Bikers and Pearls

by Vicki Wilkerson

  In addition to the rolled-up flour tortillas, red, green, and orange peppers bejeweled the platter. Hot, hot, hot. Still gazing at her food, all that would come out of her mouth was, “Oh, my goodness.”

  “What?” Bull asked. “You don’t like your food?”

  She moved the plate. “It smells…spicy.”

  “Well, that might be your problem. You might need some spice in your life. You haven’t even tried it and you don’t like it. Is it that way with everything with you? You only want to stick to your familiar, milquetoast world? Why don’t you try living a little?” His lip inched up in a smile.

  She fumed. He knew nothing about her world, or what had happened to her in the past. And he’d just dumped all this stuff in her lap about his affiliation with Rebel Angels. Sharp pains shot through her temples. She pushed back her chair and stood. “This was a mistake. I knew it would be. I’m calling someone to take me back to work.” She turned away. Her face felt as hot as the plate that had been set before her. She nervously rifled through her purse to find her phone, but suddenly remembered she had thrown it at those creeps last night. Then she felt a hand on her elbow.

  “Look. I’m sorry. I had no right. It’s only that I need you to help with this rally and…” He leaned close to her head. “I want you to help me.” His voice was low, enchanting. “Please.”

  She didn’t know if it was the word or the way he’d said it, but it made her want to throw her arms around him and say, I’ll do anything you want. I’ll even eat hot and spicy food. Her good sense had taken a vacation.

  There was just one thing, though. She wasn’t about to go to some seedy bar that also served as a tackle store. Marvin’s Bait and Tackle Shop. Her company even refrained from insuring places like that. Places that sold more beer than bait. Places that sold more tobacco than tackle. Places where the drunken brawls could be had for free.

  He whispered again. “Please sit down and have lunch with me.”

  She had no defenses against that word. Please. Or his voice. Or that scent. And she really needed to put some physical distance between them, so she sat as he requested. The plate had stopped sizzling, but her heart and head had not. Being here with him was still way out of her comfort zone.

  “Go ahead. Taste it,” he said. He smiled and those cute lines formed on either side of his mouth again. What she’d really like to taste was his lips.

  She really didn’t have a choice at this point. The accompanying salad looked like a good place to start, even though it resembled no salad she’d ever had in South Carolina before. In addition to the crisp lettuce, hot refried beans smothered one side of the plate, and on top of the lettuce was a smooth guacamole sauce and cool sour cream. She took a bite. The mixture of the different textures and temperatures was refreshing. And good. “Mmmmm. I like it.”

  “Now the enchilada.” He took a sip of his tea.

  She leaned in, inhaled, and lifted her brow. The scent of onions and peppers and chilies wafted about the plate. When she cut open the enchilada, more color spilled onto the orange ceramic dish. She worked to get the menagerie of tomatoes, peppers, and chicken onto her fork and took a bite. “Wow, that is spicy,” she said.

  “Spicy can be good,” he said. One side of his mouth inched up as it did before.

  “I’ve never had anything like this. Ever,” she said and took another bite. The chilies and chicken melted together with the cheese and guacamole.

  He raised a brow. “Different can be fascinating. And delicious,” he said.

  She guessed it could be, but he wasn’t talking about food.

  “I like…hot,” he said as he took a big bite of the colorful concoction on his plate.

  April thought herself as anything but hot. Well, maybe a little last night in her red heels.

  “I’ve never been adventurous when it came to cuisine. My dad was always a meat-and-potatoes kind of guy, so that was pretty much what my mom cooked,” she said. “I love it.”

  She surprised herself. Living in the South, she was acquainted with soothing foods—grits, macaroni pie, and rice. For years her little town hadn’t even had an ethnic restaurant, so she’d never had the opportunity to try anything Mexican before. And then she got set in her ways.

  “I believe it’s about time we exposed you to a little adventure. Don’t you think?” he asked.

  She smiled and took another bite. That all depended upon what kind of adventure he was talking about.

