Page 14
Chapter Thirteen
R ory woke up in the morning so sore he could barely move, and he agreed to see Dr. Mellon, even if he didn’t want to.
The bandages were redone, and the cut in his leg ended up getting a couple of stitches, but that was it.
Too bad Lori had called Mom and Pop, who were waiting in his front room when he got home.
“This thing with Doug Harris has gone too far.”
“Hey, Mom. Did you want a cup of coffee or something?”
“I mean it, son.” She put her hands on her hips, making mom face.
“I was helping a friend. Horses and bullets were involved.” He went to the kitchen, limping along. “Y’all always wanted a more redneck son. I’m just a late bloomer.”
“Rory!” Mom sounded horrified, but he needed a glass of water to take his antibiotic and his pain pill, then maybe a cup of coffee.
“Hey, I told her I thought you manned up well. She hit me.” Pop sounded tickled as hell .
“Yeah, imagine the gay boy getting dragged by a horse, bullets flying.” He turned on the espresso machine.
“I’d prefer that the bullet part be tossed out,” Pop pointed out.
“It was the horse that did the damage.”
“You had to get stitches!” Mom’s voice rose dangerously high. “Damn it, Rory, you could have died. He’s not worth it.”
“You think I did that for Harris? I mean, his people were responsible, yeah, but I did what I did for the LeBlancs.”
“Why?”
“Because they’re neighbors, and because it was the right thing to do.
Hell, I’d have stopped to put Doug Harris’s goddamn horses back in the fence.
” He put the coffee cup down a little too hard and he’d be damned if the handle didn’t snap right off.
“I swear to God, I get bitched at if I’m not cowboy enough, and I get bitched at if I’m too redneck for my own good. Pick one!”
“I don’t have to.”
“What?” He blinked at his mom, confused as all get out.
“I’m the momma, and you’re my son, and you’re hurt. I don’t have to make sense. It’s in the handbook.”
“Oh.” He blinked some more. “Well, if it makes you feel better no one drugged me this time.” He could have bitten off his tongue when her face went slack with shock. Not cool, Rory.
Pop’s eyes narrowed. “What? Talk, boy. I mean it. That is serious. Did you see someone? Get blood work?”
Oh, fuck him. Nothing like getting Mister Orthopedic Surgeon of the Stars riled up.
“I didn’t know that was what it was. I still don’t for sure.”
“Was that when you had food poisoning?” Mom asked. “I thought it was a bad beer?”
The words almost popped out again, those sarcastic words like, ‘I ought to know when I’m drugged’. He kept them in, shrugging instead. “It seems a bit much to be a coincidence. ”
“Maybe we should shoot him,” Pop offered.
That made Mom pop off with, “We could sic Rowenna on him…”
“You could, I guess, but I would much rather put the bastard in jail after I make him destitute.”
Pop grinned over at him, jolly as fuck. “Get him where it hurts, eh, son?”
“Yessir. I intend to make him bleed.”
“Men!” Mom threw up her hands. “I’ll make eggs.” She stalked to the stove and tossed his pan on the burner.
“Let me look at all your things, son,” Pop murmured. He tried to protest, but he couldn’t argue. This was his daddy, after all, and the man loved him dearly.
He sighed, leading Pop back to the bathroom. “Doc did a good job patching me up.”
“I’m sure he did. I just want to look.”
Pop checked his leg cursorily, then turned to his hand, taking special care there. He flexed as much as he could so Pop could see the motion.
“Lucky it didn’t come right off, kiddo.”
“I know.” He smiled wryly. “I wasn’t thinking, just reacting.”
“That’s what we do in emergencies. I’m proud of you, son. That takes balls.”
“Thanks, Pop.” He meant it. His pop wasn’t exactly stingy with praise, but he was a tough call for a Texas daddy to get behind the gay real estate lawyer.
No matter what Pop might think, he’d never once made Rory feel like he was ashamed. Not even when the shit had hit the proverbial fan.
Pop clapped a hand against his shoulder. “You got something going on with one of them LeBlanc boys?”
“Not yet. Give me time.”
