The next morning, I woke up pressed against Buck’s side, my cheek to his shoulder.
The sun was shining, unmuted, through the windows.
The house was quiet, and I knew by Buck’s steady breathing that he was still asleep.
I always woke before him and this was likely because he stayed up late, and I didn’t.
I carefully slid away so as not to disturb him and walked to the hall bathroom.
The towels were on the floor, so I folded them and put them on the counter. Then I grabbed my facewash and went back to Buck’s bathroom. I did my morning bathroom thing and grabbed my robe off the hook on the back of the door.
My robe was short, lilac and a light, soft, knit cotton-flannel. It had once been not-so-light, but I’d owned it for so long and worn and washed it so much (at one point, post-Rogan-debacle, I’d worn it for days), it was now thinner, but more comfortable and soft as a baby’s skin.
I shrugged this on over my little pink nightie and tied the belt. Then I went to the kitchen, made coffee, toasted Pop-Tarts, and once the coffee was done, I took it and my breakfast out to the deck.
I set my mug on the railing and sat down, eating my tarts, leaning forward to grab my mug and take a sip when I needed it, my gaze to the view and the calming sound of a not very rapidly flowing creek serenading me.
All you could see, left, right and center, was tranquility.
It was just trees, and a creek, and the gravel lane that led up to Buck’s house.
But there were also hummingbirds. And squirrels dashing about.
I wondered one day if I’d see deer.
Yesterday, I’d discovered that the roads leading up to his place had houses like Buck’s, tucked in the trees.
Still, whoever planned the lots and built the homes did it for maximum solitude. They were there but you had to search to find them, a hint of roof, the sun gleaming off a window, a chimney.
If you didn’t make that effort, you could feel comfortably alone.
Once done with my tarts, I took the plate inside, put it in the dishwasher, refreshed my mug, went back out and settled again in my chair.
The minute I rested my feet on the railing, Minnie’s words hit my brain.
And he chooses you, Clara. If he decides to make you his old lady and do that official, he’ll always come back to you. And that’s something. I promise you, babe. Not blowing sunshine up your ass. Especially with a man like Buck, that’s definitely something.
She would know. She knew him better than me.
Then I thought of how Ink was with Lorie, how Cruise greeted Pinky and held her close, and all the many ways that Buck could be gentle, sweet, funny and protective.
From what they said, Lorie and Pinky put up with what they had to put up with to get what they got from their men.
And what they got, I noticed, was good.
Other men, I knew, were not so good.
Like my adoptive father, who left my clearly mentally ill mother to try it alone…and fail. And he never came back, not even when the child he’d assumed responsibility for had no one else to turn to.
Then there was Rogan.
Also Esposito.
I stared at a view I knew, down deep in my heart, I would never fail to find beauty in, to gain peace from.
I did this knowing I was right to go the way of the biker babe.
This was not what Rogan did. This was not hiding it and breaking trust.
First, Buck and I hadn’t been together a week. We hadn’t had the exclusive conversation.
Though I knew what we had was something.
I also knew it was something for him.
It wasn’t that I was living with him, all moved in and everything.
That was necessity.
It was that I’d met his kids, and according to Gear, they’d never had another of Buck’s women in their lives.
Not even Nails.
So this was most assuredly something, for both of us.
But he’d done what he’d done practically under my nose, and although this did not seem de rigueur in the biker world with the way the girls had reacted to it, it was still part of the life they led. And maybe Buck thought I understood that.
I knew, though, bottom-lining this, that in the end, if Buck chose me, I’d have something.
Something was always better than nothing.
That said, the important part was that the something I’d have with Buck, I knew from what he’d given me already, would be better than other men had to offer.
A lot better.
On that thought, I heard the door open and I twisted to see Buck walking out wearing nothing but jeans, displaying skin, muscle and tattoos. His hair was a mess and his eyes could only be described as “bedroom” since he looked like he’d woken up only a second before.
It was a very good look.
