To Have and to Harley

by Regina Cole

  Her insides in an uproar, Bethany took a deep breath.

  Okay, so the initial meeting didn’t quite go as planned. Focus. Don’t look at his tightly muscled ass as he walks in front of you. Pay no attention to those thighs that are thick as tree trunks, those arms that could pick you up, those hips that your legs could wrap—

  “Where are we setting up?”

  Bethany cleared her throat. “Erm, the dining room.”

  Under one arm, he had a plain white binder, the kind you could pick up at Staples for a couple of bucks. He set it down on the table as Bethany gathered her mental defenses.

  “Trey! Oh, it’s so good to see you,” Mama Yelverton said. She reached forward, but Trey didn’t move to accept her hug. Her hands fell away, her expression faltering just a bit. “Sorry.”

  “It’s all right,” he said, while Bethany gritted her teeth.

  Wait a minute. Why was she upset that he had rebuffed Mama Yelverton’s affectionate greeting? Shouldn’t she be happy that he wasn’t using that to further manipulate her?

  Bethany pulled her chair out and sat down, frowning as she decided, yes, she was glad, but either way, Mama Yelverton was going to be hurt. And that really, really sucked.

  “So, let me get some information from you before we get started,” Trey said, opening his notebook. He clicked open a pen and began to write on a blank sheet of paper. Left-handed, Bethany noted idly. Just like Sarah.

  “When’s the wedding date?”

  “June sixteenth,” Mama Yelverton said, sinking into the chair beside Bethany.

  “And do you have any ideas for venues?”

  “Well,” Mama Yelverton began and then rattled off several ideas while Bethany scrutinized Trey’s every move.

  He made notes as Mama Yelverton talked, nodding and asking questions during pauses. Underneath the table, Bethany’s leg shook nervously.

  He was a good actor. That was all. He’d been trying to disarm her by pretending to care about her feelings. And it had worked.

  It wouldn’t work again.

  “So we’ll need a close backup in case it rains,” Trey was saying. “What would be your first choice for an indoor ceremony?” He flipped through his notebook. “There are some nice churches close by, or—”

  “We’d love to hear some places you’ve held ceremonies before,” Bethany interjected, hiking her eyebrows in his direction. “We’re looking for that special touch. You know, not your typical traditional wedding. That is your specialty, right?”

  He met her gaze, and she took great delight in taking a leisurely look up and down his torso, lingering obviously on his exposed tattoos.

  “Of course,” he said, hiking one brow in her direction. “If nontraditional is how you want it.” His attention swung over to Mama Yelverton.

  She looked from Bethany to Trey and back again.

  “I’d love to see what ideas the two of you come up with.” The oven timer dinged, and Mama Yelverton stood. “Oh, that’s the cookies. I’ll be right back.”

  She left the room, and Bethany wasted no time in leaning forward. “I’m on to you,” she hissed. “You won’t get away with this.”

  “With what?” He asked the question coolly, his tone at odds with the warm twinkle in his eye. “Kissing you? Sorry it disappointed you, but I told you, I’m not that kind of guy. We need to take things slow.”

  “Here we go,” Mama Yelverton said, pushing the door open with her back and spinning into the room. “Hot chocolate chip cookies. They’re Bethany’s favorite.”

  “Mine too,” Trey said and reached over to snag a cookie before returning to his notebook like nothing had happened.

  Numbly, Bethany reached over and took one herself.

  It was official. She was in way over her head.

  Chapter Six

  Trey wasn’t sure which he enjoyed more—the cookie or the fact that Bethany looked torn between kicking his ass and kissing him senseless.

  He knew which one he’d vote for.

  Mrs. Yelverton and Bethany were discussing the alternative venue while Trey finished his cookie. It was damn good. Being there was good.

  Except for the little matter of Bethany trying to undermine him. Her whispered warning was like a rough spot on his leathers—irritating without a true reason for it.

