“I can donate a fringed leather jacket from my outfitters shop. It’s got Harley patches all over it. Right beautiful,” the older woman said.
“Thanks, Scoot. I’ll pick it up tomorrow,” Crank said. “One more thing for tonight. We’re planning to provide lunch for the bikers before the ride. We need some help from some of our sponsors who know how to cook.”
“That leaves my construction crew out,” a middle-aged man with a plaid shirt and yellowed gray hair said.
Everyone laughed.
Crank looked around the room. No one offered a thing. “How about you, April? Know anyone or any group that’d be willing?”
She thought. “Well, I work with the Summerbrook Humanity Project. We’re having a dedication dinner soon. I guess I could ask then. A lot of the volunteers will be in attendance. They are usually a generous bunch.”
“I could stop by the dedication myself,” Crank said. “You’ve already done so much.”
Though the little suburb of Charleston was growing, its core still functioned like a small town. And gossip would still spread like wildfire. If Crank stood at the lectern in the Summerbrook Civic Center in his chaps and goggles and asked the sweet old ladies in attendance to fry up some chicken, April’s parents would know in a matter of hours—maybe even minutes. And she wasn’t taking any chances with her father’s condition.
“That’s okay. I can take care of it,” she said. Maybe she could somehow. Without everyone knowing exactly what she was up to with the rally.
“You have become an invaluable member of this group here, sweetheart. Thanks so much,” Crank said.
I’m a member of this group? A motorcycle gang? April shook her head. She guessed she was.
The people in the room clapped.
Heat ran up into her face. She didn’t deserve applause. In fact, when she got home, she was going to need to do some thinking. Her gaze rested upon Bull. How deeply she had become entangled with Patch and Crank…and Bull. And these people thought she was some kind of hero? What she really was, was some kind of selfish, uptight risk-assessment manager who was way too attracted to a certain rugged biker.
…
Was April even the same woman Bull’d met from the other night at the steakhouse? First the fliers, then the insurance policy. Now, she was handling the food for the rally and eating hotdogs in a tackle shop.
No one had put themselves out there like that for his little brother before he’d died. Bull cringed when he remembered pulling back and keeping quiet at school when the other kids had poked fun at Adam. If only Bull could live those years over. He hid his fists under the table. Let them call Adam “baldy” and “crip” again.
But Adam was dead.
Bull leaned back in his chair, kicked his feet into the aisle, and crossed his rattlesnake boots. Just let anybody try something like that now with Ben.
He glanced beside him. April was helping Ben, too. For that reason, she melted him. It didn’t hurt that her eyes were so mesmerizing and that her smile made him twitch inside and stare too long. The most tempting thing about her, though, was her curious mix of fortitude and vulnerability. She was facing whatever it was she had against motorcycles. Maybe it was some safety thing connected with her job.
The meeting continued. “Patch, did you want to say something before we adjourned?” Crank asked.
“Yep. As long as we have the insurance policy, I got the city to agree to give us the town square for two days. We can go ahead with our plans for the bike build-off and show on the day before the ride to Charleston,” Patch said.
The room erupted in applause.
April leaned in close to Bull. “What’s that?”
“Tell you in a minute,” he said. He was pleased that he would have the opportunity to spend time explaining more things to her, and he was pleased that the rally was going to provide him with two whole days with her.
He wasn’t pleased that on the evening of the twenty-eighth day of April that it might all end—unless he could figure out how to find some middle ground for them. To continue to see her. But from his estimation, that wasn’t going to be easy.
Patch tapped a spoon against the lectern to get everyone’s attention again. “Our members with computers are putting out e-mails to our friends in other states about the bike show, and I think this thing is going to be bigger than y’all even imagined.”
Bull’s feelings about the cautious woman beside him were getting bigger than he’d imagined, as well. He had to keep them in check, though. She had a background that didn’t agree with his. Growing up poor and without a father had made him distrust conservative people like April. He’d found that many of them got mileage out of their facades, and when it came to the insides, they were vacant. He was hoping April wasn’t like that. He was watching her, though, and he was becoming confused about what he had at first assessed.
