Right now, he had no idea what the magic words would be. Beau just hoped that someday soon he’d figure it out.
“Grosbec, why you livin’out here in the trailer? The house broke?”
Sam groaned, ducked his head, and sighed. Fuck a doodle. “No, Granny. I just…” Shit, he didn’t want to get into this right now and he could smell Granny On a Tear a mile away.
“Just what? You an’ my chouchou fightin’?”
Sam wasn’t going to answer that. They weren’t fighting no more, not for real. They just didn’t talk none. He’d left a messagethat he was moving out to the trailer until he could make himself some dollars, pull his own weight. Beau’s response had been…something.
“You cain’t lie to me, Grosbec. He ain’t called none. He ain’t come home and you home and not in the house or comin’ to church or supper and you smell like a swamp. Getting skinny, too. Drankin’s a sin, Grosbec.”
“So’s fucking and fighting, Granny.”
The words popped out before he could stop them. Of course, Granny’s hand shot out and slapped across his face so fast his head spun.
“Sorry, ma’am.”
“You better be. You menfolk go on and on ‘bout gals and their gossipin’ and carryin’ on and y’all? Y’all drink and fight and cuss and the fact is, ain’t no one born perfect on this earth.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You use that language with me again, boy, and I’ll turn you inside out. I ain’t one of them loose women.”
“No, ma’am.”
He watched her settle into a long tirade, and he knew he wasn’t going nowhere, not for a while.
Fuck him.
He knew there was a reason he’d left Texas and all his fucking family.
Chapter Fourteen
The chutes were crowded, the event busy as all hell. Beau hated being on the road alone. He hated worse being at the same event as his Sammy and getting the fucking cold shoulder. Sam looked like hammered shit, too. Pale and drawn and skinny and mean.
He hated this shit.
Beau started to head over, his boots wanting to go, but Sam had said a lot about how he always wanted to stick up for Sam, making him seem weak. So he stayed on his side of the bridge over the bull alley.
Sam pulled rope for Balta, for Joa.
Beau sighed, leaned back, and a solid hand landed on his shoulder.
Coke.
“Hey, cher.” It was weird to have Coke at an event and not working.
“Cajun.” Those sad eyes were focused on him, worried. “You want me to beat his ass?”
“No.” He snapped it out, then backed down. “No, cher. I just want him to be okay.”
Coke grinned. “I know. Dillon offered to kick your ass. Sam turned him down.”
“Yeah? Well, I appreciate you having my back. Maybe you and Dillon ought to just have at each other.” Wait, did that come out like he thought?
Coke’s eyes fucking twinkled. “I’ll let him know. He’ll go for that idea, I reckon.” The smile faded. “What’s wrong with him, Beau? It ain’t right, y’all being at odds.”
“I know.” Beau sighed. Was it his place to say? “His heart ain’t in it, Coke. And he can’t get past that mine still is, least for now. ‘Course I said some stupid shit, too.”
