Chapter 4 #2
“There’s my boy!” Ma’s smile could light up a room. She emanated class, standing in a biker bar wearing a pink dress and a triple strand of pearls. “And you brought a stray.”
My palm pressed low on Julia’s back, warmth bleeding through thin cotton. “Ma, this is—”
“Julia Harris.” She reached out to pull her into a hug.
Left hand glittering with a single diamond wedding ring she still wore.
“Aren’t you the prettiest little thing? And those freckles across your nose!
Adorable.” I noticed Julia’s shoulders tightened fractionally.
“Except someone needs to help you out with that fringe of bangs, honey. And if I could say so, your color. You need to let your true color shine darlin’.
Black is way too harsh for an angel like you. ”
Color crawled up Julia’s throat. “DIY disaster.” She muttered.
“Mm.” Pearl’s gaze dropped to the half-moon scars peeking beneath Julia’s sleeve. “We serve mistakes here nightly. Sit.” She nodded toward a corner booth upholstered in split leather.
I slid in first, my thigh brushing Julia’s when she joined me. Every touch set me on fire a little more.
Pearl materialized with sweet tea in mason jars. “Number four special, extra gravy?”
I grunted assent.
“And for the angel girl?” Ma’s pen tapped her order book.
“The smallest salad—”
“Cornbread,” I interrupted. “With honey butter.”
Julia stiffened. “I can order—”
“You’re all bones.” It irritated me that she seemed to worry about her weight. She was clearly underfed. “Eat.”
Pearl snorted. “He gets that from me. Ran the PTA bake sales like boot camp.” She vanished behind swinging doors that hissed with grease-fire breath.
Julia traced a knife scar on the table. “Why am I here?”
I spun my fork, tines catching the low light. “You looked…” Metal screeched against wood. “… hungry.”
Across the room, Ma laughed at something the bartender said, but I didn’t miss her gaze darting back like a hawk circling prey. When the food came, I grabbed the pepper mill, grinding black snow across Julia’s greens.
“Tell me about Chicago.”
Her lettuce wilted under the dressing. “Museums, shopping. You know.”
“Don’t.” My knee pressed hers under the table. “Why’d you really take this job?”
A glob of gravy plopped onto my shirt. I made no move to wipe it.
“Money’s good.” She crumbled cornbread, golden crumbs falling on her plate, eyes glancing through her uneven bangs. “Steady.”
She studied her plate like it held the secrets of the universe.
“It’s a long way to Texas. We established you’re hidin’ here. I’d like to know from whom, and why?”
“Maybe I’d like to know why you hired me?” Her whisper cut through George Jones’s drunken crooning.
My thumb swiped honey butter from her lip. “Wanted somebody who knew what they were doin.’ Then, when I saw your resume. Felt right.”
Ma’s sudden reappearance made us jump. “Dessert? We got peach cobbler that’ll make you slap your grandma.”
It was time to go. “Check.”
Outside, cicadas screamed in the parking lot’s lone mesquite tree. Julia hugged herself against the cool summer evening. “I need to go home.”
“Fine. I’d prefer you’d stay in my guest room so you can relax. But Ma’s house is on club grounds too, so you’ll be safe. I still say you’d be more comfortable at my place.”
She’d moved away from me, and instinct had me grab her wrist.
Her pulse fluttered against my grip like a scared sparrow. “No more cages.”
I released her so fast she stumbled. “Alright, as long as I have keys, I can get to you quickly if you need me. But until we get you a car, you ride with me.”
The glare she gave me said she didn’t like it. But she also had no choice. I could arrange a car for her in a heartbeat. Wasn’t going to.
I opened the passenger door of my F250 for her and waited for her to haul herself inside, offering no help.
Couldn’t keep the smart-ass smirk off my face as her short legs struggled with the height.
At least she had running boards and the ‘oh shit’ handle for leverage.
Her breath caught when I leaned in and pulled the seatbelt across her chest and fastened the clasp. My mouth was mere inches from hers.
“Fun traffic laws.” I breathed, my lips almost touching hers.
The night sky whispered promises I wanted to make but wouldn’t as we rode in silence, pack land only a few miles away.
She asked if I could stop at Walmart so she could grab some art supplies.
This woman. Apparently she sketches. An artist. What I wouldn’t give to see her work.
I went in with her and loaded her up with every kind of charcoal pencil, ink, paint, and brush I could find to fill the cart.
She stood with her mouth hanging open when we checked out.
“I told you I don’t like charity.” She huffed when we were back in the truck.
“Maybe I’m simply a patron of the arts.” I told her with a grin, never taking my eyes off the road. Her tiny huff in response was precious.
From the corner of my eye, I could see how she watched my hands.
Calculated their movement. I’d barely put the truck in park and she was out, standing by the door, waiting for me to bring her supplies.
I trailed her up the stairs and into her apartment where I carefully set everything on the kitchen counter.
“I hope you enjoy creating beautiful things with your supplies. Maybe they can bring you some peace in your downtime.” I told her as I headed for the door.
Just as my hand touched the handle, she called out to me.
“Bronc. Thank you so much for your kindness. That was honestly about the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.”
I didn’t even turn around. How could anyone not cherish this woman? If I turned to her at this moment, I’d have her wrapped in my arms, and I might never let her go.
“It was my pleasure, Julia.” I said as I walked out the door.
The fragrance of her shampoo lingered in my truck cab.
Not flowers. Green apples mixed with uncertainty.
I’d clocked the mismatch when she climbed in earlier—badly dyed black waves framing a face too adorable to belong to a soon-married suburban wife, ankle boots paired with dime-store cardigans.
Every contradiction screamed mine from my wolf.
My comm squelched, cutting through the silence. “Yo, Prez?” Bridgers’s voice came through. “We still got church in ten?”
I thumbed the key fob’s jagged edges. Ran my tongue over the tiny chip in my front tooth from a bar fight in Lubbock. Habits died harder than men in these parts. “Reschedule.”
Static crackled. “You sure? We got—”
“Tell ’em not tonight.” I squeezed the comms button ‘til I thought it’d bust through. Several feet away, a lit window in the garage apartment behind my mother’s house told me she was pacing. Prospect’s shadow passed the garage door—gangly kid better not scare her pissing in bushes all night.
Leather creaked as I leaned against the truck’s seat.
Memory served up today’s crime scene. Julia bent over ledgers in the shop office, pencil behind her ear, muttering depreciation schedules like battle plans.
She’d caught me staring. Those espresso eyes held steady while her fingers worried that scar along her collarbone.
Those old wounds. Broken bones? Stitches?
My wolf also paced behind my ribs.
The intercom buzzed again.
Cicadas ratcheted up their dying symphony. Somewhere beyond the fence line, a steer lowed. I catalogued each sound, each tremor in the dark. Julia’s apartment light winked out.
Truth was a greased pig in these parts—slippery, messy, best cornered with allies. But the way she’d said no more cages earlier, voice splintering like cheap plywood… Let Wrecker do his job. Let him turn over every stone.
The first fat raindrops smacked my windshield as I headed toward the clubhouse. I grinned into the gathering storm. Tonight, the wolves would run.