A Brother’s Salvation: The Sacred Brotherhood Book VII

by A. J. Downey

“What’s that?” he asked curiously.

  I winked at him. “The safety net that is your club and your brothers underneath you and your little family of three.”

  He sat back and looked slightly gobsmacked and I smiled bigger. “You just let that finish sinkin’ in. “

  12

  Marcie…

  “So, where we going?” I asked him, when he showed up on Sunday morning.

  “I figured it’d be nice to head on over to this farmer’s market the next county over. They got all kinds of things, someone said it’d be a good time.”

  “You know, that sounds real nice. What if we want to buy some groceries, though?” I leaned a hip against the porch rail and crossed my arms.

  “That’s what the saddlebags are cleared out for. Plus, I got a couple of backpacks. Just try not to go too crazy.”

  He grinned and I came down the steps and crunched across the gravel of my yard.

  “Baby, ‘Crazy’ is my middle name, I thought you knew that.”

  He laughed and leaned over the back of the bike. I couldn’t help but smile, and met him halfway. We kissed, and it was nice. Comfortable and easy, with that glimmer of excitement.

  “I have to be back in time for Sunday dinner. About three o’clock, if at all possible, so I can cook.”

  “I’ll have you back in time,” he assured me. “What’s on the menu?”

  “I hadn’t really thought about it, none. I took pork chops out to thaw, so I guess I’d better figure it out.”

  “Well, come on then, sugar. We’re burnin’ daylight.”

  He swung a leg over the back of his machine and I got on behind him.

  The ride out to the farmer’s market was a nice one. The sun was out, and some of the old roads and lanes we took were under a canopy of trees. The dappled light in combination with the wind was something fresh and uplifting to my spirits. I hadn’t intended to have him for dinner, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized that I really liked Dragon. I was happy when I was with him, we had some things in common, and he was both an intelligent and thoughtful man.

  I wanted to see where things went, but it also seemed a little impossible at the same time. I didn’t know if my family would even give him a chance, and even though Rush had been kind, what about the rest of his club? How would the people closest to his man that I killed ever be able to accept me?

  I didn’t know. I did know one thing, though. He and I were both a little too old for any Romeo-and-Juliet type shenanigans. While I didn’t want to hurt anyone else, I also wanted to be happy… which is why I had to ask myself, why the hell couldn’t life ever be easy? Just once. Just for one damn minute.

  We pulled up to the farm hosting the market. Rows of tents were set up under the sun in an open field. Another field of tamped-down and flattened yellow grass was used as a parking area. We followed the directions of some volunteers in yellow vests and parked in with a line of other motorcycles.

  “Woah, here, let me have that,” he said. I plucked the helmet I’d hung by the chinstrap back off the handlebar and handed it over to him. He locked one in each saddlebag.

  “What’s that about?” I asked, laughing, looking around at some of the other bikes, their helmets hanging off their handlebars.

  “Ah, well…” He laughed and said, “Have I got a story for you! I was a kid, and I went into one of them mini-marts for a pack of smokes and some road beers…”

  I couldn’t believe it, over thirtysome-odd years ago, one crazy drunk and he still locked up his helmets to this day. I laughed. I laughed and laughed and laughed, as we walked over the dusty grass to the farmer’s market entrance.

  “Oh, my god! That’s so disgusting! It’s not funny, I shouldn’t be laughing.”

  “You kiddin’ me? It’s hilarious, and you should absolutely be laughin’.”

  I laughed all over again and asked, “So what’d you do?”

  “Eh… I lost my temper,” he said, and had the grace to look embarrassed. “I beat the brakes off that dude. Not one of my prouder moments.”

  “Oh, well… you were young,” I declared. “I’m sure you’ve matured some since then.”

  “I’d like to think so,” he said. “At least in all the ways that really matter.” He bounced his eyebrows and knocked his shoulder gently into mine. I laughed and wrapped my arms loosely around his one as we walked. I all but felt aglow when he twined his fingers between mine, holding my hand loosely in his own.

