“What does that make me? Uncle Dill-weed?”
Coke’s laugh rang out, filling the air and making the other diners turn, glance, smile.
They finished up, both of them sitting back and groaning. “Damn, that was good. I’d help, if you wanted. I don’t freak kids out near as much as I do the guys.”
“I want. You’re going to have to come see Jase. Learn how to deal with him.” Coke leaned forward, eyes serious. “Andy and me got him on some ranker bulls. He can still ride good. It’s the get-off and get out of the way that’s a stone cold bitch.”
Dillon still couldn’t believe that they were planning to get Jason riding in the arena again, but if Coke said he could do it, he could. “I get it. I’m distracto man. The crowd, the other guys. Right?”
“Right. And I think we need to work on how to get him back out the gate. Andy or Aje can take him from there, but it’ll be you and me and Nate moving him in the arena.”
“Okay. Okay.” Dillon pondered that. “We’ll have to train him to really pick out sounds. I know this guy back home. He’s a teacher who works with blind and deaf kids. I can ask him some questions. He wouldn’t have the first clue why.”
“Oh, man, that would be cool. Andy and me keep trying to figure shit out, but Jase, he don’t want us letting anyone know, so lots of the government stuff is outside what we can figure.” Coke said it ‘gub’ment’. That wasadorable.
It also had him nodding. Hell, he was from Idaho. There were almost as many do it yourself survivalists there as there were in Montana. He understood not wanting traditional assistance. “We can do it.”
“Thank you, man.” Coke went suddenly serious. “I mean it. This means a lot to me, getting that boy all set up for the rest of things. He’s like a son to me.”
“I know. I’m a fan. You know that.” He stared Coke straight in the eye, trying to get across how serious he could be, too. “I’m in. Whatever it takes.”
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m in it for the long haul.” Suddenly he thought maybe—maybe—Coke wasn’t just talking about Jason anymore.
His heart sped up, his cheeks going hot. He hadn’t even let himself think about that, about Coke and him together like that. God knew he wasn’t a one-night man, but he was used to the leaving. It happened eventually.
“That sounds good, Coke. Really good.”
“Yeah.” Coke nodded once, as if that was that. “Good.”
“So.” He was grinning so hard his face hurt. “Museum?”
“Hell, yes. We’ll go make your hair stand up. I got my camera.”
“Well, let’s go! I want to see you on the earthquake floor.” Dillon grabbed the bill before Coke could and flagged down the waitress. Time to go play.
Chapter Thirteen
He lugged the cooler and let Dillon get the sacks of goodies, leaving the duffels locked in the truck. His ribs were too damn sore to carry using the shoulder straps and they were in clean clothes, showered, and planning on being naked.
Coke had had what was probably the best day of his life. He’d played with Dillon for three hours at the museum, both of them acting like newborn fools, then they’d gone shopping, eaten a quick little something and headed out to work. The bulls were good, the boys were solid, and Sam won the event, which good Lord knew the man needed bad.
Not only that, but Dillon’s backside shook through the whole damn event.
Too fine.
“Man, I might need more sugar.” Dillon still seemed like his legs were made of springs, though, the way they bounced.
“There’s candy and stuff. Or I could walk to the Denny’s and get you some pancakes.”
“No, candy is good. I like Snickers. M & Ms. Though we should save those for coffee. Hey, you want some coffee?”The man almost skated around the room, touching this and that, hands always moving.
“Sure, honey.” He started unpacking, whistling a little under his breath. Jason and Andy had called already, and things were…solid.
Dillon rinsed out the coffee pot—the man said his sister had worked as a hotel maid, and said never, ever use it without—and began opening packets and shit.Lord, look at that smile.
“You did good tonight.” He’d said it every night for years. He didn’t reckon that was going to change.
“So did you. Didn’t get whapped, huh?” He could tell Dillon didn’t like it when he’d gotten hit the night before. He hadn’t harped on it or anything, but it had come up.
