Beauty & the Biker

by Beth Ciotta

  Her bed bounced with the weight of a petite four-year-old, calling Chrissy to the present. Heart full, she pushed herself up against the pillows and smiled at the most precious little girl God ever created. She spoke and signed simultaneously. “Hi, baby.”

  Melody signed back. Hi, Mama. Go town?

  Most children uttered their first word around six months and then went on to speaking two to four word sentences by the time they were two-years old. Melody was four now and though she was capable of making sounds, she’d yet to form audible words. Chrissy, her parents and Zeke, the Inseparables, and an audiologist and speech therapist had made sure she had the skills, but Melody resisted, relying instead on sign language, finger-spelling, pictures, and a few written words. Early on she’d lagged behind other children her age due to her compromised language skills, but Melody was wicked bright and this year something clicked. She’d advanced in leaps and bounds—especially with written communication. Soon Chrissy would have to make hard decisions regarding Melody’s education, but for now, she was determined to cater to her daughter’s happiness.

  Today Melody’s deepest and most avid desire was to attend the Arts and Fiddler Festival. The mere thought of having to endure the sounds of some of the best bluegrass musicians in the country—especially the fiddlers—twisted Chrissy’s heart in a bloody knot.

  Once upon a time music had been her life. That passion died when the doctor pronounced her baby deaf. How could she enjoy something her daughter would never hear? Art, a visual medium, was a vastly different story and, oh, how Melody loved arts and crafts. No way would Chrissy deny her daughter the sights and activities of the lively festival—even as the music sliced and diced her own soul.

  Ninety-minutes later, they were on the road and headed to the city park and rodeo grounds. Chrissy resigned herself to spending most of the day at the festival. Melody was stoked about the pancake breakfast, browsing the craft booths, playing games, and watching her uncle and grandpa compete in the horseshoe tournament. Her grandma would be there co-hosting the quilting show, something she used to do with her sister-in-law, Bella’s mom. This would be the first A&F Festival without Aunt Laura. Chrissy wondered if Uncle Archie would stay away because of that or maybe he’d attend for nostalgic reasons. Bella had to be feeling somber. Her mom had been an active member of the quilt club and this was a big day for that group. But Bella hadn’t said a word.

  A perpetual ball of sunshine, unlike Chrissy, Bella had a tight rein on exhibiting negative emotions—especially sorrow. She was also tightlipped when it came to badmouthing anyone hence her glossing over the break-up with Carson. Chrissy had never been sold on their romance in the first place, but he’d made Bella happy—or at least less sad for a while. Chrissy gave Carson credit for trying to woo back her cousin. Any man would be lucky to have Bella. But now with Savage in the picture, Carson was probably screwed, and not in the way he’d like to be.

  The fact that Bella kept jumping to Savage’s defense was a strong indication that she’d fallen fast and hard for the man. Had Savage fallen for her as well? Or was he simply interested in a no-strings lay? Chrissy’s stomach ached every time she thought about the way Bella lit up when she’d described their last interlude.

  Magical.

  Chrissy’d had magical with Mason and look how that turned out. Although she did have Melody. Thank God for Mel.

  She blew out breath, exhausted by her runaway thoughts and the way they kept jumping tracks. Some days she managed to live in the present instead of fretting over the past and future. Today was not one of those days.

  Her daughter strained at her safety constraints, leaning forward in anticipation as they neared the already crowded parking lot. Melody was oblivious to the laughter and chatter of various families as they exited their cars as well as the music floating on the summer breeze, but she was riveted by all the activity and sat grinning ear-to-ear.

  Chrissy massaged what sometimes felt like a perpetual ache in her chest where her daughter was concerned. More than anything, she wanted what was best for Mel.

  Several aspects from last night’s video chat with the Inseparables kept niggling at her, but none so strongly as the concept of that Internet site, Impossible Dream. A company designed to perpetuate miracles? Were they for real? Could they bless or empower her daughter in some special way? Chrissy wasn’t fanciful like Bella, but she was curious. She just had to figure out how to phrase her deepest desire. If she was going to shoot for the stars, she wanted to aim high and true. She wanted magic.

