Redneck Romeo (Rough Riders #15)(128)

The conversation had taken a turn toward melancholy and Dalton wondered what Brandt was thinking. Had to be a Catch-22 for him; he wouldn’t have the life with Jessie and his kids if Luke was still alive. So when Brandt opened his mouth to speak, Dalton braced himself.


“I reckon Luke would expect us to stick together and take advantage of this time to have some fun.” He leaned over and lightly punched Tell in the arm. “Since you’re the most fun lovin’ of the three of us, and I’m the oldest, I’m makin’ that your job. Bein’ the ambassador of fun.”


“Ambassador.” Tell snorted. “I expect you both to salute me from now on.”


Dalton and Brandt flipped him off at the same time.


“Nice, guys. Real nice.”


Brandt turned off the TV. “Let’s get the cattle check done.”


They traversed the shitty roads to feed cattle. Luckily the herd was in a pasture between Brandt’s and Tell’s places, so they didn’t have to venture far into the blowing snow and frigid conditions to roll out bales of hay. Since the feed truck would’ve gotten stuck in the snow banks, they had to fill buckets with cake by hand and then scatter it close to the line of hay.


For as cold as the outside temperature was, by the time they’d finished checking and feeding three hours later, Dalton was soaked with sweat.


Back at Tell’s house he showered and called Rory. “Hey, sugarplum, how you doin’? You hunkered down all nice and toasty in your cabin?”


“No. My power went out first thing this morning so I’m at mom and Gavin’s. Are you sitting in your living room watching endless hours of Universal Poker Tour?”


“Actually, I’m snowed in at Tell and Georgia’s with Brandt and Jessie and all their kids. And dogs.”


“Really? How’d that happen?”


“I was suckered into it, but it’s all good. Really good. Might sound stupid but now I remember why I liked to hang out with them. Not just because they’re my brothers but they’re genuinely good guys. I feel like I’ve got my family back.”


“I’m glad.”


He stretched out on the air mattress. “Wish you were here.”


“Me too. I hope it clears up by tomorrow. I’m scheduled to hit the road for some work stuff.”


He frowned. “How come I didn’t know that?”


“Sorry. It’s a last-minute thing.”


That sucked. “How long will you be gone?”


“Four days. Possibly more.” Rory sighed. “And I’ve been warned by the office the cell phone service is spotty at best.”


“No cell phone reception in Wyoming? I’m shocked.”


“I wanted to warn you if you don’t hear from me not to worry that I’ve been eaten by bears.”


“I appreciate you letting me know.” He dropped his voice to a growl. “The only one who’s allowed to eat you is me.”


“Dalton.”


“Aurora.”


The door swung open and all three of his nephews jumped on him. Whoa. The little buggers could bounce pretty high on an air mattress.


“Uncle Dalton, come on, you promised.”


“I gotta go. Please call me while you still have phone service, okay? Wyatt, dude, this is not the WWE.”


Rory laughed. “Have fun, you deserve play time.”


“I will. Bye.” Dalton clicked the phone off and tossed it aside. “All right boys, you asked for it.”


But he let them dog pile him anyway.


Later that night, Dalton, Brandt and Tell were sitting at the dining room table, drinking beer and playing dice. Jessie and Georgia were in the den watching an Iron Chef marathon, the boys were in bed and the dogs were snoozing by the door.


It seemed like old times, but better than old times.


Brandt said, “You’re wearing a goofy grin, Dalton. We ain’t playin’ poker so that’s not your bluffing face.”


“I’m just thinkin’ this is fun.”


“You glad we gotcha snowed in with us?” Tell asked.


“Yeah, I am.” The only way it would be better was if Rory was here.


Tell got up from the table.


Dalton looked at Brandt. “Was it something I said?”


“Nah. He probably had to take a leak. We’ve been hard on the beer tonight.”


“No lie. I don’t drink like I used to.”


“None of us do.”


“But we’re gonna change that tonight,” Tell said, plopping a bottle of booze in the middle of the table along with three lowball glasses.


“Holy shit. That’s high-end Redbreast whiskey,” Dalton said.


“Yep.”


“That’s like over a hundred bucks a bottle.”


“Figured we deserved a few belts of the best Irish.” Tell looked at Dalton. “After all the years you dealt with the worst sort of Irish belts.”