Cowboy’s Dancer (Steel Sinners MC #3)

CHAPTER 1

COWBOY

I’m cleaning up the last of the dishes from dinner and I look over to where my nine-year-old daughter, Rian, is hunched over the book she’s been obsessed with.

It’s something to do with dragons and the young girls who tame, train, and ride them.

I love that she’s a reader because I certainly wasn’t when I was growing up or now.

My mom always encouraged me to read because it was something she loved since she grew up needing to escape into faraway worlds. She lost herself in the stories she read and felt the need to write her own.

While she was busy hoping I would find some books to get lost in, I avoided them. Instead, I decided to spend most of my time with my dad working the land. The Connors family has owned and operated Sagebrush Ranch for generations.

Ranching is in my blood, but it didn’t soothe my soul, not the same way it did for my dad or does for my younger twin siblings. Even as I worked the land, I felt the pull to somewhere else, to a place where adventure and danger coalesced into something vibrant.

It’s no surprise I ended up in Las Vegas.

I thought the neon lights were my savior and, in many ways, they were.

But I also found the depth of the darkness which hides in the corners of our lives.

Finding the Steel Sinners MC gave me a purpose, home, and family I didn’t even realize I was missing until I found it.

As I look at Rian, I realize a little bit of me misses Seneca Falls. Only because of her. Sometimes I worry about the life I’m giving my daughter, and become nostalgic for a childhood she can never have because time changes each generation’s experience. Time and so much more.

Which is why we spend a lot of the summer out on the land. It’s in her blood too.

“You know,” Rian starts, her voice sweet in the way that tells me she’s been waiting for this moment and she’s ready to capitalize on it, “my birthday is coming up.”

I grunt, “I’m aware.”

She looks up at me, and I can’t help but smile. Her eyes. My eyes. My father’s eyes. My brother’s eyes. They’re all the same whiskey color.

I’m glad I look at Rian and can see hints of myself but there are also times when she reminds me of my sister Montana. I was worried Rian would take after the woman who grew her.

And that’s about all Shania was good for.

She was just a hang-around for the club; a one-time fuck, but she gave me something precious. I knew from the beginning there wasn’t going to ever be anything between us and I never lied about it. That doesn’t mean she didn’t want or expect more; she did.

It wasn’t ever going to happen. Not now, not ever.

No one was surprised when Shania didn’t want much to do with Rian when she didn’t get what she wanted from me.

That doesn’t stop her from trying to use our daughter as a pawn now and again.

Since she married a whale who she met while still trying to be in my orbit, she’s been happily spending his money and hasn’t bothered us as often.

Good riddance as far as I’m concerned. Still, I’m not stupid enough to believe she won’t come back. She’s kind of like a cockroach in that way.

As long as her toxic bullshit doesn’t touch my daughter. I’ll always shield Rian. Always.

But I also know I’m not enough. Not really.

One corner of my mouth twitches at the sly look Rian is shooting me. “What do you want?”

“Like for presents?” She bats her eyelashes at me, and I can’t help but chuckle.

“Okay. We can start there. Do you want a party at the club with a cake and all the trimmings?”

“Duh,” she huffs out and rolls her eyes as she looks down at the book in front of her.

When she starts to bite her lower lip, I know she’s not done yet. I don’t push and just wait. This is how she’s always been.

I’m not sure if she’s organizing her thoughts or just screwing up her courage, but she doesn’t need to.

She knows I’ll always try to give her what she wants and needs.

Sure, there are certain things she needs to earn because I’m not raising a spoilt brat, but she certainly doesn’t hurt for anything.

“For my present?”

She looks up at me with a hint of uncertainty, and it guts me.

“As long as it’s not a motorcycle, it’s pretty much in the bag,” I assure her.

Rian giggles and for a moment everything is right in the world. Her laughter got me through some tough nights. Nights when I was certain being a dad was going to break me and I wouldn’t be able to keep it all together. Then she’d laugh or smile or hug me and tell me how much she loved me.

And I’d be able to make it a little bit longer.

I’ve learned that is what parenting is sometimes—making it just a little bit longer.

“I’m not old enough to drive a motorcycle,” she teases me.

“And don’t you forget it,” I point at her accusingly, but the smile on her face and the way the worry eases show me that she knows I’m joking with her.

“I’d really like to take dance classes,” she blurts out the words.

