***
“Baby,” Gunny shouted as soon as he was through the garage door. Jock was coming in ten minutes behind him by prearrangement, this not being something Gunny wanted to tell Sharon over the phone. “Where the fuck are you?”
Sounds from the backyard had him headed towards the sliding glass door off the kitchen. It was an unaccustomed warm day, and Sharon was on a blanket on the ground, Kitten beside her, kicking and flailing her way across the uneven surface. Cade was a few feet away lying on her back, staring up at the sky overhead. Tank the Larger was positioned between Gunny’s family and the door and had lifted his head alertly. The ticking of toenails behind him warned of the approach of the other two dogs, and Gunny shifted to one side with the ease of long practice, letting the smaller dogs move around him and into the yard.
Tank didn’t lose the alert look, though, not like he normally would have, and Gunny focused on him. Sharon stood, shaking her head back and forth. “No.” The single word sounded like her heart was breaking, but for once, Gunny didn’t rush to soothe her. He took two steps into the yard, gaze locked on Tank who had climbed to his feet, head up, scenting the air. Lumbering into a quick trot, he covered the ground to get to Gunny and then was on him, nose pressed to Gunny’s right hand, snuffling and sniffing. He shook his big head and snorted, then hoovered Gunny’s hand again, his big body nearly quivering with tension. Sharon’s voice was small, quavering, “No, please.”
“Smells the man on me. All I did was shake his hand and Tank smells him. Tell me you don’t see this?” Gunny let the dog continue sniffing as he lifted his gaze to see tears trailing down Sharon’s face. “Man’s had a shit deal handed him, wife that cheated and let him believe her babe was his, then Dear Johned him while he was fuckin’ deployed to the sandbox, honey. All he’s got, and until yesterday, he didn’t know he still had anything, but all he’s got is Tank.” He took two steps towards her, Tank moving with him, nose still avidly pressed to Gunny’s flesh. “He’s my fuckin’ dog, and you know it. But Shar, he really isn’t. Been on loan with us. Done us a hell of a turn.”
“Saved my life,” she whispered, holding her hands to the side, fingers spread. “Gunny, he saved Kitten.”
“You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t thank God for this dog every single fuckin’ day?” Tank carefully stepped around Kitten, leaving Gunny and pressing close to Sharon, offering comfort for a distress he recognized. “Look at him right now, lovin’ on you like he is.”
The roar of a bike’s exhaust filled the air, followed by a quieter growl of a truck, and Gunny knew it would be PBJ and Jock. “Man’s gonna come here. We’ll see how things go. But—” He glanced down at his hand, covered in slobber. “—I’m bettin’ the dog’ll know the man.”
“Hello, the house,” PBJ called, as was the norm when a brother came over these days. Gunny turned to see him come through the sliding doors he’d left open, Jock following right behind him. There was a tentative, muffled groan from Tank the Larger, heard over the yapping barks of Tank and Rocky. Cade’s babbling for her Unka Pee competed with a louder groan, and Gunny turned to see Tank already in motion, arrowing straight to the man who stood with his arms spread wide, not even having to call the dog.
Sharon stepped to Gunny’s side, wrapping both her arms around his middle as they stood and watched the most joyous homecoming welcome Gunny had ever seen. Tank had his forepaws on Jock’s shoulders, head buried under the man’s chin and was leaping, his back legs gaining only four or five inches with each jump, but the excitement coming from the dog was palpable. His muscles quivered, tail snapping back and forth like a whip, vocalization finally happening as Tank found his voice, tinny yips and howls cut short when Jock went to a knee, wrapping his arms around Tank’s torso, holding him close.
***
Sharon
“Yeah,” Jock muttered as he shoved another forkful of mashed potatoes into his mouth, “Tank’s been my bud since he was eight-weeks old. Me and him,” Jock’s hand dropped to caress Tank’s head, propped on his thigh, “been through thick and thin.”
Gunny answered, and PBJ pitched in a word or two, as did Deke, who’d come over for supper. She was glad they were supportive of Gunny, and from the look Deke had shot her way when he arrived, she knew they’d been expecting a different response about what was happening with the dog.
