Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
SHORT
I’d gritted my teeth, seeing how Bronwyn and Trip had reacted, having been presented with what I always thought was a normal breakfast, a hearty meal to set you up for the day.
The boy had dug in as if worried someone would take his plate away, while Bronwyn had had to be persuaded to eat.
Overweight? Sure, Bron has thick hips, but, as far as I’m concerned, they only make her more attractive.
But otherwise, she’s carrying no additional flab that I can tell.
She’s muscular, which probably comes from the physical demands of her work. But fat? Never. Well, not as far as my cock is concerned. If she weren’t off-limits, I’d be all over her.
That Doc and his wife had eaten a better diet in front of them? Well, that makes me fucking furious.
It makes me want to return to her fuckin’ family home and teach him how he’s supposed to treat his kids.
For now, though, I have to sit on my hands as I have no idea how this is going to play out.
Prez and the VP want to keep Doc happy for the sake of the medical attention he can give to the club, and I hope we can achieve that without giving them up.
I already know I never want them to go back to that joke of a home.
Neither do I want them to take up permanent residence in the house I only bought to turn a profit. Apart from anything else, it fucks up my business plan and delays the money I can make when I conclude the sale.
It’s a shitstorm, whichever way you want to look at it.
My gut clenches with the way Bronwyn’s looking at me, as if I’ve hung the moon, and only because I’ve offered four walls and a roof as a temporary solution for her and the kid.
I wish I could do more, but there’s a myriad of other problems I know she’s going to have to face, but at least somewhere to lay their heads is a start.
Ushering her and the kid out of the clubhouse, I lead them out to my truck, a basic workhorse I rarely use and only when I need to transport shit that won’t fit on my bike.
It’s not a new model or anything to write home about, which probably also describes the house we’re heading to.
I can only hope she’s going to keep an open mind.
It’s certainly not to the standard she’s used to.
Doc’s house is well kept, a respectable residence.
My doer-upper is anything but. The frame is sound, even if it’s crying out for a coat of paint.
It’s got a solid footing, one of the main reasons I bought it.
The inside, though, is decidedly tired to put it politely.
Old-fashioned as hell, the décor needs work, and the fixtures and fittings are pre-twenty-first century.
My fear is she’ll take one look at it and think whether she could afford better, even on her student nurse’s salary.
It might even be enough to persuade her they’re better off back at home.
While personally, I’d hate for her to return to Doc’s clutches, and would only agree after we’d given him another lesson, and this time, make sure he’d learned it, about keeping his hands off them both.
There’s no denying it would be the best solution as far as the club is concerned.
It would mean we wouldn’t have to lie out of our asses, as we work to convince Doc, we’ve no idea what happened to his children.
Never, since I gained my patch, have I been so conflicted.
A better life for Bronwyn, against the easiest path forward for my club.
We’re here. As I draw up to the driveway and turn onto it, my eyes are caught by the neglected front yard.
The house, a modest two-storey, needs paint, love, and attention, none of which I’ve got around to yet.
I hold my breath, waiting for her wince, prepared to see her turn her nose up at her temporary home, but she surprises me.
She gasps, and a sideways glance shows she’s covered her mouth, as if she can’t believe what she’s seeing, and her eyes gleam. “It’s so lovely, Short. I can see the potential.”
I reply to her shortly, giving her the bare facts.
“It was built sixty years ago and was owned by just one couple. Husband died a decade or so back. His widow lived here until her death and had little or no resources for maintenance. It’s never been modernised.
” Grimacing, I add, “Don’t get your hopes up about the inside. ”
“I don’t need perfect.” There’s a strength in the gaze that she gives me. “All Trip and I need is a temporary roof over our heads until we can figure out something permanent. And this place has a charm.”
“It’s old-fashioned as fuck,” I warn her again, but her lit expression shows I’m not putting her off.
“I’m sorry, Short. If you don’t want us here…”
“Fuck no,” I say fast, realising I’m coming across in a manner I hadn’t intended to.
“I’m not trying to put you off, just preparing you.
Hopefully, it will be sufficient for you and the kid.
