by Cathryn Cade
Connor cackled gleefully, and Rae could not suppress a snicker at this ridiculous threat. "Maybe," she mumbled against his shirt. "Can I decide later?"
He gave her an extra squeeze, one that involved one of his strong hands straying to her ass, and chuckled. "Sure thing, mama. Just say the word, and I'm on it."
Rae tipped her head against his chest and laughed. "I'm imagining the look on her face if you showed up, going all bad-ass biker on her."
He laughed too, the deep sound rumbling through her in a delicious way. "Be my pleasure."
Rae lifted her head and sighed. "Better not, because it would be her pleasure to have you arrested for intimidation."
Connor sighed theatrically. “That's right, mom, spoil all our fun."
Rae pushed free of Mac’s arms and turned on her son, pointing a finger at him. "Biker mayhem is not fun, Connor Carson. Stop listening to your father."
Connor looked to his dad and grinned widely.
Rae rolled her eyes. Right, like that was going to happen. Her son seemed to think his dad pooped rainbows and sugar sprinkles.
"Great," she mumbled. "I'm raising Teen Biker."
Mac's laugh rumbled again. "And doing a damn fine job of it too, mama."
Connor's stomach growled loudly, and for once Rae was glad to hear it, because she seriously needed to quell the urge to go on snuggling with her ex. Nothing good would come of that—at least not for her.
"Lunch time," she announced, giving Mac a shove with her elbow. "I'll make sandwiches.You guys get out the chips and set the table, please."
"I can do both," Connor said, quickly hustling around the kitchen island. "Dad's the man of the house. He shouldn't have to do shit like this."
Rae stared at her son, not sure which to address first. Not since he was four years old and prone to dropping more dishes than he carried successfully had her son offered to help set or clear for a meal. But she also did not appreciate being told homemaking was ‘women’s shit.’
To her surprise, Mac preempted her.
"Son," Mac said. "Ain't nothing wrong with a man helping out around the house, when his woman is working as hard as your mom does. Doesn't mean I'm going to offer to cook besides grilling, because I'm shit at that, or do dishes, 'cause I'd just as soon use paper and toss 'em. But I'm here, I'm hungry, and I got two free hands. So we'll both help, yeah?"
There was a short silence, which RaeAnn appreciated, as she needed time to adjust to having backup with Connor.
When Mac turned to her and raised his brows, his eyes twinkling, Rae realized she was still staring at him. ‘Thank you,’ she mouthed behind Con’s back.
Mac winked at her. “You want us to use placemats? Got some in the bottom drawer there.”
No, he did not. Now he was just shining her on. Rae bent and opened the bottom drawer, then froze as she saw a neat stack of leaf green, quilted placemats, with matching napkins.
She raised her astonished gaze to Mac. "What did you say your name was again? You look like Mac Carson, but he would never own placemats or cloth napkins."
He bumped her with his lean hip as he moved past her to open the utensil drawer. "Like I told you, babe, we’ve both changed. Maybe you ain't the only one who's been adulting since Connor was born. But seriously, my sister gave me those mats and shit. Don’t know why, ‘cause I never remember to use ‘em, but we can if you want."
Then of course, he spoiled it all by adding, "Now get busy on those sandwiches woman, because your men are hungry and you make us wait much longer, we are liable to get grouchy."
Straightening from retrieving three placemats, Rae rolled her eyes. "Oh, well then, I guess I better get busy and feed 'my men'." She sketched air quotes as she said the last words.
Connor groaned. "Geez, mom. Don't do that—you look like one of those stupid chicks in middle school."
Rae handed him the placemats and some paper napkins. "You didn't think those girls were so stupid when you were in middle school," she told him as she opened the refrigerator and pulled out the makings for ham and cheese sandwiches. "You were all 'Mom, I want to invite Tiffany to the dance. What shirt should I wear? She says I look good in blue.' "
It was Connor's turn to roll his eyes. "Yeah, and that was like three years ago, so maybe you could quit bringing that up every time you want to embarrass me? Dad, make her stop."
