Papa Noel: Holiday RBMC Tonopah, NV
Page 4
My fingers twitched on my right hand and I suddenly wanted to slide them through the rough and coarse hair of his beard. Dark brown and yet peppered heavily with solid white. The lines around his eyes were crinkled as if he was humored but the intensity of his gaze was so sharp and filled with raw attraction that reality smacked me right in the face.
I shoved away from his body as I took in his appearance. Thick, muscled shoulders and arms corded with veins. Hair with a perfect mixture of salt and pepper but leaned heavily on the salt. Seductive smile. Sensual mouth beneath the moustache. Multiple tattoos that disappeared under his shirt sleeves and traveled all the way to his knuckles.
The leather vest was the last thing I noticed along with the patches that read PAPA and ROYAL BASTARDS MC. I knew what a motorcycle club was. I watched a few seasons of Sons of Anarchy. No, I wasn’t delusional enough to think that show was reality, but I was smart enough to know this man was trouble. A distraction I didn’t need even if the sight of him made my mouth water.
My reaction was shocking. I hadn’t had interest in sex in so long it was foreign to notice the dull ache between my thighs and the pulse in my core that reminded me how long it had been since I felt the passionate embrace of a man in bed. My cheeks burned with embarrassment and I spun away from the seductive and powerful presence of the biker. I knew he watched as I walked away, and I swear I could sense his disappointment that I didn’t stick around.
I told myself this was safer. Not getting involved was a necessity.
But the pull I felt toward him didn’t relent even when I climbed into the front seat of my car. Oddly enough, he left the store a few minutes later as I tried to process the reason why I wanted to run back inside and ask for his number. So foolish. He didn’t see me or notice my car and loaded his saddlebags with groceries before hopping on his bike and driving out of the lot. A part of me was tempted to follow.
I didn’t.
Long after Noah and I had dinner and my son was tucked into bed, my thoughts kept returning to the hypnotic gaze of the tattooed biker who was all silver fox and temptation and I wondered if he was as enchanted as I was those few seconds we touched.
It was unlikely, but that didn’t stop me from hoping for it anyway.
“Hey, Santa.”
The kid was back, and he wasn’t the least bit fazed by what I’d told him last time.
“Did you go to the North Pole yet?”
“Nope. No time, son.” I’d just parked my ride a few minutes ago and was enjoying the setting sun and quiet until he showed up. There was a lot of shit going down with the club and I had my own demons to deal with. Slightly irritated, I knew I came off as harsh with my next words. “Told you I wasn’t Santa. You need to listen when an adult is speaking.”
The little Squeaker shrugged. “You’re grumpy.” He kicked at the ground and the toe of his shoe made a little noise that sounded an awful lot like a mouse.
See? Squeaker.
I almost teased him about it until I noticed his expression. He seemed upset but was trying to act like nothing was wrong. Eight-year-old boys didn’t have a lot to be upset about. Had to be serious.
“Want to tell me what’s bugging you?”
His shoulders lifted and then fell quickly in another shrug.
Stroking my beard for a few seconds, I paused like I was thinking hard. “Tell you what. I’ve had a shit day and it looks like you have to. Why don’t we sit down and talk about it?”
Kid plopped his skinny little ass right on the ground and sighed. “Mama was cryin’.”
Shit. Women cried for good and bad reasons. Who knew what the hell that meant?
“A good cry or a sad one?”
Kid wouldn’t look up. “Sad, I think. She’s not supposed to be sad anymore.”
“Why not?”
“Because Tonopah is our happy place.”
I didn’t know what the fuck he meant. Still, I tried to offer some kind of advice. “Maybe she just needs a hug.”
“I hug Mama all the time.” He waved the words away with his little hand. “This is different.”
I felt bad for the kid. He probably saw or heard something that was for adults only. “Sometimes women have a reason, son. Doesn’t mean she’s not alright.”
He lifted his head, teeth nibbling on his bottom lip. “How do I know if she’s not okay?”
This kid was something else. He loved his mother and felt protective of her. Pretty grown up for such a squeaker. I could tell he was close to her and it was sweet. I might be an old biker set in my ways, but I still had a fuckin’ heart. Kind of.
“Maybe ask your dad if you aren’t sure.”
Kid jumped to his feet fast and the look on his face was pure fear. He swallowed hard and shook his head. “I gotta go!”
“Wait!” I hollered after him and tossed my empty beer bottle into the recycling bin. “Hold on. I want to ask you something.”
Kid was shuffling from one foot to the other, glancing around at the houses and street as if he was terrified. “Yeah?”
“You live with your dad?” I asked carefully. Something about his reaction wasn’t right.
He shook his head.
“I see. Well, you come back and talk to me if you need a man’s advice or opinion. I’ll do my best,” I offered.
“Okay.”
“The way to tell if your mama ain’t alright is to see if her tears don’t stop the next day. Then you have to give her one of your best hugs and make it tight. If that doesn’t work, let me know.”
Before I knew what was happening, scrawny arms were wrapping around my waist.
“Thank you, Santa.”
Shit. This kid.
A chuckle escaped my lips. “Better get home and check on your mama.”
