Chapter Four
Tess
My eyes fluttered open Friday morning, and he was the first thing on my mind.
Mustang .
His friends didn’t know him as Sully.
Having met him, I had a few guesses as to why.
Sully was the name of a schoolboy, or that guy who worked behind the counter at the post office, or that pilot who landed that plane that one time on the Hudson—and Mustang wasn’t any of those Sullys .
He was a badass biker who owned a badass biker bar.
He was a Wild Stallion who rode wild and roamed free.
It had been two days since I met him, and I hadn’t forgotten.
I barely had the chance do anything other than work and sleep in that time. The fact that he was there in my head, first thing in the morning, was like a taunting reminder of my horrible idea to try and mastermind a reconciliation between two men I didn’t even know.
It hadn’t been a horrible idea because it hadn’t worked.
I did what I thought was right, so my conscious was clear.
It had been a horrible idea because when I started my Wednesday, I didn’t know an incredibly hot badass biker with vibrant hazel-blue eyes and a mom tattoo I just knew he wore with love and not a drop of irony. Now I did, and it was Friday, and I couldn’t forget it—forget him— even though I knew he was out of bounds and the embodiment of everything I was trying to keep out of my bed and certainly away from my heart.
I freed a pathetic whine, clapping my hands over my face, but didn’t move to get up.
I should have. I needed to. It might have even helped to distract myself with the responsibilities of the day—but I was dragging.
I’d gone to sleep the night before only to be roused two hours later by a call from the husband of one of my patients. She had been struggling with insurmountable pain. I was out the door ten minutes later. I didn’t walk back through it for another three hours. I’d turned off my alarm after crawling into bed in the wee hours, but my body was gracious enough to make sure I didn’t sleep away the entire morning.
So, I was awake…thinking about Mustang.
My cell phone rang, and I was quick to roll over to reach for it.
I didn’t care if it was a patient or the pope, I needed the distraction.
I smiled when I saw it was Jenna calling.
“Hey,” I spoke in greeting, putting her on speaker.
“Hi! I didn’t wake you, did I?”
“Nope. Your timing is perfect.”
Jenna and I had met shortly after I moved back to Wyoming. My first job out of school was as an oncology nurse at the hospital. Jenna was an ER nurse who’d been on the job about a year longer than me. I thought she was crazy for staying in the ER for the last decade, and she thought I was nuts for leaving the hospital to tend to patients who never survived—but we remained each other’s best support system all the same.
“I just finished an all-nighter and wanted to call to confirm our plans for Sunday before I crashed. Please say we’re still on, because my feet are dying for some tender love and care.”
I looked down at my own feet, even though they were tucked under my covers. I didn’t need to see them to be reminded they were in need of a fresh coat of paint.
“Fingers crossed neither of us gets called in, because I am so totally there.”
Pedicures once a month was our ritual, but it was more than just a chance for a little self-care. It was basically a mandatory check in. She and I kept each other sane. Our jobs were hard and emotionally draining. It would have been so easy to burnout, but we had each other to lean on in order to make sure that didn’t happen.
Like me, Jenna was single and had no one to pick up the slack at home. Her dating history was quite different than mine. Her exes weren’t the heartbreakers so much as the heartbroken. It wasn’t that she was a tyrant when it came to dating relationships, she was just picky. She never gave her heart away too soon, as she was incredibly overprotective of it. If she saw even a hint of something she didn’t like, she was out.
I wasn’t entirely sure if it was the healthiest way to go about dating—but she felt the same way about how I did it, too. In so many ways, we were each other’s opposite, but I supported her in her pursuit of happiness all the same. She was a gorgeous, lovely human who deserved to find the right man for her—whatever that looked like.
“Okay, good. We’ll keep each other posted. But, while I have you, quick check in. How you holdin’ up?”
We chatted for the duration of her drive home, then we said our goodbyes so I could start my day while she wound down from hers.
I didn’t tell her about Mustang, and I wasn’t sure why.
Maybe I’d fill her in on Sunday.
With him on my mind again, I wondered if he’d show at the house on Thornhill Road that night. He said he wouldn’t, and I knew better than to hope—but I still wondered.
I was genuinely getting ready to finally get out of bed when my phone rang again.
This time I sat up in excitement when I saw Andy was calling.
“Hi!” I answered without delay.
“Hey, sis.” I could hear the smile in his voice, and that feeling I associated with home washed over me.
“It’s good to hear your voice. How are you?”
Andy was older than me by five years. We hadn’t been incredibly close when I was really little, but our bond certainly grew after mom got sick. When she died, it grew even stronger. It sucked, but our losses were what kept us so tight, no matter what distance separated us. We were all each other had left in the world.
Andy was a pilot in the Air Force. He flew C-17s and loved it. I was incredibly proud of him, even if I wasn’t crazy about the places his work took him. He was currently stationed down in Texas, which felt like a world away sometimes; but he checked in on a regular basis, which always meant a lot to me.
