Beauty & the Biker

by Beth Ciotta

  “Take a seat. Relax.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Then take a walk. If you want me to read—”

  “Fine.” She dropped into the super-padded, oversized club chair. Supple leather like the sofa. Cool to the back of her thighs and her bare arms—offsetting the sweat trickling along her hairline. The room was air conditioned. She should have been comfortable, but she was anxious. Other than Carson and the publishers who’d rejected her, no one had ever read her tales except the Inseparables and they’d only read the four completed manuscripts. She’d never been brave enough to share her works-in-progress. She wasn’t feeling all that brave now, but this moment required derring-do. She wanted to inspire Savage, to snag his interest as an artist. She figured she needed all the chances she could get.

  Time dragged and with each passing slow-as-a-slug minute Savage’s silence wore on Bella’s nerves. “What do you think?” she finally prompted.

  “Still reading.”

  “I know but…” Her heart sank as he met her gaze. “You’re not inspired.”

  “I’m not connecting.”

  She gripped the arms of the chair so as not to spring up and pace. “I know they’re lacking somehow. Something’s missing. A certain zing. I’m fully invested as I’m writing, but when I reread them…I want more. I want visuals. The four on top, the completed stories, they’re intended for young children. At the library we call them picture books. Except, as you can see, there are no pictures. That’s where you come in.”

  He set the pages aside and dragged a hand through his hair.

  “There you go again, looking miserable.”

  “There are hundreds of talented illustrators out there. Artists who specialize in children’s books.”

  “Yes, but they’re not you.”

  “Why does it have to be me?”

  Because you’re my Dream Partner. Or at least the prime candidate. A matchmaking company told me so.

  Yeah, that was a logical argument.

  “Because we’d make a great team,” she said.

  “Not in this regard.” He studied her as if weighing his words carefully. “Purple dragons, sparkly pixies, and bad things going away just because you believe with all your heart or wish hard enough… That’s your world, not mine.”

  “It’s not as if I think purple dragons actually exist.”

  “But you do believe in the best of the worst beings and situations. I’m not comfortable with perpetuating illusions, Bella.”

  Her back went up. “Since when is faith, hope, and resourcefulness illusion? Fairy tales not only stimulate children’s imaginations, they usually teach a moral or cultural lesson.”

  “Kids would be better off if…”

  “If what?”

  He held her gaze and she swore the room’s temperature spiked to the sun. She clasped her hands so as not to wring them and cursed the sweat trickling down her spine. When his phone chimed, all she could think was “saved by the bell” because, yeah, he looked that relieved for the interruption.

  He glanced at the screen. “Text from your dad. He’s out front. I need—”

  “—to unlock the gate. I know. What do you have against fairy tales?”

  He worked his jaw as he rose to his feet. “They don’t prepare children for the truth.”

  “Which is?”

  “The world is a fucking minefield, people are evil, and, more often than not, there is no happy ending.”

  He walked past her without out another word. Without a glance. Without a touch. But she could see and feel his rage. Simmering within. Threatening to blow. She nearly choked on the cynicism lingering in the air. And now, instead of sweating, Bella shivered.

  “What happened to you?” she whispered as Savage walked out the door.

  * * *

  “Dammit.”

  Bella’s disappointment followed Joe out the door and kicked him in the ass. Frustration kept him walking. There would be no riding off this monster mood. Archie waited at the gate. Bella stewed inside.

  Joe paused on the porch step, breathed the hot fragrant air. Lavender wafted on the breeze. Wasn’t lavender known as a calming scent? Where the hell was serenity?

  Resentment and anger clawed at his being. Every muscle bunched. Every nerve twitched. He shouldn’t have read Bella’s stories. They’d taunted his inner beast. Not because of what he’d seen in the past, but because of what it meant for his future.

  Fanciful notions had long been beaten out of him. He’d hoped to spare Bella the worst of his personal brand of ugly and yet he’d bitch-slapped her creative muse the first time she’d shared the fruits of her imagination. As an artist he understood the perils of indifference and rejection. He should have praised what he’d liked instead of damning her utopian ideals.

