by Nicole James
He squatted down in front of them and nodded. “Yes, ma’am, in the flesh.”
“I know I don’t have an appointment,” a strawberry-blonde with ringlets said. “But I’d love it if you could do a small tattoo for me.”
“Why, I’d love to, darlin’, but I’m leaving for the day, and I won’t be back for a couple of months. I’ll be out on the road with my band.”
“Oh, darn. We should have come in earlier.”
A redhead in the group leaned forward. “It must be so exciting touring with Charlotte Justice. I just love her.”
Rory had to agree with that. “She’s something special, all right. You know, we’ve got a show in Denver Saturday night. You ladies should come up for it.”
They exchanged looks. “That sounds awesome.”
The blonde batted her eyes at him and asked, “Any chance you can get us some back stage passes?”
Rory chuckled. “Honey, if it were up to me, no problem, but Charlotte Justice and her band are the only ones who can give those passes out.”
“Aww.”
Rory straightened. “How ‘bout we get a picture together before I leave?”
“That would be awesome!” the blonde squealed.
The girls jumped to their feet and gathered around him.
“Hey, Liam?” Rory called.
“Yeah?”
“Come take a picture of us.”
“I’m working.”
“Please,” one of the girls begged.
Liam slammed a drawer shut. A moment later he moseyed on over. “All right, sweetie. Since you asked so nicely.”
Rory tucked a girl on each side. “Cuddle in here, doll,” he told the third girl who giggled and squeezed in by his chest.
After Liam took a couple of pictures, he passed the cell phone back. “Here you go.”
“Ladies, I’ve really got to be going, but thanks for coming in today.” He hugged each one.
After they left, Liam rolled his eyes. “What a life you lead. Always got the women fawning all over you.”
Rory grinned. “I can’t help it if I got all of the good looks in the family.”
Liam huffed out a breath. “Right.”
Jameson walked up, his eyes hitting Rory. “You headed out soon?”
“Yep. My duffle bag is already strapped to the bike.”
“You’re riding?” Jameson brows shot up.
“Yeah, why?”
Max joined them; he was the second oldest of the group and probably the most serious of the O’Rourke brothers. “Storm’s comin’, little brother. You better scoot if you plan to beat it to Denver.”
Rory rolled his eyes at his brother’s warning. “I’ll be fine.”
Liam slapped Max’s arm. “Little brother doesn’t care about silly things like the weather, Max. He’s too busy keepin’ all the names in his little black book straight.”
“Ha ha. You’re such a riot.” Rory slugged Liam. It was true; he was the most carefree of the bunch. He was also the only one who was still single, and he liked it that way. He figured he was much too young and had way too many goals he wanted to accomplish before he’d ever be ready to settle down. Sometimes his three big brothers got on his nerves, like when they bossed him around or told him what to do. He supposed it came with being the baby of the family, but it got old.
“Where’s the band staying?” Jameson asked, folding his ink covered arms, the expensive watch on his wrist flashing. Jameson didn’t spend a lot of money on himself, but Ava had given it to him so he always wore it. Rory knew for a fact she’d paid almost three grand for the thing. Jameson had made quite a success in the industry, even managing to snag a reality TV show for several seasons. It had paid well, and the business had exploded.
Rory leaned a hip against the counter. “I’m supposed to meet up with the guys. The tour buses will be there. I guess that’s where we’ll end up Friday night.”
“You want to stay at the condo, feel free. Just don’t have any parties.”
Jameson had purchased a condo in one of the elite high-rises in Denver, one with expansive floor-to-ceiling windows and an amazing mountain view of the Front Range. He used it as a second home. Investment property, he called it, while his primary residence was still the family farm just outside town.
“Thanks, man.”
Jameson nodded, clasped hands with Rory, and pulled him in for a back slapping hug. “You be careful, okay?”
Rory chuckled. “Always the worrywart, aren’t you, brother?”
“Someone has to be.”
“I’ll be careful.”
