There’s no mistaking it’s her mom walking in behind her. The hair is dark—mostly gray now—but the eyes are the same, as are the generous curves and short stature. I wonder if she has the same sharp tongue I’ve heard from her daughter.
My gaze drifts back to Jaimie, who seems to have caught sight of me. Fuck.
“Take Hanna, will ya?” Tahlula shoves my niece at me and my arms come up automatically. “I need to say hello.”
The baby snuggles against me with a blind trust I don’t know I deserve as I watch my sister join Evan at the door, wrapping her arms around first Jaimie and then her mom.
She’s claiming everyone as family now, my sister. There was a time, not that long ago, when it was just she and I. Now she has a fucking house full of people.
Blackfoot and his wife, Autumn, with their rugrat. Evan’s mother, Joan. Even two of Evan’s fellow firefighters, and Tony Ramirez, who’s Blackfoot’s partner with the Durango PD. Add to that her friend, Jaimie, and her mother. Shee-it, a fucking houseful. I’m getting claustrophobic.
“Want me to take her from you?” Evan asks as he walks up, reaching for his daughter.
“Nah, she’s good.”
Just because I don’t fuss over the baby doesn’t mean I don’t like holding her. Even if the poor kid has red hair like her dad. Luckily, she’s growing into her mama’s good looks.
“Trunk, come meet Sandra.”
I let my sister drag me into the living room, where I mumble what I hope is a polite “Merry Christmas” to Sandra, and limit myself to a nod to her daughter before sitting down, settling Hanna in my lap.
The next half hour is spent opening the kids’ gifts. Tahlula insisted no presents for adults, thank fuck. The damn kids were challenge enough.
I lucked out at the Harley store on the south side of town when I popped in to grab a new beanie after losing the old one. Winter is hard on a bald head. I spotted the little tees on the rack near the cash and bought three. Two black and one pink, all with the Harley logo. The sales girl rolled her eyes when I couldn’t give her any sizes, so I ended up grabbing ones that looked right and slammed them on the counter.
Apparently, I overestimated. Aleksander, Autumn and Blackfoot’s kid, insisted on wearing it and it hangs down to his knees. Whatever. They can grow into them.
After presents, drinks are refreshed and the two boys sit down on the ground to check out some of their new toys.
I try to ignore the hum of conversation around me and get lost in thought, until I feel a tug on my jeans and look down. The little blond boy, who moments before was playing on the floor with Blackfoot’s kid, is pulling himself up on my pant leg. His knees wobble and my free hand shoots out to keep him standing. His blue eyes are impossibly round in his face as he looks at me. Then he looks at Hanna, who’s fallen asleep in the crook of my arm.
“Ba!” His little finger points at her. “Ba!”
“Baby,”
“Ba!”
“Yeah, that’s a baby.”
He wedges himself between my knees and reaches for Hanna. A pudgy hand closes on the sock that keeps slipping off her foot, and yanks it off. “Ba!” he prattles, shoving said sock in his mouth.
“Kid, you don’t wanna make a habit of sticking other people’s dirty socks in your mouth,” I rumble quietly, plucking it from his fingers. “It’s a nasty habit.”
“Ba!”
“Exactly. It’s gross.”
“Ba–up!” His hand slaps my thigh. “Up!” he says again, stretching his arms toward me.
Without thinking, I reach down and lift him on my lap. He’s immediately focused on Hanna, and I can just hold him back before he launches himself at her.
“Easy boy,” I tell him, before settling him firmly on his side of my lap. “That’s my niece you’re throwing yourself at. She deserves a little more finesse, don’tcha think?”
“I can take River if he’s bothering you.” I look up to find his mother standing in front of me, barely hiding the grin pulling at her mouth.
“He’s fine,” I assure her, trying not to get lost in those amused blue eyes. To underline how ‘fine’ he is, the kid puts his thumb in his mouth and leans his head against my chest.
Jaimie’s full grin is out, white teeth peeking out between pink lips.
Fucking hell.
“He’s the baby-whisperer.”