We spoke a few minutes about the mundane.
Given what each of us did for a living, I was generally good with the mundane.
“So, how are things going with Gwen?” I asked, digging for the juicy stuff.
“They’re good.”
I shook my head, not at all satisfied with his answer, and probed, “Are things getting serious yet or…?”
“It’s still early to tell.”
I rolled my eyes. They’d been seeing each other for three months, and he still refused to call her his girlfriend. I didn’t know how the poor woman put up with him. It wasn’t that I thought he should be out ring shopping or anything, but the man wasn’t getting any younger. I wasn’t sure where his commitment issues came from, but they were large and in charge. He was the only one of his buddies who’d never been married.
Then again, he’d never been divorced, which wasn’t a bad thing.
“Listen, I’ve got a job coming up overseas,” he told me, changing the subject. “Not sure this time how long I’ll be gone. Could be a few days, could be a few weeks.”
“Oh, the uncertainty of it all,” I teased.
He laughed softly, saying so much without speaking a single word.
“We leave tomorrow. I’ll call you when I’m back.”
“You be careful.”
“Always am, Tess.”
“Well, I love you. Thanks for calling.”
He returned my sentiments, and we said talk to you later before disconnecting.
My next call came from my bladder, which meant I finally got out of bed.
Two days a week, I worked the night shift. The best part of my Friday night schedule was that it wasn’t immediately followed by a day shift. This always put me in a particularly good mood when I left my place at eight. That night, my first stop was the house on Ramshorn Avenue.
When I pulled into Sharon’s driveway and saw Mitchell’s car and no sign of Lance, my mood got even brighter. It was Renee who opened the door when I knocked. The first thing she told me was Mitchell was at home with Emilia that night, while Bristol—their six-year-old—had come to visit with her grandma. They were fifteen minutes from the end of a movie, and that was reason enough for me to spend a little extra time chatting with Renee.
I loved families like the Jones’. It was so heartwarming to see the way they took advantage of every lucid moment they could find. It meant a lot to Sharon, I knew—but I was even more aware of how much it would mean to Bristol when she got older and all she had left of her grandmother were memories.
My visit at Sharon’s took a little longer than I anticipated, and it was a few minutes after ten when I was headed to my car. I was late for my visit to Thornhill Road, which could have potentially been the beginning of a long domino effect. As I started my journey north, I was so focused on trying to figure out how I could find ways to make up the time in my schedule throughout my shift, I wasn’t thinking about whether or not I’d see Mustang that night.
So, when I was three houses down from my destination and I saw a man and his motorcycle parked on the far side of Ed’s driveway, I almost forgot how to breathe.
He came?
He actually came.
I couldn’t believe it.
Even when I pulled into the spot right next to him, turned off my car, then stared at him through my driver’s side window, I couldn’t believe it.
He stared back at me, waiting, lit by the floodlight mounted above Ed’s garage door.
He was wearing a sleeveless graphic tee underneath his leather kutte, his arms folded casually across his chest. His black-jean clad legs were spread wide, his booted feet firmly on the ground as he leaned against the seat of his blue Harley. His hair, wind-blown from his ride, hung disheveled on either side of his forehead.
I wanted to run my fingers through it.
What is wrong with me?
Him .
He was what was wrong with me.
He was a sight to behold behind the bar, but the vision of Mustang with his bike right next to me sent a zing straight to my belly—a zing that hit and ricocheted like crazy.
When he ducked his chin to catch a better look at me, I understood that meant he was getting tired of waiting. It wasn’t safe outside of my car. I knew this because my willpower had reached dangerously low levels the moment I saw him in the driveway. Nevertheless, I had to get out. I’d never make it inside the house if I didn’t first get out of my car—and I had a patient I needed to see.
I anxiously licked my lips, grabbed my purse, then finally stepped out of my car.
“Hi,” I said, shutting the door behind me.
There was a good four feet between Mustang and me, and I made sure to keep it that way.
“I—I didn’t think you’d come.”
“Not here for him,” he stated plainly.
I ignored the thrill his words sent racing up my spine, as well as what he may have been insinuating.
He was out of bounds. So far out of bounds it wasn’t even funny.
“What? What do you mean?”
“Go out with me.”
Oh, shit.
It had been a horrible idea to go looking for Sully Thomas.
Before Wednesday afternoon, I didn’t know an incredibly hot badass biker with vibrant hazel-blue eyes and a mom tattoo I just knew he wore with love and not a drop of irony. Now I did, and even though I knew he was out of bounds and the embodiment of everything I was trying to keep out of my bed and certainly away from my heart—there he was.
Right in front of me.
Asking me out.
He wasn’t insinuating anything. He’d made it plain.
Why did I have to love it when a man was so bold?
Reaching up with both hands, I grabbed hold of the straps of my purse, looped over my shoulder. I’d brought this on myself, and now I had to face the consequences.
“I’m afraid that’s not going to be possible.”
It almost pained me to say it.
“Why not?”
