Lady Luck (Colorado Mountain 3)

Pushing it.

Whatever.

“And a rug,” he agreed.

She smiled at him.

He brought them back to the matter at hand. “So, what I was sayin’, we gotta get you your ride, we gotta take Julius and Anana out so we can pay them back for causin’ you fear, heartbreak and the need to make a mad dash across the United States in order to watch me die but you also gotta be briefed. I don’t know what you got planned today but I want you in town, at the garage, twelve thirty, we’ll go to lunch at the diner and I’ll fill you in.”

“I’m going to be unpacking, cleaning the house and finding out if Dominic replaced me,” she informed him then smiled again. “So lunch with my husband fits right in.”

His arm gave her another squeeze and he smiled back.

Then she asked, “Did Dominic replace me? He hadn’t when I talked to him a couple of weeks ago but –”

“Mama, I’m not hip on the goings-on at the local salon. Think, to be a Steel Magnolia, you gotta have a pu**y.”

After he said that, his wife burst out laughing, so hard, she couldn’t hold her head up, she dropped it to his chest, her hands clenched in fists in his tee and her shoulders shook with it. And as he listened to and felt her humor, he wondered why he didn’t give her more of it.

He had to make up for that too.

Then her head shot back and, still laughing, she informed him, “I’m not sure there’s an official Steel Magnolia’s rulebook but I think you’re right, that particular requirement goes without saying.”

He grinned at her.

Then he changed the subject to another important one he had to touch on before he went to work and as he did it, his fist slid out of her hair and his arm moved down to wrap around her shoulders.

“All right, Lex, you got a busy schedule but take some time, call Bess and talk to her about drivin’ out here. She wants to put Dallas in her past; we got an extra room while she gives Colorado a try.”

The laughter fled her face but warmth suffused it, her body, already pressed close, melted into his and she whispered, “Ty.”

“But, she takes that room, she sleeps with the f**kin’ door closed.”

The warmth stayed in her expression but her eyes lit with more humor as she said quietly, “All right, honey, I’ll make that clear.”

He grinned at his wife. Then he muttered, “Gotta get to work, baby.”

She nodded. He dropped his forehead to touch it to hers, dipped his chin so he could brush his mouth to hers then he let her go, walked around her, nabbed his travel mug and slid the backs of his fingers along her hip as he moved back by her, saying, “Later, mama.”

He felt her eyes on him as he walked through the kitchen to the stairs and heard her saying, “Later, honey.”

And having that back, all of it, from waking up with his wife to f**king her in the shower to being with her in the kitchen to feeling her eyes on him while he walked to the stairs to hearing her soft, sweet, “Later…” he knew he missed it when it was gone but it being back he knew he actually missed it.

But it was back and as he moved down the stairs, he prayed to God that this time he kept his shit together and took care of it.

* * * * *

Two and a half hours later, Ty was under the hood of a car when his phone rang, he swung out, straightened, nabbed a rag, used it to do a half-assed swipe to get the grease off his hands, pulled his phone out of his back pocket and saw a number he didn’t recognize but an area code he did.

Dallas.

He flipped it open and put it to his ear.

“Yo.”

“Ty,” he heard a man say.

“Yeah?”

“Angel.”

Fuck him.

Peña.

“Peña,” he greeted.

“Just so you know, Duane Martinez came in two days ago to make a belated report that he was assaulted by one Tyrell Walker.”

Fuck.

“You’re shittin’ me,” Ty rumbled.

“No, a f**kin’ drug dealer pimp walks into the f**kin’ Police Station lookin’ like the weasel he is but a healthy one and he does it to report a f**kin’ assault.”

Then Ty heard a deep chuckle.

Ty was not amused.

Peña kept talking. “Seein’ as I got an interest in Martinez and all his dirty deeds, he was flagged and sent to me. So, he made this report to me. Now, make no mistake, Ty, I take my work seriously but I gotta admit, he gave this report, I lost my pen. Swear to God, don’t know where I put that f**ker.”

And at that, Ty was amused. Therefore he dropped his head and grinned at his boots.

“Sucks, man,” he murmured into his phone.

“I know. Don’t worry, I found it since. I also called up to Carnal and found out you were down with the twenty-four hour flu so no way you could be violatin’ parole, drivin’ your ass into the Lone Star State to deliver a message with your fists. Got a statement from a Tatum Jackson confirming the state of your health and Jackson would know because his wife brought you chicken soup. Heard that did that trick and was glad to hear it, esé.”

Ty lifted his head and looked out of one of the bays, still grinning. “It was a quick recovery.”

“Good news,” Peña muttered then went on. “So, I’ve reported this to Mr. Martinez, asking him if he wants to amend his statement. To say he was shocked as shit would be an understatement. He had neglected to include the information that there was a man with you that apparently you referred to as ‘Tate’ but he included this information when I spoke to him again. I asked if Mr. Jackson’s wife was also in attendance during his recent ass-kicking, considering she stands as both your and Mr. Jackson’s alibi, but he said no. I then reminded him that it was an unlawful act to make false statements to the police, that he had no evidence of said ass-kicking as he, nor his esteemed colleagues who also got their asses kicked, had any medical attention where there were actually records made. And last, the only three witnesses were the three who allegedly got their asses kicked and I explained, since their three rap sheets could be used as a set of encyclopedias detailing the wide array of crimes available to commit, not one of them was a reliable witness and I further informed them that the man they were accusing of being accessory to a crime was an ex-cop and current highly-respected fugitive apprehension agent, something else that I could tell shocked the shit outta him. I then reminded Mr. Martinez that it is ‘hood lore that a Tyrell Walker wiped his ass at poker some years back and Mr. Martinez was not exactly quiet when he crowed about Mr. Walker being sent down for manslaughter seein’ as he still owed him a whack. I suggested that perhaps he was using the police force to extricate him from this debt and that such an endeavor would be frowned upon. He saw the wisdom of retracting his statement which was lucky for me because I had no record of it and my Cap is not big on that shit.”