HONEY FOR NOTHIN'

by Cathryn Cade

  “You lost?” the girl asked, raising a black-penciled brow. “Restrooms are that way.” She pointed back down the hallway.

  “Nope,” Kit said. She spied daylight ahead through a swinging door, and breezed through one end of the restaurant kitchen, hot, steamy and redolent of bacon, hash-browns and pancakes.

  A skinny, bored cook looked her up and down, shook his head, and went back to flipping hash-browns on the grill. Another man, stout in a stained apron stepped out of a refrigerator, a tray of some kind of frozen meat in his hands.

  He scowled at her. “Hey, you tryin’ to eat it and beat it, girlie?”

  Kit shook her head so hard her hair flew. “No, we paid at the table, I swear. You can ask the waitress—uh, Marlene, her name is. It’s just that I saw my boyfriend out front, and he looks real mad.” She sniffled. “He’s not pushin’ me around anymore.”

  The skinny cook eyed her with new interest, and the stout one sighed. “Aw’right. Go on out the back. Git.”

  “Thank you,” Kit said, giving him a grateful smile. “You’re the best.”

  “What, I don’t get no smile?” the hasher called after her. “He’s married, but I ain’t.”

  One foot out the back door, Kit turned a laughing look on him. “You’re awesome too.”

  She left him gazing after her, his mouth open and long spatula suspended in midair.

  “Shut it, Barry,” the older cook said. “She’s gorgeous, she’s gone and you got fry orders to get up, not your dick.”

  Kit giggled under her breath at this. Then, holding her breath, she jogged past two stinking dumpsters and down the alley to the side street. Thank Jesus, she’d put on her canvas sneakers this morning instead of her boots, one of which had a loose heel.

  She peered both ways before stepping out onto the sidewalk. To her right soared concrete abutments supporting the interstate, the din of traffic rumbling down. The June sun high-lighted dirty pavement and trash.

  She waited for a string of vehicles to pass, dodged a headphone-wearing skateboarder, and dashed across the street and down another alley.

  A big, turquoise-white-and-green city bus sat idling at the end of the block, exhaust sending heat waves shimmering up through the June morning sunshine. Kit put on a burst of speed and ran for it.

  Thank God—and Sara, who had given Kit a year’s pass to the Spokane bus line, along with stern instructions to stop bumming rides from strangers, before she was raped and murdered. Kit now rode the bus everywhere she couldn’t walk. The best thing about this route, however, was that it connected out in the East Valley with another bus line which crossed the state line from Washington into Idaho.

  Kit flashed her bus pass for the driver, who nodded. She walked back through the half-empty vehicle and sank into a seat. The bus was too warm, and smelled of industrial-strength cleaner, sweat and stale fries ... but it meant safety.

  A forty-five-minute ride, and she’d be in Coeur d’Alene, where Sara and Lindy lived. Either of them would take her in, as they had numerous times before. But Lindy had a new man, and although Jack was hot, funny and tough, and Kit really liked the way he treated her best friend so far, he had ties to the bikers Kit was running from.

  So for now, despite the lecture she’d give along with room and board, Sara was Kit’s safe haven ... if she was home.

  Except that she wasn’t. When Kit got her on the phone, Sara’s voice crackled with interference, some probably from the bus’s movement, but some from wind.

  “Hi,” Sara called above the sound. “Can I call you back later, honey? I’m out at my gran’s place, doing a walk through before I put the property up for sale. Actually, I’m spending the weekend here. I hate to sell it, you know?”

  “Your gran’s place,” Kit repeated with foreboding. “Isn’t that out in Airway Heights?”

  “Yes, but it’s off the main roads, so it’s kind of peaceful out here. Only one neighbor, but he’s beyond a big old wind break, and never seems to be home anyway. You should come for the weekend, if you don’t have to work.”

  “Uh, no thanks,” Kit said, grimacing as her tummy did that clench and roll thing again. “I’m headed over to see Lindi.”

  She’d have to go to Lindi now, because Sara was in the last place Kit wanted to be, in the semi-rural community that sprawled on the high prairie west of Spokane, north of the airport and National Guard base. And home to the bikers she needed to stay far, far away from, at least for a while.