  Yeah, he’d known the wedding gig would be a tough story to sell. But his mothe—Mrs. Yelverton—seemed to buy it. What was this girl’s deal? She wasn’t even related to them. Being friends with Sarah, of course she’d want to make sure that nothing untoward happened, but her threats went beyond mere friendship.

  Trey smiled to himself. He could almost imagine her as one of the Shadows. She was showing the type of camaraderie he’d come to expect from his biking brothers.

  “Don’t you agree, Trey?”

  “What now?” He started, crumbs falling into his lap.

  “I was just telling Mama Yelverton that it would be a good idea to keep the guest list fairly small. Sarah and Mark aren’t really into the idea of a big spectacle, and it’ll keep costs lower.”

  Mrs. Yelverton frowned. “I understand that, but are you sure she won’t want to invite her classmates, her friends from her pharmacy rotation, her old teammates from the tennis club—”

  “Of course the number of guests is totally up to you,” Trey said smoothly and then fell silent.

  If this was really his job, he’d come up with some snappy remark about how having fewer chairs at a wedding meant good luck for the happy couple, or some such BS. As it was, he leafed through the notebook Wolf had helped him assemble that morning with the research his surly, grumbling Shadows had handed in like so many homework assignments.

  “Keeping it at a hundred people will be more than large enough.” Bethany smiled, having finally gotten through to Mrs. Yelverton. “So, if you get the guest list started, I can look over it, add to it, and then we can finalize it together. Now,” she said, turning her eagle eye toward Trey, “invitations. Of course you have some samples we can look over?”

  Dammit. He hadn’t thought of that. Bluff. Keep her guessing.

  He cleared his throat, straightening his shoulders as he shifted in his chair and affected a thoughtful look. “Normally my clients trust me to come up with the design on my own. You know, talk over the look they want, that kind of thing.”

  Bethany’s perfectly arched brows rose. “You do graphic design work too?”

  “Of course.” Lie.

  “What about printing? Do you do it in-house?”

  “Wouldn’t have it any other way. Best thing for keeping costs down.” Another lie.

  “Hand-addressed?”

  “Yup.” Bullshit.

  “Calligraphy?”

  “That’s the best way, isn’t it?” Damned if he knew.

  Bethany sank back into her chair as if some of the wind had left her sails, and Trey felt his chest swell with victory.

  But it was a short-lived sensation.

  “I can’t wait to see what you come up with.” Mrs. Yelverton smiled. “When can we expect the proofs?”

  Trey cleared his throat. Think. “Two weeks?” Surely he could find some computer geek to design a wedding invitation in that time.

  Bethany snorted. “You don’t move very quickly, do you?”

  He shot her a thunderous glare. “A week. I’ll have the proofs ready in a week.”

  “But Trey’s right,” Mrs. Yelverton countered. “We have to make sure the venue is available before we can finalize the invitations.”

  Whew. Bullet dodged.

  “Of course,” Bethany said, then smiled at him sweetly. “You can manage booking the venues, right?”

  “Me?” Trey blinked.

  “That is part of your job, isn’t it? Mr. Wedding Planner?”

  And with that questi
on, he knew.

  Bethany had every intention of proving him to be a fraud in front of the Yelvertons. Her cooperation would only extend as far as exposing his lie. She was that determined to protect the people she loved.

  And damn if that didn’t make him like her even more.

  He leaned forward, his biceps straining against the fabric of the dress shirt he’d borrowed from Dean. Good thing that brother was a clotheshorse, because Trey didn’t own anything that could pass for business casual. He noticed the slight darkening of her eyes, the way her nostrils flared at the sight.

  She was anything but indifferent toward him, her mistrust notwithstanding. And he’d use every bit of that to his advantage. He’d never had a problem with flirting his way into and out of trouble when he had to.

  “Of course I’ll handle it, if it’s what Mrs. Yelverton wants.”

  “I don’t mind calling the venue—”

  Bethany cut Mrs. Yelverton off with a quick shake of her head. “No way. That’s why you hired a wedding planner. If you’re not going to use his services, then why’s he even here?”

