Lead (The Brazen Bulls MC, #8)

Home > Other > Lead (The Brazen Bulls MC, #8) > Page 34
Lead (The Brazen Bulls MC, #8) Page 34

by Susan Fanetti


  Oh, how she’d wanted a Care Bear when she was a little girl. The originals weren’t easy to find, but she had a laptop computer now, and she got online and hunted them up on eBay. Her girls would have them all.

  It was still February, but they’d had a lovely few days of false spring—bright sun and blue skies, the air warm enough to let into the house. Lemmy barked happily in the yard, and Sage looked out the open window to see him bounding after a squirrel, his tail wagging. He wasn’t hunting, he only wanted to play with the creatures who came through his yard, but they didn’t believe in his good heart. The squirrel made it to the peach tree and scrambled up, stopping on a safely high branch to chatter angrily down at Lem. Poor pup. He just wanted a new friend.

  A light breeze came through the open window, lifting the gauzy pink curtains and making the crystals shoot rainbows all over the room. The disco ball swayed and shot the rainbows back. Sage smiled. It wasn’t a big room, but it was pretty.

  Becker picked up the two-step stool and turned around, almost tripping over the basket of freshly washed baby clothes she needed to put away. The girls weren’t due for almost three months, but she already felt like she was carrying the whole moon in her gut, and she’d read a bunch of articles online about the chance of early delivery with twins.

  And her babies were mo-mo twins, so there was a bigger chance she’d end up on bed rest or something at the end. She wanted everything ready while she was still on her feet.

  Becker picked up the laundry basket and set it on the dresser. “I’m gonna put the stepladder away, and you’re gonna come sit down and take a load off.” He held out his hand. “C’mon. Out.”

  “You keep stopping me, and the room’s never gonna get finished.”

  “You keep doing too much, and that one corner of the room without glitter yet is gonna be the least of our worries.”

  He led her into the living room, and she sighed again as she sat down. “You’re a bossy pain in my butt.”

  “And you’re a stubborn little shit.” He crouched before her and set his hands on her planetary belly. “You said you weren’t gonna fuck around with keeping you and the kids safe.”

  In her whole life, one person had truly cared for her, looked out for her, made her safe: this man right here. She cupped his face. He’d let his beard get thicker during the winter, and it looked good, but she missed seeing the angles of his mouth and jaw. “I’m not fucking around, Beck. I’m being careful, and I feel fine. Huge, but fine. The doctor hasn’t said it’s time to stop yet.”

  “Let me take care of you, shortcake.”

  Dropping her hands from his face, she picked up his left hand and stroked the tattoo over his ring finger: two thin bands of black, framing her name in script. They’d decided to do ink wedding bands. Hers would have to wait until the babies came, but they’d stopped at Iron Spike on the way home from the courthouse for Becker to get his.

  He didn’t mind that he wore a ring and she yet didn’t; she kept his flame and carried his babies, he said, she’d married him, and that was more than enough for him.

  “You take care of me every minute of every day. And I take care of you. And we take care of our babies.” She set his hand back on her belly. “And you got so bossy I didn’t have a chance to tell you that I put my notice in at the library today. Two more weeks, and then I’ll be home all day eating bonbons and watching General Hospital.”

  The earnest concern cutting across his brow lightened with his open smile. “Thank you. I’ll stock up on bonbons.”

  “You’re welcome. It’s time. Working the desk is about all I can do anymore, anyway. I’m still gonna hang out there, because I love Mrs. Dub, and I want our kids to love books like we do.”

  He leaned in, lifted her straining t-shirt, and kissed her belly. “I love my girls.”

  ~oOo~

  Sage moaned happily and closed her eyes as Becker’s strong fingers kneaded into her shoulders and neck. Sitting between his legs, reclining on his chest, her knees propped with a pillow, and Lemmy snoozing with his head on the same pillow, she was perfectly content and comfortable despite the population explosion baking in her belly.

  “What do you think about Charlotte and Emily?”

  “Are we talking names?” His thumbs pressed up the tense muscle at the side of her neck, hurting in just the right way to get that fucker loose.

