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“Bring me some too, Bubba!” Dalton called after him.

Dustin waved. He would too. Good man. “You want another beer while he’s not sitting on the cooler?”

“Surely. We’re not driving.”

Tank snagged the cooler lid, then opened it so he could lift out two beers. He handed one to Dalton. “So what else do I need to know about this Rocket feller?”

“Huh?” Dalton blinked up at him, then shrugged, shook his head. “He’s an ex. It wasn’t pretty. We didn’t end well.”

“Deb says she felt like you needed armed backup.” That had worried the hell out of him.

“I don’t know. He was pretty pissed. We had a—I don’t know.”

Tank caught Dalton’s gaze with his. “You can tell me. If you don’t want to right now, then I get it. But you can.”

“Maybe not out here. It ain’t for public consumption.”

“Okay.” He wanted to know, but Dalton had a right not to air his laundry, dirty or clean. “You know I got your back, right?”

“I know. I got it. It’s old news.”

“Well, not if he’s still hanging around, honey.” Someone was trying to make it new business, he thought.

“Yeah.” Dalton took a deep swig of his beer.

“I didn’t mean to upset you, honey. Your people are just real worried.” Tank tried a smile, just to see if Dalton would smile back.

“They love me.” At that, Dalton did smile. “I’m a lucky man.”

“Yep.” Tank believed that with his whole heart. “This is the best place.”

“It is.”

“Dee! Dee, can y’all get the tables pulled out?”

Dalton grinned. “Duty calls.”

“I’m on it too.” Tank pulled his weight.

Dalton stood and held out one hand, hauled him up. They got to work, muscling the folding tables out of the big trailer they lived in and setting them up along with the chairs. Soon the tables were groaning with food—lots of chips and dips and plastic tubs of macaroni salad and potato salad and coleslaw.

Tank laid out the bread and buns someone handed him, then began filling tubs with ice so people could chill down Cokes and beer and water.

Things came from everywhere—a pot of beans, salad greens and a huge bottle of ranch, the five gallon vat o’ pickles. This was how it worked with the Jakoby Company. Everyone contributed when they could, and everyone ate no matter what.

It engendered a vast loyalty, a commitment between all the cowboys who traveled with the company and goodwill with the locals, as a rule.

The Jakoby Company would celebrate their centennial soon. World wars, depressions, high times—they’d survived them all.

The fact never ceased to amaze Tank. These kids were amazing.

And he was balls-deep in love with one of them.

Lord help him, he had to admit it. He just hoped he didn’t fuck it up.

Chapter Sixteen

DALTON SLEPThard these days, draped over Tank. He’d gotten used to the solid body in his bed, to the heat, to the steady heartbeat under his ear.