::Greetings! This chapter wraps up "Holden" and it has been a long and stressful ride. Thanks for hanging with me! I am in process of writing "Holden's" sequel "War", but during that time while I finish it up, I have a couple of throw-back Browning Sister adventures to post to keep you entertained until then. Think of them as hiatus-helpers. Thank you so much for all of the follows and reviews. You all are amazing and I appreciate you very much. I hope to hear from you soon!
Love and Internetty Hugs,
Grace showered first and I paced around the motel room, throwing stuff into duffle bags and zipping them without thinking about folding or neatness the way she did. I was throwing her duffle into the trunk as she came out of the bathroom, wrapped in a tiny motel towel.
"Dean!" she yelled from the bed through the open door out into the parking lot. "Where the hell are my clothes?"
Squinting into the sun as it set over the motel roof, I shrugged. "I pulled a shirt and jeans out and left them there on the bed!"
She glanced down and tilted her head. "Bra? Underwear?"
"We're just driving home!" I shouted back, "Go commando!"
"Get me a pair of underwear and a bra or we're not going anywhere!"
Rolling my eyes, I swore under my breath. "Want, want, want," I mocked. "Need, need, need." I pulled out the first bra I found, (a nice, classy black number) and a matching pair of underwear and tossed them at her as I walked back into the room. Sabina hadn't said much since we got back to the motel, but I knew she was as ready as either of us to get back on the road.
Grace shimmied into panties and bra, dropping her towel on the floor as she pulled on the cut offs that I left on the bed. She held up the tiny black tank top and rolled her eyes at me. "I usually wear this under something."
"Why?" I asked, completely at a loss.
"Because I am a mother of four," she spat back. "Look at this! The top is mostly lace! It's meant as a cami!"
"The hell is a cami?" I shouted, leaning towards her as I peeled off clothes to jump in and take my shower. I rolled up my fresh jeans and boxers, heading into the steamy bathroom. "Just…just get dressed so we can get the fuck out of here. Place creeps me the hell out."
I slammed the door as Grace collapsed on the bed, lacing up her boots. I could hear her sigh as she decided what to say to Sabina.
"You're welcome to stay with us for as long as you need," she began as I turned on the water. "We've got the room and the kids love you."
Sabina was quiet, but she said, "Thanks, Grace. You guys are some of the nicest people I've ever met."
Grace pressed her lips together. "I wouldn't go that far," she replied, smiling. "We just like to make sure people land on their feet."
My shower was short and cold, but I rinsed off, pulled on a new pair of jeans and we were out of the motel in twenty-two minutes flat, screaming down the highway, back towards our kids.
Grace was sitting on an old towel after complaining about her legs sticking to the seat. I sighed and rolled my eyes. "Then why did you pack shorts?" I asked, shaking my head.
"I don't know," she whined, "I like to be prepared for anything!"
"This is exactly why your fucking duffle weighs more than you do. Shorts in April on a hunt to Maine and a tank top made of lace. What the hell kind of gear is that?"
"See, this is the difference between Winchester hunts and Browning hunts," she sighed, crossing her arms in front of her.
"You might want to elaborate," I answered sarcastically.
She turned to face me with Sabina listening, but staring out the passenger window. "Winchester hunts are filled with flannel, bullets, and blades with a lot of testosterone. Browning hunts were a lot of the same, but skimpier clothes that got us what we needed without money. You and Sammy hustled pool and poker, but Serra and I hustled with our tits and asses."
I pursed my lips as Sabina finally cracked a smile in the rearview mirror. I shook my head, staring at her. "Don't you go and get any ideas, there, miss. 'Long as you live under my roof, you live by my rules." I glanced at Grace and pointed with my thumb, "Rule number one: your tank tops have to be made of solid fabric. Rule number two: your shorts have to cover your ass cheeks."
Grace grinned next to me, glancing over at Sabina. "It's a Dean-tatorship, Sabina," she giggled. "You'd better get used to it."
She was still silent, but Sabina reached over the back seat to squeeze Grace's hand. Grace's blue eyes flicked to mine and she smiled lightly. "She'll be okay," she thought at me. "She's got a whole ranch full of orphans to learn from."
"Because that makes me feel better," I replied, staring out the windshield.
Grace shrugged. "It's something," she said. She leaned her head back and took a deep, ragged breath, closing her eyes as the sun set in front of us. We listened in silence to the roar of the Impala as we drove on; home just twenty-five hours away.