“For Coke, that’s Nate. You have him?”
Sam nodded. “Yep. Right here. You want him?”
“Yeah.”
Nate made a face, but took the phone, soon knee deep in shit with Ace.
Beau glanced over. “Ace mad?”
“Ain’t he always? He was glad it wasn’t you.” In fact, so was he. His position on trampling was anybody but Beau.
“Yeah. Just ‘cause I’m winning.” Beau hated politics. Always made his jaw clench just like that. It was cute as hell, but Sam wasn’t saying nothin’.
“World loves a three-peater, Boug.”
“So do I.” Beau grinned. “I just don’t care to be on the top of Ace’s list.”
He nodded. Everybody knew that when that butthead called, you answered. “Hospital’s right there.”
He’d been four chutes over when Coke’d gone down, but he’d heard the scream. Damn near made him piss himself, hearing someone so strong sound like that.
“Thanks.” They made it into visitor parking, and Nate was out of the truck and halfway to the building before they could blink.
“You reckon we can share a beer, Beau?”
“I bet we can.” Beau rolled his head on his neck, not even reaching for his hat on the dashboard. “Nate will have to wade through a bunch of red tape, and ain’t no one else here yet.”
He turned and grabbed a Bud from the cooler, handed it over. “Nate looks worried, man.”
“He should. That was nasty, Poot. Coke will be out a good while.” Beau shrugged, the nickname sliding out as easy as anything. Beau always called Sam ‘Poot’, just like he called Beau ‘Boug’.
“I hate to have him hurt, man.” Nate was a good man, Coop, too, but…Coke wasCoke.
“He’s the old man. It’ll happen to us all eventually.” Beau’s fingers tapped the steering wheel, the short little legs starting to jiggle.
“It does. Still.” He reached over, touched one of his Cajun’s legs.
“Yeah.” Beau sighed, feet settling on the floorboard. “Damn, Sammy.”
He nodded, the beer just not quite cold enough. All of a sudden, he just wanted to be home, sitting on their porch, listening to the bloodhounds bay like the damn fools they were.
Beau grabbed the beer and sucked the last of it down, hand coming to rest on Sam’s thigh. “Shit, Poot. I know I can’t, but I just want to drive on.”
“I hear you. I’m longing for the house.”
“Yeah. The dogs won’t know us.” Beau chuckled. Sam couldn’t blame him. Their dogs would know them anywhere, and they were too lazy to go find someone else to love on.
“LouAnn says Petunia’s having pups again—Maisy’s in heat, but they’ve got her penned to give her a season off.” Their bed was waiting, their chairs. The big ole kitchen.
“No shit? Buford will be a proud papa.”
“No shit.” They grinned at each other, just beaming a little.
They took no end of shit about having breeding hounds, but really, someone had to be breeders around their parts. Right? Absolutely. And there weren’t a single damn criminal willing to stop in their parish.
Their dogs had the best noses in Louisiana. Hell, law enforcement in Texas fought over them. That said something.
“Guess we’d best go in, do our thing, huh?”