  They continued eating, glancing up occasionally at one another. She almost forgot that she was sitting in plain view of passersby. Eating Mexican food. With a former Rebel gang member.

  “So, meat and potatoes, huh?” he asked.

  “Well, yeah. Actually honey ham and potato salad. My mom cooked the same thing for almost every Sunday dinner when I was young.”

  “It that your idea of a perfect Sunday afternoon? Honey ham and potato salad with your parents?” he asked, eyebrow raised.

  “Yeah, and eating alfresco under their big magnolia tree. With a light breeze and some sweet tea.”

  “Alone? Or would this perfect afternoon include a boyfriend?” he asked, smiling his crooked smile.

  “No boyfriends here, I’m afraid. Though one would be nice. The right one. I’m rather cautious about dating, and I haven’t introduced anyone I’ve gone out with to my parents since high school. Don’t want them worried,” she said. “What’s a perfect Sunday afternoon for you?” she asked.

  “A ride down winding country roads on a spring afternoon,” he said. “No helmet.”

  She winced. “Alone?” she returned. She shouldn’t concern herself with his love life, but now the question was out there.

  “Would have to be alone. Haven’t met anyone yet who’s come remotely close to filling my requirements,” he said.

  “And what would those be?” she asked, curiosity stinging her with every bite she took.

  “Hmmmm. Let’s see. Supersmart, willing to take risks, open-minded, generous, cares about others. Beautiful. Oh, and could ride a Harley like nobody’s business,” he said.

  Well, she’d never fit his bill. Not that she should want to. Not that she could. Ever. Because she’d never, ever get on some dangerous motorcycle and ride around the countryside, looking to get killed.

  They settled in to finishing their meal. The quiet between the two was comfortable, but soon Bull broke the spell. “So, I can count on you, right? You’re still going to meet me at the tackle shop?”

  She wanted to help him for Ben’s sake. She wanted to prove something to herself and to the bikers who overheard Jenna’s call that first night. She also wanted to please Mr. Houseman. But most of all she really wanted to get to know this perplexing man, even if it was uncomfortable. Even if it meant dealing with all the anxieties she’d grown up with.

  “I guess you can count me in.”

  “Then what about the insurance?”

  She took an extended breath. “I don’t know. My boss has a thing about taking risks with the company.”

  “And you don’t have a thing about risks?” He smiled.

  “Touché. I am, however, risking my palette with this four-alarm food.” She lowered her head and lifted a brow.

  “Mmmmm. Let’s see what I’m risking.” He pushed his honey-streaked hair behind his left ear and let his eyes survey her form. “This could all be a set-up for one of your…risk assessments. Who knows? I may get a bill with higher insurance rates next week.”

  They both laughed.

  He rested his fork, grabbed her hand, and leaned into the table. “Why don’t you let me talk to your boss?”

  “Oh, no. That would be a very bad idea. I know what to say to sugarcoat it. I can recite all the statistics he’d need. It would be better coming from me.” His hand felt strong and capable in hers.

  He let her fingers go and leaned back in his chair. Slivers of sun brightened the blondish streaks on the top of his head. “Will you have something for us this evening?” His s
exy, rich voice enchanted her once again.

  There was no getting around it. She was going to the tackle shop tonight. Goodness only knew what she would find there.

  After their surprisingly delightful meal, Bull drove her back to her office. She stole glances at his form as he drove. The muscle in his forearm flexed when he pulled down on the steering wheel. She noted the light stubble on his well-defined chin and she took deeper and deeper breaths to keep herself focused.

  All the steadying breaths had almost made her dizzy. She needed to keep her wits about her, though. “Let me get your jacket before you go,” she said as she slipped out the large vehicle.

  She opened her trunk, took out the coat, and she handed it to him. “I can’t thank you enough for helping me last night.” Their hands touched again, and she didn’t want to let go the coat to break the feel of him.

