“Exactly. So what’s the deal? Aunt Claire told me she met a nice woman in her art class she thought you’d like and you wouldn’t even take the number.”
“Dude. You called from the other side of the world to tell me you think I should use Aunt Claire’s matchmaking services?”
“I’m calling from the other side of the world, dude, because you’re our ladies’-man, our bro who keeps the smiles coming, the Brannigan who’s a fun junkie rather than the adrenaline kind. Not taking a pretty woman’s number just doesn’t sound like you.”
Knox hesitated, then realized his free hand had slid into his pocket to find that infernal key once again. “I don’t much feel like me,” he finally admitted. His fingers clamped around the metal. “I’m stuck in a not-me rut.”
“I heard from Luke too,” Max said. “You haven’t yet looked into the legacy Dad left you?”
“It’s a key. And not one to a summer camp like Luke received or the family ranch like Gabe. The address that came with it is a storage unit. I looked it up.” And what would Colin Brannigan have stored there for his second-youngest son? He was sure he’d been as much a cypher to his father as the man had been to him. Or maybe not…
You never take anything seriously!
“It’s probably a clown suit,” he muttered.
“Or maybe that live bunny you always begged for at Easter every year,” Max said. “What if he left it there without four months’ worth of food and water?”
Surely Colin wouldn’t have bequeathed Knox a live gift—
“Screw you, Max,” he said, as the other man’s snicker traveled through the phone.
“Come on, admit I had you going for a second.”
Knox shook his head, then withdrew the key from his pocket. It lay flat in his palm and he stared at it, wondering if the innocuous item was to blame for weighing him down. “Actually,” he said slowly, “you do have me going.” Was today really the day?
Yeah, he decided. It was action. Perhaps a way out of the rut. He’d been carrying the damn key around for weeks and weeks and it was time to put it to use. After all, it was a new year.
“What’s that mean, Knox?”
“Open the next email I send, would you? It will tell you exactly what dear old Dad left behind for me.”
Thirty minutes later, at a twenty-four-hour, air-conditioned storage facility located not far from his bungalow in Santa Monica, Knox blinked at the first sight of his legacy then let out a startled laugh.
While the bulk of Colin Brannigan’s estate was to be distributed in five years, he’d left each of his sons something “personal.” Brother Gabe had been given the family ranch in Calabasas, Luke the summer resort where Colin had met their mother. Hunter had been handed down a treasure map, of all crazy things. But who knew their dad owned a motorcycle?
Colin was a luxury cars and limousines kind of man. For kicks he might take a cruise on his yacht or a jaunt on his private jet with like-minded people of wealth and—purported—worth. Not in a million years could Knox picture his dad in boots and leathers, messing up his precisely styled haircut with a motorcycle helmet.
And this wasn’t just any motorcycle. This pristine specimen was none other than a 1953 Indian Chief, one of only 600 produced, if Knox’s memory served. He reached out a hand to caress the supple black leather seat.
“What the hell, Dad?” Knox would bet his last dollar that it was original from its chrome handlebars to its swooping rear fender. “Where did you find this bad-ass ride? And what did you mean by giving it to me?”
Though neither his father’s ghost nor the storage unit walls answered, the very existence of the bike pointed in a single direction.
The open road.
Maybe there Knox would drop this persistent gloom and find his pleasure-seeking, live-for-the-moment, fun-and-games-and-grins-all-around true self again.
Chapter 2
Mimicking the gesture of her two BFFs, Erin Cassidy lifted her margarita glass, the Moonstone Café logo facing front and center. “To…?” she questioned.
“To the Yoga Girl Studio, of course,” redheaded Deanne said, “on the occasion of its second birthday!”
“And to our very own yoga girl,” Marissa added, brushing back her blonde bangs with her free hand, “on the occasion of her 27th birthday.”
“I’ll drink to that.” Erin clinked glasses with her friends then sipped at her salty-sweet beverage, shifting her gaze to take in the view over the railing of the café’s beachside deck. “We even have the perfect Cinnabar, California sunset adding to the atmosphere.”
