Page 45 of The Wounded Warrior

“I might take you up on that, assuming your brother doesn’t try to kill me.”

“Hell, I bet you could take riding lessons.” Luke winked, stroking that ridiculously heavy cat.

“Riding lessons.” Rory stared at him half a second, blinking. “You think he’d let me?”

“Sure.” Luke tilted his head. “I’ve screwed up, haven’t I?”

“Rodeo club roping champion for four years of high school, honey.”

“Shit. Sorry.” Luke chuckled. “I assumed you were like me. Never had time to learn all that.”

“Why be sorry? Those assumptions work in my favor a lot.” Rory set to light on a low couch, gruntingas Maleficent leapt onto his chest as soon as he sat. “Honestly, my mom says if you assume something about me, you’re probably wrong.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He wheeled over, gauging how hard it would be to get back in the chair if he wasn’t welcome on the couch.

“Do you need help to get on the sofa? I can help.”

“I might, yeah. It’s a little low. Now, sofas are a trick I’ve been working on, so lemme give it a shot.”

“I can do that. Both of them even. Should I just sit here?”

“Just be ready to leap to my rescue. Oh, and the cat?”

“Mali, go bite your sisters or something.”

The cat gave him a glare and a flicked tail, then slithered off the couch.

“Thanks. I don’t want to land on her.” Luke took a deep breath, then maneuvered about so he was parallel to the couch. Then it was a matter of brute strength and balance.

Good thing he had both in spades. He ended up sitting in the couch, breathing hard.

“That was impressive.” There was no irony in Rory’s voice or expression.

“Thanks.” Whew. Go him.

“You want a glass of water? A beer?”

“You got anything with bubbles that’s not alcohol?” He was partial to Dr Pepper but would drink any other kind of Coke.

“Dr Pepper, Sprite, Coke. I have a Coke machine in the game room.”

“You’re shitting me.” God, his whole squad would be over here daily if they knew a guy like Rory.

“I shit you not. I have the game room of joy.”

“Dr Pepper, please.” He grinned, tickled as shit.

“I’ll be right back.” Rory stood up, stretched. “You mind if I take off my tie?”

“Oh, I stand on ceremony…” He snorted. “Not one bit.”

“Goodto know. I’m strangling in this thing.” Rory disappeared deeper into the house, and Luke leaned back. The place was high dollar, but simple. Sort of like a frat house with class. There was a huge leather sofa, a big screen hanging on the wall, and a footstool that had to be vintage 1973.

What did the old captain used to call it? Eclectic. Every time he’d said it Luke had thought he was the most sophisticated feller ever.

His people were more early American garage sale with owls. Momma collected owls.

Preacher liked velvet paintings.

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