  The Devil’s Flyers MC of Airway Heights, Washington.

  Chapter Two

  Keys Younger rolled his Harley to a stop in front of the BeeHive Café and put his feet down on the graveled lot. He surveyed the small white café with its cheery, old-fashioned, yellow neon sign, smiling to himself. Damn, he was glad to be back in Coeur d’Alene, and here in particular. He was hungry not only for a fine lunch, but for company. He’d find both here, and maybe more.

  He switched off the motor and stepped off his blue and chrome bike, turning to survey the stretch of lake just on the other side of the winding road as he worked his leather gloves from his hands.

  Beyond a partial screen of trees, their leaves tossing gently in a warm afternoon breeze, the lake rippled, an occasional whitecap breaking the blue. A speedboat sped by off shore, white wake arrowing behind. June, and the water in these northern lakes was still cold as a witch’s tit, but people were out enjoying the weather. As he watched, a pickup truck rolled past on the road he’d just left, and two women bicycled along the lake shore bike path under the trees.

  The café’s parking lot held four vehicles and an older model black Harley that was parked back along the side of the building in the afternoon shade.

  Quiet and peaceful, as befitted the countryside on the outskirts of the little resort town. Damn shame he and his bro Jack were gonna shake the neighborhood until it rattled and rolled. He chuckled under his breath. Then he made sure his saddlebags were locked down, and walked to push open the front door of the café.

  Inside, a pretty, curvy, pony-tailed blonde in black pants, white tee and black apron bustled past with an armload of full lunch plates. She set them down on a table, smiled at the four sunburned men and spoke briefly with them. Then she turned back to Keys.

  “Hey, Lindi,” he greeted her.

  She gave him a big smile and a hug. She smelled of perfume and café food—a fine combination to a hungry man. “Hey, yourself. How was your ride?”

  He hugged her back, but kept it brief, because although she was a sweet armful, and he was glad to see her, she belonged to his best friend Jack. “‘S all right. Did what I needed to do. Good to be back.”

  He’d been gone south for three weeks, clearing up business in Cali and saying goodbye to friends. Just time enough for summer to heat up here the way he liked it.

  She nodded. “You hungry?”

  “Am I breathin’?”

  She snickered, patting his chest before she stepped back. “Yeah, so you’re hungry. C’mon, grab a place at the counter and we’ll have Remi grill you a burger or a sandwich.”

  Remi. Warmth spread in Keys’ middle as he straddled an empty stool at the yellow Formica counter. He cocked his head to peer past the empty grill and into the short passageway beyond.

  A slim young man appeared, carrying a tray of frozen burger patties, a red bandanna tied around his raven hair, a black apron tied over his white tee-shirt, brown vest and jeans.

  He saw Keys and stopped in his tracks, his high-cheekboned face tensing, his eyes widening.

  Keys lifted his chin in acknowledgment. The other man nodded back.

  “Two cheeseburgers, one with bacon, side of fries,” Lindi called, slapping a paper ticket on the high counter between the grill and café.

  Remi’s dark gaze flicked to her. “Got it.” He strode into the galley kitchen, his back to Keys.

  Keys watched him peel burger patties from the tray and slap them on the grill, enjoying the grace and economy of his movements, t
he slide of the shiny, raven braid down the middle of his back.

  “Fry me up a double one of those, would ya, Remington?” he called.

  Remi looked over his shoulder. “Bacon?”

  “Absolutely bacon,” Keys agreed. “Some of your fantastic fries too, and a salad.”

  Remi’s cheek lifted in the ghost of a smile, and he nodded before turning back to work. And since even that hint of smile was mostly all anyone got from him, it was enough to have Keys smiling too.

  “You want something to drink?” Lindi asked him, pausing with her hand on the other side of the counter.

  “You need to get a new fountain in here, babe,” Keys told her, scanning an empty space on the back counter that still bore the marks of an absent machine. “Coke would go good right now.”

  “Having one delivered and installed next week,” she told him, her brown eyes gleaming with excitement. “Jack found one that looks old-timey, but is brand-spankin’ new. Meantime, you want a can of soda, or an iced tea?”

  “Iced tea, babe.” He was parched, and cold tea would go down good.