“And no dope smoking inside,” Jamison threatened. “Ava gave me hell last time you stayed there.”
Rory chuckled. “Fine. Only on the balcony.”
“How about not at all?”
“You’re such a party pooper now that you’re married and have a kid. That’s why I don’t plan to do either. Not for a long, long time.”
Jameson snorted. “Funny how promises like that work out. I think I made that same one before I met Ava.”
Chapter Two
“Rayne, I’ve got it. Stop worrying.”
Rayne looked over at Charlie. He’d been her older brother’s best friend and like one of the family for as far back in her twenty-four years as she could remember. Standing in the business Daniel had started years ago out of Dad’s garage, and was now one of Denver’s best motorcycle shops, she couldn’t help but worry. This business meant everything to her. She’d worked side-by-side with Daniel and his buddies, helping to make it the success it had become.
Now Daniel was gone, Dad was busy running the restaurant, and she was left trying to hold Connor Moto Works together. It was hard to let go of the reins, even when she was about to leave for a trip she’d been planning for years, long before Daniel ever got sick. She had to admit, being the control freak she was, letting go, even for two weeks, felt impossible.
“I know you’ve got it, Charlie. It’s just—”
“Just what? Jason and Rick are going to handle all the repair work we’ve got booked up, and I’ll be working the retail side with Dex. Everything will be fine.”
“I know, but—”
“No buts, Rayne. You need this trip, honey. You know you do. And the girls will be here any minute. Are you gonna break their hearts and tell them you’re bailing on them, especially after missing last year’s trip?” Charlie squatted down and checked the pressure on the tires of her motorcycle.
Rayne jumped up to sit on the wooden workbench, swinging her feet and staring down at the red laces of her black boots. She’d taken them out of Daniel’s boots and put them in her own, wanting to take something of him with her besides his bike.
She’d teased him about the laces mercilessly years ago. He was famous for riding around town on his motorcycle, easily identifiable by them.
“Rayne, don’t be sad. You’ve mourned your brother long enough, and you did everything you could for him—more than anyone should have expected of you. Now it’s your time. You need it to recharge your soul. The guys need you fresh and re-energized.”
She nodded. “I know you’re right. It’s just hard.”
He finished with her bike and stood, his knees cracking, showing his thirty-plus years. He moved to her and dipped his head, setting his hands on the wood on either side of her hips. “I mean it. This is all you-time. Have some fun, and for two weeks don’t think about this place.”
She bumped foreheads with him. “Yes, sir.”
He chuckled and patted the top of the black knit hat she wore over her long hair—the one with the shop’s logo on a patch sewed on the front, the one her brother had worn. Her eyes began to fill at the thought.
“Hey, none of that.” He chucked her under the chin. “No sadness. He’d want you to be happy. He made me promise before he died to make sure you did this trip this year, and I don’t aim to let him down. Understood?”
“Understood.”
He tapped the end
of her nose before stepping back.
Rayne took in the expression of love on his bearded face. She knew he cared about her and more than just as his friend’s little sister. But never once had he ever made any overt moves on her. Maybe it was out of respect for Daniel, maybe it was because of their eight-year age difference. Whatever it was that stopped him, Rayne was glad he hadn’t pursued anything; she loved Charlie like a brother, and although he was a great guy and good looking, she didn’t have romantic feelings for him.
The sound of motorcycles rolling up the street drew her attention, and she lifted her eyes out the open garage door, toward the street.
Charlie twisted. “Looks like your rat pack is here.”
She watched as Jenna, Carmen, and Sasha all rolled up, hooting and hollering over their engines.
Rayne couldn’t help laughing. Her heart lightened just seeing them. They were her gal-pals, her cheer squad, her support system; they encouraged her when she was down and gave her strength when she felt she couldn’t go on.
Charlie was right; she needed this road trip, and right then she swore she would try to live in the moment and enjoy every minute.
