Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
The House
“Silas goes to this fancy school,” Lenni explained as she took her empty dinner plate to the dishwasher. “He’s really smart.”
For the past hour, Archer and I had endured Lenni’s non-stop chatter about the wonder that was Silas—the thirteen-year-old boy that was the epitome of cool in her eyes. But judging how the two of them were boon companions by the end of our time at Sweet Teeth, I gathered it was mutual.
“I invited him to the Ridge to go riding after school tomorrow,” she said. “Is that okay?”
“You already invited him,” Archer pointed out tightly. “When are they going back to Waco?”
“Wednesday,” Lenni said.
“Son a of a bitch,” Archer muttered.
Lenni looked at him in confusion. “So can we take him riding?”
“Fine,” Archer said.
“Why don’t you head upstairs,” I said to her, “and put the finishing touches on your presentation for school.”
“Good idea,” Lenni said. “Thanks for dinner, Wyn.”
“Thanks for the salad you made,” I replied. “You did a good job.”
“Yeah, and thanks for not putting tomatoes in it,” Archer said with a mock shudder.
“You’re so weird about tomatoes,” she said with a laugh.
“It’s a fruit that masquerades as a vegetable. I don’t trust them,” Archer stated.
I laughed. “A tomato conspiracy.”
“Peanuts are not nuts, they’re legumes,” Lenni said. “Add that to the list of things that say they’re one thing but are actually another.”
“Smart cookie,” Archer said.
Lenni headed for the stairs but at the last moment she stopped and looked at her father. “When can I get my ears pierced?”
“Oh God,” Archer choked out.
“Summer has her ears pierced,” Lenni said, mentioning her new school bestie.
“We’ll talk about it later,” Archer announced. “Don’t you have that project to look over?”
“Mom would always say the same thing,” she grumbled. “And then we wouldn’t talk about it.”
“We’ll talk about it,” Archer promised. “Just not right now.”
“Fine.” She huffed and marched up the stairs.
Mildred hopped up from her dog bed in the corner of the living room and trotted after her. The door to Lenni’s bedroom shut and Archer let out a deep exhale.
“First a boy, now pierced ears? I thought I had a few more years before either of these things happened,” Archer stated with a glum look.
I rose and gathered our plates. He stood to join me in cleaning up.
“I do not trust that kid,” he said. “Thirteen years old and already wrangled himself an invite to the ranch to ride horses.”
“Your daughter invited him. Silas wrangled nothing,” I said as I took the plates to the sink.
“How old were you when you got your ears pierced?”
“Eighth grade. I was almost fourteen.”
“Is that normal? What’s a normal age to have your ears pierced?”
I shrugged. “Anyone’s guess, Archer. There is no manual for raising kids. Everyone’s different.”
“Did your parents not let you get your ears pierced until then? How did all that go down?”
I paused mid-rinse and cocked my head to the side.
“What?” he demanded.
“I’m thinking,” I said. “I’m trying to remember . . . I don’t think I asked until I was that age. I didn’t really care about that.”
“No?”
I shook my head. “I was a tomboy. Athletic. I didn’t think about piercing my ears or wearing makeup until high school.”
“Oh God. Makeup.”
I smiled at him and then got back to rinsing. “So, you belonged to the same motorcycle club as Colt. That’s wild.”
“Yeah,” he said slowly. “Wild is one way of putting it.”
I glanced at him. “What? What’s the matter?”
“Nothing.”
“Okay.”
He paused for a moment and then he said, “Colt told me that Mia’s father is President of the Coeur d’Alene chapter.”
“Small, small world.”
“Yeah.” He nodded. “I know him.”
“Oh yeah? How?”
He let out a breath. “I met with him a while back.”
“Why?” I asked. When he didn’t reply, my brain made the leap. “Oh. You were thinking of getting back in with the club, weren’t you?”
He rubbed his jaw with his thumb. “Yeah. Maybe. I don’t know. Not anymore, though.”
“Because of Lenni.”
“Because of Lenni,” he agreed.
I opened the dishwasher and began to fill it. “Does Brooks know? About you meeting with—”
He shook his head.
“Why not?”
“Because he would’ve called me a damned fool,” Archer muttered. “He bought our freedom with his prison sentence. It would’ve been a selfish decision to jump back into that life.”
“Maybe.”
He frowned. “Maybe? Definitely.”
“I don’t know. I mean, I don’t know anything about motorcycle clubs or that kind of brotherhood.
But I can’t imagine it’s easy to just walk away.
Live a normal life. Kind of reminds me of men who’ve been to war.
They’re just supposed to return and fit back into society?
How?” I glanced at him. “You miss it. Don’t you? ”
“Aspects of it,” he admitted.
“The danger?” I asked.
He cocked his head to the side in affirmation.
“Made you feel alive,” I said quietly.
