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He set his jaw and gunned the Harley’s engine. He had to stop envisioning her naked, especially since they were just friends. He nosed the bike down the last gravel driveway on the lane and parked in the circular drive.
Tildy looked up at the two-story log cabin with the wide front porch. “Wow,” she commented. “It’s amazing.” She eyed the sheer, rock wall that the house was nestled in front of and the forest on either side, offering protection from Rapid City’s occasionally fierce wind.
Hawk swung his leg over his bike and grunted. “Never pictured you as the outdoor type,” he told her.
Tildy turned to look at him and nodded. “My parents have a place on Sheridan Lake.”
He grunted again and recalled Blake Fletcher in his pressed pants and loafers. “I definitely can’t picture your folks as the rustic type.”
She laughed. “Oh, they’re not. One afternoon is about all they can tolerate. Then they tough it out the second day until we go home. I have no idea why. I spend most of my time in the woods just to avoid them.” Hawk looked at her dubiously. She jutted out her chin defiantly. “I do!” she insisted. “I hung a hammock by the water and everything.”
“You hung a hammock.”
“Yes.”
“That stayed up?”
She snarled at him and it made him grin widely. “Fine,” she huffed. “The first one fell. So I bought one of those free-standing ones.”
He grinned wider. “Uh huh.”
“I put it together myself!”
He merely nodded.
“It’s in the woods!” she hissed.
“Yep.”
“By the lake!”
“Got it.”
“Shut up! I’m nearly a pioneer woman!”
Hawk laughed, grasped the knob of the front door, and opened it without knocking. The group assembled in the living room simply stared at the two of them. His grin faded as he gave them all a sharp look. They attempted to look nonchalant in the face of his silent rebuke, but it wasn’t working very well.
Hawk caught a glimpse of movement above them and maneuvered himself in front of Tildy. “Watch out,” he warned. “Incoming.”
Before Tildy could respond, a white blur streaked down the stairs and across the living room. Hawk barely managed to bend and scoop up the little furball before it climbed its way up yet another pair of pants.
“This is Demon,” Hawk told Tildy.
“Peppermint!” Slick snapped.
“Demon,” Hawk repeated, smiling. The fuzzball grabbed both sides of his face and licked his nose.
“It seems… friendly,” Tildy countered, clearly taking Slick’s side of things.
“As long as you don’t have food,” Hawk warned.
“She’s getting better,” Slick protested.
Hawk grunted. The deaf animal purred in response. “She’s not getting better, Slick. I’m just getting faster.”
Shooter laughed but was instantly cowed by his wife’s withering glare.
Slick shook her head, denying his words, and turned toward Tildy. “I’m glad you’re here. Are you okay?”
Hawk stroked the cat’s fur and watched Tildy’s nose wrinkle. “Yeah,” she replied. “I’m fine.”
Clearly not wanting any more unpleasantness that evening, Slick started waving them toward the couch. “Sit, sit down. I have chips and salsa and chili on the stove.” With that Slick went back to work doing what Slick did best, making everyone feel at home. Tildy took the spot at the end of the couch and reached toward the bowl on the coffee table.
“Careful,” Hawk intoned. “Slick’s salsa is no joke.”
Tildy raised her eyebrow at him. “I can handle spicy.”
He grinned at her. “I don’t know if you’re prepared for-”
“I can handle it,” Tildy insisted, taking a large scoop of it with her chip. “I put up hammocks. I eat hot sauce. I live dangerously, Hawk.” She proved it by putting the whole chip in her mouth. To her credit, if the habaneros caught her off guard, she barely showed it. Her face did turn a lovely shade of dark pink though. Tildy crunched happily while giving him the stink eye. “I can see how you’d be intimidated by these,” she announced.
Easy laughed.
“What with your beige walls,” she finished.
Hawk smiled and shrugged. “You got me there.”
“The house I rented from Chris had beige walls,” Slick said, setting down a bowl of sour cream, “When Easy moved into it, I snuck in and painted them.”
“Really?” Tildy asked, surprised.
“She didn’t even ask,” Easy snapped, grabbing a handful of chips. “She just broke in.”
Tildy raised her eyebrows. “You broke in?”
“Uh huh,” the older girl said nodding.
“To paint?”
“Yep.”
Tildy considered this for a moment. “What color?”
“Windswept Pine.”
“That sounds nice.”
Easy attempted to speak through a mouthful of chips. “I drew a line in the sand at a purple bedroom.”
“I wish I could paint my bedroom purple,” Tildy replied wistfully.
“Women,” Easy muttered, shaking his head.
“What color is it now?” Slick asked. She loved to paint and it wasn’t hard to picture her breaking into the Fletcher house to redecorate.
Tildy wrinkled her nose. “Pink.”
Slick and Vegas mirrored her response. “I saw it,” Vegas reminded them. “It’s very…”
“Pepto Bismal,” Tildy finished.
