Page 65 of Texting the Wrong Bikers

“Mommy!” Owen waves from halfway across the yard, where Trigger scoops him up into his arms, balancing him on one hip and carrying him inside while the giant dog trails behind, attempting to knock them both over. “Moose missed me!”

I laugh, and something inside my chest eases slightly for the first time since the second note arrived, perhaps even since I started feeling watched. Maybe that’s the real problem. Not the bikers and my attraction to them, or how confused I feel, but the fact that somewhere along the way, this place stopped feeling like a place I was just visiting and started feeling a little bit like home. Which is a far more concerning thought than any of the men standing in front of me.

Chapter 19

Dash

I notice Sadie before she notices me. She’s sitting outside the clubhouse as she watches Owen chase Moose across the patch of grass near the patio fence. Her shoulders are a little too tight, and even from across the yard, I can see the faint crease between her brows that’s become far too familiar over the last couple of weeks. She’s been carrying fear like a second skin lately, and although she keeps smiling for Owen, there’s still something tired in the set of her mouth that makes me want to do something about it. Preferably something loud, stupid, and distracting.

Owen shrieks with laughter when Moose skids to a halt in front of him and flops dramatically onto the grass as if the whole game has defeated him. Sadie looks up at the sound, and her expression softens. That’s the thing about her that gets me every time. She doesn’t just smile; she opens. Her whole face changes, her eyes warming, her mouth broadening, and for a few seconds she looks like a woman who isn’t braced for the next bad thing. I decide then and there that I want more of that.

I push away from the wall and walk toward her, taking my time, because I’ve learned that moving too quickly toward Sadie makes her wary, and I am trying, for once in my life, to be sensible. It’s not easy. She looks gorgeous in the late afternoon light, with her hair loose around her shoulders and her legs tucked beneath her on the bench, and I know that if I got close enough to breathe her in, she would smell of sun-warmed skin.

“Put your shoes on,” I tell her.

She blinks at me. “What?”

“You heard me.”

Her eyes narrow. “What are you up to? I absolutely did not agree to anything.”

I grin at her, the easy, disarming smile that works on most women. “Good thing I wasn’t asking.”

That gets one corner of her mouth to lift, which is exactly what I was aiming for. She folds her arms. “What are you up to?”

I grin at her. “Something wicked.”

She gives me a flat look. “That could be anything.”

“The fun kind.”

Owen appears at my side as if he’s been waiting for permission to join in. “I wanna do something fun.”

“See?” I say, pointing at him. “He’s in.”

Sadie shakes her head, but she’s smiling now, and that smile is already worth the effort. “You’re impossible, and a bad influence on Owen.”

I lean in slightly and lower my voice as if I’m sharing a secret. “There’s a county fair in town tonight. Rides, food, games, the whole deal. Thought you might like it.”

Sadie hesitates, and I can see the calculations happening behind her eyes. She’s thinking about practical things, about safety, about whether this is a good idea, about what it means to accept anything from us at all. She is always thinking ahead, even when she is trying not to. I respect that. I also want to distract her from it.

Owen solves the problem for her by grabbing both her hands and bouncing on his heels. “Please, Mommy. Please. I wanna go on the rides.”

She looks down at him, and the fight goes out of her in stages, like a door slowly unlocking. “Fine,” she tells him. She looks up at me. “That was underhand.”

I smile back at her. I knew there was no way she’d say no to Owen, and no way a four-year-old kid wouldn’t wanna go to the fair. Sneaky, but effective.

“You, Mister,” she says, tickling Owen’s stomach and making him squeal with delight, “Are thoroughly spoiled.”

“I know,” Owen says, perfectly pleased with himself.

I laugh. “Can’t blame me for that one; that is definitely your fault.”

Sadie shoots me a look, but there is no heat in it. “Five minutes,” she says, already giving in.

“Take ten,” I tell her. “I’ll be waiting outside.”

***