Rian blinks owlishly a few times and then squares her shoulders and holds her head up just a little bit higher. My mouth goes dry and it’s hard to swallow for a moment.

I’m assaulted with memories of a girl I once knew. She might as well have been soaring whenever she danced. The number of hours I watched her dance felt limitless at the time, but now I look back and realize it wasn’t nearly enough.

There was a time in my life when I could see a future with Brielle. Marriage. Kids. Forever. It felt like something I could touch.

But I forgot about her wings. She needed to chase her dreams; all of which involved lights I couldn’t bask in and stages I would never sit in front of. For me, back then, I had no idea where life was taking me.

I shake off the memory. No good can come from courting ghosts and a future that only lives in the past.

My eyebrows pull together as I ask my daughter, “Why did you look worried about asking me about dance lessons? If you want to dance, you know I’ll make it happen.”

“You’re so busy,” she explains honestly without any judgement, “and I know how valuable your time is.”

“But I’ll always make time for you,” I tell her fiercely.

The smile she shoots me is huge and toothy. I can’t help but notice her two missing teeth and my heart clenches.

“I know, Dad,” her tone is slightly sassy, as if I’m the one being ridiculous. “That’s kind of the problem.”

I rear back because I’m fairly sure my sweet-as-pie nine-year-old just slapped me. Well, she might as well have.

My tone is incredulous and growly, “Excuse me?”

“No, no,” she waves her hands slightly, “I didn’t mean it in a bad way. You would make time to take me to dance without question. For all I know you’d become like those dance moms on that show and even learn how to sew on sequins and use a curling iron.”

I cross my arms across my chest and glare at my daughter without any real heat behind it. “I would become the king of the curling iron.”

“I know,” she sighs and huffs out a little laugh. “And you would do it without thinking about how it would make life harder on you. You’d figure it out. But I’m asking for dance classes only if you really can spare the time. If you can’t then I’d also be fine with a phone,” she brightly offers.

“We’ve talked about a phone, little miss,” I remind her even though I know she’s well aware.

“I’m just saying, there are other options if you really don’t have the time.” She holds her hands up in surrender.

There’s a selfish part of me which wants to say no. To tell her right now that I can’t find the time because there never seem to be enough hours in the day.

But this is within my power to give her, and I’ll never say no when her eyes are sparkling like they are right now.

If she had a mother worth a damn, this might be something they would do together. But Shania was never going to be the mother Rian deserved. I’m not sure if I’m the father she deserves either, so I suppose there is some sort of symmetry there.

The difference is that I’m here. I’ll always be here for her.

“Well, I guess you’ll just have to see what you get when the day rolls around,” I tease her and she rolls her eyes. “What flavor cake do you want to do this year?”

“Carrot cake,” she says as if she’s been waiting to be asked.

My face twists up and I can’t help but show my disgust at the notion. “Adding vegetables to cake should be a crime,” I snarl the words, meaning them to the depth of me, even though it’s the most ridiculous thing to have a strong opinion about.

“I’m pretty sure a cake is the only way I’m going to get a vegetable in you,” she looks me over with a haughtiness of a woman beyond her nine years. “How else am I going to manage it?”

“I’m a biker,” I puff up my chest while Rian grins at me, “I drink motor oil for breakfast.”

“Dad,” she holds it out the word with a whine, but I can hear the laughter underneath.

“Come on,” I coax her, “there is nothing fun about carrot cake.”

She twists her mouth to the side in the same way she has since she was a toddler and trying to be serious. The thing is, she’s never been able to maintain her little serious act for very long.

And when she doesn’t want me to see her smile, she tries to hide it by twisting her mouth.

“Then maybe lemon and raspberry? I don’t want it to be too fancy or anything.” She pauses and narrows her eyes at me and adds, “And no unicorns this year.”

“But I thought you loved unicorns,” I protest with a frown.

“I used to, but I’m going to be ten and I’m not a little girl anymore.”

Tears prick the backs of my eyes, but I blink them away. The thought of her growing up is rough, but I’ve been so damn proud to be her dad at every stage of her life. I don’t think it’ll be changing anytime soon.

“You’ll always be my little girl,” I tell her, my voice thick with emotion.

She rolls her eyes before shooting me a sheepish look. “I forgot to put my favorite jeans in the hamper, and I’d really like to wear them tomorrow. Can you wash them for me?”