NOMAD (Sons of Sanctuary Book 3)

by Victoria Danann

  “I don’t know.”

  “No. That’s not the answer. The answer is, right here.” She patted her own chest. “Come on. Say it.”

  “Right here?” Bud said.

  Brenda cocked one hip and put her hand on it. “I’m not convinced.”

  “Right here,” Bud said a little forcefully.

  “Better. We’ll work on it.”

  Brash stopped by a few minutes after five and asked Bud for a Lone Star. When she set it in front of him, he said, “You want to go to the arraignment tomorrow? Things…”

  “Yes.” She didn’t let him finish before she answered definitely.

  Brash smirked good-naturedly. “I was gonna say that if things go our way, he’ll be comin’ back here with us. Things don’t go our way, you’ll at least get to see him. Know he’s okay.”

  She looked at Brash with big clear eyes. “What time?”

  “Pick you up at nine.”

  “Thank you.”

  “No reason. You know, Cann and I were prospects together. We’re the same age. It made us, I don’t know, I guess you’d say close. Guys who prospect together, it’s a bond you don’t have with other…” He stopped and looked around, almost like he’d be embarrassed to be overheard talking about feelings. “I’m glad he’s back. Hope he’s gonna stay. There’s a place here for him.”

  Bud nodded. “What was he like? Before?”

  Brash grinned. “He knew how to have fun, but he was never one to drink too hard or whore around. He saw a future with the club and took it seriously. He was a good storyteller. And he can sing.”

  “He told me he couldn’t.”

  “He told you he couldn’t sing?”

  “Yes. He brought me a birthday cupcake with a candle and said, ‘Please don’t ask me to sing, ‘cause I can’t’.”

  Brash looked serious all of a sudden. “Well, I guess he had his reasons.”

  “Something to do with her.”

  Brash stared at Bud for a few seconds before saying, “Probably.”

  “It’s all right. I’m not going to be able to tiptoe around it. It’s going to come up and it won’t break me when it does.”

  Brash nodded with a deep sigh, knocked on the bar, and said, “Nine,” as he turned to go.

  Bud put on her tan dress to go to court and sat watching the monitor that displayed the camera feed trained on the gate. She didn’t know what Brash’s car looked like, but she figured anybody coming in at that time was probably him.

  When a black SUV pulled up, the gate opened.

  “Time to go,” Arnold said loud enough for everybody in the building to hear him.

  Bud watched as ten bikers pulled in behind the SUV. She was right behind Arnold as he left the clubhouse and she was followed out by everybody but Brenda, Axel and Burn.

  She walked toward the SUV with the back door standing open. A redhead was driving. Garland was in the passenger seat and another younger blonde was in the back.

  Brash came up and took her by the elbow. “You ride with my mom and my wife. Okay?” He pulled her to a stop. “Oh. And this is my brother, Brandon.”

  Bud turned and realized why Brash had warned her about his twin. It was kind of a shock to see such striking guys ‘looking better than a body has a right to’.

  “Hi,” she said.

  Brand nodded.

  Brash opened the back door to the SUV. “That’s my wife, Brigid, driving. This is Brand’s wife, Cami. We’re a close bunch. What happens to Cann happens to everybody.”

  Bud tried to process that, but given her experience, that sense of community was unfathomable. She’d pretty much lived her life as a family of one; herself. On the occasion when her dad was in the same place at the same time, he wasn’t especially interested in what might be going on with her.

  She got in the backseat with Cami. As Brash closed the door, Garland turned around. “Like he said, these are my daughters-in-law. I did okay for myself on that score.” She smiled. “I can see you’re nervous and that’s understandable. But I think those Christians are ready to tear the courthouse down if the judge doesn’t free their hero.”

  “Everybody knows there’s nobody more bloodthirsty than Christians,” said the redhead behind the wheel.

  Garland rolled her eyes. “Brigid is an intellectual. I don’t know if I agree with her assessment…”

  “Ask the millions who died in the Crusades,” Brigid interjected.

