“Fitting,” she muses.
“Hell of a coincidence.”
“Yeah, I’m not sure those exist for you. Is it weird that I keep spare dog collars and food in my horse trailer?” She fiddles with the braided nylon circling Spud’s neck.
“Doesn’t hurt to be prepared.”
“Would you take me to Montana if I asked?”
I squint at her from the corner of my eye. “What’s in Montana?”
“Mountains.”
“Why not Colorado or Wyoming?”
“The elevation is too high.”
“Okay,” I mutter.
“Excellent. Do you think this”—she flicks her wrist at the windshield to indicate our current mission—“is a wasted effort?”
“Yes.”
“But you’re going along with it anyway?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“You asked me to.” Much like answering this line of questioning.
“And you care about Spud.” Bianca lifts her brows.
“By extension.”
Her attention drifts out the window. “Do you want children, Stalker?”
I swerve, crossing into the opposite lane before correcting our course. “Shit.”
“That one went too far. Noted.” She crosses an imaginary item off an equally pretend list.
But that doesn’t stop Bianca’s nonsense from spilling free. She continues peppering me with random curiosities until I park the truck in front of a dive bar on the main drag of town. Onelook at the sign above the entrance has her cackling like she ate a handful of edibles.
Spud leaps upright onto all fours, obviously concerned for her well-being. His slobbery kisses just make her laugh harder. When his tail starts whipping me in the face, I take it as my cue to get out.
“Hey! Wait up.” Bianca stumbles out of Fern, still giggling uncontrollably. “Don’t you dare step foot in Dirty Dicks without me.”
Colton pauses in front of the hood, dutiful as ever regardless of my obnoxious behavior. The fit of giggles really can’t be helped when faced with a tasteful delight such as Dirty Dicks. Whatever comedic genius is responsible sure knows how to make a bang.
And they chose an ideal location. There’s no sign of another bar or restaurant along this short strip. That makes it the most logical place to meet locals who might recognize Spud. Laughter still tickles my throat when I smile over at Colton.
“Smart thinking, Stalker.”
He flicks the brim of his baseball hat. “At your service.”
“If only you were that easy,” I mumble.
“You wouldn’t give me the time of day if I were.” His answer clocks me in the chest.