“Thanks, Patch. If that be all, we can call it a night,” said Crank.
Bull turned to April. “A build off is where bikers compete to trick out their bikes. You know, spice ’em up with detailing, like Vance and Hines pipes, mag wheels, and chrome fork sliders.”
“Well, I don’t know what any of that stuff is, but I get the general picture,” she said. “Oh, one more question.”
He smiled. He’d be happy to sit here and answer questions for her all night long.
“I’m visiting Ben on Saturday morning. Would you like to meet me there? We can discuss some advertising for the build off,” she said.
He couldn’t do that. Even if it meant spending more time with April. He could work for the little boy behind the scenes, but he couldn’t visit him in the hospital. It would be too difficult. Too many reminders of Adam and how he’d let him down.
“I’ll have to pass on that. I have to work at the garage.” He did have business at his shop—not immediate business, though.
“I see,” she said. “Maybe some other time then. I know it would mean a lot to Ben to see that people are concerned about him. It would mean a lot to his family, too.”
“Yeah, maybe some other time,” he said. “Let me walk you to the parking lot.” He would have to show his concern for Ben at a distance.
He stood at her car door. This time she didn’t act like she was in an all-fire hurry to get away. She looked up to him with a gentle smile and said, “Thank you for giving me this opportunity.”
A remnant of the bad boy he used to be wanted to give her more than an opportunity. He wanted to give her a kiss. Even if he did, though, after the rally, she’d be going back to ham and potato salad with her parents on Sunday afternoons, and he’d be going back to long motorcycle rides on backcountry roads. Alone.
…
April found herself in a most uncomfortable place. And it was in—yet again—another parking lot with Bull. What was it with them in parking lots? It was fitting somehow. Outside establishments. Exposed. Like she was on the inside. She looked into his face to find him staring at her.
He put his hand on her waist and stepped closer to her. All the little fireflies deep in her belly lit up and took flight. His face moved closer to hers. He was going to try to kiss her.
In the parking lot. Of a bait-and-tackle shop.
His hand nearly spanned the small of her back, and she felt it pulling her toward him.
Oh, my goodness. He was really going to try to kiss her. Her head lightened and her thoughts grew wispy.
Her insides became Jell-O and clouds.
She lowered her gaze and said, “I shouldn’t.”
“Maybe neither of us should, but I want to,” he said. She felt his warm breath on her ear.
This couldn’t possibly go anywhere.
He placed his finger under her chin, lifted her face, and moved in to eliminate all space between them.
She’d only known him a few days. Not nearly enough time to be kissing on him.
She had too many issues right now to be considering becoming some kind of girlfriend—to a former member of Rebel Ange
ls, no less. The idea of that was completely ridiculous. She was barely getting used to even looking at all the motorcycles that had been surrounding her recently.
But instead of assessing and rationalizing her way out of it like she should have, she let go. When his lips came down upon hers, she allowed them to melt together.
She placed her hand on his shoulder, leaned her head back, and felt their mouths become united in a way she hadn’t experienced before. Her senses were overloaded. The touch of him. The taste of him. The heat of him.
This had better stop. Now. Before somebody got hurt. Before she got hurt.
She pulled back, breathing heavy, ragged breaths.
“What?” he asked. “I know you felt it, too.”
“I can’t.” She shook her head.
“You did.” He held his palms up at his sides.
“You don’t understand.” She stepped away, backing up toward her car as she was talking. “I can help you with this rally. Heck, we can even be friends, but—” She took another step back. “Nothing more. We have too many—too many— too many differences.”
He glanced at the pavement and then at the sign with Marvin’s name on it. “I see,” he said.
No he couldn’t. He couldn’t see the pain she’d worked so hard to overcome. He couldn’t see how damaged and frail her father was. And he couldn’t see how the two of them would never work. No matter how much they melted together.