“Only the best for you,” Marissa said, grinning. “I put in my order for it weeks ago.”
Erin released a little sigh of satisfaction. Yes, her business had a birthday today, the yoga studio a modest success after two years of hard work. Small-town Cinnabar could have proved a challenge when it came to filling up classes, but thanks to the booming tourism industry in this part of California’s central coast as well as her diligent efforts to reach out to the two nearby luxury resorts—one including a high-end spa—and the many B & Bs, drop-in visitors regularly added to her core local clientele.
She turned her gaze back to her friends, beaming at them. They’d been besties since third grade when Marissa moved to town. They’d gone through everything together including two weddings. Deanne and Marissa had married CPA brothers Rob and Tom Farmer, and Marissa was not quite eight months pregnant with her first child.
Erin narrowed her eyes and sent a pointed glance at her friend’s glass. “Virgin margarita, right?”
“Of course.” Then Marissa exchanged looks with Deanne. “Speaking of virgins…”
A niggle of caution worked its way down Erin’s back, beneath the clingy black T-shirt she wore with a floral skirt and her sling-back black heels. “I thought we had that conversation-slash-confession when we were nineteen.”
“They say it can’t grow back, but I wouldn’t be so sure,” Deanne said, darkly. “Erin, here’s the thing. We’ve discussed it and have decided you need to get out of the studio, babe, and find yourself a stud.”
“Studio, stud.” Marissa sent the redhead an admiring look. “I see what you did there.”
Deanne fluffed the bottom of her hair. “I’m more than just a pretty face.”
“That you are,” Erin said, grasping for a quick change of topic. “It’s why you’re doing so well at the title company. How’s that new department head working out?”
Her friends pinned her with both their gazes. “Do we look that easy to distract?” Deanne demanded.
Erin swallowed. “C’mon—”
“Don’t we always take the opportunity on our birthdays to reflect and correct?” Marissa pointed a finger at each of the other two at the table. “My 24th. You held an intervention about the blue and green streaks I was then sporting in my hair.”
“They clashed with that traditional wedding dress you’d chosen,” Erin reminded her. “And your mother-in-law was going around whispering she was planning to cut them out in your sleep.”
“She’s very scary when it comes to hairstyles.” Marissa leaned forward, whispered, “It was a good call.”
“See, Erin? You should listen to us.” Deanne nodded for emphasis. “It’s time to put yourself out there. Open up. Loosen up.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Erin mumbled.
Her friends rolled their eyes. “You’re much too tightly wrapped. So disciplined—”
“That’s the whole point of yoga! It’s a discipline. A spiritual, mental, and physical practice—”
“You’re using it to control your heart,” Deanne said. “For a while, it made sense to us. You were smarting over that stupid guy. Then you were occupied with building your business. But Yoga Girl is going great and now it’s time for the yoga girl to have a little fun again.”
Anxiety constricted Erin’s throat and she tried easing it with a swallow from her glass. “I’ve been out of the dating scene,
sure. And maybe I’ll take your advice and…and start thinking about re-entry, um, soon.” Though the whole idea made her want to squirm. Allowing someone into her life who could ultimately hurt her, humiliate her… Bleh. Her heart had been deeply wounded once before when she’d thrown herself into what she’d believed was a mutual grand passion.
Better to be strong in body than soft of heart.
“Erin.” Marissa reached for her hand, squeezed it. “You don’t want to be ninety and supple but all alone.”
“Oh, forget the future,” Deanne said with a wave of her hand. “Start smaller. Think about the now. Let some man have the benefit of all your amazing flexibility.”
That startled a laugh from Erin. “So you’re just talking about sex.”
“Nothing wrong with it.” Deanne drained her glass then pushed it toward Erin. “Yes it’s your birthday and yes, I gave them my credit card to cover the tab, but I think you should go to the bar for refills.”
