by Erin Bevan
Chapter One
Tyler Wilde straddled the rumbling metal between his legs and stared at the envelope in his hand. The paper weighed about as much as a feather, but the weight of the words sat on his chest like a block of iron, suffocating and hard to ignore. The Wade Correctional Facility logo stared at him from the upper left corner. He shoved the letter back in his mailbox and slammed the door closed.
How did the man get his address?
He wouldn’t deal with that today. He couldn’t. He’d come to Black Widow to start over, not rehash the past.
His lab licked his hand, distracting him. Tyler grinned down at the black dog; his bad mood temporarily lifted as he reached down and patted his furry friend on the head.
“See you this afternoon, Alfred.”
A slight whine poured from Al’s throat as his sad brown eyes speared an arrow of guilt in Tyler’s gut.
“I’m sorry boy, but it’s only my second week. I can’t be late. Be good, and don’t chase the ducks.”
Al wagged his tail in understanding.
“Rascal.” He revved the engine on his motorcycle and eased down the dirt road leading away from his house and into town to his new job.
His new start.
The sun seared Tyler’s back, causing sweat to pour down the length of his spine and his T-shirt to stick to his skin. Nothing like the gulf coast humidity to make a man feel as if he was frying from the inside out.
Rose bushes around the town square bloomed giant Pepto-Bismol pink petals, while a gentleman in blue overalls tended to the flowers like they were his babies. Tossing a wave to the man, he rounded the corner on Holly Drive and parked his bike in front of Sandi’s, the local diner. The undercurrent scent of flowers, bacon, and fried donuts drifted in the air. Man heaven. Except for the flowery part. He’d driven by the diner everyday for two weeks but had yet to pop in. If the food tasted as good as it smelled he might have to make this place a regular hang out.
He pushed through the heavy wooden door as a bell rang overhead. Weaving around customers, all giving him a curious stare, he strolled up to the takeout cash register. Glass cases filled with donuts and the biggest kolaches he’d ever seen stared back at him. His stomach growled.
He eyed the case, his mouth watering, as he waited on a server to notice him.
“Be right there,” a tall, shapely blonde called out from across the restaurant as she handed another table their check. He’d been wrong. To hell with the donuts and bacon. She was man heaven.
A few escaped strands from her ponytail framed her face, and the closer she got to him the darker the black circles under her eyes appeared.
A spark of recognition fired in his brain while an equally hot spark ignited a red flag in his gut. It wasn’t her slightly unkempt hair or her pure look of exhaustion that rubbed him the wrong way. Despite all of that, she was still beautiful.
But her clothes. Her clothes had his head reeling.
She wore long sleeves.
In June.
In Texas.
“What can I get you?” The beauty stared up at him.
He shook off the strange feeling. A bead of sweat dripped down her forehead, fell onto her chest, and into her shirt. Her nametag was positioned right by the tantalizing skin of her chest. Annie.
Mercy.
He glanced down at the donut case. Stare at the food, big guy.
“I need two dozen glazed donuts, two dozen chocolate, and a dozen sausage kolaches.”
“Got a lot to feed?” Annie grabbed a box from the counter behind her and placed it on top of the glass case in front of him.
“Yeah, Donut Day, or so I was told. It’s my turn to bring breakfast, and there’s about a dozen mechanics over at Rakes expecting it.”
“Rakes? You must be new,” a redheaded waitress noted as she rounded the corner and filled a customer’s coffee cup. While she was cute, she had a wet-behind-the-ears look to her. He’d stick with Beauty.
He nodded. “I am.”
“I’ve got your table seven covered while you do this, Annie. No big deal.”
“Thanks, Gina.” The blonde smiled at the redhead before returning her attention back to him. “I’ve brought my car to Rakes a few times, and I’ve never seen you.” Beauty grabbed a towel from the counter to wipe the sweat off her forehead, then dabbed her chest near a gold locket that hugged her collarbone.
Shit.
