Page 31 of Gotta Dig Deep
Whoever was holding the phone on their end tracked his movements in a way that made Horse grin.Probably the prospect he took with him. Dedication right there.
Blackie continued, “I need to find my woman and get us somewhere private. Don’t stay up too late, kids. Dawn will be here before you know it.”
“Night, boss.” Horse offered a wave and disconnected the call. He looked around the faces gathered in the office. “Tomorrow morning early, let’s put our heads together and figure out the first things Bane’s gonna need. All of it in Baker. So we’ll scope out available property, housing, members—we’ll get it all sorted and have a list ready for Blackie when he calls with the done deal.”
Back in his room, Horse stretched in a way similar to Blackie’s movements, then sighed deeply. As enforcer, this club move would have him on the road more than he liked. Not that he was against visiting outlier chapters and support clubs, but he also liked the comfort of his own bed.
“Gettin’ soft in your old age.” His complaint hung in the air, reenforcing an idea that had started poking its unwelcome head up frequently. Not the getting older part. He wasn’t worried about losing his edge due to age. It was the idea that the only person he had to talk to in the privacy of his down time was himself.
“Club is family.” The thought of his mother flashed to mind, and he scoffed softly. Their relationship hadn’t improved much over the last few years. “I’ve got a better found family than the one she threw away.”
With that settled, he sat on the edge of the mattress and started a list on his phone, identifying elements and potential players in the new chapter in way-the-fuck-out-in-Florida Baker.
When he finished with that, he’d pull up the latest research the prospects for FRMC and RWMC had done on the information taken from the bull rider’s trailer. It was taking much longer than he’d anticipated, and while the outcomes were satisfying, the buzz of the knowledge there were always more dead woman ate at him. There was no lack of work.
Just a lack of companionship.
“Jesus. Shut the fuck up, asshole.”
***
Glenna
“Did you hear who Jackson Snyder sold to?” Glenna twirled the old phone’s cord around her finger as she waited for Cooter to respond. “All I heard was he’d gotten top dollar.”
“It’s a group from out east. Investors, I’d bet. You called it. They’ll probably hook in with a developer either local or from back where they’re from and carve that land up into half-acre plots. We’re close enough to Tyler for an easy commute. Hate the idea that it’ll go that way.” Cooter sighed heavily. “I don’t know anything other than the buyers are from away, though. Not really.”
“Speculation with intuition is kinda like fortune telling.” She smiled. “I hope you’re wrong, but you’ve got a pretty good track record with this kind of thing.”
“Wish I didn’t. Hope I’m wrong.” There was an awkward pause, something that wouldn’t have registered as such a year ago, but Cooter’s persistence in asking Glenna out had driven a wedge of tired and offended rejection between them. “You need anything else, Glenna? I’ve got paperwork to tend to.”
“No, nothing else. Tell Pa I said hi.” The frown on her face drew the skin of her brow tight. “Appreciate you takin’ my call.”
“Anytime. You dial my number, I’m always gonna pick up, Glenna. I’ll convey your greetings to Pa. Bye.”
“Talk to you soon.” Her last two words were to the dead air on the disconnected line and Glenna stifled a groan as she clicked the receiver back into the wall-mounted phone. “Well, that went about as well as expected.”
Nails clicking on the floor pulled her attention to the doorway and a real smile relaxed the rest of the frown from her face as she watched her dog enter the room. Wiry hair on top of Shamu’s head was raised in a faux-mohawk and the expression on his face was almost comical. A Peruvian Inca Orchid, the nearly hairless black-and-white dog had become Glenna’s best friend and companion.
“Hey, puppy,” she crooned, slipping a hand across Shamu’s head and down his warm neck. “Whatcha doin’, fella?”
Head cocked to the side, Shamu stared up at her, concern wrinkling his brow in an echo of her own frown from earlier.
“Oh, it’s okay. It’s just Cooter bein’ Cooter. Man doesn’t know how to take no for an answer once he’s got his mind set on an idea. He’ll get over himself sooner or later.” She gathered the loose skin of his cheek into one hand and shook his head gently. “He always does. Nothing for you to worry your pretty little head over. You’re a good boy, sure enough.”
He pressed tight to her leg as she moved towards the kitchen table, keeping that position while she picked up her coffee cup and drained it. “We’ve got work to do, you terrible thing. You can’t be plastered to me the whole day.” He shifted so more of his weight pinned against her leg. “Seriously, Shammy. Everything’s okay.” The huff of air he delivered said volumes about his belief in her read of the situation. “Ready to go for a ride?”
Finally he left her side, dancing from foot to foot in front of the door, gaze fixed on the window just over his head. When she went back to the coffeemaker to fill her thermos, he huffed again, this followed by a demanding, rumbling bark entirely at odds with his seeming frailness.
She wasn’t sure how the breed of dog had come to her attention. Probably one of the thousand nights of little sleep spent browsing the internet for articles on ranching, cancer, astrology, quad-runner maintenance, and the most unique everything. But once she’d seen a picture, she hadn’t been able to get the dogs out of her mind. Excessively loyal and head-strong didn’t scream good companion, but she’d joined a forum of owners and found out the breed was so much more than the surface description.
A short time later, she’d been tapped by a rescue group for fostering the black-and-white dog and had proudly become what the folks called a “foster fail” because Shamu had found his forever home with her.
Thermos in hand, she patted her back pocket to ensure the gloves that lived there hadn’t been misplaced, then paused to laugh at Shamu who was still dancing from foot to foot. “Okay, we’re going. We’re going.” The instant the door opened, he was gone like a shot, angling to the left so he could loop the house and check for intruders. By the time she’d made it to the quad runner, he’d finished his initial search and was fast approaching from the right. Barely giving her time to throw a leg over the seat, Shamu bounded up behind her, slapping his front feet into place on her shoulders.
Pushing the ignition button, she settled her thermos into a bag between her legs as the motor warmed up. A quick bark beside her head told her the process was taking too long and she reached up to playfully hold Shamu’s muzzle closed. “Patience, grasshopper. Patience.” He wrestled out of her hold and barked again, quieting as she rocked the throttle. “Here we go.”
Four hours later, his enthusiasm for their work of the day hadn’t waned. He’d faced off upset momma cows as Glenna inoculated their babies, nuzzled encouragingly at the few calves that didn’t immediately regain their feet when she was done, and plastered himself to her back every time they moved to a different pasture or paddock.