And there it was.
Proof that with Buck, something was a whole lot better than nothing.
“Hi,” I said softly.
His good morning was to walk up to me, cup the back of my head, bend at the waist and kiss me hard and with lots of tongue.
It was the best good morning I’d ever had.
Oh yes, with Buck, that something would be a whole lot better.
His mouth released mine, but when I opened my eyes, I was surprised to see his were displeased.
“You wake up early, babe, when the kids are sleepin’ or whenever, you fuckin’ wake me, yeah?”
I felt my brows hitch up.
They did this because, yes.
He was angry.
“Okay,” I agreed quietly.
“And you do it with your mouth and I don’t mean talkin’.”
“Okay,” I repeated, my mind struggling with surprise, my body fighting a happy shiver.
He kept issuing orders.
“And you can do it by suckin’ my tongue in that mouth or you can suck somethin’ else into it.”
“Oh…” I breathed, feeling my nipples getting hard, “’kay.”
Once done issuing orders, he took my coffee cup right out of my hand, straightened and raised it to his lips, taking a sip.
After that intimate gesture, he sat in the chair Gear had set beside mine the night before and lifted his legs high, setting the heels of his bare feet on the top railing and crossing his ankles.
And he didn’t give me back my coffee.
“Do you, um…want me to get you some coffee?” I offered.
He lifted my mug slightly, scowling at the landscape.
“Already got some.”
Okeydokey.
“Do you want me to make you some Pop-Tarts?” I asked, and his head turned to me.
Oh dear.
I’d done something else to make him unhappy.
“Saturday and Sunday, babe, I make breakfast.”
This sounded like the twelfth commandment, therefore I made a note of it.
“I already had Pop-Tarts,” I admitted.
His eyes narrowed.
Then he looked back at the scenery and took another sip of my coffee.
Hmm.
He wasn’t normally a bear in the mornings.
Apparently, someone woke up moody.
“I’m going to go get myself a cup and let you have your mood,” I muttered.
I felt his eyes on me, the feeling of them was venomous, and I froze before I took my feet from the railing and looked at him.
“Not in a mood, Toots.”
“You seem like it to me.”
“Woman,” he started, and I braced. He’d never called me “woman” before and I didn’t think that was a good sign. “Been sleepin’ next to you for days, finally got my hand on your ass and your tongue in my mouth and my daughter comes home and pukes on the floor. Commence fuckin’ teenage-kid, drunk drama, and I reckon you’re in no mood after dealin’ with that shit. Then I wake up to an empty bed. So I’m not in a fuckin’ mood,” he leaned into me, “I’m fuckin’ frustrated.”
This was interesting.
Although I knew he could go all night with the energy of a teenager, and he was definitely all man as in all man, thus I knew he had a very healthy sex drive, still, he’d had Nails just the day before.
But he was acting like he hadn’t had sex since the dawn of time.
Maybe he and Nails just made out and didn’t do the deed.
This would be a relief.
A fleeting one, considering I didn’t spend every hour of every day with him, and he’d not only had, but would continue to have ample opportunity to carry on in that manner.
But perhaps he didn’t do that yesterday, then kiss me and later start something with me.
And yes.
That was a relief.
I didn’t question this verbally, for obvious reasons, the primary one being my own peace of mind.
Instead, I thought the prudent way to play it was to whisper, “Point taken.”
He twisted his neck, and I did too, to see Gear wandering out onto the deck wearing a pair of drawstring gray sweats cut off at the knees and nothing else.
Good golly, I hoped he kept his clothes on around girls. With his hair a mess like his dad’s, sleep in his eyes like his dad’s, and a six-pack that was as defined as his dad’s, except leaner, if they got one look at him, they’d tear him limb from limb.
He dragged a chair to my other side, sat in it, lifted his heels to the railing just as his father’s were and sipped from his own coffee.
“Mornin’,” he muttered to the view.
“You sleep okay, Gear?” I asked.
