Chapter 1
The moment Gage Mosbygunned his motorcycle and crossed Kingsmill’s town line, he felt the upcoming reckoning. That tightness in his chest, damp palms clutching the bike’s handles, and sweat on his brow beneath his helmet all foretold his comeuppance.
A scolding he deserved but didn’t want to face.
He zoomed over the old bridge, riding past the dilapidated King’s Mill that sat on the river, and saw the familiar sign with the faded words Kingsmill, VA circa 1745, population 409. Except the population icon had been repainted in red, lowering the number by one digit to 408.
An act of vandalism to register his daddy’s death.
He turned left onto a dirt road that led deeper into the valley at the base of the Shenandoah Mountains and fought a mental battle. When he’d left twenty years ago, on his seventeenth birthday, he’d sworn he’d never return to this tiny town on the western edge of a rugged mountain river. That choice had caused so much heartache for so many people, Kingsmill had probably brainstormed a list of punishments to welcome him home.
But since he was trying to be a man of honor, it was time to fulfill his father’s deathbed promise.
He lowered his speed and shifted his weight on the tight turn, heading toward Main Street. The enormous maple trees, planted before the American Revolution, provided shade from the July heat. But even those centuries-old witnesses couldn’t hide the town’s changes. Many of the saltbox homes he passed were shuttered or required serious time with a handyman. The double chimneys on Mr. Elmer’s Georgian manor had crumbled, and brick colonial homes that looked like they’d been transported from Williamsburg needed new windows and a date with a power mower.
The road ended at Main Street, halfway between the church at the bottom of the hill and his father’s rundown Victorian mansion at the top. He stopped to get a better view of the situation. His brothers had mentioned the town’s heyday as a historical tourist magnet had declined, but he’d not expected most of the stores and restaurants would be closed or that there’d be no cars parked along the sides of the road.
When he’d left all those years ago, parking on Main Street hadn’t been possible unless he’d gotten here at zero-dark-thirty when Harry Wakefield opened his coffee shop. Or if he’d stayed up all night behind The Ren with his girlfriend.
His heart clenched as memories of Lily Dunmore broke through his battle-hardened defenses, and he closed his eyes against the onslaught. Long brown hair. Deep, dark eyes. A rockin’ body that, even though he hadn’t touched her in two decades, still left him revved up and wrung out at the same time.
His phone buzzed in his back pocket and he opened his eyes. He pulled it out to check the text from his brother Isaiah.
Meet us at The Ren. Bring coffee.
Typical text from the eldest brother to the youngest. Gage stowed his phone, hit the accelerator, and roared up Main Street, toward his daddy’s mansion that overshadowed the entire town. But instead of focusing on that, he searched for an old two-story brick building on his left.Harry’s Coffee Shopshared an interior wall with The Ren, akaThe Devil’s Renegade Biker Bar that belonged to the Devil’s Renegade Motorcycle Club. An outlaw MC that had been revived by his own father, Caleb Mosby.
Because of the MC, and The Ren, Gage had given up the love of his life in the most brutal way possible. Yet, now that he was home, all he could think about was everything that hadn’t been. Everything he’d lost. And how all those everythings led back to one person... the woman he’d betrayed. Lily Dunmore.
* * *
Lily Dunmore broughtthree coffees over to the table in Harry’s Coffee Shop where her best friends sat. Eve Crenshaw and Clara Wakefield, both in the sophisticated floral sundresses she’d sent them from Paris a few weeks ago, whispered over a plate of blueberry muffins.
She pulled out her chair, and the metal legs made a screeching noise on the uneven wood floor. “What’s up?”
“Nothing.” Clara gave her fake all-is-always-okay smile that hadn’t changed since they’d met in elementary school. “I was just wondering when Uncle Harry might retire.”
“Clara, your uncle will never retire.” Eve took her coffee and waved a hand around the café decorated with dark-stained wood and orange painted walls that had been cool and hip in the seventies but now smelled musty with a side of bitter cinnamon. “I’m afraid if Harry does try to sell the café, no one will buy it, and we’ll lose the only coffee shop in town.”
