Tinsel and Leather (Motorcycles and Mistletoe #2)

Chapter 1

Chapter one

Elaine

Working as a waitress in a biker bar is rarely boring. It’s fun to watch the drama play out like a soap opera.

But there are other times when shit hits the fan, too. That’s when I keep my head down and I don’t draw attention to myself. I’m a single mom in her early thirties, living on one income, with no family. I can’t afford more trouble than what I’ve already got.

Juniper Creek is a sleepy, cozy little town, nestled in the heart of the mountains.

For the most part, it’s quiet here, and folks are happy to lend a hand if I ask for help.

Like my neighbor, Shirley—a bustling, middle-aged woman with five children of her own, who offered to look after my boy, Mikey, while I’m at work.

Mikey doesn’t like most people. Thank God he loves Shirley and her kids though. It’s good to see him laughing and getting along with them. He’s only six years old, but he worries about me too much.

“My husband knows a lot of people around town,” Shirley insisted. “He could get you a job somewhere else, Elaine. Anywhere except that biker bar.”

I appreciated the offer. I truly did.

But that biker bar was the best paying gig I’d ever had in my life.

Of course it was dangerous sometimes. Every bar was like that. Mixing alcohol and testosterone tended to be explosive.

The bikers were generous with their tips though. And to my surprise, every single member of the Reckless Order MC kept their hands to themselves.

I was no stranger to harassment—shitty tippers were the worst offenders. They tossed a few coins on the table and felt entitled to pinch my ass because of it. When I applied for the job at the biker bar, I expected that would come with the territory.

Instead, it only happened once. A drunk biker from out of town tried to paw at me. Making crass comments about taking me back to his motel room to keep his bed warm.

Three members of the Reckless Order descended on him. Teeth bared. Growling like dobermans as they hauled him outside. I don’t know what happened in the parking lot. And I didn’t ask. When they came back in, their knuckles were bloodied.

I couldn’t deny that the Reckless Order was a rough bunch with filthy mouths. But they didn’t touch without consent. And for those that did, consequences were swift and ugly.

Honestly though, it was a welcome change of pace from my previous managers who turned a blind eye and did nothing about it. Or worse, they told me to smile and consider it a compliment.

On Christmas Eve, the bar was packed. Over the years of working here, I’d learned that the holiday season was a bittersweet time for folks like this—the misfits, the rejects, the rebels.

Those who didn’t belong, or those pushed out of society.

Some of them had empty homes, while others had no home at all.

In the clubhouse, they could share a drink with friends and brothers, play a game of pool or poker. And find a companion for the night, so they didn’t have to wake up on Christmas morning alone.

“Can we get a refill over here, sweetheart?”

I glanced up to see Reuben “Ironside” Calhoun, Vice President of the club, gesturing to get my attention.

In his early fifties, he had an old-fashioned gentleman air about him, mingled with a badass, take-no-shit vibe for a potent mix that commanded respect among his brothers.

He was the one I spoke to about the help wanted ad in the newspaper for a job.

I’d developed a fondness for him, like a father figure, or a guardian angel, watching over me. Grabbing the pot of coffee, I headed over to his table where he was seated with three other men, playing cards.

“Is everyone behaving themselves tonight?” he asked as I topped off his coffee.

“They only act up when you’re not around to kick their ass,” I replied lightly.

Ironside grunted as he wrapped his hands around his mug, savoring the warmth.

Colorado winters were beautiful and breathtaking, but bitterly cold, too.

Even though it was warm in the bar, many of these men continued to ride their bikes all year, regardless of the snow and frigid temperatures.

Something about die-hard loyalty to the club and the biker way of life.

I didn’t understand it. I loved the heater in my battered minivan.

“I must be losing my touch then,” he mused. “It’s merely the threat of an ass-kicking that should put the fear of God into them.”

I laughed softly as I deposited a handful of creamers on the table.

“Don’t worry. No one has been giving me any problems lately. Besides, it’s almost Christmas. That usually puts people in a good mood.”

“I bet you’re eager to have a few days off. Spend some time at home with family.”

A faint smile touched my lips. Small talk and flirting was an art form that I’d perfected over the years. Some friendly chitchat had a greater chance of earning more tips, and putting more cash in my pocket at the end of the day to pay my bills.

