“Then what’s wrong?”
“It’s too much. I don’t think I can get it all done by myself.”
The lines disappeared from Cann’s forehead as his expression cleared and then softened. “Come on.” He pulled her up, even though she put up some resistance, and sat her on the stool at the end of the island. “Tell me what needs to be done. You know I’m a better cook than you.”
“Who says?” she sniffled.
He handed her a paper napkin to use as a tissue. “Me.”
“All that corn bread and bread pieces need to be mixed together in that tub with the onions and celery. You mash it all up together and add…”
“Water. I know how to make cornbread dressing, sugar.”
He could have bit through his own tongue as soon as he said it, but it was out. There it was. Whether he called her ‘sugar’ or not, that’s how he thought of her. And now she knew it for sure.
He set a glass of sparkling cider down in front of her and told her about how satisfying it was to see what had become of the parts matchmaking business he’d started right out of high school. Brash had hired the right people to take it to a level he’d never imagined.
“That must make you feel really good,” she said.
“Yeah.”
“So is that what you do? When you leave here every day?”
“Things have left me behind. Brash has me working on trying to catch up, but I’m not quite there yet.” He turned and smiled at her. “Not a fast learner like you.”
“I’m not a fast learner. I already knew how to do the stuff I do here. I never thanked you for getting me this job. It’s been so much more than I could have dreamed about. So thank you.”
“You’re welcome. But the only thanks I need is knowin’ that you’re gettin’ what you need from life.”
“I think we can turn the fire off under those potatoes. The dressing’s going into those two turkey roasters. The last oven’s big enough for them if you don’t put the top on.”
“Okay.”
“The green beans…”
“Are in the steamer. They can wait until we’re almost ready to eat.”
“The standing rib…”
“Is ready. But I’ve got to tell you that’s where you crossed the line into the ridiculous. This was too much for one person. I mean maybe if one person was doin’ this for four. But look at this place. You have to cover four times as much ground as most people makin’ Thanksgivin’ today.”
“Well, I see that now. Thank you for helping.”
Between the two of them, they got Thanksgiving on the table.
After people had eaten so much they could barely move, Cann instructed Burn and Axel that Bud had the rest of the day off, that they would be cleaning up and that they’d better do it right. Then he added that they’d be expected to make turkey sandwiches later if anybody got hungry.
“Yes, sir,” they said dutifully. Truthfully, they didn’t mind that much. They’d both come from the kinds of families that didn’t do Thanksgiving and they were grateful for the closest thing they’d ever had to a family holiday.
Cann made Bud sit down on the sofa and proclaimed that they were all going to watch whatever movie she picked out. Partly out of wickedness and partly out of desire, she chose Beauty and the Beast.
Cann narrowed his eyes at Bud. “Seriously?”
“Yes.”
“I thought you aren’t a little kid.”
“I’m not a little kid, idiot. It’s a story for the ages.”
“For the ages,” he said drily. “Jesus.”
When Burn and Axel heard what was going on in the common rooms, they congratulated each other on kitchen duty.
So the bikers spent a lazy Thanksgiving afternoon watching a story about a young girl and a creature both cursed and morose. In spite of themselves, they were swept away by the story and ceased complaining until the end, when each attempted to save his reputation by renewing his objection.
“My turn,” Cann said.
To everyone’s surprise, he didn’t choose The Wild Bunch, or Armageddon, or even a zombie movie. He chose It’s A Wonderful Life.
Sometime after she’d fallen asleep on the sofa, Cann picked her up, carried her to bed, took off her shoes, and tucked her in. She didn’t see him again for three weeks and it didn’t take a genius to figure out that he was avoiding her.
She didn’t know where he was staying or what he was doing and had too much pride to ask around.
CHAPTER Twelve
One night she was still at the bar around nine when Cann came through the door. He hesitated when his eyes met hers, but he looked away quickly. There were a lot of bikes parked outside, but things were quiet and deserted in the clubhouse. He knew something was off because Rescue was on the gate. Rescue was never on the gate.
Cann headed back toward Brant’s office. When he got close enough to see that nobody was there, he noticed the door to the conference room, “church” as some called it, was open. He stepped to the door and looked around the room. Though everybody except Rescue was there, it was quiet as a tomb, and every man to the last was looking grim.
“What’s going on?” he said.
“Come on in,” Brant said, motioning toward the empty chair and looking like he’d rather chew razor blades than be where he was.
Eric got up and closed the door before retaking his seat.
“There’s no easy way to say this, brother. We found the guy.”
There was only one thing that could mean. Cann’s heart almost stopped, but his mind was whirling so fast with images of the explosion, he couldn’t think clearly. “The… guy? You mean…?”
Brant nodded. “Wasn’t another club, which is probably why it’s been a mystery for so long. We were lookin’ in the wrong place.” Brant paused and took in a deep breath looking like he felt absolute empathy with Cann. “This is gonna be hard to hear. Joe Reynosa.”
Cann’s mouth fell open in disbelief and his head began to shake back and forth. “Can’t be.”
