He gave her another low wave.
She returned it but hers wasn’t low.
He looked to the floor, shook his head and, grinning, Mitch walked out.
* * * * *
Mara
Five days later…
“We’re leaving, three minutes!” I called, grinning at Roberta who was standing opposite me at the bar, her kids in their swimsuits barely containing themselves in the living room.
We both had the day off and we were taking our kids to the pool. They were going to horse around while we worked on our tans. Then we were going to come back, shower and go to Casa Bonita.
A celebration.
Mitch was at the Station with the papers from our attorney.
Bill was relinquishing custody.
Yes, a celebration. And nothing said celebration like dinner with your friends at a crazy family restaurant that sold Mexican food and had strolling musicians and cliff divers.
“Auntie Mara!” Billie shouted and I could tell by her voice she was behind closed doors in the bathroom. “My suit’s all messed up! I can’t fix it!”
“I’ll go,” Bobbie muttered and moved toward the hall as my new cell phone sitting on the counter rang.
I looked down to see the display said, “Unknown caller.”
My brows knit and I wondered if Mitch was calling from an extension at the Station. I picked it up, took the call and put it to my ear.
“Hello,” I greeted.
“Chestnut.” I heard a gravelly voice say.
Holy cow.
“Tack,” I whispered.
“Yo, babe,” he replied like he called me to gab every day.
How weird.
What did I do now? Outside an intense drama, I’d never had a conversation with a biker that I liked before and I hadn’t heard from him since it all went down.
I decided to ask, “Uh…how are you?”
“Wonderin’ how I keep missin’ my shot at the good ones,” he replied even more weirdly.
“Pardon?” I asked.
“Nothin’, darlin’,” he muttered then went on, “Just wanted to say, I made you a promise.”
My breath caught.
Tack wasn’t done.
“Haven’t forgotten it.”
“Okay,” I whispered.
“And I won’t.”
“Uh…okay,” I repeated.
“My world, shit like that goes down, someone pays.”
Oh boy.
Maybe I should let him off the hook about his promise.
“Tack –”
“Stay beautiful,” he ordered then he was gone.
I stared at my phone.
“Who was that?” I heard Bobbie ask and I looked up to see her and Billie in her cute, little hot pink bathing suit with the baby pink ruffles on her booty walking into the living room-slash-kitchen-slash-dining room.
“My angel of vengeance,” I answered and she blinked.
Then she smiled and asked, “What?”
“Nothing,” I murmured.
“Pool!” Billie shrieked.
I smiled at my girl.
I tossed my cell in my beach bag, grabbed the handles, moved around the counter in my flip-flops and replied, “Pool.” Then I shouted, “Bud! Light a fire under it!”
Bud ran into the room in his trunks and a tee.
Bobbie corralled her kids.
We walked out of my apartment and headed to the pool.
Once I was lounging, I called Mitch to tell him about my phone call from Tack. He made no comment (though he did give me heavy silence for a moment) and then he shared that he was at the attorney’s office handing off the papers Bill signed.
I looked at the kids horsing around in the pool.
“They’re yours, sweetheart,” Mitch said softly in my ear.
They were.
My soul sighed.
“Hurry home tonight,” I said softly back. “Casa Bonita. Bray and Brent confirmed though they did it under protest and informed me they’ll be wearing disguises because if any of their gay posse sees them in Casa Bonita they’ll get kicked out of the club. Tess called and told me she, Brock and the kids are meeting us there. So are Kenny and his kids. LaTanya and Derek are following us.”
“Got it.”
“We’ll be ready when you get home.”
“Got it.”
“We still on for those viewings with the real estate agent on Saturday?” I asked.
“Yep,” he answered then threw out his own question. “You sittin’ by the pool right now in a bikini?”
“Yep,” I answered.
“Fuck,” he muttered.
I grinned.
My man thought I was hot.
“I’m also covered in suntan oil,” I shared.
I heard that sound I knew and loved come from deep in his chest, Mitch’s immensely attractive chuckle.
Then he said, his voice deep and vibrating with his laughter, “Mara.”
I closed my eyes.
That was mine.
Mine.
A life ahead of me with a beautiful, good man who said my name often with his deep voice vibrating with laughter.
And again, my soul sighed.
“Auntie Mara!” Billie yelled. “Come dunk me!”
I opened my eyes.
“The princess speaks,” Mitch muttered again, a smile in his voice.
“You know it,” I replied, my smile in mine.
“And love it.”
My soul sighed yet again.
That was mine too.
All mine.
“Right,” I whispered. “Love you, baby.”
“Love you too, honey.”
“Ready?” I asked.
“Ready,” he replied, a smile again in his voice.
“Break,” I whispered, my smile also in mine.
Then he was gone.
Epilogue
Hometown Bud Lawson
Mitch
Thirteen years later…
“That shirt burnin’ your skin?”
Mitch was looking down at his wife who was wearing a Colorado Rockies jersey.
The number on the back, 9.
“Absolutely not,” she replied and he grinned.
“Any Cubs fans see you in that, they’re gonna throw you out of the Die Hard Club,” Mitch warned.