But I usually avoided any mention of my son. Being a single mom was a tricky topic that landed differently with different people. Some folks got judgy, without knowing anything about me or my situation, which pissed me off. Others looked on me with pity, which I hated even more.

My little boy was the light of my life. My pride and joy. He wasn’t a pawn or a ploy to fish for sympathy, and I never wanted to cross that line.

No one else in the club knew about Mikey. Only Ironside. And he wasn’t the type to gossip or run his mouth about my business to his buddies. Asking about my family was vague enough to protect my privacy, while showing that he cared enough to check in.

Before I could respond, the front door of the clubhouse opened with a blast of arctic air. Snowflakes swirled across the scuffed floorboards.

A biker hurried inside, with his coat collar popped up to shield his neck from the wind, and a beanie pulled low over his ears.

I didn’t recognize him, so he wasn’t one of the regulars.

And when he stripped off his coat, the back of his cut was blank.

So, he wasn’t a member of the Reckless Order either.

“Wingman, you bastard,” Ironside called. Only good friends ribbed each other like that. “Didn’t we kick you out years ago?”

“You didn’t kick me out.” Wingman removed his hat, stuffing it into his coat pocket as he ran a hand through his hair. “I quit. Couldn’t put up with a bunch of assholes like you anymore.”

Ironside gestured to the empty booth across from him.

“Come on in. Have a seat. Sweetheart, could you get Wingman something to eat?”

“Sure,” I replied, shifting my gaze to Wingman. “Steak and potatoes? A sandwich with a side of wedge fries? Pick your poison.”

His dark brown eyes settled on me. Something twisted in my stomach—something I hadn’t felt for another man in a very long time. I wrenched my gaze away, fiddling with the coffee pot.

Ever since I found out I was pregnant with Mikey, I’d sworn off men and dating in general.

I told myself that it was because I didn’t have time.

I had to prepare for the baby’s arrival.

Then I was preoccupied with giving birth and the recovery period.

After that, I became a mother, raising a kid on my own.

Dating never crossed my mind when I was up to my elbows in diapers, baby food, and the stress of teething and tantrums.

But deep down, I knew the real reason.

I was scared to death of falling in love again.

“Surprise me, sweetheart,” Wingman said. “And a shot of whiskey would be appreciated.”

Sweetheart.

That term of endearment was used religiously around here. Every biker who came through that front door generally didn’t pay attention to my name tag, choosing to call me sweetheart instead.

Hearing Wingman say it, with his smooth, low timbre like melted chocolate, filled my stomach with butterflies. The ache of yearning, of want and desire, bloomed gloriously hot in my chest. Burning through my veins.

What would that voice sound like, whispered in my ear, as he slid the clothes off my body?

I closed my eyes briefly and sucked in a steadying breath, banishing that thought.

He was a stranger I just met a moment ago. I wasn’t that lonely or desperate for romantic companionship again…was I?

Shaking my head, I pasted on a smile.

“Coming right up.”

Then I fled to the safety of the kitchen. But not before I stole one final glance over my shoulder back at Wingman. He settled into a vacant seat next to Ironside.

I wasn’t blind—I could admit he was handsome. A shadow of stubble covered his strong jawline. There was a smooth agility to his movements, an ease of confidence in his stride, that was intoxicating to witness. And when he laughed at something Ironside said, his eyes crinkled at the corners.

Stop it, I scolded myself.

Catching feelings for a biker would do nothing but complicate my life further. That was the last thing I needed.

But when I was alone in the kitchen, prepping a plate of food, the persistent burden of loneliness weighed heavy on my shoulders. I gazed out the window at the snow piling up against the glass.

Seven years ago, I thought I’d found the man I would spend the rest of my life with. It turned out that the feeling wasn’t mutual.

Three weeks after the break-up, I took a pregnancy test. Those two pink lines changed my life forever.

I wanted to be in love again. Some day.

Just…not right now. And not with a biker like Wingman who was simply passing through town on his way to somewhere else. I didn’t need to give my heart to another man who had one foot out the door already.

I needed a man who was willing to stay.