Joe Reynosa had been a prospect the same time he and Brash had been workin’ butts down to their assholes to get patches. In Cann’s mind, Joe was a good guy who’d just busted out. Didn’t have what it took. So the club had cut him loose. That was how it worked. That was how it had always worked.
“Axel and Burn were over at Peyote Chill earlier.”
That was a bar on the far north end of Austin frequented by another club. It was the kind of club that openly pretended friendliness while hiding a shadowy agenda. One of the duties of prospects was to stop in occasionally, without colors. Just be guys getting a beer. The Peyote Chill was not the sort of place where professionals stopped for a wind down drink on the way home from work. It was rough from the front parking lot to the rear trash bins and the bathrooms needed a peroxide-Lysol mixture sprayed through a firehose at ceilings, walls, fixtures, and floors.
“He was there, drunk and talkin’. Axel and Burn didn’t know who he was and vice versa, but they do know your story.” Cann’s gaze flicked to Axel then Burn and back to Brant. “Joe was sayin’ stuff that wouldn’t make sense to anybody who didn’t know the history. The short of it is that he left carryin’ a grudge because he busted out and you didn’t. Guess that over time it festered.
“Apparently he never intended to hurt Molly and the baby. That part was an accident. He was out for you, but it went bad.” Brant paused for a second. “I guess he would have done the same thing to Brash, but Brash was livin’ here and it wouldn’t have been easy to get past security.
“So Axel and Burn paid up, went outside, and called Arnold to bring the van. Joe’d been drinkin’ since early afternoon so he was past done by dinner time. Our boys knew it wouldn’t be long before they threw him out. So they waited. Hog tied him. Put him in the back of the van. Followed Arnold back here.”
After a long time, Cann said, “Jesus,” so quietly it was barely audible.
“Now the next part of this is up to yo
u. Don’t have to tell you that we’re committed to be law-abidin’ citizens for the most part. But one of the advantages of bein’ a club is that we know when that just doesn’t fill the bill. Only you can tell us if this is one of those times.”
“You’re sayin’ I’ve got options.” Cann spoke slowly and deliberately. The blood was throbbing in his head so hard it sounded like his voice was outside his body and muted.
“Exactly so,” said Brant. “Already took a vote before you got here. And it was unanimous. Whatever you decide. That’s what we’re gonna do. We’re all in it with you.”
Cann stared at Brant for a long time. The other club members waited patiently, not making a sound. No doubt each was silently wondering what he would do if he was in the shoes of the man making the decision.
With abruptness that was startling, Cann said, “I need to talk to Bud.”
As he started to get out of his chair, Brant said, “Hold on. This is club business. You know there’s a tradition…”
“Don’t give a damn about traditions that everybody knows are…”
“Outdated?” supplied Rally.
Cann’s head jerked toward Rally. “Yes. Exactly. I’m talkin’ to Bud before I decide.”
“Does that even make sense, Cann? I mean wives I can see. Maybe. But Bud… Not sayin’ she’s not gonna grow up to be somethin’ really special. That’s just a ways off.”
“You’re wrong,” said Cann. “And she’s the one I’m gonna talk to.”
“Cann. She comes from a law family.”
“So do you!” Cann practically shouted. He was talking about the Fornight familial ties to the Rangers.
Brant let the insubordination go. It was understandable given the heat of the moment. Finally he asked, “Why?”
That question buried Cann in emotional conflict as sure as if it was weighed down by nine yards from a dump truck. He started to say, “I don’t know,” but stopped himself because he knew that would be dishonest. “Because she cares more about me than anybody.” He looked around the room. “Even you.”
Brant ran a hand through his hair, beautifully graying at his temples, and looked around the room. One by one the members gave wordless assent.
“Do it,” Brant said. “We’ll wait.”
Bud had left the bar and gone to her room for the night. The knock on the door was a surprise. People rarely disturbed her privacy and never at that time of night. She’d taken a quick shower, tied her hair up, and put on a flannel night shirt that came to her knees. She slipped on the jackalope house shoes she’d bought on Congress Avenue and shuffled for the door.
Seeing Cann standing on the other side was fantasy combined with incongruence. She waited for him to speak.
“I need to talk to you,” he said.
His face gave away that he’d just experienced some kind of upheaval and she wanted to know what it was. Stepping back, she opened the door wider as an invitation to come in. After closing it behind Cann, she walked to her bed, and sat down on the side of it.
Cann followed and sat beside her.
When he didn’t begin talking, she decided to try to help. “What happened?”
As his face turned toward hers, she briefly saw torture in his eyes. Then it was gone.
“We know who did it. And why. And we have him in, ah, private custody.”
It took a second for her to make the connection. Then she said, “Oh.”
“I have to decide what to do.”
“What do you mean?”
“With him. What to do with him.”
She cocked her head, her own mind racing. “What are the options?”
“There are two. Go to jail. Disappear.”
She looked away, picked a spot on the tile floor in front of her feet and stared until she nodded that she understood. “Why are you telling me?”
He barked out a laugh that held no humor. “Brant said the same thing. Not sure I can explain it really. Best I can do is say that I think you care about me. Maybe more than anybody.”
