“The dogs will eat it, cowboy. No worries.” Coke came to him, poured a coffee. “You need a warm-up?”
“I would love one.” He would love that, a store bought doughnut, and an orgasm, please.
“Good deal. Which cup’s yours?”
“The Halloween one.” Bats. Lord.
“Rock on.”
Coke handed him his cup, jostling against him, and the coffee splashed on him, making him wince.
“Sorry!”
“No worries, babe.” He rinsed his hand off in the sink, fighting not to snarl. Accidents happened.
“Are you okay? Did it burn you?”
“I’m fine.”
Coke frowned over at him. “You sure?”
“Yeah.” He was. Really. He was in a shit mood, but that was no one’s fault. Not really. He just needed to suck it up.
“Good deal.” Coke headed over to the table, scarred-up dark hands wrapped around his coffee cup. God, they looked like Jack’s. Cowboy hands.
Dillon poured out more pancakes, listening to the sizzle as batter hit the pan.
Jack and Coke discussed cattle and horses, goats. Goats for fuck’s sake. Like Coke had time to raise anything. He was always fixing other people. The bassets were about Coke’s speed as far as animals went.
Someone jostled Dillon’s arm, making him hit the stove and he busted out the F bomb right there in front of the kids. “Fuck! Will you all quit burning me?”
Jason ducked his head. “Sorry, Dill.”
Great, now he was screaming at the blind guy.
“Come on, son. This room is filling up. I’ll get you a drink.” Coke eased Jason into a chair, got him a cup of coffee, then went to Dillon. “You want me to help flip pancakes, cowboy?”
“I don’t know what I want.” He gave Coke a half smile. “I’m all stressed.”
Coke gave him a one-armed hug. “As soon as I get Jase on another couple bulls, I say we go home.”
“Oh, god. That sounds so good. I know I’m being a dick, but I want a week alone with you before that first event.”
“We’ll just head to Waco, then. Fair?”
“Totally.” Coke always had his back. “You’re too damned fine, Coke. You really are.”
“It’s my job, cowboy. What I’m made for.”
Dillon nodded, thinking about what Brenda had said. “Yeppers. You’re the good twin, babe.”
“What?” Coke stared at him like he’d grown a second head.
“You know. Good twin, evil twin.” Dillon leaned in conspiratorially. “I know the whole sordid tale, babe.”
“I don’t understand. How?”
“Internet,” Dillon deadpanned. He’d never rat out Brenda.
