Gunny's Pups: #10.25 (Rebel Wayfarers MC)

by MariaLisa deMora

  “Tank?” Shaking his head, he climbed to his feet, hating how unsteady he felt. “I gotta see Sharon. Brother.” His voice broke and he clamped his lips tightly, holding in the flood of pleas that tried to escape.

  “I got you.” Deke stood and nodded towards the bank of elevators.

  The ride and rush through the corridors were a blur, and before he knew it, Gunny stood in the doorway of Sharon’s room staring at her. Head tipped to the side, she was gazing down into the plastic-sided bassinette next to the bed, a smile on her too-pale face. While he watched, she settled down into the bed, tucking both hands under her cheek, eyes fixed on the sleeping infant.

  With every breath, Gunny felt the darkness recede, the fear that had been pounding at him since hearing Goose’s voice on DeeDee’s phone. “Brother, get to the hospital now. Sharon’s had the baby.” Enough words to have him rocketing through the city streets, cursing the distance between Slinky’s and the hospital.

  As if she could feel his presence, Sharon’s head rolled, turning so she looked at him. A broad smile split her face and she sighed, her happiness overcoming the exhaustion he saw lurking under the surface. “Hey, big guy.”

  “Hey, baby,” he murmured in response, fingers tightening painfully on the edges of the doorframe.

  “Kitten decided she didn’t want to wait.” Sharon lifted her hand towards him, fingers curled into her palm. “Come here.”

  His body surged forward, but his fingers kept their grip, holding him in place. “You’re okay?” She nodded, stretching her fingers out. “You sure? Deke said Bulldog was here. Where’d he go?”

  “Lane.” Sharon looked at him steadily, knowing this was something he had to work through on his own. “I’m okay. Kitten’s okay. Cade is okay.” She swallowed, and her hand dropped an inch. “What I need to know is if you’re okay.” Tipping her head to the side, she looked away from him and towards the bassinette. “She’s okay, honey. I promise.”

  He forced his cramping fingers to release and took the two strides to her side, catching her hand in his and bringing it to cover his heart as he bent to rest his forehead against hers. “You’re okay.”

  “Yes.”

  “My Rose of Sharon.” That was all he had to say because she knew what it meant to him. Her arms wrapped around his neck, holding tightly, holding on. “My life.”

  “Not going anywhere, Gunny. You’re stuck with me.”

  “I love you, babe.” He pushed a hand underneath her, feeling the solidness of her frame, the heat and weight of her body in his arm, cradling the back of her head with his other. “You’re so fuckin’ strong. I love you.”

  “Back atcha, Lane.” Her arms squeezed, then released, and he pulled back, brushing across her lips with his, holding it to a light caress. When he pressed his forehead to hers again, she whispered, “Ready to meet your new daughter?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Katherine Jacqueline Robinson, this big hulking guy is your daddy.” Sharon was already talking as she pulled away, leaning towards the edge of the bed in a way that made his stomach clench. He reached out across her, hooked a finger in the corner of the bassinette and pulled, dragging the wheeled device closer. “Kitten, you and your sister have your work cut out for you. Daddy’s going to be going all monster smash on any boys you bring home.”

  “Fuck, Shar, don’t talk about her dating before I’ve even held her.”

  “Don’t say the eff-word in front of our baby girl.”

  “Then don’t push my buttons like you just were, babe.”

  Sharon grinned up at him, the tip of her tongue peeking out from between her teeth. “Okay. Now pick her up and hand her to me, baby’s gotta eat because Momma started leaking about two seconds after you kissed me.”

  ***

  Gunny stretched, rolling slightly to the side, careful not to dislodge the sleeping Sharon from his chest. They were in the living room, Sharon pinned between him and the back of the couch. He twisted his neck, turning to look at the two girls sleeping, Cade in her playpen and a week-old Kitten in the portable bassinette, Tank the Larger laying on the floor between them.

  After he’d crawled up in Sharon’s bed at the hospital, holding her while she nursed their baby girl, she’d told him the story of what the dog had done. Kept her calm when she went into labor, brought her the telephone on command—something he still couldn’t imagine—and then comforted Cade when the little girl needed him.

