Redneck Romeo (Rough Riders 15)

Brandt turned off the TV. “Let’s get the cattle check done.”

They traversed the shitty roads to feed cattle. Luckily the herd was in a pasture between Brandt’s and Tell’s places, so they didn’t have to venture far into the blowing snow and frigid conditions to roll out bales of hay. Since the feed truck would’ve gotten stuck in the snow banks, they had to fill buckets with cake by hand and then scatter it close to the line of hay.

For as cold as the outside temperature was, by the time they’d finished checking and feeding three hours later, Dalton was soaked with sweat.

Back at Tell’s house he showered and called Rory. “Hey, sugarplum, how you doin’? You hunkered down all nice and toasty in your cabin?”

“No. My power went out first thing this morning so I’m at mom and Gavin’s. Are you sitting in your living room watching endless hours of Universal Poker Tour?”

“Actually, I’m snowed in at Tell and Georgia’s with Brandt and Jessie and all their kids. And dogs.”

“Really? How’d that happen?”

“I was suckered into it, but it’s all good. Really good. Might sound stupid but now I remember why I liked to hang out with them. Not just because they’re my brothers but they’re genuinely good guys. I feel like I’ve got my family back.”

“I’m glad.”

He stretched out on the air mattress. “Wish you were here.”

“Me too. I hope it clears up by tomorrow. I’m scheduled to hit the road for some work stuff.”

He frowned. “How come I didn’t know that?”

“Sorry. It’s a last-minute thing.”

That sucked. “How long will you be gone?”

“Four days. Possibly more.” Rory sighed. “And I’ve been warned by the office the cell phone service is spotty at best.”

“No cell phone reception in Wyoming? I’m shocked.”

“I wanted to warn you if you don’t hear from me not to worry that I’ve been eaten by bears.”

“I appreciate you letting me know.” He dropped his voice to a growl. “The only one who’s allowed to eat you is me.”

“Dalton.”

“Aurora.”

The door swung open and all three of his nephews jumped on him. Whoa. The little buggers could bounce pretty high on an air mattress.

“Uncle Dalton, come on, you promised.”

“I gotta go. Please call me while you still have phone service, okay? Wyatt, dude, this is not the WWE.”

Rory laughed. “Have fun, you deserve play time.”

“I will. Bye.” Dalton clicked the phone off and tossed it aside. “All right boys, you asked for it.”

But he let them dog pile him anyway.

Later that night, Dalton, Brandt and Tell were sitting at the dining room table, drinking beer and playing dice. Jessie and Georgia were in the den watching an Iron Chef marathon, the boys were in bed and the dogs were snoozing by the door.

It seemed like old times, but better than old times.

Brandt said, “You’re wearing a goofy grin, Dalton. We ain’t playin’ poker so that’s not your bluffing face.”

“I’m just thinkin’ this is fun.”

“You glad we gotcha snowed in with us?” Tell asked.

“Yeah, I am.” The only way it would be better was if Rory was here.

Tell got up from the table.

Dalton looked at Brandt. “Was it something I said?”

“Nah. He probably had to take a leak. We’ve been hard on the beer tonight.”

“No lie. I don’t drink like I used to.”

“None of us do.”

“But we’re gonna change that tonight,” Tell said, plopping a bottle of booze in the middle of the table along with three lowball glasses.

“Holy shit. That’s high-end Redbreast whiskey,” Dalton said.

“Yep.”

“That’s like over a hundred bucks a bottle.”

“Figured we deserved a few belts of the best Irish.” Tell looked at Dalton. “After all the years you dealt with the worst sort of Irish belts.”

Silence.

Then Brandt said, “Jesus, Tell, really?”

“What? Too soon?”

Dalton started laughing.

His brothers looked at him like he’d lost his marbles, so he managed to stop laughing, but his grin stayed in place. “No, Tell, it’s not too soon. In fact, this shit has been doggin’ me for a long damn time. I’m more than ready to kick it in the ass and give it a final send off.”

“Let’s crack the seal then and give that motherfucking shit a sendoff we’ll all remember.” Brandt grinned. “Or maybe we won’t remember.”

Tell twisted the cap and sniffed the bottle. “Aye, it smells like the peat bogs of me youth. I can almost taste the salty brine of the ocean and see the heather blowing in the meadow breeze, me laddies.”

“Dude, that’s the best ‘frosted Lucky Charms they’re magically delicious’ impression I’ve ever heard.”

“Fuck off, Dalton.”

“Gimme a whiff of that.” He waved the bottle under his nose. “Oh yeah, that’s the good stuff.”

Dalton passed out the glasses. “Pour it, ’cause you gotta let it breathe for little bit.”

“How long?”

“Half an hour.”

“Bullshite,” Brandt growled. “Pour the bloody stuff. And I’m talkin’ more than a wee dram, boy-o.”

Tell’s mouth dropped open. “Brandt is speaking in tongues. It’s a miracle.”

“Hallelujah and pass the whiskey,” Dalton said.

“What about letting it rest?”

Dalton grinned. “Total bull. You still don’t know when I’m bluffing, do ya?”

“You suck.”

Tell filled the glasses only to the quarter mark. He raised his glass. “To snow days.”

They clinked glasses and downed the whiskey.

A sweet, slow burn warmed Dalton from the inside out.

“That is the best stuff I’ve ever tasted,” Brandt said. “Damn. Who knew I had expensive taste?” He nudged his glass over. “Hit me again, barkeep, but this one’s a sipper.”

“Ditto.”

Once their glasses were half-full, Dalton told them about his experience at an Irish bar in London.

After he finished, Tell asked, “Do you plan on traveling anymore?”

“Don’t know.”