  * * *

  Joe was finishing his morning coffee when he heard a familiar puttering. Glancing toward the lavender fields, he noted the Mooney’s red riding mower rolling toward Funland. He would have preferred a glittery ball gown and golden curls over the Husker’s ball cap and plaid work shirt. Even from a distance he could see the stubborn set of Archie’s shoulders and jaw. Yesterday he’d insisted on extending his landscaping skills to the park. Joe refused the offer, declaring them square on the gambling debt. Damned if the man hadn’t argued. Joe’s mind had been so full of Bella, he’d forgotten Archie’s vow to return.

  Frowning, Joe pushed out of the porch swing, prompting Killer to yowl. When he moved into the house to pull on a shirt and shoes, the cat pounced from swing to porch and tried to follow. “Points for persistence, big guy, but, no.”

  He shut the cat out. Shut Archie out. As he jogged up the stairs, he remembered the look on Bella’s face when he’d shut her out. He still couldn’t believe she’d suggested moving in.

  “But it’s a big house and it’s just you, right? I’m neat and quiet and I’m a great cook. It wouldn’t be for long,” she’d barreled on. “Just until I find a place I can afford on my own. I really think, for the reasons I explained before, that the sooner I move out, the better for my dad.” She’d paused and smiled. “So what do you think?”

  “Not just no, but hell, no.”

  “Why?”

  “For one: People will talk.”

  “You don’t seem the sort to care.”

  “I’m referring to you, Bella. Your feelings. Your reputation.”

  “My reputation is sound, thank you very much.”

  “And I’m not willing to compromise it.”

  “That’s very kind of you—an anomaly by the way, considering your tendency toward rudely blunt, but that aside—I’d be moving in officially as a boarder, not as a lover.”

  “Regardless, people will suspect.”

  Her lush mouth twisted into a wry grin. “For a city boy, you’re sure old-fashioned.”

  “Far from it, but you’re… He’d started to say “special” and backpedaled. “The town librarian. You may be broadminded, but what about the parents of the kids you interact with?”

  That had shut her up.

  For two freaking seconds.

  “I’m going to withdraw my query,” she’d said with narrowed eyes. “Not because I’m worried about my reputation, but because I’m concerned about your level of discomfort.” Peeling off the latex gloves, she’d abandoned her cataloguing project. “I’ll pick up where I left off tomorrow. In the evening. Like I mentioned before I’ve committed the day to friends and the Arts and Fiddler Festival. Will I see you there?”

  “Not on the agenda.”

  “I don’t know how you’re going to build a business if you don’t mingle with the locals.”

  “References through Tank Marlowe. The Internet.”

  “Oh. Still—”

  He’d killed the discussion with a kiss, softer and sweeter than their initial encounter but no less intense. A melding of lips, a sweep of tongue, a tender caress. He couldn’t remember ever being so hot on kissing. Or so thoroughly consumed by a woman on something other than a sexual level.

  While sorting through his uncle’s boxes, Bella shared story after story regarding Funland and Nowhere in general, most of them cheerful or quirky, some about tourists, many about locals—most every tale laced with her smile
s. She’d been as animated with Joe as she’d been with those kids at the library. He’d had a tough time concentrating on his sketches. She was that mesmerizing. Even the occasional somber account ended on an upbeat note. He’d tossed and turned through the night, reliving Bella’s every word, expression, observation, and summation. She was the most sincere, the least judgmental person he’d ever met. She’d even downplayed her former boyfriend’s habit of challenging her choices and opinions. “He means well,” she’d said.

  Her tolerance and optimism shadowed Joe through the night and into the morning and, while pouring his first cup of coffee, he acknowledged the fascination had mushroomed to obsession.

  His obsession was the only child of a recently widowed man.

  That man was just outside.

  By the time Joe blew through the screen door, Mooney had rolled to the front gate. By the time Joe crossed the yard he’d reversed his former decision.