“Yep,” he answered.
“Good,” I whispered.
Then, for some reason, Gear said on a question, “Eggs, pancakes, waffles or French toast?”
“Your choice today, Gear,” Buck replied.
“Totally French toast,” Gear stated then took another sip of coffee.
I looked at Buck and saw him sip at mine.
“I’m getting coffee,” I mumbled, taking my feet from the railing and putting my hands to the arms of the chair, pushing myself up.
I was attempting to squeeze through the small space between Buck’s and my chairs when Buck’s fingers wrapped around my wrist.
I looked down at him to see he was looking up at me.
“Get it and get your ass back out here.”
Still moody.
And domineering.
I nodded.
He let me go, and I only braved my muttered, “Moody,” when I was at the door to the house.
I got my coffee and then took my ass back out there.
After I settled in my chair and put my feet on the railing, Buck did an ab curl, wrapped his arm around my thighs and pulled my bent legs to rest against his elevated ones. Then he left his arm wrapped around my thighs, though in sitting back, it slid so it was wrapped at my upper thighs at the same time my chair with me in it scooted the scant inches that were present to close the distance that separated it from Buck’s.
I decided not to protest.
Firstly, because Buck still seemed in a mood, and secondly, because it felt comfortable and nice. It was weird and I couldn’t imagine the position was comfortable for Buck, though he didn’t seem to mind.
It was also extremely proprietary in a way I liked.
There was no one there to see him stake his claim so the claim he staked seemed less possessive and more protective with not a small amount of him simply wanting to be close to me.
As with all things I was discovering about Buck, except an albeit important few (that “few” being only one), I liked this.
A lot.
I silently let the Hardy men have their own thoughts, and as I did this my belly began to feel warm.
And this was because, a week ago, if you told me I’d be sitting on the deck of a secluded house set in a beautiful hill outside Phoenix, sipping coffee with a handsome biker and his equally handsome son, I would have told you that you were insane.
But here I was.
And I’d had Pop-Tarts.
I stifled a giggle at the same exact time Buck suddenly and inexplicably roared, “Get your ass out here!”
I jumped and looked at him to see he was twisted to look into the house.
I looked too, and when I did, I saw Tatiana, wearing a girlie set of drawstring pajama shorts and a little camisole opening the door.
I watched her wince at the sun and saw she looked both pale and a little green at the gills.
She closed the door and made the decision to approach our congregation on Gear’s side. She leaned heavily on her arms on the railing like she couldn’t quite hold herself up and stared at the view with squinty eyes.
I was happy to note she had a big tumbler of water in one hand.
“Can we do this shit later, Dad? I feel like crap,” she muttered.
Gear moved in his chair and I looked at him to see he looked like he didn’t know whether to smile or bolt.
“Say again?” Buck asked in his spitting-venom voice, and I instantly understood Gear’s reaction.
He knew Tatiana’s question would not be met favorably and he was torn between watching his sister get it and getting the heck out of Dodge.
I was feeling the same dilemma.
I braced as Tatiana let out a heavy sigh before repeating, “I feel like crap.”
“Yeah, could guess that, Tatie, seein’ as me and your brother mopped up your puke last night,” Buck remarked.
“Dad—”
“And smelled it after you hurled into the toilet, Clara rubbin’ your back,” Buck added.
She sighed again, straightened and turned toward us, but leaned against the railing and took a sip of her water.
Thus positioned, she invited on a resigned yet annoyed, “Just get it over with.”
Oh dear.
“You got one warning,” Buck stated, his voice low and sweltering, “put away that fuckin’ attitude.”
I made a move, whispering, “Maybe I should—”
I stopped when Buck’s arm around my thighs got tight and he ordered, “Do not fuckin’ move, Toots.”
“She can go,” Tatiana put in.
Oh…dear.
Gear went solid on my one side while, from the other, I felt the heat coming off Buck sear through me and Gear on a direct path to Tatiana.
