The Bare Bones (The Bare Bones MC)
Page 21
“No big loss, Ford. I won’t be looking at him in the rearview. How is Turk, anyway?”
We gossiped a little as we left the greenhouse. Ford told me that Wild Man had patched in now, too, and they were looking at a few hang-arounds to become new prospects.
“You’ll be married to the Bare Bones President, but without Cropper all I do is run the equipment company.”
Anna was standing in the kitchen doorway waiting for us. She was being a good friend by not holding little Fidelia in her arms, because it wasn’t her place to drop the bomb on Ford. I could tell by his demeanor nothing had leaked through the internet that he had a daughter, and I was still worried about his reaction. We had never discussed children.
“I’m sorry about Bill,” said Anna. “He can be such a dirtbag. I’m so sorry, Ford. You’re obviously not a trespasser, and this is my house, not Bill’s.”
“It’s all right, Anna,” said Ford. “I’ve got to get back home anyway, but I hate to say I’m taking Maddy here with me. She doesn’t want to ride on my bike, so could you make sure she gets safely to the airport?”
Anna looked at me wide-eyed. I nodded. “He’s right, Anna. I’m going.” I linked my arm through Ford’s and snuggled up to him. “You know he’s always been my one true love.”
“Oh, that’s evident to anyone with eyes in their head,” said Anna. “Your love is so dramatic and tragic, like Romeo and Juliet. Would you like to step inside? Use the facilities or something?”
“Facilities would be nice,” said Ford. “I don’t hear any screaming at the moment.”
“Adult screaming, that is,” I said, as Fidelia began to scream in the kitchen. I brushed past Anna and went to stand by Fidelia’s little cradle swing on the counter. Protectively, I stood between her and Ford and she stopped crying, just soaking in my presence.
Ford was stepping tentatively into the kitchen, maybe not wanting to startle what he thought was Anna’s baby. Good thing I was missing that sweater button, for I now undid a couple more of them again. Disbelief flooded his handsome face. Whether he was appalled I was undressing in Anna’s kitchen or suddenly realized I needed to nurse, I’m not sure, so I unsnapped the bra cup and picked up the little girl. She looked as amazed as her father.
Anna was six months pregnant, so it was kind of unlikely it was her baby. I held Ford’s gaze as I put Fidelia to the nipple, and I said softly, “Yours. A perfectly healthy girl. I named her Fidelia to ensure she never leaves me. Also, your name begins with an F.”
Anna probably wasn’t even breathing by this point. She didn’t keep a gun in the house—we’d already discussed doing that, months ago, but she was too afraid of them—a decision she probably regretted around about now.
Ford pointed at the little girl with the full head of black hair and the root beer eyes. “Mine. Healthy?”
“Yes. And yes. No Tay-Sachs. Like I told you, I’m not a carrier. You need two carriers, and I’m not one. You might not be, either. We’ll find out. But I think you’re safe.”
Ford didn’t say anything, but I soon realized it was because he was so stunned. Anna actually had to take a few long steps to grab a chair and place it behind him, or he might’ve collapsed on the floor from shock.
That was a good sign that at least he wasn’t going to run screaming out the door.
I ventured to say, “I hope you’re not mad. I didn’t want you thinking I just wanted child support money from you, since I don’t need any.” That was sort of a lie, but whatever—just a white lie. “And I didn’t want the only reason you were with me to be a baby. I didn’t want you feeling obligated to pretend to want to be with me. Now I see that you really do want to be with me, well, you’ve got to know about her.”
“Fidelia,” Ford repeated stupidly.
“Fidelia.” I took the chair next to him. Fidelia looked at Ford sideways as she suckled. “That’s your daddy,” I told her. “He’s big and bad. Well, not so bad. Wait, so bad. Yes. He’s bad.”
“Wow,” Ford breathed at last. “I’m…”
“In shock? Yes. I’m sorry. I just didn’t expect you to ride up on your Softail into my driveway in New York state.”
He ran his fingers through his hair. “And I can see why you can’t ride back on my pussy pad.”
I finally laughed, and all of the tension eased. Anna must have even felt safe enough to leave the room. “You got that right. Where would we put her?”
Ford was relaxing, too. “I’ve got the perfect room for her in our house. On the first level facing that rock spire that looks like a castle.”
There it was. There was my dream castle.
“I wouldn’t know,” I said mildly. “I never got to see much of your house.”
“Our house.”
“Our house.”
So you see, Dr. Petrie. You told me that writing my story would be cathartic. You were right. I’m much more ready now to move into my future with Ford, a future that doesn’t involve past recriminations or twisted deviance. We’re pure and easy now, just regular folks, businesspeople who go to fish fries and charity runs, who love our brothers and sisters as if they were our own.
Now I’m moving into the A.F. phase, After Ford. As he often said. You love the man, you learn to love the club. I’m still trying to achieve that second part, but one baby step at a time, right?
Stay vertical, Dr. Petrie. I don’t think I’ll be needing your services anymore.
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About The Author
Layla Wolfe is a wannabe biker’s old lady who is satisfied with a leather jacket, one bad-ass pink camo compound bow, and a vicarious outlaw lifestyle.
Layla Wolfe is the pen name of multi-published erotic romance author Karen Mercury.
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