…
Saturday arrived, and April drove to the hospital to see Ben. As she pulled onto Interstate 26, she wondered what Bull was doing. Did he have on that wickedly exciting leather jacket of his? When was she going to see him again?
When those thoughts weren’t plowing through her head, she thought about tomorrow’s dedication dinner. What was she going to say to everyone? And how was she going to get the ladies to cook without actually mentioning the motorcycle rally? If someone found out and called her father… Mr. Houseman had told her she could have all the time she wanted for her speech. All she needed, however, was one minute and she’d be out of there.
When she arrived at Children’s Hospital, she parked and put her head on the steering wheel. She needed strength. To see Ben. To resist Bull. And to finish with the rally.
Strength.
After she got the balloons, another notebook, and a bag of boiled peanuts—Ben’s favorite—out the back of the car, she went inside.
“Hey, Ben-ificent,” she said. She steadied herself at the door. She wasn’t prepared for the way Ben looked—sallow and thin. Dark circles cut deep crescents into the skin under his eyes. He could barely lift his frail arms for a hug.
She leaned over the bed, hugged him, and closed her eyes. She had to be strong. For Ben.
“Up for some of your favorite peanuts? Got them from the Peanut Man downtown.”
“Yeah. Just what I wanted. Thanks, Miss April,” he said in a weak voice. “I can eat them later.”
By the way he looked, there hadn’t been much eating going on at all. “I’ll tie these balloons on the chair over here. Is that okay?”
He nodded.
She set down the peanuts and another notebook on his tray and picked up a small video-game device and eyed it. “What are you playing?”
“Football,” he said. “Miss Jenna brought it to me last week.” He handed her several more video games. “Brought me these, too.”
That was her best friend. Few people knew the real Jenna like she did. April was certain Jenna didn’t even want them to. She had an image to uphold.
April eyed the titles. “Cool. What’s your favorite?”
“The football one,” he said. She put them down beside the device.
He yawned and pulled up the white sheet over his pajamas that were decorated with tiny trains. His slight body was barely a bump under the covers.
She walked to the window, fighting the tears from falling. “Did you know that Reese lost her other front tooth? Blake broke his arm playing soccer, and Riley has a new baby brother,” she said. “Did that tooth of yours ever come out?”
He didn’t answer, so she turned around. He was asleep. The deadly disease was eating away at him and his spirit. Not much was left of the blithe boy she had grown to love.
At his bedside, she picked up his small, skeletal hand and closed her eyes. Her resolve steeled. One day he was going to climb trees again. And play real football.
She’d do anything—anything—to help him.
…
Early the next morning, April woke and turned on the shower. It was Sunday, the day of the dedication. Letting the warm water wash over the back of her tilted head, she inhaled deeply. As the air filled her lungs, determination filled her heart.
Ben. Charity fundraiser. Riders? No, no. Participants.
All she had to do was to choose her words carefully. Then she could help Ben and protect her father in the process.
She’d left the old accordion out of its case after she’d practiced last night, so she put it back. She plucked a navy dress with lace around the collar from her closet and dressed for the ceremony. I can do this. For Ben, I can do this. She simply had to find the correct words.
Fried chicken was easy to transport. And biscuits. The ladies could drop things off at the small civic building—the place she was heading for the dedication dinner—and April could cart everything to the square. Alone. Or maybe with a little help from Bull. That is, if he wasn’t still mad at her for pulling away from that luscious kiss he’d given her at Marvin’s. Flashes of the tingles that ran down her neck kept darting across her mind. She had to push them away and get back to her speech.
She jotted down a couple of things to say on a notepad in her kitchen. No. That was no good. Crumbling the paper in her fist, she pounded it on the table.
Nothing was going to stop her from making that speech. Nothing. It was the least she could do to help Ben. And some way, somehow, she was going to do it—even if she had to wing it.
