“Wow,” I said softly.
Zach laughed. “Well, I like this new, improved version of him—it’s about time.”
Then he glanced at his watch.
“We should start heading over to the racetrack.”
I dried my hands on my apron as a shiver went through me.
“It’ll be fine, Aimee,” he said reassuringly. “Kes knows what he’s doing—they all do.”
“I know, I know. But you can’t tell me it’s not dangerous, because it is. He’s been hurt before. I just worry. You do, too.”
Zach put his arm around me and gave me another hug.
“That’s because we love him. He’ll be fine.”
I took a deep breath. “Okay.”
“Good girl. Now go get ready. Look hot—Kes will be watching for you.”
I left Zach in charge of the cooking while I went to get ready. I’d planned on being a bit dressy for our dinner, but the temperature was predicted to drop to the low fifties during the evening, so I wanted to be warm, as well. Luckily, my New Hampshire wardrobe was perfectly suited for cooler weather.
I pulled on some jeans that made my ass look good, an emerald green tank top that complimented my olive skin, and a cute sweater with a jean jacket. I fixed my makeup, but left my hair loose. Kes liked it that way.
The rest of the fairground was much quieter now, a ghost town in places, with only a few people still haunting the midway. Everyone else had made their way to the Grandstand by the racetrack. I was in awe: all these people had come to see Kes and the guys—almost 10,000 spectators.
By the time we headed over, we were just about the last to arrive.
Ollo joined us with seconds to spare, and I was too tense to call him out on his lack of help with the meal.
“We’re up in the Clubhouse,” Zach said, exchanging a quick look with Ollo. “It’s got a great view and, um, it’s a bit further away from the action.”
I shot him a look.
“Or we can sit down the front . . .”
I twisted my fingers together. “Down front, please. I want to be near to him in case . . . I just want to be near to him.”
Zach nodded and spoke quietly to the security guards on duty, showing them our passes. Then he led us through the crowds to a row with three empty seats and a great view of the racetrack, as well as two massive video screens so the audience could see the action close up. Being in the front also gave Ollo a good view of the action.
Instead of the usual two ramps facing each other, this time there were four, arranged like a compass, the bigger set pointing north—south and further apart than the other two, perhaps as much as 150 feet; it was hard to tell.
The sky was darkening as the minutes moved toward twilight. I gripped Ollo’s hand when the music began pounding out. They’d abandoned the usual heavy rock: instead Protectors of the Earth by Two Steps From Hell, blasted from the speakers. I tightened my grip on Ollo’s hand until he winced. Muttering an apology, I gazed around at the sea of expectant faces.
As the music climaxed, Zef and Tucker roared to life in front of us, each holding a flaming torch, and I could smell the scent of two-stroke fuel drifting on the breeze.
The crowd cheered as the bikes sped around the racetrack, smoke trailing, the flames two pinpoints of light in the dark arena. They planted the torches at either end of the central area, guiding lights perhaps.
The sound of the bikes’ engines filled the air as the two men seemed to duel, performing wheelies, handstands, and racing turns—each stunt more astonishing than the last.
Then Kes skidded into the center, a double-ended torch held up high, his nimble fingers spinning it above his head. The effect was stunning as he rode around the entire racetrack. How on earth he managed to spin the torch while he rode his bike, I had no idea, and neither did the crowd. They yelled and shouted as he tossed the torch from hand to hand, then rolled it around his shoulders, all while the bike was moving.
Finally, he placed the torch in a rack and then floodlights lit the whole arena.
I could see the guys getting into position ready for their first jumps between the smaller set of ramps. They took turns gliding through the air, one-handed, no-handed, bodies somersaulting high above the flying motorcycles.
I was petrified when Kes and Tucker took off at the same time from opposite ramps, so certain that they’d crash into each other in the middle, but of course they didn’t. The ramps had been cleverly angled so it looked to the audience as if a crash was inevitable. I felt a little sick, wondering how many of the people here secretly hoped for more drama, for disaster.
