Bikers and Pearls

by Vicki Wilkerson

  If only Bull had been a Southern gentleman like the guys at work, or Mr. Houseman or the men at the civic league. Southern men walked ladies to their cars—even if they didn’t need them to—even if the ladies were more capable than they were. But Bull was nothing like the traditional Southern gentlemen she’d known all her life. Or at least he didn’t look like one.

  She remembered the twenty-four-hour towing service that was in the middle of town, but she didn’t know the number. After entering four-one-one into her cell, she waited. And then she heard an ominous beep. Her battery was dying.

  Pick up, pick up, pick up.

  “Signet Phone Information,” a pleasant voice answered. April asked for the number and jotted it down on the back of one of the fliers.

  “Thank you,” she said. The phone beeped again. She frantically pressed the numbers. The phone on the other end rang, and hers beeped. The ring sounded again, and again, her phone beeped. Answer, please. Please let them answer. Her phone beeped.

  “Freddy’s Towing Service,” a voice drawled out.

  “Yes. I need help.” She heard the urgency in her own voice. “My car won’t crank and I’m at the library. Could you please come and help?” Her words were quick and came out in a rapid-fire manner. There would only be a matter of seconds before she’d be cut off.

  “Ma’am, I couldn’t understand a word you said,” complained the slow-talking man on the other end of the phone.

  There was that sound again.

  Almost as quickly as the first time, she spewed out the information for a second time. She waited for the man’s response. Maybe he was writing down the address or something.

  “Sir? Sir!” She looked at the face of her phone. No lights. She tried to turn it on again, but she knew the persnickety phone too well. It wasn’t about to cooperate. Why hadn’t she bought a charger for her car? Why, why, why? If only she’d had time to charge it at home before she’d left for the library. But she was too worried about her stupid jeans and fancy shoes. A lot of good they had done her tonight.

  She sat in silence for a moment, contemplating her circumstances. It was unusually cold that night, and she had left her house without a jacket in order to show off her uncharacteristically flirty outfit. She was being stupid. The whole evening was a mistake. It had started with vanity, had been peppered with attraction, and it was ending with stupidity.

  Just as she leaned her head back in frustration and dismay, a beam of light and a rumbling noise rounded the corner of the library.

  The next moment she was looking at the most beautiful sight in the world: Bull, the man who hadn’t abandoned her. However, he was on his motorcycle. And without a helmet. Fear for him mingled oddly with something else in her head. If he only knew about how everything had changed for her and her family. She was sick and tired, though, of being identified by her connection to that accident. At least with him, she had a chance of being known by who she was. Not what she’d lived through. He probably wouldn’t even understand, anyway—or want to because of his affiliation with the Rebel Angels.

  He pulled his bike alongside her car and motioned for her to lower her window.

  “I wanted to see you to your car, but I was saving my work on that slow computer, and you ran out like the place was on fire.” He looked at the wheels of the car. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “It won’t crank,” she said as she tried to control her voice. And wouldn’t he have to mention the word fire.

  He turned off his motor and dismounted the Harley like a knight from a black horse.

  He was still as tall and dangerously handsome as she had first assessed, but she shouldn’t be thinking about that at a time like this. She had only one overwhelming priority right now, and that was to get home safely.

  Though it seemed kind of counterintuitive to her, she suddenly felt a strange sensation of security in his presence. The feeling didn’t make sense knowing all that she knew about the devastation motorcycles can bring.

  “Pop the latch. It’s on your left,” he said. She did, and he tucked his head under the hood.

  Moments later she heard something snap, and he was at her window again—this time holding some kind of metal object.

  “I’m afraid one of your switches is bad.” Patting the car on the roof, he said, “This thing isn’t going anywhere tonight until this baby’s replaced.” He held the mechanical part in front of his angular face and sized it up.

  “So what am I supposed to do?” she asked.