Chapter Three
Rory had been on the road almost three hours when the first drops of rain pelted him. He glanced over his shoulder, seeing only darkening skies closing in quickly. A green road sign indicated an exit coming up, so he got in the right lane and slowed as he approached the ramp off I70.
He spotted a gas station, a motel, and a few businesses off to the left so he crossed the overpass, and studied the sky to the west. It didn’t look like it was going to let up anytime soon, and he knew he’d never outrun it. Damn it. He hated when Max was right.
“Fucking hell.”
He blew out a frustrated breath and rolled into the parking lot of the small motel and stopped under the covered entry. He climbed from his bike, pulling his helmet off and unsnapping his jacket. He walked inside and approached the reservations desk.
“Welcome to the Birchwood Motel, sir.” The young clerk greeted him with a big smile. “The rain bring you in?”
Rory nodded, running a hand over his wet face. “You got a room?”
“Yes, sir.”
When Rory had paid and gotten the keycard, he asked, “Anywhere I can park my bike out of the rain?”
“Yes, sir. Your room is down on the left. There’s a breezeway at the end where the ice machine and laundry room are located. You can park your bike in the breezeway if there’s room. There are already a few bikes down there. Had a group come in about half an hour ago.”
“Any place to get food around here?”
“Ranaldi’s Pizza will deliver to your room. Otherwise the Ice House Brewery next door is pretty good.”
“Thanks, man.”
Rory headed out the door and fired up his bike, rolling slowly through the rain to the breezeway at the end of the row of motel rooms. The motel was two stories, ten rooms on each floor. He rolled the bike under the breezeway, parking next to a line of four other bikes. As he climbed off and unstrapped his duffle bag, he eyed them—a Ducati, an Indian, and two Harley Sportsters.
He walked to his room and dropped his duffle on the queen size bed, then dug a dry denim shirt out.
Ten minutes later he strolled into the Brew House, noting the sign at the door that proclaimed Karaoke started at nine. It was loud and crowded. He found a spot at the bar and sat down. The bartender came over, and he ordered a Belgium Pale Ale.
“You’re up, Rayne,” one of the chicks next to him said, and he turned, eyeing the bunch. They were all young twenties and cute as hell, all dressed similar in slim black jeans, lace-up black boots, and assorted moto-gear shirts. One in particular caught his eye. Her waist-length hair was colored a soft lavender-gray, and it looked stunning with her pale skin and big brown eyes. She didn’t have much makeup on, just dark mascara on her long lashes. But it was her smile that drew Rory’s attention; she had the prettiest smile he’d seen in a long time.
“No way, guys,” she protested, shaking her head.
“Oh, hell yes. We all said we’d take a turn. You promised,” a girl with a hot-pink bob insisted.
“Okay, fine. But I need a shot first,” the one with the pretty hair replied.
One of her friends, a tall thin brunette, turned from the bar with four small glasses filled halfway with some red concoction. “Here you go, girls. Drink up.”
They each took one.
“What are these?” a girl with long blonde braids asked.
“It’s called a Red-headed Slut. I got them in honor of Sasha.”
“You bitch,” replied the girl with the pink bob and they all laughed. “Besides, it’s fuchsia, not red, you dork.”
“Pot-A-toes, pot-ah-toes.”
“A toast,” the blonde said, lifting her glass. They all followed suit. “To the road, biker babes!”
“To the road!” They all clinked glasses and downed the liquor.
“Whoo-ee!” Sasha’s eyes got big, and she shook her head. “That’s some nasty shit.”
Rory couldn’t help but chuckle.
The tall brunette took the empty glass from the girl with the long lavender locks. “Go on, now, Rayne. No more excuses.” She shoved the girl’s shoulders, pushing her in the direction of the stage.
Rory watched her walk off, following the sway of her hair just above her cute ass until his attention was drawn away.
“Hey, you.”
Rory turned, meeting the gaze of the girl with the pink bobbed hair. “You talkin’ to me?”
“Yeah. What’s your name?”
“Rory.”
“You single, Rory?”
