Chapter 7
CALVIN
The crisp morning air bites at my exposed skin but does nothing to cool my heated blood. The cabin comes into view, and I slow from a jog to a walk. The kitchen light is on, so Grace is awake. I stop on the dirt path and rest my hands on my knees, catching my breath.
I woke up at sunrise and ran through the woods, my usual routine. There’s a makeshift gym in the shed at the back of my property, but instead of heading to the shed, I start for the cabin.
My feet carry me to her even while my head is telling me to get to the gym and not skip leg day. Fuck leg day. There’s a sexy woman in my cabin, and I’m not wasting a moment of my time with her.
My neck aches from the night on the couch, and my head is fuzzy from lack of sleep. But all my weariness disappears when I open the cabin door and take in the sight before me.
Grace is in the t-shirt I gave her to sleep in, but she’s dispensed with the sweatpants. The fabric rides up her thick, creamy thighs as she dances around the kitchen.
The Beastie Boys blare from my CD player and Grace belts out the lyrics, keeping pace with the 90s rap.
In one hand is a spatula and she wields it in the air, using it for emphasis on the words. Her hair is wrapped in a towel, her skin pink and fresh from the shower.
She’s made herself at home in my cabin, and I like it.
She spins around and her gaze meets mine, and she freezes with the spatula in the air.
Her hand drops to her side, and she lunges for the CD player and presses stop. The cabin falls into silence.
“Sorry,” she says. “I found this antique.” She waves the spatula in the direction of the CD player sitting on top of the cabinet.
I frown at the piles of CDs strewn on the floor in front of the open cabinet doors. I’ll have to re-alphabetize them later when she’s gone.
The thought makes my heart squeeze and I turn my attention to Grace, the spatula wielding woman who seems so at home in my kitchen.
“It’s fine.”
“You’re not going to tell me off?”
She seems suspicious, and she must really think I’m a stuck-up ass if she’s worried I’ve got a problem with her playing music. Leaving the CDs in a pile on the floor, however, is not cool.
She leans on the counter, and the t-shirt rides up so high I glimpse the black lace of her panties. The delicate fabric against her soft skin sends a new wave of heat through my body, and I have to divert my gaze.
I stride over to the cabinet and crouch down, concentrating on the CDs and putting them back in order, willing my hard-on to disappear. There aren’t a lot of ways to hide hard wood when you’re wearing sports shorts.
“I’m making eggs and bacon,” she says hopefully, and I take it as an apology even though she’s got nothing to apologize for.
“I saw you heading off for your run and figured you’d be hungry when you got in.”
My stomach growls, because she’s not wrong. Usually, I grab a protein shake after a workout, because when you live on your own there’s not a lot of point in cooking for yourself all the time. A man could get used to being looked after like this.
“Thanks.”
She turns back to the stove top. “I’ve used the last of the bacon. Sorry.”
I stride across the room and grab her arm. She gasps as she spins around, and I loosen my grip. Damn. I don’t mean to bruise the woman. I just want to touch her.
“You don’t have anything to apologize for.” Her wide eyes meet mine, and I release my grip on her. “You’re my guest. Help yourself to whatever you find in the cabin.”
“Thanks sheriff.”
Her mouth turns into a smile, and my gaze darts to her lips. The lips that kept me awake last night as I tossed and turned on the couch, thinking about what it would be like to kiss her and do more.
I drop her arm abruptly. “I need a shower.”
A cold one, I think to myself as I stalk off.
Ten minutes later, I’m seated across from Grace eating breakfast. The bacon is crispy, just how I like it, and the scrambled eggs are fluffed up with milk and sprinkled with herbs that give them an earthy flavor.
Even the toast tastes better when she makes it, spread thick with more butter than I usually allow myself.
“This is delicious.”
She smiles. “It’s just bacon and eggs on toast.”
But I can tell by the smile that she’s pleased with the compliment.
“What time are you needed in the office, sheriff?” Everything she says is said with a smile, and I wonder how someone who’s suffered the loss that she has can be so happy all the time.
“It’s my day off.”
Which is not quite true. I called into the office saying something had come up and I was taking the day off. I never call in a favor like this, so my team was happy to cover and wise enough not to ask questions.
But there’s no way I’m not spending the day with Grace. She filled my dreams. Thoughts of her cloud my every waking moment. If I can just spend a day with her, get her out of my head, then I’ll drop her back off with her people.
“So, what are we doing?” she asks as if reading my thoughts.
An hour later, we’re cruising up the mountain road, the Harley throbbing between my legs and Grace’s arms wrapped tightly around my waist.