  He wouldn’t be surprised if she was on the phone right now with one of her friends, bemoaning her new living arrangements. First he’d rejected her in bed. Then he’d crushed her attempt to collaborate.

  Just when he’d gotten a glimpse of sunshine, the beast dragged Joe back into his personal pit of gloom.

  Killer yowled and Joe shook off his self-disgust long enough to give the guy a head scratch. “At least you don’t hate me. Yet.”

  Putting his ass in gear, he strode to the gate where Archie Mooney waited. The man sat on his idling red mower—ball cap, sunglasses, short plaid sleeves rolled to his pits.

  “You knew I was coming,” he said. “Why didn’t you leave the gate unlocked?”

  “Old habits die hard.”

  “This is Nowhere, Nebraska, son, not some overcrowded, crime-ridden Metropolis. Most folks never even lock the doors to their house.”

  “It only takes one time,” Joe said. “One intruder with malicious intent.”

  Archie’s grey brows rose above the rims of his dark-rimmed shades. “Sucks to be you.”

  “Cynical?”

  “Haunted.”

  Joe said nothing. His demons were his own.

  Archie gestured toward the house. “Guess my girl’s inside, settling in.”

  “Surprised you don’t have a problem with that.”

  “Who says I’m good with it?”

  “Bella.”

  “I didn’t give her any grief so I s’pose that was as good as giving my approval.”

  “So you don’t approve.”

  “Not sure where I stand on Bella moving into your home, but I fully support her moving out of mine.” He knocked back his brim, palmed sweat from his brow. “Bella gave up her apartment, her independence, to take care of me these last months. Only the more she helped, the more I stumbled. If I’d paid her more mind, been more attuned to her feelings, I might have realized Carson was…well, providing her with a strong shoulder in a tough time. Unlike me. That night, the poker game…after. You shamed me into standing straight, Savage. Into giving Bella reason to believe I can make it on my own. I owe her and you, so I figure it’s worth seeing how this boarder thing works out.”

  Joe glanced toward the house, cursed the demons that wouldn’t allow him to paint purple dragons. “At the rate I’m going, Bella will be looking for new digs come tomorrow. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m no ball of sunshine.”

  “I wallowed in misery and booze for months and she didn’t bail on me.”

  Joe had been to hell and he wasn’t sure if he’d ever break free. Bella, who lightened his being and touched his heart, gave him a reason to try. “I think I’m in love with your daughter, Archie.”

  “I’m not surprised.” He tugged down the brim of his ball cap and put the mower into gear.

  Joe cursed the ache in his chest as they both glanced toward Funland—blatant evidence of broken dreams and mangled illusions. “I don’t want to hurt her.”

  Archie cast him one last glance. “Then don’t.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chrissy rarely indulged in “me” time. If she wasn’t working at Buzz-Bees, she was taking care of Melody. If Mel was under the
watchful eye of family or a trusted professional then Chrissy devoted her free time to researching Mel’s options. Keeping abreast of the latest medical developments and educational programs pertaining to the hearing impaired was practically a full time job.

  “Me” time was earmarked for knitting projects, video chats, and the occasional in-person hangs with the Inseparables. Their weekly dinner at Café Caboose was a cherished treat. Her friends kept her sane and grounded. Knitting—a hobby she’d picked up from her grandma—provided a creative outlet as well as extra income. Her time and money were precious. She rarely squandered either on professional pampering.

  She’d been gifted with pale blond hair, silky and straight, and perfectly suited to one length. Easy Peasey. Every so often Angel would corner her and trim her ends, but other than that Chrissy was all about ponytails and twisty buns. Committing to an honest-to-God hair cut as in a new style was a huge deal. So huge that when Bella booted them out of Savage’s house early, Angel took advantage of Chrissy’s unexpected free time and turned it into “me” time.

  After returning the borrowed moving transport to Zeke, Angel whisked Chrissy into town, opening Heavenly Hair on a Sunday just for her. She even uncorked a bottle of chilled white wine, which seemed decadent to Chrissy, but what the hell. Mellowing out while Angel lopped off her waist-length, low-maintenance hair was probably a good thing.