“Yep, and I ain’t lookin’ to change that, either.”
“Perfect.”
“Yeah? Perfect for what, honey?”
“My girlfriend. She needs a little R&R.” Her eyes swept over him. “And I think you could be just the man to give it to her.”
Rory chuckled. He had to admit, he’d been hit on by the best, but never quite so straightforward. “That so?”
“Yes, sir.”
His eyes swept over the bunch. “And which one would that be?”
She nodded toward the stage. “My girl, Rayne.”
As he turned that way, he noticed the stage was set up for a band that probably played most nights. The team running Karaoke were using one of the microphone stands, set up center stage. Rayne stepped to the microphone. Her hands closed around it, and tilting it up, she said, “This one’s for my brother.” The music started up, and her eyes closed as she began the soulful lyrics of Elton John’s Daniel.
It was a hauntingly beautiful song the way she sang it, and Rory was mesmerized.
“Oh, damn,” he heard the girl whisper next to him.
He turned to look at her. “What’s wrong?”
She shook her head. “Just the song she picked. We were supposed to be having fun.”
“What’s wrong with the song?” He turned to watch her. “She’s got a nice voice.”
“Her brother’s name was Daniel.”
“Was?”
“He died earlier this year. She took it pretty hard.”
“I see.”
The girl extended her hand. “Sorry. My name’s Sasha.”
He shook her hand. “Sasha.”
“This is Jenna,” she motioned to the tall brunette, then the blonde. “And that’s Carmen.”
He nodded. “Ladies.”
“You live around here?” Jenna asked.
He shook his head. “Vail? Nah. I grew up in Grand Junction. Where are you ladies from?”
“Denver.”
“And what brings you to this bar off I70 on a Thursday? Kind of far to go for Karaoke Night.”
Sasha laughed. “Nope. We’re on a road trip. Headed to California.”
“California. Whereabouts?”
“Near Joshua Tree. We’re going to a women’s moto event. It’s going to be awesome.”
“Really? You ladies wouldn’t happen to ride a Ducati, an Indian, and two Sportsters, would you?”
Sasha smiled big. “How did you know?”
“Saw ‘em parked at the motel. That’s where I parked my bike.”
“Oh, really? And what do you ride, Rory?” The blonde shouldered up to him at the bar, squeezing out her friends.
He grinned. “A Softail Street Bob.”
“Nice.” She smiled at him flirtatiously.
“Back off, Carmen. I was chatting him up for Rayne. She needs a man more than you do,” Sasha said.
Blondie turned to her. “Says who?”
“Says me and the big boyfriend you’ve got waiting at home.”
“Oh, him. Right.” She turned to Rory, giving him a sly smile. “Guess she’s right.”
He chuckled and nodded. “Understand.”
“Still, she can be a pest. She’s not my mother”—she rolled her eyes at Sasha—“you know.”
Rory grinned, eyes drifting toward the stage. Rayne sang the song with such emotion that it was hard to take his gaze off her. She sang with her eyes closed until the very end—at the last note, she opened a pair of sparkling brown eyes to reveal her unshed tears.
Rory began to clap, and the whole bar joined him.
“Thank you,” she murmured into the microphone and walked off stage. She made her way through the crowd, and when she reached her friends, the girls enfolded her in a hug, whispering things to her that Rory couldn’t hear in the crowded bar.
Soon she was tugged forward and pushed on the open barstool next to him.
“Sit here. This seat’s not taken, is it, Rory?” Sasha asked.
His eyes met Rayne’s, and he lost himself in their brown depths. “No, ma’am.”
“Rayne, this is Rory. He’s from Grand Junction, and he’s single. Rory, this is my girl, Rayne.”
“Nice to meet you.” Rory extended his hand, still entranced by her beauty and smile.
She took his hand. “Rory.”
“You, ah, sing beautifully,” he said, thinking to himself he sounded like a bumbling fool.
“Thanks, but you don’t have to lie. I’m not that good.”
“Sure you are.”
