“I’m doing all right.” Dillon had switched to the Carpenters. That was either really good or really bad.
“She died from not eating, you ’member that?” There’d been a movie about it on the TV, ages ago.
“I do. I might have cried a little. Does that make me a pussy?” Okay, that qualified as good. Dillon was laughing like a loon.
“Nah. It was sad. Not likeOle Yellersad, but still sad.” Coke had cried when he’d seen that movie, so hard.
“Well, there you go.” Dillon’s words made Coke chuckle. Saying there you go like a bona fide Texan. “Not like Chris LeDoux sad.”
No. No, now that had been a harsh day for rodeo when Mr. LeDoux had passed. “Right. He was something. You ever get to meet him?”
Coke had, sorta.
Once.
The man could ride. Singing, eh. He had energy, though.
“In person? Nope. I saw him in concert a bunch. Oh, hey, I got some Chris here somewhere.” Dillon fiddled with the iPod, but Coke didn’t worry none. Dillon was a solid driver.
“Copenhagen…” he sang, chuckling as Pansy started woofing and moo-mooing behind him.
Dillon cackled and sang along, but soon enough Jerome was whining, and Dillon had to get off the highway to find the baby dogs a patch of grass. “Want anything from the store, babe?”
“A Sprite and something crunchy.” He hooked on leashes and helped the dogs down out of the truck.
“You got it.” Dillon had this weird thing about giving the puppies their privacy.
Coke chuckled, holding both leashes in one hand. It was damned cold up here, the sky a steel gray. It was different as anything, and he was kinda glad when Dillon brought him a hot coffee along with his Sprite. “You need to go in and pee, babe?”
“I prob’ly oughta.” He hooked the pups’ leashes to the little hitch on the back of the truck, then drank some of his coffee. “You want me to drive?”
“Nope. I want you to rest. Sleep. And if you don’t want to sleep, you can talk to me.”
Yeah. Dillon liked to chatter, and Coke hadn’t been much up for it lately.
He caught Dillon’s eyes, grinned. “I like chatting with you, cowboy.” And that was no lie.
“I know. It’s a good thing.” Dillon took his coffee. “Go do your thing.”
He nodded, headed in, feeling like he could breathe a little bit for the first time in God knew how long.
When he came back out, Dillon was just hanging up the phone, slipping that sleek smartphone back in his jeans. “Ace pocket-dialed you. So, it’s nothing we need to worry on.”
“Good deal.” Coke had a pocket of Slim Jims and those pricey chocolates Dillon liked.
“You know it.”
Jerome leaped at something, and Coke thought maybe it was a bug. Then he realized it was a snowflake. He arched an eyebrow. “You gonna be okay to drive if it’s snowing?”
“Coke. I grew up driving a sled, then a tractor, then a truck. In snow up to here.” Dillon held a hand to his chin. “We may have to stop and get chains somewhere if it gets bad, though.”
“Okay. Just tell me what you need me to do.” He wasn’t sure, but whatever it was, he’d do it.
Dillon driving a tractor. That was a thought. He could probably jack the man off on a tractor. It wouldn’t be a motorcycle or nothing, but…
Mmm. Motorcycle. Now there was an idea and a half.
“Sit and chat, like I said.” Dillon stared at him. “You have this look, babe. What are you pondering?”
