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

by MariaLisa deMora

  “Hello.”

  “Bu bye.”

  “Hello.”

  “No ‘lo. Bu bye.”

  “Brother, she can do that all day long.” Gunny turned off the burner under the rice, stirring the skillet of veggies again before opening the refrigerator. He pulled out a half-eaten rotisserie chicken and began slicing thin pieces of meat, adding them to the skillet. “Chicken stir fry.”

  “Hello.” Jock chuckled as Cade scowled again, her repeated “Bu bye” rumbling underneath his words. “Sounds good.”

  Gunny was outside after cleaning up from dinner, watching the dogs play carefully around the girls in the backyard. Sharon had dozed off after eating, and his guests wouldn’t show up for another hour, just enough time to exhaust the kids so they’d sleep well, bathe them, and tuck them into bed. He heard the scuff of shoe leather on the cement and didn’t have to look to know who it was, Tank the Larger’s head had come up, and his eyes were focused behind Gunny with an intensity he reserved for three people: Cadence, Kitten, and Jock.

  “Folks’ll be here in an hour. You can have my chair. Gonna let the puddle ducks play in the tub for a bit. PBJ’s bringin’ beer since Shar didn’t get to hit the store today.” He passed along this info without turning, eyes on Tank where he lay between the girls and the yard’s back gate. He’s always on guard. “Come here, baby girl.” He stood, stretching before he walked to where Cade was already reaching high, wanting to be picked up.

  “I can carry Kitten if you want.” Gunny nodded, swung around and watched as Jock tenderly gathered the girl, Tank stood next to Jock’s feet and watched attentively. “She’s a year old? Turned while I was in VA, right?” Gunny swallowed hard, hearing the wistful tone in the man’s voice. He thought Jock probably wouldn’t ever be past the betrayal his wife had done, every milestone seen in another child a reminder of how things wouldn’t be going for him. “Cade is two?”

  “Just over two, yeah. There’re thirteen months between my girls.” With skill born of long practice, Gunny avoided stepping on any dog toes as he moved through the house and up the stairs. “Our bun will be almost eighteen months younger than Kitten. Seems a good spread.”

  “Boy or girl?” Gunny settled Cade in the tub, adjusting the flow and temp of the water. He reached up, taking Kitten from Jock’s arms.

  “Don’t know yet. Not sure Shar wants to know with this one. She told me three women in a house is plenty, I’m pretty sure she’s afraid it’s another girl.” He settled Kitten into the seat that had a permanent place in the tub, grinning as she squealed and kicked her feet, splashing herself in the process.

  “Towels are on the seat. I’ll grab pj’s and lay them out.” Jock walked out, moving quietly.

  Heat crowded Gunny’s back, and he twisted to see Tank still working to wedge himself into the small room, pressed tight to Gunny and facing the door. He frowned, considering the dog’s behavior. In the first moments after he and Jock walked in, Tank had gone to the man and stuck with him for a few minutes before resuming his position near Cade and Kitten. But Jock had been right there, so that made sense. In the yard, the dog had stayed with the girls, and just now, had done the same. He remembered Tank’s violent reaction to Jock the night everything fell apart and felt a curl of fear in his gut.

  The doorbell rang and Tank the Smaller along with Rocky scrambled down the stairs, throwing themselves against the door as Gunny heard PBJ’s voice, “Hello, the house.”

  “Hey,” he called, “I’m upstairs with the girls. Go ahead and setup in the kitchen, brother. I’ll be down directly.” Surprised when footsteps moved up the stairs, he felt a rumble from Tank as he leaned back to look down the hallway. “Mason, brother.” The rumble grew into a growl, and Mason halted a few steps back from the open doorway. “Tank, stand down. This is Mason.” Another grumbling growl and then Tank settled on his haunches, sitting behind Gunny. “Jesus, stop leaning, asshole.” Gunny shoved an elbow behind himself, trying to lever the dog off his back. “Tank, down.” With a groaning complaint, Tank settled to the floor. “Come on in, Mason. He’s a tad bit protective of the girls.”

  “Like their daddy is, no doubt.” Mason stood next to the tub and grinned down, leaning a shoulder against the wall. “I needed to come see my boy’s potential old ladies, brother. Never know how early to start matchmaking.”

  Gunny grinned, his hand cradling Cade’s skull as she rolled over, a toy to her mouth, eyes fixed on Mason in a dark study. “Thought you’d paired Gar-boy with Faynez?”

