by Cathryn Cade
Sara laughed. "The next garment I buy will be a leather apron."
The men stared, and Keys raised his brows, his lips quirking. "Whoa, you into some hard kink we don't know about, woman?"
Sara's face blazed with heat. She waved her hands. "No! I mean to wear when I do my leather-work."
"Oh, you mean like purses and belts and shit," Keys said, nodding approvingly. "That's cool."
"Right. The apron will be to keep the dyes and stuff off my clothes. Also, occasionally a tool slips. Some of them are sharp."
"Oh," Remi said, his face falling comically. "So you don't wear the apron with a thong and maybe a little flogger?"
"No! Euww!"
Remi winked at her. Lindi and Kit giggled, and Jack threw back his head and laughed. Keys moved to give Sara a friendly hug. "All right, let's get this gorgeous babe a drink and quit pickin' on her."
"I'm the chef," Remi said. "I get to pick on whoever I want."
"Careful," Keys warned him. "'Cause I do have a flogger."
Remi dodged his swat, grinning. "I thought that was for Kit, not me."
Kit threw a piece of yellow pepper at him. "Hush, you. Or I'm sleeping in the guest room tonight."
"La, la, la!" Lindi said loudly, fingers in her ears. "Do not want to know."
Jack laughed again and pulled her close, pressing a kiss to her temple. "That's okay, baby, I'll listen for the both of us. I hear somethin' good, we'll try it out."
"Gah," Sara protested, putting her own fingers in her ears. "Lindi, I'm singing your song. No more!"
"Aretha!" Kit cried, putting her hands up with forefingers extended. "'No more, no more, no more, no more. Huh-uh-uh-uh.'"
Remi held up his phone, wincing as he thumbed it. "And time for some real music. Love you, Red, but you can't sing for shit. Also, Ray Charles did that song, not Aretha."
"Everybody did that song," Keys put in, his hand over Kit's mouth as he grinned at her. "And our Red does it the worst, but she looks the best doin' it."
Kit made a face at him, but as the Brothers’ Osborne smooth voices poured through the speakers set high on the walls singing about that '21 summer', she began to dance to the music.
Sara smiled at them as she sipped her red wine, but a hot ache pressed up into her throat. Of the three of them, herself, Kit and Lindi, she was the oldest. Would she find the love and passion they had with their men, or was she too repressed and boring? Was her makeover just surface, like trying to make a fine leather purse out of a chunk of inferior leather?
To her surprise, Jack came to her rescue. The big, sandy-haired man stopped before her, and tipped his head down to meet her gaze. "Sara," he murmured, his gravelly voice soft. "Honey, I see a gorgeous woman who's all tricked out, but who still don't look happy. What's goin' on in that head of yours?"
He lifted his chin toward the shady porch outside, and when Lindi gave her a soft, encouraging smile, Sara moved with Jack outside. She leaned on the railing, gazing at the surrounding trees, shrubs and the big shop across the paved drive.
She slugged more wine, and forced herself to speak. Jack was a biker, he understood their ways.
"I'm not sure what I'm doing," she told him, rubbing her forefinger along the railing. "A lot of changes lately, you know?"
He leaned back against the railing and nodded easily. "Yeah, I see that. Can say the same myself. Never thought I'd end up here in this little burg, but I'm damned glad I did."
She smiled. "You landed in the right place. Lindi, and your new supper-club ..." He may have fallen into bed with a near stranger, but she'd been sweet, true Lindi, not someone who'd made him feel incredible one moment and cut him with a look the next.
"Yep, and we're gonna build a house too. Down the mountain a little bit, west of here. It'll look over the cafe, the supper club and the lake."
"Oh, I'm glad, Jack. It's beautiful here."
He nodded. "Airway Heights, and the countryside out past it—it's nice too. I like all those big rock formations out there. You thinkin' of stayin' at the place you inherited from your Gran?"
"Good question. I was thinking about staying, but then—well, you know. Stick is right next door, so ... probably not."
He grunted his understanding, and sipped his beer. Sara drained her wine glass, and opened her mouth to tell him she needed a refill. But Jack gave her a gentle, but penetrating look, and spoke in a way that stopped her in her tracks.
