Page 82 of The Wounded Warrior

“Shut up and give me some of your nachos.”

“We got the large so we could all share,” Rory agreed, handing over a rolled silverware set.

“Foresight is the mother of invention or some shit.”

“Indeed.” Rory had to laugh, because Jake was something else. Always had been. And he was one of the youngest sheriffs ever elected in their county, so he wasn’t half-stupid.

Only about a quarter.

He took a deep breath and dug a piece of chicken from his chimichanga, trying to chill the fuck out.

“Drink your beer, babe,” Luke murmured. “It’ll help.”

“You think?”

“I do. This one should just taste like beer.” Luke reached over to squeeze his leg under the table.

“Yeah. That was weird.” And that was the understatement of the fucking decade.

“At least you only had a tiny bit. You feeling sick at all?” Matt asked.

“I pretty much spit it back in the bottle.” Luckily, he wasn’t feeling gross.

“Good deal.” Luke grinned at him, and Rory swore he could read promises in the smile.

Evil promises.

Perfect ones.

Necessary even.

“Stop it.” Matt and Jake said it together, and Luke burst out laughing.

“Sorry,” Rory said for the hundredth time. Even if it was a ‘sorry, not sorry’. He deserved a reward for not jumping up and running in circles, hooting like an owl and slapping his head.

Hopefully, there was an incredibly fine Navy SEAL who intended to reward his happy ass tonight in a most definite sort of way.

He had a good feeling about that.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Luke hummed, running the curry comb over Petunia’s rough-ass coat. He had a soft brush to finish her sensitive spots, like her face and her long ears, but she was shedding her summer coat, which made him laugh. Silly beast would grow huge hair for the winter.

She tossed her head, huge ears twitching as she leaned into the grooming. Lord, she was tame as a dog. She loved to make him a muscle with the grooming, too. She could stand there for hours.

“Are you brushing a donkey?” Rory asked from the other side of the stall door, making Luke jump.

“Someone has to keep my ass clean,” he shot back.

“Indeed. I hear there’s a few folks in line for that job.” Rory was in his redneck tuxedo, wearing a chambray button-up and a beat-up straw. Luke liked it.

“I bet you fight them all off. Come meet Petunia. She showed up two weeks ago. Now we have two donkeys.”

Rory frowned. “Showed up?”

“Bonus donkey.”

“Ah. I get that. I had someone drop off a dog the other day. I fed her, but she up and disappeared.”

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