“Lord, son. You be careful. ”
The smell of bacon reached them, and they grinned at each other.
“Don’t worry, Pop. I’m fine.”
“I worry about you all the time. I’m a dad.” His pop chuckled. “Come on, before she makes refried beans and biscuits and quiche or some shit.”
“This is bad?” Well, quiche was bad, but he liked eggs.
“Well, I suppose that all depends on what you got in your fridge.”
Oh. Right. Mom got creative.
“Bacon, beer, and there’s possibly a leftover Cadbury Creme Egg.”
“I wonder how that is fried.”
They stared at each other and cracked up, just roaring with laughter, which made him think how good Luke had been the night before, laughing like a kid.
He sure hoped that Luke decided to take the chance and call today.
“Lord, look at you all grinning.” His dad sobered. “I do mean it. Be careful. With Harris, too.”
“I will. I intend to win this war, though.”
“I’m right behind you with a bazooka and a bucket of salt for the earth, Rory. I just want you in one piece.” Pop steered him back out to the kitchen.
“That’s the goal, Pop. I don’t have a death wish.” Just a finely tuned sense of vengeance.
“Good. Now, be apologetic to your mom so she doesn’t kill you, either.” Pop grinned hugely.
“Right on. Also, I need coffee.”
“God, me too. Your mother had me up at the ass-crack of dawn.”
“His mother is here,” Mom said, waving a spatula.
“And she’s gorgeous.”
“Nice, Pop. ”
“Thanks.” Pop winked and began pulling out plates and putting mounds of food on the table.
“How do you do that? That’s magic, Mom.”
“It’s my job.” She handed him a cup. “Coffee for me.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Coffee he could totally do. Back to the espresso machine. He made them all a coffee before sinking down at the table, his hand and head throbbing, his stitches on fire.
“You look exhausted, baby boy.” Such a mom.
“I am.” He wanted to just set everything down for a bit and rest, but he had too much to do.
Life was never-ending when revenge was on the line.
“Eat something. It will make you feel better.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He took a biscuit and some bacon and made himself a sandwich.
Pop did the same, and for a few minutes he was spared having to chat. He took his pills, chugging them back with his coffee.
“Antibiotics?” Pop asked.
“And a pain pill. I promise not to abuse them.”
“No one has ever worried about that with you, son.”
“No?” Rory grinned, his sore jaw stretching. “You mean there’s one sin I’m not notorious for?”
“Just one,” Mom muttered. “Although you’re not huge on sloth, come to think about it.”
“So I get off the hook for gluttony and sloth.”
“Well, you do have some rage, son,” Pop said. “And you are a fudgepacker.”
“James!” Mom stared, but Rory just bowed with an evil grin.
“I totally am, thank you.” He fought the urge to stick his tongue out at his mom.
“Good to know where you fit in the universe. Are those grits, Helen?”
“You know it.”
“You’re a miracle worker, Mom.” He hadn’t even known he had grits in there.
She gave him an arch look and passed the grits to Pop. “Aunt Barbara gave them to you for Christmas. I found them in the pantry. If you cooked once in a while in this well-stocked, fancy-assed kitchen…”
“What?” Rory widened his eyes. “I have to uphold the gay stereotype and eat out. If I ever hook up permanently I’ll take cooking classes and have dinner parties.”
“Promise? Will you have wine tastings, too? That’s one thing this town needs, a gay man that doesn’t drink horse-piss beer.” Mom’s voice was dry as dust.
God, he adored them both.
“Oh, good idea. I’ll have Lori look into it.” He winked. “Thanks for coming over. Really. I didn’t even know I needed to see y’all.”
“Anytime, son.” Pop grinned over the island at him and suddenly he was ten again, having his breakfast, knowing that all was right with the world.
The Cowboys and Rangers were in Dallas, the Spurs were in San Antonio, and he was going to grow up to be a country singer and a roper, just like King George.
Rory let go of everything else to bask in that feeling a bit. It was rare these days, and a man took his comfort where he could.
There would be plenty of time to pick up the revenge thing later.
Table of Contents
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