“It’s a buckle.” Beau chuckled. Sam was pissed because he missed the last ride? Lord. “You won the average. You went out a champ, baby.”
“Three-time Champion. So proud.”
“Good. That means you’ll keep me.” Somehow what was yet to come seemed more important these days.
Sammy didn’t answer; the man held on, breathing him in.
He could feel Sammy relaxing—really relaxing, not that fake shit from the hospital. Beau let his muscles unclench, too, let his breathing settle. He sank into the pillows, marveling at how they really did make the trailer bed more comfy.
He kept petting, kept touching, feeling like a million bucks when Sam melted against him, then started snoring softly. That was what they both needed, for Sam to relax, to heal.
That was the only thing that mattered right now.
Otherwise Beau was going to kill him.
Chapter Thirty-Five
It took forever to get home.
Forever.
Still, they were here now, with Beau’s whole family waiting on the front porch, waiting to see him. Sammy had let Beau go out first, while he futzed a minute, took off the stupid crash helmet deal, and tried to get his gimme cap loose enough to go on.
Brian Taggart was the one came and got him, handing him a soft knit cap like the kind that Tim McGraw feller wore sometimes. It didn’t fit tight, and it was so soft. Went right over his bandages. He popped it on, gave himself a peek in a mirror. Yeah. It was cool enough outside to wear that. Yeah. “You’re welcome.”
Brian winked. “Thank you, Sammy. Come on, ‘fore Granny Lafitte has a stroke waiting on you.”
He might be able to avoid everyone else, but not Granny. She would hunt his ass down. He sure was nervous, though, about looking weird. He knew he was skinny, ‘cause his jeans fit wrong, and he knew he said stuff wrong, ‘cause Beau told him so, and…
“Grosbec!” That was Granddaddy, heading right to him. “Lawd, boy, you scairt us bad! Me and Granny, we been praying every day. Every day.”
Sam took the hug, the old man still so strong. “Hey.”
Beau came up next to them, and bless him, he’d taken off his hat. That made Sam feel less weird. “I put all the dogs up but Petunia, baby. She’s with Granny, and she’s crying and crying.”
“‘Tunia.” He looked at Beau. What if she didn’t remember him? What if he scared her with his voice?
“Yep. She smells you.” Beau took his arm, helping him up the steps. Granny waited just inside the kitchen and just out of the crowd, Petunia on a short leash.
He walked over, kissed Granny on one cheek, hand down for his baby girl. Petunia bayed, nose pushing into his hand, then his crotch. He rolled his eyes. She had to sniff him a lot. Not Granny. Petunia. Then she settled for trying to lick the bandages off his arm.
Granny just stared at him, head tilted. “You got to rest, Grosbec,” she finally said.
“‘M fine.” He blinked at her, swaying a little. “Home.”
She nodded and touched his face. “Yes, son. Thank God. We watched what you did. You’re a good boy.” He tried to brush that off, but she whapped him. “Don’t. You two. Gettin’ all hurt and bruised.”
He looked at Beau in a pure panic. No crying. No crying woman.
“Granny, stop.” Beau growled a little, hand coming up under his arm. “Why don’t you get some of that chicken soup while I get Sam to the couch?”
Granny muttered something under her breath, but nodded. The entire parish seemed like they were there, for God’s sake.
Pere was holding them off, and the Taggarts were bringing boxes and bags in. Granny got busy and Petunia dragged her leash over, head landing on Sam’s leg.
He leaned down, rested his cheek on the top of her head. “‘Tunia.”
She whined a little, her tail thumping on the floor, but she didn’t run off or nothin’. She just stayed.
