by Carolina Mac
At ten after twelve, Billy staggered into the kitchen in his jeans, looking a little rough around the edges. He perched on a stool. “Any coffee left?” he asked.
“Fresh pot. I knew you would get up sooner or later and need coffee,” I chuckled. “How did you make out last night? I couldn’t see your table from where I was sitting.”
“I was lucky. Last night I got a straight flush to the king, in clubs. Made a pile on that one—big pot, plus got paid off on high hand.”
“I’m glad we had a fun night together before I have to leave.” I hugged him and filled up his mug. “Want breakfast or lunch?”
“Breakfast, I love breakfast,” he said with a grin.
“I’ll make western sandwiches and that will cover all the bases.”
“I love westerns,” said Billy, “I want to watch you make them.” He ambled around the island wearing only his faded ripped jeans, and I hadn’t realized what a muscular creature he was. He was a couple inches shorter than Jackson, tanned, with a Fender guitar tattooed on his back. With his turquoise blue eyes and long curly blond hair, he was adorable.
He stood close to me as I cracked the eggs and cut up the ham and the onions and I could smell his shampoo. That was one thing about Billy. He was a fanatic about being clean. I turned my gaze away from him and concentrated on the frying pan. “Do you want to make the toast?”
“Sure do. I want to learn how to cook and nobody cooks better than you do.”
We finished the sandwiches, put them on plates and I set ketchup on the counter. Billy refilled our mugs with coffee and we were ready.
“I want you to make yourself at home here, Billy, while I’m gone. Drive the Hummer and do whatever you want. Just feed Angel, and let her out. She likes it in the yard and she might want to sleep on her blanket beside your bed. She’s a bit sucky.”
“I don’t mind members of the opposite sex sucking up to me. I’m used to it.”
“I’m sure you are.” I giggled.
“Thanks for breakfast, Portia.”
“You don’t have to thank me, honey. You’re doing me a favor.”
“I needed to get away from Toronto. There’s nothin there for me anymore. While you guys are gone and the house is quiet, I might get a couple more songs written.”
“You write songs? There’s a lot I don’t know about you, Billy,” I said glimpsing a more serious side.
“The boys don’t know.” He dropped his eyes to the floor. “It would be better if they didn’t find out.”
“I’ve got your back,” I said, giving him a wink.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
IT WAS CLOSE to two a.m. when customs at Pearson International recognized me as a Canadian citizen and welcomed me into my own country. Jackson was waiting for me looking like he’d been dragged backwards through a wringer. His hair was longer—too long, and he had tied the tangled mess back out of his way with a black bandana. Tired lines creased the corners of his eyes. We picked up my luggage without much conversation and headed out to the parking garage.
“Rusty loaned me his truck to pick you up, baby.”
“That was nice.”
“Billy arrive okay? You didn’t answer my call yesterday.”
“Yes, Billy is there. And no, I decided to wait until I got here to talk to you. Tomorrow will be soon enough. I’m too tired to get into it tonight.”
Jackson nodded. We found the black pickup in the almost deserted parking ramp and headed home to my old address on Hawthorne Lane. He dumped the luggage in the front foyer; we trudged upstairs and fell into bed.
At ten a.m. I woke and left Jackson sprawled and snoring. I made coffee and tried to concentrate on what items to sell and what to keep and ship to Vegas. The task was looming large, and I felt no match for it this early in the morning. Some of my antique pieces I would never be able to leave behind.
I took my mug, walked across the lawn and sat on my favorite bench in the back of the garden. The fall flowers were at their peak, and the beds glowed with mums, purple coneflowers, and cabbage roses. The bed of lily of the valley was a mass of green leaves, the little white bells long gone. Nothing had been touched by frost as yet. While I sat and thought autumn thoughts and inhaled the crisp October air, I realized it was Thanksgiving weekend in Canada and I was overcome by the urge to cook a turkey.
