Bikers and Pearls (16 page)

“Mr. Huffman said you’d say that. That’s why he sent the raise as well. Good job.”

She sat, stunned.

“’Kay then. You can go back to work now,” he said.

“Thanks.” As she walked the short distance across the hall to her cubical, she shook
her head in amazement.

If he knew, Bull would be happy for her. In fact, he would know about all that she
was doing on her own very shortly. She would tell him how she ignored office policy.
How she set up and advertised the donor testing. How she was willing to do anything
to help Ben. How she had changed.

Funny how things were working themselves out lately.

For the next few days, she stayed busy. She had a lot to do to catch up at the office
and in the organization of even more donor-testing days. She had been one of the first
tested, and she found out that she wasn’t a match. More people needed to be tested,
but there was only one more person on her list to contact personally—Bull.

She was going to pay the handsome biker a visit at his place of employment.

Normally, dressing for a visit to a garage wouldn’t take so much consideration, but
she was getting ready to see the man who had her tied up in emotional knots. And she
had completed a transformation since she’d seen him last—a significant transformation.

Finally, she settled on a white dress with delicate pink roses on it—something far
different from her insurance-world suits. Oh, and her pearls. She’d better not forget
them. Because she wore them to every important occasion.

Buckled inside her Taurus, she meandered through the streets and toward the garage
on the corner of Hickory and Gum Streets. It was Friday afternoon and the town was
beginning to close up for the day. Hope that Bull would still be at the shop knocked
at her chest.

At the front door of the shop, she sat in a moment of paralyzing stillness and watched
the butterflies waltz around the azalea bushes at the sides of the door. They were
turning and twirling in her stomach as well.

He may not even want to see her. He hadn’t called after the hospital. He may have
given up on her. He had every right. That picture in the paper was awful. He may have
moved on. She bristled. He had better not. A realization surfaced in her heart. A
part of him belonged to her—because they were working together for Ben. She had a
right to be here.

She rummaged through her purse, found a pink lipstick, and glazed her lips with it.
Looking in the rearview mirror, she fluffed her hair a bit with her fingers.

It was time to face the inevitable or the music or the firing squad or whatever it
was. She opened the door. The waiting room at the garage was pristine. Magazines all
neatly displayed. Comfortable chairs perfectly aligned across from one another. But
it was empty, so she headed straight down a hall toward what looked like offices.
Instead of finding her guy, she found a slightly older man dressed in khakis and a
blue oxford shirt, the official uniform of Charleston yuppies.

“I’m looking for one of your employees,” she said, glancing around at the service
awards on the walls.

“And who might that be?” he asked.

She craned her neck and looked down the long corridor. “Bullworth Clayton.”

He laughed.

“What’s wrong? Did he quit or something?” she said.

The man laughed even harder. “Lady, he can’t quit. He owns this place,” he said. “
I
work for
him
.”

“Oh, my goodness.” More of her preconceived notions came crashing down around her.
“Is he here?”

“He’s in the first bay.”

She walked as fast as her heels would allow her. They made tapping sounds on the squeaky
clean, terracotta floor. She couldn’t wait to see him.

Some of the air needed clearing. Now.

Chapter Twelve

“Hello, stranger,” April said.

Bull dropped his brand-new Ping driver on the tile floor. Good thing the cover was
on the head.

She jumped at the loud sound the club made as it hit the floor. “I didn’t know you
played golf.”

“You don’t know a lot about me,” he said. He didn’t know if he would have the chance
to show her. That picture in the paper told how she really felt. She was never going
to ride a motorcycle. Never going to be at ease with bikers. Never going to get over
her past.

Her visit was the last thing he’d expected, though they still needed to finish up
with the rally. For Ben.

An awkward moment passed between them where neither spoke. Her hair brushed her slight
shoulders and rested on the straps of her spring dress. He wanted to pull her to him,
but he knew better. “So, what did you come here to talk about?”

“The rally. Something else I’ve cooked up to help Ben. Us. I know I haven’t been the
Rock of Gibraltar so far, but I also know that I can do better.” She put her hands
behind her back and twisted slightly from side to side. “This isn’t easy for me. I’ve
made a lot of mistakes. I judged you and stereotyped you and your friends before I
got to know you. And that was wrong.”

Now he was hearing exactly what he’d wanted to hear. “Go on,” he said as he put the
driver in his golf bag.

“Every…” She stopped and shook her head. “Every misconception I ever had has been
broken in these last few weeks. I found out that risk-assessment adjusters can still
end up with their hearts in a wreck—no matter how cautious they try to be.”

Her heart had been in a wreck?

“I miss you, Bull.” Her eyes reflected soft light.

Did he just hear what he thought he heard? His insides became jumpy. He turned, walked
to the bay door, and back again.

“I missed you, too.” He blurted out the words and meant every one of them. “I tried
to ignore it, but it didn’t go away. Every time I glanced at that bike you won in
the corner over there, I wanted to be with you. Talk to you. I finally had to put
a sheet over the stupid thing, but then it hit me like the ghost of—I don’t know—friendship
gone bad or something.” Friendship was a very mild word for what he really felt. He
figured he was scaring the daylights out of her, but it was time to push a bit. To
see how she really felt about him.

Glimpsing the sheeted thing in the back of the building, she gave a nervous chuckle
and lowered her head.

“I wanted to call you earlier, but I knew that I should talk to you in person,” she
said. “I know how difficult it had to be for you at the hospital. The memories of
your brother and all.”