“You forget last night, girl?” Buck asked quietly.
“No,” she snapped.
“So you’re sayin’ you didn’t forget Clara pulling your hair outta your face so you didn’t puke in it?”
I bit my lip and watched Tatiana turn her head to look at the view, taking another sip.
“Girl, eyes…on…me,” Buck demanded, and Tatiana looked back at him and raised her brows.
I wasn’t sure, I was never sixteen and in trouble with my dad for over-imbibing, but I was thinking she wasn’t playing this right.
“Answer me,” Buck ordered.
“I didn’t forget,” Tatiana snapped.
“How ’bout rubbin’ your back, givin’ you water, coverin’ you with towels? You forget any a’ that?” Buck asked.
“No,” she clipped.
“I get Clara bein’ here is new to you. It’s new to me. It’s new to your brother. And heads up, girl, it’s also fuckin’ new to Clara. I’m guessin’ your brother sees the upshot to this and has noticed that I got someone in my house I like bein’ with and he digs that.”
At these words, surprising ones, lovely ones (in a biker-lovely way), I held my breath and felt my belly get warm again.
Buck kept talking.
“I also get that it may take you longer to see your old man has found himself a good thing. That said, I did not raise a fuckin’ kid who gets sick in the toilet because she acted like a fuckin’ moron, and my woman took care of her, only to have that kid be a fuckin’ brat the next morning. You work out your issues with your brother, with me, and you ask, I bet Clara would talk to you, you’d get to know her and even she might help you work them out. You wanna be a pain in the ass, you do it so Clara doesn’t feel it and Gear doesn’t have to pour you, shitfaced, in his car and leave his friends because you’ve decided to be a pain in the ass. I talked to you about this nice last night. You didn’t listen. Now, I gotta know if you’ve heard me. So, Tatie, tell me, have you heard me?”
I felt that was pretty intense, and maybe a smidge too intense.
Then again, I’d never had a dad, much less a biker dad, so I didn’t know.
Though, I’d had foster fathers, but I’d always put every foot right and didn’t taste my first sip of beer until I was nineteen, so this was completely foreign to me.
At the end of the day, however, this lecture had been delivered in this manner because Buck had tried it a different way, Tatiana hadn’t listened, and the heart of it was that Buck cared, Buck worried, and Buck wanted all of us to get along.
And Tatiana was not with that program in any way, and she didn’t seem to be swinging in that direction.
So perhaps intense was appropriate in this situation.
Not to mention, it explained Buck’s Saturday morning bad mood.
“I’ve heard you,” Tatiana gritted between her teeth, her eyes glittering, her face still pale, and I had the distinct feeling she blamed this on me, and I had that feeling because her glittering eyes shifted to me frequently while her father was telling her off.
Fantastic.
“Now, say thank you to Clara for bein’ cool with you last night and then you can do whatever the fuck you need to do.”
Okay, according to me, that was taking it too far.
“I…that isn’t necessary,” I put in quickly, and said to Tatiana, “You don’t have to thank me.”
Buck’s arm gave my thighs a squeeze. “I said she did, Toots, that means she does.”
“Okay,” I whispered.
“Whatever,” Tatiana muttered. “Thanks…” She hesitated then sneered, “Toots.”
“Tat, sis, be cool,” Gear advised.
“Whatever,” Tatiana repeated and looked at her father. “Can I go now?”
“Oh yeah, you can go. But fair warning, girl, I see you and you’re still throwin’ attitude, I’m not gonna like it.”
I watched her clench her teeth. She looked to the scenery again, took a sip of water then pushed away from the railing and walked to the door.
Before she made it, I heard her murmur, “Who woulda thought I’d ever prefer it in Flag with Mom and fuckin’ Knuckles?”
I felt Buck’s arm tense around my legs, and I sucked in breath.
Then I heard the door close.
I let out my breath, thinking, oh dear.