  “Good. That means I’ll see you tonight so that you can thank me some more.” He gave her that little one-sided grin.

  She smiled and started toward the building, then turned. “Oh, and lunch was great.”

  She saw that he was holding the jacket close to his face. The way she had held it last night in bed.

  “I guess I’ll have to treat next time,” she said in an effort to minimize her astonishment.

  “If that’ll get me another date, sure you can.”

  Another date. Maybe they’d been on a couple if she counted the library.

  Oh, my goodness.

  As soon as she sat down at her desk, Mandy arrived. “What was that all about?”

  “Just business,” April replied.

  “What about that jacket you handed him in the parking lot?”

  April wanted to tell her that it was business, too, just not Mandy’s. Even though she’d tried to make it hers by peeping at her through the front window. “Long story.” She paused. “By the way, I didn’t get those forms I asked you for, and headquarters is breathing down my neck about them. Would you like me to have them call you so that you can handle it? I was only a middleman anyway.”

  “Oh, no,” Mandy said. “I’m in enough hot water with them as it is.”

  April knew that already. Mandy had had two written warnings about her professional conduct in the office. Go figure.

  “I’ll get them right away,” she said.

  April busied herself for a while, trying to muster the courage to talk to her boss—her very conservative supervisor—who cautiously lorded over their very conservative insurance company. Who answered directly to their very conservative headquarters. And if anyone understood their apprehension about motorcycles, it was she.

  Tapping her pencil on the edge of her desk, she thought about how to mitigate the sound of it all. Finally, she came up with a few ideas—ideas that could get her through the whole conversation with her narrow-minded manager. It was worth a try. She fumbled through the file folder of fliers until she found what she’d been looking for. She held a picture of the sick little boy they were all helping.

  The clock was ticking, and she was going to have to show up at that tackle place tonight with an answer. She walked into her supervisor’s office. “Charles, I saw an e-mail from headquarters last week and it got me to thinking. They were asking about ideas for their Give Back program. You know, the one where local adjusters donate or provide some service for the community. Anyway, some of the civic organizations in town are organizing a fundraiser for Ben Evans.”

  It was sounding good to her so far. She explained about Ben’s leukemia and put the little boy’s picture on the desk. “So, I found a way for us to make a contribution to the community without there being any cash out of the company’s pockets.”

  “You’ve got my attention. I’ve been racking my brain for an idea since I saw that e-mail.” He picked up Ben’s picture. “We are running low on money for charitable contributions, but headquarters is kind of insistent about the community-involvement thing.”

  “Well, a group of people with the Summerbrook Civic League is organizing a rally, and there are going to be bike rides, and they need some kind of group policy to cover any accidents that might exceed each individual’s coverage.”

  “Great idea. How much damage can a bicycle accident cause? I think we can do that. In fact, I’ve worked with the Civic League before.” He put down the picture and turned on his computer. “Let’s see what kind of policy we may want to write.”

  She took a deep breath. This was going to take courage. “I don’t think you understand. It’s a motorcycle rally, not a bicycle rally.”

  He pushed away from his desk. He wrinkled his forehead, pursed his lips, and tapped his fingers on his desk.

  “Motorcycles? Oh, I don’t know about that. I’ll have to look into the liability of it. And you’ll have to do a risk-assessment report on it.” He reached over and turned off his computer. “I don’t know.”

  She tapped a pen on the desk. “Well, I have done the assessment, and if we make certain requirements, like cordoning off the town square for rides and making the riders wear helmets and setting a reasonable speed limit, the risks would be quite minimal.”

  He shook his head. “Let me think about it.”

  “Fine. But I need to know by this afternoon.” She placed another file on his desk. “This might help you to make up your mind. It’s the statistics correlating speeds and accidents. What you’ll see is that we’ll be taking almost no risk at all. Accidents at the speeds we’re addressing are minimal and the related costs…almost negligible.” She paused. “I’m sure it won’t be a big deal if we don’t take this opportunity. They’ll easily get another company to be a sponsor if we don’t. There’ll be tons of advertising. It’s free PR.” She picked up Ben’s picture and sighed. “And headquarters has a bee in their bonnet this year about that Give Back program.”