Rae and Mac laughed. Mac shook his head. "Sorry son, you're on your own—at least until after lunch. Don't want any surprise ingredients in my sandwich—and your mama has developed a vengeful streak."
"Yes, I have," Rae said serenely. She raised her brows at her son. "And you don't want any surprises in yours either, mister, so you better watch it."
"Give me ten bucks and I'll go get myself a burger at the burger shack," he muttered. "Then I'll get fries with lunch, and I won't have to listen to your lame jokes."
Rae continued spreading mayonnaise and mustard on bread. "You'll be down there for an afternoon snack, anyway, if I know you. For now, you can eat veggies and chips with your sandwiches, and like it."
Mac nodded emphatically. "And we will, right, son?"
Connor grunted his response, still pouting. Used to his mercurial teen moods, Rae ignored him.
She layered thinly sliced ham and cheese on four sandwiches, added lettuce, sliced tomato, flipped the sandwiches closed, and sliced them in half.
She handed over the plate with two sandwiches to Connor, the other to Mac, and picked up her own plate to carry it around to the table.
Connor took his plate and slouched to the table. But Mac took his and sat across from her, with a pleased look on his face. "Looks great, mama."
Connor, busy inhaling his sandwiches, did not add his opinion.
Rae ate in silence. She did make good sandwiches, if she did say so.
Selecting a chip, she eyed Connor, who was nearly finished with his second sandwich. She nudged the chip bag to him, and he grabbed a handful and shoved them in his mouth, along with a half-eaten bite of sandwich.
Rae winced and looked away. Hazards of eating with boys—she really should know better than to watch. She'd been working on the 'chew with your mouth closed' since Con was small. One of these days, maybe it would stick.
"So, Con," she said casually. "Tomorrow, we should go to Cheney and get you registered at your new high school."
When her son did not respond, she looked to Mac, tipping her head toward Connor and frowning meaningfully.
Mac swallowed. "We'll all go," he said. "I’ll be home around noon tomorrow. We’ll head out there, check out the school and the soccer fields, then go for lunch. That sound good to you, Con?"
Connor, his head down, took his time, but finally he nodded. "I guess, sure."
Mac winked at Rae. "It's a go, then," he said aloud. He took another bite of his sandwich.
Connor rose, swiping the back of his hand over his mouth, and grabbed his empty plate and glass.
"You forget something?" Mac said mildly when their son made to walk away without a word.
Connor squinted at his father. "Uh, no?"
"You might want to thank your mama for lunch. People do stuff for you, son, they like to be acknowledged."
Their son had the grace to look embarrassed. "Thanks, mom," he said gruffly. "Good sandwiches." He took his dishes into the kitchen and headed off to his room.
Rae watched in silence. Then she smiled wryly. It might pinch her lady parts to admit it, but he had the 'dad power'. When he sided with her, Connor listened.
"Thanks," she murmured after Con had thundered down the hallway to his room.
Mac reached over and covered her hand with his, big, calloused, and warm. "Babe, don't sweat it. You been doing a great job with him, nobody's gonna argue different. It's a law of nature or something—a boy's gonna listen to his old man more than his mama. Ain't fair, just is what it is."
She huffed a laugh. "At least nobody can say he's a mama's boy, right?" She sniffled and looked to Mac because he
deserved to hear this. "He's always been yours, Mac. No matter how much time he spent with each of us... he's your son. He worships the ground you walk on."
Mac's face changed, went tight, and he blinked, his eyes bright. "Yeah? That's not fair to you either, but... you know I love him. I'd do anything to keep him safe."
Her heart swelling painfully, Rae turned her hand under his and clasped it. "I know, Mac. I do. And so would I."
He rubbed his thumb over hers and tightened his grip on her hand. "I've always known that, darlin'. Everyone who knows you, knows that. And he does, too. Even though he might not say so."
Rae laughed again, this time rough with the tears that threatened as emotion swelled inside her. "I have my doubts about that. I think he mostly sees me as a chores and homework nag."
