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“Sure, Harlow, let’s go.” Porsche extended her hand and was soon encircled by pillowy soft fingers on the silken skin of a child. Between the force of her tugs and Creature head butting her ass for not getting the customary belly rub Porsche was nearly set off balance as she followed the toddler into the living room where Harlow had a whole bunch of dolls spread out over the room in various poses. “Wow, that’s lots of babies. Don’t suppose you have names for all of them.”
“Half are named Baby,” Roadkill said under her breath as her hands soothed circles around her round belly. “We could be here all day, Harlow, pick your favorite and show Porsche okay.”
“Um,” the little girl spun in circles trying to find her favorite among the plastic and cloth toys. This got Creature even more excited as she dropped her head to the floor, extending her arms in the international dog request for play.
“Hey Creature,” Porsche said dropping to one knee. “I still need to give belly scratches.”
With a loud thump, the big dog rolled on her side and stuck her paws in the air. A round of scratches, rubs and a few hard pats on the side had the dog sated just in time for Harlow to thrust a rag doll with yellow yarn for hair in Porsche’s face.
“Dolly,” she proudly proclaimed. “It’s hers name.”
“I like it,” Porsche said, smoothing the few strands of yarn as if she were taming a head of hair.
“Gamma makes it for me,” Harlow said.
“She’s pretty.”
“I know,” Harlow said clutching the doll to her chest and returning her focus on whatever game the babies were playing.
“Let’s go in the kitchen.” Roadkill headed towards the kitchen area in the open concept house with Porsche following her. “What got you up and moving around this early in the day?”
“Is it early?” she questioned.
“Almost eleven,” Roadkill said. “Lord knows I wasn’t moving around before noon when I worked a swing evening shift until three.”
Having been, at one point, a nurse in Vegas, Roadkill was in the middle of a long process of recovering memories. The woman was found half dead on the side of a dirt road by Red. In many ways Porsche owed her current life to the woman. While Dell in New Mexico had rescued Porsche, Roadkill had been open to the New Mexico Hoez coming to Montana once Red decided to open a charter in his home town. At first, the woman with a moral compass and unease around bikers wasn’t sure how to deal with the women brought in as entertainment for the men of the club. In the years that followed Roadkill stepped up as the leader of the women, more the Ol’ Ladies than the Hoez, but when push came to shove Roadkill was the de facto mother of the Steels in Montana.
“Do you want anything to drink, Porsche?”
“No, I’m good. Thanks for the offer, I’m pretty sure coffee might trip me over the edge.” Porsche took a seat and waited for Roadkill to join her, doing her best to not start drumming on the table top with the bundle of nervous energy charging through her body. “Where’s the hubby?”
“Red went to the later service with his mom and Camille this morning.” Roadkill poured herself a tall glass of orange juice, then headed to the table and took a seat.
“I have a plan and need your help.” Porsche thought to herself this was perfect, they had a good hour maybe more before he’d be back. “Then I’m talking sin while Red’s probably taking communion.”
“More like accepting a palm leaf if the first service mirrors the second,” Roadkill said. “Crazy they have two services in a town this size.”
“At Maggie’s church,” she reasoned. “The fact we have five churches in a town this size is more amazing.”
“True,” Roadkill said, taking a sip of her orange juice then opening two bananas. “Harlow, come get a nana.”
Two feet followed by four heavy paws bounded into the kitchen and Roadkill split one of the bananas in half. Giving Harlow one half and Creature sat patiently for the second. Gobbling the fruit in one massive gulp after delicately nipping the end and taking care to not touch Roadkill. Once Harlow toddled away Porsche continued while Roadkill ate her banana as Creature gave her the saddest puppy dog eyes.
“Aren’t you supposed to be watching Harlow,” Roadkill scolded, snapping a small bit of her banana off and tossing it to Creature as a reward for returning to babysitting duties. “Sorry, I swear I’m eating for five right now.”
“No problem, Chief was in the bar the other night after his run and was grumbling about not getting a grant or having to put in for a grant—” waving her hands in front of her like she was clearing a chalkboard Porsche settled in. “Basically, he’s a lot short for the cost of a fire truck.”
“Oh, yeah, I don’t deal with the clubs finances,” Roadkill said. “That’s something he’d have to bring up in church if they let the prospects into church.”
“No, that’s not why I’m here, I was thinking, Montana doesn’t exactly get the Thunder from Down Under here and well… we have a bar, a stage and a pole.” Gathering herself she closed her eyes not wanting to see the look on Roadkill’s face when she spoke the words out loud. “I want the men to put on a show to raise the money. LikePonyon repeat and using hoses not meant for the fires.”
“You want the men to strip!” Roadkill exclaimed, then covered her mouth for a moment. “You want my man to strip?”
“Well, that would be a coup if we could, but basically, if I can convince all the men, but without Red making the sign of the cross and blessing the venture… well they won’t.”
Roadkill took a long sip of juice and probably wished it was a screwdriver and not the straight stuff.
“We can advertise, sell tickets, plus their tips,” she said. “Get a couple guys wandering around with fireman’s boots for tips.”