  He’d seen his grieving neighbor at his worst—drunk, morose, and reckless.

  He’d witnessed a stronger side—Mooney focused and constructive as he’d attacked Joe’s overgrown lawn and weed infested flower-beds.

  He’d listened to Bella’s thoughts regarding her father’s abundance of free time and lack of purpose.

  Only a heartless monster would deny Archie Mooney a chance to reclaim his pride and rebuild his shattered life.

  Joe was not heartless.

  With no more than a nod in greeting, he opened the gate and watched as Mooney drove onto his property, steering his mower and the attached wagon of gardening supplies toward the jungle once known as Rootin’ Tootin’ Funland.

  Killer bumped against his leg, looking up at Joe as if to say, So much for keeping people at bay.

  “My walls are intact, cat. Trust me.”

  Just because he’d allowed Archie access to his property, didn’t mean he had to engage in conversation. Just because he’d relented, allowing Archie to manicure the park didn’t mean Joe was resurrecting Funland. Bella’s suggestion aggravated an open wound, tempting the ugly rage caged within. For Joe, being surrounded by kids, by their innocent faces and squeals of delight was akin to being flayed. Bella couldn’t know that, so his cold refusal had been harsh and unfair. He regretted that. But he had no intention of exposing her to his demons, so he’d shot down the discussion hoping to bury it.

  Just then his phone chimed with an incoming message. A selfie of Bella smiling and preparing to devour a large sugary pastry along with the text: Yr missing the food & fun + car display!

  Joe smiled. Princess Rainbow, the eternal optimist.

  He wasn’t interested in the social aspect of the festival—risking curiosity and conversation. And since it was a family affair, kids would be swarming. Another deterrent. But he was intrigued by a car display and even more intrigued by the notion of watching Bella laughing and loving life. A bandaged forehead and hands did nothing to dim her enthusiasm. Tempting. But then a second picture appeared. A group shot of Bella and four other women—all attractive, all smiling—plus a sweet-faced little girl, also smiling.

  The Inseparables + Melody. Join us. Please.

  Georgie, Emma, Angel, and Chrissy. He knew them by style and hair color. Bella had talked about her friends while sorting through Mike’s mountain of photos. Melody was Chrissy’s daughter and it was Melody who reinforced his decision to skip the festival.

  Palms sweating, Joe thumbed a reply, shooting for polite over cold and probably failing. Brain and soul stirring with dark memories, he shoved his sunglasses on then straddled his bike. Destination: Wherever. Riding off this sickening fury might take an hour or two.

  * * *

  “What did he say?”

  Bella stared at her phone. “Bad timing.”

  “That’s it?” Georgie asked.

  “If a picture of five gorgeous babes and a cutie-pie babe,” Emma said with a wink for Melody, “can’t lure that man to come out and play, he’s seriously weird.”

  Bella didn’t comment but she silently gave Savage guff for being so stubborn. She’d been looking forward to the festival, then Carson had texted soon after she’d stepped onto the grounds: Prepare 2 B dazzled.

  She didn’t like the sound of that. Nor did she appreciate his refusal to elaborate. Instead of enjoying the sights and sounds of the Arts and Fiddlers Festival, she’d spent most of the afternoon looking over her shoulder, bracing for Carson and whatever surprise he had in store.

  Not wanting to ruin the day for her friends, she’d kept that text and her misgivings to herself. Maybe she’d get lucky and Carson would change his mind or maybe there’d be a glitch in his plans or maybe he’d wait to dazzle her until he got her alone. Then she could burst his bubble in private.

  What would it take for that man to accept that they were through? If he saw her with Savage, if he knew she was interested in someone else, would he finally call it quits? Deterring Carson from making some dazzling gesture was only one of the reasons Bella had tried to entice Savage into joining her at the festival. If the Inseparables got to know “biker dude”, maybe they’d see what Bella sensed. That he was a sheep in wolves’ clothing.

  Bad timing.

  Just her luck.