Lily held her cappuccino that had no foam. “I have to admit, I’m surprised by the state of Kingsmill. I know it’s been a few years since I’ve been home—”
“Not a few years,” Eve said. “You’ve been in Paris for ten years.”
“Still, even back then, most of the stores on were still open, and we had tourist events.”
“I always loved the Sunflower Festival and the Revolutionary War reenactments.” Eve’s voice carried an undercurrent of happy memories. “But my favorite was the knitting fundraiser we did each spring to repair the old King’s Mill.” She pointed to a red, white, and blue flyer taped to the donut case. “We’re having a Fourth of July Parade, though.”
Clara held up both hands. “I’m not involved with that at all.”
Eve laughed and threw a clean paper napkin at Clara. “And you’re a famous event planner.”
“That’s why I’m not volunteering.” Clara turned the napkin into an origami bird. “Although, Georgie is always talking about how boring this place is.”
“Except for the Haunted House event.” Eve tilted her head at Clara who turned bright red. “We still run that event.”
Lily swallowed, and a bitter taste coated her throat. Something was up between Clara and Eve. The two of them appeared closer than ever, probably because they’d had to rely on each other recently. Clara was a new widow, and Eve had not only been abandoned by her husband, she’d been the victim of a terrible crime.
Although she’d left her best friends behind when she moved to Paris, the three of them had stayed in constant contact, often texting every day. And Eve had even come to Paris a few times. So while she understood why they were so close, she didn’t love the feeling of being left out.
Except she needed to be an adult about this—those feelings were on her, not her friends. It wasn’t their fault she’d needed to get out of town and begin a new life away from Kingsmill.
Lily sipped her cappuccino and grimaced. The milk tasted burnt. “It was hard to be a fifteen-year old in this town when we were kids. I can’t imagine what it’s like now.” And she couldn’t imagine how extra difficult it was for both Clara and Georgie—Clara’s teenage daughter—to live in this town after her father’s/Clara’s husband’s scandalous affair that resulted in his recent death.
Both Clara and Eve nodded in agreement.
“So what happened to this town?” Lily pushed her mug aside. She wasn’t a coffee snob, but her cappuccino tasted terrible.
“People stopped caring about things like apple picking and Christmas tree lightings.” Clara nodded toward the colonial-era brick wall that separated the coffee shop from TheRennext door. “Although the motorcycle club still inhabits that dump.”
Lily glanced at the wall, hating the tightening in her lower stomach that happened whenever she remembered the time she spent in The Ren. Or, more specifically, behind The Ren. “I can’t believe the members of the Devil’s Renegades are still walking around. It’s an outlaw MC. Damian Fawkes and the rest of the club should be in jail.”
“Yes,” Clara said in a hard voice. “They should be. But they’re not.”
“Excuse me.” Eve stood and disappeared into the restroom on the other side of the room.
Lily closed her eyes. “I am such an idiot.”
Clara touched Lily’s arm, and she opened her eyes to meet her friend’s compassionate gaze. “It’s okay. Eve is recovering from what Damian did to her. And Caleb Mosby hired an army of lawyers to take him down.”
She was grateful that Caleb Mosby—the town’s toughest and most ornery man—had agreed to use his power and money to help Eve. “Except Damian was never arrested for drugging Eve. Or for putting those awful photos of her online.”
“No, although there is a civil case brewing.” Clara tasted her drink and grimaced. “It’s not a perfect solution, but Eve is managing the best she can.”
Lily nodded, and the door swung open. A tall, handsome man with brown hair and a powerful physique strolled in with a shorter woman. He wore low-slung jeans and a black T-shirt while the woman strutted by in a way-too-short-for-her-age dress with way-too-high-for-her-age wedge sandals. “Clara, what is Jacob Mosby doing with Paula Burkett?”
