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Dawg’s gaze sharpened on his cousin. “I’ll watch her rear. ”
It came out harsher than he had meant, a snapping reply he would have never intended.
Natches’s lips quirked mockingly, but Dawg saw the knowledge in his eyes. He also saw a vague edge of distance settle over the other man’s face as he nodded slowly.
“You watch her ass. I’ll just watch. Whatever. ” He turned the switch and kicked the Harley’s motor in gear before pulling out without saying anything more and leaving Dawg to follow.
Damn it to hell. Dawg hit the ignition and gunned the motor, feeling an edge of anger beginning to burn inside him. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, was it? He, Rowdy, and Natches had been closer than brothers all their lives. They had fucked the same women, loved the same women, until Kelly, and now Crista.
Dawg wasn’t a fool. He might not love Crista, but that edge of possessiveness had been there, even eight years before. Growing up was hell. Maturing was even worse. Three men who had been as close as ticks to a hound dog eight years ago were fading apart and, Dawg admitted, sometimes it sucked. And sometimes, like now, there was an edge of relief.
But a part of him knew that Natches was being affected worst by the maturity of his two older cousins. For Natches, the sharing had never been a game; it had just taken Rowdy and Dawg longer to see it. For Natches, it was a part of who he was, and losing that connection was starting to affect the other man in ways Dawg hadn’t anticipated.
Damn, he would have ripped his own arm out to have kept this from happening. He and Rowdy had always gone out of their way to protect Natches, even as a kid. And maybe as an adult, too.
Somewhere along the way, they had all grown up, though. Even Natches. To the point that the other man had become even harder, darker, than Dawg or Rowdy. Which explained how Natches had stepped into the role of an assassin that last year he had been in the Marines. An assassin the military had been loath to lose when Natches had taken a bullet in the shoulder during a skirmish in Iraq on his off time.
Natches had stepped out of the Marines darker, harder, and more dangerous than he had been when he, Dawg, and Rowdy had stepped into basic training.
Yeah, they had all grown up. But sometimes Dawg wondered if they had grown up for the better.
TEN
She was making headway. Crista stared at the top of the surprisingly nice desk.
Walnut, if she wasn’t mistaken, and rather old with deep drawers on each side. The middle drawer had been removed; in its place was a keyboard shelf where the computer keyboard rested.
She hadn’t powered up the computer; she had to clean it first. There was so much dust gathered around the tower that she had been half afraid to turn it on.
It didn’t make sense. The houseboat was spotless. She hadn’t seen so much as a dish or an article of clothing out of place. But the office was a war zone. Scattered files and papers, miscellaneous receipts
—receipts for God’s sake; how the hell did he pay his taxes?—and a variety of other papers, files, and memos that she knew had to be important.
Those scattered on the desk were now neatly filed. Of course, that was after she had spent hours straightening out his filing system. Not that she was finished with that chore. Last year’s files were mixed with this year’s files, and the aging metal file cabinet was was about to give its last groan of effort and collapse into the floor.
She glanced to the glass door, looking onto the floor from the view the office commanded. She had sent two of the stock boys for the nice wooden file cabinets she knew sat in the office supply section of the lumber store.
Dawg was smart. He had taken ideas from several smaller chains and incorporated them into Mackay’s Lumber, Building and Supplies, the business his father had left him.
There was every manner of appliance, office needs, paints, and hobby supplies as well as a mix of seasonal items that added to the sales from the lumberyard.
It was a thriving business if the customers below were anything to go by. Yet, from what she had seen in this office, Dawg rarely made the effort it took to keep everything together.
She knew a manager had overseen the business while he was in the Marines. A man Dawg had promptly fired when he returned home to learn the manager had been systematically embezzling from him.
According to the floor manager, Dawg had nearly gone bankrupt that first year after his return, despite the steady business that came through the large double doors.
There was no danger of bankruptcy now. An audit, maybe. Terminal mismanagement of his office for certain. But not bankruptcy, because despite the “hellhole,” as she had called it, there had been a very weird sort of system that Dawg had going on. Just not a system that anyone else could have worked with.
Shaking her head, she moved from the now-cleaned desk to the stack of files, folders, papers, books, and every manner of receipt awaiting her stacked on the other side of the room in front of the large, overstuffed couch.
Evidently Dawg also liked his creature comforts. The couch was long enough and most likely wide enough for him to sleep on. There was a plasma television off to the side, a microwave, and mini refrigerator stocked with beer. Just beer.
It was too bad he didn’t like a neat office to go with his creature comforts. But, to be on the fair side, the
seating area was ridiculously neat until Crista began stacking the slush inside the area.
She wiped her palms down her jeans and glanced at her watch before breathing out a weary sigh.