With one hand helping Cade navigate her meal, Sharon pushed food around her own plate with her other one, considering and discarding a series of ideas as too far-fetched. Listening to Jock talk about what had happened to him had been heartbreaking, but all she’d been able to really pick up out of the conversation was that he didn’t have anywhere to take Tank. Didn’t have anywhere to go, period, and the more she thought about it, the better her wild-haired idea sounded.
Gunny was responding to Jock as he did the men he’d been in the club with for years. He was open, unguarded, the way she loved to see him. I need to keep this guy around for Lane. Gunny still had issues with his PTSD, and she knew it would be a lifelong struggle for him, but the more she could surround him with good and decent people, the more at ease he became.
Cade dropped one hand down beside her highchair and seemed to realize for the first time that her constant companion wasn’t nearby. Little head whipping back and forth, she used her little-girl sweet voice, the one that usually got her daddy to do whatever she wanted, and always called the dogs from wherever they were at the time. “Tank. ‘Meer me. Tank.” A minute went by without the dog moving. In fact, the only reaction Cade got was a fond glance from her father. Sharon smiled, knowing her daughter. A moment later Cade pulled in a deep breath, then slapped both palms against her chest and bellowed an unmistakable demand, “Tank. ‘Meer me.”
Sharon stared across the table as Jock’s eyes widened, focused on tiny Cade. Then there were the shuffling heavy steps she expected as Tank moved around the table and to his little girl. Leaning against the legs of the highchair, Tank groaned when Cade’s fingers found his ears, tugging and rolling them in a way he loved.
Gunny, seated as he was on Cade’s other side, reached out and cradled the back of Cade’s head, pulling her sideways so he could kiss the top of her head. For his efforts, he got nothing more than a sweet grin from their daughter as she crooned to Tank, “Good doggie, Tank.”
Sharon glanced across the table and saw a look of clear longing on Jock’s face. She knew he wanted what Gunny had, wanted what Tank had, even.
“I think you should stay here with us.” Four wooden chairs around the kitchen table all creaked at the same time, as if every man had shifted in response to her words. “Give yourself time to get used to Tank again, and it will give my little girls time to get used to the idea that he’s not a fixture in their lives.” Jock stared at her, face pale, and Sharon wondered at that but then forged ahead. “I doubt any of these big, bad guys thought to tell you, but Tank saved my life.” She pointed across the room to where Kitten dozed in the portable playpen. “Saved my daughter’s life, too.”
From the puzzled look on Jock’s face, it was clear he didn’t know the story, and Sharon turned to aim a glare at Gunny. He lifted both hands in an “I give up” pose, and she laughed. Looking at Jock, she saw genuine curiosity in his expression. “So, a bit ago, I was pregnant.” Jock’s eyes cut over to Kitten and Sharon nodded. “I was here at the house when I went into labor. Alone.” Now Jock’s gaze glanced towards Gunny, and Sharon was surprised at how his face had hardened. He’s getting pissed off on my behalf.
“Things happened fast.” She shook her head, the terror of that day having receded until this seemed just a story. “But something went wrong. I remember being so scared, so terrified because I was here alone and all of this was happening to me. Cade was here, and I was terrified for her. Tank—” She dropped her hand to caress the top of the dog’s head, and he shifted, leaning against her hip. “—didn’t just help keep me calm, he was like a labor coach. He knew when a contraction was coming
and he kept crowding me, getting close, giving me something to hold onto. Poor guy—” She cupped his jaw, angling his head up so she could see those intelligent eyes. “—probably thought the crazy, yelling preggo lady was going to choke him, but he kept coming back for more.”
She looked at Jock, knowing Gunny had gone still, too still, caught up in his own memories, but she needed to finish the story. “I was so scared. He kept checking on Cade, then coming back to me and one of those times I told him I needed the phone.” She leaned forwards, one hand on the dog, one flattened to the table. “He brought me the phone.” Jock’s head snapped back, and she nodded. “Yeah. Brought me the phone and then kept taking care of me and Cade. When the ambulance got here, he was in Cade’s room and let me tell you, it was a good thing the ambulance guy was a friend, because Tank wasn’t about to let just anyone near his girl.” She looked back down at Tank, smiling to see he’d shifted around so he was touching both Cade and her.