I roll my eyes at my sister’s comment. She first called me that a few weeks ago when Hanna fell asleep on my chest after a fussy crying spell.
“I can see that.”
“He may scare grown men, but is a big ole’ softie with kids,” Tahlula feels necessary to add.
“That’s it,” I announce firmly. “Collect your spawn. I need some fresh air.”
Hanna’s still sleeping like the dead when her chuckling mother plucks her off my lap, but River loudly protests when Jaimie reaches for him. I breathe in a whiff of vanilla when her hair falls forward over her face as she scoops up her son.
I’m out back, pulling on a cigarette, when the door slides open and Blackfoot steps out. Luke, my sister’s dog, who is sniffing around the yard, lifts his head.
“Got another one of those?” I silently hand him the pack and my lighter. “Fuck, sometimes I forget how good that first hit is,” he says, inhaling deeply.
“When’d you quit?”
“Years ago. Only time I miss it is when I’d like an excuse to escape a crowded room.”
“I hear ya. I’m not one for crowds myself. I carry a pack in case of an emergency.”
Blackfoot chuckles at that before he falls silent. The two of us watch the dog mark his territory, occasionally taking a drag. “More snow coming,” he finally says, and I look up at the overcast sky.
“Looks like.”
I feel his eyes on me. “Get any more info on that boy?”
Arrow’s Edge sometimes called in help from local law enforcement to get a background on some of the kids we pick up. Some of them run away from home after something as simple as a disagreement with their folks, or getting into some trouble with the law. Those kids are usually reunited with family after mediation by the club. The tougher ones are those where kids are running from a violent situation. In those cases, we get more involved.
Our latest kid, Matt, is a bit of a challenge and Ouray asked Blackfoot to run his picture and his first name, to see if anything would pop up. Nothing has, and Matt’s not talking.
“Nothing. I tried again yesterday, but he’s locked up tight. Thinking of asking Momma to have a go. He seems a little more responsive to her.” I take a final drag before dropping the butt into the tin my sister left out here for that. She caught me flicking my butts into the yard and climbed up one end and down the other, before getting me the can.
Blackfoot follows suit. “Anything you come up with, let me know. I’ll look again.”
“Will do.”
“You ready to go back in?” he asks me with a grin.
Through the sliding door I take in the packed house. Joan and Jaimie’s mother are in the kitchen, setting out food, and I just catch a glimpse of Evan heading down the hallway toward the bedrooms, probably putting the baby to bed. In the living room Tahlula throws her head back, laughing at something Jaimie says, a sound I can hear out here.
She seems right at home in the crowd. Ironic, given not so long ago we were both loners, preferring our own company to that of others. Remnants of a fucked-up childhood.
Tahlula has moved on. Me, not so much.
“Fuck, no,” I growl before opening the sliding door.
Jaimie
I’m not sure how I ended up sitting across from him.
They moved some of the furniture aside to expand the dining table, with drop-in panels to facilitate the eleven adults, while I was in Tahlula’s office, putting a very tired River down to sleep. By the time I walked in, it had been the only chair available, between Mom and Tony Ramirez, and directly opposite Trunk.
Mom appears to be havi
ng a good time over dinner, bonding with Evan’s mother over a common love of gardening. They lost me when they started discussing the best types of soil for growing tomatoes and my eyes wandered. Right into Trunk’s almost black ones, intently focused on me.
Yikes.
I produce a smile, which promptly has his gaze drop to my mouth before turning away. Well, then. Ignoring the pang of disappointment at the lack of response, I turn to Tony instead.
“So what’s your story? Are you a born and raised Durangoan or are you an import like me?”
The man is gorgeous and he knows it. He turns his thousand-watt smile on me and my hand grabs the edge of the table not to go weak at its force. “Import,” he answers in his smooth baritone. “I’m originally from Boulder, where I grew up before I ended up in Denver. Worked for the DPD for about six years before I moved here.”
“Which district?”
“Three. Washington Park area.”