Her tasseled hair seemed sexier the more she dabbed. He’d never been as jealous of a towel in his whole life, the cotton fibers taunting him with their task.
He averted his gaze from the towel and her amazing chest before she labeled him a pervert. Not exactly the reputation he wanted for his new life.
“I’m sad I didn’t get to work on your car.”
God, what a horrible pick-up line. She probably thought he was a giant perv and a complete moron.
She flashed him a half-smile that burned his insides. The diamond on her finger nearly blinded him as she brushed a stray strand from her forehead. The fire inside of him fizzled out like baking soda to a grease fire.
He forced a grin then shot his gaze down to the pastry case.
“Though, I will say…” She tossed the towel aside and stared at him. “Something about your face looks oddly familiar.”
Me? Familiar?
He glanced back up. “Yours does, too, but I don’t really see how.” The spark in his brain burned brighter the more he stared at her.
“Are you from here, or is your family from here?”
“I’m not, but my grandpa was. He lived in a cabin about ten miles outside of town.”
“By Virginia Creek, right? Mr. Wooly.” Her smile grew. “Yeah, you used to come visit him. You guys would go fishing.”
“How’d you know?” He’d never talked to anyone when he came to visit his grandpa. He’d stayed in the woods, hidden and safe. Or at least, that’s how he’d felt.
He stared at her a bit longer. The blue in her eyes reignited a small light of recognition. Could it be?
“I remember you.” She grabbed a pair of tongs off the counter top. “I used to play out by the water, and I would see you across the creek casting your line. You taught me how to skip rocks one day.”
Moments of his past flashed across his mind. It was her.
The girl across the water.
The one who’d wave every time she saw him. She’d been the prettiest girl he had ever seen. Her shiny blonde hair had glowed against the afternoon sun, and a funny surge of excitement rolled through his stomach every time he stared at her. All he could do was wave a slight hand back and put his head down, too timid to talk to her. His limbs would itch in anticipation, trying to work up enough nerve to say hi back—until one day.
She practiced skipping rocks while her dad and Gramps talked. It took everything in him to work up enough nerve to walk over and speak to her. And like the nervous boy he was, he’d forgotten to ask for her name. That had been the last day of his trip that summer, and when he returned the next year, she was gone.
He thought he’d lost his chance.
Now, all these years later, here she was, the girl of his boyhood dreams…and she was married. Tyler glanced back at the diamond ring. No wedding band with it. Perhaps it wasn’t too late. His heart rate escalated.
“You’re the girl that always walked barefoot in the stream?”
Be cool, dude. Be cool. He couldn’t come across too awe struck.
“That was me. Wow, you’ve really…” She stared him over. “Grown.”
He grinned, used to the slight widening of eyes at his size when he walked into a room, just like he experienced moments before. “Yeah, I grew a few inches and took to weight lifting in high school. I enjoyed it so much I just never stopped lifting.”
“Go
od for you.” She gave him a pleasant smile. The same smile she gave him when she’d successfully skipped her rock across the water after he taught her. A smile he never forgot.
“I’m sorry about your loss.”
His good mood deflated. Gramps had been gone three months already. Three months too long. “Yeah.” Sighing, he glanced back at the pastry case. “Thanks.” He spotted a bear claw; Gramps’ favorite.
“I know what it’s like to lose someone you care about,” she said, her voice gentle. “My dad…he…he died in a car accident several years back, and my mom, well…I’ll just say, I know how bad it sucks.”
She’d always walked along the rocks holding her dad’s hand—was that the reason he stopped seeing her? Because of her dad’s death?
“I’m sorry to hear that. I didn’t know. I used to see you guys together all the time.”
“I miss him.” Her eyes held a distant gaze then her sad demeanor suddenly picked up as she focused back on him. “Anyway, what about you? You staying for good?”
“Yeah. The cabin’s mine now. I’ve decided to make this place my home.”