The rest of the evening had a gladiatorial quality to it. I realized that Kes had designed an act very much like the one he used to do on horseback when he was a teenager. I glanced at Ollo and saw that the little man was smiling with quiet satisfaction. He’d taught Kes everything he knew himself, but the rest was all born from my man’s imagination.
“Looks amazing, doesn’t it?” said Zach.
“Yes,” I whispered.
All the guys raced around the track together, clearly trying to be the fastest, their knees almost dragging in the dirt as they took the corners at breakneck speeds.
After a dizzying display, Kes grabbed the double-headed torch and tossed it into a huge brazier in the middle of the racetrack, set between the four ramps. A wall of fire shot fifty feet into the air.
I gasped and forgot that I was trying not to break Ollo’s hand.
“He’s not! Tell me he’s not going to jump through that!”
“He’ll be fine,” Zach said soothingly, yet again. “The suit’s flameproof.”
“It’s a showstopper,” Ollo said proudly.
The crowd was roaring their approval, and I glared at them. It wasn’t the love of their life who was about to risk everything.
Then while Zef and Tucker skidded their bikes around the flaming torches, Kes prepared to leap through the wall of fire.
“How far is he going to jump?” I asked Zach hesitantly.
“One-hundred-and-fifty feet.”
I gulped. “But . . . but that’s almost as much as his World Record. He jumped 180 feet then!”
Zach smiled at me sympathetically. “The record has been broken a few times since then. I think it’s standing at 315 feet now. Kes wanted to try for more here, but the racetrack isn’t really a safe environment for that. He’d need an earth ramp to land on—not a narrow frame like the one he’s using here. Although . . .”
Zach stopped abruptly.
“Although what?”
“Ah hell,” he muttered softly. “You’ll find out sooner or later anyway. Kes wants to try for a new World Record next year. I’m looking into locations now.”
I closed my eyes and shuddered. I wanted to insist that Zach refused to help Kes, but I couldn’t. This was the life he’d chosen. This was the life I’d chosen.
Ollo threw me a knowing look, and I pressed my lips together.
“Here he goes,” Zach said softly.
From the far end of the racetrack, Kes zoomed along the narrow path, the throttle at maximum revs. He hit the ramp perfectly, soaring high into the air—so high his helmet could just be seen above the wall of fire.
I cried out as the landing ramp seemed to bend and flex, and half the spectators were on their feet. The bike bounced once and Kes skidded to a halt at the bottom. I could tell by the tension in Zach’s body that it wasn’t part of the act. My heart was thudding in my chest and I felt very close to having a heart attack, but then Kes wrestled the bike upright and pumped his fist in the air.
Everyone was standing and yelling, cheering until they were hoarse. Music pounded out through the speakers and I flung myself into Zach’s arms, unable to stop the tears of relief.
“Some show, huh?” Zach said gently, hugging me awkwardly and rubbing my back at the same time.
The audience seemed to agree with him. I overheard their excited comments as they left the Grandstand.
“Guy’s got balls the size of Texas, but his brains have left the building.”
I wasn’t normally a violent person, but I wanted to punch the two teenage kids who said that.
Zach grabbed my hand and towed me away.
“The guys are going to see to the bikes first, then they’ll shower and review with the tech crew. Come on, we’ve got time to go finish making dinner.”
I noticed that Ollo had sloped off before I had a chance to ask him to help, yet again. Hmm.
Reluctantly, I let Zach drag me away.
Back in the quiet environment of the RV, I got to work. I was determined to make this the best danged Thanksgiving meal the guys had tasted in years—or maybe ever.
We heard them before we saw them[IMG]http://images.mobilism.org/?di=AUIV[/IMG] howling like a pack of wolves. I looked out of the door to see the guys loping toward us, none of them wearing shirts despite the cool air, the rush of adrenalin heating their blood.
Zach grinned as Tucker stumbled into the RV with Ollo perched on his shoulders.