  In the first emotion other than agreeable delight he’d seen from her, Mrs. Yelverton rounded on Bethany.

  “I know you’re trying to protect Sarah, but I won’t tolerate you being rude to Trey for no reason, Bethany. Trey is here not only because I hired him, but also because he’s my son. Mind your manners.”

  Her scolding held no venom, just the tinge of stern disappointment that made a person want to curl up into a hole in abject apology. Trey wasn’t the target, and he still wanted to immediately say sorry.

  “I didn’t mean to be rude,” Bethany said, tilting her chin in just a hint of defiance. “But I don’t want to see anyone taking advantage of you. Even him.” She jerked her head in Trey’s direction.

  “I’m not being taken advantage of, trust me. If anything, I’m taking advantage of his services in order to spend more time with him.”

  Mrs. Yelverton looked at him, and the expression on her face was one of tenderness.

  Awkwardness settled around his shoulders like a too-warm, itchy blanket. Trey had to look away. He didn’t know what else to do.

  “I apologize,” Bethany said shortly.

  “No need,” Trey said with a tight smile, closing his notebook. “So, I’ll get back with you about…” What the hell was he supposed to be doing again? He had no clue. All he wanted was to get as far away from this house as possible while his hide was still intact. Mrs. Yelverton’s defense of him, and that look she had given him, were too much for him to handle. “I’ll get back with you on everything soon.”

  Mrs. Yelverton walked him to the door, talking lightly as if the last few minutes hadn’t happened. As he followed her out of the dining room, his spine prickled as if he was being watched. He looked over his shoulder.

  Bethany’s expression was dark, her full lips pursed as she looked directly at him.

  His stomach ached as if he’d been punched all the way to Wolf’s.

  * * *

  “Hey, Pistol,” Trey said as he mounted the steps to the front porch that Jameson, Wolf, and Doc shared. The old farmhouse would have been drafty and miserable for one person, but with three of them to split the space, plus the big Doberman, the farmhouse had always felt kind of homey. Well, as homey as a triple bachelor pad could feel.

  “Hey, Boss.” Jameson was sprawled in a big leather recliner front of the large-screen TV, a can of soda in his hand and a bag of chips on the side table beside him. A wrestling match was happening on-screen.

  “Still watching that crap,” Trey grunted as he swiped a handful of chips.

  “This is high-quality entertainment. It’s real to me, dammit.” Jameson pulled the bag out of Trey’s reach and continued munching, losing himself in the high drama of flying bodies and scripted rivalries.

  Like all the rest of the Shadows, Jameson had a past that he’d rather forget. Trey sometimes wondered—if there was an award for suffering, would Jameson come in first?

  While he was deployed to Afghanistan, a car wreck had taken both his parents and his baby girl. His wife had left him after emptying his bank accounts and blowing the pitiful inheritance his parents had left after paying for the funerals. Jameson had ended up broken-hearted, flat broke, and totally alone. When Trey’d run across him, Jameson had been neck-deep in the bottle, doing his damnedest to ride his bike straight into the mouth of hell itself.

  Trey had strong-armed him into joining the Shadows. He’d improved dramatically since then, but there was still a darkness that hung around him—a cloud that never fully dissipated.

  Trey could empathize. Their losses had been so different. Jameson had had it all; Trey’d never had anything.

  Until now.

  The reminder of his current predicament sent him sinking to the couch, his head in his hands. How was he supposed to pull this off? This was so far out of his comfort zone it might as well be in another universe.

  A sound at one end of the room brought his gaze up. Doc was entering the room, a bowl in his huge hands. The scar that ran down one cheek, a startling streak of light pink against his dark complexion, was wrinkled in a smile.

  “Try this,” he said, handing a spoon to Trey.

  “What the hell is it?”

  Doc’s smile didn’t falter. “Just try it.”

  Trey hiked his eyebrow, but shoved the spoon into the weird greenish fluff inside the bowl.

  He tasted it gingerly.

  “This… Well, it looks like Pistol got sick on the kitchen floor and you scooped it into the bowl, but it doesn’t taste half bad. What is it?”