He looked over at her and knew the answer to that question didn’t need to be spoken.
“Do you want me to tell you what to do?” she asked quietly.
After a few beats he said, “No. I want you to tell me what you think.”
She put her hand in Cann’s where it was resting on his thigh. He didn’t pull away as she feared he might. “I like these people. This club has been good to me. If I understand things, it wasn’t always respectable, but it is now. I wouldn’t want to see anything hurt what they have here.” She rushed to add, “And I’m not just sayin’ that because it’s good for me and the baby. But look, Johns, I want you to do the thing that will free you from the burden you’re carryin’. The guilt.”
Even in the dim lamplight she could see that his eyes were red around the rims. “I don’t think that’s goin’ away. I’m good with cars. But I got so busy with the parts service, I didn’t pay close enough attention to Molly’s car.” A big tear rolled down Cann’s face and broke Bud’s heart even more. “Her car didn’t start because I hadn’t maintained it well enough. It was my responsibility to see that she had a car runnin’. I’m the one who ought to be dust. And my little girl ought to be in first grade.”
He pulled his hand away and wiped at his eyes like the tears were humiliating.
“I’ve heard that everybody looks for ways to blame themselves when somebody they love dies. It’s natural.”
“They didn’t die. They were murdered. Because of me.”
Bud took in a deep breath. “I know. Here’s the thing. If I was Molly, I’d be wantin’ you to live. Just like you wish it’d been you ‘cause you’d want her to live. I think she thinks the same about you.”
Cann said nothing.
“Let me ask you a question. Would you rather die or go to jail for the rest of your life?”
He turned his face toward Bud and studied her for a couple of seconds. “Die.”
She nodded. “So what’s the bigger punishment?”
He nodded as he stood up and walked to the door, but when he reached it, without looking back he said, “Will you wait up for me?”
“Of course,” she said. “I’ll always wait for you, Johns.”
Cann delivered his verdict to the club. They called Russell, who took Joe Reynosa into custody and turned him over to the Travis County Sheriff a little the worse for wear. Cann didn’t kill him, but while the other club members looked on, he had taken advantage of his chance to deliver some atavistic justice that stopped just short of killing the man.
It was after midnight when Bud heard the second knock on her door.
That time she was waiting for it.
She hurried to answer, but as soon as she opened the door, Cann pulled her up his body into a kiss that welded both souls together as the fire that had been simmering on low for so long burst into greedy, demanding flames.
He knew he’d never be free of the guilt he felt about Molly and the baby, but he also knew that they were in a place with impossibly blue skies, impossibly bright sun, light pleasant breezes, and full blown bluebonnets. She would want him to live. And maybe take care of a lost mother with a fatherless child.
As he’d wanted to do for so long.
He made love being careful of the baby bump even though Bud turned out to be cat scratch hot in bed. Her wanton leanings, while welcome, made taking care a challenge. She turned him on so fast he was afraid he might come in his pants like a fourteen-year-old.
Her breasts were as perfectly formed as he’d known they would be after seeing her in the scandalously translucent night shirt she’d worn in Del Rio as casually as if it actually hid her finer assets from view. Now no questions remained. Her nipples were an innocent pink, just as he’d imagined, begging to be teased, ultrasensitive to touch as was every inch of her body.
When he slid out of his clothes and joined her in bed, Bud learned that there are vast differences between fumbling around with a boy who doesn’t know w
hat he’s doing and making love with a man capable of playing a body like a temperamental string instrument.
She reveled in the feverish heat of his skin, gasping as he pulled at her earlobe with his teeth while she ground her body against his. When his heavy, unwieldy erection slid home between the plump lips of her core, she began to spontaneously shed tears. Partly from the joy of the intimacy they were sharing, finally, and partly from the relief of having him finally be where he belonged. With her. Inside her.
He watched closely, moving slowly with purpose and a concentrated intensity, without questioning her display of emotion.
He knew the wait had been agonizing and antagonizing for both of them. It was also worth it. He’d needed to be sure she knew her mind and was ready for a commitment to a man. She had to be sure he was capable of making a new commitment to life.
He was. They fit together. In every way that counted.
EPOLOGUE
Cann took over the business that had originally been his brainchild and was feeling optimistic about ideas for expansion. In March he bought a stone house in Dripping Springs with a big backyard that backed up to a creek and huge mature mesquite trees, the kind that are perfect for climbing.
With the azaleas in full bloom it looked a little like a fairy tale. But it also had a dark side. Cann made sure it had its own state of the art security system that included live feed cameras inside and out. Anytime someone turned the alarm off, any coming or going, he watched the feed on monitors if he was at home, and watched it on his smartphone if he was away. He was also compulsive about making sure Bud’s car was in perfect running condition.
Bud didn’t mind that his behavior was paranoid sometimes. She understood that we’re all just an aggregate result of our experiences.
They got married in their own backyard. The club spared no expense and paid for the entire thing. Bud gave up her job as house mom, but trained her replacement and left the girl wondering if she would ever be able to live up to Bud’s standards.
NOMAD (Sons of Sanctuary Book 3) Page 15