As she pulled up to the old structure, she saw the sign: SUMMERBROOK CIVIC CENTER. Before her was a solid red-brick building. The surrounding grounds were dotted with old magnolia and dogwood trees. From their limbs, the Spanish moss that decorated her town swayed like a child’s silken hair stirring in a breeze. She closed her eyes and imagined Ben climbing them.
When she opened them, a sick feeling coursed through her stomach and hitched in her chest. She didn’t know if she could go through with the request.
Josephine Brown and the women with Meals on Wheels had brought casserole after casserole to her family while her father had been recovering and couldn’t work. Mr. Grainger and Mr. Luther had cut their grass each week. Of course, there were all their donations. How was she to tell the group that she was throwing caution to the wind and hanging out with the same kind of people who’d brought so much destruction to her family—and to the town—so many years ago? There’d be no time to tell them about how different these new bikers were. How they were willing to help Ben.
Miss Adree, Miss Ethel, and Miss Ruth—the elder women from the Humanity Project—were walking into the building together. April couldn’t imagine the old-fashioned ladies serving lunch to a bunch of people clad in tattoos and leather.
Still in her car, she lowered her head and tried to gather more strength. Time to pull out the old accordion. Thank goodness none of the ladies from the league ever bothered to volunteer with the project. She guessed they’d worry about breaking nails and getting dirty, so there was no chance anyone from there would see her with the instrument. She really did need to stop leading such a double life, though.
April climbed the steps of the small stage and brought out the accordion and readied it to play. Mr. Houseman took to the lectern and said a few words—most of which April didn’t pay any attention to. She was still trying to sort out what she was going to say while she waited upon Mr. Houseman’s cue to play.
From the lectern, he said, “We’ve come here today to dedicate the latest Humanity
Project house to the Williamson family. Each one of you has been an integral part in making this happen for this deserving family.” He went on to thank each person and business involved. “And now April will play our dedication song.”
She began to play “That’s What Friends Are For” and noticed the smiles that began to emerge across the faces of the people in the crowd. These were good people. People who wanted to help people. If she told them the cold hard facts—the statistics, like the ones she used at work…well, they’d do her speaking for her. Surely, they’d help then. Wasn’t that what friends were for? She finished the song and smiled.
“We have a very important announcement today that’ll concern you all,” he said. “April, will you come over here and tell everyone what’s going on?”
She walked to the lectern and looked out over the crowd. There sat Mr. Turner, who owned Turner Electrical. And Mrs. Journigan, Bud, Babby, and Beebe’s mother. Miss Lucy, who—last count—had thirty-six grandchildren. Dr. Warner and Mrs. Warner, April’s eighth grade teacher. And Mr. and Mrs. Davies, her family’s neighbors—until her parents had moved about an hour’s ride away. Yep. There they were—friends and neighbors.
Was there any way she could keep them from calling and upsetting her father? What if they did? What if it triggered something in his weakened heart? It would all be her fault.
Words locked themselves up in the prison in her head, and she couldn’t parole any of the ones that had been walking around on good behavior this morning. Speak, woman, speak.
No matter what the consequences, though, she was going to do this for Ben. Finally, she began. “Many of you remember one of our former Humanity Project families—the Evans. Well, the little boy in that house needs us.” April went on to tell of his condition, the statistics of his disease, and how many of the civic groups projects were going to help. Then she went on to tell about the fundraiser.
“It’s a sponsorship fundraiser. We’re projecting we’ll raise quite a substantial amount for Ben over that weekend. All profit, too.” Somehow—she didn’t quite know how—she never used the words biker or motorcycle. She was proud of herself. In her little Sunday school dress and draped in her pearls and accordion. It all sounded so palatable. With renewed bravery, she pulled her arms from the accordion and set it just off the stage. “What I need from you, mostly you ladies who cook, is lunch for the volunteers on April twenty-eighth.” She glanced behind her.
Bikers and Pearls Page 10