“I’ll take my chances,” Mara muttered.
Mitch grinned.
“We’re late, we’re late! Sorry, we’re late.” They both heard and Mara’s head turned as Mitch’s eyes went down the row to see Billie and her latest boyfriend scooting along the row, her dark hair shining in the bright Colorado sun, way too fucking much of her long, tanned legs exposed by her short-shorts.
It was early April. It should be cold. At least chilly.
Not in Colorado. It was eighty-six degrees and had been for two weeks.
Tomorrow the forecast was snow.
But today, Billie was in short-shorts. And she had been for two weeks, Mitch knew from the evidence of her legs being tan.
“For the record,” Mitch muttered, his eyes having moved to Billie’s most recent, “I do not like that guy.”
He felt Mara’s gaze and he looked down at her to see her lips pressed together but her eyes dancing.
Then she unpressed her lips and whispered, “You never do.”
“I like this guy less,” Mitch informed her.
Mara’s shoulders started shaking as her eyes continued dancing and she pressed her lips together again.
“And also, you need to have a word with her about those fuckin’ shorts,” Mitch went on.
Mara’s entire body started shaking.
“I’m not jokin’,” he whispered.
“You never are,” she whispered back.
No, he never was. When Billie hit fifteen what Mara called The Battle of Skin commenced. Mitch thought Billie exposed too much. Billie disagreed. Mara waded in explaining to Mitch that he was overprotective. Mitch explained to Mar
a that was his job. Mara told Mitch to relax. Mitch told Mara it wasn’t his job to relax; it was his job not to let his girl leave the house exposing too much skin seeing as he was a guy and he knew what guys had in their heads. Especially at fifteen. And sixteen. And, like Billie’s most recent, twenty-one.
Mitch lost a lot. Women, he found, since his fucking house was full of them, ganged up on you. They also had staying power. It was worth the effort but it wasn’t worth the headache you got in the long run. So he always gave the effort but he usually gave in.
Billie was nineteen, he got that. But his girl would be forty and he’d always give a shit.
About everything.
“We’re here!” Billie cried then sat her ass down in the empty seat beside Mara while whatever-the-fuck-his-name-was (Mitch didn’t trouble himself with remembering them, he’d learned that early) sat next to her. His girl’s eyes came right to him. “And, Mitch, it wasn’t Ridge’s fault we were late. It was mine.”
Ridge.
Right. The kid’s name was Ridge.
Fuck.
Who named their kid Ridge?
“Dad! Mom! Shift! I wanna sit by Billie!”
Mitch turned to his daughter who was sitting next to him.
His ten year old Faith was Billie cloned. Lots of energy. Lots of smiles. Lots of laughter. Lots of love. In five years, Mitch would hit a new level of hell when she realized she was beautiful, had a fantastic figure and the power to toy with men at her whim.
“Good, I wanna sit by Daddy,” he heard this said softly and his eyes moved from the dark-haired, blue-eyed Faith to the seat next to her where his eight year old, dark-haired, brown-eyed Marcie sat.
Marcie looked like her father but she acted like her mother. Sweet. Shy. Smart. Quiet. Loyal. Unconsciously funny. And clueless to just how beautiful she was and how much love she provoked.
He loved his Faith but Faith grew up two years ago.
Marcie was his little girl and always would be.
They shifted and Faith got her spot by her adored Billie. They immediately commenced conniving, heads close and Mitch figured Billie was sharing how to break men’s hearts. A skill, incidentally, she’d been honing also since she was fifteen.
The only hope Mitch had was that Ridge’s days were numbered.
They always were.
Mitch sighed and put his arm around Marcie.
Her eyes were on the field.
“It’s gonna start soon,” she whispered.
Her excitement was in her long legs which were swinging. It was also in her voice.
Faith was Billie’s.
Marcie was Bud’s.
The sun rose and set for Marcie through her brother. This was also true about her father. Marcie adored the men in her life beyond reason.
Again, just like her Mom.
“Yeah, baby, it’s gonna start soon,” Mitch murmured.
She tipped her brown eyes to his and grinned a wonky grin.
Fuck, but he loved seeing his wife’s grin on his daughter’s face.
Mitch grinned back.
Then he felt Mara’s fingers on his hand moving to lace through his. They curled tight and his returned the gesture as his eyes went to his wife.
Her eyes were on the field.
Mitch followed her gaze.
Warm ups.
Bud was smiling.
Mitch smiled too.
* * * * *
Forty-five minutes later…
They were standing, all of them. Everyone. The entirety of Coors Field. The vast space was filled with applause and the roar of the crowd as the announcer excitedly announced, “His first at bat for the Rockies, Hometown Bud Lawson hits a two-run homerun! What a welcome home!”
Mitch watched Bud jog the bases and he felt Mara’s weight pressed into his side.
He heard the hitch of her breath over the ovation their boy was getting.
She was crying.
Mitch stopped clapping and wrapped an arm around her shoulders but he didn’t take his eyes from Bud.
He jogged down the third baseline to home, his cleat hitting home plate, the crowd still wild.
He accepted the high fives, low fives and fist bumps from his teammates as he walked to the dugout.
