CHAPTER ELEVEN
-:- DALLAS -:-
Waking up first, I glance down and see Cork still sleeping peacefully.
I know it was a long time before he settled down to sleep because I laid awake and heard him tossing and turning.
His comforter is thrown to one side, and I’m seeing either his morning wood, or I did a better job than I thought when I put my pj’s on and it's been stiff all night. I hope it’s been there all night. I could live with that.
Slipping quietly from the bed, I use the bathroom, get dressed, because I don’t think he could stand another show so soon, and start preparing breakfast. I don’t know if it is the sound of the bacon sizzling or the smell, but I hear a noise and when I turn from the stove, I see Cork scuttling off with his comforter gripped tightly around him.
A few minutes later, and he’s back, showered and dressed. Glancing at his pants, it must have been a cold shower, or he relieved himself! God, I hope not. I could have done that for him. Getting caught staring, I brazen it out and just grin.
“Good dream last night? You certainly looked to be in your happy place when I woke up.” Laughing at his stricken face, I let him off the hook.
“Nothing to be embarrassed about. We women wake up just the same only we don’t have anything to give it away so blatantly.
A couple of stiff nipples can’t compete with your morning wood. ”
Blushing furiously, he asks, “Is the bacon ready? It smells good.”
“By the time you’ve poured two coffees I’ll have bacon sandwiches on the table.” Dropping the bacon onto some paper towel soaks up some of the grease, then I slap it onto the bread and butter that’s waiting. I leave the sandwiches for Cork open in case he wants any sauce on it.
Placing the plates onto the table, I slide his in front of him and wait to see what he does. Making the sandwich with no sauce, he digs in. Hearing him grunt as he eats, I feel a little satisfaction knowing I caused that.
“So, Cork my man. Any thoughts on what you’d like to do today?
” I’m hoping that it’s something we can do together even if it’s only crashing on the couch with a movie.
It’s only been a few days, but if I’m honest with myself, I am not looking forward to going back to my place and living alone again.
Taking that thought to the next level, it’s not being alone that's going to be an issue. I know that it’s not being around Cork that is going to cause me the most heartache. I don’t know how it happened, but I’ve fallen hard and fast for this man.
“I want to have a catch-up with Ava, if she can spare me the time. I’m curious to know how much they stole,” Cork states.
“I can ask Ava to come up for coffee once we’ve had breakfast. That shouldn’t take you long to discuss. What about the rest of the day?” I ask and cling to my hopes.
“I’m still on rest duty, so it can’t be anything strenuous. What do you suggest we do?” Cork sips his coffee and looks at me.
Looking into his eyes, I wish he could read minds because if he could he’d be blushing to his boot tops right now. Oh, my God. He said ‘we’. Ooh, I like that. We sounds good.
“How about I call the Gun Range and we have a couple of hours there? We could have a contest. See who's Butch and who’s Sundance!” I laugh.
“I thought we were Kemosabe and Tonto? I like the range, so yeah, I’m up for kicking your ass with some gun action!”
He thinks he can kick my ass, huh? I love my Winchester, so I’ll just have to show him who’s boss.
“I’ll get on the phone to Winter while you’re talking to Ava. Let’s get this place cleaned up and then I’ll grab Ava for you.”
Fifteen minutes later Cork is chatting with Ava in the kitchen, and I have Winter on my phone.
“Hi Winter. How are you?”
“Hey, Dallas. All good here. What can I do for you?” Winter always sounds so bright and cheery, but I wouldn’t want to get on her bad side, I don’t think. I’ve seen her with the weapons at the range, and she is damn good with everything she picks up.
“Well, as you probably know I’m on Cork duty. We thought it would be good to get out for a while, so I suggested we might come to the range and see who’s the better shot.”
“If you're going to be using your Winchester, you’ll win hands down. Of that, I have no doubt. If you go to handguns, then it will be a lot closer. Cork isn’t an excellent shot, but he is proficient and may have the edge on you there.
Unless of course you’re determined to win and you insist on six-shooters.
He’s never used one, he’s a Glock kinda guy. ”
Winter is giving a lot away here and I’m not sure I want to win this way. “Okay, I’d like to shoot my Winchester, but perhaps you can sort out three or four weapons for a contest that will put us on an equal footing, and we’ll do it that way?” I am competitive but not desperate to win competitive.