  “But,” Garland continued, “in this case, I do hope they insist on having their way.”

  “Hear. Hear,” said Cami. When Bud looked over at her, she smiled. “Don’t worry. He’ll be having dinner here tonight.”

  Bud wished she had that kind of confidence. She stretched her neck to see the time on the dashboard. “What time is the, um, thing?”

  “Arraignment,” Brigid said. “Ten.”

  Bud took in a deep breath, just before a roar began that sounded loud enough to open the earth. She looked around. The engines of twenty-three motorcycles had come to life at once. Half of those, including Brant, Brash, and Brand roared past them, out of the gate and onto the gravel road that would take them to the state road that would take them to Austin.

  Brigid pulled in behind Eric and Car Lot. The other bikers came up behind them. When they reached the state road, there were easily another fifty bikers who fell in behind the columns.

  “Who are they?” asked Bud.

  “Mostly hobbyists who are friends of the club, but there are also members from two other clubs who are riding along as a show of respect for the SSMC and for Cann.”

  Bud was overwhelmed by the show of support. It wasn’t just strangers anymore. It was people who cared about him. As she rode along, barely seeing the scrub brush through the side window, she remembered their exchange in the solarium.

  No more than three nights.

  That’s how long it had been. Three nights in jail. She hoped there was a god of wishes who took such pronouncements seriously.

  They were late getting into the court room because of the crowds and because the court room was already full. Brandon had to pull some last minute strings to get Bud in, but he took her by the elbow and ushered her in, holding the door.

  When Cann turned around, her eyes locked on his immediately. Until she was there, she’d been halfway expecting chains and an orange jumpsuit. But he was in his own clothes, although not the same ones he’d been wearing when he was arrested. No chains. No handcuffs.

  She smiled and held up three fingers.

  He nodded. He understood.

  And ten minutes later, he was free to go with a sentence of twenty hours of community service. He was not to leave the county until that service had been completed.

  He shook hands with the lawyer provided by the club.

  When he tried to leave, he was mobbed by people who wanted to shake his hand or get an interview on camera or just say how much they thought of him. It took half an hour to get to where the club had his bike waiting. They all congratulated him.

  He looked around for Bud. Brash told him that she was riding in the SUV. He looked her direction, but couldn’t see inside with the dark tinted glass. He nodded to Brash, pulled on his cut, and got on his bike. He rode beside Brash on the way back to the SSMC.

  It couldn’t be said that he felt lighthearted. He might never feel lighthearted again, but he did feel worry free. And that was something.

  The party that had been planned seemed over the top for the occasion, but bikers would use any excuse as a good reason to party. By the time the women had parked and walked inside, Cann was surrounded by bikers, many of whom had known him before he went nomad and hadn’t seen or spoken to him in years. They wanted a chance to celebrate his freedom and his homecoming.

  Bud was experiencing a classic conflict of emotion. She was thrilled, elated, that he was free. She was also dejected because she couldn’t get close enough to say, “Hi. I’m glad you’re free.”

  She knew he belonged to
all those people, more than he belonged to her, and she didn’t want to resent it. She also knew she should be behind the bar helping Brenda, but she couldn’t make herself put on a smile. Too much emotion for one day.

  So she quietly withdrew and went to her room.

  She sat on the side of the bed telling herself that she was not going to cry like a baby because she was disappointed. She was a big girl, about to be somebody’s mother and that was the way she’d behave.

  After half an hour or so, she was thinking about taking a shower and going to bed when the door to her room opened. Her first thought was that she must have been too distracted to lock it. Her second thought was that she was glad she hadn’t, because the person stepping into her room was Cannon Johns.

  He looked around, took in the English floral print on the comforter, the bright mosaic flower vase that Garland had filled with gladiolas, and the myriad sizes and shapes of pillows on the bed. Women and their pillows.

