“Is there beer?” He snapped shut his laptop.
“Of course there’s beer.”
“Then I’m in.” If the cowboys were relaxing some, there must be good news.
“How’s Missy?”
“Better, from what I understand. Mr. Gardner is staying in the room with his missus, but he’s released and she’s awake.”
“Oh, thank God.” The Gardners were such good people.
“Yeah. Yeah, that’s just it, huh?”
“Tag, did you ever meet any of Coke’s family?”
“We’re Coke’s family, honey.” Tag gave him a sideways kind of look.
“I know, but it’s not like he was hatched from an egg.”
“Doesn’t matter to me if he was. He’s just one of us. Maybe the best of us.”
The sentiment made Dillon punch Tug on the arm, happy in his soul. “He is, no doubt. I’m just nosy.”
“Eh. I ain’t got time for that.” Tag winked at him and waited for him to put his laptop away out of the reach of little fingers. “Coke and them are waiting.”
“Well, let’s not keep cowboys waiting. They might get into trouble.”
“Worse, we might miss it.”
“God, yes.” Dillon liked to be in on the action. “Last one there is a rotten egg.”
Tag snorted and cockblocked him at the screen door, then sprinted for the yard. He forgot Tag could flat-out run, but he’d been a track star. Dillon could outrun everything.
Well, everything but his own curiosity.
Coke wasn’tsure what bee Dillon had in his bonnet, but the man was just ramped up, bouncing along from subject to subject like a kangaroo rat.
Birthdays, families, occupations—Dillon’s questions came like fighter planes. “You’re good at picking out stuff for the kids.Were there lots of kids in your family? Did your dad teach you to work cattle or was that later on? Did your mom like German chocolate cake? It’s my mom’s favorite.”
Coke murmured and avoided and sighed. That wasn’t a can he intended to open. It wasn’t one he even wanted to dig out of the dirt. His folks, well, he knew they were still alive. That was about it.
Dillon was dancing, doing a jig, he thought, making the kids squeal. Dork. God, he loved the crazy little shit.
“Who taught you to dance like that, Dillweed?” Tag asked.
“My mom. Your gran taught you three, right?”
“Lord yes. She insisted we ought to be able to two-step and waltz. She said it was important.” Tag’s expression was warm, fond, and Chrissy’s head bobbed along, agreeing.
“I learned from my dad. He showed me.” Joa chuckled. “Not to samba, but to dance with girls.”
“Who taught you to two-step, Coke?” Dillon asked.
“Lord, I don’t remember. It’s been a long time. Maybe I was born knowing how.” His granny had taught him, he thought. Maybe not.
“Oh.” Dillon’s face fell a bit, and Coke wondered again what the hell was going on.
Things started to wind down, the fire playing with the breeze, the air heading into cold. There was a bunch of them who just circled around the flames, and Coke felt like an old timey cowboy, out on the range.