  The market was beautiful and full of good things. I bought some gorgeous heirloom tomatoes for sliced tomatoes and a whole bunch of green beans to put with onions and bacon. I found some good-lookin’ red potatoes and bought those, too. I even bought two of the market’s canvas totes to carry it all in.

  With dinner for tonight settled, I cast an eye towards shopping for the rest of the week, moving with Dragon from stall to stall, stopping to smell the fresh-cut flowers.

  “Hey, D!”

  Dragon and I turned as one toward the call and I bit my lower lip. The man was tall and thin, but it was that kind of lean musculature that a lot of my romance authors described as ‘whipcord over bone’. The woman beside him had her long dark hair swept up into a hair clip at the back, a sweep of bangs over her forehead. Her lovely dark eyes looked me over as they approached.

  “Hey, Blue!”

  Blue… Blue… the name tickled my memory but I couldn’t quite place it, yet.

  Then I realized with a jolt who they were.

  Blue and Hayley, the two people that loved the man you killed.

  All the hair stood up on the back of my neck, goosebumps marching down my arms as I stared at them. A tingle overtook me and I could feel the blood drain from my face. I stood stock-still and tried not to sway on my feet as they stopped in front of us.

  “Marcie,” Dragon said gently, “I’d like for you to meet my man Blue and his Ol’ Lady, Hayley.”

  I swallowed hard, tears starting in my eyes as I tried to get my mouth to work.

  “Oh, don’t do that,” the girl said, sympathetically.

  Her, sympathetic to me… I lost it, then, my face crumbling, an ugly cry coming on ‒ and she reached out without hesitation and hugged me. Me, who’d killed someone she loved dearly.

  Lord, I thought. Lord, I don’t deserve their forgiveness. Seems that he and they saw fit to give it to me anyway.

  13

  Dragon…

  I think the talk with Hayley and Blue went well. Marcie seemed alright, although our shopping trip was pretty much done after that. We went back to the bike, her hand wrapped in a death grip around my own as she worked through her emotions. The ride back to her place was a silent one, and I could tell she was lost inside her own head. Still, I think the wind therapy did her some good. She was much calmer by the time I shut off the bike out back of her little house. She got off and handed me over her helmet, which I sat on the seat while I got into the saddlebags for her groceries.

  “Runnin’ into them like that was no happy accident, was it?” she asked, finally.

  I handed her one of the canvas bags full of vegetables.

  “No,” I said simply.

  “That’s your one ‘Get out of jail free’ card, Dragon. And I mean it,” she said coldly.

  I stood and faced her over the back of my bike.

  “Now my intentions were good, Marcie –”

  “I don’t care!” She cut me off. “I spent a good part of my marriage lettin’ myself be manipulated and I swore never again. Now, I mean it! You either be up-front and honest with me from here on out, or you can kick rocks, mister!”

  I searched her oh-so-serious face, her blue eyes shuttered and hurt, and I nodded.

  “You’re right. Good intentions or not, I can see I hurt your feelin’s. I’m sorry for that. That I did not intend. I just wanted to show you that none of us hold any ill will towards you.” I thought about it and amended, “Except maybe Archer. That grouchy bastard can hold a grudge from here to kingdo
m come, but even he comes around eventually.”

  She held still and I could see a war of emotion in her eyes. A longing to believe me, but at the same time, I’d hurt her. Damaged her trust… I should have seen that coming.

  I went around the bike, sighing, and took it as encouraging that she didn’t back away. I pulled her into my arms and held her close for a minute and after a while, she relaxed, and hugged me back.

  “I’m sorry,” I murmured next to her ear. “I really just wanted to fix it, before we went too deep.”

  She sniffed and said, “Well, turnabout is fair play, boy. You might as well stay for dinner and meet the family. You can help by cleaning these beans for me.

  I chuckled. I was made of sterner stuff, didn’t much care if her family liked me or not. It wasn’t gonna make me go away. I’d decided I liked Marcie, and I wanted to stick around. It pretty much took an act of God to sway me once I made up my mind like that.

  I pulled back and she sniffed again, dashing a knuckle under each eye and asking, “You smell roses?”

  I shook my head, smiling to myself.

  “Nope.”