  “Get on the back of my bike, and we’ll run by the garage where I work and pick up a new one.”

  Whoa, right now. He didn’t have a clue. Something gripped her chest as tightly as an old lady holding on to her Sunday hat in a hurricane. Instantly, memories of that night came flooding back. She’d had a front-seat view. And from that front seat, she had jumped when she’d heard the thump—like dead meat hitting the glass. She shook her head of the twinkling pains that shot through it. The rest was too difficult to recall.

  She inhaled deeply, raggedly. “No. I can’t get on your bike,” she said, but her voice cracked as she struggled to hold it steady.

  “Calm down,” Bull said. He looked around. “It’s just that this parking lot is really dark, and I don’t want to leave you alone here.”

  Closing her eyes again, she took a deep breath. She didn’t really have a choice. She didn’t think that she could get on that metal monster even if she tried. There was way too much trauma associated with the whole idea.

  “Please,” she said. “Couldn’t you get the thing and bring it back here? I’ll be fine here.” Part of her felt like she was wrong. This wasn’t the safest place to be and she knew it.

  Bull looked around and shook his head. With reluctance in his voice, he said, “Okay. But raise your window and keep your doors locked—no matter what. You got your cell phone?” His voice was protecting and authoritative.

  She raised the phone. She couldn’t possibly tell him that her phone was dead. Everything inside her went into survival mode. This was what she needed to do to get home. And who was to say that a smidgen of the battery wouldn’t return?

  He let out a deep breath and mounted his Harley. “I’ll be back as quickly as I can,” he said. “Remember. Keep those doors locked.”

  She nodded. She wavered between wanting to tell him to be careful and wanting to tell him to hurry. Instead, she simply kept quiet—like a coward.

  When he cranked the machine, the reverberation of the motor rumbled her heart. Something was happening to her and it involved a Harley and a ruggedly handsome man with a ponytail. She realized she was all out of sorts as she watched him pull away.

  She had to reconcile her new emotions and her attraction to him with what she knew about risky behavior. Remember the accident. Remember what the drunken Rebels did that night. And beyond. That was the only way. She couldn’t let Bull get close to her.

  In a moment she was small again. In that front seat—without her daddy—with her eyes closed. Rocking to and fro, clutching something to her chest. She heard the Rebel Angels kicking her father’s breath from him.

  She was snapped out of her recollection by a bump on her roof. She leaned forward. Probably a pinecone from the huge tree beside her. She was on edge about being in the dark lot alone, so she grabbed one of the fliers beside her and started making notes on it for the fundraiser. They needed to make tickets and get some kind of refreshment stand set up. She had some experience working with the Humanity Project, so she jotted down a few ideas while she waited. Then she heard a different noise and looked up.

  Pulling up beside her was a red BMW 700 series. Good thing it wasn’t one of those camouflage-painted pickup trucks with a gun rack hanging in the rear. Immediately she breathed a sigh of relief.

  The passenger on the rear driver’s side got out first. She didn’t hesitate to roll down her window. Thank goodness the car’s battery was still okay.

  “Need some help, lady?” the man in a bl
ue Polo sweater asked as he leaned against her car. He made a slow motion with his hand at the Beamer for the others to get out. Two other men—probably in their early twenties—exited their car.

  All dressed in pressed khakis like they were heading to a golf tournament or a church social, they sauntered over to her dead vehicle. The driver, who had yellow-blond hair, leaned into her window. “Why don’t you get out so we can get a better look?”

  “Well, actually, you don’t need to look at the engine. We know what it is. But thank you for asking anyway,” she said.

  They all laughed. It was a laugh that made her uncomfortable. One of the boys stumbled, then held on to her car to steady himself.

  She raised her window, but left a crack at the top.

  “Why don’t you get out anyway?” the driver asked with a sinister smile. Similar grins were on the other men’s faces. Then he pulled at the handle on her door, became frustrated, and hit the roof of her car with his hand. “Open it,” he said, giving her a serious stare.

