Ghost poured himself a cup of coffee from the battered pot on the counter, ignoring the side-eye River gave him.
“When are you going to retire that poor, abused mug?” River asked. “Or, I don’t know, maybe just give it a thorough cleaning. You ever notice the inside’s permanently stained?”
Ghost took a sip and said nothing. The coffee was burnt and barely drinkable. Jax must have made it. How the man could live with Nessie—a baking goddess whose bakery had the best coffee in town, and yet still butcher a drip coffee so badly—was an enduring mystery.
Although he usually preferred his coffee black, it needed something else, so he pulled open the fridge and searched for the half-and-half. “Who let Jax near the coffee pot again?”
“It’s not that bad,” Jax called from where he sat on the beat-up leather couch in the common room. His dog, Echo, lay with her head resting on his lap, her tail beating against the backof the couch rhythmically as she stared up at him with love radiating from her mismatched eyes.
Amazing to think that dog had been a terrified, cowering mess just six months ago.
Ghost looked down at Cinder, who sat patiently beside him. There wasn’t love in her eyes, but respect, and that worked for them both.
“It smells like burnt tires!” River exclaimed.
Jax took a drink as if to prove his point, and couldn’t quite hide his wince. “It’s…” He coughed. “It’s fine.”
River pointed the spatula at him. “Nessie would be so ashamed.”
“Believe me, she is,” Jax said, his voice going warm the way it did whenever he spoke of Nessie or her son, Oliver. “I’ve been banned from the coffee pot at home.”
“Good idea,” Anson said and got up from the kitchen table to grab the pot and dump it. The man didn’t say much, but when he did, everyone listened. “You’re officially banned from it here, too, Throne.”
“A-fucking-men,” X called over the music.
As Anson started a fresh pot, Ghost cut straight to it. “Coyote’s back shoe is loose,” he said, ignoring the swirl of noise around them. “If you get a second, can you reset it?”
Anson glanced up, eyes narrowing in focus. “He giving you attitude again, or just acting sore?”
“Both,” Ghost replied. “The shoe’s pinching, but he’s milking it for drama.”
That got a grunt out of Anson and the barest flicker of a smile. “I’ll get him sorted this afternoon.”
Ghost nodded once. Anson was always direct, no fuss. Of all the men at the Ridge, He found Anson Sutter the least annoying.
River slapped a pile of scorched sandwiches on a plate and set them on the table. “Lunch is served.”
“We should ban River from cooking,” Bear grumbled, wrestling King away as the dog made another lunge, this time for the block of cheese. The dog whined and gave Ghost a hopeful look, but he ignored it. Discipline mattered. Otherwise, you ended up with a dog like King. No boundaries, no rules.
At least Cinder never begged.
“You want to take on the extra kitchen duty, big guy?” X asked.
“We could give Jax the extra shift,” Jonah suggested.
Jax held up his hands. “Hey, no, I don’t live in the bunkhouse anymore. I’m retired from kitchen duty.”
“Traitor,” X said, but it was good-natured. “Taking away your culinary skills and leaving us with this.” He held up a grilled cheese that could double as a hockey puck. “Riv, you trying to kill us, or just lower our expectations for tomorrow?”
“Both,” River said, unrepentant. “If you set the bar low, nobody’s disappointed. It’s called managing morale, X. Look it up.”
Bear grunted. “Bullshit. It’s called being lazy.”
“Oh, like you can talk, Bear. Seriously, have you ever heard of spices? Or is salt still too advanced for your caveman palate?”
“Salt’s the only spice he knows,” Anson muttered.
Ghost let the noise ricochet around him, barely registering the words. He snagged a sandwich off the plate, biting through the char with no hesitation. The burnt taste jolted him more awake than the coffee ever could.
