Page 80 of Scatter the Bones

“I’m sure you won’t”

Rooster keeps his eyes on her the whole time she crosses the lot and skips up the steps into the clubhouse, so I don’t bother saying anything until the door closes behind her.

“Thanks for keeping that under wraps,” I say.

“I don’t know why I bother since you tell her everything anyway.” The corner of his mouth turns up for a second, then he frowns and fixes his concerned brother eyes on me. “Why so gloomy today?”

The scrutiny feels too heavy, and I take a step away from him. “What’re you talking about?”

“No motherclucker jokes.” He squints at me. “No devilish gleam in your eyes.”

“Jeeezus Christ.” I roll my eyes skyward. “You startin’ to write songs with Shelby now? Devilish gleam? What the fuck?”

He grins and claps me on the back. “That’s better. But seriously, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

He moves around me and lowers the tailgate of his truck. “Help me unload this. Maybe it’ll loosen your tongue.”

“Unload what?” I move closer, peering into the bed of the truck.

He flips the hard cover back, revealing neat stacks of white and blue bags. “Salt. Remember the giant palette I got that deal on? I said I’d bring some up for Z. He’s out.”

“Already?” I lean in and start dragging the twenty-five-pound bags to the edge of the tailgate. “Uh, I’m not carrying these all the way back there.”

“Well, that path isn’t big enough. I’m not scratching the shit out of my truck.”

“What a drama queen.” I jerk my thumb toward the garage. “The UTV’s in there, let me get it.”

Actually, there’s more than one outdoor vehicle in here. If it’s parked in the main garage, it’s gotta be for any brother to use, right? The labels on each set of keys leads me to believe the answer is yes. Christ, if Dex is maintaining all these additional vehicles for the club, then I’ve really been slacking on my road captain duties. We only have one old shitty UTV downstate that I change the oil in, maybe rotate the tires—if I remember—like once every six months. Might be time to give it more than a half-assed once-over before someone blows the engine.

I grab the set for a Polaris Ranger and start it up. The bed’s small, we’ll probably have to make more than one trip. But that beats carrying five hundred pounds of salt through the woods.

I roll the UTV around to the back of Rooster’s truck and kill the engine. He has more bags lined up and waiting on the tailgate, and slow claps his hands at me like I’m the one holding up progress.

“You’re lucky I like you,” I mutter, jumping out and tossing a couple bags into the Ranger’s bed.

He snorts. “Nah, I’m lucky you’re avoiding whatever’s crawling around in your skull today.”

I don’t take the bait. Just grab another bag, toss it, repeat.

We run out of room in the UTV about halfway through.

“Let’s drop this off and come get the rest,” he says, climbing into the Ranger.

I slide into the driver’s seat and fire it up. The growl of the engine hopefully loud enough to discourage Rooster from talking.

“You fight with Margot?” he asks once I maneuver onto the path in the woods.

I hit the brake hard, throwing him forward. He slams his hand against the dash, turns and glares at me. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Oopsie, didn’t want to run over that squirrel.”

“Squirrel my ass. What happened? You held it together in front of Shelby but you’re being moody as fuck.”

“I’m always moody as fuck.”

“This is different.”

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