Page 2 of Grumpy Biker's Bride
“Marvin tells me you’re waiting on a man called Keith Wells.”
“Yes. He has a hardware store up past the pass on Route 9…” I stop. “Why are you asking?”
“Small town. Thought I might know him.” He sets his fork down on his empty plate and looks at me. “You got somewhere to be if he doesn't show?”
The polite Bishopsdale answer isthat's my business, thank you kindly.But I’m more inclined to be honest than polite.
“Not even slightly,” I blurt out.
He nods, like I've confirmed a suspicion. He just stays put, filling the entire other side of my booth, one boot planted in the aisle, steady as the solid mountains out the window. And the weirdest part of all this is that my anxious mind goes quiet. Like him sitting here opposite me, grumpy and unmoving, is a comfort.
That's when my body weighs in.
It starts low and spreads warm, up through my core and out to my fingertips. My pulse thuds in my ears. My skin tingles as I take a deep breath, catching his scent of leather and pine trees.
I press my knees together under the table and sternly remind myself that I’m spoken for.
Chapter Two
HAWK
The pretty redhead’s gone quiet, which I'd bet doesn't happen often. Pink in the cheeks, she’s glaring down at her empty plate like it said something fresh to her.
“Hawk.”
She looks up, green eyes flashing. “Excuse me?”
“My name. You were about to ask.”
“Well, I was working up to it. I was going to do some small talk first, ease you in gently.” She holds out her hand across the Formica, businesslike. “Taryn Denton.”
Her little hand disappears into mine. Warm, small, calluses in the right places, a burn scar across two knuckles that’s the mark of a regular cook with more enthusiasm than sense. My old CO called those marks chef’s stripes.
Taryn. It suits her.
I'm still deciding what to do when big air brakes sigh out front and that bell over the door starts its damn cheerful tinkling sound. I glance outside; there’s a huge tour coach parked in the lot. Retirees in windbreakers, cameras, sun hats, the works, are walking in twos and threes with no end in sight.
“Sweet merciful heavens!” Lila says, which is as close as she gets to cursing.
Marvin comes out of the kitchen door behind us, wiping his hands. He takes one look through the window and goes pale. “Butter my butt and call me a biscuit! That's theScenic Summitscharter… they’ve never stopped in High Vale before.”
The bell keeps on chiming as people pour through the door.
“Gus is in Haberstone General getting his gallbladder out as we speak. I ain’t got no line cook, there’s just me and Lila.” He wipes his brow with a handkerchief.
“I’m right here beside you, boss.” Lila says grimly, already pulling menus.
Across from me, Taryn's head comes up like a bird dog's.
She's out of the booth before I have time to react. Moving toward the kitchen, she unwinds that little jacket off as she goes; the girl’s got curves that don’t quit, her tits bouncing as she pulls her hair up into a ponytail. Taryn plants herself in front of Marvin, hands on hips.
“How many burners and how big is your flat-top?”
Marvin blinks at her. “Six and four foot, but…”
“I cooked seven years at a diner this size. Breakfast and lunch, a hundred covers a day or more, usually alone. Point me at your hand sink and tell me where you keep the aprons, and you can pay me or not pay me, but decide while we walk.”
Marvin looks over at me, of all people. As a member of the High Vale Outlaws MC, I’m not usually anyone’s first choice for a character reference. I shrug. He looks back at her and nods.
