Chapter 34 #2
He wrapped his arms around Dillon and held on tight. That hot body comforted him. “Love, hmm?”
With all he was.
“Yep. I love you, Coke. You keep that in mind.” Dillon’s muffled laugh made Coke smile.
Coke pinched his cowboy’s taut, amazing ass. “I might could do that. Shithead.”
Dillon flipped pancakes, whistling along with Hank Williams on his phone. No radio here. No Bluetooth speakers. If they were coming here regularly? Dillon was putting in improvements ASAP.
The front door opened, Beau peering in. “Dillon? It safe?”
“It is! Come get your giant drooly beast. Boudreaux, I mean.”
“Right. You never know. Pharris was a little rabid when we showed up.”
“It got Western, for sure. I think we’re good.” He gave Beau a one armed hug. “Pancakes and bacon?”
“If there’s enough, surely. Sammy’s on the deck loving on the dogs.”
“He’s not avoiding me, is he?” Dillon and Sammy were damned good friends, and it hurt Dillon to see him recovering from such extensive injuries, but he didn’t want Sammy to think he wasn’t so welcome.
“You should go out there. See him. He’s afraid you’ll think he’s stupid now, with the talking.”
“Oh. Well, take over.” Dillon pulled up his proverbial socks even though he wore flip-flops and headed outside.
Sammy smiled at him, waved and the bassets bounded over as if he couldn’t see Sam was there. They led Dillon right back, and he walked to Sam, arms open.
“Gimme a hug, butthead.” The little helmet was ridiculous and the man was desperately skinny—there hadn’t been much bulk there to begin with—but it was Sam.
And he could feel Sam’s stiff posture relax when they hugged it out.
When they let go, he went to sit with Sam, hands full of long hound ears.
“Thanks for coming to stay with Coke, Sammy.”
Sam nodded. “He had the hurt of hard. We sing in the trailer for while he came to see you.”
Whoa. Whoa. Was that English? Dillon pondered that, kinda thinking of Sam like his sister’s kids. “Well, I appreciate you guys letting us have some time together.”
Woo. He must have guessed right, because Sammy nodded again.
“It. The bed. I like it. In the.” Sam frowned deep. “Trailer.”
“Yeah? Tag has good taste. He bought it, right?”
“Butthead.” The word didn’t seem to hold any heat though.
“He is. He’s a good guy, though. Beau is making pancakes.”
“Cancakes.” Sam grabbed his hand, squeezed it, staring right into him, those dark eyes just devastated. “I miss it. Hate this, dumb and talking.”
“I know, Sammy.” Dillon held on, too. “It will get better. I know it will. You scared me so bad.”
“Everybody. All the everybody. None of the things. Dogs or roping. All the things are gone. Bulls too.”
Oh, God. Dillon wanted to cry for his friend but Sammy wouldn’t thank him. “You have Beau. Hell, he retired.”
Sam nodded. “I do. Boudreaux.”
“Daisy. The farm.” Sam had a lot to be grateful for. “You’ll always have me.”
Sam nodded again. “My mouth is dumb, not me.”
“See? You always were a quiet one anyway.” He linked arms with Sam, drawing him inside where bacon smells reigned.
Coke was sitting with a cup of coffee, looking as settled as ever. “I’m thinking about just taking it easy for the next week or two. Fly out to the first few events.”
“We can keep the pups, cher. We’d love to. You can just stay here.”
Oh, God. No.
Dillon thought fast. Beau and Sam would never let the pups get hurt, but he was so not staying at this camp. “Hmm. Where’s the first event again?”
“Boston, then Grand Rapids, then we head to Kansas City.” Coke knew exactly what was what.
Dillon had to write shit down. “Hey, maybe we could all rent a place in Dallas or New Orleans or something. Something with a hot tub where you two can park your trailer and Coke and I can have a big fancy bed. Fly in and out for a few weeks.”
“No offense, man, but I want to go home, stay for a while. Sammy has therapy, and I need to settle.”
“Oh, yeah. Sorry.” He chewed his lower lip. “I think I ought to take Coke home, then. We can leave the pups in that place in Georgetown on the way to the airport. Remember, Coke? It’s like a resort.”
“Yeah. Yeah, we probably ought to check out the house. We haven’t been back in eons.” Dillon thought Coke seemed relieved. He needed to talk to Coke about speaking up. Or hand signals. Morse code. Interpretive dance. Something that would tell Dillon what he wanted.