  “Not for anything, but Savage isn’t earning any points by avoiding us,” Chrissy said.

  “It would be easier to support your dream partner if he wasn’t an enigma,” Angel said kindly.

  “If he won’t come to us,” Emma said, “maybe we should go to him. We could visit under the pretense of me checking out the Funland memorabilia for the museum.”

  “Maybe,” Bella said, “but—”

  “It’s a plan,” Georgie said. “Just give us a day and time.”

  “Damn. Look how late it is,” Chrissy said. “The horseshoe tourney starts in ten minutes and I promised Mel we’d cheer on Dad and Zeke.”

  “Lead on,” Angel said. “We’re right behind you.”

  The Inseparables plus Melody moved away from the concession trailers and Bella marveled at how quickly her friends smoothed over Savage’s refusal. Although Bella tempered her frustration, she knew her friends sensed it. Like her dad, she internalized—except for the occasional and extremely rare meltdown. For the second time in less than a week, Bella felt herself crumbling under stress.

  Along with stuffing down Savage’s disappointing rejection and battling anxiety regarding Carson, she was also juggling a heaping serving of dread. Although she’d skimmed almost every craft booth at the festival, she’d begged off the quilting exhibition, opting to save that visit for last. It meant confronting her mom’s death on a deeply nostalgic and sentimental level. She wasn’t looking forward to it. But she wouldn’t run from it either.

  Her phone chimed and Bella’s heart skipped. “Another text from Savage.”

  “Did he change his mind?” Georgie asked.

  “No.”

  “Surprised he’s not all over this car display,” Angel said as they passed the small exhibit. “You said he’s into this stuff, right?”

  “I’m telling you, the man has some sort of social disorder,” Emma said.

  “You don’t want to know what I think,” Chrissy said.

  “It looks like a continuation of his earlier message,” Bella said. “Must’ve been delayed. Sketchy reception.”

  “And?” Emma prompted.

  “He said my dad’s there. Tending the grounds of Funland.” Bella glanced at her friends as they vied for seats on the crowded bleachers. “Now that’s weird. Savage told me he had no intention of revitalizing the park.”

  “Which means he’s probably going to raze it,” Georgie said. “Broken rides. Rotting game and food concessions. That place never recovered after that tornado bounced through five years ago.”

  “My first year with Zeke and his Stormchasers,” Emma said. “What a rush.”

  “You mean nightmare,” Angel said. “That twister caused a lot of damage.”

  “But it didn’t claim any lives,
” Emma said. “What can I say? I’m attracted to dark and dangerous.”

  “Kind of like Bella,” Georgie said with nudge. A gentle tease, except Bella didn’t smile.

  Last night she’d fallen asleep high on Savage’s kisses. A short-lived nirvana obliterated by troubling dreams. Dreams she couldn’t remember, yet they somehow darkened her spirit. She’d woken up depressed, Savage’s words ringing in her ears.

  “There are things I can’t talk about, won’t talk about.”

  What things? He’d been a cop. A big city cop. An undercover cop. She’d watched enough television, seen enough movies, read enough news reports, to imagine—at least a glimmer—of Savage’s life in Chicago. Imagination could be a powerful thing and Bella had never outgrown her ability to believe in the most outrageous possibilities. It was the quality, or quirk, that fueled her writing. It had driven her to explore ID.com. And it fostered her unimaginably horrible imaginings where Savage’s career was concerned.

  The truth would prove less tragic. She was certain of it.

  Whatever he was hiding or running from, Bella was determined to champion Savage. The urge to soothe his wounded aura was powerful. She’d never been attracted to a man so quickly and thoroughly. It hadn’t been love at first sight, but it hadn’t taken long to fall under his spell. Love couldn’t be far behind. Every fiber of her being screamed, he’s the one.

  “Wow. You’ve really got it bad,” Georgie said. “Emma just took a bite out of your elephant ear and you didn’t flinch.”

  “I was thinking,” Bella said. “What if my personal fairy tale is a reverse fairy tale?”

  “What does that mean?” Angel asked.