Chapter Three
HARMONY
“Girl! He was a total dud. What kind of man asks a woman out to dinner and then doesn’t pick up the check?” Wren, my best friend, fumed.
I glanced over at her and frowned as we stepped into the smaller barn on my property. “It sounds like you dodged a bullet.”
Wren nodded hard, her blonde swoop bang falling over her eyes. “Right! I’m gonna die alone with a house full of freaking cats. It’s rough out here, Harm. Freaking rough.”
“What’s wrong with cats?” Cats were great.
Her face softened, pity creasing her brow. “You realize there’s a whole big world out there besides this farm, right?”
I looked away. There was no reason for her to worry about me. I was happy in my bubble. It was safe there. “I’m good,” I assured her.
Wren sighed.
Ignoring the tension, I reached into the nesting boxes to collect the eggs. “I am. I promise,” I said, setting the warm eggs gently into the basket.
I had enough eggs to take to Rebel’s Diner, plus a couple dozen for regular customers in town.
It wasn’t glamorous, but eggs, goat milk soap, and produce from my little farm helped keep the lights on.
Without Reggie’s money, I needed every dollar.
Granted, I still had the life insurance money my Aunt Reba had left me, but I didn’t want to touch it. It felt wrong accepting money from a woman I’d never even met.
One day I was scraping by, trying to figure out how to start over after my divorce, and the next, a lawyer was standing on my porch with paperwork, a check, and keys to a farm.
My life had changed in a single afternoon.
“Are you listening to me?”
I blinked and looked at Wren. “Sorry. What?”
“I asked if you’ve seen the new bikers in town.”
My brows shot up. “New bikers?”
“Yep,” she said, popping the p. “And they’re hot.”
“Just great.” As if Moody and his motley crew weren’t bad enough, now we had more.
My lip curled.
Every time I stepped foot into Rebel’s Diner to make a delivery, Moody and his trio had been there, leering and making lewd comments. And the thing was, you couldn’t ignore them. They were literally everywhere because they owned just about everything in town. The diner, the garage, the bar.
Wren leaned against the stall door. “They came into the grocery store a few days ago.” She waggled her brows. “They’re hot. All of them.”
Wren worked at the market in town.
“And,” she stressed, “nobody’s seen Moody in days.”
That got my attention. “What do you mean nobody’s seen him?”
She shrugged. “Just what I said. Rumor is these new guys showed up, and now Moody and his entourage are gone.”
“Gone where?”
Wren shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe they skipped town.”
I doubted that. Moody thought he was the king of Devils Cove. Men like him don’t give up that kind of power.
I bent for another egg when the sound of tires crunching over gravel drifted in from outside.
“Expecting someone?”
“No.” Setting the basket down, I wiped my hands on my jeans and started towards the door.
“What’s he doing here?”
“No idea.”
Sitting in my driveway was none other than my ex-husband.
Reggie Dane.
The hair on the back of my neck stood up.
The door to his cruiser swung open, and out he climbed in all his handsome glory.
Reggie was handsome and charming.
That’d been what had drawn me in.
But underneath all the pretty packaging and smooth words was a monster.
Reggie’s gaze slithered over me from head to toe. “You’re lookin’ good, Harmony.”
My fingers curled into my palms. “You’re not supposed to be within fifty yards of me.”
Not that it mattered much.
I had a restraining order, sure. A neat little piece of paper signed by a judge. But Reggie was the sheriff of Devil’s Cove, so who exactly was going to enforce it?
His deputies? The same men who laughed at his jokes and looked the other way when he bent the rules? Not likely.
“I just came out to check on you. Make sure you were safe.”
That was rich.
The only time in my life I’d ever been unsafe was when I was married to him.
“As you can see,” I said tightly, “I’m perfectly fine.”
I wanted him gone.
He shoved his hands into the front pockets of his jeans and glanced toward the orange grove next door. “You’ve got new neighbors, sweetheart. Dangerous neighbors.”
I folded my arms over my stomach. “They haven’t bothered me.”
His eyes came back to mine. “That so?”
I didn’t answer.
He kept glancing toward the farmhouse in the distance. “I’ve gotten reports that Moody and some of his associates disappeared.”
Associates. That was rich. They were criminals who terrorized the good people of Devils Cove.
“I don’t know anything about that.”
“You haven’t seen or heard anything strange?”
“No.”
Wren stepped forward then, chin lifted. “She said she doesn’t know anything. And you’re violating the restraining order.”
Reggie’s hand went to the butt of his gun, and fear shot through me. She had no clue the extent of Reggie’s temper.
I grabbed Wren’s hand before she could say anything else. “Wren.”
She shot me a look, but I squeezed harder.
Reggie stared at her for one long beat before looking back at me. “We’ll speak later.”
Ice slid down my spine.
No, we wouldn’t. Not if I could help it. I had no desire to speak to him ever again.
But I knew better than to say that.
Thankfully, after another look toward the property next door, he turned and stalked back to his cruiser. A second later the engine started, and gravel spit from under the tires as he backed out and drove off.
Releasing the breath I’d been holding, I spun around. “Jesus, Wren. You can’t push him like that.”
She jerked her hand free and rounded on me. “That asshole is crazy.”
I rubbed my arms. “Keep your voice down.”
“He makes me so mad.” Her cheeks were pink with it. “You have to report him.”
“To who?”
“The law!” she shot back.