  He opened his mouth to ask where Jack was today, but the flash of auburn hair caught his attention. He turned, his mouth still open, and stared.

  A redhead had just walked out of the small alcove at the far end of the café that led to the bathroom. She had a mess of wild curls tumbling around her shoulders and down her back, and curves that did … not …. Round tits in a tight cowgirl shirt unbuttoned over a little tank, and Daisy Dukes that bared her long legs clear to her faded canvas slip-ons.

  She was lush all over.

  His gaze traveled back up to her face. She was pretty even though she had too much shit on her eyes, dark gunk that made her look like a whore. Hell, maybe she was a hooker—he’d happily pay for a round.

  One way or another, unless she was taken, he was gonna tap that.

  The sharp thunk of a glass on the counter made his gaze flick back to Lindi. Her friendly smile was gone. “Here’s your iced tea.”

  He grunted his thanks, then watched the redhead lean over and stretch to bus an empty table by the window. Her cutoffs rode up her ass, baring pale, soft thighs that made his palms twitch to grab and squeeze.

  Wait a minute ... she was working here? “Who is she?” he asked Lindi.

  Strangely, Jack’s woman looked like she’d rather chew nails than answer him.

  Memory clicked—a photo frame in Lindi’s apartment contained photos of her with family, and several of shots of her with two women, a tall platinum blonde and a redhead. Ah, this was one of Lindi’s two best girls.

  Now Lindi was goin’ all protective and shit, why he didn’t know, because he loved women, and would rather cut himself with his own knife than mistreat one, even the ones who deserved it. And the ones who liked that shit, he stayed far away from.

  “Introduce me.” He watched as the redhead picked up a load of dirty plates, then bobbled her load when she turned just as a customer stood from the booth beside her. “Never mind, I’ll do it myself.”

  Sliding from his stool, he took three long steps to the redhead’s side, and reached to steady the pile of plates, his hands over hers.

  She looked up, her big eyes wide. Under all the heavy eye-makeup, they were a warm, soft green, and her lips were soft, luscious pink against her pale skin. She had a sprinkle of freckles over her nose, and one beside her mouth—a beauty mark, just begging to be tasted.

  And he was just the man to do it.

  “Hey,” he said, his voice soft and easy. “I’m Keys.”

  Warm color washed up through her cheeks, and she smiled back, her pupils dilating—all good signs. One of her eye-teeth overlapped the tooth beside it, kicking up her lip there a little more—cute as hell. “Hi, I’m Kit.”

  “Good to meet you, Kit.”

  Really, really good, as in now he was extra, fuckin’ happy to be back in town.

  * * *

  Gawd, he ... was ... gorgeous.

  Openly, because she could give him no less than his due, and he deserved a good, long look, Kit surveyed the man standing before her, his big, rough, warm hands around hers in a light, but supportive grasp. Her gaze traveled up tanned, sinewy forearms—yum—to long waffle-knit sleeves of faded blue over swelling biceps and broad shoulders.

  Farther up, to a lean, tanned throat and face that was now creased in an easy, almost affectionate grin—and he had nice white teeth, not all stained with nicotine—past a long, but straight nose to a pair of blue, blue eyes crinkled between thick, dark lashes.

  His brows were dark too, but under a faded bandanna tied do-rag style over the top of his head, his hair was pure silver. This was strange, because he couldn’t be older than mid-thirties.

  Still, he rocked the look, with silver chains around his neck in a tangle, including a cross, a pendant with words too small to read, and a key—a cool, old-fashioned one. He wore rings, too, three on one hand, two on the other, with a black leather band wrapped around his right wrist.

  He was a few inches taller than she, lean and hard-bodied. With his blue Henley tee he wore snug, faded jeans on lean but brawny legs, and a worn, black leather vest with faded patches. She had no time to scan these.

  Lindi called, her voice unusually snapping with impatience, “Kit. Can we get these other tables bussed, hon?”

  Kit ripped her own gaze from his blue gaze that she could happily drown in, to Lindi, who stood on the other side of her café counter, hands busy with silverware and napkins for new customers. Her brown eyes held love, irritation and ... a warning. Huh, that was weird.

  Kit backed away from Keys, plates snug in her grasp.

