Zane took a deep breath of the clean air and gave him a smile. “Thanks,” he said with a nod.
Deuce waved him off. “Don’t let Dad get to you,” he advised. “If you can deal with Ty, Dad should be a cakewalk for you.”
“I don’t care about offending Ty,” Zane answered. “Although I do have to work with him, so I try not to piss him off too badly.”
“A fair plan. And Dad isn’t easily offended,” Deuce told him with a smile. “What are you worried he knows about?” he asked curiously.
“I don’t exactly have the best track record in the Bureau,” Zane said quietly as he looked around at the trees.
“You’re still in it, though, and I know Ty doesn’t rate second-hand partners,” Deuce countered.
Zane would have answered in the affirmative, but he wasn’t quite sure if he really fit the bill. “I guess I’m a little off balance,” he said vaguely, gesturing to the surroundings.
“High altitudes will do that,” Deuce replied, the sarcasm practically dripping from the words.
“You talk like him,” Zane said wryly, hearing the smartass echo in Deuce’s voice that so reminded him of Ty.
“How’s that?” Deuce asked in interest.
“That tone of voice,” Zane said, fixing his eyes intently on Deuce. “Ty sounds like that all the time. Droll. Like he’s humoring me.”
Deuce laughed. “I apologize,” he offered with an open, honest grin.
Zane’s smile was more genuine this time. “I’d say you don’t know how annoying that can be, but….” Deuce laughed harder as the screen door creaked behind them.
“We’re gonna have to start slipping Dad Valium or something,” Ty muttered as he joined them. He handed Deuce a thick cigar that he’d had hidden in his pocket.
“Cuban?” Deuce asked in delight.
“Cuban,” Ty answered with a nod as Deuce slid the cigar under his nose and sniffed it.
Zane frowned. “Where’s mine?”
“You haven’t earned illegal Cubans yet,” Ty informed him seriously.
“Earned?” Zane asked, voice rising toward the end. He looked at Deuce and jerked his thumb toward Ty. “See? This is what I deal with almost every day.” He sniffed. “Earned,” he muttered, shoving his hands in his pockets.
“I thought acting as a human paintball shield qualified you for illegal Cubans?” Deuce asked Ty in an innocent voice. Ty began snickering before he’d even finished speaking.
Zane rolled his eyes. “I still have bruises,” he said plaintively.
“Boo hoo,” Ty offered. “You smoke too much for cigars,” he reasoned.
Zane shrugged at Ty’s logic. He was used to it by now. “Better hope no one with a grudge catches you with one of those.”
“Everyone has a grudge,” Ty told him with a smirk.
“My brother has no morals,” Deuce sang lightly, and he cackled gleefully as he slid the cigar he’d been given into his pocket.
Ty grunted at him. “I’m running low, and Charlie’s getting discharged in three months, so enjoy it while it lasts,” he told Deuce in a disgruntled growl.
“You’ll just have to find some other shady character at Gitmo,” Deuce counseled seriously. “I’m gonna go unpack some things and sit with Grandpa before he gets the shovel out,” he added with a smirk. He gave Ty a pat on the arm before walking away, leaving them alone in the cold, fresh air.
“Shovel?” Zane questioned.
Ty shook his head. “Later,” he promised.
Zane shifted his weight and tried to let the tension from breakfast go as he pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one up. He took in the sun rising above the trees, and there was a full minute of quiet before he spoke. “Your family is… nice,” he said with difficulty.
That caused Ty to start laughing. Hard.
Chapter 4
SOON enough, Ty was making his way around the house toward his Bronco to retrieve the bags of camping equipment they’d brought with them. Zane remained in the back yard for a moment, finishing his cigarette in the cool, crisp air and looking around at the peaceful surroundings. For some reason, he couldn’t imagine Ty having grown up here.
His lips twitched. In the barn, maybe.
As he joined Ty at the truck, Zane caught sight of Chester sitting in a rocking chair on the porch, eyeing them silently. He also saw that the old man now held the aforementioned shovel across his thighs as he rocked.
Zane leaned over toward Ty. “Is that the shovel?”
Ty hefted a bag out of the back of the Bronco and glanced up at the porch. “Yep,” he said with a smile. “He sleeps with it, too, so don’t go sneaking around at night.”
Zane took one of the bags. “He sleeps with it,” he repeated.
Ty hummed affirmatively. “Not sure where he keeps it, but I can tell you with certainty that he wakes up swinging. He goes everywhere with it.” He pointed to the old blue and white Ford Ranger that had a gun rack mounted in the back window. “When he drives, there’s a cane and his shovel in that thing.”
“It’s not that weird. I sleep with a gun,” Zane said with a shrug, though he was bemused. “You used to sleep with any number of weapons. Why not a shovel?” He paused and bit his lip. “What kind of damage can he do with that thing?”
“Broke my nose when I was fifteen,” Ty answered with a fond smile. “He can hit a snake from ten yards away. Moving target’s iffy since his eyesight started going,” he added seriously.
Zane couldn’t stop the laugh. “Broke your nose? What were you doing?”
“Sneaking in,” Ty said unashamedly as he pulled out another heavy pack and thumped it on the ground. “Me and Deuce. I was on point that night. Turned the corner and bang!” he said as he waved his hand in front of his face.
Zane snickered. “After curfew,” he said knowingly.
“You bet,” Ty said with a nod. He looked over to the house and smiled at his grandfather, who was rocking contentedly, the shovel held loosely in his fingers. “Grandpa fought in the Pacific Theater in World War Two,” he told Zane in a low voice. “Grandma always said he came home with a shovel and never put it away.” He glanced at Zane and shrugged. “On the Pacific islands, sometimes a shovel was a Marine’s only defense from enemy fire. Dug for your life,” he explained. “We always figured something broke up there,” he said with a tap to his temple. “The shovel made him feel… whole.”