by Debra Kayn
He'd thought she'd learned her lesson when she climbed into his bed when she was seventeen years old. Half-looped after a night of partying, he'd slipped his cock between her legs before knowing it was Faye in his bed.
He'd promptly taken her back to Grandma June's house, knowing he'd fucked over her life again.
He exhaled harshly, looking up at the dark sky. His life with Tarkio warred with his feelings toward Faye.
He deserved every bit of turmoil she'd put him through. After what happened with her Uncle Walker, he deserved to suffer every minute of his life.
But, Faye. She hadn't deserved what he'd done to her.
He'd tried to keep taking care of her like he'd promised Walker after he'd slept with her. Twice a month, he'd pick Faye up at her great-grandma's house and take her to see Walker in prison. The long trip was made in silence. She walked around hurt, angry, and rejected.
What the fuck else was he supposed to do with her? He'd had sex with a minor. A minor he was responsible for.
He started the Harley and rode out of the parking lot, heading home. The fresh air eliminated any of the benefits of the beer he'd drunk. Knowing Faye was at his house kept him wide awake.
Over the years, his guilt only multiplied. He was sick about what he'd done. His responsibilities toward Faye and Walker's fate kept him from getting close to anyone else.
At forty-five years old, he should be settled down. Not dodging his old lady.
A car pulled out in front of him. He flipped the motorist off. Damn assholes, thinking they owned the road.
He hit the throttle, cutting through the gas station parking lot to skip the traffic light ahead.
It'd taken him a year before he came to terms with what he'd done to Faye. As soon as he had, he'd gone straight to Walker in prison and confessed. He wished the bullet-proof, shatter-proof partition was gone between them when Walker reacted to the news.
Because if Walker could've reached him, he'd be dead right now.
Walker could've given him a slow slice to his throat and let him suffer as the blood ran out of his body, and he would've gotten off easy.
Instead, he'd claimed Faye as his old lady.
That announcement was the breaking point with his friendship with Walker, and he'd never gone back inside the prison to talk with him. While he'd continued to take Faye to visitations with her uncle, he'd stayed in the parking lot waiting for her until she'd reached an age where she wanted to go by herself.
Faye had taken the news of him claiming her with quiet acceptance when he returned her to Grandma June's house.
Not wanting to tell the old woman about the change in Faye's status, and with no plans to move her into his house, he settled down in Tarkio and made sure Faye stayed safe in Superior.
When Faye turned eighteen years old, Grandma June had died in her sleep. A heart attack, according to the hospital.
Faye had stayed at the house by herself afterward. He'd paid for the funeral, saw the woman buried, and came back to Missoula.
Ever since then, Faye showed up periodically—sometimes going six months or more without stopping at the clubhouse or his house. He stayed away from her. Preferring to have Elliot, a Tarkio member who lived in Superior, keep tabs on her.
Her infrequent visits were for the best. The older Faye got, the more they fought. They could barely stay in the same room without things getting ugly.
While she belonged to him, he let her have her freedom. To kick her out of his life, he'd face Walker's wrath. Besides, Tarkio would strip him of his patch if he let her go. If they let him live.
Every member knew the golden rule not to mess with old ladies, daughters, or family.
He pulled into his driveway, turned the motorcycle around and backed the machine up to the garage door, before shutting off the engine. If he needed to leave fast, he'd be ready.
Trying the door handle, he found it locked. He dug out his key and let himself in.
The first step into his house, he sniffed. His cock pulsed in appreciation. It smelled like a woman inside the three-bedroom house.
Dropping his duffle by the door, he wandered into the kitchen. Faye must've taken a shower recently. The aroma of coconuts lingered in the air, reminding him of summer and girls in bikinis.
At the refrigerator, he changed his mind about grabbing a beer. He'd already made that mistake once. For him, alcohol and Faye were a deadly combination.
The sound of humming came from behind him. His gut tightened, and he slowly turned, knowing who he'd find.
Faye walked out of the hallway into the living room, not even looking toward the kitchen or him. He stepped forward, keeping her in his sight.
The strands of her hair hung wet down her back, making the caramel color appear dark brown. He'd never seen her fresh out of a shower, and his mind went straight to imagining her wet, the water rolling down her curves.
He licked his bottom lip, knowing if he had a chance to drink from her body, he'd drown.
She turned on the television and sat down on the couch. But not before noticing her breasts were braless and moving freely under her loose t-shirt.
He squinted, trying to see what she shook in her slender hand, but whatever it was, she kept it hidden.
Her arm lowered, and her head bent. He leaned to the right. From behind her, he couldn't make out what she was doing in front of her.
His gaze lifted to the television. The beginning of Twin Peaks started and failed to get her attention.
Quietly stepping forward, he rounded the corner of the couch. "What are you doing?"
She jolted. "Shit."
Scrambling from her seat, she fell to her hands and knees to the floor, keeping her back to him. "Quick, get me a rag."
One more step, he could make out a bright, red spot on his carpet that hadn't been there that morning. He looked at her hand. She clutched a bottle of fingernail polish.