This one was a bit easier to spit out.
“I don’t get involved with the family members of my patients.”
He was quick with a rebuttal.
“Told you, that man in there is nothin’ to me.”
I couldn’t accept this. Not because I didn’t think he meant what he said, but because I needed this boundary like I need air.
“Yes, you have made that abundantly clear. But I’m stubborn enough—or maybe stupid enough—to think maybe, just maybe, I could change your mind about going inside of that house.” I nodded toward the aforementioned house and continued, “In the event that I do, I can’t go out with you, as that would be unethical on my part.”
“Tess, I’m not goin’ into that house. How about we just skip to the good part and forget the old man?”
My name on his lips made my heart skip a beat.
My god, I should have never gone looking for Sully Thomas.
I squeezed my hands around the straps of my purse even tighter, unable to find my words.
“Come on. Go out with me. Bet we’d have a good time.”
A laugh forced its way out of my throat, and I was quick to press my lips together, cutting it short. I then hummed in embarrassment and forced a smile.
I needed to get away from him.
I was losing my grip.
“I really should be getting inside. If you don’t want to join me, I’ll have to say goodnight.”
I paused a beat, not ready to leave but certain I should.
When he didn’t say a word to stop me, I nodded and started for the house.
I took two whole steps before he said, “Maybe I’ll think about going inside if you let me take you out.”
I stopped and looked his way. “You’ll go inside if I go out with you?”
This was an interesting if not cunning proposal. If I wasn’t so freaking attracted to him, I wouldn’t have considered it for even a second—but I’d gone into that bar with one objective, and Mustang had shot me down before I could even get the ask out of my mouth. Now that he was turning the tables on me, it felt silly not to explore the option.
“Said I’ll think about it, which is a hell of a lot more than I’m doin’ now,” he clarified.
My shoulders slumped a little in disappointment.
“That’s not exactly a guarantee, Mustang.”
No sooner had the words come out of my mouth than he was up off his bike. He got close. Real close. So close I knew he smelled like leather and fresh air. So close I could touch him. So close he could touch me—and I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t want him to.
I held my breath as I looked up at him, willing myself to remember he was out of bounds. Very, very, very far out of bounds.
But then he spoke, and my willpower was suddenly on empty.
“I don’t know what you think you know, but that son-of-a-bitch deserves nothin’ from me. Not even a stray thought about me visiting him on his deathbed. And what you should take from that is you took one step into my bar in those pink scrubs, I took one look at you, and what I saw was worth a second look—so fuckin’ worth it, I dragged my ass out here, down a street I haven’t been on in years, just to get that look. And now that I’ve had it, I know I want a third, so much I’m willing to spare a thought to that bastard who led you to believe he still had a son all so I could guarantee that third look. Only next time, maybe we won’t talk about that dying fucker. Hell, maybe next time we won’t talk at all.
“So, what’s it gonna be, Tess?”
It was an out-and-out miracle my knees still worked.
He’d said a lot.
There was a decent amount in there I didn’t fully understand. It was like he’d thrown a bunch of puzzle pieces at our feet, and the only clues I had as to the picture they might make were locked in the depths of those hazel-blue eyes.
Eyes that wanted a third look.
A third look at me.
That feeling I chased every time a bad boy glanced my way with interest? It was there. It was there, and it was huge, and I hadn’t even chased it. Mustang just gave it to me. Served it to me on a silver platter.
He wanted a third look.
It definitely wasn’t a good idea.
But I’d already made a mess with one horrible idea—what was one more?
So long as I kept my clothes on, how much worse could it get?
Maybe I really could get Mustang to go inside.
At least, that’s what I needed to tell myself before I told him, “Okay. A drink, then. But my schedule is—”
“How about tomorrow night? My bar. Nine o’clock.”
Remarkably, I could make that work.
“Okay. Nine o’clock.” Agreeing on a time reminded me I was late for Ed when I’d pulled into the driveway, which meant now I was even more so. “I really do need to get inside. Your fath—uh—Ed,” I stammered, correcting myself, “he’s only my second patient of the night, and I’m already behind.”
“Tomorrow then.”
He turned and went to get on his bike.
I wished I hadn’t watched.
He mounted it like it was an extension of him, which was the reminder I didn’t need that Mustang wasn’t merely a bad boy—he was a badass biker. He was a Wild Stallion who rode wild and roamed free.
The light from above the garage highlighted the back of his kutte, and I took in its details. He had three patches. Wild Stallions was sewn in a slight arch across his shoulders. Along the bottom was his Wyoming location patch. Finally, in the middle was the metal skull stallion emblem. Unlike his black and gray tattoo, it was in color—the fire on the stallion’s mane red and orange underneath the dinge and dirt he collected on the road.
I stood there, and I watched him, and I knew.
If I let him, he’d break my heart.
I just couldn’t let him.
Before he started his engine, he glanced at me from over his shoulder and said, “Night, Tess.”
All I could manage was a wave.