A sense of peace had washed over him when he accepted the estate. The feeling was his Gramp’s final gift. He could start over in Black Widow, and his grandfather understood his need. Tyler had business here he had to do. People to help.
“Good. I moved back to town at the end of last year. It’s been…nice.”
He caught her hesitation.
“I hope you like it here.” Annie gave him a brief smile as a bell in the background chimed. Her gaze cut to the door, and her back stiffened.
Looking to the right, he spotted a group of police officers as they walked in. His palms began to sweat. He glanced back to the case, and wiped his hands down the side of his jeans, keeping the sight of the cops in his peripheral vision.
“Morning, Sandi,” one of the officers called to an older lady with curly brown hair as she grabbed some menus from a wooden stand by the front door.
“Morning, boys. Right this way.”
The uniforms followed the woman to a four top table in the far corner.
Sandi tossed the menus on the checkered tablecloth and stepped out of the way so the officers could take their seats. “Annie’ll be with you guys in a moment.”
At the mention of her name, Tyler peeked back up and watched her. She fumbled with the donut box, nearly dropping it to the floor, her movements quick and shaky.
Is she in trouble with the law?
The group pulled out their chairs, the wooden legs scraping against the floor. He observed them as each officer plopped down and flipped their coffee cup up. Even though he didn’t hear the comment, all of them seemed to be laughing at something the shorter one said…all except one.
Tall with dark hair, the police officer had smiled as he passed certain customers, but his focus kept cutting back to Annie. Now, the man’s glare shot to him.
Cold.
Hard.
Rigid.
Tyler had seen eyes like that before.
He looked back at Annie as she reached into the case to grab more of the donuts. Her shirtsleeve pulled up slightly, revealing the faintest hint of blueish-green. Quickly, she pulled the cloth back down as she replaced the tongs back on the counter top.
Sporadic and fast, his heart pounded at what he thought to be true. Abuse. She needed help. But even though they had a brief encounter when they were kids, they were different people now; he didn’t know her. Not really. He could be jumping to conclusions. For all he knew, she could just be clumsy. If he repeated the thought, maybe he would start to believe it.
She’s just clumsy.
She’s just clumsy.
She’s just clumsy.
Annie packed his boxes in a sack, her mouth straight as she hurried and placed his to-go bag by the register. “Is there anything else I can get for you?” She didn’t meet his gaze.
Damn.
His instincts warned him being clumsy wasn’t her problem. She needed help. But now wasn’t the time or the place.
“No, that’ll do it.”
Hastily, she punched some buttons on the computer screen. “Twenty-two seventy-five.”
He pulled out his wallet and extracted two twenties. “Keep the change.”
She stared at the generous tip. “Thanks.” After tucking the spare change in her apron, she briefly glanced up at him and offered a half-smile.
Fake.
Nervous.
Shy.
He grabbed the bag, his own clammy hands causing the plastic handle to stick to his palm. He headed for the door as Annie took a coffee carafe and rushed toward the officers. The men held their cups up for her to fill, everyone except for the one. The guy gave him another hard stare as Tyler left the building.
A sinking feeling sat in his gut—the same feeling he used to get as a child…just before everything went bad.
Damn, Beauty. What have you got yourself into?
He needed to find that group his grandpa mentioned, and soon. Maybe they could give him some insight on how to help her.
“That’s a lot of donuts you got there.”
Tyler placed the bag down on the small linoleum table in the break room and eyed his boss, Rake. “You’ve got a lot of men that like to eat.” He pulled the boxes out of the sack and flipped the tops up.
“You fell for the Donut Day prank, huh?”
Tyler shook his head. “Bastards.”
“Man, boss.” Dave, a middle-aged mechanic, entered the break room and grabbed a chocolate donut out of the box. “I think this new guy’s going to work out after all.”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t hire him for his generosity.” Rake grabbed a kolache. “I don’t pay him enough to keep the likes of you boys in food.”
“Donut Day, Dave?” Tyler asked. “You ass.”
