*
Callen planned to throw together a meal after work on Saturday, then drive out to the Step Up Bar about nine.
He’d put in a full day—spring weekends proved to be packed tight at the resort—and had seen to Sundown’s feeding and grooming himself.
And spent some time rubbing vitamin oil into the raw pink scar on his horse’s belly. “Battle scar.” He straightened, gave Sundown a couple of good strokes. “I can’t balance the scales unless I shoot the bastard, and I just don’t have that in me. Or don’t want to act on it if I do. But I can add a couple of weights.”
Sundown stomped his right front hoof twice, and though Callen understood the horse reacted to his tone, he went with it. “Yeah, one for each of us. Behave yourself,” he ordered as he stepped out, latched the stall door. He crossed over to Leo, scratched Bodine’s gelding between the ears where he liked it best. “Keep your eye on him.”
He wound his way out, exchanging words with a couple of the hands, turning down an invite to poker. Since he’d taken longer with Sundown than he’d planned, he backpedaled cooking to tossing a sandwich together.
Then walked into the shack to the scent of cooking and the sight of Bodine at his stove.
“Woman, don’t you have my supper on the table yet?”
“Funny,” she said without turning around.
“Sort of was. What’re you cooking? I didn’t know you did much of that.”
“I don’t, but I can brown up some meat and pour some barbecue sauce on it, and fry up some potatoes. That’s what you’re getting.”
It smelled a hell of a lot better than a cheese sandwich. “I’ll take it and say thanks.”
“Thought you would. Want a beer?” She glanced back to see him shake his head, nodded hers. “Saving that for after. While a few beers makes an interesting fight, a clear head’s a smarter one. I wouldn’t mind a Coke.”
He got out two, opened both. “Bodine?”
“Callen?”
That made him smile and kiss the top of her head. “I’ve got words turning around in my head, looking for their right spots. When they get there, I’ve got things to say to you.”
“Am I going to like hearing them?”
“Well, you’ll have to let me know. I need to wash up. I’ve been with the horses.”
“You’ve got about five, maybe ten minutes before this is on the table.”
When he came back, she spooned generous portions of the sauced meat onto buns, scooped up fried potatoes, added a hefty portion of mixed vegetables.
“I stole the vegetables from Clementine. She had plenty done.”
After she sat with her own plate, he two-handed the filled bun, sampled. “It’s good. Got some bite to it.”
“That’s the hot sauce. I figured you could take it.”
“Take it and like it. Meant to ask: Since we’re not booked real heavy on Tuesday, I’d like to have my mother bring the kid in for a while again. Brody loves the horses, and he’s been asking for another pony ride.”
“You don’t have to ask about that, Callen.”
“I like checking with the boss.”
“The boss says anytime you can work it out’s fine. Text me when they get in. I’ll come down and see them if I can.”
“I’ll do that. I told her they’ve started tearing down the old place.”
“How’d she take it?”
“She was fine with it. Didn’t matter. It didn’t seem like she was putting that on, and I made a point of asking Savannah about it. She said the same, Ma’s okay with it. She really loves having the piece of flooring, especially since Justin made it into picture frames. And the rosebushes, especially those. So it was the right thing to do.”
“Was that weighing on you?”
“Some. Off and on. Now it’s not. So, only this. Wouldn’t you rather stay back here tonight while I go deal with Clintok?”
She stabbed some potatoes, looking at him with a little smile while she ate. “Clutching my pearls while I pace the floor? And having a ripped petticoat for bandages ready.”
“Never seen you wear pearls, or a petticoat—though I imagine you’d look really good in both. And why do you assume I’d need bandages?”
“Grammy’s pearls are set aside for me, and I could borrow them if I wanted to clutch them. I don’t own a petticoat, so you’ll do without bandages ripped from one. But I already tossed a bag of frozen peas in your freezer because Clintok’s big and he’s a brawler. I may not have a doubt you’ll kick his ass, but he’ll land a few.”
Watching him, she licked sauce off her finger. “But to answer your question, don’t start thinking because I cooked you a meal I’ll go full stereotypical female.”
“You’re not stereo or typical anything.”
“Damn right. I’m going. Somebody’s got to hold your coat, and nobody’s robbing me of the pleasure of seeing you bloody him some.”
“How about after our fancy dinner next Saturday we get a fancy hotel room?”
She polished off her sandwich, downed a little Coke. “Have you got money to burn, Skinner?”
“I’ve got it to spend.”
“Looks like I’ll be packing an overnight bag. Let’s get these dishes done and get going.”
“I was thinking I could eat another helping.”
She poked a finger against his taut belly. “You’ll regret that thinking if he lands those couple in your gut.”
“Can’t argue with that,” he decided and pushed back from the table.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The Step Up Bar slouched beside a two-pump gas station that primarily stocked cigarettes, chewing tobacco, and ammo. You could buy coffee there if burning a layer from your stomach lining caused no concern, but the soft drink machine stuck out front offered the better bet on the rare occasions it was stocked.
Across the weedy, pitted gravel lot, a twenty-room motel with a reputation for dubious sanitary standards welcomed only the most desperate of travelers.
Still, some locals enjoyed the fuck-you ambiance and patronized the bar for some serious drinking. And occasionally, enough drinks lured a couple or two over to the motel for the nonadvertised hourly room rate.
The three enterprises largely stayed afloat due to bikers traveling through who preferred cheap drinks, a hard-eyed game of pool, and the occasional brawl over the niceties.
Before he’d taken off for California, Callen had dragged Chase in there with him for a couple of rounds of rebellious, underage drinking, as nobody in the place gave a New York rat’s ass about checking IDs.
As Callen pulled in, passed the flickering vacancy sign for the One Shot Motel, he saw nothing much had changed.
He heard the insect buzz of the vacancy sign swatting at the still night air. Rising over it, the moon rode, a bite away from full, on a star-struck sky.
He steered away from the line of parked bikes, slid in next to a pickup. Shook his head.
Chase leaned back against the truck, Rory beside him, with Jessica and Chelsea flanking them.
“Didn’t know we were having a party.”
“That’s how it goes,” Bodine said as she climbed out.