  “You don’t know how long I’ve been aching to give you a makeover,” Angel said as she angled Chrissy’s chair away from the mirror and started snipping.

  “Three years,” Chrissy said. “You bring it up every week.”

  “I do?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Well, those days are over.”

  “Thank God.”

  “Now I’ll only nag you every six weeks. That’s how often you’ll need to see me for a trim.”

  “What?”

  “Otherwise the cut will lose its shape. Hey, you’re the one who picked this style. Great choice by the way.”

  “Not if it means a trim every six weeks.”

  “Shut up and drink your wine. Making magic here.”

  “Is that why you turned me away from the mirror? So I wouldn’t witness any industry tricks?”

  “No. I turned you away so you wouldn’t freak out when I cut off the first six inches. Shrieking tends to rattle my nerves. Don’t worry. You’ll be singing my praises when you see the end result.”

  Chrissy figured it would take a miracle to replicate her chosen style. She’d been flipping through a needlework magazine, looking for a specific knitting pattern, when she’d spied a model with a bold haircut and a carefree aura. Captivated, she’d thumbed back to that photo three times before ripping it out and taping it to her fridge. Once upon a time she’d been carefree and bold. But then she’d grown up. Fast. She was only twenty-seven, yet she hadn’t done anything for the fun or thrill of it since the birth of Melody. That included dating. Not that she was thinking about dating any time soon. She wasn’t interested in anyone. But she was restless.

  Still, after four years of focused routine, change was hard. “There’s more hair on the floor than on my head,” Chrissy noted while contemplating the consequences of derring-do. Damn Bella and her surprisingly inspiring quest. Her mellow cousin’s bold actions poked at Chrissy like a double-dog dare.

  “Let it go,” Angel said. “And I’m not just referring to your hair.”

  “If you’re suggesting I forgive the dickhead who turned his back on his own daughter and threatened my parents’ livelihood to boot, forget it.”

  “I wouldn’t presume. I’m talking about your grudge against music. Turning your back on your gift won’t change Melody’s circumstance.”

  “I know.”

  “Then why—”

  “You know why.” She’d explained her decision to family and friends over and over until she’d grown weary, ultimately refusing to discuss the subject at all. Usually everyone steered clear. Usually. The A&F Festival always stirred up dust swirling around Chrissy’s forsaken passion.

  “I get it,” Angel said. “And I don’t. I want to respect your decision, but I can’t. You’re an insanely talented musician, Christmas—”

  “Don’t call me that.”

  “We must’ve heard close to twenty fiddlers at the A&F Festival and none of them held a candle to you.”

  “Says the lifelong friend and my biggest fan. Thank you, but—”

  “You’re not only depriving yourself of your passion, you’re depriving the world.” Snip, snip. “And Melody. I know you don’t like to talk about this, but now that I have you captive so to speak, I’ll have my say.”

  “Are you threatening to shave me bald if I don’t resume my musical career?”

  “At least allow yourself the pleasure of playing for the fun of it.”

  “Except it isn’t fun. The thrill is gone.” She couldn’t look at her violin without thinking of Mason. About their affair and his betrayal. About her shattered musical dream. She’d hoped to land a gig with a philharmonic orchestra. To live the life of a concert violinist. But that would mean relentless rehearsing and performing. That would mean living and breathing music—melodies, harmonies, and rhythm. Sounds that would be forever alien to Melody. Chrissy’s thoughts drifted down corridors of regrets, what ifs, and if onlys. God, she was sick of wallowing in the past, but writing it off hadn’t set her on a happy trail either. Oh, to be more like Bella who always made the best of the worst.

  “Okay. You’re done.”

  “Thank you for recognizing and accepting that.” Music was toxic to her soul. End. Of. Story.

  “I’m talking about your hair. Just a dab of product and a quick blow dry.”

  Oh. “No fancy styling tricks?”

  “Nope.”

