Chapter 1
TRAVIS
The coffee burns my throat on the way down, and the bitterness sets my taste buds on edge.
I swallow the bitter brew and slide the cup back to Maggie.
“More cream.”
“Sorry,” she mumbles.
I try not to let her see me sigh. Maggie was only supposed to help out in the kitchen, but when a waitress quit last week, I convinced her to help out in the restaurant for a few shifts. The poor girl’s as shy as a door mouse and as jumpy as one too.
“Don’t worry about it.” I give her a reassuring smile while making a mental note that we need to expedite finding new staff. “I’ll cover the rest of the shift.”
There’re only two tables left, and we’re not likely to get many drop-ins on a Monday afternoon.
Maggie gives me a grateful look and scurries out the back. She’s a competent cook, but the woman doesn’t know how to make coffee to save herself.
I skate around the back of the bar and tip out the sorry excuse for a brew. There’s a sealed bag of Brazil’s strongest coffee beans, and when I open it a rich aroma fills my nostrils. I breathe in deep and tip a bunch of beans into the grinder.
Wild Taste Bar and Restaurant is known for its craft beer, due to the brewery out back, but we also serve the best coffee on this side of the mountain.
With the beans freshly ground, I fill the porter filter and make myself the perfect cup.
A few minutes later, I’m back on my black metal barstool taking the first sip.
“Mmmm,” I say to no one in particular. “That’s good coffee.”
While I wait for the caffeine to hit my bloodstream, I glance over the bar.
Bike memorabilia adorns the walls with a vintage Harley taking pride of place.
There’re photos of the motorcycle club riding out for a charity event in our full Wild Riders MC leather jackets, and then the members dressed in their military uniforms for a Veterans Day parade.
The restaurant’s unusual in that it’s split in two. The bar opens up to a dining area, and there’s a VIP section over the road perched on the edge of the cliff face. The views from that side are stunning, looking over the valley below.
We’ve had to keep it closed the last few weeks due to staff shortages. It’s hard to keep the service running on both sides when you’re a waitress down.
I’ve been helping where I can, but on top of my regular workload, I’m exhausted.
As a founding member of the Wild Riders MC and manager of the Wild Taste Bar and Restaurant, there’s a lot to do. The MC club owns the businesses, but Quentin and I run the place.
We’ve opened the brewery up for tours, and it’s not going as smoothly as I’d like.
The marketing has been too effective. Every tourist on both sides of the mountain wants a brewery tour, and we’re booked up solid for the next several weeks.
We’re extending the tour times and hours, but so far there’s no one to run them.
It’s hard to get staff to stick around in the ass end of nowhere.
What attracted a bunch of ex-military bikers to a place is not the same as what most people want. After the military, I came here with my best friend Quentin and bike mad Raiden. It was the perfect spot to regroup, recover, and get our asses going on the next stage of life.
It was Raiden’s idea to start the Wild Riders MC club, and he became president.
Our compound comprises the group of businesses that have sprung up on the side of the mountain: the restaurant, the brewery, and the bike repair shop out back.
We’ve got clubrooms at the back of the restaurant and rooms upstairs for whoever needs them.
The closest town, Wild, is a twenty minute ride away. And that’s how we like it. Quiet, remote, and isolated. Perfect for a bunch of damaged soldiers.
But it turns out not everyone wants to live in the mountains. There are plenty of tourists to keep the bills paid, but finding staff who want to live in the middle of nowhere is a problem.
It’s rare to get a quiet moment, and I sip my coffee and let my mind wander.
As it so often does, I think about how good I have it up here: a thriving business, a cabin in the woods, my MC club with brothers who’d do anything for me.
Yet, in still moments like these, there’s a restlessness in my soul, a feeling like I’m missing something, like I got it all wrong.
I survey my restaurant. The table of tourists pouring over brochures, the couple finishing their lunch in the corner, the bikes parked out front, the noises from the kitchen as Chef preps for the evening trade, and the smell of hops from the brewery which permeates my clothes and is how I got my road name: Hops.
I should be happy, I should be content, yet there’s something missing.
Like I’ve done so many times in moments like these, I pull out my wallet and slide the dog-eared photo out of the card holder.
Me and Quentin stand upright in military uniforms. Between us is a woman with blonde hair falling over her shoulders.
She’s wearing shorts that show off thick creamy thighs and one leg is bent, her knee bending in towards the other, her heel in the air.
Her smile is wide and lights up her sparkling eyes, which are the same deep green as the forest canopy.
I pulled this photo out so many times in Iraq that the paper is worn thin and there are spiderweb lines where it’s creased around the edges. But Kendra’s smile is as bright as it was the day the photo was taken six years ago.
Kendra was only eighteen when that photo was taken.
Unaware of how her short shorts and throaty laugh made my entire body stir with desire.
I suppressed it. She was an innocent girl and I was a man of twenty-nine, who had seen too much and was jaded by life.
Besides, Kendra’s my best friend’s little sister. Off limits.
My parents moved to Australia once I left for the military, so Quentin invited me to spend Thanksgiving leave with his family.
Mrs. Harrison cooked a Thanksgiving feast, and we played board games. I spent the entire two weeks trying to keep my eyes off Kendra as she moved around the house, singing pop songs and dancing every chance she got.
That was before the accident that claimed her parents. Before her and Quentin’s world fell into darkness.
