Lucky flipped the radio off on the third depressing song in a row. He should’ve brought his iPod. Too late now. And why did traffic have to cooperate today of all days? They crossed town in record time.
He idly rubbed Moose’s head.
“It’s going to be okay,” Bo said for maybe the millionth time.
Easy for him to say. He got to keep all his innards. No, not fair. Lucky’s predicament wasn’t Bo’s fault. Bo had been nothing but awesome. “Thanks.” Words often spoken in the past days.
“Third house on the left?” Bo turned on the blinker and slowed.
“Yeah.”
“Wow!” Bo let out a whistle. “What a house. And just the two of them?”
“Yeah. I think Walter’s nephew lived with them a while once, but otherwise, just them.” In a house three times the size of the seven-member Lucklighter homestead, and in much better repair.
Walter’s wife came out the front door of the stately old home the moment Bo pulled into the driveway.
Moose yanked on the leash the moment Bo let him out, straining to reach more admirers.
“Oh my! He’s bigger every time I see him!” Mrs. Smith patted Moose on the head, setting his tail to wagging. She moved her hand and Moose whined and leaned against her leg. What an attention slut.
Such a dainty lady, but Moose stopped tugging at the leash and dropped his butt to the ground at her, “Moose, sit!”
Nice. The moment Lucky got back, he needed to find out her secret.
Even the rain let up for Mrs. Smith. She waved. “Good luck. And when you get back, come by one evening and have dinner with me and Walt.”
“Yes, ma’am, we will.” Bo climbed back into the SUV. “Ready?”
Ready to face fate?
No.
Chapter Thirteen
Bo played soft music on the radio, thankfully notAchy Breaky HeartorPachelbel’s Canon. Too many memories, good and bad, clung to both. Too many to deal with right now.
All too soon the ride ended in Richmond. Quickest ten hours in Lucky’s life. He stayed in the Durango while Bo retrieved the keys for his new, hopefully short-term abode.
Bo’s smile didn’t produce The Dimple when he opened the door of the small frame house, one of many in a long row of lookalikes on a tree-lined street. “Not too bad.”
Lucky dragged in one of his suitcases, containing a go-to-court suit Bo hadn’t seen him pack—clothes they might bury him in. Hope for the best, but plan for the worst. Yeah, right. Who was he kidding?
“I’ve seen worse.” Lucky’d lived in worse, with neighbors from Hell and palmetto bugs lying in wait outside the front door. Palmetto bugs. The vilest creatures on earth. Lucky eyed the baseboards for evidence of unwanted guests.
Doors opened and closed in the kitchen area. “Kitchen is a bit small, but then again, I’ve gotten spoiled.” Bo took the bag slung over Lucky’s shoulder and dropped the twenty-pound weight to the floor. “Someone went and bought me a house with a big-assed kitchen. Puts this one to shame.”
Tiny living room, tiny bedroom, tiny bathroom. And a tub too short to fit one of them comfortably, let alone two. Yeah, their house had Lucky spoiled too.
They brought in the remainder of their things, Lucky trying and failing to keep his mind in the moment and not race on ahead to tomorrow. He’d deal with tomorrow in the morning and not a moment before.
Bo hauled the cooler out of his SUV.
Oh, right. Lucky’d promised to be a better partner. He tried to take the cooler. “You drove most of the way. Take a nap while I unpack.”
“No. I’ll get this.” Not even cut open and already Bo treated him like the wounded.
“I’m not in the hospital yet. I can help.”