He bobbed his head and listened, waving as he ran down the sidewalk toward home. Brown hair curled in little wisps around his face and those big brown eyes locked on my own as he paused before going up the driveway to his front door a few houses away. The light of a nearby streetlamp lit up his features. For a split second, all I saw was Colter.
One night like this, many years ago, another eight-year-old with chocolate-colored eyes and my smile paused in the night and gazed up at the stars before he went to his first sleepover at a friend’s house. I never forgot the way he seemed to gaze at me like I was his entire world. His protector. His champion. The man who would love him until the end of his days and called him son.
Swallowing hard, I saw the same look now except this kid wasn’t gazing at his biological father. He was staring at a lonely, broken old man who didn’t know how to let go of the past. The yearning in the depths of his eyes hit me hard. Kid was trying to outrun his own demons and that shit was difficult to ignore. He had a mama he loved but something was lacking. Only another man could sense what he needed.
Something I couldn’t give away because it was dead and buried.
Something I didn’t have left to offer because I’d had it cruelly ripped away.
A father’s unconditional love.
“Fuck,” I cursed as I dropped the bolt I was trying to replace on the engine of this old hunk of junk and heard it clang on the way down until it dropped out of sight. “Just what I need.”
Leaning over, I tried to dig around but didn’t have any luck locating the missing piece of metal. Out of frustration, I kicked at the front tire as I backed away and pulled a rag from my back pocket, wiping my fingers clean of the grease and grime. To say I was pissed was an understatement. Throwing down the rag, I stomped over to the fridge and grabbed a beer, chugging the contents.
“Fuckin’ shit always happens at the worst time,” I mused aloud, frowning at the hotrod that didn’t give two shits how I felt. “Yeah, you can fuck off.”
That was when I noticed the bolt on the ground beneath the engine. Guess it didn’t get stuck on anything. Sighing, I pinched the bridge of my nose. That restless feeling was crawling around beneath my skin again and seemed to have gotten wo
rse since the pretty little blonde bumped into me at the store. Kept thinking of her often and it was strange.
I was never infatuated with females. Sure, I had needs but relationships? Nah, I didn’t do those.
Plenty of reasons why and I didn’t want to dwell on any of them.
After retrieving the bolt from the ground, I placed it on the workbench and decided I didn’t have the patience to mess with the car today. I’d cussed enough to impress the devil himself and I’d only been in the garage an hour.
I slipped on my cut and grabbed my keys, heading for my Harley. About two feet from my bike, I heard a screech, followed by what sounded like a crash and something slamming hard into the ground. Didn’t sound heavy or loud enough to be a vehicle. I wasn’t too worried until I heard a young voice cry out. The same voice that liked to call me Santa. Shit.
Concerned, I rushed down the driveway and found the little squeaker had crashed his bike into a dumpster. From the looks of it, he got the raw end of the deal.
“You alright?” I asked, running up to the kid and crouching down where he lay twisted with the bike in the street. Gutter was slippery as fuck and probably the reason he crashed. Got slimy when we had rain or people used the sprinklers more often than usual. It was sunny here nearly 285 out of every 365 days in a year. Heard that on the Weather Channel just last week, not that I didn’t know already.
People called this the driest state in the U.S. for a reason.
His lower lip trembled but he didn’t release any tears. Thank fuck. I didn’t want to deal with a bunch of emotional shit. Did feel bad for him though.
“Got a few scrapes,” he announced glumly, “And my arm hurts.”
That was when I noticed he had a reason to cry. Where his forearm should have been straight, it was bent funny in the middle and I was sure he had broken a bone.
With care, I picked up the bike and set it aside, bending down to scoop under his legs. “Cradle that arm that hurts against your chest and try to keep it still. I’m gonna carry you home so we can get your mama, okay?”
Kid nodded and sniffled, fighting back the pain I could see reflected in his expression.
“Listen, it’s fine to show a little emotion. I know that hurts like hell.”
His chin wobbled but he didn’t let any of the liquid shimmering in his eyes spill over. Not until I was at the door and rang the doorbell as the kid yelled for his mom.
“Mama! I crashed my bike!”
There was a gasp on the other side of the door before it opened, flung wide by the sexiest, prettiest, and most attractive brunette I’d ever seen. The same one who ran into me at the store. The hot as fuck woman my Reaper was absolutely certain needed a hard ride on both my Harley and my cock.
My jaw dropped open and then snapped shut as I ticked my head in her direction. She wasn’t what I expected but I couldn’t say I was the least bit disappointed. “Kid needs a doctor,” I announced, watching the way her face pinched with concern.
“Oh, Noah! I’ll grab my keys.”
When she spun on her heel and walked away there wasn’t a single thing on this earth that could have torn my gaze away from the full and rounded ass that swished from side to side as she rushed back inside. I’d seen her do that twice now. She wasn’t walking away from me a third time before I learned everything I could about this woman and her son.
“Hey,” the kid whispered as I turned in his direction, “Are you watching my mama to make sure she’s okay?”
Oh, I was watching her alright. “Yep.”
Little squeaker whimpered and I noticed his left arm was swelling with the injury.