  April’s heart dropped. These were not harmless good ole boys or Southern gentlemen, looking to help someone out. They were creeps or worse.

  She wanted Bull right then more than she had ever wanted anything in her entire life.

  She knew she was in big trouble. Her hands shook as she felt about for the switch to try to finish raising the car’s window. Where was it? Where was it?

  And her phone was dead. She picked it up anyway to show the jerks that she had a cell. They wouldn’t know it was useless.

  The blond guy reached inside through the opening, and in a menacing voice, said, “Nice hair, lady.”

  “Stop it!” She jerked out of his way and threw the phone at him, but it only hit the window and broke into pieces. Tears welled in her eyes, but she was determined not to show the thugs she was scared. Where is Bull?

  Blue sweater guy went to the passenger side of the car, and the other two covered her escape at her door. The sound of her heart hammered in her ears. Where is Bull?

  Then the ringleader struggled to reach through the small opening in the window, unlocked the door, and opened it. She kicked at him with her red heels and tried to push herself into the passenger seat to get away.

  “Stop it!” she yelled. Where is Bull?

  The man who was having trouble walking reached in, grabbed her arm, and yanked her out the car. He almost fell as he took a step toward her, pressing her against the car with his body.

  She stomped his foot with her heel and tried to wrench herself away from him.

  “Dammit! That hurt.” He leaned his head so close to her neck that she felt his hot breath warm the spot right under her ear. He adjusted his body even tighter against hers. “Mmmmm,” he said as he aligned his lips to hers. She turned her face away from his breath—the same kind of breath she’d smelled on those men the night of the accident.

  The third guy said, “Hey, Brock, that’s enough. Let’s go.”

  Brock laughed.

  She tried to bring her knee up between his legs, but he blocked it. She opened her mouth to scream, but nothing came out.

  “Now, you’re in big trouble,” he said.

  She twisted and struggled to break his grip. Oh, God! Where is Bull?

  Chapter Four

  As soon as Bull rounded the corner, he saw April—pinned against her car by some creep in a sissy sweater.

  Anger rose up in him, and he gritted his teeth. When the scumbag saw Bull getting closer, he let her go. Bull pulled his Harley up way too close to the dude and turned it off. It was going to take everything he had to control the rage that was pulsating through his body. But he could do it. He wasn’t the young, unbridled man he was when he was with the Angels.

  “What can I help you gentlemen with?” asked Bull in his best menacingly low, gravelly voice. He dismounted his bike like he had serious business to take care of. He turned his fists into weapons—just in case.

  “Sir, we simply stopped to see if the lady needed any help,” said the fair-haired guy.

  He drew in a slow, deep, even breath. “I have that covered, boys. Why don’t you all just climb back into that little toy of yours and go get yourselves a glass of milk or something?” Bull stood with his legs spread in a stance that said, This is my territory and I’m not moving.

  “Yes, sir. We’re leaving now, sir.” The young man motioned for his cronies to come along. In moments they were gone. Bull closed his eyes for the briefest of moments and pushed away the shudder of the thought that April could have been harmed.

  Bull turned and reached for April’s shoulders. He bent his knees slightly until his gaze was level with hers. “You okay?”

  She didn’t answer.

  But he knew. No, she wasn’t. She was shaking, and she couldn’t speak. He pulled her close to him. She was shivering. He shouldn’t like the feel of her against him so much right now.

  “It’s okay. They’re gone. You’re safe,” he said. He meant it. She was safe. He wasn’t going to let anyone harm her. Certainly not a bunch of preppy goons. He’d seen their type before. All “sir” this and “ma’am” that. He knew what was behind their squeaky-clean façades. And it wasn’t Sunday-school-lesson materials.