Five feet from the steps, he stopped dead, looked over the roof of the dugout and right at his family.
Then he lifted his arm, pointed at them and grinned.
That was when he heard four females’ loud hitched breaths.
They weren’t far away and Bud saw it. He dropped his arm, caught Mitch’s eyes and shook his head.
He, too, until recently, lived his life in a houseful of women. He knew Mitch’s pain.
Then his grin faded. He held Mitch’s eyes and thumped his fist to his chest over his heart.
Mitch lifted his chin to his boy.
Mara’s body bucked with her sob against his side. Mitch’s arm tightened around her as she shifted so her front was pressed to his side and both her arms were around his middle.
Then Bud jogged to the dugout and disappeared.
“Daddy,” Marcie called, her fingers in his tee yanking and he looked down at her. “Bud got a homerun his first time at bat!” she cried excitedly.
His Marcie always got excited when Bud got a homerun even though she’d seen it often. They flew to Tucson as much as they could to watch Bud play for the Wildcats at the University of Arizona.
“I know, baby,” Mitch replied. “I saw.”
“And he pointed at us!” Faith cried from their other side and Mitch looked to her to see her head tipped back and her arm pointed up. “Look! We’re on the big screen!”
Mitch didn’t look. This was because he caught sight of Billie and saw her eyes on him. They were bright.
Mara’s eyes, filled with love and trust.
He grinned at her.
Her grin was wonky when she grinned back.
Seeing that, not for the first time in thirteen years and probably not the last, Mitch wondered about Bill Winchell. The first time he saw that grin in a Stop ‘n’ Go he knew it was worth fighting and dying for. Exhausting yourself. Running yourself ragged. Bleeding yourself dry.
The last time the kids saw Bill was when he was drunk and high after they’d spent the day running away from him. He’d been true to his word. He’d relinquished all claim then and forever. He was alive, Mitch knew, out of prison and living with his Mom in her trailer in Iowa. Mara’s mom died of heart disease two years ago. Her friend Lynette shared the news and they did not attend her funeral. Lulamae lived on. Neither of them nor Bill had darkened Mitch and Mara’s door again.
So Bill had kept his promise.
So had Mitch.
And, Mitch figured, that was the best thing Bill Winchell had to give to his kids. Mitch’s promise to give them a good life and unfettered access to Mara’s love.
Therefore, in the end, not entirely an assclown.
Mitch’s mind moved from these thoughts as his gaze dropped.
Jesus, Billie’s man-boy had his arm around her waist low, his fingers close to her hip.
He took in the hand then he looked to Ridge.
Ridge caught his look, his head jerked and his hand shifted up to the acceptable zone of her waist.
His work done, looking away, Mitch caught Billie rolling her eyes at Mara. He’d seen this a lot and it didn’t faze him. Never did. Billie perfected the eye roll at age seven.
They sat with the rest of the crowd as the next batter took the box.
Mara dropped her head to his shoulder.
It was after the batter fouled out that Mara’s head shifted and her lips came to his ear.
“I knew it,” she whispered.
Mitch turned his head and, up close, looked into his wife’s unusual but beautiful blue eyes.
“Knew what?” he asked.
“That you’d build a beautiful family.”
Mitch felt that in his gut and it felt good, like it always did when Mara hit him
with her sweetness.
He lifted his hand and cupped her jaw. “Sweetheart –”
“Thank you, honey,” she kept whispering.
“For what?”
“A good life and a beautiful family.”
“You had a hand in that,” he reminded her.
“I know. We’re a team. Thank you for giving me that too.”
Fuck, he loved his wife.
He couldn’t think of a response so he decided to smile.
Mara smiled back, Billie’s wonky smile, the smile his wife had given their daughter and he couldn’t help it.
He bent his head and kissed it off her lips.
And he kept doing it even as he heard Faith announce with practiced exasperation, undoubtedly to Ridge, “They do this a lot.”
And he kept doing it through Billie’s softer, much sweeter and not exasperated at all, “And they always have. As long as I can remember.”
The Dream Man Series will continue with Motorcycle Man, the story of Kane “Tack” Allen.
####
About the Author
Kristen Ashley lives in the beautiful West Country of England with her husband and her cat. She came to England by way of Denver, where she lived for twelve years, but she grew up in Brownsburg, Indiana. Her family and friends are loopy (to say the least) but loopy is good when you want to write.
Kristen’s Mom moved her and her brother and sister in with their grandparents when she was six. Her grandparents had a daughter much younger than her Mom so they all lived together on a very small farm in a small farm town in the heartland. She grew up with Glenn Miller, The Everly Brothers, REO Speedwagon and Whitesnake (and the wardrobes that matched). Needless to say, growing up in a house full of music, clothes and love was a good way to grow up.
And as she keeps growing up, it keeps getting better.
Discover other Titles by Kristen Ashley at Smashwords.com
Rock Chick Series:
Rock Chick
Rock Chick Rescue
Rock Chick Redemption
Rock Chick Renegade
Rock Chick Revenge
Rock Chick Reckoning
Rock Chick Regret
The ‘Burg Series:
For You
At Peace
Golden Trail