"Stick's a hard man. A dangerous one, to those who try to cheat him or the club, or harm anyone in their protection. And, he goes through women faster'n underwear, some would say. I'm sure as hell not gonna try and talk you into waitin' around for him to get his head straight. But he has his reasons."
Sara frowned. "I can't imagine any reason for treating women with such casual disrespect."
Jack was gazing into his beer, swirling it in his glass. "He was married, to the twins' mama. Up in Sandpoint. They settled down when he found she was pregnant, Stick split his time between there and the Flyers' compound, because she didn't want to move and leave her party crowd, or her own mama."
Unwillingly fascinated, Sara leaned back and listened. "So, was he unfaithful to her? Is that why they split up?"
"Don't know if he was unfaithful or not, that's not my business. I do know he was tickled as hell when those two little boys were born. Proudest papa in the whole area. But though a family man, he also had other obligations. Wanted her to move over to the Heights with him, take on her place as his old lady, so he could be there, run the Flyers and his businesses."
He grimaced. Sara leaned forward, foreboding prickling the back of her neck. "What happened?"
Jack looked up at her. "The bitch did not wanna go. She had her figure back, she wanted to get right back to partying with her crowd, with all Stick's money. She left her babies home with whoever she could find to watch them. Stick came home from his first road trip, found her gone, a drunken whore of a neighbor sleeping off a bottle in his living room while his babies screamed in their crib, wet, hungry and cold."
"Oh, my God," Sara choked. She put a hand to her throat, hating the image this conjured. "Those two beautiful little boys—how could a mother do that? How could any woman do that?"
Jack's gaze warmed. "Women like you, Lindi and Kit will never get that kind of shit, so don't even try, babe. Contessa—that's the bitch's name—she is not wired right, all there is to it. Stick tried. He laid the law down, told her she and the boys were movin' over with him, and leavin' her pack of shit-for-friends behind. She'd have help carin' for the boys, time to do what she wanted, still be a momma. She poured sugar all over him, cried and apologized, said she'd do better. They got the babies settled, and went to bed."
He grimaced. "She waited till he was dead asleep—or so she thought. Slipped outta bed and to the kitchen, got a big, sharp kitchen knife, and tried to cut his fuckin' throat."
Sara's wineglass slipped from her fingers, and hit the deck with a thunk, followed by the crack of glass. She hardly noticed. She clapped a hand over her mouth as her stomach roiled. Swallowing hard, she managed to keep the wine down.
"I'll clean that up," Jack muttered, and guided her around the broken glass. "Sorry, babe, didn't mean to shock you that much. But, you need to know. That kind of shit shapes a man in dark ways."
"She tried to murder him?" Sara stopped him before he could guide her into the house, where the others were chatting. "Oh, my God. But … but, he's clearly okay, physically I mean."
"Yep. Said he had a feeling somethin' wasn't right. Couldn't go to sleep, was just dozin'. When he felt her lean over him, he grabbed her. But sometimes crazy is strong. She managed to cut his neck, his face, and his arm, had to have 'em sewn up. When she couldn't slice him anymore, she tried to claw his face. He held her down, grabbed his phone and called the cops."
He'd had to call the police on his own wife. That must have burned as deeply as his physical wounds. "So, what happened to her?" she asked hesitantly.
"Bitch is doin' thirty years down in Pocatello," Jack said with relish. "Time she gets out, his boys will be grown men. 'Course, Stick has his way, she'll never get out."
Sara shook her head. "She's clearly a—a sociopath. To leave her babies cold and hungry while she partied, then try and kill her own husband, their father, because she didn't want to move to another town? That's just sick."
"Sociopath, definitely. Beautiful woman, like a Playboy centerfold ... but empty behind her eyes. Stick hadn't been drunk the night they met, he wouldn't have hooked up with her. Kids are like ink, a permanent reminder of a temporary feelin'."
Sara could not argue with that. "Well, thanks for, uh, sharing. Knowing that makes it a little easier to ... you know, understand his behavior."
Not that she was going back for more any time soon. Because the man had elevated rudeness to an art form.
"Then my work here is done," Jack told her. "Now c'mon, let's go have some of Remi's great cookin'."
