Page 211 of Back in the Saddle

And my man wasout.

I looked to him slouched in the chair, his feet up on the sill, ankles crossed, his arms crossed over his wide chest, his chin dipped into his neck, like he was the sheriff of a Wild West town, out on the front porch of the jail, catching some shut-eye between gunfights.

I was relieved to see he finally looked cute.

I thought this so I wouldn’t do something girlie, like count my lucky starts that this guy was mine.

Since he’d fallen asleep, and I wanted him to keep doing it, I’d taken the last hour of watch.

I could report it still wasn’t fun, specifically because it was super chilly that night. Eric had checked the forecast and gave me a heads up, that was why I was wearing a black knit cap with two huge pom poms positioned precisely so they would look like a certain mouse. When Eric saw me in it, he laughed so hard, I thought he’d injure himself. But I wasn’t insulted, considering I was proud of my love of that mouse, not to mention, still laughing, he started making out with me, which felt really nice.

This shit was also unfun because it continued to bemega boring.

The camp was as quiet that night as it had been the night before and the one before that (I guessed, I wasn’t awake to know, I just knew nothing happened outside my brother being taken in for questioning, but that didn’t happen in the actual camp).

So Eric and I gabbed about the kind of cat I wanted (I didn’t care, just as long as we vibed), the supplies I’d need and where I might put a litter box (I was going to buy one of those furniture-looking ones that hid it). Also my desire to make the perfect burger (I suggested mix-ins, like mustard, garlic and Worcestershire, Eric approved of this plan), my ideas on the signature cocktail for the Oasis Holiday Extravaganza (I was vacillating between a take on a French 75 with pomegranate juice, or some kind of mule that went heavy on the ginger, Eric suggested a seasonal switch up of a cosmo, which led me to learn he was a vodka guy, though he didn’t turn away from gin), and what kind of safe house Clarice would offer (Eric chuckled at my fur rugs and Waterford idea, but he also admitted I probably wasn’t wrong).

Of course, this led me to quizzing him on why an attorney would have a safe house at all.

“She likely doesn’t. My guess, it’s her summer place to get away from the heat,” he’d replied.

That made sense, so that was undoubtedly it.

And that was the end of our discussion about it.

Then he fell asleep, and I returned the gift he gave to me the last couple of nights by letting him do it.

I heard a car door slam, which surprised me, since for hours I’d heard nothing but Eric’s low, beautiful voice with the occasional whistle of wind through the warehouse, so I lifted my binoculars to have a look just as another door slammed.

I trained them at the road beside the massive lot where the camp sat and saw a handsome, middle-aged Black guy waiting for a pretty, same-aged Black lady to take his outstretched hand.

I felt Eric come up beside me (the car doors must have woken him), so I lowered my binoculars and looked up at him.

“Shit,” he murmured, he dropped his binocs and looked down at me. “That’s gotta be Johnson’s parents.”

“Johnson?”

“Chris Johnson. The General.”

Shit.

I turned to the camp as Eric ordered, “Pack the shit, babe, we gotta try to head them off.”

I looked back at him to see he’d already folded up a camp chair and nabbed the tripod with camera.

“I’ll hoof it to the car,” he said. “Gather the rest of this, I’ll swing by and pick you up.”

He didn’t wait for my response. He took off.

Although I agreed we needed to intervene ASAFP (who knew how the General would respond to his parents suddenly showing?), and I was happy not to run back to the SUV laden with stuff, “the rest of this” included a couple of pairs of binoculars and a chair.

I was also mildly embarrassed that he knew I’d slow him down.

But only mildly.

I didn’t dally in folding the chair, dropping the strap on the night vision binocs around my neck alongside the regular ones, and getting down the stairs.

I hid in a shadow in the doorway until I saw the Denali roll up. This took far less time than I expected, which told me Eric hadn’t jogged back to the truck, he’d run. And he’d done it carrying a camp chair, tripod and long-range camera.

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