After revising my list for the market, I ambled through the old house and touched things that had fond memories for me. There was a lot of George in this house, although we were together for all too short a time. Was I ready to part with all that I had left of him? Tears welled up and I knew the answer.
Jackson found me in the study a while later. He was clad only in his jeans and he had an unlit smoke in his hand. His hair was wild and untamed. I was sitting at my desk staring into space. “What’s up, Annie? You were so quiet, I thought you’d gone out.”
“Doing a lot of thinking about the house and the future.”
“And?” Jackson had a look of panic on his face.
“And, I don’t…think I can sell the house.”
Jackson came around the desk and put his arms around me.
“I thought you wanted to sell this house, baby.” He kissed my hair.
“I thought so too, until now. It was my first home and I don’t think I can part with it.”
“Keep it, baby. I want you to be happy. We don’t need a house in Vegas.”
“This has nothing to do with the Vegas house. I have money for that. I was going to cut the ties with Toronto and all that went on here, but now that I’m back, I know I can’t do it. At least, not yet.”
“Anything you decide, Annie, is fine with me. You know that.”
“Well, here we are in Toronto, and its Thanksgiving weekend, so let’s get a load of groceries and make a turkey dinner. What do you say, sugar?” I kissed Jackson and tried to ease the stress I was causing him with my insecurities.
“I say yes to a turkey dinner. I’ve never had one, but I’m guessing it’ll be good if you’re cooking it.”
“You’ve never had Thanksgiving dinner?” I couldn’t believe I was hearing it.
“Nope, never.”
“Let’s get showered and go to the market and get what we need. We’ll pick up Tim’s on the way. You haven’t eaten anything.”
“You take good care of me, Annie. I love you so much,” he said on the way up the stairs.
“Do you want to show me how much, before we take a shower?”
“Hell, yeah I do.”
WE UNLOADED THE groceries from Rusty’s truck, and I made sure I had everything I needed for dinner the following day. “Let’s have a beer. I need to touch base with the ReMax agent, Apex¸ and my lawyer. He won’t be in until Tuesday, but I’ll leave a message on his machine.”
After my phone calls had been completed, Jackson and I had another beer outside in the late afternoon sun. For the first week of October, it was warm and comfortable. The maples around the perimeter of the property were dressed in brilliant reds and yellows, the crisp air laden with the aroma that only exists when the leaves are turning. I inhaled and smiled.
“Want to have our talk out here in the fresh air?”
“I’m nervous for this talk, baby. You’ve been in a bad place since I left Vegas.”
“I feel better since we made love this morning, but this isn’t about sex, Jackson. It’s about commitment.”
“I know that,” he said softly and reached for my hand.
“You can’t commit to me and be number one in the club.”
“I know that too.”
“The ball is in your court. There is nothing I can say or do. If you want to stay in Toronto and do your thing, I want you to feel free to live here now that I’ve decided to keep this house.”
“Thanks, but I’ve decided to turn the leadership over to Rusty and move to Vegas.”
I was stunned and sat mute for a moment. “I’m surprised, but happy that you made that decision. Is the club happy about i
t?”
“Not exactly happy, but they can manage.”
“And you’re sure this is the right choice for you?”
“I’ve been here by myself for a week and I hate it. I fuckin hate it. I’m sure.”
“Okay.”
“You don’t seem as happy as I thought you’d be.”
“I am happy that you’re saying that you’re choosing me over the club. But from past experience, I know things can change and when it comes to the Regulators, I always finish second.”
“This won’t be one of those times.” Jackson held me in his arms under the maple tree and kissed me. My eyes welled up and he brushed a tear from my face. He took my hand and we ambled back to the house through the garden.
“Saturday night. Is it date night at Buck’s?”
“Hell, yeah, baby. I hope old Buck has a band for tonight. We’re going dancing.”
“Yahoo,” I hollered. “I feel like going crazy.”
Jackson wanted to commit to me but after being with George I knew in my heart it wasn’t possible. I would never come first.