“Watch my head!” shouted the little man.
“Hitting your head won’t make any difference, bro,” Tucker laughed.
Ollo smacked him on both ears at the same time.
“You think being bigger than me makes you safe? I love big people—there’s more to aim at!”
“Ow! Fuck, man! Alright! Alright!”
Zef sauntered into the living room, his tattoos a living work of art as he lifted a bottle of whiskey to his lips before throwing it to Tucker, who caught it deftly, drank deeply and passed it to Ollo.
Kes was last to enter. He leaned against the door, watching me, his eyes dark and smoldering. I knew from experience that his favorite way of partying after a show was to fuck. Hard.
A quicksilver thread of anticipation shot through my entire body. Kes gave me his trademark smirk, then stalked toward me.
“I’m cooking!” I bleated.
“It can wait,” he murmured, running his nose up the side of my neck, and fastening his hands over my ass.
“Fuck you, you horny bastard!” Tucker shouted at him. “We’re hungry and something smells damn good!”
The look Kes shot him was pure evil, and I thought they were about to get into it again, then Zach—the voice of reason—interrupted.
“Aimee’s spent all day cooking up a storm. I think we owe it to her to sit our asses down and enjoy it.”
Even though Zach’s words were mild, Kes still looked irritated, but he did as suggested.
It was a little cramped with six of us sitting around the table, but I’d vetoed sitting outside as the temperature dropped even further.
I was just about to pull the turkey out of the oven, when someone knocked at the door and a stranger stuck his head inside.
“Hey there, folks. Sorry to interrupt, but I’m looking for Kestrel Hawkins. I was told this was his wagon.”
I studied the man with cool eyes. He was wearing an enormous wristwatch that looked expensive, and it was clear that he didn’t know Kes personally. Besides, he was interrupting our dinner—and it was bad campground etiquette to just walk around our property—our RV—the way he had.
“I’m Kestrel Hawkins,” said Ollo.
I swallowed a smile as the stranger’s mouth dropped open.
“Nah, man, I’m Kestrel,” said Tucker, a huge grin on his face.
Zef gazed at the man with a lazy smile. “I prefer to be called Kes.”
The stranger realized what was happening and smiled, shaking his head.
“Let me guess: you’re all Kestrel Hawkins. Well, maybe I should introduce myself. My name is Seymour Michaels, and I run a production company based in Beverly Hills. Whichever of you is Mr. Hawkins, I have to say that you put on one helluva show.” He paused. “So, who do I give my card to?”
The guy looked directly at Kes as he spoke.
Kes stood up and plucked the card from his fingers, and the stranger gave a small, smug smile.
“Very nice to meet you, Kestrel,” he said. “Great show!”
Kes didn’t even look at the card, simply shoving it in the back pocket of his jeans and staring coolly.
Michaels looked uncomfortable, as if he was used to people being more excited to meet him.
“I can see you’re about to sit down to your Thanksgiving dinner, so I won’t hold you up. Besides my wife will kill me if I keep her waiting any longer. She’s in the car with our son now, but I couldn’t waste this opportunity to meet with you, Kestrel. I’ve got an exciting project that you’d be just right for, so I really do hope you call me this time.”
Kes narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean ‘this time’?”
Michaels looked surprised. “I came to see the show last year and met with your manager. She didn’t tell you?”
Kes looked furious and Michaels automatically took a step back.
“Zach’s my manager now,” Kes said at last, jerking a thumb toward Zach.
“Zachary Wade,” Zach said, shaking Michaels’ hand and also receiving a business card.
“Good! Good! Well, perhaps we can talk after the holidays. Enjoy your meal! Great show! Great!”
And he walked away.
“Fuckin’ bitch!” Kes snarled, and stamped out of the RV.
I went to follow him, but Zach caught my arm.
“Give him a few minutes.”
I took a deep breath and nodded my agreement.
“Whoa, mood killer,” Tucker said sadly.
“You know it, brother,” Zef agreed.
