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A Labrador Pitbull mix lunged into the room with terrifying snarls. Cadence let out a yelp and jumped back behind Porter while the chocolate brown dog attacked him with an eager tongue and doggy kisses. “Hey, Mutt!” Porter rubbed the dog under his ears. Mutt melted under his expert hands.
Cadence knew the feeling. Curse the man.
“Where’s the old guy?” Porter asked the mangy creature. He acted like “Mutt” might actually lead him to Funches like he was Timmy stuck in the well. When the dog just wagged its tail at him, Porter straightened and whipped around to Cadence. He wore a grin as wide as the dog’s. “Funches is probably sucked into his couch or taking a snooze out in those woods. The guy can take a nap anywhere.”
Porter led her through a compact kitchen with warped wooden walls. An orange sofa was wedged up against a square table. Porter took the stairs to the side, bringing her into a cramped den below in the split level. The room was stuffed with La-Z-Boys, snacks, and an eighty-two-inch TV with NASCAR playing silently on the screen.
Now the friendship began to make sense.
An old man with a heavy white beard and camo gear worked in the middle of the room, tanning a bear hide. He flicked his knife at them in greeting. “You brought yourself a friend, did you?”
Porter nodded, his eyes glued to the hide. He had to duck to enter the ultimate man cave. The den had a low ceiling, though that problem was solved as soon as Porter sat down. He brought Cadence onto the couch with him. She let out a sound of surprise. Mutt jumped on her other side, demanding to be loved. She gingerly rubbed down its surprisingly glossy fur.
Porter nodded at the glistening black hide. “Was that the bear that attacked my cattle?”
“Maybe.” Funches turned secretive.
“You can’t just kill it without a permit…” Porter’s voice held more disbelief than reproof.
Funches raised a brow at him. He put away his knife with an expert move. Apparently Funches did what he wanted in these parts. “Self-defense, lad.” He glanced over at Cadence. “You a Bridges or a Slade?”
What? Didn’t the guy know his neighbors? “Neither,” she answered.
“Good, then we’ll get along.”
“She isn’tyet, anyway,” Porter muttered with a sly grin.
She jumped. “Porter!” She nudged him. He only looked pleased at her flustered reaction.
Funches chuckled appreciatively. “Don’t scare the girl away.” He pushed to his teetering legs. She had a feeling that was just a ruse that he used to put everyone at ease. No way did Funches catch that bear without the full use of his legs. “Everybody’s falling in love and getting hitched these days,” he complained. He swayed, his head barely clearing the low ceiling. “My niece just became a Bridges, too.” He rolled his eyes.
“That’s Sky,” Porter translated for him. “Grey’s last name is Bridges.”
Funches’s glare caught Porter. “Now that I’ve given up trying to chase those kids off, they eat me out of house and home.”
“Relax,” Porter said. “I brought snacks.”
“What?” Funches grunted out. “You afraid of a little bear meat? Nowthat’sworth coming over for, none of this pansy fruit snacks and juice boxes and whatever else you whiny kids consume these days.”
“It’s better than those green intestine things you tried to feed me the other day,” Porter retorted.
“That’s tripe, you ignoramus. If you can’t hold your cow guts then you’re no man.”
Never in her life had Cadence thought she’d be listening in on this conversation.
Funches turned to her. “Sorry, Porter’s manners have run away from him. The name’s Funches, and you are?” He extended a beefy hand, wrinkled and scarred from years of hard work.
Cadence accepted his rough grip, and squeezed his fingers in return. “Angel.”
Once again, she felt guilty for the lie, but she still thought it was necessary to keep her true identity under wraps. Lacy wouldn’t have given up looking for her yet, though she doubted that he’d go into these backwoods to question this tough old man.
“Hmm.” Funches stepped back. “That’s the name of my favorite racecar driver—Angel Romano. I bet you’re good luck, too.”
Cadence bit her lip. She’d heard that one before.
“If she is,” Porter said, “then she’s mine, so you’d better watch out. Buck Henderson is going to snow Miles Vanilla in the competition.”
“Not a chance, not a chance.” Funches tugged the bear hide out of the way, and searched under it, probably for the remote. When he didn’t find it, he made them move so he could fumble around under the couch in his hunt.