Clara’s neck, face, and ears turned red. “Jacob and Paula are seeing each other.”
That didn’t make any sense at all.
“Why?” Lily lowered her voice. “Is Paula not the meanest girl in town anymore?”
Clara shrugged and focused on her coffee.
The couple went to the counter. Jacob pulled out his wallet and ordered, and Paula met Lily’s gaze. Paula’s eyes widened until she spotted Clara. In that moment, Paula’s face turned a purple shade of vicious, with flared nostrils and a deep frown.
When Jacob spoke to Paula, she stood on her toes, palmed his face, and kissed him on his lips. Then she ran her fingers through his hair. To Jacob’s credit, he disentangled from her roaming hands and sent her a hard glare.
Paula pouted and took the tray of four coffees Harry gave them. After Jacob paid at the register, he turned—only to stop the moment he noticed Clara.
Without shame, Lily watched the mini soap opera. Jacob focused an intense, questioning gaze on Clara. Clara alternated between stealing looks at Jacob and studying her mug. Paula, meanwhile, tightened her grip on the cardboard tray of coffee cups and fired warning glares at Clara.
When Jacob noticed Lily, a smile brightened his face. “Lily Dunmore?”
He strode over and she stood, making sure to block his view of Clara. “Hi, Jacob.”
“I didn’t know you were coming home.” He hugged her. “How long are you here for?”
“For as long as Nana Ruthie needs me.”
Jacob tilted his head. “What’s wrong with Nana Ruthie?”
“Hi, Jacob.” Eve appeared before Lily could answer, and Jacob’s expression changed. It was subtle, but his eyes narrowed and he gently touched Eve’s arm.
Lily could feel the tension between them, then she remembered that not only was Eve’s deadbeat husband one of Jacob’s younger brothers, Jacob had driven her to the hospital after the terrible situation with Damian Fawkes.
“Hey, Eve.” Jacob’s smile became more protective than friendly. “How are you feeling?”
“Better. Thanks.” Eve brushed away strands of blonde hair that had come loose from her high ponytail. Then she nodded at Paula. “What are you two doing here this early?”
He held up a bag of pastries. “I’m meeting some of my uncles next door at The Ren.”
“And we’re late.” Paula tugged on Jacob’s arm. “Let’s go, honey.”
Jacob clenched his jaw, and he nodded at Lily again. “It’s great to see you, Lils.”
Good grief. She’d not heard that nickname in years.
Once Paula and Jacob left, Eve sat next to Clara and Lily and stared at both of them. “How did Paula snare Jacob?”
Eve cleared her throat, glanced at Clara who kept her eyes down, and said in her sweetest voice, “How’s Francois?”
“We broke up.” She sat, took a bite of the blueberry muffin, and spit the dry chunk into a napkin. “It happened a few months ago.” Not long after she discovered monogamy meant something different in Paris.
Eve and Clara another shared a long look until Lily said, “What is up with you two today?”
Clara sipped her coffee and pushed it away.“Have you seen Nana Ruthie this morning?”
“No. I woke early, probably due to jet lag, and I didn’t want to wake my aunt. From her emails, I suspect her surgery took a lot out of her.”
“Did you see Nana Ruthie when you got in last night?” Clara asked.
Lily chewed her bottom lip. “My aunt was in her bedroom, asleep. Since it was after eleven p.m., I crashed in my room. I figured by the time I met you for coffee and returned to the cottage, she’d be awake and we could talk about her health. I’m also preparing myself for a discussion on moving her to a continuing care center where she’ll have 24-hour nursing services. Unfortunately, the closest facility is four hours from here.”
Lily released the breath she’d been holding deep in her chest. As her last living relative, and the only mother-figure she’d ever had, Nana Ruthie’s sudden call a few days ago had sent Lily’s world reeling. But now that she was home from Paris, she’d deal with the crisis, get Nana Ruthie settled, and return to her life in France. Nana Ruthie was too tough and cranky to give in to any kind of disease. Maybe she could even convince Nana Ruthie to return to Paris with her and stay for a while.
