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on hands and knees, rocking to get momentum to stand. As soon as the big guy was up, he
fastened a hand in Sam's shirtfront and hauled him to his feet.
"You okay, man?"
"Uhn." Well, that was supposed to be a yes, but it was close enough. Where the fuck was his
truck?
"Shit. Come on." One long arm wrapped around his sore ribs and started steering. "The cops are
probably coming."
"Shit." He stumbled along, squinting as the world tilted. "I got a truck."
It was... blue? Green?
"Yeah, because you can see to drive. You look like a hung-over raccoon." They staggered like,
well, drunks, weaving through the lot.
"You meet many hung-over raccoons where you're from?"
"Raccoons, low down snakes, and lots of possums..." They leaned against a huge dualie, the big
guy fumbling in his pocket. "Where do you live?"
"I got a house over to Fort Collins. A little stucco one." He pointed west, then frowned, turned
and pointed a little to the left.
"Jesus. I can't... come on. In." That step was a long fucking way up...
"Goddamn." Sam crawled up, sitting and blinking as he swayed. Wait. Was he supposed to be
here?
"Where did you... oh, fuck it." They got moving, the cops coming in the other end of the lot as
they motivated out the other. Well, at least they weren't going to get arrested. Sam hoped.
He leaned his forehead against the glass a second; the cold felt good. "Where we going?"
"Home." Well, that was an answer, he guessed. Not exactly helpful, but an answer.
Sam let his eyes close, figuring he'd get his shit together when the truck stopped.
It did, eventually, but, man, it was dark wherever they were. Like middle of bumfuck nowhere
dark. Shit.
"You gonna kill me, man? 'Cause if so, I gotta have a smoke first."
"Huh? No. Jesus. Home." The truck door opened, and he heard a hound dog start to bay like it
had lost its last friend. Oh, well. That explained it. He was in Hell.
At least he had some smokes. He stumbled down, landing on his knees as he missed the step on
the truck altogether. Fuck. Well, okay, he could stay here. He grabbed his smokes from his
pocket, squinting as he tried to light one up.
"For Christ's sake." Yanking him up again, the guy took his smokes away, lit two, and gave him
one back. "Lula, will you shut up!"
The hound stopped howling and set to whuffling instead.
"Lula?" That was a great fucking name for a dog.
"Lula. She's a coonhound. You okay with dogs?"
The nicotine sharpened his brain just a bit, and his one eye seemed to clear up enough to see that
they were at a little hobby-type farm, with a big old house and some fences and shit.
"Yeah. Yeah, I like dogs." He didn't have one right now, not after Wizzer got hit by a truck, but
he was fond.
"Oh, good. She'll come barreling, soon as I open the door." Soon as his smoke was skunked that
man grabbed him again. Fucking manhandling bastard. They waltzed to the front door like a
couple of dancing bears, and in they went, the ecstatic barking of Lula ringing in his ears.
Sam sorta blinked, trying to figure out what the hell was up here. Hadn't he just been drinking?
"You got a name?"
"Dermott McEntire." The light went on, spiking right through his eyeballs, making everything
blur.
"Dude, that's a mouthful." He found a bit of wall, leaned. "So you a Matt or a Mac?"
"Mac. You? Lula, down." The big dog had pushed right up, paws on Sam's shoulders so she
could sniff his face. She gave a little moo sound and dropped to the floor, padding around them
and wagging. Cute dog.
"Sam Holly." Shit, that dude wasn't half bad looking, for a giant fucking redneck bastard.
With bruises. And a bloody nose. And a missing gimme cap. The guy had dark brown hair, just a
shade darker than his beard. Short, but not buzz cut. Nice wall.
Course, Sam could tell he wouldn't be winning any beauty pageants for a week or two. Maybe
three, the way his shoulder felt.
"Come on. You can use the guest bathroom to get cleaned up. Let me just give this old girl a
bone..." Mac... it was Mac, not Matt, went and gave the dog a treat, then led him to the bathroom.
Surreal.
The water felt damn good. Sam stripped off his shirt, making sure his ink wasn't tore up. Nope,
them holly leaves were still there, both sides, but goddamn his shoulder was already turning
purple.
Something nosed his ass, and he figured it wasn't the feller, but the dog. Sure enough, there sat
the hound, giving him big "feed me" eyes.
"Hey, sweet baby." He sat down on the side of the tub, face leaning against the tile as he gave
scritches. "Aren't you just the prettiest thing on four legs?"
Tongue lolling, the sweet girl leaned against his legs, tail thumping on the floor.
"She'll give you new muscles making you pet her, you let her." Mac was watching them from the
doorway, shirt off, pair of sweats riding low. "I don't have a guest room. Well, I have two, but I
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