  “What in the world happened in here?” he said.

  She stood up, hesitated for a second, then after running a few steps launched herself into the air. He caught her as she wrapped her legs around his waist. Before he could protest she was kissing him like her life depended on it. His mouth responded to her like it had a mind of its own, before he had a chance to think through what was happening and make a rational choice.

  By the time his brain engaged, it just felt too good to stop.

  He’d hooked up with women over the years. There was always release. There was never satisfaction. And nothing that felt like the woman currently attached to him like a monkey.

  At length he pulled back and caught his breath.

  “Three nights. Just like you said.”

  He set her down on her feet. “Don’t go gettin’ ideas. That didn’t mean anything.”

  She blinked. “You mean that kiss? Of course it meant something.” He shook his head. “Liar.”

  When he spoke, he looked sad but serious. “Not lyin’. I’m not your savior. I’m just some guy you met in a storm.”

  “You better check in with your heart, Johns. Mine says that’s not true.”

  Cann saw a flash of Molly walking away into sunlight so bright he couldn’t see her anymore, leaving behind a field of full blossom bluebonnets swaying in a gentle breeze.

  He hesitated with his hand on the doorknob, but opened it and walked out without looking back. He walked straight past the bar and down the hall to Brant’s office. He knew Brant would be there. The prez wasn’t much of a party guy. He’d hang around because he didn’t want to snub a celebration, but he usually handled it by making brief appearances between long periods of keeping his own company.

  Cann knocked on the door and heard Brant say, “Yeah. Come on in.”

  Brant looked a little surprised to see him, but said, “Close the door and take a chair.” Cann did exactly that. “Lot to take in for somebody who’s been livin’ the solitary life.”

  Cann nodded.

  Brant pulled the good bottle of Scotch out of the file cabinet next to his desk and held it up. When Cann nodded again, Brant poured an inch in each of two glasses.

  “What’s on your mind?” Brant said at length.

  “Bud,” was all Cann said.

  “What’s the problem?”

  “She’s a kid.”

  “That really the problem?”

  “What do you mean? I said it was.”

  “Don’t get testy with me just because you’ve got your own head up your ass.”

  “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

  Brant slammed the Scotch back. “I don’t claim to have all the answers, but I believe that girl was put in your path at the exact moment she needed you. And I think maybe it had somethin’ to do with you needin’ her, too. It’s always a mistake to walk away from a gift, especially when it’s like a bird nest on the ground.”

  Cann slammed his Scotch back. “Bird nest on the ground. Where’d you hear that one?”

  “I don’t know. Someplace.”

  “I got a room?”

  “Number ten. It’s always been yours.”

  “All right.”

  The room filled with noise from the common rooms as soon as the door opened. Music was blasting and the guys were starting to get smashed. Brant sighed when the door closed and shut it out again. Sometimes he felt like he had to be a father to his club. Sometimes a shrink. Sometimes a priest. Sometimes he cursed his grandfather for putting him in that position. Not often though.

  Cann made his way around the edges of the party without anybody noticing. When he got to number ten, he looked to his right. Bud was right across the hall. She was absolutely right. He was a liar. What he wanted more than anything was to walk right through that door, curl up in that silly flower-covered bed, and make love to her until he could remember what it felt like to be human. But that wouldn’t be fair because he had a date with death.

  He’d made up his mind.

  He was just going to stay alive long enough to make sure that she was going to be okay. Then he was going to do it.

  When Cann arrived at breakfast, Bud was buzzing around like she’d been in charge of the kitchen for years. Car Lot said something Cann couldn’t hear and she laughed in response. Then she glanced up and saw him. The laughter went away fast and she turned back to the hash browns she was turning on the griddle.

  “Cannon Johns,” said a female voice to his left. “I’m Brenda. I’ve been holdin’ down the fort here for a while. This girl’s got the job down though. Didn’t take her no time at all.”

  Cann nodded. “Mornin’. Smells good in here.”