Maybe texts.
Dillon didn’t mind being the voice of no or of reason, but he needed to know it was his job.
Beau grinned. “Well, then, we’ll all go away. Sit and eat, you cooyons.”
Sammy chortled, and Dillon rolled his eyes at Coke. “Does anyone else have a Morticia Addams moment when Beau busts out the Cajun?”
“Tish, that’s French.”
They all stared at Sam, because that had been the clearest, easiest sounding thing Sam had said so far, then they all cracked up.
God, it was good to be among friends, but Dillon wanted to take Coke home. He got plates and forks, all newly scrubbed. “So, if I wanted to do some improvements here…”
Beau paused, then pulled out his wallet and handed a ten to Sammy.
Sammy gave him a huge, shit-eating grin.
“Seriously, Beau? You bet against me wanting to overhaul this dump?” Dillon waggled his eyebrows.
“I thought you’d ask to tear it down, Dillweed.”
“Yeah, yeah. I want tile floors and a decent kitchen, but it’s got good bones.”
“And a better sofa. Something less…” Coke waved one hand.
“Swamp thing?” Dillon said. “Yeah. I expect crawdads to come out when bacon is cooking.”
“Mostly nutria nests.”
He stared at Beau, eyes huge, and Sammy began to laugh, just hooting like an owl.
Beau chuckled. “Eat, y’all. Sammy and I will hit the road after. You’ll come see us for spring break, right?”
Coke nodded. “We will. We’ll need some time off by then.”
“There you go.” Sammy looked so pleased that Dillon nodded.
“You got it. We’ll bring some large animal to roast.”
“Bacon,” Coke said. “Please. I got a hole in the center of my belly.”
“Hey, I didn’t make the coffee,” Beau said, making them all crack up again.
The pancakes sure hit the spot, Coke adding a ton of Mrs. Butterworth’s.
Soon they were hugging Sam and Beau goodbye, the guys towing Tag’s truck behind the big trailer. “He’ll make Sammy nuts, but he’ll come get it,” Beau said.
“Thanks, Cajun,” Coke said. “I appreciate it.”
“Any time, cher.”
The quiet once Beau had left was super weird. Not awkward, just Cajun-less. Dillon had the urge to do a round off or something.
Coke finished up the last of the dishes and started locking the cabinets up. “You about ready to head home?”
“I am.” God, he was grateful Beau had offered to take Tag’s truck. He had Coke for nine hours.
Trapped in the truck. All to himself.
It was like the offer of heaven in a Ford F150.
The dogs were ready, too. As soon as they packed the truck, the babies were in their back seat nest, their seatbelts ready in case traffic got bad. Coke was in the passenger seat and Dillon had the satellite radio tuned in to Willie and Waylon.
They could sing. Chat. Stop for weird roadside food.
“You got your neck pillow, babe?” Dillon asked.
“I do.” Coke reached over as they pulled out of the camp. “I’m sorry about all this mess, you know. I wish you’d never found out about…all of the things.”
“Hey, stop it.” He took Coke’s hand, glad they had an automatic. “I needed to know.”
“I just… I have a lot of regrets. I wanted to be a good man.”
“You are.” Dillon was really trying not to be frustrated. “You know that Tag, Beau and Nate all said you’re the best of us? We all mean it, too.”
Coke nodded, but the expression of worry was still there.
That belief—that guilt and concern right there was going to get Coke killed one day, damn it.
It was going to push him one bull too far, one rescue too many, and his Coke would be gone.
Because somehow the man’s parents had implanted in the damn fool’s head that it was his job to rescue everyone, especially the sick fuck that had shared uterine space with the best person of any of them.
Dillon didn’t think any amount of talking would change it, either, though he would try. He needed Coke in his life.
“You know, I don’t love you in spite of all this, right?”
Coke glanced at him and the stare he got proved that he still had it. He was learning the enigma that was Coke Pharris, but he was fast becoming the motherfucking master of that subject.
“I love you because of who you are, Coke. All of it. You wouldn’t be you otherwise.” Dillon nodded firmly and squeezed Coke’s hand.
“You too, cowboy.” Coke gave him a gentle, quiet smile. “Can we go back home and sleep in our bed, now?”
“Yes. God, yes. And I want you to soak in the hot tub. Clown’s orders.”
“Yes, sir. I’m on it.”