Parisian chocolate, incredible wine, and handsome, flirtatious men were a miracle balm for a broken heart. A truth Lily knew well.
Eve touched Lily’s hand. “There’s something you need to know.”
Laughter sounded from the street outside the coffee shop, and Lilyturned to see Nana Ruthie, along with her three best friends, enter the coffee shop. They were dressed in black-and-redpickleball outfits and carrying their rackets. All of them had flushed faces and wore sweatbands around their foreheads. Miss Mercy, Miss Zelda, and Miss Kelly settled at a table and started telling dirty jokes.
“Don’t mind the dirty jokes,” Eve whispered. “The women’s pickleball team are in a dirty joke-telling war with Mr. Elmer and the rest of the old men at the VFW Hall.”
“But Nana Ruthie is sick,” Lily said in a breathless voice. “She just had surgery.”
“Lily, we hate to tell you this,” Clara said. “But you’ve been scammed. By a master.”
“Wait.” Lily shook her head as if doing so would reset what she saw to be true but couldn’t be true. Then she pointed toward her aunt and her pickleball team. “I even got a telegram. In Paris. No one sends telegrams anymore.”
Clara bit her lip to keep from laughing, and Eve choked on her latte.
Lily sat back in her chair, deflated. “This can’t be happening. I took a leave of absence from my restaurant—without pay—and gave up a special catering job at the élysée Palace for this. And it’s a lie?”
“Nana Ruthie called it a ‘gentle subterfuge’,” Clara said.
“And you two knew about this the entire time?” Lily frowned at her best friends. “How could you not tell me? Le Mistral is not happy about my leaving on short notice. My job could be on the line here. Do you know how hard it is to get a job as a head pastry chef in a Michelin-starred restaurant? It’s really, really hard.”
“The truth is,” Eve lowered her voice even more, “we’re afraid of Nana Ruthie.”
“Always have been.” Clara glanced around before adding, “Always will be.”
“This is ridiculous.”Although she couldn’t discounttheir fears. Nana Ruthie, when on a mission, rolled over everyone and everything to get what she wanted.
And this is why Lily found it hard to trust anyone.
She shifted in her seat to see Nana Ruthie, with her curly gray hair twisted up, ordering drinks from the young girl who worked behind the counter.
Nana Ruthie winked at the barista. “Can you make mine Irish?”
The girl scrunched her nose. “You want green milk?”
The pickleball women laughed, and the girl frowned.
“No, dear,” Nana Ruthie said in a gentle-yet-firm voice. “I’d like Bailey’s added to my coffee.”
Lily hurried over. “Nana Ruthie, what’s going on?”
Nana Ruthie shrugged while the barista worked on their orders. “There’s nothing wrong with a wee dram of Bailey’s in my coffee.”
“There is when the barista isn’t old enough to serve alcohol.”
“Then it’s a good thing I’m always prepared.” Nana Ruthie motioned to a flask that sat on the table between the other pickleball women.
Clara and Eve covered their mouths with their hands to smother their laughter, and Harry—the café’s owner and Clara’s uncle—came out from the kitchen behindthe counter with a tray of chocolate glazed donuts.
“Hi Ruthie.” Harry placed the tray on top of the pastry case. “How was your game this morning?”
“Great.” Nana Ruthie grabbed a donut and smiled. “Our enemies don’t have a chance.”
Lily threw up her hands. “What enemies?”
“The ladies’ pickleball team in Milltown.” Nana Ruthie took a bite of the donut and wrinkled her nose. “We’re at war.”
“This is ridiculous. I can’t believe you faked an illness to get me home. And you’re not even hiding it.”
“I did what I had to do.” Nana Ruthie finished her donut and took the tray filled with four coffees from the barista. “Did you get enough sleep? You look pale. Or maybe it’s just jet lag.”