“Hell, I can do that. Two rifles, two distances and two handguns, one fixed target, one moving. This should be good. When were you thinking?”
“What time have you got free today? We can be there in half an hour?” I ask her jokingly. I’m getting excited now because I love shooting, and it could be something that helps me get Cork to see me as more than his darn babysitter.
“That works for me. I have nothing booked until mid-afternoon, so it keeps me from twiddling my thumbs. Target has some corporate dudes on a team-building thing all week. Chaos is fully booked with off-season hunters getting some practice and for once, I’m not fully booked.
I was looking forward to having the break, but having nothing to do is not my thing, so I’m bored.
Get your asses over here, and I’ll have everything ready to go. ”
“Winter, you are amazing. We’ll be as quick as we can. See you soon.” Hanging up without giving her time to reply, I dash into the kitchen. Seeing Cork alone, I ask where Ava is.
“We’re done. There was a case of good quality whisky stolen, and then it would seem that they were only after Meat’s Bordeaux.
They still only grabbed three cases of six bottles.
I can’t understand their thinking. No offense to Meat, but most of the whisky and bourbon we sell is far superior. ” Cork shakes his head.
“Meat, as in Star and Meat?” I’m confused now.
“Believe me. There is only one Meat, thank fuck. I’ll have to tell you some ‘Meat stories’ one day. You’ll think I’m making them up, but they will most definitely be true.” Cork says with a huge grin on his face.
“You can explain the Meat and Barons Bordeaux connection on the way to the range. Other ‘Meat stories’ can be this evening over our Irish coffee.”
Listening to how Barons Bordeaux came into being was something of a tall tale, or so I thought. It took a while for Cork to convince me that Meat had coerced him and Amelia into using a still in the compound to produce alcohol. Amelia? I even quietly checked Cork's story with Winter.
Winter was waiting for us when we arrived, and she was obviously excited at the idea of a contest. As soon as we walked in, she took my Winchester from me, grabbed my arm and almost frog-marched me, with Cork trotting behind, through to the range.
Once there she took my Winchester from its case, examined it carefully and then laid it on one of the tables next to a similar one.
“Right guys. Five shots per target. Only the closest shot to the target counts. No practice shots. Four different weapons. One will favor Dallas, the Winchester rifle. One will favor Cork, the Glock 17. The other two can be considered ‘wild cards’ as neither of you has fired them. These will be the Desert Eagle and a Barrett M82 sniper rifle.”
“Jesus, Winter. Are you preparing us for World War Three, a zombie apocalypse or something? That is some serious firepower you're proposing,” Cork sounds completely awed by Winter’s ‘wild cards,’ but I have to admit to being more than a little unaware of what she’s talking about.
“I’ve met more than my fair share of people that would give zombies a bad name. As for World War Three, you just never know what’s around the corner.” Winter shrugs her shoulders and gets the contest under way.
We fire the Glocks first, and I’m not too disappointed with my efforts.
Cork ultimately wins that round with all of his shots around the bullseye, but one is undoubtedly dead center.
The moving targets for me were awful I must say.
When we fire the Winchesters, I know I’m taking home the prize for this.
In an unusual display of trust, I insist that Cork use my Winchester and not the one Winter was supplying from the club.
Happy that we are at one-all, I excuse myself to use the restroom.
Walking away, I overhear Winter telling Cork that he must be something special for me to let him use my personal weapon, and that he should have done the same for his Glock.
After I return from the restroom, Cork looks at me and says, “I owe you an apology, Dallas. I don’t know anything much when it comes to gun etiquette, so thank you for letting me use your Winchester and my sincere apologies for not letting you have the use of my personal weapon in return.”
“Well, thank you, Cork. I’m sure you’ll let me have the use of your personal weapon when you’re good and ready, and I look forward to getting my hands on it.” Winter, I swear, is trying not to laugh at the double meaning in my comment.
The contest with the Desert Eagle is easily won by Cork as I struggled to hold the darn thing straight even with both hands.
By the time I got it aimed at the target, the weight was getting the better of me, and it was dipping by the time I pulled the bloody trigger.
As I was bemoaning this to the pair of them, they were grinning like fools.
“You’ve been spending time with Star, I see,” Winter says.
“Yes. She showed me her car and bike the other night. How did you know?” I frown at her.