“Don’t worry, son. We’re gonna take you to someone who can help.”
The silver fox biker lived on my street.
Staring up and into his dark brown eyes with little flecks of gold dancing in the dark depths, I was totally and completely mesmerized while simultaneously feeling cornered as the prey of a large hunter while a prowling lion closed in for the kill. A twisted grin appeared on his face as recognition lit up his eyes and then he frowned. That was when I noticed my son cradling his arm against his chest.
“Kid needs a doctor,” the biker announced, appearing concerned.
“Oh, Noah! I’ll grab my keys.”
I walked away in a rush, spinning on my heel as I ran for my handbag and keys, pausing to open the garage door. I didn’t have to tell the biker to meet me there. He was already inside after I noticed the empty doorstep and locked the place up. When I entered the garage, Noah was in the backseat and buckled in, his cheeks flushed, and his expression pained.
“Toss me the keys, honey. I’ll drive.”
I could have debated the whole thing, but I wanted to sit with my son anyway. Sexy silver caught the keys with ease, and I climbed into the back of my Rav4, immediately checking over Noah for more injuries.
“Where does it hurt? Just your arm?”
He shook his head but bravely held back tears.
There were scrapes across both knees and a deep cut across the same arm that didn’t look quite right. Blood was smeared on his clothing in a few spots.
“I’m sorry, Booga. I know it hurts. Let me see.”
Noah lifted his left arm and I paled when I noticed it wasn’t straight. I had injuries like this one before and it wasn’t an accident like my son’s. I was positive he broke a bone.
“Okay, keep it close and hold it with your arm but don’t squeeze.” My hand cradled his cheek. “I’m here. I love you and I’m not going anywhere.”
Noah sniffled and leaned his head against my shoulder. “My bike is all busted up.” He sounded more upset about that than his arm.
“We’ll fix it, kid.” The deep timbre of the biker’s voice snagged my attention from Noah.
We both looked up at the same time and I caught the gentle stare of the big man driving in the rearview mirror.
“Thanks, Santa. I know you’ll help. That’s what Santa does.”
Blinking, I turned to Noah and lifted a brow. “You know him?”
“Yep.” Noah winced and then peered up at me with wide innocent eyes. Too innocent.
“Is that where you’ve been disappearing? Into a stranger’s house?” I shot the biker a disapproving frown.
“No, mama. He’s nice like Santa.”
Oh really? “What’s his name?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.
Noah shifted in the seat. “It’s Santa.”
I pursed my lips. “His real name?”
“Why don’t you ask me, pretty girl? I’m more than happy to tell you.”
Uh huh. “Well?” I asked with attitude, sending a glare in the direction of the front seat.
“Jayce Riggs. My friends know me by my road name Papa.”
Noah giggled. “See? Papa is the same as Santa.”
I sighed dramatically. Later, once I knew Noah was alright, I was going to question that biker and he better tell the truth.
“We’re here,” Jayce announced as we pulled into the parking lot of Central Nevada Regional Care.
He slid from the front seat and opened his door, quickly rushing to my side. His large hand reached out for mine and I was pulled to my feet next to the car as soon as he yanked the door open. A brief squeeze of my fingers and Jayce released, carefully scooping out Noah as my son lay his head on his shoulder.
I’d never seen Noah react to any man like this – so comfortable, almost affectionate. There was no time to dwell on it as I shut the door and ran toward the entrance to the Urgent Care.
The facility wasn’t busy with only a few patients waiting in the main lobby. We were promptly checked in and shown to a room, the curtain drawn as Noah was placed on the bed with care.
Jayce gave him a big smile. “Well, Booga, I’d say you’re gonna get to do something cool today.”
Why did this biker think he could use the nickname I’d given my son?
Noah didn’t seem to mind at all. In fact, he even smiled. “What’s that?”
“Hello there, Noah. I’m your nurse Nylah. Can I come check on your arm and see how you’re doing?”
Noah tilted his head to the side and scrunched up his nose. “You’re not gonna squeeze my arm, right?”
Jayce let out a chuckle. Kid is too smart for you, Nylah.”
She smirked in his direction. “Yeah, yeah. If I can survive Rael, then I think I’m capable of anything. Besides, I like my patients smart.” Nylah gave Noah a big smile.
Jayce snorted in response. “That’s the truth. Rael is a pain in the ass.”
“So are you. Get out of my way, Papa. I need to check on my patient.” She shooed him off with her hands.
Jayce moved to the side, his eyes brimming with mischief. I was certain these two knew one another and I found the idea both irritating and frustrating since he didn’t say a word to confirm or deny it. The question was in my eyes and he could tell.
I sent a glare his way which only caused the biker’s smile to widen. Turning to Noah, I watched as Nylah examined my son’s arm. He kept a brave face on as he let her touch him and check his breathing as well as his other vital signs. Perusing his injuries, she paused to gather supplies and came back, cleaning the scrapes on his knees and applying bandages.
When she was done, Nylah leaned back and patted Noah on the head. “You’ve been very brave. How about a popsicle while we wait for the doctor?”
“Sure!” he exclaimed, losing some of the misery he’d been trying to fight off.