Claiming the Enemy: Dustin (Porter Brothers Trilogy 3)

When he reached the door, Dustin shoved the puppy under his loose shirt, praying his pa was still in bed. Closing the door behind him, he saw his whole family already sitting at the table.

As he placed his bow on the floor under the gun rack, his eyes caught on the gun under Greer’s. It was the one his pa had given him for his birthday. His father had kept it in the bedroom closet since the night Duke had died.

As he turned from the wall, his eyes met his father’s as he pressed his arm over his belly to keep the puppy from sliding out.

“Boy, wash your hands and come eat breakfast,” his pa ordered, stopping him in his tracks as he tried to go into the hallway toward his bedroom.

“I’m not hungry. I need to get a shower before school.”

“I ain’t asking; I’m telling. Wash your hands at the sink and sit your ass down.”

Dustin swallowed hard as he walked behind his father’s chair to go into the kitchen. His mother, Greer, Tate, and Rachel kept their heads down as they ate their breakfast.

Dustin was so scared that his pa was going to catch him sneaking the pup inside that he wanted to cry. Pressing his arm tighter to hold the pup, he started silently praying as he took his chair at the table, scooting it forward. He was relieved the table top concealed the mound around his belly.

His mother gave him an encouraging nod after she filled his plate with bacon and eggs.

He managed to choke down a bite of bacon before his father pushed his empty plate aside. Rising, he patted his belly. “Woman, that was a fine breakfast. The only thing that would have made it better was biscuits.”

His ma started stacking the dirty dishes. “I’m out of flour. I’ll get some when I go to the store after I get done at Mrs. Langley’s.”

“I need me a nap. Kids, you better make sure you don’t miss that bus, or your asses will be walking.”

“Yes, sir,” sounded from around the table.

Dustin gave a sigh of relief when his father scooted his chair out from under of the table. However, his relief was short-lived when a hand landed on his shoulder.

“Ma, Dustin looks like he’s running a fever. He needs to stay home to sleep it away.”

Gaping, Dustin looked up at his father, who was standing behind him.

“You can have your gun back. Buckshot is less expensive than those arrows you like to use.”

Dustin looked back down at his plate.

“When I wake up, you can help me with the chores, if your fever is gone,” he added hastily at his mother’s frown.

“Yes, sir.”

His father removed his hand from his shoulder. “Yep, that was a mighty fine breakfast.” His father moved to his mother’s side, pressing a kiss on her cheek. “A man can’t ask for more … other than biscuits.” His father then tousled Rachel’s hair as he passed, heading toward the hallway and adding, “Oh, and Dustin, make sure you feed and water that dog you’re smothering to death under that shirt if it’s still living.”

Rachel’s high-pitched squeal of excitement had his father’s weathered face breaking into a lopsided smile.

Dustin was nearly toppled over as Tate and Greer snatched at his shirt to see the puppy.

“What’re we going to call him, Pa?” Rachel snatched the puppy into her thin arms.

“Let Dustin name him. He’ll be the one training him.” His father gave him a questioning glance.

Dustin cleared his throat at being the focus of his pa’s attention. “How about Blue?”

“It’s as good as any.”

“You’re in a good mood.” His mother stared at Pa suspiciously.

“Why shouldn’t I be? I have a new Bluetick hound that Frank swore Hell would freeze before I owned one. Heard last night he lost his job because his supervisor found his stash of cigarettes in his lunch box. All the other miners are pissed off at him for getting caught, because now their lunches are getting searched. The bastard’s had a string of bad luck lately. Even that bitch of his wife left town when she found a job in Michigan in a car plant. Said she would send for the kids when she had enough money saved up. I hope he holds his breath for that to happen.” His snort of disbelief had Ma dropping the stacked dirty plates to the table.

“Doesn’t your cousin work there?”

“Don’t remember. I’ve lost track of him. Does it matter?”

“It does if you had anything to do with Frank’s bad luck.”

“A man makes his own luck. Frank’s ran out when he shot a dog he had no business shooting, especially one that belongs to me. Now, if you’re done jabbering at me, my bed is waiting. Dustin?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Make sure you train that dog not to go near the Hayes’ property. And he only eats what you give him. Frank won’t be happy that Mag gave me the pick of the litter.”