Wild Heart Mountain: Wild Riders MC #7-9

Chapter 1

HAZEL

“Only a week till Valentine’s Day.”

Mom’s bony fingers grasp mine so weakly, I barely feel the pressure. Panic rises in my chest at how feeble she is and I swallow it down, returning her weak smile as best I can.

“It’s our lucky day, Hazel.” Mom’s voice is croaky and I lean forward to hear her better, hoping she doesn’t see the distress in my face.

Valentine’s Day is my mother’s favorite day of the year. It’s the day she met my father, it’s the day they got married one year later, and it’s the day I was born exactly one year after that.

But Valentine’s Day is also the day my father was in a car accident three years ago that he never recovered from and the day my cat was run over two years ago. And it was Valentine’s Day last year that Mom was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and given twelve months to live.

Valentine’s Day has gone from being a happy day for my family to a curse.

But Mom refuses to acknowledge the bad stuff. She’s at peace with her diagnosis and can’t wait to be reunited with my father. She believes they’re soul mates, and soul mates, “find each other no matter what realm they’re in.”

Yeah, my mom has gone all woo woo in the last few months, but it gives her comfort, so I hope like hell she’s right.

I’m glad she has her newfound beliefs to comfort her, but I’m also terrified that in exactly one week, on Valentine’s Day, Mom will choose to say goodbye to this ‘realm,’ as she calls it, to go join my father. Leaving me behind with the grief of being a grown up orphan.

But I can’t let Mom see my pain. This could be her last week in this world, and I won’t bring her down by being upset about it.

“Can I speak with you, Miss Lumley?”

The man in a suit isn’t the doctor, and my heart sinks at the folded paper in his hand.

“Sure,” I say brightly. “I’ll be right back, Mom.”

We duck into an office next to reception and I pull my shoulders back, trying to do the whole ‘entitled to be here, so what’s your problem’ thing that I’m never very good at.

“I’m sorry to bring this up at this difficult time, but your mother’s bills are overdue.”

I furrow my brow as if this is the first time I’ve heard about it, and I haven’t been dreading this conversation for the last few days. Mom lost her insurance when she became too sick to work and lost her job. I’ve been covering the costs ever since.

“There must be something wrong with my account.”

The man looks down and taps something into his computer. “It’s the, ah, third payment that’s been late…”

He leaves it hanging because I know what he’s going to say next, and he at least has the decency to feel embarrassed about it.

“I can pay now if you have a machine.”

I fumble in my wallet and pull out the credit card that I think has the most money on it.

“Because of your mother’s continuing care and the, ah, late payments, we’re going to have to ask for the next month in advance.”

My heart sinks. I don’t have that much money on credit, and I’ve got two cards maxed out already.

“And what if she…?”

I can’t bring myself to say it. But the man looks at me with a kind expression. “If you find you no longer need the bed, we will of course refund the money.”

A sharp pain stabs my chest at the implication. Mom could be gone in a week, and it hits me like a freight train. My expression crumples, and no matter how hard I blink the tears fall.

The man looks horrified as he hands me a box of tissues.

“I’m so sorry, Miss Lumley, for this difficult time.”

He looks like he really means it and I feel bad for the man, trying to do his job around so much grief.

“Just pay for the next two weeks, and we’ll take it from there.”

His kindness brings a fresh wave of tears, and he looks alarmed as I blow my nose a little too loudly into the tissues. I hand over the credit card, and despite the tears, hold my breath until it goes through.

My parents lived in the moment and didn’t think much about the future. Since Dad passed, we’ve been living hand to mouth. The little money he did leave has been sucked up by Mom’s treatment. At least I convinced her to see a proper doctor and managed to get her the full time care she needed.

The man taps at the computer, updating his file and probably relieved he won’t need to speak to me again for two weeks.

“I hear your mother is in good spirits, always making the staff laugh, so that’s something.”

It’s amazing to me how Mom can keep up her good mood, which makes me dry my eyes. If she can face this with equanimity and laughter, then I can too.

“Thank you for your kindness.”

As I stand up to leave his office, the wall calendar catches my eye. He’s circled February 14th with a red marker in the shape of a heart.

Great. Everyone else looks forward to Valentine’s Day, but my sense of dread returns as I leave the accountant’s office.

I don’t want Mom to see me with red eyes, and so I send her a quick text as I head outside. There’s a missed call from Scott, my boss, and I call him back.

He’s not as cool as he should be with the time I take off to spend with my dying mother, but he can’t deny that my job is flexible. When you write for a magazine you can write on your own schedule, which is usually late at night for me. That’s when inspiration hits.

“Hazel,” he barks as soon as I pick up my phone. “Where the hell have you been?”

I had my phone turned off for like, twenty minutes while I was visiting Mom on my lunch break, but Scott believes we should always be available.

“Sorry,” I mumble. “Mom had a bad night and…”

“I’ve got an assignment for you. It could be big.”