“That’s not fatigue. That would be annoyance with a side of anger and confusion.” Lily waved at Nana Ruthie’s obviously healthy demeanor. “So... you’re not sick?”
“Nope. Can you bring over our donuts?” Nana Ruthie carried the coffee to the table with the pickleball women.
“Here you go.” Harry handed her a large plate piled high with chocolate donuts. “And welcome home, Lils.”
“Thanks, Harry.” She brought the plate over to Nana Ruthie’s table and placed it in the center, instead of throwing it like she wanted to. But the donuts seemed shiny—liked they’d been frozen and recently defrosted. “You know you shouldn’t eat these. They’re probably loaded with trans fats and fake cocoa.”
“Probably.” Nana Ruthie emptied the flask into her coffee mug. “Now that you’re done with Pierre—”
“Francois.”
The pickleball women laughed, and Nana Ruthie smiled. “You’ll soon thank me for bringing you home.”
“Why—” The loud rumble of motorcycles outside the café’s picture window distracted her. When she saw a bunch of Devil’s Renegades members park against the curb, a red rage flooded her body.
Without thinking, without asking permission, without caring what anyone else thought, she pushed open the café’s door and stormed across the sidewalk, toward a line of motorcycles and their male riders parked in front of The Ren. All of the men wore black leather cuts with the Devil’s Renegades patch on the back. But she directed her attention to the tallest man with short dark hair who’d removed his helmet and was getting off his bike.
“Damian!”
He turned toward her. It took a moment, but when recognition hit, he held up his hands. “Whoa. Lily. What’s—”
Her fist slammed into his chin, and the pain ripping through her hand almost dropped her to her knees. Damian stumbled back, and his dark gaze filled with shock... then anger. He fisted his hands and stalked her—until one of his brothers with a long red-beard grabbed his arm.
“Let it go, Pres.”
She held her hand against her chest, and her eyes blurred from the agony in her fingers.
Damian tried to shake off the red-bearded biker who wore a V. President patch on the front of his leather cut, but that biker held on tight.
Damian sneered at her. “You’ve stepped over a line, Lily Dunmore.”
Lily pretended to shiver. “I’m so scared of a big, bad biker who drugs women and films himself pretending to have sex with them.” She lowered her voice to a hoarse whisper. “Tell me, Damian. Did you load those staged photos of Eve onto the internet to prove something to yourself? Or to the rest of the MC?”
Damian’s eyes narrowed until the red-bearded biker tightened his hold and said, “Pres. Seriously. This could be a problem.”
“Oh, it will be a problem.” Lily clutched her hand tighter, trying to ignore the pain that was only getting worse—not better. “Damian Fawkes, I’m putting you on notice. You even look in Eve’s direction and I will film myself beating you with a shovel until you cry like a baby and beg for mercy. Then I’ll post it on the internet, just like you did.”
Men behind her wolf whistled while someone shouted, “You go, Lils!”
Then the air around her echoed with clapping and shouting.
She shook her head to clear the anger that clouded her vision. That’s when she realized a circle of people of had formed around her. The men from the Devil’s Renegades MC, standing near their bikes, frowned and scowled. The people from the café, including Uncle Harry, Nana Ruthie and Clara, were behind her, clapping. Jacob stood nearby, in The Ren’s doorway, grinning.
Then, on her left, next to a black Harley Dyna, she saw a tall, incredibly handsome man in jeans, black T-shirt, and leather motorcycle jacket. He carried his helmet beneath his arm and stared at her with one raised eyebrow.
When she met his brown gaze, he smiled. The kind of grin that held secrets only known to lovers.
She tightened her hold on her aching hand.
He’d tied his long dark hair behind his neck, had at least a week’s worth of beard growth, and road dust covered his black books. Time—and probably the U.S. Army—had formed his body into a solid block of hard muscle.
She swallowed a few times before meeting the hard gaze of Gage Mosby. The man who’d promised her the world. And the man who’d broken her heart.