He let her feet touch the ground as he two-stepped her around, her laugh making him grin.
“Y’all were in the pond, weren’t you? You smell like snake-water.”
“Yeah, Momma. Me and Bax got all eat up with the cottonmouths.”
The dogs howled at the very mention of the word, making them all chuckle. Bax washed up and dried off, nodding at Momma. “What can I do, lady?”
“Set the table. Son, go get the meat off the smoker.”
“Yes, Momma.” He grabbed a cookie sheet and the meat fork, whistling up the puppers as he went out. Jesus Christ, Momma’d put a side of beef in the damned thing.
They’d be eating beef sandwiches out of mini-fridges for a week.
Time Jason got back in, Bax had the table set, the napkins all mangled because he had tried to fold them like Momma did. Like those stiff old broken up fingers was gonna work that well.
“Martha Stewart you ain’t, buddy.” He did love them hands, though. The way they touched things.
“Oh, shut up, Mini.” There was no heat behind it. Just a flash of those dark eyes and a wicked ‘fuck you’ grin.
“Yeah. Yeah. You see the size of this meat?” Wait, did that sound dirty?
“Uh… Is that a trick question?” Look at the sun that man had gotten on his cheeks today.
He snorted, damn near choking as he started laughing, the meat sliding on the pan. “Shit. Shit.”
“Don’t you drop that, son.”
“No, ma’am.”
Bax came to help him, abandoning the twisted and ripped napkins. “No letting the dogs have our supper.”
“I left them outside. Thanks, man.” They got it settled on the counter, and Momma handed Bax a carving knife.
“Oh. Duh.” While he bustled around grabbing stuff, Bax carved, slicing it nice and thin. “Okay, folks, let’s eat.”
“Momma, you outdid yourself.” Potato salad, coleslaw, bread. Man, it was nice to be home.
Even if it was for just a few days.
Bax grinned. “I can smell that cake.”
“I made two little ones. One for tonight, one for y’all’s cooler.”
“Score!” Bax leaned over and kissed Momma’s cheek. “I’m your favorite son, right?”
“You know it.”
“Hey!” He kicked Bax’s ankle but hard. Asshole. Kissing up on his momma. “Man, a guy can’t get a break.”
“Sure you can. I can break your foot, Mini.” He got a kick right back, as Bax scooped up potatoes.
“Fuckhead.”
“Watch your mouth at my table, Jason Patrick Scott.”
“Yes, Momma.”
Snorting, Bax heaped more food on his plate. “See there? You might be a big star at the arena, but here you’re a momma’s boy.”