“Yeah. It did.”
“And now?” I pressed.
“Now, there are more important things than chasing the high of being in a motorcycle club.”
“Like raising a daughter?”
“Like raising a daughter who’s on the verge of being a teenager,” he muttered. “And worrying about her liking boys. And Silas may only be thirteen, but that kid has the gift of gab. Reminds me of me at that age.”
“You were charming all the thirteen-year-old girls in your class, huh?”
“Pretty much. But I’m reformed now. There’s only one woman I want to charm.”
“Ms. Thomas?”
He didn’t reply to my barb. He stood by the sink, holding the salad bowl. “You wanna know what my road name was?”
“What’s a road name?” I asked.
“A road name is the name your biker brothers give you.”
“Oh. So, Colt isn’t his real name.”
“Nope. Bandit. My road name was Bandit.”
Bandit.
“Did you hold up stagecoaches or something?” I asked in wry humor.
“I was a thief—” he replied blandly, “—of hearts.”
“No . . .” My lips pursed. “You’re kidding.”
“I wish I was.”
“You mean there’s a trail of ladies’ broken hearts in your wake? Bandit.” My laugh was sardonic. “Of course, your name is Bandit. Reformed my ass. I don’t buy that.”
“No? Why not?”
“Shay for one. The bartender at the Copper Mule. Something happened there.”
“Nothing happened there. We’ve flirted. Meant nothing. You know a little something about flirting, too, right?”
I glowered at him. “What about with Ms. Thomas? I was catching the vibes between you two.”
“No vibes. That was just talking.”
“Not from where I was standing. She’s into you.”
He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter if she is. I’m not into her.”
“Right. She’s funny and pretty and clearly good with kids and—”
“But she’s not you.”
“Why would you tell me about your road name?” I asked in frustration. “I already told you I’m afraid you’ll break my heart . . . and guys like you never change.” I wiped my wet hands on a dishrag and then threw it onto the counter and escaped upstairs.
The soft sounds of music drifted from underneath Lenni’s door. She had Mildred, but I was in desperate need of a furry companion, and the one I wanted wasn’t an option.
“Come in,” Lenni called after I knocked.
I opened the door. Lenni was sitting on her bed, propped up against her headboard with a book in hand.
“What are you reading?” I asked.
She turned the book toward me so I could read the title.
“You like it?” I asked.
“It’s okay.” She shrugged. When I continued to stand there without saying anything, she asked, “Did you want something?”
“Sorry,” I said, forcing a smile. “I was just gonna grab Mildred. Where is Mildred?”
She flung back the covers to reveal the dog who was looking far too comfortable.
“Never mind,” I said. “Who are you listening to?”
“The Fruit Bats,” she said. “Silas told me about them.”
“Silas,” I repeated. “He’s got good taste in music.”
“Yeah.” She smiled and then turned her attention back to her book, effectively dismissing me.
I quietly closed the door behind me.
And like a fugitive, I retreated to my room.
Three days later, it was just past ten in the morning, and I was enjoying a quiet house. Lenni was at school. Archer was at work, and he’d taken Mildred with him because Muddy had a rodent problem in the chicken feed storage shed.
I was on my second cup of coffee and third load of laundry when the front door of the house blew open. Archer stormed into the living room, his face a mask of anger.
“What’s wrong?” I asked in shock.
“What’s wrong?” he repeated, his voice tight. Controlled. Barely. “What’s wrong?”
I raised my brows. “Kind of in the dark here. You want to tell me why you’re angry?”
He took a labored breath. “Did you or did you not call Nancy and leave a tirade on her voicemail?”
I frowned. “How do you know about that?”
He stalked toward the couch and peered down at me. “I just got off the phone with her! Fuck, Wyn! You had no right to call and lecture her.”
My mouth dropped open. “No right? No right? Someone had to go to bat for Lenni.”
“Yeah, someone should’ve gone to bat for Lenni. Me. I’m her father.”
I shot up in anger, disregarding the folded clothes on my lap.
I didn’t care that they fell to the floor.
“Yeah, you’re her father. And you had no fucking idea that Lenni was even upset because I was the one who heard her crying in the middle of the night!
And I yelled at Nancy for throwing out all of Blair’s belongings, leaving Lenni nothing! ”
He grasped my upper arms, and I thought for sure he was going to shake me in rage. But even though his eyes blazed and his grip was strong, he wasn’t hurting me. The pulse in his neck throbbed.
“Nancy didn’t throw out Blair’s shit. She had it packed up and put in a storage unit because it was too damn painful for her to go through it.
She was crushed when Blair died. It took her getting all the way to Hong Kong and settling in before she was even able to reach out and discuss having it sent to us.
” His stare was intense. “Nancy’s not the villain you think she is. ”
“She hurt Lenni,” I gritted out. “She drove off without so much as a goodbye.”