  Mason made a noise, clucking with his tongue and Cade rewarded his efforts with a broad grin before waving and shouting, “Bu bye.”

  Chuckling, Mason crouched down and had just started to reach out to take Cade’s hand when Tank growled, the low, menacing sound echoing in the room. Gunny looked over to see Mason frozen in place, eyes on the dog, and the dog was staring at the doorway where Jock had stopped. “Tank,” Jock scolded, “be quiet. Come.” Heaving to his feet, the dog stalked on stiff legs towards the door, not even sparing a glance at Mason. “We’ll be downstairs. Hi.” He waved at Mason. “I’m Jock.”

  “Mason.” Gunny watched, puzzled, as Mason remained crouched down, not even offering his hand to Jock. His tone was cautious and cold when he said, “We’ll be down in a bit. PBJ and Deke are stockin’ the fridge. Could use a hand, I suspect.” Kitten splashing pulled Gunny’s attention back to the tub where Cade was once again chewing on a toy, staring at Mason. Gunny finished bathing the girls in silence and handed a towel-wrapped Cade to Mason, carrying Kitten to the girls’ room. “You’re watchful of him, right?” Mason’s question seemed to come out of left field, and Gunny shifted on his feet, uncomfortable with what seemed to be an instant dislike between the two men. “Not sayin’ he’s a bad dude, just…be watchful, yeah?”

  “He’s had a shit hand, Mason.” Gunny rested a hand on Cadence’s back, watching as she snuggled into the mattress, hand wrapped tightly around her mastiff toy.

  “Don’t doubt it. Been read in on what went down with him.” Mason walked soundlessly to the door and stood, waiting. “Also been read in on what went down in your house, brother. I get that you feel for him. I do. Just, be watchful.”

  “He reminds me of me.” He stroked up and down Cade’s back, soothing her gently as she found her way into sleep. “Man’s worth the effort.”

  “I’ll accept that.” Gunny looked up to see Mason’s gaze fixed on Kitten, one corner of his mouth curling up. “She’s pretty, Lane. You made some beautiful children with Sharon.”

  “Thank God they take after their momma.” He dimmed the lights, turning on the monitor before pulling the door closed. “Imagine if she had to look at two of me.”

  “The horror. Still, I think Shar would manage okay.” Mason chuckled. “Let’s go play some poker.”

  He lifted his chin, grinning. “Yeah, let’s see if you can win somethin’ off me.”

  Four hours later, Gunny was feeling less generous towards Mason. “Jesus, Prez. Fold. I got diapers to buy, brother.” He tossed his cards on the table and pushed backwards.

  “Me, too, brother.” Mason chuckled. “My last hand. If I don’t get home before daylight, I turn into a mean pumpkin.”

  Jock yawned and pushed his chair back. After a final glance at his cards, he lay them on the edge of the table. “Fold.”

  The hand continued for a few minutes, with Mason coming out the winner again. Some good-natured grumbling from PBJ and Deke, then they were on their way. Mason followed Gunny out the sliding glass doors with the dogs, standing with feet spread wide, looking up at the sky. “I miss this.”

  “What?” Gunny kept his eyes on the white flag of Rocky’s tail. The terrier had been trying to dig out from under the fence to get into the fields surrounding the house, no doubt because he smelled gophers or some other critters. As late as it was, Gunny had no interest in chasing the dog tonight.

  “Seein’ the sky like this.” Mason sighed. “My house is nice, don’
t get me wrong, but it’s surrounded by people and people bring lights and noise. Here…” He sighed again. “It’s nice. Quiet. And you can see the stars. Good place, brother.” A footstep behind them announced Jock’s arrival outside.

  “Myron did good.” Gunny passed off any credit for finding the house to where it was due, because all he’d done was give Myron a single item on a list of must-haves: No people. “He was over here last week flying that fuckin’ drone you bought him.”

  Mason laughed, still staring up at the sky. “Smartest thing I ever did was patch that bastard.”

  “What, uh…what do you look for in a patch member?” Jock’s voice was quiet, his tone solemn, fitting when asking what might be a life-changing question.

  Gunny grinned, keeping his focus on Rocky’s tail out near the back corner of the yard. He’d let Mason field that one. He heard Tank the Larger growl and a complaining yip from Rocky, then watched as all three dogs appeared at the edge of the light. Good dog.