“I hope I can keep up,” he said.
I took two more beers from the fridge, sat on Jackson’s knee and kissed him. I rumpled his hair and he seemed to be in a better place. “I’m going to show off my tattoo tonight to your boys. Can’t wait.”
My outfit for Buck’s was a short red skirt, black leather boots, low cut black lace tank and a red bandana. I wore lots of mascara and eyeliner and fluffed up my mop of hair. I finished off with a generous spray of Light Blue and went downstairs.
“Ready, cowboy?”
Jackson looked up and whistled. “You’re gonna’ start a fuckin’ brawl, baby,” he grinned. “And I’m gonna be in the middle of it.” He blew out a big breath. “Let’s go.”
When we walked into Buck’s, the bar was packed full of bikers and the air was smoky. The crowd was loud and rowdy, drowning out the country music with their hooting and hollering. Jackson found us a booth near the pool tables and I sat and gazed around at the familiar old haunt while he went for pitchers of beer. Rusty came over with a blonde girl hanging on his arm—one of the Reg girls. She glared when he grabbed me to give me a hug, turned on her heel and walked away in a huff.
“You smell good, Portia,” he said, pushing Jackson backward and slopping beer out of the pitcher.
“You’re drunk, you little shit.” Jackson laughed and filled the glasses.
“Did you leave that asshole, Billy, all alone in Vegas?” Rusty asked.
“No, he’s with Angel,” I said, and Jackson hooted.
The band came in with their gear to begin setting up, and all the bikers cheered at the sight of them. It was going to be a wild night. Rusty finished his beer and stood up to go back to his own table.
“Do you have plans for Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow, Rusty?” I asked.
“Hell, no. Just going up to the range for a ride, then back.”
“Come over at six and eat with us. I’m cooking a turkey for Jackson.”
“Jackson, you are one lucky fuckin prick, to have something that looks like Portia, and can cook too,” He was starting to slur his words. He punched Jackson in the shoulder and departed.
“I am a lucky prick,” Jackson said, holding my hand across the table.
“I’m the lucky one.” I finished my beer, just as Sheila came to take our order.
Buck delivered a fresh pitcher himself. “Hey, Portia, Jackson, heard you guys moved to Vegas. How’s that working out?”
“Great,” said Jackson. “I love it there. Billy’s there now at our place house sitting.”
“Beautiful tat, Portia,” Buck said, staring at my arm. “Guess you and Jackson are an item now, eh?”
“We’re a little more than an item, Buck. We’re getting married,” I said, trying to read Jackson’s face for a reaction.
Why in seven hells did I say that? Where did that come from?
Maybe I was pushing him too much. His jaw dropped open and then he flashed me that drop-dead smile. Heartened by his smile, I continued, “That is, if Jackson will have me?”
“Fuck, Annie, I never know what you’re gonna’ say next. You caught me by surprise on that one.” He chuckled but didn’t commit himself.
Good one, Annie. He doesn’t want to get married or he would’ve said yes right away.
Buck nodded, “Congratulations, you two,” he shook Jackson’s hand, and kissed me on the cheek.
The band broke into their first number and Jackson took me by the hand and led me out onto the dance floor. He held me close and kissed me while we danced, “I love you, Annie.”
I said nothing. Still trying to decide if I made things worse talking about getting married.
“When I made my decision to leave the leadership and move to Vegas I wanted to talk about getting married, but I was afraid I would mess things up worse than they are already. I thought you might not want to, or you might not be ready.”
“I didn’t know I wanted to be married until we came back here and the important things became clear to me. And you are the most important of all, Mr. Traynor.”
I love Jackson, but can I take another setback like losing George? I don’t think so.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
AT EIGHT A.M. I floured the countertop and rolled out pastry for two pies. After filling one with pumpkin and one with apple, I fried a pan of bacon and cracked a couple of eggs for Jackson’s breakfast. I slid open the oven door and eased the pies onto the rack. While the pies were in the oven, I scooped Jackson’s breakfast onto a plate and poured him a coffee. I broke up the bread for the stuffing, laced it with poultry seasoning and onion and got the turkey washed and ready. Jackson was watching me like I was doing something he had never seen before. He hadn’t.