  “Good dog, Tank,” he murmured and watched as the dog’s head came up, turning those intelligent eyes on where he lay with Sharon. A reassuring grumble from deep in the dog’s chest sounded, and then Tank reclaimed his position, evidently satisfied with Gunny’s grin in response.

  Sharon had been shocked when Tank padded into the room alongside her brother, Jase, and DeeDee, a sleeping Cadence in Jase’s arms. They had pulled Goose in so he could retell the tale of how Tank got to the hospital. Sharon listened, her eyes filling with tears as she ran her fingers over the dog’s head, his chin propped on the mattress and eyes flickering between Cade and Kitten. She’d turned her face against Gunny’s chest and wept, overwhelmed by everything.

  Later, when she and Kitten slept, Cade sent home with DeeDee and Jase, Gunny had sought out the Aussie doc. Deke had walked beside him towards the cafeteria, and Gunny hadn’t been certain if it was in solidarity or to keep Gunny from killing the man if he found out anything he’d done while caring for a pregnant Sharon had put her at risk.

  Turning his head now, he brushed her forehead with his lips, tightening his arm around her. It was nothing the doctors could have anticipated because Sharon hadn’t had any of the symptoms of the condition—the placenta inside Sharon’s womb had separated early. Too early. And with the child still inside, her uterus couldn’t contract to control the bleeding. Too early for Kitten, too, and it was a wonder their daughter was okay.

  Alternate scenarios kept playing out in his head, making him startle awake at night, and had him reaching out to make sure Sharon was there, warm and alive. Sharon could have died, bleeding out in the hallway of their home. She could have lived, but Kitten died, starved of oxygen and dying inside her mother’s body. All the possible outcomes were bad, and the only one that mattered was what had happened. Sharon had been able to make the call in time. The ambulance was nearby, having just left the hospital after another run. It was Goose on the bus, so he knew all the players.

  Gunny angled his head so he could see Tank the Larger again. Everything hinged on the dog. Saved my family. Tank’s head lifted, and he shifted his hips to the side, rolling so he could see Gunny better. “Good dog.” A reassuring thump of Tank’s tail hit the floor twice. Then Gunny heard him groan and sigh as he laid down, stretching out his back and front feet to touch the girls’ beds.

  Chapter 3

  Gunny

  “Hey, brother,” Gunny answered the phone with one hand, the other gripping a greasy rag. “How you doin’, PBJ?”

  A moment of silence, and then in a somber tone PBJ said, “Gonna be honest, man. I’ve been better.”

  Spine straightening, Gunny glanced around his garage, making sure everything was in its place. Rocky and Tank the Smaller lying in their beds along the wall, the door to the house closed, but the camera he’d installed showing a split screen of the kitchen/living room and the girls’ room upstairs. Sharon was in the kitchen, bent over with her ass in the air, head in the refrigerator. He grinned, because if he were in there, she’d be bent over for a far different reason. His girls were sacked out in their beds: Cadence sprawled on her back, a toy in hand he knew from experience was a realistic-looking plastic mastiff; Katherine on her belly, head turned to the side, knees drawn under her.

  All’s well in my world, he thought, seeing Tank the Larger’s head lift from his position on the rug between the girls’ beds, eyes aimed not at the door, but at the camera by the ceiling. A chill rippled through his spine. That dog. Tank had proven himself to be near psychic, knowing just where to
position himself to keep the girls from falling more than once.

  “Tell me,” he urged PBJ, letting his gaze drift back down to the carburetor he’d been working on before the phone rang.

  “Brother.” That sounded agonized, and Gunny was suddenly 100 percent focused on the voice coming through the phone. “I don’t even know how to say this.”

  “Tell me.” No longer a request, this was a demand, and PBJ gave way immediately.

  “Breeder made contact. You remember when I was calling around after the bitch bailed on the dogs? None of the breeders knew of a mastiff in the area that fit Tank’s description.” Gunny’s fingers twitched, cold, and he dropped the rag over the disassembled parts on the workbench.

  “Yeah, I remember. Dog’s mine.” A growl echoed in the room, and he turned to see Tank standing in the open doorway, gaze pinning Gunny to the stool. Sharon’s laughter rolled through the door and her head appeared above the dog, hands reaching down to rub and tug at the loose skin on the sides of Tank’s face. She looked up and whatever she saw on Gunny’s face froze her in place for a moment. Then she was crossing the garage to circle his waist with her arms. “Don’t care.”