Behind me I hear her laughing as we take a corner, and the wind whips her hair. I grin into my helmet.
“Go faster!” she hollers, but I keep the pace slow. I never speed, not even to give a pretty girl a thrill.
We pull into the parking lot of the Wild Riders MC HQ, and I come to a stop.
She dismounts, pulling up the too-large biking leathers and walking clumsily in the oversized boots I lent her. There was no way she was getting on a bike without the proper protection.
I called Danni, Colter’s wife, and asked her to bring clothes and shoes for Grace to borrow.
Her studio is on the edge of the lot, but the doors are closed. It’s still early, and I don’t see her Cadillac parked anywhere.
“Let’s go get a coffee.” I place my hand firmly on Grace’s back and guide her across the parking lot.
“I look ridiculous,” she huffs, which is the complaint she made when I presented her with the clothes at my cabin. But I made it clear: no safety gear, no ride.
The pout she gave me had me adjusting my pants, but she put them on in the end.
We’re crossing the courtyard when Danni’s Caddy pulls in.
It’s a beautiful vintage model, and Colter keeps it in mint condition for her.
Highly impractical on the mountain roads, but she insists on keeping the damn thing, especially since it’s the reason her and Colter met.
She won’t listen to a lecture from me either about how it can’t take the corners as safely as a newer car.
At least she enjoys cruising and doesn’t try to speed in it.
There’s a woman in the passenger seat who I don’t recognize.
Danni gives us a wave and a bright smile.
As usual, her hair is coifed into a 1950s roll, and she’s perfectly made up.
She loves 50s vintage as much as Colter.
Her art studio and vintage shop have become a tourist destination on this side of the mountain.
The roar of a Harley has me turning my head to see Davis arriving with his huge St. Bernard in the side car.
Grace barks out a laugh. “He’s got a side car for Hercules. That’s so cute.”
A shot of jealousy has me gripping her arm, remembering how she and Davis laughed together at the bar yesterday.
“He doesn’t go anywhere without the damn dog.”
“Hey!” Danni calls to us as she pulls a duffel bag from the back of the car. “I stopped by Trish’s to drop the girls off, and between us we should have something you like. Anything will be better than the oversized leathers he’s got you wearing.”
She gives me a disapproving look. “Come on, Badge, you could have found the girl something pretty to wear.”
Grace raises her eyebrows at me. “Badge?”
“It’s my road name,” I explain. “We’ve all got them.”
Danni dumps the heavy duffel bag at my feet. “My sister, Mel, turned up unexpectedly, so you’re not the only one needing something to wear.”
That explains the woman who’s climbing out of the passenger side of Danni’s car.
Now that Danni’s said it, I can see the resemblance.
They have the same long dark hair and round face, only her sister wears her hair loose around her shoulders and is in wide-legged pants and a crisp white blouse. Nothing vintage about her.
There’s a movement to the left, and Danni’s sister shrieks. I turn just as a streak of russet colored fur flies across the parking lot. Hercules, Davis’s dog, bounds up to her, his tongue lolling and a wide doggy grin on his face. I’ve never seen Hercules move so fast.
The woman puts her hands out and steps back, but she’s pinned in by the car and has nowhere to go as the dog plants its front legs on her chest and licks her with its massive slobbery tongue.
“Hercules, get down!” Davis runs over, cursing his dog who ignores him completely.
The woman squeals as the massive pink tongue slides up her cheek, leaving a long slobbery streak.
“Hercules!”
Davis reaches the huge dog and pulls him off the sister, revealing muddy dog prints on her white blouse. Her hands are in the air and her mouth is wide open. She looks stunned.
Danni stifles a laugh and presses her lips together.
“I’m so sorry.” Davis holds the dog by his collar. “He’s never done anything…” His gaze goes up to Mel’s face, and the words die on his lips.
They gaze silently at one another. Then her lips tremble.
“It’s okay…” She blinks back tears and tries to smile. “It’s only a shirt, only an Armani shirt…” Her face contorts, and suddenly she’s sobbing.
“Oh no,” Danni mutters.
“I’m so sorry.” Davis looks helpless, “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
Danni rushes over to her sister. “It’s not you, sweetie,” she says to Davis. “Mel’s going through… a hard time.”
Her arm goes around her sister, and she leads her away from the dog and away from Davis, who stares after her like a lost puppy.
“See.” Grace nudges me. “Instalove does exist!” She points her elbow at Davis who’s still staring after Mel, unaware of Hercules straining next to him. He looks pained and full of wonder all at once.
“God help him,” I mutter as I follow the girls into the clubhouse.