by Sam Cheever
Then they pulled off their helmets and she was looking at two nearly identical smiles. “You must be Angie.” Said the one she'd recognize anywhere. He held out a black gloved hand.
Angie stood with her mouth open, “I ... I ... a..."
Alastair laughed. “You can ride with Warwicke if you'd rather. He's not a bad driver. Not as good as me.” Alastair's famous racecar driving brother took Angie's suddenly sweaty hand and scoffed at his brother.
"In your dreams, Stair.” His voice was rich and husky and his eyes were a beautiful light grey color that Angie'd never seen before. His hair was a rich red gold and was cut so that it showed off his square jaw and muscular neck.
"I ... I ... um..."
The other man held out his hand too. He had a long suffering look on his red stubbled face. “I'm Godric. I know you probably don't care. I'm not a race car driver. I'm just a heart surgeon. Not very exciting I know.” His words sounded bitter but Angie saw the sparkle in his dark blue eyes and the laugh lines that told her he had a finely honed sense of humor.
"I'm nice to meet you, Godric."
He grinned. “Yes. You are. Thanks!"
There was a lot of suspicious throat clearing in the room but Angie didn't even know she'd spoken nonsense. She was totally discombobulated about meeting Warwicke Honeybun.
"Here, you'll need to wear this.” Godric handed her black leather. “And this.” She took the helmet from him.
She shrugged into the jacket and held the helmet in both hands. The thing felt like it weighed about ten pounds. Then she turned to Alastair and saw that he already had his leather jacket and helmet on.
"I'll ride with Godric.” Alastair said in his best Darth Vader voice.
Godric shook his head and dropped his helmet over his head. “That's so overdone, little brother."
"Feel the force, Godric, it's in my foot and headin’ for your ass.” The two men left the house, laughing like idiots.
Warwicke walked over to Angie and put his hands on the helmet she was clutching in front of her. “May I?"
She released the helmet, praying she hadn't left telltale sweat streaks on the dark plastic.
Warwicke placed it carefully over her head and dropped the visor. “You ready?"
Angie nodded her head mutely and gulped. He even smelled yummy. She followed him out of the house and onto the biggest black motorcycle she'd ever seen. Wallowing in serious star worship, she closed her eyes in pure bliss and wrapped her arms around Warwicke's lean waist.
That was the last moment of bliss she enjoyed for quite a while.
"Hold on tight.” Warwicke said. And her eyes jerked open in horror.
Both motorcycles took off so fast that the front tires left the ground and the tire under Angie's quivering butt cheeks swung sideways for a full minute before it grabbed the pavement and decided to follow the tire at the front of the motorcycle.
The twin roars of the huge, beastly machines filled the air around her. Nearly blocking out the sound of her horrified shrieking and the Honeybun boys’ delighted laughter.
The Honeybun home was located in a middle class neighborhood with well tended homes on quarter acre lots that were dotted with mature trees. The bikes roared past dozens of children of all ages and several young women in various states of undress, who were standing around in the well kept yards. The women all waved and some of them looked like they might chase the cycles down the street.
The Honeybun boys waved back and Godric gunned his cycle into a wheelie, much to the delight of the squealing females.
Angie clutched Warwicke's waist in desperation and tried to tighten her legs around the cycle, just in case he thought a flashy maneuver of some kind was called for. Fortunately he seemed to take pity on his hysterical passenger and only gunned the machine's massive engine once or twice in response to the girls’ obvious adoration. The neighborhood peace shattered completely under the massive explosion of noise.
Angie winced under the helmet and prayed they were almost there. Wherever the hell they were going. She felt like she'd been on the damn cycle for days.
They swung around a corner and drove down a couple more blocks before finally pulling into a wide, cement driveway that was filled with cars. The street in front of the huge house was also clogged with vehicles along both sides. Angie wondered if some of the cars and trucks belonged to neighbors but she suspected most of them were Honeybun vehicles.