  “Yeah. Unless we mean to call them Thing One and Thing Two, we should probably get serious about names.”

  “Charlotte and Emily. Kind of old-fashioned.”

  “I know. That’s why I like them. Growing up with a funky name is kind of funky, trust me. I like the classics.”

  “I love your name.”

  She looked back and up and gave him a smile. “Thank you. Do you have name ideas?”

  He shook his head and resituated hers so he could get to her neck again. “I’ll know what I like when I hear it.”

  “So not Charlotte and Emily?” That was disappointing; she’d thought she’d struck on something good—pretty, old-fashioned, and—“They’re book names, too. Charlotte and Emily Brontë were sisters.”

  “There was another sister, right?”

  “Anne. Charlotte kind of gave her work the shaft after she died, so people don’t really know her.” She looked back at him again. “I love you for knowing about Anne. I have the only biker in the world who knows the Brontë sisters, I bet.”

  He moved her head again. “Yeah, I doubt that’s true. What about Anne and Emily, then?”

  Sage tried them out in her head: Anne and Emily. Emily and Anne. Annie and Emmie. Oh, those were nice together. Classic, pretty, literary. “I like it.”

  “Me too.” His hands left her shoulders and smoothed down her arms. “Feel better?”

  “Mm-hmm.” Relaxed and happy, Sage’s mind stumbled toward sleep, but there was one last thing to tidy up before she did. “Can we talk about something?”

  “Sure. Everything okay?”

  His fingers tugged at her camisole, dragging it up to expose her belly, and he spanned the expanse with his outspread hands. No stretchmarks yet, thanks to liberal application of cocoa butter, but boy, her ink was starting to look very weird. She hoped it all snapped back into place afterward.

  “What happens when we outgrow this house?”

  “I guess we move. You want to look into that now?”

  “No. I love this house. It’s my first home.” She didn’t even mind seeing the house on the other side of the fence anymore. The landlord had done a major remodel and put it on the market. Even the yard was totally different, and now a young family with two little kids lived there. “I love the babies’ room. But when they outgrow the cribs, two regular beds will be a squeeze.”

  “Then we’ll move then. Why’s it on your mind now?”

  “Could we build on your place in the country?” Sometimes, they rode out west and spent the night in the camper, just to be alone together in the quiet. Sometimes, Sage thought about what it would be like to live in that quiet, to have her girls and Lemmy and a nice big place to spread out into peace.

  “No, hon. We can’t do that.”

  “Why not? It’s beautiful there.”

  “Yeah, it is. But there’s too many bad memories for me there. And ...” He sighed, his chest lifting her head. “Sage, there are bodies buried out there. Denny is buried there.”

  At the sound of that name, Sage’s breath caught. Even in death, he could give her a punch. “Oh.”

  Becker didn’t talk much about the things he did when he wasn’t with her. He answered almost any question she asked, but she didn’t ask many. She knew who he was, and that was all she needed to know.

  She’d even guessed at what secrets his father’s land might hold. But she’d never thought Denny might be there, and it was a bit bracing to hear it said so plainly.

  “Yeah. It’s not a place to raise our kids.”

  “Okay.”

  “We can look for a place out in the c
ountry someday, though. Not too far out, but someplace for the girls and Lemmy to stretch their legs. That’d be nice.”

  “And we can get Lemmy some animal friends, too, then.”

  He laughed and closed his arms around her, tucking his face against her neck. “Absolutely.”

  ~oOo~

  Two weeks later, Sage stood behind the circulation desk at the Maxwell Park branch of the Tulsa City-County Library, where she’d worked since she was sixteen years old, not counting the couple of months it had been closed for renovations at the end of 2000. For almost her whole life, since she was old enough to walk places on her own, she’d found comfort and solace in libraries, but in this one, she’d found a home.

  And that was mainly due to the grandmotherly woman standing at her side now. Mrs. Eunice Wilmett, former high school librarian, current public librarian, now former awesome boss.

  The little party Mrs. Dub and the couple other staff members had thrown for her was over, and the others had gone back to work. Sage’s last shift was over, too, and she was just waiting for Becker to pick her up, her little box of belongings, and her little stack of gifts, sitting on the desk.