“Thanksgiving dinner looks like a lot of work, especially for the cook.”
“It is a lot of work, but you never mind the work if you’re cooking for people you love.”
By ten, the pies were done and the turkey was in the oven. I took a break. “Hey, honey do you want to call Billy and tell him we’ll be back sooner than we planned?”
“Yeah, we should. What day are we going back?”
“Tuesday, I guess. That will give you a chance to see the boys tomorrow, and finalize anything that you need to.”
“I’ll get a flight, then I can tell him everything at once.”
“You’re such a planner.”
“Do you want to talk about the wedding, Annie? I want to marry you, of course, I do. I just don’t know if this is the right time.”
He’s not sure and neither am I.
“Maybe we should reconsider,” I said, “I shouldn’t have sprung it on you in public like I did. It wasn’t fair.”
“I’m getting used to the idea now. Let’s discuss it after my meeting tomorrow.”
Yeah, let’s see if the Regulators want you to get married.
“Sure, okay,” I said. “If we decide to go ahead with it, what kind of a wedding would you like? I’m down with whatever you want.”
“If we were married while Billy was staying at our house in Vegas, he could be the best man.”
“Good thought. He would like that,” I said, with a smile, picturing Billy in a suit.
Jackson looked up from the iPad. “Okay, I have a flight for Tuesday at noon.”
“Book it.”
“You’re easy, baby.”
“Want to see how easy?”
“Damn right, I do.”
“Meet me in the front hall.”
Jackson put his iPad down on the counter and bolted for the foyer. I did my best to recreate one of his favorite sexual encounters of the passionate kind.
“That marble is cold on the bare ass.”
“Are you complaining?”
“Fuck, no.” He chuckled. “Who in their right mind could complain about that?”
RUSTY ARRIVED AT five-thirty in time for a beer before dinner. We sat in the kitchen an
d chatted while I put the finishing touches on the food.
“Buck’s telling everybody who will listen that you guys are getting hitched. It’s a lie, right?” asked Rusty.
“Not a lie, but it’s not carved in stone either. Jackson wants to wait until after the meeting tomorrow before we make any kind of a plan.”
“You asked him, Portia?” Rusty scowled. “Fuck, Jackson, you should be shot for being so fuckin slow. I should beat the shit out of you here and now.” He punched Jackson.
“I should be shot.” Jackson scowled and hung his head.
“Time to eat, boys. Hope you’re both starving. I made enough food for the army and the marines.”
“Look at these napkins with the turkeys on them,” said Jackson, “I didn’t know there was shit like this.”
The boys didn’t let me down. They ate heartily, had second helpings of everything, and had room for two pieces of pie each.
“I love the whipped cream on the pumpkin pie, Portia,” said Rusty.
“Glad you liked it. Got room for coffee?”
“Maybe later, right now, I feel a nap coming on,” said Jackson.
“Me too. I think I’ll just rest my eyes before I go home,” said Rusty.
They both pushed back in a recliner, turned on the tube, found a game and were sound asleep in five minutes. I cleaned up the kitchen, and when the droning hum of the dishwasher started, I trudged up to bed.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
JACKSON HAD BEEN talking for the past two days about going to the clubhouse, seeing the boys and finding out how smoothly everything was going to run without him. He was obviously stressed by his decision and he was going to miss his boys. Annie was equally stressed and was pulling him in another direction. Jackson was between a rock and a hard place. Very hard. Granite. After his shower, he sat at the kitchen table spooning sugar into his coffee.
Annie gave him a hug, ran her fingers through the damp hair curling around his neck and looked into his eyes. “What?” she asked.
“Nothing.”
“You want to ask me something, I can tell. Spit it out, sugar.”
“I can’t.”