I laughed bitterly. “He is the law.”
Glancing back to where his cruiser had just disappeared, I said, “Please don’t push him.”
Wren’s back was stiff with aggravation. “Harm—”
“I mean it, Wren. You don’t know what he’s like when he gets angry.”
She stared at me, and I immediately wished I hadn’t let that slip.
Because she did know.
Maybe not every detail, but enough.
“I’m sorry.”
I nodded, swallowing around the lump in my throat. “Let’s just finish with the eggs.”
By the time I loaded the last of the cartons into the floorboard of my old Ford, I’d replayed the conversation a dozen times.
We’ll speak later.
God, he was such an asshole.
Thirteen months we’d been divorced, and he still showed up at least once a month to remind me that he still held all the power.
I was so sick of it. Sick of feeling helpless. Sick of jumping at every loud noise. Sick of hearing noises in the middle of the night and freaking out because I thought it was him.
I was so wound up that I didn’t see the matte black Harley parked near the diner until the bumper of my truck smacked into it.
Thump.
I slammed on the brakes and watched in complete horror as the beautiful bike tipped over in slow motion.
“No, no, no!”
Throwing the truck in park, I scrambled out, nearly tripping over my own feet as I ran to the downed bike.
There was a gnarly gash on the paint, and my stomach dropped all the way to my toes.
“Oh God. Oh God.”
I grabbed the handlebars with both hands, straining with everything I had to try to get the thing off the ground, but it wouldn’t budge.
“Come on,” I muttered, teeth clenched. “Come on.”
The bike may as well have been a dump truck for all the progress I was making.
Then strong, tattooed hands wrapped around the handlebars beside mine, and up the bike went back onto its stand.
I jerked my head up.
And up.
And up.
The owner of the tattooed hands was huge and gorgeous.
Tall and broad with a touch of silver threaded through his dark hair, and when my gaze finally reached his face, I forgot how to breathe.
His eyes were the deepest green I had ever seen.
I watched in shock as those beautiful eyes widened in surprise.
“Fuck me,” he breathed.
Heat rushed through me so fast it left me dizzy, and I hated that my body noticed him before my brain could remember that men were dangerous.
He cleared his throat and offered me his hand. “I’m Odin.”
A shiver rolled through me at the sound of his deep voice.
“Harmony,” I said breathlessly as I took his hand.
Recognition flashed in his eyes. “The egg lady.”
I blinked.
Then he shook his head slightly. “Tyson mentioned we bought eggs from someone named Harmony.”
Tyson.
My eyes dropped to the patch on his cut.
Odin. President.
I had sworn off men, but even if I’d wanted to change my mind, I wouldn’t get involved with a biker. I knew how Moody and his band of merry assholes operated.
Pulling my hand free, I wiped my palms on the front of my jeans. “Yes. That’s me.”
Then I glanced at the scrape on his bike and winced. “I’m really sorry about hitting your bike. I’ll pay for the damages.”
Like he just remembered I hit it, he looked down and inspected the chipped paint. “Don’t worry about it. Danger can touch it up.”
I had no idea who Danger was, but I sincerely hoped he didn’t live up to the name.
“I gotta…” I pointed vaguely toward my truck, which was hanging halfway out of the parking spot. “Move.”
“Right. Right.” He rubbed the back of his neck and stepped aside, though he kept glancing over his shoulder at me with a strange expression on his face.
Mortification burned through me as I climbed back into the truck and very carefully pulled into the spot without destroying any more property.
Jesus.
I was a mess.
When I climbed out again, he was still standing there beside his bike, watching me.
“You okay?” he asked.
The question caught me off guard.
I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “Yeah. Just… distracted.”
His gaze held mine for a second too long, and something low in my belly fluttered. “You sure?”
No.
But I nodded anyway. “I’m sure.”
He didn’t look like he believed me.
Good grief. He was making my brain short-circuit.
Before I could embarrass myself any more, I hurried into the diner.
Fifteen minutes later, with cash for the egg delivery tucked in my pocket, I was driving back toward the farm with my phone pressed between my ear and shoulder.
“Hello?”
“I hit one of the bikers’ motorcycles,” I said as a greeting.
Wren gasped. “Shut up.”
“I wish I was joking.”
“What biker?”
I tightened my grip on the wheel. “Their leader.”
Wren cackled. “You mean the President.”
I groaned. “Whatever.”
“No, no. Not whatever. There’s a hierarchy, babe.”
“Are you seriously correcting my biker terminology right now?”
“Yes.” She sounded delighted. “Did he yell at you?”
“No.”
“Was he hideous?”
I thought of those hypnotizing eyes and that sexy, deep voice.
“No,” I admitted.
Wren made a smug sound. “Told ya’. They’re all hot.”
“He was… okay.”
“Uhhh huh.”
“Stop that.”
“You’re flustered.”
“I am not.”
“You absolutely are.”
I turned into my driveway. “Wren.”
She ignored me. “You should make him some of your famous cinnamon raisin bread.”
I barked out a laugh. Was she crazy? “I can’t make him bread.”
“Why not?”
“He’s a biker.”
“Bikers like homemade cinnamon raisin bread too.”
I pursed my lips.
I mean… It was pretty good bread. And I had hit his motorcycle.
My silence must have told on me because Wren burst out laughing. “You’re totally going to make him your bread.”
“Shut up,” I said before hanging up on her.
I was absolutely not making bread for a biker.