Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Texas had finished packing the bike, double-checking the straps holding the SAC bag tight against the bitch bar. He was confident they could make the trip without any trouble. The morning air was crisp, the faint hum of distant traffic blending with the soft rustle of dry leaves.
As he turned, he caught sight of Sunday stepping out of the motel room, her movements calm but deliberate.
She tied a bandana around her hair, the fabric brushing against her delicate features.
Without thinking, Texas stepped forward and reached out to smooth a stray lock behind her ear, his fingers lingering just a moment longer than necessary.
Something had shifted between them since last night a quiet but undeniable change. The mission was simple: get Sunday to safety. Nothing more. Yet here he was, caught off guard by the softness in her blue eyes, the gentle curve of her smile.
His own words echoed sharply in his mind; a reminder he wasn’t supposed to feel this way. But standing there, their gazes locked, all those careful plans and walls felt suddenly fragile, like they might crumble at any second.
“I’m flattered you’d want to kiss me, but the truth is, I’m too old for you. You’re still healing from everything you went through. The last thing you need is someone like me causing you more pain.”
When he pieced those two comments together he’d said to her, it hit him that he sounded like a complete ass. An arrogant, grade-A jackass. Now, here he was, standing in a pothole-riddled parking lot in front of a run-down motel, about to eat crow in one bold move.
Ignoring every warning he’d given himself, he leaned in and did the one thing he swore he wouldn’t.
He pulled her close, pressing his mouth firmly to hers. Wrapping his arms around her, he lifted Sunday up onto her toes, deepening the kiss. The taste of her lips filled the dark, empty spaces in his head and heart, flooding him with the calm he’d been searching for, for years.
Sunday saw the fire, the heat and raw passion blazing in his eyes. Texas claimed her mouth with his, fierce and urgent. There was no time to resist, no space for “what ifs” as his hands tightened around her, pulling her closer.
He felt so damn good—solid and strong beneath the worn leather and faded denim, every muscle coiled like a promise. The world around them faded, leaving only the electric charge of their connection.
The smoldering look in his eyes told her this kiss wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment thing. Texas had thought it through and he had chosen her. And kiss her he did, with a fierce intention that left no room for doubt.
When they finally broke apart, Sunday stood there, breathless and speechless. He leaned down, planting one last, gentle kiss atop her head.
“Let’s get our asses on the road,” he said, his voice low but steady.
Straddling the bike, Texas fired it up and waited for Sunday to climb on behind him. Once she settled against his back, he slid a hand slowly over her leg, wanting to keep a quiet connection between them. He smiled as he felt her relax, her hands resting lightly on his waist.
When she tapped him on the shoulder, he shifted the bike into gear and eased forward, weaving carefully through the pothole-pocked parking lot.
The sky stretched wide and clear above them, a cool breeze brushing past as they hit the highway, heading toward Montreal. Texas had already sent a quick message to the Montreal Chapter VP, letting him know they’d be in the area briefly later that day.
The drive from Carleton Place had been uneventful, much to Texas’s relief. They’d made it to Montreal in five hours and now stood inside Laced, talking to Vicious. Texas had hoped Monday might change her mind and waited for Sunday to arrive before leaving—but no dice. Monday had already left town.
Vicious handed Texas an envelope Monday had left for her sister. After a quick thanks, Texas gently guided Sunday out of the club, the weight of the unanswered questions hanging between them.
“Did she leave you a key and directions to her place?” Texas asked.
Sunday unfolded the plain brown envelope and pulled out a single key along with a folded piece of paper. “Yeah. It’s just a few blocks from here.”
She glanced down the street, craving a break from the bike’s rigid seat. “Mind if we walk?”
“Not at all,” Texas replied with a small, easy smile. “I could use the stretch.”
Arriving at Monday’s apartment, Sunday used the key to unlock the door and stepped inside.
She was met with a spacious one-bedroom loft, a surprising contrast to the run-down building it sat in.
It was a testament to what a fresh coat of paint and carefully chosen furnishings could do to transform a place.
She walked through the bright living room and spotted another envelope resting on the small dinette table. Picking it up, she unfolded the contents and found three hundred dollars and a note from her sister: “Whatever you spend, I’ll need back.”
The note didn’t bother Sunday. Monday worked hard for her money, and she knew this was just her way of looking out.
Texas read the note over Sunday’s shoulder and gave a slow nod. “Take a hundred,” he said quietly, “and leave a note thanking her.”
He’d usually tell her not to take anything, but right now, he was making a different kind of point.
After leaving Montreal, they made a quick stop about an hour outside of St. Tite to grab dinner. Neither of them mentioned the night before—the kiss, or Monday’s note. The silence between them was comfortable, but charged, as if both were waiting for the other to break the fragile truce.
Instead, Texas filled Sunday in on everything she needed to know about the farm and orchard. He shared stories about his family, so she’d have some idea of what she’d be stepping into.
Clause was his older brother. Grumpy but devoted and married with not four, but five daughters.
Probably why he was always so grouchy. Roan, the younger brother, was married too, but still waiting on kids.
Then there was their dad, Pierre, their mom, Kathryn, and his mother’s sister, Helen, who doted on all of them without exception.
As Texas spoke, Sunday pictured the family dynamics—a mix of love, chaos, and loyalty waiting for her just beyond the orchard’s trees.
Sunday felt a little overwhelmed as she climbed back onto the bike. Clinging to Texas, she watched small town after small town blur past them. Open pastures stretched wide on either side, framed by thin lines of trees that punctuated the landscape like brushstrokes in a Norman Rockwell painting.
The steady hum of the engine beneath her and the gentle breeze on her face contrasted sharply with the swirl of emotions inside her—calm on the surface, but churning underneath.
As the sun dipped low, casting a warm amber glow over the landscape, Texas and Sunday rolled into the town of St. Tite, heading toward the moulin à cidre. Texas had called ahead, letting his parents know he’d be back in town with a guest.
As they passed the sprawling apple orchard and the busy cider mill, Texas pulled in the clutch and gave the throttle a sharp rev, the engine’s roar cutting through the evening air. It was a familiar signal to his family that he was home.
He eased off the clutch, shifted gears, and rolled onward toward his house on the far side of the orchard. Tomorrow, he was certain, his family would descend on his doorstep, eager to find out who the woman riding with him was.