
“Copenhagen…” he sang, chuckling as Pansy started woofing and moo-mooing behind him.
Dillon cackled and sang along, but soon enough Jerome was whining, and Dillon had to get off the highway to find the baby dogs a patch of grass. “Want anything from the store, babe?”
“A Sprite and something crunchy.” He hooked on leashes and helped the dogs down out of the truck.
“You got it.” Dillon had this weird thing about giving the puppies their privacy.
Coke chuckled, holding both leashes in one hand. It was damned cold up here, the sky a steel gray. It was different as anything, and he was kinda glad when Dillon brought him a hot coffee along with his Sprite. “You need to go in and pee, babe?”
“I prob’ly oughta.” He hooked the pups’ leashes to the little hitch on the back of the truck, then drank some of his coffee. “You want me to drive?”
“Nope. I want you to rest. Sleep. And if you don’t want to sleep, you can talk to me.”
Yeah. Dillon liked to chatter, and Coke hadn’t been much up for it lately.
He caught Dillon’s eyes, grinned. “I like chatting with you, cowboy.” And that was no lie.
“I know. It’s a good thing.” Dillon took his coffee. “Go do your thing.”
He nodded, headed in, feeling like he could breathe a little bit for the first time in God knew how long.
When he came back out, Dillon was just hanging up the phone, slipping that sleek smartphone back in his jeans. “Ace pocket-dialed you. So, it’s nothing we need to worry on.”
“Good deal.” Coke had a pocket of Slim Jims and those pricey chocolates Dillon liked.
“You know it.”
Jerome leaped at something, and Coke thought maybe it was a bug. Then he realized it was a snowflake. He arched an eyebrow. “You gonna be okay to drive if it’s snowing?”
“Coke. I grew up driving a sled, then a tractor, then a truck. In snow up to here.” Dillon held a hand to his chin. “We may have to stop and get chains somewhere if it gets bad, though.”
“Okay. Just tell me what you need me to do.” He wasn’t sure, but whatever it was, he’d do it.
Dillon driving a tractor. That was a thought. He could probably jack the man off on a tractor. It wouldn’t be a motorcycle or nothing, but…
Mmm. Motorcycle. Now there was an idea and a half.
“Sit and chat, like I said.” Dillon stared at him. “You have this look, babe. What are you pondering?”
His cheeks went red—he could feel them. “Huh? You ready?”
“Sure.” Thank God, Dillon let it drop. They had a long way to go before the hotel.
Still, he took a long glance at that ass before he got in the truck.
“I saw that.” Chuckling, Dillon got the puppers settled, gave them each a biscuit.
“Saw what? I was just getting in.”
Getting in.
Coke chuckled.
“Uh-huh. Perv.” Dillon just cackled.
He stuck his tongue out, rolling his eyes.
“Mmm. Nice.” Those light eyelashes fluttered, Dillon batting them.
“Turkey.” He leaned over, goosed Dillon’s leg.
“Uh-huh. Gobble.” The snow started falling faster, heavy flakes plopping on the windshield.
“Can you drive a motorcycle?” Sometimes it made him a little gobsmacked, the things he didn’t know about Dillon, and vicey-versy. Hell, till Dillon’d come out to the house, the man hadn’t known about his pool, and that was his favorite thing on God’s earth. Jesus, look at that snow.
“Uh-huh. My Harley only comes out in the summer, though. Which, you know, it was in Idaho when I was in Texas this summer.”
He nodded. Dillon on a Harley. Dillon straddling a Harley. He could hardly breathe at the vision that popped into his head. Lord, that was a hell of a trigger fantasy.
“You okay, babe?”
“Uh-huh. Good.” A little hard, but good.
“You sure?” That sideways glance told him Dillon knew.
He chuckled, shrugged. “I think things about you, you know that.”
“I do. I think things, too, but I’m not sure a bike ever figured in.”
“I like the idea.”
“I do, too.” Yeah, Dillon was starting to do the little finger-tapping, leg-jumping thing that meant hot, not impatient.
“I bet it’d be fine, watching you ride.” Coke was getting a little…shivery.
“It’s a great thing. If we were gonna ride, though, I’d have to get a new bike. One with a seat rest that would be good to your back.”
Oh, now. There was a thought. He could snuggle right up to that sweet ass. There would be vibrations and Dillon singing and moving and driving him crazy…
Coke shifted, cock filling, aching in the best way.
“Mmm. Babe, I swear. You smell like heaven.” Dillon patted his leg, high up on his thigh.
“This is amazing, you and me.” On the road, on break.
“You know it. I like you and me.” Dillon gave him that smile again, the one only he saw.
“Yeah.” He took Dillon’s hand, squeezed it, and said a prayer of thanks for his cowboy, for the fact that Sam Bell’d woke up, that he was going to see Dillon’s house.
Dillon just held on, keeping the truck steady and the chatter going until Coke felt himself nodding off again.
Good to him, his cowboy.
So good.
Thank God.