Mac leaned in and reached his free hand to cup her cheek, brushing wetness from under her eyes with his thumb. His gaze was so tender she wanted to bask in it. "Nah, baby. You've just never been a teenage boy—I have. He knows. A woman like you don't have to speak her love, she shows it every day, in every way. And any man lucky enough to be on the receiving end… he's gonna soak it in."
'But you didn't. Not in the short time we were together.'
The thought sprang fully formed into Rae's mind, and for one shocking second she thought she’d said it aloud. Fortunately, she hadn’t. Because she was not ready to have that discussion.
She lowered her gaze, pulling her hand free from his. "Okay, well... good talk," she said. "Thanks for the, uh... encouraging words."
She half-expected him to ask her what was wrong—please don't, please don't, she begged silently, her gaze on their plates as she stacked them and set their utensils on top.
But instead, he sat back in his chair and nodded, although he did so watchfully, his blue gaze searching her face. "Sure. Same here."
Rae escaped into the kitchen area, and busied herself rinsing their plates and putting the lunch dishes into the dishwasher.
For his part, Mac pulled out his phone and thumbed it quietly. Her phone pinged where it lay on the counter.
"Sent you my schedule for the week," he told her. "I'm off tomorrow. Work two more 24’s this week, Wednesday, then Saturday, so I'll be around the other times if you or Con need me."
She nodded, but her thoughts darkened as she filled the dishwasher and wiped off the countertops. Because speaking of jobs, she now had to find a new one.
She was not looking forward to that. Britt may have been a bitch to work for, but at least she was a known quantity.As the old saying went, ‘better the devil you know than the devil you don't’.
She cast a surreptitious look at Mac as he stood by the kitchen island, still looking at his phone. In every movement, he was masculinity personified. Not the biggest guy around, or one of those who were driven to build wealth and power... but he was definitely all man.
Comfortable in his own skin, sure of his place in his world.
He drew her in like a magnet drew a pile of loose hair-clips, without human hair to hold them in place. She sighed heavily as she closed the dishwasher and pushed the start button. Yep, that described her perfectly at this point in her life. She'd lost her center—her job, her home, and her place in the center of her son's world.
And without these things, who was she?
She wasn't sure... all she knew was, her lack of direction and center was an incredibly uncomfortable place to be.
Ever since she could remember, she'd known what she wanted—or at least, what she didn't want, which was to be trapped working with her mother for her working life.
Now... she felt adrift, useless as one of those hair-clip falling from a coiffure and cascading toward a salon floor—which was a long way down.
“Hey,” Mac said, coming around the island to her. “I know this is not your best day. But I’ll promise you this, mama. You stick with me and brighter days will be on the way.”
She looked at him, touched and yet aggravated. “Mac, you can’t find a job for me with your biker mojo. So just, go do your job, and I’ll look for a new one.”
He winked at her. “Yeah, well, my biker mojo just might have somethin’ to say about that. Anyway, I’m off to work. Be home this time tomorrow.”
“But then you’ll need to get some sleep,” she said.
“Nah, I can sleep at the station unless they need me. I’ll be fine.” He paused, eyeing her. “I go for a goodbye kiss, you gonna smack me?”
“Yes,” she said. “Just go to work, Mac.”
He chuckled. “Okay, mama. Moke or T will be coming by in a bit to drop off a loaner car for you. If you need it, use it. See you—and we’ll have that talk soon.”
She watched him saunter to the door into the garage and exit, shaking her head, but smiling as she did so.
Oh, Mac.
He seemed more relaxed these days, more comfortable in his own skin.
And a very fine skin it was. He had new lines in his tanned face, sure, but many were laugh lines.
He had ink on his arms and back, now, too. Bold, tribal designs that peeked from his shirt collar and the sleeves of his tees.
She wondered what the rest of those tatts looked like. She wanted to find out… even if she had to do something sneaky, like ‘accidentally’ walk in on him as he got out of the shower.
Although, maybe that was her worst idea ever, because what if the mystery tattoos included another woman's initials, or the like? She knew he'd been a busy guy in the years since Connor's birth.
But since thinking about all his other women gave her heartburn, she rubbed her solar plexus with one hand and got busy with what she needed to be doing, looking for a new stylist position.