  Mrs. D set aside the festive paper plate with a half-eaten piece of farewell cake and took Sage’s hand. “Just because we won’t be working together, it doesn’t mean the end of anything. Your life is just beginning, dear. There will be so many wonderful things ahead for you. And I hope you’ll let me watch it all happen.”

  Battling back too much embarrassing emotion, Sage smiled and squeezed Mrs. Dub’s hand. “You know I’m going to be here all the time, pushing my big double stroller, blocking the stacks, making obnoxious demands. I’ll be the worst Supermommy you ever saw.”

  “Good. And I’ll spoil you and your girls rotten, too.” Mrs. Dub lifted her arms, and Sage accepted a hug made incredibly clumsy by her belly.

  “Can I ask you something sappy and embarrassing?” Sage said when they gave up the hug.

  “Sappy and embarrassing is my favorite genre.”

  Sage laughed, but the question did feel awkward, a box of sweet wrapped in a bow of pathetic. Or maybe the other way around. Still, right now especially, while she waited for Becker to pick her up from her last day at this job she’d loved every day she’d worked it, with this totally normal woman who’d never judged Sage even once and always saw the best in her, she had to ask.

  She cleared her throat and made way for the words. “You know, Becker’s mom is dead, and my mom ...” Mrs. Dub knew what her mom had done, so she didn’t say the words she hated. “These girls don’t have any grandparents.”

  Mrs. Dub’s eyes opened wide behind the plastic frames of her glasses. “Oh, sweetheart.”

  “Would that be weird? If you were Annie and Emmie’s grandma?” Mrs. Dub hadn’t been able to have children of her own. She always said the library filled her life with children.

  “No, Sage, that wouldn’t be weird at all. I’d be honored. I’m so touched.”

  Another ungainly hug ensued, and now tears, too, and then Becker’s voice broke the moment. “Are these good tears or bad tears?”

  “Good tears,” Mrs. Dub said and let Sage go. “Hello, Becker.”

  “Hey, Mrs. Dub.” He leaned over the desk and wiped Sage’s cheek with his thumb. “You ready to go, shortcake?”

  She nodded and came around to the front of the desk as Becker collected her things. After a final wave, she hooked her arm through her man’s.

  “Take good care of her, Becker,” Mrs. Dub called.

  “Every day, Mrs. Dub,” he answered.

  ~oOo~

  “This is nicer than most of the houses I lived in.” Sage sat on the bed and gave the mattress a careful bounce. “Bed seems comfortable, too.”

  Mo smiled and picked up Toro, her little mop of a dog. She ruffled the little guy’s wild white puff of fur. “We’ll see how comfortable it is on our old bones after a few months on the road.”

  Using her hands to lever her whale-size self back to her feet, Sage stepped out of the tiny bedroom and stood at the doorway to the miniscule bathroom. As always, she needed to pee, but if she tried to get in there, they’d need the Jaws of Life to pry her free. “I think it’s cool, though—striking out for the open road, driving until you want to stop, doing whatever you want every day. It’s like Kerouac.”

  The whole Bulls family was at the Delaneys’ house in Bixby, for a party before Delaney and Mo climbed into their new ginormous RV, set Toro on the console between them, and headed east. They meant to spend a whole year driving all around the country, into Canada, and all the way to Alaska. Just them, their dog, and this rolling house, towing Delaney’s Harley along behind them.

  Sounded pretty fantastic to Sage.

  Mo had orchestrated her own bon voyage party, arranging it so they’d drive off while everyone was still there, in her house. Her friends Maddie and Joanna were going to close it up and keep track of it while they were away.

  Mo, Joanna, and Maddie: the OG old ladies. None of them spent time in the clubhouse, though they all made appearances at family functions. To Maddie and Joanna, Sage had hardly said fifty words altogether.

  She’d gotten to know Mo pretty well these past several months because the Bulls first ‘queen’—such a weird name for what they were—had taken it upon herself to be Sage’s Dumbledore and help her learn how to fill the role she had no choice but to take. She might be the youngest old lady, and the newest so far, but her old man was the club president, and that meant she was a leader, too.