“All the way to the hospital he stayed by me. Then at the hospital, he stayed with Cade.” She glanced at Gunny, seeing his hand still moving on their daughter’s head, stroking her curls soothingly. Covering his hand with hers, she smiled at him. “And Kitten was born, alive and well, healthy and whole. All because my big guy brought home this big guy.”
Pulling in a deep breath, she lifted her gaze to Jock, seeing wet in his eyes. “I’m not being a super-nice silly girl when I offer for you to stay here. You seem to need a place to just be who you are for a while, and I think it’s great we can offer that. But this is me being a little bit selfish and wanting a few more days to tell the Tankster goodbye.” Fingers working through the folds of skin under Tank’s jaw, she felt as well as heard his groan. “Even Tank agrees!” Sharon smiled and waited, watching as Jock’s eyes danced around the room, taking stock of Gunny’s reaction along with the other two men. Jaw tight, he cut his gaze back to her and nodded once.
***
Gunny
He came awake, holding himself still and unmoving, listening in the dark to the sounds inside his house. All he heard were the normal environmental control noises of the air conditioner, the squeaky fan in the ductwork over the master bath that he kept reminding himself to oil, the quiet murmur of the baby monitor telling him all was well with his two girls. Nothing that would have pulled him from sleep.
Then he heard it. The tiniest gasp of an indrawn breath that hitched then cut off.
Gunny turned over in the bed, shifting Sharon from his shoulder and pressing one forearm into the mattress next to her head. Looming over her like this always emphasized the size difference between them, her so tiny her arms wouldn’t wrap all the way around his waist. Still, perfect for me. “Baby,” he murmured, leaning down to brush a kiss across her forehead, “why you cryin’?”
“I’m not crying.” Her whisper was airy, breathy in a way that put the lie to her words and he grinned.
“Babe.” Lips to her temple, he traced a kiss down her cheek to just behind her ear, pressing gently.
Stubborn, she angled her chin away, in one motion refusing to respond and yet responding, giving him the access he needed to get his mouth on her neck. Kissing softly, he worked down to her collarbone while his hand swept up her side, finding and cupping her breast. She shifted her lower body closer to him and he gave in to her silent demand, bringing his thigh up to rest on her legs, pinning her in place, his arm, leg, and body serving as a living frame.
“Mmmm,” he murmured, feeling her arch up into his hand. “Jesus, baby.”
“Gunny.” The single word that slipped past her lips was filled with a longing he recognized, her desire painted on the air in a way that hardened his cock. Shifting against her rubbed the length of him across her hip, the head of his cock growing in a way that pushed his foreskin out of the way, sensitive flesh stroking across her heated skin.
“Gonna love on you, babe.” That would be all the warning she needed, because every time they fell into each other’s arms began the same way—words that had come to mean so much to both of them, echoing through the years back to the first time he’d been inside her after weeks of waiting.
As she did every time, that broad smile shone up at him. Even in the dark, he knew her eyes were dancing when she complained as if he’d been taking hours to get to this point. “Just love me already.”
He bent to her, chasing the heat of her mouth with his lips, and as he kissed her, warned, “Don’t think I’m forgetting my question, baby.”
She gasped as he tugged the gusset of her panties out of the way, tracing the pads of his fingers through the wetness he found. “You—” She gasped again, hips moving up, responding to his touch. “—never forget anything.”
“Damn straight,” he told her, sliding down the bed, mouthing her breast through the nightshirt she wore. “Gonna eat you first, then fuck you.”
“Okay,” she agreed, and obligingly lifted her hips so he could divest her of the panties. Knowing what he wanted, knowing him so well, she bent at the waist and shucked off her shirt, falling to her back naked.
Afterwards, she cuddled into his side, hips angled so she could throw a leg across his thighs and he heard her sigh. “Tell me, babe.”
Her voice was quiet and small when she said, “I should go clean up.”
Gunny ran his palm down the sleek skin of her back, cupping her ass and squeezing before he trailed his fingers up her spine, shifting her hair off her shoulder so he could stroke the skin of her throat. When the doctor had given Sharon the all clear for sex after she’d had Kitten, Gunny made an appointment to go in and talk to the man by himself. Bulldog had told him the issues with Kitten’s delivery were serious, but if he and Sharon wanted more babies, it was something they could watch out for differently. In other words, having another kid wasn’t off the table.
He wanted another kid. Another two or three kids, in fact.