She needed to find a job, stat. She was not cut out—ha, hair-stylist joke—for staying home. She didn't like daytime TV, she liked to read but not for hours at a time, and she didn’t do crafts.
Also, she wasn't going to turn into Suzy Homemaker, creating all Con and Mac's meals from scratch, and sewing up curtains for the kitchen windows.
That's why there were restaurants with delivery service and delis in grocery stores. And stores that sold cute home goods, already made up.
As the sound of the garage door rising whirred quietly on the other side of the living room wall, and Mac’s pickup rumbled to life, she pulled her laptop out of its case, set it up on the dining table, and started searching online.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
On his way to work, Mac activated the hands-free phone app on his truck. “Text Flyers Old Ladies,” he said.
The app pinged that it had opened the group he’d created.
“Ladies, time to put Operation RaeAnn into motion,” Mac dictated. “She just lost her stylist job, ‘cause she wanted an extra day off to get Con into his new high school in Cheney. She’s at loose ends, likely feeling blue, and I’m sure she could use some company, if any of y’all are available.”
As he turned off the county road onto the ramp for I-90, down into Spokane, his phone pinged with four texts, one after the other.
He smiled to himself. That was fast. The Flyers’ old ladies were moving into action.
Next, he said, “Text Rocker. You have any word on a plan for the BBs? Let me know. I’m headed in to work an extra shift, but I’ll be around tomorrow afternoon.”
Rocker called him back in a few moments.
“Hey,” Mac said.
Rocker grunted. “Yeah, we have one. Church Tuesday evening, seven. You’ll be there?”
Cooler smiled to himself. “You know I never miss a chance to worship, brother. I’ll be there.”
“Good. Later.”
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
RaeAnn flipped her laptop shut and closed her eyes. Straightening, she arched her back to stretch it.
Nothing. Not a single stylist position open—that she would consider taking, that is.
She was not driving out to a small town 40 miles south to give perms at the Cut’n’Curl, thank you very much.
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Nor was she excited about working as a men’s barber in a Spokane Valley salon where she’d serve her customers beer along with their haircuts. Let the 20-somethings do that one.
But she also wasn’t going to let Mac support her. She would find a position even if she had to call every contact she had. If all else failed, she could always get a job in merchandising.
She had plenty of experience in that.
When her phone burred with an incoming call, she glanced at it and frowned. A local number, but one she didn’t know. “Hello?” She said cautiously.
“RaeAnn?” a woman’s voice asked. “Hi! This is Rissa Belmer. I’m Streak’s old lady—also known as his wife. I understand you’re a stylist? Well, so am I.”
RaeAnn couldn’t think of a single word to say for a few seconds. “Oh… right.”
Rissa laughed, a pleasant sound. “I’m sorry to come at you out of the blue like this. But Cooler texted me—us, and let us know you’d moved out here. I own a salon here in the Heights. Iris Salon? Maybe you’ve seen it.”
“Sorry, I haven’t,” Rae said. “But I just moved out here a couple of days ago and haven’t had the time to so much as drive down the main road.”
As she spoke, she opened her laptop and started typing one-handed. Because now she was wildly curious. There was a salon here in Airway Heights?
“Ah, I get it,” Rissa said. “Listen, I thought it would be nice for us to get to know each other, but if you’re busy, unpacking and stuff, we can talk in a few days.”
“No, now’s good,” Rae said quickly, gazing at the Iris website. It was lovely, and the place was small but very nice. “I’d… love to meet you, and some of the other Flyers’ old ladies.”
“Great,” Rissa said. “So, what are you doing this evening?”
“Well… funny you should ask. I’m free this evening, since Mac is working. Although Connor, our son—I don’t want to leave him alone right now. I don’t know if you know, but he’s… had some trouble.”
“Oh, I heard. Those damn gangs. Listen, bring him with you. Iris in on the main floor of an older home, so we—Streak and our son Javier and I, live there. Connor knows Streak and Javi, they can watch a game together or something. And, I hope you don’t mind, but some of the other old ladies would love to meet you, too. So we may have company.”