  “Brother. You gotta hear the story.”

  “No.” Nothing more, just a flat refusal was all he could grit out.

  “Gunny, man. Dude’s spent time in Walter Reed, and he’s on his way here from rehab.” That hit Gunny like a punch, because hearing that the military hospital was in play spoke to deployment, which might be the only reason a man should have left a dog like Tank behind. Still. “You need to hear the story.”

  “No, I don’t. Don’t fuckin’ care, man. Dog. Is. Mine.” Sharon’s arms convulsed, and he cradled the back of her head in the crook of his elbow, pulling her close, careful of the grease still on his hands. Heat pressed against his leg and he looked down to see Tank leaned into him, Tank the Smaller and Rocky now on their feet, anxious gazes locked to the trio by the bench.

  “I’ll come over.”

  “Not gonna fuckin’ matter. Already told you.” Gunny swallowed, because if PBJ was this adamant, then he knew the story would be a compelling one. “Had the dog nearly a fuckin’ year. He’s fuckin’ mine.”

  “Let me come over.”

  “Come on, brother. Always welcome in my home.” Sharon shivered, and he realized he was shouting. Gunny tried to dial it in a little, as much as he could. Not takin’ my dog. My girls’ dog. He saved my family. “But you ain’t takin’ my fuckin’ dog.” He threw the phone sidearm against the back of the workbench, not caring when the back popped free, battery and phone parting ways to fall in separate bins.

  “Baby.” Sharon’s voice trembled nearly as much as she was.

  “Not takin’ him. Don’t fuckin’ care.” He took a breath, then another, forcing as much air into his starving lungs as he could. “PBJ won’t, and I know it. Just what he said hit hard.”

  The heat from beside him retreated, and a few seconds later, Cade’s babbling sounded on the nursery monitor. Gaze to the screen showing the security camera feed, he watched Tank move through the living room and up the stairs, appearing a moment later in the girls’ room. Front feet to the ottoman, the big dog shoved it next to Cade’s crib, climbing over the side with a little hop. The dog lay down next to Gunny’s daughter, careful of his feet and elbows, uncaring as Cade flung herself on top of him, face buried in the ruff of fur and skin behind his ear. Glancing across the space, Gunny saw Tank and Rocky were back on their beds, heads up and watchful.

  “My fuckin’ dog.”

  ***

  Gunny walked into Marie’s and gave a low wave to Gypsy, who stood behind the cash register. The Rebel member managed the bar for the club but had been away for several weeks, so it was good to see him back in residence. Gunny reached across the bar to give him a warrior’s shake, telling him, “Good to see you, brother. Was worried for a bit that the Down Under life would prove too attractive.”

  Gypsy released his hold on Gunny’s wrist, smoothing his beard with the palm of a hand. Gunny was immediately on alert, because this was one of Gypsy’s tells, a sign he was nervous. The ex-cop turned outlaw didn’t get nervous often. “Yeah, good to see you too, Gunny. Glad to be back under familiar skies.” He lifted his chin, indicating across the room, and Gunny used the mirrors to see where he indicated, there were two men seated at a booth near the back. “PBJ is already here. He, uh, said you were coming in.”

  “Said I’d be one pissed off motherfucker if this chat didn’t go my way too, didn’t he?” It wasn’t a real question, but it still made Gunny angry that PBJ had resorted to older tactics to telegraph the possible fallout from today.

  Lips pulling to the side, Gypsy grinned as he nodded. “Might have alluded to such a thing.”

  “Bastard.” Gunny kept his tone conversational and tried to dredge up a return smile. “I’ll go put him out of his misery.” Already turning, he glanced back and asked, “Have one of the girls bring me an iced tea?”

  “This really is about to get shitty, isn’t it?” Gypsy acknowledged his order with a nod. “You got it.”

  PBJ was on the seat facing the room, the man who’d accompanied him here today sitting with his back to the room, but Gunny saw he was actively using the mirrored signs on the wall behind PBJ to watch his six. Wonder how fresh he is stateside? Striding up to the table, he glanced at the man, seeing scar tissue along his cheek and throat, then ignored him and stuck his hand out towards PBJ. “I’m here.”