“No shit? That’s where I’m from. You must’ve already known your chief, Joe Benedetti. He worked in District Three, as well.” I’d just come by that information after having dinner across the street at Ollie and Joe’s place a couple of weeks ago.
“He’s a friend. In fact, I’d like to think I had a hand in bringing him here.”
Over my pies we reminisce about all the great coffee shops, pubs, and restaurants in Washington Park, when Tony suddenly asks, “There’s some great spots here too, though, have you been out yet?”
“Nah, hands full with my son. I’m more of a homebody these days.”
“That’s a waste of a beautiful woman,” he says, tilting his handsome head to one side. “You should come out with me. I can show you the good spots around town; we can have some fun. What do you say?”
I’m not sure if I’m imagining it, but I swear I hear a growl from across the table. I turn to find Trunk glaring at the detective as if he’s ready to rip his head off. What the hell?
“Did you say something?” I ask him, and his gaze slides to me. Before I can identify the heated look in his eyes, something impassive slides in its place.
“Yeah,” he says, pushing back from the table suddenly. “I should get going.”
“Already?” Tahlula speaks up.
“Got stuff to do.”
Followed by a choir of goodbyes and see-you-laters, Trunk lumbers to the front door, his sister behind him. I watch him shrug into a heavy down winter coat, while T engages him in a whispered conversation. Grabbing her by the back of the neck, he pulls her close, whispering something in her ear, to which she wraps her arms around his middle in a hug.
Conversation around the table has picked up again, but my eyes are still on the two of them until Trunk catches me watching and I quickly turn away. A second later the front door opens and Tahlula calls out, “Jaimie! Your SUV is blocking his truck.”
Shit, I forgot I was the last to pull into the long driveway.
I quickly get up, grab my keys from my purse in the hallway, and join them at the front door, shoving my feet in my snow boots.
“Just give me the keys,” Trunk grumbles, holding his hand out.
“I’ve got it.” I keep them in my hand as I put on my coat.
“Jaimie, gimme the keys.”
I send him a glare, still a bit stung by his repeated dismissal. “I said, I’ve got it. I thought you were in a hurry to get out of here? You’ll be on your way faster if I move it myself.”
He clasps a hand in the back of his neck and takes in an obvious deep breath. “Fine,” he finally bites off, yanking a beanie over his scalp. He kisses the top of his sister’s head and walks out the door.
“I’ll be right back,” I tell Tahlula, before following him. I hear the door shut behind me.
It’s dark, but the moon reflects a beautiful blue light off the still-pristine blanket of snow. Ahead of me, Trunk climbs into the cab of his GMC truck; I feel his eyes burning through the window as I pass by.
I can’t figure out what his issue is with me. Annoyed, I stomp to my SUV, get behind the wheel, and give the engine a minute to warm up before backing out. I pull off to the side and wait for his truck to back up.
With only his front wheels in the driveway, his truck stops and I watch as he gets out. What the fuck now? Stalking over to my driver’s side, he knocks on the window.
“You’re stubborn,” he informs me when I roll it down.
Immediately my annoyance flares into anger. “That’s what you got out of your truck to tell me? I’m stubborn? Coulda saved you the trouble. Been that way all my life, so you’re not telling me anything new. Now if that’s all, I don’t wanna keep you from whatever is so damn important on Christmas you’d bail on your sister, but have a merry one.” With that I close my window.
Next thing I know, my door is yanked open and Trunk shoves his head inside.
“That was rude,” he rumbles, and I can’t help it, I burst out laughing.
“I was rude? Seriously? Dude, you invented the word with your grunts and glares. I guess I must’ve done something awful to you in a previous life, ‘cause I can’t figure out what your beef is with me.”
“No beef.”
“Coulda fooled me,” I scoff.
“No beef,” he repeats, leaning so close I’m almost bent over the center console. “But you are a distraction I could do without.”
Shocked, and frankly stung again, I watch as he backs out and slams my door shut. A few moments later I see his taillights disappear down the road.
I take in a few deep breaths before pulling the CRV back in the driveway, my hands shaking on the wheel.
