Page 50 of Rainbow Rodeo

Tank chuckled. “What? You telling me you and Dustin are getting drunk every night and whoopin’ it up?”

“That’s us. Deb too. Because she can.” He couldn’t say the last time he’d seen Bubba drunk.

“I bet she’s a party animal.”

They both burst into laughter, that big old sound of Tank’s drawing stares.

“She does the hootchie coo with the best of them.” He almost managed a straight face.

Tank howled, slapping him on the arm.Ow.The man had a hand like a ham.

They were still chuckling when they walked into Juicy Lucy’s, which was busy, but not impossible. Lord, it smelled good in here—beefy goodness.

“Two?”

Tank nodded. “Yes, ma’am. Just two.”

Wasn’t that weird? The wordjust? Because it was two, but it didn’t feel likejustanything.

Tank smiled at him once they were settled, and he had to smile back. Lord.

“I want the artichoke,” Tank said. “Wanna share?”

“I don’t know. I mean, I’ll sure try, but I ain’t never before.” He wasn’t picky on his food, though.

“I’ll walk you through it. Hell, if you hate it, I’ll get you something else.”

“You know me. I can eat rocks.” Hell, he’d been thrown enough over the years that he had, more than once.

Tank snorted. “And I can eat bull testicles, but this is so much better.”

“Hi there! What can I get you guys to drink?” The waitress was blonde, pretty, and very young.

“Iced tea please, ma’am,” Tank said.

“Same for me, and we want one of them artichoke deals, please.” In the back of his head, he could hear Miss Bell in Sunday school singing, “Might’ve choked Artie, but he didn’t choke me.”

Tank nodded, that approving look almost more than he could take.

“You got it. The specials tonight are seared, panko-crusted scallops, or a thirty-two-ounce rib eye. I’ll be right back with those drinks.”

“Jesus,” Tank whispered. “That’s two pounds of steak.”

“I bet you Dustin could eat that. He can pack the food away.” Twelve was more than enough for him. More than enough.

“He must have a hollow leg. That’s a lot of meat. Like John Wayne. They say he had all this stuff in his colon.”

“Really?”Ew.“He’s always running like a chicken.”

In that they were different. He was always riding.

“Like a chicken. I love it.Bawk.” Tank chuckled, shaking his head.

The drinks came, and they ordered, him a sirloin, Tank the sirloin kebabs.

“No giant steak of doom for you?” he teased.

“Heck no. I got plans tonight. No weighing me down.” Those eyes found his, dark and hot suddenly.

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