  ‘Old lady’ and ‘old man’ were pretty weird names for what they were, too, actually.

  At first, she’d been intimidated. Coming into a club as the new girl and taking it over, above all these older, much more experienced, probably tougher women, had seemed like an absolutely insane amount of cockiness. But they’d all been cool with it; they’d been patient and helpful and kind as she figured it out. Because, Mo had explained, they understood. Their traditions, the ways of the club, ordered all their lives, created sense in the midst of cycling chaos. They understood and accepted that the president’s woman held the center, and they helped her find her footing there.

  Once she’d grasped that nobody thought she was cutting the line, being in the lead had gotten pretty easy. It was just a matter of knowing what and how and when, and keeping track of all the people in their family and making sure they had their needs met.

  Okay, not easy. But straightforward. She could do it.

  She was a little scared to lose Mo, her guide, though.

  “Brian did the Kerouac thing when he was twenty, back when everybody was reading On the Road. That’s not what we’re doing now. Now, we have air conditioning and electricity and running water. TV and a DVD player. We’re bringing our hotel with us.”

  “Still, it’s cool.”

  Mo set the dog on the RV’s bed. She set her hands on her hips and looked around. “I suppose.”

  “Don’t you want to go?”

  “Brian loves the road. I love my family. A year away from all the people I love, these men and women I love, all the grandchildren I have and those yet to be born”—she nodded at Sage’s belly—“isn’t my dream. But Brian needs this, and I love him best of all. So I give him this time he needs, and it will be lovely, I know. Then we’ll come home, and we’ll have our family back.”

  Sage had been wrong that her children wouldn’t have grandparents. They had Mrs. Dub and Mo and Delaney. They had aunts and uncles and cousins. A full, deep true family. Sage had it now, too. Her first—her only—real family.

  Blood didn’t matter like love did.

  EPILOGUE

  July 2007

  He who is in love is wise and is becoming wiser, sees newly every time he looks at the object beloved, drawing from it with his eyes and his mind those virtues which it possesses.

  ~Ralph Waldo Emerson, “The Method of Nature”

  Becker opened his eyes to a morning just beginning to push around t
he edges of the closed curtains. While his mind shook off sleep and stretched to wakefulness, he lay still and watched the curtains flutter softly in the breeze from the central air. The room was chilly; Sage ran hot when she was pregnant and, in the summer, couldn’t sleep at all unless it was cold enough to hang a raw side of beef in the room with them.

  He tucked his bare, and numb, shoulder under the covers and rolled to his side, curving his body around his wife’s, scooping his arm around the mound of her belly. She moaned quietly and snuggled in but didn’t wake.

  On the back of her shoulder, twined in with the lacy tendrils of her back piece, curling up to connect with his flame on her neck, were the names of their children and the dates of their births. Anne. Emily. John. She’d need another tendril at the end of the summer.

  It was really something, to lie here in this big, comfortable bed, with this small, strong woman peacefully asleep in his arms, and see their children before his eyes, coiled so prettily into her skin. Often he woke before anyone else in the house, and often he went to bed long after anyone else in the house, but it was this moment, the day dawning over his woman, their children, their life, in which Becker found the most peace. Just this tiny moment, when he could feel fully and only that no matter what he did or who he was or what he felt when he left this house, here, he had everything he wanted and was everything he wanted to be.

  Today was a big day for the whole Bulls family, and he and Sage had a lot to do. Probably, he should let her sleep while she could. But once the day really got started, they’d be up to their eyeballs in kids and animals and family and bustle, and what he wanted right now was to love his woman. In every possible way.

  He eased his hand up over the firm roundness of their fourth child and cupped a full tit. She’d given up the barbells right before the twins were born and had never put them in again—she’d spent a good deal of the past four years breastfeeding, and with kid number four, boy number two, on the way, that wasn’t going to be ending anytime soon. Her body had changed a bit with each pregnancy; she was a little rounder, fuller, softer. He’d loved the nubile litheness he’d first known, but her body now, shaped by their children and the life they’d made together, was perfect.

 

‹ Prev