"Oh, geez," she mumbled, falling back on her ass and staring at the floor.
He went to the kitchen, grabbed a towel, and returned to her, tossing it on the floor in front of her.
She frantically blotted and scrubbed, making the mess bigger. "This is your fault. You didn't have to scare me half to death."
He grunted. The stain was the least of his concerns.
Having her on her hands and knees in front of him needed to end. He grabbed her elbow and hauled her to her feet.
Light brown eyes flashed up at him. She was the only person he knew who could have whole conversations by using her eyes and expressing her emotions without using any words. Her arched eyebrows were always moving—up, down, and sometimes not in sync. She had a way of glaring, moving only her eyelids, and keeping the rest of her face frozen. When he talked to her, those eyelids danced, distracting him, and he always ended up angry because he was weak.
They were only eyes. Brown ones at that.
But on Faye, they were the gateway to her heart and a talisman for her emotions.
"I need to go get my polish remover out of my bag. Maybe it'll work to get the stain out of the carpet." She tugged her arm, trying to step away from him.
He pulled her away from the sofa, and using his knee, shoved the couch over the stain. "There, it's gone."
She scoffed and pressed her full lips together. "I'll get it out if you let go of me."
Only then aware of holding her; he let her go and rubbed his palm across his stomach. "Forget the polish. What the hell are you doing in Missoula?"
She stepped away from him. "I was told you were partying with your MC brothers and would be gone. I needed somewhere to stay because my car is acting up. Paco is working on it now. I'll be gone in the morning."
"That doesn't answer my question."
She stuck out her lower lip and blew her hair out of her face. "I quit my job at the lounge and came into Missoula to scope out a few places where I can work part-time. I have an interview early in the morning, and once I'm done there, I'll go back home."
&nbs
p; "You thought what? I wouldn't notice that you'd spent the night here?"
"Paco told me you were out drinking, so I figured you wouldn't even know I crashed here."
He growled. "I'd know."
"I thought it would be no big deal. You gave me a key."
He had given her a key to the house years ago because she had no one else to take care of her. She was his old lady. What else could he do?
"You got a job here?" He gritted his teeth. "Where?"
"Riverside Bar, not that it's any of your business."
"You live in Superior."
She shrugged. "The lounge wasn't working out for me, so I'm spreading my wings."
It was common for people to drive the hour distance from one town to the next for a job. Though, he'd bet working at the bar wouldn't give her much for money once she bought gas. Grandma June had a perfectly nice set-up on the oversized lot with a greenhouse and a stable of customers that provided extra money for Faye from all the plants she grew.
"I thought you were sinking more of your attention into the nursery and trying to get it to make enough money for you to live on, so you could work at home full-time," he said.
"I am, but it doesn't happen overnight. I have goals. Those goals require more money. Someday, if everything works out the way I want it to, I won't have to work a second job," said Faye.
He couldn't have her working at Riverside Bar. There was shit going down with the manager. No proof, but Tarkio was spending more time there, putting out feelers. Something wasn't right, and soon, they'd understand the situation better. In the meantime, he wanted her far away.
"You can't work at the bar," he said.
"I can, too. It's basically the same thing I did at the lounge."
"No."
She raised her chin. "You can't tell me—"
"I'll give you money to live off of until you can find a job closer to home." He pulled out his wallet. "Take what I have here. I'll get more in the morning."
"I don't want your money."
"Take it." He thrust his hand toward her.
"Put it on my uncle's account." She screwed on the top of her bottle of nail polish. "Or use it to buy new carpet. I don't need your money."
He lowered his hand to his side. When she went to sleep, he'd put the cash in her purse.
She exhaled softly and glanced at him, frowning. "I am sorry about the spill. I've painted my nails while sitting on every kind of furniture back home and had never had an accident before."
He ignored her apology. The nail polish wasn't his problem.
She whispered, "I didn't hear you come in the house. You startled me."
"Well, I'm here now," he muttered.
She inhaled swiftly. "You know what? I'm trying to be nice, but forget you even saw me. I'm going to walk over to Paco's house and wait there until he has my car checked out. And in the morning, I am going to take the job at Riverside Bar."
Faye walked away from him, apparently going to the bedroom to get ready to leave. He fisted his hands at the extra swish of her hips. What part of he'd take care of her had she not understood?
He strode down the hallway and went to the spare room. She held her bag and was in the process of wiggling her feet into her sneakers.
"Paco lives five miles away," he said
"I'm in good shape. I can walk that far."
"It's after midnight."
She ignored him and zipped up her bag.
"Go to bed, Faye." Tired and at the end of his day, all he wanted to do was hit the sack.
Her head came up, and she studied him. She could work her expression like nobody he knew, and it was clear what she thought of him at the moment.
He wasn't in the mood to argue with her. She belonged to him. If he wanted her to stay at the house, she would stay.
Faye's mouth pinched, and her head moved slightly on a slim neck. He walked out, unable to take that stubborn streak of hers always coming out. She couldn't let things be.
She couldn't forgive him.
And he couldn't forget.