Erin frowned. “I can signal the server—”
“You need to look around, silly!” Marissa said. “Take a walk-through and see if there’s anyone in the café who catches your eye.”
“Wait. Now?”
“You’re dressed up,” Deanna said. “You’re wearing make-up. You’re sliding into old-maidhood faster than the rate Marissa’s ankles are swelling into cantaloupes.”
Instead of protesting the insult, her other friend slid her glass toward Erin too. They both had that steely look in their gazes that promised no surrender. So, on a sigh, she gave in.
“Fine,” she muttered, gathering up the margarita glasses.
Next she threaded through the umbrella-topped tables on the deck. They were nearly full, customers in for a happy hour or an early dinner. She waved at one elderly couple she recognized who regularly took one of her morning classes.
Wide glass doors were thrown open from the deck that led to inside seating. Here, it wasn’t hard to spot the spa tourists with their relaxed expressions, pampered skin, and new manicures all around. Seeing one studying a flyer from Yoga Girl—they were stocked in a rack near the entrance to the café along with other promotional material from local businesses—a spurt of gratification coursed through Erin’s veins.
The feeling made her reckless enough to accept the freebie birthday tequila shot offered to her by the bartender, Adam, who was making the drinks she’d ordered. The liquor gave her a giddy jolt and she had to concentrate carefully to bring the fresh margaritas back to the table without spilling a drop.
Thirsty work. Upon seating herself, she downed a third of her new icy concoction.
“Well?” Deanne asked as she swallowed. Both she and Marissa were looking at her expectantly.
She set down her glass. “Well, what?”
Deanne frowned. “Did you see any likely candidates on your trip to the bar and back?”
“Oh.” She cleared her throat. “I guess not.”
“You didn’t even look,” Deanne said, throwing up her hands. “The situation is just that bad.”
“Or maybe none of the men in this place are just that good.” Erin took another swallow of margarita. “This isn’t exactly the singles hot zone, you know.”
“But you have to start noticing. Surveying. Opening yourself to possibilities.” Deanne craned her neck to peer over Erin’s shoulder. “And I spy a very interesting prospect just now seating himself at the bar.”
On a sigh, Erin turned her head in time to see a man’s back as he slid onto a stool . His thick black hair was disheveled, and he wore a beat-up black leather jacket, dark jeans, and a pair of lace-up motorcycle boots. Her belly clutched and her mouth went dry as her danger-dar went on full alert.
Bad boy! it shouted.
She’d learned to steer clear of that type six years before. A little too late, perhaps, but the lesson had stuck.
“Why don’t you go over and talk to him?” Deanne suggested. “From the looks of him, he’s new in town.”
Passing through. Temporary. Never gonna stay. Never gonna get tied down.
“You could offer him tips about the local sights. That kind of thing.”
“Truly? You think I should go hit on some stranger?” Erin tossed back the rest of her margarita and tried imagining it. Nope, not her style.
“For practice,” Marissa said. “We’re here, we have your back, so it wouldn’t hurt to chat up a good-looking man.”
Sexy man, Erin amended, taking another peek at him. With those wide shoulders and lean hips and that dangerous aura that came wrapped in black leather. She swallowed. “Sorry, no. The first time you think of climbing back onto two wheels, you start with something much tamer than that.”
Dismissing the idea altogether, she focused on Marissa and her almost eight-month-along pregnancy. “Let’s talk about baby names. Any new ones to consider?”
To her astonishment, the pretty blonde burst into tears.
Erin’s stomach dropped to her toes. “What is it? What’s wrong? Are you hurting somewhere?”
Her friend frantically shook her head and reached for her purse to dig out tissues.
At a loss and barely holding back her panic, Erin looked toward Deanne. “Should we call Tom? The doctor?”
“No, no.” Marissa mopped at her face. “I’m f-fine. R-really.”
“What it is?” Deanne touched her sister-in-law’s arm. “Tom will come immediately. You know he will.”
“Why? I’m a cow. He married a cow.”
Erin and Deanne exchanged another worried glance. “He wouldn’t say such a thing,” Erin said.