Son of a bitch.
CHAPTER 3
Trunk
“SURE YOU DON’T wanna stay?”
The woman, Lynette or Lisette or something like that, clearly had other plans for tonight, given the way she’s plastered against my side. Some heavy floral scent wafting up from her irritates my nose. The memory of a subtle hint of vanilla, much more appealing to my senses, suddenly hits me.
New Year’s Eve party at the clubhouse is only for adults. The boys are all bunking at Momma and Nosh’s house on the backside of the property.
Yuma, their son and the club’s sergeant at arms, had been in charge of tonight’s diversion, which means I’ll have to thank him for the octopus currently wrapping herself around me. Lynette or Lisette—whatever the fuck it is—is one of the exotic dancers Yuma considers appropriate entertainment.
Ouray just shrugged and sat down on the couch, pulling Luna on his lap to watch the show. Admittedly, the girls were pros, but it’s becoming obvious they’re pros at more than just dancing. I don’t pay for women and I don’t share them. Not that I care if others do, it’s just not my thing. I glance over at Yuma, who has two of the girls draped over him and doesn’t seem at all bothered one of them is pulling his business out of his jeans as she buries her face in his lap. That does it for me.
I turn to Paco, who’s manning the bar and appears uninterested in the action on the couch. In the year or so since I’ve been here, I’ve never seen him with a woman. The only brothers I know are in any kind of relationship are Kaga, who’s married to Lea and has twin sons, and Ouray. The others will occasionally bring someone to the clubhouse, but you rarely see them a second or third time.
“I’m heading out.”
“Man, it’s not even midnight yet,” Paco points out. “You’re not crashing here?”
“Nah. Just had a couple of beers and I’ve got stuff to do tomorrow.”
I untangle myself from Lynette or Lisette—or whatever—who pouts annoyingly. “Aren’t you gonna wish me a happy new year?”
“Plenty of guys here, I’ll leave that for one a them,” I point out, stepping out of her reach and lifting my chin at Paco. “Later.” He raises his beer bottle in greeting.
By the time I reach the door, the woman’s already planted her booty on Honon’s lap. Guess she likes her guys big. He’s probably the only brother I’d think twice about e
ver taking on. The motherfucker is taller and probably outweighs me by a good forty pounds.
Outside the cold air hits me. Winter here sure is different from Denver. Especially up in the mountains. I don’t think I’ve seen the ground around my house since the first snow started falling about a month ago. The road outside the compound gets plowed, as does the road to my place, at least partway. The plows turn around about two hundred yards from my house, which is why I bought the GMC truck before winter. I can hook on a blade and clear a path to my front door myself.
Only a dusting of snow covers my earlier tracks when I pull into my driveway. Aside from the single porch light I usually flick on before I leave, the house is dark.
I’d hate to think of my sister still living up here. She and the baby would be cut off from the world. Granted, I wasn’t exactly on board when she hooked up with that cracker, Evan, but in hindsight I’m glad. He got her to move into his place in town, and I bought her place from her.
It’s pretty quiet in the summer, but that’s nothing compared to the utter silence of winter up here. The almost permanent blanket of snow absorbs what little sound there is.
By the time I kick off my boots, and toss my coat on the couch, it’s five minutes to midnight on the kitchen clock. I can either go to bed and sleep into the new year or watch the countdown on TV. I might be able to catch some of the fireworks in town below from my back deck.
I’m flicking through channels to find one of the Denver networks, when my phone rings. Tahlula’s name appears on the screen.
“Thought you’d have something better to do than bug me on New Year’s Eve,” I grumble, answering the call, but I’m hiding a smile.
My sister has always been the first, and frequently the only, to wish me a happy new year. A tradition stemming from childhood, when our mother would be mostly passed out from whatever festivities she’d taken part in the night before. Doesn’t matter where we were, doing what, but by the time the clock hit midnight; we’d be side by side, either in person or on the phone.
This year, now that she has her own family, I thought for sure it would be the end of that tradition.
EDGE OF REASON Page 2