  Doc grinned, flashing white teeth. “Watergate salad. Called my mama, and she gave me the recipe. Thought it would be good for the reception.”

  Trey’s fingers curled tighter around the spoon.

  A knock on the door came then. Jameson didn’t have time to get to his feet before the portal swung open.

  “Help me out here,” Dean grunted around his burden of binders and books. “I’m about to lose the whole pile.”

  Jameson grabbed the top half, and together they set the books on the floor in front of the couch.

  “What is all this?”

  Dean shot Trey a glare. “What does it look like? It’s research. I spent all morning at the library. This is everything they had on wedding clothes.”

  Dean’s last word was half drowned out by the sound of power tools from outside.

  What was going on now?

  Trey moved to the sliding glass doors at the end of the room. Wolf was building…something.

  Trey stood and watched for a moment as his second confidently put together a structure right before his eyes.

  “He’s building an arch,” Jameson said in answer to Trey’s unvoiced question. “Thought it would be nice at the end of the aisle.”

  Shaking his head, Trey looked down at the toes of his boots.

  He’d doubted them. How could he have doubted them? These were his brothers—his family. They’d never let him down before. And they weren’t about to start, even though he’d dived straight off the edge into a swimming pool full of crazy.

  “Let’s go to Ruby’s,” Trey said, clapping Jameson on the back. “You boys could use a break. I’m buying.”

  “Fine by me,” Dean said, slamming a book shut. “If I see one more damn wedding dress today, I might just punch someone.”

  Doc frowned down at his bowl as the rest of them trooped toward the door. “Doesn’t anyone want any more of this?”

  “Bring it,” Trey said, shrugging into his leather jacket. “Somebody will eat it.”

  Doc stood, but he still didn’t look happy. Trey stopped him with a hand on the arm.

  “Hey, man. Thanks. It really was delicious.”

  Doc flashed that grin again. “Tha
nks, Boss.”

  They all headed to Ruby’s after even Wolf was convinced to put down his power tools for the evening. The sun was sinking low in the west as they pulled into the pitted gravel lot.

  A handful of bikes were already there, their riders having received Dean’s text. The whole crew was present, and Trey couldn’t be prouder. At the end of the day, if this thing with the Yelvertons didn’t work out, these were the guys who had his back.

  He’d forgotten about that for a while, but he didn’t intend to again.

  “Hi, boys!”

  Trey blinked twice as Ginger’s cheerful greeting sailed to them. She was smiling—no, beaming—as she wiped down an empty table near the door.

  “What can I get y’all?”

  “Some more of that sweet smile will do for me,” Ace said, leaning toward the waitress with a suggestive grin. “I like the sunshine you’re giving off tonight.”

  “Sorry to break your heart, Prince Charming, but none of that sunshine is because of you.”

  Dean snorted as Ace weaved on his feet. “You’re killing me, baby.”

  “Gonna have to let you die. My fiancé doesn’t want me making time with strangers.” Ginger straightened, waggling her ring finger toward Ace.

  “Congratulations,” Trey said, straightening as Ace checked out the little sparkler on her ring finger. “Who’s the lucky bastard?”

  “Well,” Ginger said, blushing a little as she looked toward the bar. Brian, the bartender, was over there, and if Trey didn’t know any better, that was a little bit of jealousy on the dude’s face as Ace held Ginger’s hand to get a good look at her ring.

  “Oh, I see.”

  Trey caught Dean’s eye, then gave a head jerk toward Ace. Dean gave Ace a swift kick in the shin in response.

  “Ow, what the hell, man?”

  Ace was still bitching about his sore leg while Ginger happily continued.

  “He proposed last night. I couldn’t believe it. I’ve been so busy with Lynn and the kids that I haven’t even been thinking about—” She gave a shake of her head, then her smile returned full force. “Anyway, we’re eloping this weekend.”

  “What, no wedding?” Ace said. “No church, no white dress? I didn’t think people could get by without that stuff nowadays.”