  I do believe my late wife had spoken, and the verdict was, she liked Marcie, too.

  I got the rest of her groceries out of the other saddlebag and put our helmets inside before lockin’ ‘em up securely again. I followed her up the back steps to her kitchen door, paused to wipe my feet on the mat, and followed her inside.

  “You can hang your jacket on the back of one of the chairs there, or I can put it in the closet. Up to you,” she said.

  “If you don’t mind,” I said. “I’d like to keep my colors in sight.”

  She smiled and nodded simply.

  “I won’t pretend to understand the why of it, but I’d right like to learn,” she said.

  “I appreciate that,” I said, dropping the heavy leather over the back of the chair.

  “Beans,” she said sternly, dropping the plastic bag full of ‘em on the counter and setting two bowls down next to ‘em.

  “Yes, Ma’am.” I saluted and went for them. “You don’t mind, I’m going to step out for a smoke.”

  “Fine,” she said. “But take ‘em with you.”

  I smiled and she smiled back, and I headed out to the porch. I could tell she was getting over her mad. I was definitely gonna have to adjust my ways with this firecracker of a woman, but that was all right. Nothin’ worth havin’ was ever easy. Life in general had taught me that.

  She came out with another bowl full of red potatoes and a strainer and sat up on the step behind me. She’d put on an apron and she pulled a paring knife from the pocket and started peeling potatoes from the bowl, droppin’ the finished spuds into the strainer and leavin’ the peels in the bowl they come from.

  “Do me a favor and put your bean leavings in here with these peels. Makes for good compost for my garden.”

  “Sure thing,” I murmured. I took a drag off my cigarette and blew the smoke away from us.

  She chuckled and asked me, “You ever consider quittin’ them things?”

  “Not really,” I said. “Why, they a turn-off?”

  “I’d be lyin’ if I said no,” she said.

  I nodded. “Never had much reason to.”

  “How about a long life and to see your grandbaby grow to be a man?” she asked,

  I chuckled and said, “You might have a point there. I’m just about the only smoker left out of the rest of my men.”

  I glanced up behind me, and had a moment to myself to take in how beautiful she was, a slight smile on her lips, blue eyes focused on her finely-weathered hands as she carefully pared the skin off the potato in ‘em. She was a natural beauty. Didn’t wear no makeup. Didn’t need none of it, either.

  “Anyone ever tell you you’re a beautiful woman?” I asked, and her hands stilled. Her eyes flicked to mine and I could see the answer in them before she even spoke it.

  “Not for a real long time, and usually just after they found themselves in trouble with me.”

  I smiled to myself and said, “Well then, remind me to tell you when I’m not in trouble with you.”

  She laughed and nudged me with her denim-clad knee and went back to peeling her potato.

  “You like collard greens?” she asked.

  “I surely do,” I said. “Been a while since I had any done right.”

  “Got a big batch that’s gettin’ to be on their last legs in the ’fridgerator. I best do ‘em up for tonight or I’m gonna lose ‘em. I hate wastin’ food.”

  “Don’t they take hours and hours on the stove?” I asked.

  “Oh, honey. That’s what a pressure cooker is for. I like mine so much I went out and bought another one just like it. Best way t’ make greens and mashed patatuhs.” I smiled hard at how she pronounced ‘potatoes’. It was such a southern thing, and a strange sort of peaceful comfort, hearin’ her say it the way she did.

  “I have t’ confess, I ain’t much in the kitchen. Most of the time, I finish cookin’, one of the boys asks me what it is and I have to tell ‘em, ‘Well, I don’t know, but it’s hot, it’s brown, and there’s a lot of it.’”

  She about died laughing, patted me on the shoulder and got up, tears at the corners of her eyes and said, “Best leave the cookin’ to me, then.” She trailed into the house muttering, “Hot, brown and a lot of it… God love him.”

  I smiled and kept snappin’ beans, droppin’ the discarded ends into the bowl of potato leavin’s. I finished my cigarette, and took everything back in the house after I aired out some.

  I asked her, “Where you want this when I’m done?” and indicated the bowl of scraps.