Sara nodded, put a smile on, and went in to enjoy a barbecue with some of her favorite people.
But her enjoyment was tempered with shock and sadness. She could not erase the image of a strong man holding his own wife off of him, bloodied by the knife in her hand.
CHAPTER TWENTY
A few days later
Sara stood in the front area of a small leather work shop on the north edge of downtown Spokane. The owner was busy with a customer, but Sara didn't mind waiting. She was enjoying the ambiance and the rich scent of leather. She was surrounded by fine garments and useful items, all leather. There were belts, purses, brief-cases, other small bags whose use she couldn't identify but didn't care because they were all beautifully made. One wall was hung with long racks of tanned hides in rich shades from pale beige to midnight black.
The customer walked out, the shop bell tinkling.
"'Morning. Can I help you?"
Sara turned to find the leather shop owner looking at her with smiling interest. He was about her height, lean and fit with brown hair curling around the collar of his plaid shirt. He wore a leather apron over the shirt and his jeans.
"Hi," she said. "You have some really nice leather. Do you do all this work yourself?"
"I do. You looking to order a piece?"
"No. I'm actually wanting to learn more about leather craft. Then, most likely buy some leather from you."
He rocked back on his heels, his gaze warming. "Huh. I figured maybe you wanted to order something for your man."
Sara's face warmed. She shifted and shook her head. "Again, no. Just me."
Now he was regarding her with more open interest. She was very glad she'd taken the time to work at her new and improved look for today.
Since the day had turned cool and cloudy, she wore a new pair of jeans, snug from hip to knee, then boot-cut and embellished with swirls of tiny, silver-tone grommets. Over this she wore a snug, denim blue tank that revealed an inch of cleavage, and a gauzy, off the shoulder little top patterned in red and blue. Complicated silver earrings dangled nearly to her shoulders, her hair was half-caught up in a messy up-do, and she'd applied full eye-makeup from her new selection, and topped it all off with the red lip-gloss.
Since she had a lot of walking to do, she wore red flip-flops. Now she was glad she'd skipped the heeled sandals, as they would've made her taller than this attractive man.
"Glad you came in," he told her, holding out his hand. "I'm Brad. Brad Langley."
She took his hand, which was calloused but gentle. "I'm Sara. So, Langley Leatherworks, that's you."
He grinned, revealing cute dimples in both cheeks. "That's me. You new in town?"
"Not really. I'm just ... picking up a new hobby." She could hardly tell this attractive man she hoped to become his competition, at least in part.
Brad nodded, releasing her hand to wave at the big work table across the back of his shop. "Okay. Well, I just started offering classes. Figured if the chain stores can do it, I can too. You'll actually be my first student. That okay with you?"
She smiled at him, her insides jumping with excitement. "That's very okay with me. When can we start?"
He shrugged. "How 'bout right now? I'll have to wait on any customers, but as of now, I'm available."
A few hours later, Sara headed over to Coeur d'Alene to have lunch with Lindi and Kit, not at the BeeHive, but a new cafe in downtown Coeur d'Alene that Lindi wanted to check out, the Dancing Deer. Despite the name, which they all agreed was silly, the place was cute and the food looked delicious.
Over iced tea as they waited for their lunch, Lindi and Kit eyed Sara. "You look fabulous," Lindi said. "And happier, too. Whatcha been up to?"
Lindi looked fresh and lovely in a honey-hued top with crochet around the low neckline, and a matching cardi over jeans and high-heeled boots. Kit wore a black-and-cream checked mini dress over black leggings and chartreuse ankle boots, with earrings that matched the streak in her hair.
Sara told them about Brad Langley and her leather-working lesson.
"Hmm," Lindi said, her eyes twinkling. "I'm guessing Brad may be as much the attraction as his lessons in leather."
"Lessons in leather." Kit snorted. "Sounds like kink training."
Sara rolled her eyes at both of them. "Yes, he's cute and nice. And no, I doubt he's into that kind of leather."
"But would you go out with him?" Lindi persisted.
"He hasn't asked," Sara reminded her.
"Oh, he will," Kit said wisely. "So be ready."