“Worked, didn’t it?” Dave took a bite of his pastry, chocolate smearing on his bottom lip.
Tyler didn’t bother to tell him.
“Hey, hey, what do we have here?” Bryce sauntered into the kitchen. The buttons on the man’s shirt threatened to pop loose over his belly, and his belt strained against the last notch. “Donuts! That’s what I’m talking about.” He reached a meaty hand into the box.
“Bry, you better wolf that down, and quick. Customer’s coming this morning to pick up his bike, and you still don’t have it complete.” Rake stared at the clock on the wall. “I told him it would be done by nine.”
“Nine? Boss, it’s like eight-thirty.” Bryce took a bite of his breakfast.
“Like I said, get to work,” Rake demanded.
“Damn.” The guy pouted.
“Come on, man. I’ll help you.” Tyler motioned for Bryce to start walking.
“Good.” The mechanic followed him into the shop. “I’m going to need you to do all the heavy lifting.”
“Heavy lifting?” He raised an eyebrow. “Why me?”
“Dude, you’re built like a Mack truck. Why do you think Rake hired you?”
“I thought it was for my skills under a hood.”
Bryce shrugged and stuffed the rest of his donut in his mouth, mumbling around his food, “Maybe so.”
“Morning, boys,” Leona greeted from behind the front desk.
“Morning,” they said in unison.
“There’s donuts back there, Lee, if you want any.” Tyler hooked a thumb to the break room.
“You mean if Bryce doesn’t eat them all first,” the buxom brunette jibed.
“You know you’ve got nothing but love for me, baby.” His pudgy coworker petted one of his nipples and puckered at her.
Lee stifled a giggle and rolled her eyes then pointed to a man signing a receipt. “Customer’s here.”
The guy lifted his head to stare at them. “My bike ready? I’m thinking not since I see pieces lying on the floor.” Long black hair with silver streaks trailed halfway down the guy’s back. A ratty, red bandana squeezed the top of his head while a roughed
up brown leather vest hugged his chest. An emblem of a blue angel sat on his left breast, and a black widow spider patch lay stitched in a way to make it appear like it crawled up his shoulder sleeve.
What were the odds? A Blue Guardian. In the shop. Now. This was his chance.
Be cool, dude.
Tyler picked up a cloth off the worktable and began cleaning a wrench. “Nice leather,” he said, barely giving the guy a glance.
“Yeah, I think so, too.” The man finished signing the receipt and handed it to Leona.
“These guys will have your bike ready in a minute,” she said. “Want a donut while you wait?”
“Sure, sweetie. Thank you.”
She pushed off her stool and sauntered to the kitchen.
Tyler shuffled closer to the Guardian. “That patch.” He kept his voice low so Bryce couldn’t hear him. “You’re part of the Blue Guardians, right?”
“Yep, that’s right.”
The group of bikers helped abused children. He’d learned all about them from his grandfather. He stood to his full height. “How do I get in?”
The man cocked an eyebrow. “We don’t just let anyone in our club, kid.”
Kid?
“I’m not just anyone.” He gave the man a hard stare.
“I’ve seen a Road King parked outside lately…yours?”
“Yes, sir.”
Long Hair glanced him over. “I’ll tell you what, kid.”
Tyler’s jaw tensed at the nickname.
The man took a pen from the cup on the counter and flipped over a tire flyer. “Meet me at this address a week from tonight. Seven. Don’t give anyone this address, and don’t be late. When you walk in, tell JoJo I sent you.”
“And what name should I tell JoJo?”
“Name’s Father.”
Father? God, did this guy have a complex or what?
“And you’re…” The man glanced him over. “Tank.”
Tank. He liked the sound of that, better than Mack Truck at least. “No offense, but I haven’t had the best luck with father figures in my life.”
The man popped the pen back in the cup holder, and cut him a side glance. “It’s time we changed that, son.”
Son. He wanted to crack his neck from the tension in his jaw. He hadn’t been any man’s son in a long time. If ever.