I waited until afternoon, after Buck made the best French toast I’d ever tasted, and after I’d made grilled cheese for him and Gear for lunch, probably not the best they’d ever tasted.
I wasn’t a bad cook, especially considering I’d never had anyone teach me, so I was entirely self-taught, and whenever that happened, it was bound to be hit or miss.
But Buck had natural talent, and I couldn’t say I had that with cooking.
Or with anything.
As they had between breakfast and lunch, after lunch, the Hardy men disappeared back under the hood of the Nova outside and I made another grilled cheese sandwich, put it on a plate, grabbed a Diet Coke and walked to Tatiana’s closed door.
I knocked and walked in when I heard her impatient, “What?”
“It’s me,” I announced, closing the door behind me and walking in to see her sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed, her phone on the mattress, the vampire novel opened and facedown next to her phone, what looked like a journal balanced on her knee, a pen in her hand.
She narrowed her eyes at me, flipped the journal facedown and set it on the bed too.
“Can I help you?” she asked snottily.
I walked to the nightstand, put the plate and diet on it and then walked back to the corner of the bed.
“Thought you might want something to eat,” I told her.
“Thanks, Toots,” she mocked, tossed the pen to the bed and picked up her phone.
Bending her head to it, her thumbs started flying over the screen.
“I get you,” I told her, and she ignored me, so I pulled in a huge breath and carried on, “I grew up in foster care.”
“Poor you,” she muttered, obviously hit send, then tossed her phone to the bed again and grabbed her vampire novel before lying back on the pillows and lifting the novel in front of her face.
I persevered.
“I never really had a dad, so I can see you being territorial when you’ve got a good one.”
“It’s so cool you understand,” she lied to her book.
“A few days ago,” I pressed on, “my best friend’s husband, who is not a good guy, but who I had to work with so he wouldn’t hurt my friend, which he was doing in bad ways I won’t share, picked me up, beat the heck out of me and tossed me out of a moving vehicle. Your dad arranged for me to receive medical help and then he arranged for my protection.”
She moved the book an inch aside and her eyes came to me.
“So you’re here because he’s protecting you?” she asked, perfectly arched brows up.
“Yes,” I answered.
“And you’re payin’ him back by fuckin’ him?”
I sucked in breath.
Clearly, even the female Hardys didn’t shy away from that word.
I didn’t get into that.
I said quietly, “No.”
“You sleep on the couch?”
“No.”
“You sleep with him.”
“Yes.”
“What, you only do blowjobs as payback for protection?” she asked snidely.
I held her eyes.
I pulled breath in through my nostrils.
Then I said softly, “Never, in my life, have I met a good man. Not in my life. You’re lucky, Tatiana, you were born to one, so you’ll keep being lucky because you know what to look for. I wasn’t that lucky. Not until now. I get you, honey. I get what it feels like to wake up every day and be in a place you don’t want to be. I totally get that. What you need to get is that, as terrible as that is, you know, right to your soul, that there’s someone out there who you mean to the world to, who cares about you, who worries about you and who likes you close, even though he can’t have that and he can’t give it to you. You know that you can’t wake every day feeling safe, knowing that person is in the house, but you can get to him. I’m sorry things aren’t good at home, but you’ll one day rest in the knowledge that you had something good and you’ll be grateful for it. You don’t have to be nice to me, but you and me, we can keep that between us. For your dad’s sake, though, I’m asking you to pretend. He deserves that, and I’m just guessing here, but I think you know it.”
I didn’t give her the chance to respond.
I stopped talking, turned and walked right out of her room, closing the door quietly behind me.
I went to the living room, stretched out on the couch and clicked through programs, looking for reruns of Dynasty.
The time wasn’t right, so I had to make do with CHiPs.
I preferred Dynasty because Alexis Carrington Colby Dexter had a great wardrobe and was good with a catty one-liner.
But it had to be said, Officer Poncherello was not hard on the eyes.
So I was back with as good as I could get.
And again…
It didn’t stink.