When Warwicke finally shut the motorcycle's engine off, Angie's ears took a moment to start working again. Along with a persistent ringing sound, the normal noise of a middle class street in mid-day on a weekend sounded tinny and far away. “Great, my ear drums are shattered,” she muttered. Even her own voice sounded like it came from inside a bottle.
She tightened her grip on Warwicke's waist so she could pull one leg over the long, black seat. He grabbed her arm with a steadying hand when both of her feet hit the ground and her knees nearly gave out under her.
He pulled his helmet off and smiled at her. “Adreneline. It can leave you shaky.” He didn't let go of her arm, she must have looked pretty wobbly.
Angie pulled her hand away and reached up to remove the Darth Vader hat. “You sound like you have experience with women who can't stand up after a ride with you."
The sound of masculine laughter exploded behind her and Angie turned to find Alastair, Percy, Godric, and another man who was obviously a Honeybun brother standing in a group on the sidewalk. Every one of them, except Alastair, was laughing hysterically. He had a hand suspiciously over his mouth and his head was lowered. Angie turned beet red, finally realizing what she'd said that they'd found so funny.
Wanting to climb in a hole, she had to settle for dropping the helmet back over her head and pouting in embarrassment.
Warwicke's lips quivered but he was a complete gentleman. “You're not the only one who's afraid of speed, Angie. It's fairly common with all my dates."
Again the masculine bellowing behind them. Warwicke swung a hand at them. “Shut up you idiots."
Alastair joined them and jerked his head at Warwicke. “Mom wants you inside, Wicke. She's putting out the cake."
Warwicke's handsome face split in a grin. “Yummy cake?"
Alastair nodded.
With a final, commiserating look at Angie he turned and joined the group on the sidewalk. With much shared laughter and back slapping the oversized wad of testosterone moved into the big, old house together.
Alastair pulled the helmet off Angie's head and gave her a soft smile. “You gonna hide in there all day?"
Angie was near tears with embarrassment. Alastair leaned down and kissed her. As soon as their lips touched he groaned. He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her into his body, dropping the helmet on the grass at their feet.
Angie came to him stiffly at first, not sure she was ready to give up pouting, but his kiss soon infiltrated her crankiness and warmed it away. She allowed herself to melt against him, enjoying the way her soft parts fit into his hard parts so nicely.
Alastair tilted his head and deepened the kiss, sliding one hand into her hair to hold her in the kiss. As the kiss threatened to take them where she didn't really want to go right at that moment, she pulled away and he looked down on her with a smile. “All better?"
She grinned. “Almost. You'll probably need to do more work later to fix it completely."
His smile widened, “Count on it."
Percy slammed the front screen door loudly to announce his presence. “Hey you two. Do you really think it's a good idea for you to be standing out here in broad daylight all alone?"
Alastair looked down at Angie and she nodded. “I think it was an excellent idea."
They laughed and Percy shook his head, fighting a grin himself. “Get in here or Brita will kill me."
Alastair tucked two fingers into the waistband of Angie's jeans at the small of her back and guided her toward the house. She wrapped an arm around his waist, feeling better ab
out the idea of meeting his family.
"So where is Brita anyway?” Alastair inquired as they joined Percy on the wide, front porch.
Percy shrugged, looking guilty. “At work, I didn't tell her about the meeting."
Alastair stopped dead in his tracks, “Are you serious?"
Percy nodded, opening the screen door for them. But Alastair didn't move. “Does she know Angie and I are out of the safe house?"
Percy winced, “Not exactly."
Angie's eyes widened and she looked up at Alastair. “She's gonna be really mad."
Percy tried to smile. “She'll get over it. I cleared it with your lookout across the street. He's good friends with Clovis so he knows you're in good hands."
Alastair frowned at his older brother. “By ‘cleared’ do you mean you bribed him?"
Percy shrugged, looking guilty. “Come on, get in the house. I mean it."
Alastair shook his head. “You're gonna pay for this, bro. Big time."
Percy was silent as he followed them into the cool darkness of the old house.