  He rubbed his temples. “’Kay then. I’ll let you know before five.”

  She stepped outside his office, leaned against the wall, and released the air in her lungs. She didn’t know she’d had it in her. At least she could tell the group at the tackle shop that she had tried.

  Oh, my goodness. The tackle shop. She supposed there was no getting around it now. There was no telling what she’d find there. Probably bass boats, bad food, and lots of beer. But that was really nothing in the end. She placed the picture on her desk. Ben was worth everything she’d encounter at that bar-and-tackle place.

  Then without notice, other pictures flashed through her head. Ambulance lights. Her father with his twisted leg on a stretcher. Her mother’s tears at the hospital. She pushed the images away with her fortified will and sat up straight. If she would have to deal with her wrecked family, then she’d do that, too, for Ben.

  April kept glancing at the clock. It was getting late, and still she hadn’t heard from Charles. She needed a back-up plan. Jenna Bellingham. Her father was in insurance, too. One of the really big companies in Charleston. She gave Jenna a call and got her father’s number.

  April called Mr. Bellingham and ran the idea past him. He sounded interested, but he had to look into it, as well.

  Right before five, April stepped back into Charles’s office. She knocked on the door frame. She knew how to handle the man. “Charles, don’t worry about looking into that policy for the rally. I think it may already be taken care of by Mutual of America.”

  He pushed away from his desk. “April, I was thinking. The leukemia-boy fundraiser would sound great to headquarters. The motorcycle thing isn’t my cup of tea. And I know it’s not yours, either, but we can’t buy that kind of publicity. I want us to do it. We’ll insure the rally.”

  She smiled at the good news she’d have for Bull that night.

  “One thing, though. I want you involved at every turn. You’ve got to ensure that helmets will be worn, the speed limits will be followed, and our risk is kept to a minimum. That’s the only way we can do it.”

  Ensure? She could tell them, but she didn’t know if she could ensure anything. Then
she thought of Ben again. If she could ensure something, though, she would for the sick boy.

  “You have my word.”

  She had to have been the most stupid woman in Summerbrook. You have my word. What was she thinking?

  What she needed to be thinking about was her cell phone, so she stopped quickly at the store and picked up another one. Just like the one she had and called her parents.

  “Hey, Mom. How’s Dad?” she asked.

  “A bit tired this week, honey. He’s still having some angina in the evenings. After the news,” her mom said.

  “Well, you shouldn’t even let him watch the evening news. It’s just filled with crime and debauchery. You know it’s going to stress him out.”

  “I know that, dear, but your father’s hard-headed. Determined to have his way if it kills him.”

  April let out a little chuckle. That was the same thing her dad always said about her mom. Two hardheaded seniors set in their ways.

  “Dear, are you coming up for Sunday dinner this week?” her mom asked.

  “That’s what I was calling about. Actually, I’m involved in this charity fundraiser through Mr. Houseman, and I’m not going to be able to make it for several weeks.”

  “Hmmm. Your dad will be disappointed. But we’re proud of all the charity work you’re doing, dear. We will see you on your birthday, though, right?”

  “Sorry, Mom. But that will be the last busy weekend. The following Sunday, for sure, though. Okay?”

  “Okay, sweetie. Stay safe,” her mom said.

  She hung up. Her thoughts churned and darted as she drove toward home. Hopefully, her parents were under control. But little else was.

  As she passed the square in the center of town, she looked at the huge live oaks that framed the verdant park. Wrought iron benches were set out in even rows along the center, and a fountain sculpture of children decorated its middle. It all looked so pristine and cultured.

  Shaking her head, she just couldn’t imagine a couple hundred motorcycles circling the park and passing by the quaint antique and decorating shops. What a dichotomy of images. What a mess.