I swallow the annoyance at being cut off. I’m used to that from Scott by now. As the arts editor of Culture Slam magazine, art is his world. No matter how annoying he is, there’s no denying that his focus and dedication has turned the magazine into New York’s most prestigious arts magazine.

Despite my annoyance, my interest is piqued.

I’ve been stuck on the small gallery scene since I started the job eighteen months ago, and I’m better than that.

With an MA from Columbia, I’m itching to get into a proper story rather than covering yet another gallery opening.

Also, there’s an opening coming up. The senior arts journalist is leaving next month, and I want the position.

I need the position. It comes with a substantial pay raise, and I’m counting on it to cover the credit card bills I’ve racked up paying for Mom’s care.

“We were in this quaint little mountain town over the weekend.” Scott’s husband is a travel writer, and they’re always going on mini breaks around the country.

“One side of the mountain is beautiful; the other is a shit hole. No cell reception, the local industry is a sawmill, but tucked away on the mountain side is the most extraordinary restaurant and brewery…”

Scott has no problem talking when it’s his life that’s being talked about.

I listen to him describe a craft brewery that’s run by some motorcycle club and the art gallery they had out back.

It sounds weird to me and dangerous. A bunch of hairy bikers into craft beer and art.

It’s probably a front for money laundering.

If that’s the story he wants me to write, I’m not sure I’m up for it. It sounds dangerous and not in line with the magazine. I’m more into human interest stories than uncovering nefarious activities.

Scott gushes about the wood pieces they bought from a local artist, an ex-military guy who’s gotten into wood carving.

“I want you to do a piece on the artist.”

My breath hitches. It’s the type of story I’ve been longing for. It’s what I trained for. It’s what I was born to do, uncovering the person behind the art, their inspiration and the reason why they create.

“I’ll do it,” I say without thinking.

“Good. I knew you’d be the woman for the job.”

Pride makes my chest swell. Even though Scott’s a dick, I still crave his praise. It would be stupid not to. He has the power to make or break my career.

“The artist is ex-military, so there’s the angle. A bunch of veteran bikers making art on the side of a mountain.”

My skin prickles at his words, and I know he’s on to something. There’s definitely a story here.

“Is the artist up for it?”

There’s a pause. “Not exactly.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve spoken to him, and he doesn’t want to do the story. I thought, perhaps, sending a woman…”

He trails off, and my heart sinks. I’m not getting this opportunity because Scott thinks I’m ready. I’m getting the opportunity because I’m the only heterosexual woman on the team, and he thinks the fact that I’ve got boobs will make this red-blooded mountain man biker speak to me.

“When do you want me to go?”

Because no matter the reason, it’s still a big break, and I hate myself for taking it.

“Tomorrow.”

Wait. What?

“I can’t go tomorrow. It’s only a week till Valentine’s Day.” The day my mother potentially decides to leave this realm.

He scoffs. “We’ll get you back for your big date. You’ve got three days.”

I haven’t told Scott how bad Mom is. He knows she’s sick, but it’s a cutthroat industry. I’m lucky to have my job, and there are thousands of graduates, eager art fans just like me, who would snap his hand off for the opportunity.

But I can’t go and leave Mom when she might only have a few days to live.

“I’m not sure…”

“A piece like this could get you recognized, Hazel. You pull this off, and I’ll seriously consider you for the senior journalist role when it comes up.”

My mind churns it over. Mom is getting excellent treatment; her last blood work was good, and everyone says she’s got a great attitude.

It’s just me and the worry about this stupid Valentine’s Day curse that has me thinking she might pass next week.

And if she does fight it for longer, there are going to be more bills. I need all the money I can get.

If I go tomorrow, I can still be back with a few days to spend with Mom, just in case the worst happens.

“Just three days…”

“Yes,” he snaps, getting cross now. “Unless you want me to ask Janey?”

Janey is the intern who’s been working with us for a month. There is no way she’s getting this opportunity over me. If she’s promoted over me, then I’m in the entry level pay position for God knows how long.

I’ll never be able to keep paying for Mom’s care. In the happy event that she lives longer, she’ll end up in the overcrowded city hospice. And I refuse to let my mother end her life that way.

And if she passes, I’ll have funeral expenses and even more credit card debt to pay off.

There’s really only one answer I can give.

“I’ll do it.”

“Great,” he says. “I’ll email the details and have my assistant book your flight and accommodations.”

“Okay, thanks…” But Scott’s already hung up.

I head back in to tell Mom I’ll be away for a few days, and a few moments later my phone pings.

Andreas has booked me on the 6am flight tomorrow to Charlotte, and then it’s a train ride and a rental car from there. At least the Airbnb cabin he’s booked looks cute.

May as well relax while you’re there. he writes in the email. I got you an early check in. If you need anything else, let me know.

I bite my lower lip before asking him for an advance for expenses.

No problem. I won’t tell boss man :)

At least Andreas has my back.