"Shit and shinola."
There was water pouring out of the top of the washing machine, the bassets belly deep in suds and the mud room looking a little like a kiddie pool.
Dillon looked around Coke’s shoulder. "That’s not good."
"Nope." He lifted the lid of his old Kenmore, wincing at the scent of smoke pouring out the top. "Huh."
"Can you fix it?"
"I reckon if I can’t, Steve McBride can." He looked at the mess and tried to figure out where the fuck to start. Maybe by calling Steve now before he’d wasted a couple of hours and killed his back. "You might oughta get them dogs out of here. Pansy eats more bubbles and she’s gonna barf all damn day."
He grabbed a clothes basket and started pulling sopping wet clothes out, grunting at the effort. Damn, those got heavy.
He turned to get the dripping mess out the back door and frowned. "Cowboy? Cowboy, damn it! I asked you to get the damn dogs!"
"Sorry, babe. I was on the phone with Steve. He’ll be here in fifteen." Dillon shooed the dogs out onto the porch and held the door so Coke could plop the clothes on one of the patio tables. Then Dillon got the mop. "No sense in you hurting yourself when we can give Steve work."
He looked at his clown, grinned. "You think so."
Dillon gave him a grin, then shimmied for him. Damn, didn’t that make his mouth dry. "I know so. Come watch me mop."
Well, yee-haw.
Dillon and Coke are featured in the Roughstock series!
Much love, y’all!
BA
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