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“Stayed behind. Stuff to talk about that Hangman wants to hold on to for a while.”
I suspect that particular stuff has something to do with me and Wendy. I nod, thinking of Eight’s words. Despite being an asshole, he’s right. It’ll take some time to get used to the biker code.
Rider joins us. “Trigger and me are going to move the horse tonight.” The man is compact, yet wiry, shorter than most of the men here, but that doesn’t deter him. Confidence rolls off him.
“Where are you taking my Lullaby?”
“We’re bringing her here. Gonna build her a corral.” He nods at Jess. “Wouldn’t mind a beer, sweetheart.” Then he says to me. “Got a saddle for her?”
He’s completely oblivious to Jess and Rocky’s glares as his attention flips back and forth between us.
“Get your own fuckin’ beer,” Rocky grumbles.
He barely registers the chill as he steps behind the bar, inserting himself between Rocky and Jess and digging around the beer cooler. He accidently bumps up against Jess as he grabs a bottle.
“Get the fuck away from her,” Rocky snarls, but his fist finds air as Rider skirts the bar, twisting the cap off.
To me, he says, “Saddle?”
“Don’t you have a horse trailer?” I realize the ridiculousness of the question as soon as it leaves my mouth. “Of course, you don’t,” I say as Rider chuckles. “But Lullaby can’t be ridden.”
“Why not?” Jess asks.
“She’s been abused. It’s why I have her in the first place.” Sadness swamps me at how cruel humans can be. “Maybe someday, but she’s not ready yet.”
Rider shrugs me off. “I’m good with horses. She’ll let me.”
He’s cocky, I’ll give him that, but Lullaby is not as docile as she seems.
I think about his words, which leads me to thoughts of the citation, which leads me to wonder who ratted me out. “Excuse me,” I say politely. “I have a phone call to make.”
Despite the size of the clubhouse, there are few places that a body can find privacy. I venture up the stairs, an area I’ve never been. There are several doors, most of which are closed, but the door at the end of the hall is open, so I peek inside to find it empty.
Sunlight futilely tries to bridge the dirty glass in the lone window. There’s a bed tucked up against a wall and a desk and chair opposite, both long past newness. A few men’s clothes are neatly folded and set on top of the desk. A bathroom is to the right of the door and I check inside. Clean and tidy. It’s odd, because this clubhouse is clearly the domain of men, and none of the bikers appear that fastidious.
I let it go because it isn’t important. Right now, I have to call my father.
I seat myself on the bed because the chair is wood, and I worry I’ll ruin my Valentino crepe skirt should I pick up a splinter or two. The skirt was an impulse buy and I’ve regretted the lime green confection ever since. I’m only wearing it because the move into the townhouse was fast and chaotic, and I’ve not yet had time to sort everything out. Still, I don’t have it in me to abuse my designer clothes.
Daddy answers on the first ring which means he’s not busy and even if he was, he’d take my call because I’m his little girl. It makes me sad to think that our relationship is splintering because of his inability to let me grow up. “Evanee, I’m so happy you called.”
I bet he is. “Hi Daddy. The most awful thing happened to me.” I’m being coy, leading him by the nose to an admission. “Two Blackbeards came into the clinic today and threatened me.”
“What?” I hear the fear in his voice, then outrage. “Are you okay? You’re not hurt, are you?” He pauses, groping for words, then snarls, “I’m going to kill those sonsabitches.”
“No need,” I tell him. “Trigger has it well in hand.”
“That’s the problem right there,” he roars. “This wouldn’t have happened if you weren’t associated with that low-life.”
“Need I remind you that low-life is my fiancé,” I say with a healthy amount of chill in my voice.
“I don’t care if he’s the Prince of Persia. He’s put you in danger and I will not have that.”
Time to play my ace card. “Well, someone certainly has, but it wasn’t Trigger. It was about my horse. They wanted to take it away and euthanize it.”
“The horse?” His voice sounds hollow.
Thehorse. “It was strange that they came about my Lullaby, but they said the police asked them to pick her up. Did you know that the captain in Sagebrush is in the pockets of the Blackbeards?” It’s fiction because I know nothing of the sort, but it’s plausible.