“And I’ll have Rob kill him if he did,” Deanne added. “Or take it back, Erin and I will do the deed ourselves.”
Marissa released a watery laugh. “Thanks. He didn’t actually say it, though. He didn’t have to. I see it in the mirror.”
“Honey—”
The mother-to-be gestured toward her body. “My boobs are huge and my belly ginormous and the button sticks out like a…like a button!”
Erin pressed her lips together to hide her amusement. Still, she felt for her friend. She’d had enough pregnant women in her yoga classes to know there came a time when their patience with the process began to wear thin. “Poor Rissa.”
“You know what?” She poked at the offending little lump protruding through her stretchy maternity dress right in the middle of the baby bulge. “I wish this were an eject button. I am so ready to have this kid right this minute.”
Then she turned feral eyes on Erin. “That’s why you have to do it.”
The wild gaze frightened her a little. “Have your baby? Uh, can’t do that, pal.”
“Then you have to distract me,” Marissa said, in a low tone that meant business. “If I have to feel fat and drink virgin slushies and not have sex because Tom’s afraid for the baby, then you have to walk over there and start something with that hot guy.”
“Um, maybe you should take this up with Tom.”
Alarm puckered her friend’s pretty face. “I don’t want Tom to talk to the hot guy! With a wife who looks like this and a man who looks like that, he might leave me for the other team!”
“Settle down.” Erin glanced around the deck, worried they were attracting undue attention. “And really, we don’t know what that guy actually looks like. I only see, um, leather.” Jacket, motorcycle boots. Then those sinful tight jeans, too.
Danger.
Marissa made a shooing motion with her hands. “Well, go check it out!”
Erin appealed to Deanne. “You don’t really expect me to ‘start something’ do you?”
“Just exchange a few words.” Her gaze slid toward Marissa, and a worry line formed between her brows. “It would really do this one some good, I think.”
Marissa’s fingers spread over the bulge of her belly, and more tears sprang to her eyes. “Moo,” she said, piteously. “Moooo.”
On a sigh, Erin stood up. She wobbled a little, the tequila having shot straight to her head. �
�This is nuts. You’re nuts.”
Her pregnant friend swiped at another falling tear. “If it’s a girl, we’re considering ‘Erin’ for a middle name.”
That did it. Hauling in a long breath, she turned, then set her sights on a pair of broad shoulders in battered black leather. She took a step toward him. Another.
Her fingers flexed as she imagined the pliant smoothness of that leather beneath the palms of her hands. She saw herself coming up behind him, sliding her arms around him to find his chest, nuzzling that glossy, messy hair of his with her mouth and breathing in the scent of hot, ready man.
Wait! Her feet stuttered to a stop. Where had that fantasy come from?
She glanced back at her BFFs. Deanne mouthed, “Go.” Marissa plied the damp tissue again.
Feeling self-conscious and slightly tipsy and about fifteen instead of twenty-seven, Erin forced herself to continue. Then she was standing behind the stranger, her heart racing.
“Um…”
She saw his body go alert. His head turned slightly to the side.
Her mouth went dry. The profile looked as fine as the rest of him. “I… I…” She swallowed, desperate to think of something to say. “You, um, look kind of familiar. Did…did we have a class together?”
Now he swung all the way around, and she had to hastily step back to avoid his long legs and a topple into his lap.
She stared at him, his hair falling over his brow, the midnight eyes framed by dark lashes, the facial bone structure that turned angles and planes into pure masculine art. His mouth curved up to reveal a devastating, devilish smile. Her pulse throbbed at her wrists and at the vulnerable side of her neck. The air crackled.
Danger, her instincts warned again. Danger.
“What did you say, hon?”
She tried out her own smile and then repeated herself, because her brain couldn’t come up with anything else. “Did we have a class together?”
Under his dark, intense gaze, all the tiny hairs on her body lifted and the air snapped again with electric intensity. That smile of his turned into a grin.
Knox KOBO Page 2