  “There’s one of them big gray bins out by the shed back there. I dump ‘em in there and turn it with the shovel leanin’ up next to it.”

  “Good to know. I’m almost done with these.”

  “Thank you,” she said, and gave me another smile.

  “This calm and peace we got between us, does that mean I’m forgiven?”

  She looked over from where she rinsed her potatoes at the sink and nodded carefully.

  “People aren’t perfect,” she said. “Your heart was in the right place, and you were right, it needed to happen. Meetin’ ‘em, clearing the air, whatever it is you wanna call it. Just, like I said, please be honest with me. If you’d told me, I wouldn’t have wanted to go, but I would have.”

  “That was my thought,” I said honestly. “I really was just tryin’ to spare you some dread.”

  She smiled and nodded gracefully and said, “And how are you doin’ over there?”

  “Me? Oh, I’m just peachy. Why you ask?”

  “Well, yer meetin’ my girls for the first time ever. They should be around any minute.”

  I nodded, “I’m used to people hatin’ on me, sweetheart. I knew the life I was choosin’ when I chose it. It’d be nice if they liked me, but I don’t expect it none.”

  “Well,” she said, sounding dismayed. “I hope they learn to like you, too. Otherwise we might be in for a load of uncomfortable Thanksgivin’ holidays.”

  I chuckled and finished up the beans, standin’ and bringin’ ‘em over. She took the bowl and said to me, “Under the sink,” when I held up the bag they’d come from.

  “What can I do for you now?” I asked.

  “Well, you can get into the pantry and get down one of my jars of applesauce for me.”

  I gave a nod and went in through the closet door she indicated. I was a little blown away by how organized it was and that a good ninety-percent of what she had on the shelves in here was stuff she’d obviously done up herself, each Mason jar carefully labeled with the contents.

  “You want one of the quart jars or a pint?” I called back.

  “Grab me down a quart, would yah?”

  “You got it.” I brought down one of the big heavy jars and the back door opened up as I stepped out the closet, so-to-speak.

  “Mamma – oh!”

  The pret
ty blonde girl stopped cold just inside the door, eyes wide as she met mine. I smiled and gave a polite not of my head, figuring this one must be Dylan. She wasn’t heavily pregnant, as Marcie had described her daughter Devon to be.

  “You must be Dylan,” I said, and she looked taken aback.

  “You know my name?” she asked.

  “Well, of course he knows your name, girl! What, you don’t think I talk about you? Now what is it?” Marcie asked from where she turned one of her pressure cookers on, pressing this button and that.

  “Oh, I tried to make your pie recipe.” She held out an aluminum-foil-covered round pie plate, and made a face like someone killed her favorite dog.

  “Oh, dear, what happened?” Marcie asked, taking the pie plate.

  “It didn’t turn out like yours!” The girl pouted and it was adorable. I had to laugh.

  “Rarely does yer pie turn out the way momma makes it. Something about needing to be a mamma yourself,” I offered helpfully.

  “Piss on that!” Marcie cried. “Has nothin’ to do with it.”

  I laughed, “Well, I tried.”

  “Hi, I am Dylan,” her youngest said with a shy smile. She stuck out her hand and I took it, shaking it gently.

  “Hi, Dylan. Folks call me Dragon.”

  She looked at me curiously and took back her hand and glanced around, her eyes falling on my colors hanging on the back of the chair. She swallowed nervously and I chuckled.

  “’S’alright, I’m used to it.”

  Marcie looked up from where she’d taken a fork to the pie, chewing thoughtfully before she asked, “You use any nutmeg?”

  Dylan, distracted from me for the moment, looked at her mother, aghast. “That wasn’t on the recipe you give me!”

  The two women fell into arguing over what looked like a perfectly good apple pie to me, when the back door opened again.

  “Mamma, that motorcycle better not belong to…” Her oldest daughter froze just inside the door, her husband nearly crashing into her back as I gave a wave.

  Well, this wasn’t gonna be awkward at all... Marcie had it handled, though. A hand went to her hip and she stared her oldest down. Dylan ducked and ran for cover, going around her mamma and pulling down plates to set the table.