Sara busied herself stirring sweetener into her iced tea. "If you say so."
Honestly, she thought her friends might be correct. Brad had asked her a lot of personal questions while she worked on the simple techniques he showed her for stamping embossed designs into a leather scrap.
And in turn, she'd learned that he was single, owned a little house on the north side of the Spokane River, and had a yellow lab named Bill that he brought to work with him a couple of days a week.
And she knew he liked her ass, because she'd turned to ask him about her technique, and caught him staring at it instead of the leather piece she was working on. He'd grinned, complimented her technique and showed her how to do a variation.
She had left the shop with a smile, a bag containing the leather strip for a black belt, a fancy silver-tone buckle, two new stamps, an awl and knife, and an appointment for another lesson the following Monday morning. Brad had refused to take any money for the lesson, saying her business was enough payment.
“Or you could ask him out,” Lindi suggested with a twinkle.
“You’re right,” Sara agreed, smiling to herself. He’d look good beside her in the Caddy.
"So is Stick leaving you the hell alone?" Kit asked.
"Um ..." Sara wondered briefly if she should just keep the Misti incident to herself. Then she looked at her friends, and started to laugh. The story was way, way too good to keep secret. "You will not believe what happened. I didn't tell you when I saw you last because … well, I had enough trauma to contend with. But now, you have to hear this."
By the time she was through with her story, Kit and Lindi were nearly rolling in their chairs with laughter.
"Oh, my God!" Lindi managed, her voice shaking with mirth, her eyes watering. "She really said that?"
"'But Stick, I was gonna do anything you wanted'," Kit mimicked in a high, nasal voice, and they all cracked up again.
"If only you'd filmed it on your phone," Lindi said. "I'd give my new motorcycle boots to see that. Of course then I'd watch it a bajillion times, and use up all my data minutes."
Kit wrinkled her nose. "I can't believe he moved right on in and said you could stay if you wanted. Gah! That was a douche move."
"Had a little trouble with that one myself," Sara agreed dryly. "Although I'm sure he was just pulling my chain. Well, pretty sure."
"I'm not so sure," Lindi said. "You're hot."
They all managed to remain quiet as the waitress set their lunche
s before them, refilled teas and promised to check back in a few moments. Sara dug into her cobb salad, which was delicious. They all ate quietly for a few moments.
Then Kit shook her head. "Well, I do not like that bitch Misti, so I won't be sorry not to see her around the club. She tried for Keys, too. He told her no even before we met. But I can totally see her trying for Stick. All those club ho's want the pres." She snorted as she picked up half of her sandwich. "As if he'd ever want one of them for more than a quick-and-dirty."
She stopped in mid-word, her gaze on Sara, who had lost her smile. "Sorry," Kit breathed. "But remember, we talked about this—that shit is nothing like what happened with you and him."
Sara shrugged, and managed a wry smile. "Except it was. Don't worry about it, Kit. Please—I don't want you two walking on eggshells around me. It happened, I learned from it, and now I move on. That's all."
"Right," Lindi agreed, forking up some of her potato salad. "On to your fabulous makeover, and onto guys who'll be better for you. Maybe Brad, or maybe the next guy you meet, who knows? Lot of good ones out there. And with your new look? They'll be lining up to get their chance."
"Like those guys over by the window," Kit murmured, leaning in. "Don't look now, but the guy in the blue suit's been checking you out, Sara. He likes your new look too."
Lindi smiled. "See? Told ya."
Sara waited, and then turned her head to look at the quartet of men at the window table. Her good mood gone, she turned back to her friends. "Eh, they're lawyers. Blue suit is Ron Dennis. He knows me from the CP's office."
Kit frowned at the men. "Oh, well forget them. You don't want a lawyer—stick to your leather guy."
"Again, he hasn't asked me out yet." Sara stabbed her fork into her salad.
"So," Lindi said brightly. "Construction's going well on Jack's supper club. He's hoping to open by Halloween."
Sara changed the subject with relief.
And when Ron Dennis and his cronies paused by the table on their way out, she managed to smile serenely and say yes, she had quit her job, and she was enjoying some time off before getting back to work, no she didn't know where that would be, probably not in Coeur d'Alene.