  Chrissy downed the rest of her wine while Angel finger-combed goo through her hair. She thought about asking for a second glass. She was anxious about her new style and rattled by the talk of past passions. Her music and Mason. Thankfully, instead of pursuing the subject, Angel fell silent while blasting Chrissy’s head with hot air. Would she look like a wanna-be rock star? A shaggy golden retriever? The anticipation was killing her. Setting aside her glass, she palmed her phone and checked for messages. Zip. “Have you heard from Bella?” she asked.

  “No. You?”

  “No. They’re probably doing it like monkeys,” Chrissy said while tucking away her phone. “Which would explain us falling off her radar. Who thinks about friends when you’re circling Mars?”

  “You’ve circled Mars?”

  “Haven’t you?” Chrissy frowned when Angel didn’t answer. “You’ve loved twice,” she prompted. “Married twice. Surely you’ve had mind-blowing orgasms. Stars shattering. Planets imploding.”

  “I’ve had lots of orgasms,” Angel said.

  “So you’ve circled Mars.”

  “I don’t know that I have.”

  “Oh.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing.” Chrissy thought about it and, yeah, she’d had lots of orgasms, too. Some by her own hand. Some compliments of her second boyfriend, albeit many moons ago. She’d only circled Mars with Mason. But at least she’d circled Mars. It was a sensation and experience that exceeded the typical climax. One she associated with all-consuming love. Angel had loved twice without ever glimpsing the red planet? It made her wonder if maybe, just maybe, Angel had yet to meet her true love. It made her think about Ryan. About his secret crush on Angel. Two lonely, big-hearted people who’d make a perfect couple. If only he wasn’t married.

  “Zeke told me that Lacey moved out of her and Ryan’s house yesterday.”

  “Georgie told me the same thing,” Angel said. “Officially separated. Again.”

  “Maybe the third time’s a charm,” Chrissy said. “I hope Lacey files for divorce because I don’t know that Ryan ever will.”

  “She’s raked his heart over the coals so many times, I’m amazed it’s still beating.”
>
  “That’s because it’s so flipping huge. Just like Georgie’s. Unlike Georgie, Ryan won’t shut his down. He feels sorry for Lacey and you know how protective he is of Sienna. He’ll keep on forgiving if that’s what it takes to hold the family together.”

  “I’m not sure he’s doing Sienna any favors by cutting Lacey so many breaks. If you ask me, Lacey’s a pretty suck-ass mom.”

  “No pretty about it,” Chrissy said, her heart firing up in defense of her friend and his daughter. “Lacey’s self-absorbed and shallow and…don’t get me started. All I know is that Sienna deserves better. Ryan, too.”

  “Someone like you?”

  Chrissy blinked just as Angel switched off the blow dryer and spun her chair around to face the mirror. Her mind juggled a double whammy as she stared at her reflection, digesting her new look and Angel’s bizarre observation.

  “Either you really love it or really hate it,” Angel said. “You look positively stunned.”

  “You think I’ve got the hots for Ryan?”

  “What? Oh. Well, yeah. The thought crossed my mind. You two have always been close.”

  “He’s one of Zeke’s best friends!”

  “Yeah. So?” Angel shrugged. “I thought maybe it was a slow build to burn. Like with me and Baxter. It’s obvious you admire him—”

  “Who doesn’t?”

  “And you’ve been talking about him a lot lately. Sienna and Melody get on really well, and Ryan’s handsome and responsible, and, well, maybe almost free of Lacey. I thought this makeover… You have to admit the timing…”

  Chrissy didn’t know whether to laugh or blush. “I’m not trying to attract Ryan’s eye or interest. We’re friends. Period. Besides, he’s too wrapped up in you and… Oh, shit.”

  Now Angel gaped. “Ryan loves Lacey.”

  “Ryan puts up with Lacey.”

  Angel held Chrissy’s gaze via the mirror. “They’re married.”

  “Hence why he hasn’t made a move on you. Ryan’s a good man. Lacey may not have a conscience, but he does. If they end up divorced though, I suspect it will only be a matter of time before he comes calling.”