Page 4 of Summer Storm (Seasons In Montana: Summer #9)
The woo
Brielle
Pine pitch crackles and sparks on the logs and branches laid out in the new fire pit Jericho and Nolan had dug out and laid bricks around over the last few days.
The inside of our new house isn’t complete by any means, but according to the boys, we need fire for survival, or so they claim, and both jumped in to get the patio area set up.
Whatever. It’s kept them busy and out of my hair while I put PB and Jay through their paces and evaluate their training.
That isn’t what is bothering me, though.
Jericho leaves on Sunday for his final deployment.
In-country always makes me nervous, especially when we can’t talk to him for weeks on end.
I’ve never been privy to what his unit does, but I do know it’s dangerous, and as much as I complain about his and Nolan’s shenanigans, I love the big buttheads.
Nolan’s new job isn’t as secretive or as isolating.
Starting Monday, he’ll be patrolling the border between Canada and the United States.
Border patrol has its dangers too but at least he’s only a phone call and a couple of hours away if I need him or vice versa.
I also get to see him regularly. His schedule is a two-week on, one week off rotation, unless he’s covering vacations for the other agents.
Nolan is taking PB and Jay with him, leaving Rudy and I to keep the home fires burning.
Now that the shepherds are fully trained, I’ll be spending my time overseeing the rest of the house and training center construction, and also scouring animal shelters, looking for potential trainees, not only for our K9 and security programs but also for search I thought you might feel the same way.” His eyes darken as I slick my tongue over my bottom lip catching a drop of the fruity brew.
“It’s delicious. Thank you.” I wonder if he’s thinking about the bottle of Moscato we shared back in December. Blushing, I cast around for something else to focus on. I’m thrilled and more than slightly distracted by the fit of his denim jeans when he bends over the ice chest again.
Good, Lord have mercy. Instead of ogling the poor man, I focus on the brown butcher’s paper-wrapped package and a half dozen extendable roasting sticks he lifts from the cooler.
“Can’t have fire without meat.” Aaron announces as he straightens and thrusts the package into the air like it’s a trophy or something.
“Fuck, yeah.”
“Now, you’re talk’in!” Nolan and Jericho voice their approval.
Men, I swear. It’s not like they’re starving or haven’t eaten; we finished supper less than two hours ago.
Nolan eagerly throws another log on to the fire as Aaron passes off the roasting sticks to Jericho and then rips into the packaging of what turns out to be hot dogs, and not the mass-produced kind you have to choke down either, but the good ones that are only found at a quality butcher’s shop. Yum.
He eyes Rudy, who’s ever an opportunist when it comes to treats and snacks, as he places his fare on the log seating.
I roll my eyes as Nolan and Jericho converge on those hot dogs like they’re wolves who haven’t eaten in a solid month.
Before you can say, ‘come and get it,’ they each have a stick with two hot dogs on them and are holding them over the fire.
That’s when my older brothers turn from grown-ass men into twelve-year-old boys and start making raunchy wiener jokes, each more embarrassing than the last. I drop my burning face into my palms. I wonder if I can sneak away and hide out in the RV?
I’d still probably be able to hear them as loud and obnoxious as they’re being.
“I brought dessert too…” Aaron offers softly, as Dumb and Dumber carry on, “…but I think just maybe you should have to pay a tax to get it.”He holds a bag of marshmallows out to me. I pause just my fingers touch the bag.
“Oh, really? And how much is this tax?” My fingers brush against his in a barely there feathery touch that warms me more easily than the coals and burning logs laid out in the pit.
“Not much at all, all you need to do is agree to be my date at the rodeo in Missoula this Friday.”
“Umm…I don’t know…” I hesitate. I mean, I’ve had sex with him, but I really don’t know him. Do I really want to dive into…”
“I have chocolate too.” He sweetens the deal by balancing a whole bag of Hershey’s snack-size chocolate bars and a box of graham crackers on top of the bag of marshmallows.
My resolve melts. No one else has ever come close to putting this much effort into taking me out.
I start to agree but before I can get the words out of my mouth, my crazy-ass brothers strike again.
“I’ll go!”
“I’d love to.”