So from the time they started back with sex, he hadn’t gloved up. Hadn’t talked about it, because his Sharon wasn’t dumb; she’d know it wasn’t an oversight on his part. She also wasn’t afraid to speak up, not anymore, and that meant if she didn’t want to be pregnant, wasn’t ready to add to their family, she would have said something or pressed a condom into his hand. She hadn’t, and he hadn’t, and now, he knew what had her crying.
“You’re pregnant.” Whispered softly, reverently, he waited a beat for her to respond, but she seemed frozen. “Tits are sensitive as hell, like you always get. I saw you ain’t got any kind of appetite, and baby,”—he grinned into the darkness—“you were hot for me tonight.”
“I’m always hot for you.” She rolled, burying her face against his abs. He stroked down her back, and back up, again and again, giving her time to put her words together. “What if—”
“Nothing bad is going to happen to you.”
“You can’t know that.” Her hair moved across his skin, delicate traces of a barely-there touch. “I’m not worried about me, anyway. What if something happens to the baby?”
“You love me?” She jolted in surprise at his question, then nodded, her hair again dragging across his skin. “And I love you. Nothing is going to happen, Shar.”
“You can’t know that.” She fell back on the same argument, and while she was right, she was also wrong.
“I can know. Big man upstairs isn’t going to put me through hell on earth and then give me an angel only to take any part of her shine away.” He wrapped his arm around her, pulling her tight to his side, lifting her jaw with a curled knuckle. “You’re my Rose of Sharon. My shining star. You—” He bent and kissed her forehead, then her nose. “—are my reward for coming out the other side.” He brushed his lips across her forehead again, holding her close. “How far, baby?”
“Just a few weeks.” She stretched up, and he tipped his chin, letting her capture his mouth. She pulled back and whispered, “Barely even preggers.”
“Bullshit.”
“What? No, it’s just I’m barely even p
regnant.” Rolling her eyes, she shook her head as he laughed.
“Sharon, you can’t be just a little bit pregnant. It’s one of those all-in things. You either aren’t—” He paused, waiting, and she shook her head. “—or you are.” She nodded. “Bulldog, first thing tomorrow.” She nodded again, settling in beside him. “Love you, Sharon.”
“Love you, too, big guy.”
***
Gunny startled awake, hyperaware of every current of air moving through the room. Sharon was sleeping deeply. Just over eight weeks pregnant, her tummy was still tender, and without eating like she should while chasing after two kids, she was exhausted each night when she fell into bed. Something that made him feel guilty and worry, but God, the end result would be so worth it. Still, whatever woke him wasn’t her.
A muffled sound from the hallway had him moving towards the door, 9mm in hand. As he neared the door, he heard the sound again, recognizing it as Tank the Larger’s distinctive deep growl. Gunny’s eyes darted around the darkened room, verifying nothing was amiss. Then he palmed the doorknob, holding it steady as he slowly turned it and drew it open just a crack.
Jock stood near the top of the stairs, facing towards the girls’ bedroom, fingers tearing through his hair. The lines of his body screamed tension, and Gunny was about a half a second from tackling the man when a shadow near the girls’ doorway moved, resolving into the mastiff. For once Tank’s footfalls were soundless, but as the dog advanced towards Jock, that determined warning growl came from deep in his chest again. Gunny didn’t have to see the dog to know he was serious, the noise rolling from the dog’s throat held a threatening edge.
Easing the door closed behind him, putting a barrier between whatever was about to happen and Sharon, Gunny considered the situation for a moment. Jock was between him and his girls, but Tank was between Jock and the girls, and regardless of who the man was to the dog, Tank didn’t seem to be in the mood to back down. Gunny waited a moment, then another, but Jock didn’t move. Like a statue, the man stood so still Gunny wasn’t certain he was breathing. Dead man walking. That thought sent a chill down his spine. I remember those days. Jock didn’t acknowledge anything, not even the dog standing only feet away. Gotta be me. “Jock,” he called softly, unsure at this point if the man was sleepwalking—not something Gunny had seen evidence of in the weeks he’d lived with them—or if he were caught in the grip of something more powerful than sleep. “Jock, man. You okay?”
Gunny's Pups: #10.25 (Rebel Wayfarers MC) Page 5