Shutting himself in his bedroom, he grabbed the phone on the nightstand and dialed Priest.
"Yeah?" said Priest.
"I have a problem." He looked over at the door. "The manager at Riverside has an interview tomorrow morning with Faye. I know damn well, he'll hire her. That can't happen."
"I'll take care of it."
"Thanks."
He hung the receiver on the phone and set it back on the nightstand. Stretching out on the mattress, he linked his hands together over his chest and stared up at the ceiling. All hell was going to break loose in the morning when Faye found out the job she counted on was no longer available.
Chapter 2
Faye
Fury boiled inside Faye. She slammed the car door, ignoring the Tarkio members loitering around the front of the building, and marched into the clubhouse.
Paco jumped from the couch and stepped in her way. She darted around him and strode to the door of the meeting room. Banging her fist on the wood, she yelled, "Curley."
"He's not in there," said Paco behind her.
She turned around. "Where is he?"
"Behind the clubhouse."
She hurried down the hallway to the back door. Outside, she looked around and found him talking to Frank, Roddy, and Banks.
The other men alerted Curley to her presence before she reached him. Irritated more by their buddy-buddy-I've-got-your-back mentality, she stopped in front of him, fisted her hand, and raised her arm.
Curley's hand grasped her wrist before she could swing. "Don't even think about hitting me."
She kicked him in the shin and yanked her arm out of his clutch. "You can't stop me from working."
"I can stop you from working at Riverside Bar."
"Just because you don't want me there while you hang out, doesn't make it—"
"Shut up." He slipped his hand under her arm and walked her around the corner of the building. "That place is no good. I don't want you working there."
"That's not your decision to make."
"The hell it is." He swung her around until she faced him. "Paco fixed your car. Go home."
She stormed away. Coming to Missoula always turned out bad when she ran into Curley. He wanted her out of his life, and he was stuck with her, through no fault of her own.
He wasn't the only one who's life had changed the second he honored the code he swore by and told Uncle Walker about sleeping with her. She never would've mentioned that night to anyone.
She slid into the driver's seat of her car and slammed the door.
A shadow covered her, and she looked out the side window and found a welcome face a few inches from the glass, smiling at her. All her pent-up anger burst out in one long exhale, and she rolled down the window.
"I was yelling your name, and you never even heard me." Tracy reached inside the car and hugged her with one arm. "I didn't know you were going to be in town. Come inside and visit with me. Rick's at home waiting for the kids to wake from their nap, and I have to drop off some papers for Jerry, but I can stay long enough to catch up with you. Or, were you leaving?"
Tracy had been her best friend until she was eight years old and moved in with Grandma June. After that, they were lucky if they were able to see each other twice a year, during family day at the clubhouse or out shopping.
Their lack of communication and growing up apart had added an awkwardness to their relationship once they hit the teenage years. The distance coupled with Tracy's parents getting murdered when Tracy was in high school only made things more stilted between them for years. It wasn't until Tracy and Rick got together, and they ran into each other at the mall in Missoula that the barriers seemed to melt away.
"I'll stay for a few minutes." She got back out of the car, glancing at the corner of the building to make sure Curley had gone back to whatever he was doing with the guys. "I was going to call you soon."
"About?"
She wal
ked inside the clubhouse, spotting Paco jumping from the couch again as if to stop her from causing trouble, and ignored him. "Well, I had a new job here in town and wanted to let you know so we could get together, but Curley put a stop to that."
"He stopped you from seeing me?"
"No. From working."
"So, you're going back home?" Tracy sat at the table. "Sit. Tell me what's going on."
She slumped in the chair. "I quit my job at the lounge. Things were getting out of control with the guy who owns the place since he got divorced."
"Uh, oh." Tracy curled her lip. "Was he putting the moves on you?"
"Something like that," she mumbled, not wanting to think about Cal Williams and ruin her mood.
As far as she knew, nobody at Tarkio knew what had happened at the lounge, which was fine by her.
"God, that sucks."
"Yeah." She propped her elbows on the table. "I was going to work at Riverside Bar part-time, even verbally agreed to the job with the owner yesterday, and this morning, the owner told me I was no longer welcome at his establishment."
"Why?" Tracy's gaze narrowed. "Because of Curley?"
She raised her brows and smirked. "Who else?"
"I'm sorry." Tracy squeezed Faye's hand. "Although I hate to say it, I doubt if you would've been happy there. The owner is a creep. I've seen how he treats the girls that work for him."
"At this point, it was a job. I'm starting to think male bosses are a risk I'm going to have to take if I want to make money."
"Have you gone to the grocery store and asked if they need cashiers? They were hiring last month. They may need more people, especially part-time." Tracy opened her purse and took out a receipt, reading the paper. "The manager's name and phone number are at the bottom. Give him a call."
"Thanks." She leaned to the side and put the receipt in her pocket. "Enough about me. How are the babies?"
"You need to come by the house and see them yourself." Tracy smiled. "I've missed you. I should've told you that years ago and not let us stray apart."
Faye swallowed. "What brought it up today?"