Quentin left the army after his parents passed, and I soon followed. I visited my parents in Cairns, sweating like I was back in the desert. Then I followed Quentin to the cooler mountain.
By then Kendra was on the road, spending her inheritance and trying to outrun her grief.
Quentin used some of his inheritance for a down payment on the brewery, Raiden chipped in, and I used my military savings to stump up the other third, and the Wild Riders MC was born.
Life has been busy, life has been good, but I find myself pulling out the picture and studying Kendra’s face more often than I like to admit.
“You haven’t changed a bit.”
I glance up at the throaty voice, and there she is. In the flesh. Kendra Harrison. All five foot two of her, blonde hair streaked with bright pink cascading over her shoulders, wearing knee-high leather boots and a skirt as short as the shorts in the photo.
My jaw hits the floor, and I want to grab my coat and cover her legs. No one sees those thighs but me.
Her smile is as broad as in the picture, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. The cheeks are fuller, and she’s lost the little girl look. Her figure has filled out; she’s a woman now, with womanly curves a man could get lost in.
“Kendra.” It’s the dumbest thing to say, but I can’t believe she’s really here. “What are you doing here?”
She raises an eyebrow at me. “Good to see you too, Travis. Or should I call you Hops now?”
She’s referring to my road name, which means she must have been in touch with Quentin. Son of a bitch never told me.
“Call me Travis.” Damn, that sounds awkward. Like I’ve just met her, not like I spent Thanksgiving at her house and the last six years thinking about her.
Her eyes sparkle like she’s enjoying my discomfort. “It’s good to see you, Travis.”
She dumps the duffle bag she’s holding and strides over to where I’m sitting, the heels of her leather boots clacking against the wooden floor and turning the heads of my customers.
I slide off the bar stool, still stunned by her presence when she wraps her arms around me.
Her hair smells like peppermint, and her perfume is musky. Her body is soft, and her feminine curves pressed against me cause my blood to heat. I hug her back, just as she pulls away.
Her arms loosen, and she kisses me on the cheek. Like a brother. She kisses me like a brother.
“There she is.”
Quentin’s deep voice rumbles across the bar, and I drop my arms guiltily as if he can see into my mind.
“Quentin.” She squeals and runs at her brother. He sweeps her into his arms and twirls her around, making Kendra giggle. A jealous twinge rumbles through my heart. I want to make Kendra giggle like that.
“How did you get here?” Quentin asks. “I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow.”
She holds her thumb out and Quentin frowns.
“You hitched?” We both say it at the same time.
Kendra rolls her eyes. “Geez, it’s like having two over-protective big brothers. Yeah, I hitched from the closest town. Got a lift from a pregnant lady in a Caddy.”
“Danni,” I say, feeling relieved. Danni just married Vintage. Colter is his real name, but he goes by Vintage on account of his love for old bikes. It’s not surprising he hooked up with a woman who drives an old Cadillac.
“Do you all know each other around here?”
“You’re lucky Danni picked you up, but I don’t want you hitching again.” Quentin uses his stern big brother voice, but Kendra shakes her head at him.
“I don’t think you can stop me, big brother.”
Quentin turns a shade of purple, and I must look the same. There’s no way I’m letting Kendra hitch a lift ever again. But before he can say anything else, Kendra puts her hand on his shoulder.
“Relax. I’m not going anywhere for a while anyway.”
My heart skips a beat at her words. “You sticking around?”
“Didn’t my brother tell you?” I look to Quentin, but he’s got his eyes on his sister. He didn’t tell me she was coming, and it makes me wonder if he knows how I feel about her. “He said you needed help, and here I am.”
The thought of Kendra working here, working alongside me where I can see her every day, makes my stomach flip.
At that moment one of the prospects walks past, and Quentin picks up Kendra’s bag and hands it to him.
“Show Kendra to her room. She’s taking the blue room upstairs until I can find her a place to stay. First shift’s tonight. If you’re up for it.”
“Sure thing, big bro. Anything to help.” She follows the prospect out of the room and I stare after her, trying to process what’s going on.
Kendra is here, she’s staying upstairs, and she’ll be working in my restaurant for the foreseeable future. I’ll get to spend every day with her, to watch her move, to talk and laugh with her.
“Can I count on you?”
I don’t realize Quentin’s been talking to me until he snaps his fingers. “Hey, Hops, where did you go?”
To an alternate universe where I wake up every morning next to your sister. But I don’t say that.
“Sorry bro, just a lot on my plate.”
“I’m on this work trip later in the week.”
Quentin and the Prez are going on a road trip to visit some of our distributors and try to drum up more business. I’m staying behind this time to keep things running.
“I want you to keep an eye on Kendra for me. Help her settle in and make sure none of the guys get any ideas. I love my brothers, but if anyone lays a finger on my sister, they’re out of the club.”
He cracks his knuckles, and his face tells me he’s serious.
“She’s been through enough shit, and the last thing she needs is any grease monkey trying anything with her. I’ll break the nose of any man who so much as asks her the time.”
He slaps me on the back. “Can I count on you to keep an eye on her while I’m gone?”
I swallow hard, swallowing down the brief fantasy of anything I might have imagined for me and Kendra. Quentin’s made it clear; she’s off limits.
“Sure,” I say, trying to smile. “You can count on me.”