  No. They weren’t about to harm the lovely young woman in his arms, even though he couldn’t quite figure her out himself—with all her contradictory qualities. Frightened to death and still wanting to help Patch’s grandson. She may have been a bit of a pretentious Southern belle, but he wasn’t going to let anyone hurt her.

  It took a while for her shaking to stop. How scared she must have been. How scared must she be to allow him to hold her to calm her down. He shook his head when he thought what might have happened if he hadn’t arrived when he did.

  He pushed her away from him and looked into her brown eyes. He brushed her sandy hair out of her face. “Everything’s fine. Those guys won’t be coming back.” He glanced over her face, wishing he could find some kind of words to comfort her. “You want to sit in the car now while I install that switch?”

  She nodded, still unable to speak. He took off his jacket, wrapped it around her shoulders, and helped her into her vehicle. Knowing how she probably felt about the whole motorcycle scene, he was a bit surprised that she accepted his leather bomber so readily.

  He retrieved a flashlight, the switch, and the tools he needed from the saddlebag on his bike and started working under the hood.

  Those creeps had shaken April up big-time—traumatized her almost.

  “Crank her up,” he said, leaning his head from under the hood. The engine purred. He gathered his tools.

  Maybe what she needed was a little education and exposure to the rest of the world to teach her how to deal with goons like those guys. Yep. That was what she needed, to become better able to deal with the likes of those society snakes.

  Bull knew that was going to be a nearly impossible job, though. How could he show her anything if she hung out in la-ti-da coffee shops, sipping lattes in pearls when he hung out in garages, fixing Harleys in greasy T-shirts and jeans? The only thing tying them together was their desire to help Ben, but she could bolt from the rally at any minute and could always help another group like he knew she wanted to.

  He’d first seen that desire in her eyes last night. He didn’t know anything about her past, but he knew his, and he knew it had been nothing like April’s. But despite their differences and their pasts, Bull was determined to be her teacher.

  …

  When April heard, “Crank her up,” she snapped out of her daze. Her hands had stopped shaking, but her insides continued to quiver. The night had been a nightmare. And here she was. Out in the middle of the old, burned-out section of town in the dark with a man who was almost a stranger to her. A stranger that had just saved her from who knows what, but still a stranger. Where were all of the protections she’d developed over the years to keep herself safe? Her risk-management skills? Back at the office, obviously.

  Bull walked
to her window. She was looking up at the hard angle of his jaw, but something in his eyes looked soft and tender. “I’m going to follow you home to make sure this thing works properly,” he said.

  She nodded. There was no way she was going to turn down his help. Those thugs could be around any corner. And they had looked so, so ordinary.

  She drove home. At every corner, she heard Bull’s bike bellow as it followed. Her insides churned. The noise was that of a motorcycle and all those old feelings about bikes were stirring in her, yet the sound strangely comforted her, as well. Because Bull was there. She didn’t even have to look in her rearview mirror to check. She heard him. And the sound made her feel safe.

  As she drove, her faculties began returning fully and she realized that she hadn’t thanked him for his help. She shuddered to think what would have happened if he hadn’t come when he did. She couldn’t wait to get home. To say good-bye to him. To thank him. To put this night behind her.

  She pulled into her parking spot, but he stayed back and watched. If she ran to him, he might get the wrong idea, but that was what she wanted to do—to go to him. When he didn’t get off his bike, she waved and entered her building.

  Great. She’d forgotten to turn up the heat. Inside her condo was cold. Cold. She looked down. She was still wearing his jacket, and it was frigid outside. He must be freezing. Guilt gripped her stomach. He was heading home in the biting cold with nothing on his back but a thin shirt. The thought of it made her shiver.

  She wrapped the jacket even tighter around her shoulders and latched every one of the locks. Tonight, she had been stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

  After taking off Bull’s jacket and hanging it over a chair in her bedroom, she turned the thermostat up and checked all the locks on the windows before going to bed. The run-in with those guys had started her thinking. Maybe tomorrow she’d look into one of those alarm systems.