  “Big dog.” Mason’s words might have been aimed at Tank, but Gunny knew better. Jock made a questioning noise, and Mason snorted a laugh. “That’s what we…I want. I have hundreds of members, and each one has been chosen for what they can bring the brotherhood. Here, in Fort Wayne? I’m looking for big dogs, men who can hang, no matter what the challenge thrown at the club. We’ve got shit on the horizon, and I need to have men I can trust in place to deal with whatever comes. So, in a word, I’m lookin’ for big dogs to run with the rest of us, not stay on the porch.”

  “What does it take to run with your big dogs?” Jock sounded like this was a more than casual curiosity, and Gunny suspected it was a natural progression, given the weeks he’d had to study the brotherhood Gunny enjoyed with the members.

  “First we get to know you, and vice versa. It’s called the hangaround time, and it’s kinda what you were doing tonight. You wanna explore what you see, then we have different conversations.” Mason shifted to the side, turning to face the house, including Jock in their circle. “We get a lot of hangarounds. Lotta different reasons. Men who like the idea of power, because this patch offers that. People who want respect, because this patch brings that to the table in a big way.”

  Gunny interjected because he thought he knew where Jock was coming from, maybe more than Jock did. “We also get a lot of men who need to belong. It’s a brotherhood, and when you wear the patch, you are guaranteed only one thing. Every man who also bears the burden of the patch has your back. It’s both like and unlike the military in that respect. You walk into a bar with a member, and you know he’s got your six. And you know he’s depending on you to have his.” He shrugged, dropping a hand to rub gently at the folds of skin behind the mastiff’s ears. “Within the club, there are friendships, like me and Deke, PBJ, and even this fuckin’ reprobate here.” He tipped his head towards Mason, drawing a grin from his friend’s face. “So I’d expect it from them. Brotherhood means that even members I don’t know and never met would have my back.”

  “Military makes sure you know how to depend on a team.” Jock nodded and turned to look beyond Mason, into the darkness. “It’s not a team if that trust doesn’t go both ways. Food for thought, thanks, Mason.”

  “Anytime.” Mason moved, gripping Jock’s shoulder. “Good to meet you, man. Heard good things about you.” Turning to face Gunny, Mason reached out, pulling him into a one-armed clinch, pounding his back as he said softly, “I was wrong.”

  “Fucker.” Gunny grinned and released his hold. “I’ll be in the garage tomorrow, got a call for a custom build, want to go over things with Bear.”

  “Can’t wait.” Mason padded towards the house, one hand held up in farewell.

  ***

  Jock

  He stood in the room where he’d been staying, turning in a slow circle, taking in the emptiness surrounding him. It’s time. Bending, he gripped the strap on his duffel and slung it over his shoulder. In the two weeks since he’d gotten out of the VA, things had gone from moving slow as molasses on a cold day to faster than light. On the second day, he’d gone with Gunny to the club’s garage and met a dozen members. Of them, he’d hit it off with a dude named Domino, Deke’s older brother. The man was struggling against the perception that since he was a former cop, he was a narc, but Jock saw something deeper in him. Domino’s girlfriend was out of town for a few weeks, and he’d offered his second bedroom as a place to stay while Jock looked for an apartment of his own. It was his house, so could be as dog-friendly as Jock needed, which meant Tank was coming with him.

  Gunny hadn’t argued, not that he could; they’d established early on that Jock was Tank’s owner. Sharon hadn’t argued either, at least not verbally, but Jock had seen her sad eyes following the mastiff around the house for the past week. He knew the story, had heard it a dozen times, not just how his dog had wound up with such awesome people, but what Tank had done for her and Kitten. That day at the garage he’d listened to each man in turn as they approached him with their version of how Tank had gotten to the hospital, sticking close as glue to Cade until Gunny got there.

  With a last look around the room, he strode out, heading towards the front door. Tank had been pacing back and forth between the bedroom and kitchen for the past hour, knowing something was changing with Jock, but wanting to be close to where Sharon was feeding the girls. Jock stood in the doorway, fingers nervously tracing the edge of the duffel’s strap, waiting for Sharon to look up. When she did, he winced, because her eyes were rimmed with red, signs of tear tracks on her face.

