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Tank blinked. “Hey.”

“Hey, man. Surprise, surprise, huh? You’re really coming to take over for Jonah?”

“Taking over for Jonah. At least for the time being.” He knew he might have to go back up and do the finals at the bull riding, but he had months before that reared its head. “Good to be home.”

“Glad to have you back, man. Seriously.” Dalton held one hand out to him, callused and square and solid.

He shook, hoping like hell his palm wasn’t sweaty. Dalton was just his thing, and that was scary and kinda wonderful all at once.

Dalton shook like a man who greeted folks for a living—not too hard, not too limp. Just a solid handshake that put a guy at ease.

Tank sat back, just staring, hoping he wasn’t being obvious.

Dustin returned with a beer, grinning like a fool. “Tank! Hey, man. How goes? We’re all bustin’ our buttons having you back.”

“Hey, Dustin. How’s it hanging?”

“Good. Good. Been busy, but that’s good, right?”

“Damn good. We like it when people want to come to the rodeo.” In fact, they were a growing sport again, which rocked his socks.

Dalton nodded in concert with Denver. As much as Deb was like Miss Linda, the boys were mini-Denvers—blond, blue-eyed, solid and short, and stubborn as any bull.

He admired the hell out of Denver Jakoby, keeping it all in the family, keeping his kids involved. It couldn’t be easy.

Of course, Darrell Jakoby, the granddaddy of the rodeo, hadn’t given any of the kids a choice. Even Dallas, the son who was the reason this rodeo had a zero tolerance for bigotry policy, was the rodeo’s vet. Hell, it was common knowledge that Dallas and Doc McClellan had been on-again, off-again for thirty years.

Tank grinned. Crusty old goats.

“What’s so funny, Tank?” Dustin asked.

“Just happy,” he said. It was the God’s honest truth.

“Rock on. We like that.”

Deb came over with a pallet of cupcakes and plopped down. “Food. Well, it’s got calories and shit.”

“Nice.” Tank waited for the guys to get some, then grabbed two cupcakes and a cookie. Damn.

“Uh-huh. It’ll do.”

“You’re gonna get fat, Sister,” Dalton teased, and Deb just flipped him off, both of them laughing like loons.

Denver rolled his eyes. “Y’all be good.” He grabbed two cupcakes. “Gonna go call your momma back. She was dealing with some high school drama thing.”

“Tell her we said we love her and don’t kill the babies!” The three eldest Jakobys spoke in unison, making Tank smile. The babies.

From all gossip and accounts, of which there was more than a bit, Darius was nineteen and a wild child in Commerce, and little Miss Dakota was a junior rodeo queen, a high school junior, and a disaster looking for a place to land. To the others, they were just “the babies.”

Tank shook his head. He was an only child, and his folks had found out about him and Joe Lonetree and kicked his ass out. The Jakobys fascinated him.

They loved unconditionally, and God help you if they decided you belonged in their clan. You became family, with all the nonsense that entailed.

Tank loved it. Craved it.

Thank God he was home.

Dalton licked some icing off his upper lip, the sight enough to make the pit of his belly ache. Tank shook his head slightly.No mooning over the boss’s kid.Especially one he’d turned down. Now, Dalton was a sight older, but Tank figured it was his punishment to think Dalton was so hot.