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Chapter One
Rooster
After a hot, summer California day spent on the open road with my motorcycle, all I wanted was a tall, cold beer to wash the dust and exhaust fumes from my mouth. It felt good to get out and clear my head though. A lot of changes had happened in the past two or three years within my motorcycle club, the Alpha Riders. Half of my MC brothers were either married, engaged, or well on their way to that stage. Several of them had kids—precious little babies held in big, scarred hands, cradled in tattooed arms.
I was happy for them. But I couldn’t help feeling a little pang in my chest, too. It was rare to find someone who reminded you that the world wasn’t always bleak and unforgiving. Someone who welcomed you into the softness of their embrace and allowed you to simply…breathe.
I shook my head. I’d made too many mistakes to hope for something like that now. Spotting a gas station sign up ahead, I merged into the turn lane. Merry Field was still twenty miles away. I couldn’t make it home without filling up.
As I pumped gas into my tank, I pulled out my phone and considered texting one of my club brothers to have a cold beer waiting for me. I knew Mack would be at the clubhouse, at least. That man was never going to settle down. He enjoyed the parade of girls through his bed too much to ever choose just one. Chances were, we were going to be sitting at that bar, just the two of us, until we were old and gray, while our club retired to their quiet lives with their families.
A car pulled up at the pump next to mine, Dolly Parton softly playing on the radio before the engine was turned off. It was an older model Ford truck, denim blue, with mud splattered across the back. I barely gave it a passing glance.
Until a familiar voice with a sweet Southern drawl rang out. A voice I hadn’t heard in twelve years.
“Hot damn, Rooster. You ain’t a scrawny bean pole anymore.”
I nearly dropped my phone and my head snapped up. Lou Reynolds stood there in snug jeans, boots, and a flannel shirt over her white tank top. Her sun-streaked blonde hair was pulled back in a loose braid, wisps softly curling around her face, tousled from the wind. Her skin was even more tanned and freckled than when we were kids, stealing kisses and skinny dipping in the sweltering Baton Rouge summers.
“Holy hell,” I croaked in disbelief. I thought I’d never see her again. I thought we were done for good. And yet, she was right here, with her long legs and megawatt smile. We weren’t lovestruck sixteen-year-olds anymore. But my heart still stutter-skipped when I looked at her. “Lou. You haven’t aged a day.”
Lou laughed—the same bubbly, infectious laugh I remembered like it was yesterday. I held my arms out to her, wishing I wasn’t so dusty and sweaty from my ride. She hummed as she stepped forward, melting into my embrace. Her arms came around me with a fierce squeeze and she pressed her face into my neck the way she used to.
“You still smell like peaches,” I said.
Lou pulled back, grinning up at me. When we were teenagers, she’d been tall enough to stand at eye level with me. But I’d managed to gain a few inches of height on her in the past decade. Without batting an eye, she pushed my leather jacket open and ran her hands up my chest.
“And you bulked up. You’ve got a nice set of shoulders on you now.”
My gaze roamed over her body, taking in the sight of her. There were a dozen comments I wanted to make and none of them tame.
“You’re shameless, Lou,” I replied with amusement. “As always.”
“Don’t worry. That will never change.”
She slotted her hands in the back pockets of her jeans and nodded toward my bike.
“What are you doing here? Passing through?”
“I live a few miles north in Merry Field. What about you?”
She shrugged and her gaze slid away.
“I thought I’d pay my grandmother a visit. She lives in Washington these days.”
“Then you should stop by and meet my club before you leave. I’ll buy you a drink. We can catch up.”
Lou’s gaze shifted back to me, her green eyes calculating and…something else lingered there. Something bittersweet like nostalgia, the regret of losing what we could never rebuild, no matter how much we wished we could change the past.
“I should have known you’d still be riding for a motorcycle club.”
Scrubbing at the back of my neck, I stifled a wince. I could kick myself for opening up that old, tender wound. It was never going to heal. Back in Louisiana, I rode with a club then, too. A young, gangly Prospect, eager to prove myself. When I was denied membership, my ego got the better of me.
I packed up and shipped out, hoping to broaden my horizons and find a club that would take me. But in the process, I’d been too wrapped up in myself and I left Lou behind. I regretted that mistake every day since then.
“Got any eligible bachelors in that club of yours?” Lou asked with a wicked gleam in her eye.
For a split second, my brain short circuited at that. Was she single? How could Lou Reynolds with her dazzling smile and charming Southern belle personality be unmarried?
