“Okay. I don’t think on it much. I just got my taxes, my truck payment.” The sponsors took care of everything else.
“Yeah.” Nodding, Dillon chewed his bottom lip. “We need to talk on it, babe. But not now.” He got a sunny smile, the frown clearing up.
“Okay.” He was easy. “Go get your sister on the phone, and I’ll call Nate. We’ll work shit out.”
“We will.” Bouncing, Dillon tucked Coke’s checkbook away in a drawer and went to grab a phone, just dancing.
He chuckled, shook his head. He loved Dillon in this mood—happy and ping-pong-y, ready to go and do and see.
He forgot to call Natty for a bit, in fact, listening to Dillon chatter to his sister. Gracious, he’d bet they were a hoot together.
Dillon’s eyes met his, and he got himself a sweet grin. Somebody was happy.
Damn happy.
That could sustain him for a good long while. Even if he did have to make phone calls.
Chapter Eleven
Dillon had Coke. Coke had his ID and a check. They were gonna go to the bank and start a little checking account for Coke to use while he was up north. Little. Twenty thousand dollars. Dillon was trying not to jump on Coke and demand to know everything there was to know about the man and his finances. He couldn’t believe that Coke just popped cash into a checking account. There was an obscene amount of cash sitting there, just sitting. Not working at all.
Money should work for you. That was Dillon’s philosophy.
Coke’s seemed to be that money was a necessary evil.
Lord. They would bank, then head to the grocery.
“You’re thinking pretty hard, honey. You okay?”
“Huh? Oh, I was just plotting your investment future.” He grinned at Coke for a second. He’d found that this much snow made Coke a bit twitchy if he didn’t watch the road.
“You want to do stuff with it, have at. Just leave me enough for taxes and my truck payment.”
“I won’t break you, babe.” It was awesome that Coke trusted him. Really.
“I know.” Coke didn’t seem stressed out about it at all.
“Did you get the list Susan made?” His sister was like a drill sergeant. She had brand names and everything. She’d faxed it. She lived exactly four and a half miles from him.
“I did. And I talked with her on the phone twice and got all four text messages. She’s a trouper.”
“She’s something.” Susan already loved Coke. A little unnaturally. Damn it.
Coke’s eyes were laughing. “Now, now. Sisters are a blessing.”
“Do you have sisters?” He knew he shouldn’t dig. It made Coke tense. But it popped out.
“I know lots of folks who do.” It didn’t escape Dillon that that wasn’t an answer.
“Yeah. Does Nate have sisters?” He hoped the man had twelve.
“God, yes. Six. All townies, believe it or not.”
“No shit?” Six. Okay, Dillon actually felt bad. “No wonder he’s a harpy.”
“Hey, now. That ain’t very nice.” Coke’s grin was tickled, though.
“What? Sometimes I’m entitled.” He and Nattie had an agreement—bashing the man’s nose went a long way toward evening their score—but Dillon still got to bitch. The interfering turd had gotten in between him and Coke, back at the beginning and it was like an old, old bone bruise. Not hurting, but still there, if you poked it hard.
