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I have to laugh at that. “No.”
He sets him down as I gather my things and slide out. Butch comes around to my side, immediately trying to take things from my hands.
“I’ve got this here.” Holding my purse and bag, I tip my head to the backseat. “If you don’t mind grabbing my safe and…is it okay if we bring the shotgun inside? It’s not loaded. I’m not even sure it shoots anymore,” I admit.
He takes the shotgun in his hands and examines it carefully. “Where did you get this?”
“It was my great grandfather’s,” I say. “He passed it down to my grandfather, who passed it down to my father, and well, it’s supposed to go to Garrett, but I don’t trust him not to…you know, sell it.” I’d love to believe my brother wouldn’t do such a thing, but after the comments he’s made recently…I didn’t want to leave it and find out later how wrong I was.
“You do know what this is, don’t you?”
“You mean, do I know you’re holding a handmade Italian Beretta SL3 12-gauge,” I muse. Some families pass down land or property or even jewelry they wish to span future generations, but not my family. This is probably one of the more redneck traditions you’ll find here in Montana. “Yes, why?”
“This is like the Lamborghini of shotguns.” His eyes dance over the gun with appreciation for the artifact that it is, and perhaps a bit of jealousy. “Damn. It even has the steel engraving of the game scene.” He finally looks up at me as he closes the truck door. “Where the hell did you keep this at the trailer?”
“My closet,” I say slowly, raising a brow. “Are you going to steal my shotgun like how Frankie steals food?”
He laughs heartily. “No, but if you’ll let me, I’d love to clean it up for you. I’ve got a temperature-controlled gun safe, too, we can keep it in.”
I smile. “That’d be great. I used to take it down to Jerry at the gun shop in town to clean it for me, but I haven’t in a while.”
“Not a problem,” he replies as I follow him up to the house. “Fuckin’ Jerry. I’ve been talkin’ to him about finding me one for—I can’t even tell you how long. He never told me he knew someone who had one.”
Butch unlocks the side door and pushes in, holding the door for me with Frankie waddling alongside. “Are you some kind of shotgun aficionado?” I ask, kicking off my shoes in the tight mud room space.
Butch does the same. “I’ve got a small collection of historic rifles and shotguns.” He shrugs as if the fact he’s a bit of a history nerd isn’t a big deal. “Nothing crazy. Just what I like.”
I take a mental note of the little unknown piece of him he just gave me to bring up later and follow his lead. Walking further into Butch’s house, I’m stunned into silence.It’s beautiful.
Rustic country décor fills the space. A large open floor plan extends from the grand kitchen to the dining and into theliving room where there’s a fireplace to match the cobblestone chimney with a huge flatscreen TV hung above it, surrounded by dark leather furniture. All are overlooked by an above balcony with a wood banister and staircase off to the left-hand side. Everything matches in a slew of warm tone woods, hardwood floors extended throughout.
We move through the kitchen, which sits right off the mud room. Floor-to-ceiling cabinetry, granite counters, stainless steel appliances, and a huge center island fitting five stools greet my wide eyes. All facing an orgasm-giving gas stove that I’m itching to cook on.
He sets my stuff down on the island, so I do the same. “Your house is beautiful.”
He simply grunts his reply, in typical Butch fashion. “Help yourself to anything in the fridge and pantry. I don’t have much, skipped on groceries this past weekend due to work.”
I nod and follow along as Butch starts the full tour of the house.
Three bedrooms, two bathrooms, a clear set up of a mancave in the basement equipped with recliners, a pool table, a flatscreen, and a bar. All the bedrooms are on the second floor, the master connected to a spacious ensuite, while the secondary bath is located downstairs. Pushing into one of the two guest rooms, he says, “This’ll be yours.” He steps to the side for me.
The room is basic. A simple queen-sized bed centered against the far wall with a single nightstand next to the bed with nothing on it.
There are no sheets, no pillows, and only a shallow closet set into the wall with a set of old boots sitting on the floor. Frankie hobbles in, huffing from having to take so many stairs to get up here. I wander around the space a bit, then sit down on the edge of the soft bed.
“The bed is new. Duke has only used it once when he crashed here. I’ll get you some sheets,” he says, leaving to go down the hall. I hear him open and close a few doors before coming back with a set of beige sheets, a navy blue comforter with tan floral designs on it, and an already covered pillow in a dark grey pillowcase.
He takes a moment to help me make the bed. And when I grab the pillow, an overwhelming scent envelops me—musty sweat mixed with a familiar cologne. I can’t help but bring it to my face to smell it in confirmation.
This is…his.
Butch clears his throat as I stare at the pillow strangely. “Yeah, it’s one of mine. I thought I had extras, but I don’t. I can pick you up a new one on the way back tonight if you don’t want to—”
“It’s fine,” I say, hugging the pillow to my chest and sitting on the edge of the now freshly made bed. A sudden wave of exhaustion hits me and I melt against the comfort surrounding me. “Where are you going?”
“I figured I’d go pick us up something to eat in town and bring it back,” he tells me, pausing before asking, “Unless…you want to go out to dinner?”
I hug the pillow tighter. I was so wrapped up in the idea of getting the heck out of the trailer with Butch and away from my brother, I didn’t really think ahead. “I have work at the coffee shop first thing in the morning and I don’t have my car,” I say more to myself than him as I bite my lower lip and think. “I didn’t bring any clothes to go out other than something for tomorrow. Shoot. I didn’t even grab my dang toothbrush,” I groan, burying my face into the pillow.