  Tank lifted his head and stared at Jock, then pushed to a seated position, never moving his eyes. Then, with an effort that signaled how his dog had gained middle age while Jock had been gone, he groaned and stood, then turned his back on Jock and sat down again. Sharon’s gaze flickered between him and the dog, eyes wide. “Jerk,” he muttered, then ignored the dog who was currently ignoring him, telling Sharon, “I wanted to let you know again how much I appreciate everything you and Gunny have done for me. I’ll see you around, right?” He smiled at her, holding the expression until she gave him back one that trembled. “I’m going to be going through kiddy withdrawals, I know, so if you need a babysitter, you give me a call.” She nodded and rose, coming to him and wrapping her arms around his chest. Tipping his head to the side, he bent and whispered, “Thank you. You guys saved me.” She squeezed him and sucked in a stuttering breath.

  Releasing her, he stepped back and waved to Cade. “Bu bye.”

  The smile on his face faded when she studied him seriously for a moment, then pulled her tiny features into a hard scowl before telling him, “’Lo.” Raising a clenched fist, she flailed it in the air before opening it, raining pieces of cereal down on her head. “’Lo.”

  “Hello.” He waved, then backed up another step. “Tank.” The dog shifted but didn’t turn. “Tank, come. Let’s go, boy.” Spine twisting, Tank looked over his shoulder, ass still firmly planted on the floor. “Dude, come on. You’ll be back for a visit, promise.” With a heavy sigh, Tank climbed to his feet and turned before padding over to Sharon. He butted her belly with his head, nearly taking her off her feet, then wound his way around her, slapping her legs with his tail on his way past. Nose to Kitten’s toes, he snuffled until she giggled, then rested his chin on her tray for a moment, letting her beat her tiny fists against his head.

  With another look at Jock, Tank shifted and stepped sideways until he was pressed up against the side of Cade’s highchair. With a whine, he shoved his head underneath her tray, jostling the entire set-up until Sharon stepped over and pulled the release lever. Then he crowded closer, leaning sideways so he could get his head and neck in contact with Cade. The little girl scowled at Jock again, then bent over the dog, putting her mouth close to his ear, her fingers working through the folds of skin on his neck. “Bu bye.”

  Jesus. I’ve never seen a dog like this.

  He’d contacted the breeder two weeks ago, trying to see if there’d be a puppy
he could buy for Gunny. Maybe in six months or so, but nothing right now. Confronted by the connection Tank had with the kids, Jock wavered, his gut twisting while he tried to decide if this was the right thing. If it was just them, he wouldn’t hesitate; Tank would have found a new forever home. But Tank eased something inside him, untangling the guilt he had for living when his entire patrol had died on the side of the road, thousands of miles from home. Without having Tank, he’d been a ghost, so far into the dark his fingers had grown to know the curve of his gun’s trigger very well. Finding out the dog wasn’t lost, was with good people, it had seemed too good to be true. Then finding out just how good Gunny was, and how he just got where Jock’s head was, without judging, that had been an unspoken wish come true. Even with that, Tank had been the only thing that had gotten him through the past weeks. I can’t leave without him.

  “Come on, Tank. Time to go.”

  Another look over his shoulder at Sharon and Tank stepped back from Cade. The little girl seemed to suddenly understand what was happening, her face scrunching up, mouth going square as she cried, hiccupping through the words, “No. No go. Stay.” Kitten picked up the cry, howling as if she were in pain. Cade held out a hand to Tank, her fingers tapping her palm in a broken wave. “’Lo. No bu bye. ‘Lo.”

  “Sharon—” He started to say something, anything, but she waved her hand.

  “Just go. I’ll deal with this.” Hand to the side of her belly, she walked to where Cade was still strapped into her chair.

  “Tank, ‘meer me!”

  Sharon’s voice was soft when she promised her daughter, “Oh, honey. It’ll be okay.”

  No, it will never be okay.

  ***

  Gunny

  “Please, come home.” Sharon’s words were thick with pain, the sound of his girls crying echoing through the phone. “Honey, please.”

  “What’s wrong?” He was already on the move, snapping his fingers at a prospect seated on a bucket by the office. Pointing back at his bay in the garage, he told the man, “Clean up for me. Everything in the box, lock it and then take the key to Red.” Red was a member who managed the garage, and he’d make sure the expensive tools and parts were stowed correctly and safely. “Baby, what’s wrong?” Sticking his head into the office, he told Red, “I gotta go.” Getting a nod in response, he turned and let the door close behind him, heading out to his truck. “Baby, talk to me.”