“He’ll be back,” Ollo said easily. “Let’s eat.”
That seemed to be the consensus, so reluctantly, I served the meal.
We hadn’t been eating long, when Kes silently slid into his seat and kissed me quickly on the cheek.
“Smells amazing, baby.”
I smiled at him, and the rest of the evening was everything I could have hoped it would be.
We ate, we laughed, we had fun, and I felt the warmth of being surrounded by people who loved me, my new family at the start of my new life.
We were woken early on Black Friday by the sound of a text dropping into Kes’s phone.
He growled and threw it across the room.
“It might be important,” I yawned.
“Whoever it is can fuck off.”
“Don’t be an ass,” I said. “We’re already awake now.”
Kes griped a bit more and bit my ass, making me yelp, as I rolled over to reach his phone.
“It’s Con,” I said, tossing it to him.
Kes opened the message, and I watched as his face underwent a rapid display of emotions, fixing on surprise mixed with something else.
“He’s coming here.”
“For Christmas, right?”
“Nope, he’s on his way now.”
I bolted up.
“Now, as in . . . ?”
“Says he’ll be here in 10 minutes.”
“Shit!” I jumped out of bed like I’d been stung. “The place is a mess. We didn’t finish cleaning up after dinner last night!”
I knew the dishes had been washed, but the guys had stayed up playing poker until late, and I suspected the living area would be a disaster. I ran into the shower, wincing at the sight of my bed-head and bags under my eyes.
When I dashed back out, still dripping, Kes had made our bed and was tidying up. I thanked him silently and threw on one of my favorite sundresses. It was cute, without being overly-dressy.
I was unreasonably anxious: I hadn’t seen Con in almost nine years, and he’d always been a bit stand-offish when I’d known him before. I had no idea what he’d be like now.
Kes used the shower after me, in an out in less than two minutes. Tucker’s thundering snores were almost shaking the whole RV and Zef hadn’t emerged yet. I was about to thump on both their doors when Kes stopped me.
“He’s not their brother,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “Don’t stress, Aimee.”
“I want to make a good impression,” I said, biting my lip.
Kes’s amused expression softened. “He’s my brother—it’ll be fine. Not that I give a shit what anyone else thinks. Come here.”
He wrapped his arms around me, pulling me against his warm body and kissing my hair.
“I would have made brunch for him,” I muttered.
Kes kissed my lips and smiled. “Didn’t you have enough of cooking yesterday?”
“Well, yes, but . . . he’s your brother.”
“We’ll eat out, okay?”
He kissed me again then turned to start the coffee maker, the delicious aroma calming me.
The early morning clouds had parted and the sun was shining, dissipating last night’s chill. It was even warm enough to sit outside, so Kes wiped down the picnic table and we sat drinking our coffees when a black SUV pulled up near us.
A tall man climbed out, glancing around him before his eyes fixed on us. He had a military-short haircut and was wearing dark glasses, but Kes stood up and gave a mock salute, earning a brief smile.
“That’s Con?”
“Yep.”
I watched as Kes’s brother rounded the SUV and opened the passenger door. An elegant woman with coiffed blonde hair, immaculately dressed, stepped out. I could see her looking around and a small frown creased her perfect features.
I felt on edge immediately.
“I didn’t know he was bringing his girlfriend.”
Kes shrugged. “Me neither.”
“Is that Hilde?”
“Yeah.”
“Have you met her before.”
“Once,” he said, but from the look on his face, he wasn’t overly thrilled to see her again.
They walked toward us, a smile playing on Con’s face.
The two men hugged briefly, then Con slapped Kes on the back.
“Good to see you, little brother. What the hell happened to your hair?”
“Like you can talk,” Kes scoffed.
I studied the similarities between the brothers. They were the same height, although Kes was still barefoot, so maybe he had the edge. He was also slightly more muscular than Con, but not by much. Con’s hair was lighter in color, but their silver-gray eyes were the same.
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