  “Coming. Uh, thanks,” she added to him, before she turned and got the dirty dishes around the counter and through the short hallway to the big dishwasher waiting in the alcove opposite the galley kitchen.

  Okay, who was this guy, that Lindi didn’t want her getting interested? Yeah, she’d done a total, fan-girl gawk, but he was worthy. And it wasn’t like she expected anything to come out of it. She was off men right now ... except for one.

  She stacked the dishes in the rack, wiped her hands on the damp towel hanging nearby, and straightened. Thus meeting the eyes of the unbelievably handsome guy at the BeeHive grill.

  Remington Red Hawk, with whom she’d become insty-friends in the four days she’d been helping out here at the café. Their friendship included plenty of flirting because he was a hot guy and she was a girl who appreciated that.

  Right now, his hands were busy, but his beautiful, black gaze was on her, and his face was tight in a way she hadn’t yet seen, and didn’t like, especially coupled with Lindi’s weirdness.

  ‘What?’ she mouthed silently, widening her eyes at him.

  His face relaxed a little, and he gave her a crooked grin before shaking his head and turning back to the burgers he was flipping with swift expertise. And since Remi didn’t smile often, it felt like he’d just handed her a gift wrapped in fancy paper.

  “You make that look good,” she murmured sassily as she passed him, going back to wipe down the table she’d just emptied. She might be here to work, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t have a little fun.

  And Remi was extra fun to flirt with. She could make his cheeks flush with a look, and he gave as good as he got. She loved the way he often managed to slide past her close enough that their bare arms brushed, and once she’d caught him staring at her ass, chewing his lower lip like he wouldn’t mind taking a bite.

  The new guy was straddling a stool at the counter, one hand wrapped around a glass of iced tea, his smiling gaze on Kit as she emerged from the kitchen. She gave him a look from under her lashes as she passed, and his eyes crinkled in amused appreciation. Hoo boy, hot biker alert.

  Lindi was already wiping down the table Kit had emptied.

  “Hey, I got this,” Kit protested, moving aside to let two fishermen pass on their way out. One gave her a friendly nod, and the other an open once-over
that made her palm itch.

  ‘Yeah, I wanna get me some sunburned, skinny, little fisherman’, she sneered, but only in her head, because this was Lindi’s place of business and Kit was supposed to be polite to the customers, not go all biker babe on them.

  Lindi moved close, keeping Kit between her and the hot guy at the counter.

  “Honey, don’t start anything you don’t wanna finish with him. That’s Keys.” When Kit gave her a blank look, the pretty blonde rolled her eyes. “Don’t you ever listen? Keys—Jack’s best bro.”

  Realization hit Kit with the force of a warm, but heavy hand on her chest. “Oh, right.”

  She had to restrain herself from turning to look over her shoulder. Instead she joined Lindi, straightening the condiments before following her to the next table, laden with the remains of a couple’s lunch. “The one who’s been on the road.”

  “Yeah, partying with a different woman or more at every stop,” Lindi added. She’d remembered to grab the plastic bin, so Kit helped her fill it with dishes and utensils.

  Well, shooters. Even Jack agreed with Lindi’s advice to keep it light and friendly with his best bro. He’d said so Kit’s first night with them, when he was beating her and Lindi’s pants off—though not literally—at the new video game of Biker Wars, probably because Kit and Lindi kept breaking out in giggles when Jack hollered in disgust at the game’s various and many inaccuracies.

  Keys had texted Jack often, but Jack just grinned and shook his head whenever Lindi asked what Keys was up to.

  Lindi had rolled her eyes. “Never mind, I can guess. Serial women.” Then she’d pointed her game controller at Kit. “Like him a lot, but you need to stay away from him, hon.”

  Jack had laughed, patted Lindi’s thigh and said, ‘Yeah, ‘cause he’ll be in there so fast you won’t know what hit you, although you’d have a fine time. Gotta say, women are always smilin’ as he rolls away.’

  Kit had nodded her understanding, because no one got this like one who’d grown up around bikers, like she had. But she hadn’t wasted another thought on Jack’s friend. If the guy hung with Jack he was no doubt another studly biker type, but in North Idaho, there were studly types everywhere. Also, she was off bikers, hopefully for good.