Page 216 of Back in the Saddle

Chris looked tired, like he hadn’t slept all night, and perhaps that was what made what happened next go so easily.

Eric and Cap told Chris they were there to transport Chris to a new location. Chris got right into the Denali with them, and they drove away.

Homer took Mace, Roam, Scott, Louise and me to Chris’s stuff, and I called Raye to let her know what was happening so she could tell the Johnsons.

Tex came out, and without looking into any of our eyes, silently helped as we packed Chris’s stuff (it was meagre) and hauled it to the sidewalk outside the camp to see what Mr. and Mrs. Johnson wanted to do with it.

Tex slunk back into the camp, still not having fully looked at any of us.

I was impressed by his commitment to his cover.

When the Johnsons returned, they told us they wanted to take Chris’s things with them.

So we loaded them in their truck. Mr. Johnson handed out handshakes. Mrs. Johnson gave Raye and me hugs, the men handshakes. They took off. Roam and Mace angled into their SUV. Louise gave us hugs and “Proud of you girls,” whispered in our ears.

But before I got in beside Raye in Cap’s kickass Porsche Panamera, I looked to Homer standing outside his tent.

He dipped his chin, lifted a hand to give me a salute, and then he disappeared behind the flaps.

That was his version of “Thank you for seeing to one of our own.”

Raye set that baby to purring and drove us to the Oasis.

When we were going through the security gate, Martha was coming out.

She took one look at us and said, “Hells bells. You both look like you’ve been hit by a truck.”

“We just took part in helping a man with severe PTSD be taken from a homeless camp to an inpatient psych facility,” I stated.

Martha blinked before she said, “It’s not even ten o’clock.”

“We didn’t get to pick the timing,” Raye said.

Martha took us in.

She then declared, “I don’t do hot chocolate. But I sure as shit do shots of whisky.”

I appreciated whisky, even if it wasn’t a fave.

Regardless, I asked, “Is that an offer?”

“The best one I got,” Martha replied.

“Sounds pretty good to me,” Raye said.

“Me too,” I put in.

Whatever she was heading off to do, she abandoned it by marching toward the courtyard, ordering, “Follow me, girls.”

Raye took my hand.

I held hers tight.

And we followed Martha.

* * *

“You don’t haveto do this now.”

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