Dillon laughed, the sound rusty but good. “Me too. Come on, babe. Let’s get what needs done, done, eh?”
“Sounds good.” Coke tossed him a towel, grabbed a bottle of water, and handed it to him to open.
He popped the top and handed it over. “It does. Let’s go, babe. Let’s go home.”
Chapter Five
“Are you sure we shouldn’t stay, cowboy?” Coke hated leaving the Cajun in the lurch. On the other hand, Balta Silva was there, willing to help out, and Sammy was on the mend.
Dillon’s mouth set in that line, the one Coke was starting to label ‘stubborn’. “I’m sure, babe. Sammy is gonna be okay. They have Balta, and Tag says they got this thing whipped.”
Dillon did a mean Adam Taggart impersonation.
“If you’re sure.” The truck was waiting, the bassets taking up the back seat in their cushy crate.
“I amsosure.” Dillon stopped, turning to stare into his eyes. “You know I love Sammy. I wouldn’t leave him if he wasn’t in good hands. Now it’s your turn to rest a little.”
“Our turn.” Coke loved the mulish son of a bitch, so bad. “Take me home, then. I want to see our other place.”
“There you go.” Dillon chuckled, taking his arm. “I want to, too. Sis has done a bunch to fix it up.”
“You tell her you have a friend coming to stay?”
“I told her my lover was coming.”
Coke stopped, looked over at Dillon. Well, okay, then. “She’s good with that? ’Cause I wouldn’t have your people upset with you for nothing.”
“Well, she’s not gonna advertise.” Dillon started to swing his hand, but obviously thought better of it. “But we don’t have secrets, really.”
“I cain’t wait to meet her.” All of the sudden he was so fucking tired, so ready to be away from this hospital, that he couldn’t bear it.
“Cool. Come on, babe.” Dillon knew. Dillon always knew. Hell, Dillon went right to the driver’s side.
He slipped into the passenger’s side, murmuring his hellos to the pups and trying not to worry about his friends.
Dillon got them going, got the radio on. His cowboy did love music.
“You gonna sing to me?” He got the pillows moved around, got his stitched-up hand settled.
“I will, indeed. I have my iPod. Opera? Country? Booty-shaking rap?”
“No opera.” He chuckled, though, let himself admire.
“No, huh?” Dillon beat a drum on the steering wheel. “Okay, then we’ll go with Garth.”
“You do a good Garth. I like when you do Guns ’n’ Roses, too.”
“Yeah? Not so fond of my Aerosmith, though.”
No, that was screechy. That Stephen Tyler guy was just…eh.
“I think your Keith Urban’s good.”
“Oh, we can go for that!” The music changed, and Dillon started singingSomebody Like You, the sound easing him.
Coke hummed along, settling deep into the seat, muscles relaxing. Dillon’s hand landed on his thigh, warm and firm, just staying there. “You make me awful happy, cowboy.”
“Do I? Are we still people to each other?” Those pretty eyes cut to his just for a second, the smile reaching them easily.