” Before I can put my foot in my mouth again by making another statement that she can interpret about me wanting her gone, I open my door and step out.
Before I can do the gentlemanly thing and go around to help her, she’s already standing on the pavement and has the back door open, and is leaning in and undoing Trip’s seatbelt.
“Home,” she says brightly and clearly, pointing to the house. Then she steps back to let Trip clamber out.
“Prospects should be here soon with some furniture,” I tell her, as I put the key in the door, then stand back to let her enter.
Though I’ve been here before, it was only to make a quick check to see if the place had good bones that I could work around, without throwing all my spare cash at it.
It’s just as I remembered. The aged dingy walls only need a coat of paint to brighten them up.
The flooring could do with being ripped up and replaced, likewise the suites in the bathroom and half-bath.
A completely new kitchen is a given. The air conditioning unit makes suspicious noises, but it’s at least trying to work, and the gas fire is probably best not to be used.
But I, too, had thought it had charm, and for the small price I’d bought it for, I reckon I could turn quite a profit with minimum work.
Especially if I applied myself, and did most of the removal and installation myself.
Things like kitchen and bathroom fittings only needed to be new, not first-class.
I’d never considered it as a place to actually reside, and definitely not in its current condition. But the woodwork is sound and the roof waterproof.
Walking around this time, I see it as if I’m looking through her eyes, noticing shit I’d previously overlooked, like the carpets being threadbare and the curtains at the windows filthy as fuck.
Old-fashioned lights and yellowed outlets make me wonder whether the place needs to be totally rewired.
I make a mental note to pick up some smoke alarms just in case.
While I’m frowning, Bronwyn walks past me. She stands in the middle of the living room, looking around.
What the fuck am I doing bringing her here? Doc’s house was perfect, tastefully decorated, with modern furniture and a kitchen that had obviously been professionally designed. Yet I’ve brought her to a hovel.
So, when she turns her sparkling eyes on me, I’m taken aback.
“This place has so much potential, Short. If we’re here long enough, can I help you to do it up?
” She steps over to one of the windows and reaches out her hand.
“For now, the curtains are dirty, but all they need is a wash.” As she turns to traverse the length of the room, her shoe catches in the torn carpet, and she almost goes tits over ass.
But she recovers herself, and rather than complaining, crouches down to study what tripped her up.
“Short, look. Under the carpet, it’s wooden floorboards. I bet they’d be beautiful if we get the carpet up, sand them, and polish them.”
“You ever flipped houses before, sweetheart?” Her enthusiasm has put a grin on my face. “‘Cause you seem to know what you’re doing.”
“What? No.” Her cheeks go red. “I just like the idea of bringing an old house back to life.” She shrugs. “My dream home would be somewhere I’d worked on myself.”
A woman after my own heart. Not a woman, just a girl, I remind myself.
And so far off-fuckin’-limits it’s a joke.
The most likely scenario is that Bullseye will bring the fear of God down on Doc’s head, and, after ensuring they’ll be safe, send them both home.
Or at least Trip. What man wants to lose his only son?
Even one with Trip’s problems. Soberly, I think, as a parent, he’ll be moving heaven and earth to get at least him to return.
But maybe not so much Bronwyn. She’s an adult and can decide for herself.
Whatever, in the meantime, what I’m offering them is breathing space. Perhaps the absence will at least serve to make Doc’s heart beat more fondly. I’ve got to put aside any fledgling thoughts about me and her, as there’s no way in hell I can nurture them.
Off-limits, I remind myself.
For now, I bask in her reaction to the house, which I’d thought held promise.
Having seen all she wants of the sitting room, she walks into the kitchen.
The pale green Formica cupboard doors make me shudder.
After only giving them a quick glance, she walks to the inset sinks and turns on the taps.
The pipes creak, but after a moment of indecision, clear water runs out.
She nods in approval, examines the ancient stove, opens the door of the antique fridge, then moves to the laundry room, where, I’m pleased to see, I was right.
An old-fashioned washer has an equally aged tumble dryer stacked on top.
Whether they work is another matter. If they don’t, I’ll replace them second-hand.