Angie looked around as she entered a large foyer with scuffed wood floors of a color so dark with age it looked black. The floors were covered in old fashioned rag rugs in bright colors. To the right as she stood inside the door, a wide staircase curved to the second floor and ended in a walkway that ran above the foyer. She could see a second staircase, not quite as wide or decorative, on the other end of the walkway above, leading to a third floor.
Straight ahead was a hallway that looked like it led to a kitchen and on either side were smaller rooms filled with good quality but comfortable looking furniture. The scent of fresh flowers filled the house and Angie took note of the vases of cut flowers in every room.
The house was scrupulously clean, comfortable, and well lived in. Just what you'd expect from a woman who'd managed to birth and raise eight, energetic and successful male offspring.
A female voice hailed them from the direction of the kitchen. “Percy, bring them in here. The cake's on the table."
Alastair put his arm around Angie's shoulders and pulled her close to whisper in her ear. “My mom's cake is to die for. Everyone who's ever tried it has tried to beg, borrow, or steal the recipe but she's kept it as close as a state secret."
They followed Percy down the hallway and emerged into the biggest, brightest kitchen Angie had ever seen. Her heart leapt in panic as she entered. The room was filled to virtual bursting with Honeybuns.
At the center of the huge room was a tall, elegant woman with a soft cloud of curly blond hair around her face. Her smile made Angie feel welcome immediately. It also made her feel like an imposter. It was the smile of a mother welcoming her son's new girlfriend. Angie wasn't sure she fit the profile.
Alastair said, “Everybody, this is Angie."
"Angie, that's my mom."Alastair pointed to his mother unnecessarily, considering she was the only other woman in the room,
"Hello, Angie. Welcome to our home.” The woman's voice was deep and slightly husky. Not a frumpy mother's voice by any stretch.
Angie smiled, feeling decidedly uncomfortable as the center of all that attention. Like a bug under glass. “Thank you, Mrs. Honeybun. I'm very pleased to meet you all."
Alastair crossed the room and gave his mother a peck on the cheek. “Hey, mom."
She turned and enveloped him in a hug and gave him a motherly peck on his forehead. Angie was impressed that he seemed to take this in stride. It was obvious the Honeybuns were a demonstrative lot.
"Are you okay?” His mother questioned gently.
Alastair nodded, smiling. “We're fine. Brita's taking good care of us."
Angie couldn't help a guilty glance at Percy. Except that Brita didn't currently know where they were.
Percy caught her glance and smiled like a naughty child. She shook her head, feeling a deep respect for the woman who had not only dealt with the antics of eight headstrong boys, but who had shaped them into eight, strong, capable males who were making a difference in the world.
Alastair turned to the man standing behind his mother. Though he was a tall man, Alastair's father was barely as tall as his mother. “Dad.” They clasped a hand and then shared a manly hug, with much back slapping.
Mr. Honeybun was a very good looking man in his mid to late fifties. He had bright red hair that had been muted a bit by nature in the form of grey strands which were sprinkled throughout the red and gathered in force at his temples. His face looked young, virtually unlined, creating a stark contrast to the distinguished grey of his hair. “Son. I hear you've been very busy.” He turned and winked at Angie, making her wonder whether he meant busy trying to stay alive or busy getting a girlfriend.
She tried not to let the obvious supposition that she and Alastair were a couple bother her. After all, she'd certainly walked the tightrope of a physical relationship with him recently. And it didn't feel all that bad having these wonderful people accept her into their family so readily. She just wished she didn't feel like she was lying to them somehow.
"Time for cake,” Mrs. Honeybun announced.
It was like releasing a school of piranha into a bowl of floating beef. The Honeybun boys swarmed the table and when they stepped away from it carrying plates with the biggest slices of chocolate cake on them she'd ever seen, there were only four plates left. And a couple of the men were eyeing those carefully.
Angie smiled, remembering Alastair's description of trench eating. Alastair grabbed two plates off the table. Handing one to her, he indicated a love seat off to the side of the huge kitchen, part of a cluster of comfortable looking chairs and loveseats that surrounded a large television. Obviously the Honeybun kitchen was a gathering spot for the family.