  “Have a seat. We’re doin’ short order cookin’ this morning. Don’t do it often, but since there’s two of us… How’d you like your eggs?”

  “Over easy?”

  Brenda eyed him up and down. “Three? Four?”

  He chuckled. “Three. Please.”

  “He likes bacon,” Bud tossed over her shoulder without looking at him.

  “Okay. We got lots,” Brenda said.

  Cann took a seat at the table.

  “You ready to go to work?” Brash asked.

  “You got somethin’ for me?” Cann replied, taking a sip of the coffee Brenda set in front of him.

  “Always,” Brash said.

  “What are you doin’ here anyway? Didn’t I hear you got married?”

  “Yeah. I’m as whipped as a man can be, but I come in for breakfast most mornings. It’s easier to coordinate the day if we all start out on the same page.”

  That made sense to Cann. “So you’re a business man. The real deal.”

  “It’s a livin’, brother.”

  “Speakin’ of brothers. I met yours in New Mexico. It was a trip. Somebody who looks just like you, but ain’t you.” He shook his head. “I couldn’t stop starin’.”

  “Damn irritatin’.”

  Cann laughed. “I bet.”

  They chatted amiably for a few minutes about the club’s network of investments and small businesses.

  Cann stopped when Bud set a plate down in front of him. She’d changed her shampoo, but he could still smell her underneath.

  “Thank you,” he said, but she didn’t respond.

  Brash noticed, but looked away.

  That set the tone for life at the SSMC.

  Brenda left for Arizona the next week, but by that time Bud had the confidence she needed to be the new house mom. The club members learned to love her, even more so when the pregnancy began to show.

  Cann came into the kitchen one day when Axel was asking, “When are you due?”

  “End of May,” she’d said without turning away from the stovetop where she was working.

  “Well, what are we gonna do then?” Axel almost whined.

  Bud laughed. “I’m sure we’ll figure it out.” When she turned to look at Axel, she noticed Cann and her smile fell. As it always did.

  She seemed to be doing okay, but he’d made up
his mind to hold off on his plans until he knew for sure that she was going to be fine.

  The weeks came and went. Her body began to swell and just before Thanksgiving, the inevitable happened. Cann arrived at the club house at four forty five, earlier than usual. Bud was already on duty behind the bar and couldn’t avoid him.

  “What’ll you have?” she said.

  “Beer. The good stuff.”

  “Every one of you has a different idea of what ‘good stuff’ means.”

  “The Bad Deadpool.”

  “Bad Deadpool it is.”

  She popped the top and set the ice cold bottle in front of him.

  “How are you doin’?” he said.

  “Okay. You?”

  “Same. You like your job here?”

  “Sure. Gettin’ this job was like findin’ a bird nest on the ground.”

  Cann remembered his conversation with Brant. So that’s where he heard it.

  “You feelin’ good?”

  “Yes.”

  “You need anything?”

  “Look.” She finally looked him in the eye. “What is this? Am I good. Do I need anything. That’s horseshit. You know what I need. Either give it to me or shut up and leave me alone.”

  The door opened and four bikers came through, laughing about something Burn had said.

  Cann swiveled on his stool, greeted them, and that was the last time he talked to Bud for a while. But he watched. Closely, from a distance.

  Bud planned a huge Thanksgiving feast for the people who didn’t have family. That included her. But when Thanksgiving came she was sorry she’d taken on so much. By late morning, she’d slid down the cabinets to the floor and was, more or less, wallowing in a tearful puddle.

  The heavenly smell of turkey baking had wafted down the hall and caused Cann to think he had to have a snack. When he walked into the kitchen, he was instantly alarmed.

  “What’s wrong? Is it the baby? Do you need to go to the hospital?”

  In an instant he was crouched beside her, trying to help her up.

  She slapped at him. “No. It’s not the baby. No. I don’t need to go to the hospital. Get your big paws off of me.”