  “So you are,” PBJ returned, sliding to the edge of the seat and standing. He leaned in, pulling Gunny into a one-armed clinch, muttering in his ear, “Be easy, brother. He’s good people.”

  Gunny stepped back as he turned to face the man who had also stood, finding himself in the unaccustomed position of looking up into someone’s face. Man that big, a mastiff fits him. The skin on the man’s neck pulled, strained tight and red where it disappeared into his army green tee. He stuck out a hand and Gunny reluctantly accepted the grip, impressed not that the man had strength, but that he didn’t feel it necessary to clamp down and prove his manhood.

  “Gunny,” he grunted, releasing and stepping back, crossing his arms across his chest.

  “Jock.” That one-word introduction was followed by a slight headshake, and a correction, “Jacob. I’m Jake, I mean. Jacob Tinney.”

  Gunny stared up at the man, assessing. Now that he was looking for it, the tale-tell signs of PTSD were all right there. The slight tremor in his fingers as he fought not to match Gunny’s aggressive stance, the beads of sweat that had popped up along the man’s hairline, and even the inability to put a name to himself in a way that would stick. Fuck. I don’t want to like him.

  “Let’s swap sides, man.” Treading carefully, but hoping his instincts were right, Gunny swapped places, putting PBJ on the inside of the bench, and suffering through having his back to the room. Almost immediately the man relaxed slightly, pressing his palms flat on the table on either side of his ice water. “Jock.” Deliberately Gunny used the first name provided, noting the slight jerk to the man’s head when the word hit the air. “Tell me why you think this is your dog.”

  Jock’s lips twitched sideways, one corner pulling up. “Other than the bitch who bailed on your man PBJ here was my little sister’s best friend, who promised to pup sit when I needed a favor while I was deployed?”

  Leaning forwards, Gunny rapped the table with his knuckles. “Yeah, other than that. Tell me what you think.”

  “I think my Neapolitan mastiff named Tank got tangled up in shit after my life fell in the crapper while I was in Afghanistan. He’s a dark chocolate color, a big bastard of a dog who wouldn’t hurt a fly. I think the bitch who was paid to watch him after my bitch of an ex dumped my ass, turned around and dumped his ass. I also think I’m lucky to have found where he landed.” Jock stared at Gunny, breathing evenly but Gunny could see the pulse in his neck pounding. “Left and my wife was pregnant.” Gunny went still at those wo
rds, afraid of what might come next. “Turned out the kid wasn’t mine, and she knew that for truth soon as she had the boy. I’m kinda white—” Jock ran a hand through his light blond hair. “—and the boy wasn’t.”

  “Shit, man. Sorry that happened to you.” PBJ’s mutter went unremarked by the two men locked in a stare down across the table.

  “Tank’s a good dog. I didn’t want him to stay with her, not after everything happened the way it went down. My sister’s friend looked like a good solution, seeing as I was nine goddamned time zones away when I got the divorce papers.” Jock leaned in an inch. “Took me longer to get back than I expected.”

  “PBJ said you were in Reed.” Gunny glanced to the side, seeing one of the waitresses with a tray of glasses. Water, tea, and beer. He waited until she’d deposited the drinks, then continued, “Said you came here straight from rehab. Where are you landing?”

  Jock leaned back, shaking his head. “Not sure yet. I got nowhere to be right now. Due to Uncle Sam, my plans are…” He paused a moment and cut his eyes down to his hand and Gunny saw an indention on his ring finger. A leftover memento of a faithless marriage. “Somewhat flexible.”

  “You healthy?” Gunny’s question had Jock’s gaze whipping up, an aggressive jut to his jaw for the first time. “Got a doc to follow up with here? We got a bunch of ex-military guys in the MC. We all look out for each other.” With every word, Jock’s muscles lost rigidity until he was leaning back against the cushions behind him, the first time he’d relaxed like that. “Tell me what you need, man. Bust my hump tryin’ to get it for you.”

  “Tell me about Tank.” Voice hoarse with emotion, Jock dropped his gaze to the untouched glass of water slowly gathering runnels of condensation along the sides. “Tell me about my boy.”

  No reason to deny Tank was the man’s dog, not with the breed and name lining up the way it was. Gunny settled back and lifted his tea, taking a long drink before launching into the story of how the mastiff had come to live in his home and be part of his family.