When everyone was comfortably seated with cake, Alastair started talking. “I've called this emergency family meeting because Angie needs some help.” He looked around the room and grinned. “Actually we both need some help but the immediate need is Angie's coffee shoppe. With everything that's going on she can't be there to run things as she'd like. She's been able to keep track of things a bit by phone. But her employees can't keep covering for her every day.” He looked at his mother. “We need to put together a schedule for covering the store."
Angie's eyes grew wide and she suddenly felt like crying. She had never suspected what he was up to when he'd suggested the meeting. She'd just been glad for the chance to do something ... anything ... proactive about her situation. She shook her head and grabbed his arm. “I can't ask your family to give up their time to help me run the Dunk and Run. It wouldn't be fair."
Alastair's mother set her fork down on her cake plate loudly, pulling everyone's attention to her as if she had shouted. When she spoke Angie could easily see the steel in her spine that had brought her successfully through the years of parenting eight rambunctious males. Her pretty blue eyes sparkled despite her no nonsense manner. “Don't be ridiculous, Angie. We'd love to help, wouldn't we boys?"
They all nodded, even Warwicke.
Mrs. Honeybun looked at her husband. “You'll create the spreadsheet?"
"I will.” Moving to an antique oak desk that was nestled in the corner, he sat down in front of a large laptop computer that was surrounded by several neatly stacked piles of paper. Mr. Honeybun began pecking at the keys. Mrs. Honeybun stood up and started pacing. One hand moved to her mouth in a thoughtful pose. “There'll be training required of course.” She turned to Angie. “Do you have someone on staff who can perform the training we'll need?"
Angie thought about this for a moment, feeling a bit overwhelmed by everything that would need to be done to get them all on the payroll and scheduled in. “My assistant manager, Petey Bruns could train you all on a Sunday afternoon I guess. We're only open until noon on Sundays."
Mrs. Honeybun's blue gaze slid around the room. “Is there anyone who isn't available tomorrow?"
Only one head nodded. It was covered in spiky, auburn colored hair and had serious dar
k blue eyes. He was long and lean, with a stringy, flexible looking body, and he wore a red stubble on his square jaw that looked like it was standard issue for him. Angie remembered that Alastair had told her Heathcliffe was a dance instructor with the Indianapolis School of Ballet, and had been recruited by dance companies in New York and Chicago.
Mrs. Honeybun's gaze took on an assessing quality. “You have rehearsals on a Sunday, Heathcliffe?” It was a mother's warning tone of voice. It might as well have been truth serum.
Heathcliffe looked slightly uncomfortable under that gaze. He pulled his long form, which had been lounging casually in a soft looking chair by the fireplace, upright and set his empty plate down on a nearby table. “No ma'am. I have a date."
Mrs. Honeybun's pretty face softened. Angie got the impression the woman was a tiny bit desperate to get her sons married happily off. “That's wonderful. Bring her along."
The room rumbled with male chuckles and Heathcliffe looked less than pleased with this suggestion but he nodded, frowning only slightly as he did.
"Good, that's settled then. Training tomorrow. Starting at...?” She cast that formidable gaze toward Angie and Angie sat up straighter by instinct. “Um, one o'clock in the afternoon? That will give Petey a few minutes to grab some lunch after he closes up the Shoppe."
Mrs. Honeybun nodded and glanced at her husband. “Bob, did you get that?"
He nodded. “Got it."
She nodded too, as if ticking it off her mental list. Angie watched in fascination, getting some idea how the woman had managed through being a mother with eight kids. It was something to behold. Turning to Angie she asked, “What hours do you need to cover?"
Angie made a face, she hated to even ask. “Six am to nine pm."
Mrs. Honeybun nodded, thinking. “I can do six to noon every day, except Sunday.” She glanced at another Honeybun whom Angie didn't know. “Edric, can you plan your writing so that you can come in around noon every day and stay until three?"