He inhaled deeply and cupped his temples between his fingers. “That wasn’t easy.”
He paused. “How’s Ben? I’ve been afraid to ask.”

She stepped toward him and touched his forearm. Just below the bandaged tattoo that
he’d had altered earlier that day. “That’s one reason why I’m here. He’s doing about
the same, but I’ve organized a donor testing drive in Summerbrook and the surrounding
communities. I wanted to ask if you’d be tested, too.”

He smiled. “So, you’ve come for blood?”

She grabbed his hand and met his eyes. “I’ve come for you.” The warmth of her small
hand in his radiated to his heart.

He gazed into her face. No. Into her soul. His heart was on fire. In a wreck and on
fire.

She
had
changed.

“You still afraid of bikes?” he asked.

“I’m not going to lie. I am. Thing is, though, I’m willing to work on it. But I’m
not afraid of bikers.”

He put his arm around her shoulders and turned her toward his golf bag. “Well, then,
you won’t mind going with me tomorrow to the Ben Evans Golf Classic at the country
club, will you? I think I’m going to need some moral support.” In actuality, he simply
wanted to be near her as much as he could. Before the rally was over.

Almost before he got the words out of his mouth, she said, “Of course I won’t mind.
It’ll give me an opportunity to drum up some more business for the donor testing.
And the bike rally.”

The air in the room stilled and he leaned into her, giving her lots of time to pull
away if she wanted. But she didn’t. He leaned down until his lips touched hers and
the heat he’d felt in his heart transferred to her sweet mouth. She tasted like a
spring evening. Her scent was light and reminded him of freshly blooming jasmines.
He ran his hand up her back and let it settle on her neck. As he pressed his mouth
into hers even more, he supported her head as it tilted back. His body rumbled inside
like his Harley did when he rode. But this was no mechanical rumbling. It was hot,
magnetic energy that threatened to explode. He was wrecked.

Tonight wasn’t some forced meeting like that evening at the steakhouse. Even their
differences were no match for their attraction. Their mouths and arms and hearts were
drawn together like some irresistible force that would not be denied. He wanted her
delicate body for his own, and he sensed she was responding to the rumbling deep within
him.

He ran his hand down the drape of pearls about her neck. Mmmmm. Soft. Smooth. Curved.
He liked the feel of them. And of her.

He wanted to find out where this whole thing could end up. Already, he’d exposed his
soul to her like he’d never done before. Shared his past. About Adam and the Angels.
Heck, he’d even changed the ink on his arm. He knew he was going to have to move out
of his comfort zone even more to be a part of April’s life, and he was willing to
do that. There was a sticking point, though. He held her in his arms and looked beyond
her at his motorcycle against the wall. For her to be with him, it was going to have
to be on the back of his Harley. That would be the thing that proved that she could
deal with his world. And him.

…

“Guess what? You’re going to a golf tournament with me tomorrow,” April said. She
pushed the speaker icon on her phone and leaned back on her bed.

“I don’t think so. I was planning to catch up on some reading. You know that new Anne
Rivers Siddons novel is out,” Jenna said.

“Bring it with you. You can read it when the lines lull. I need a hand with signing
people up for the donor testing.”

“Well, I guess I can do that. At least it’s not some motorcycle race or anything.
And the Ladies League is sponsoring it,” Jenna said. “There might even be some cute
single guys there.”

April knew the team that Bull was sponsoring. Patch Evans, Bertie Houseman, himself,
and Hogan Thorpe. “Yeah, there’ll be cute guys there.”

It was all set.

The next day at the Oaks Country Club, the tumultuous feelings that had overwhelmed
her the night of the silent auction picked at her brain. She straightened her stance
as she walked toward the antique building.
I’m stronger than that. I have to be for Ben
.

Inside the club, she set up a small table beside the platform on which her picture
had been taken that crazy night.

“Is this okay?” April asked Paulette Mazell, the Summerbrook Ladies League president
and coordinator for the tournament.

“Perfect,” Paulette said as she shimmied around a table in her blue capris and yellow
sweater. “Before we hand out prizes and announce the winners, you can have some time
to speak to the participants about the donor drive and the rally.”

“That would be great.”

As April set out the sign-up sheets, she noticed how cliquish all the ladies were
from the league—like they had a secret and nobody else could be privy to it. Did April
really want to join such a group of women? It would mean that she was finally acceptable
to all the “right” people in her town. But April wasn’t so sure she wanted that any
longer.

Jenna arrived and socialized with the other league ladies for a while before she and
April helped out with the tournament for the rest of the day. April was glad Paulette
had put them on the big piazza at the back of the club—away from the Pulitzer and
pearls girls. Jenna wasn’t a carbon copy of those women. Though it may have looked
otherwise to people who didn’t know her, when push came to shove, Jenna always chose
their friendship. And April had known that since childhood.

Azaleas were blooming in vivid pink as far as April could see. Interspersed in the
middle of patches of bushes were dogwoods with their white flowers heralding the birth
of the new season. The warm air wafted under the porch roof.

“This isn’t so bad, is it?” April asked.

Jenna put her book down. “Nah. I even got a little reading done in the process. And
look at this day.”

As the golf carts came around the turn, each man would stop for some refreshments.
At eleven, she and Jenna started handing out the already made chicken-salad sandwiches.

Jenna had settled back to reading her book when Bull’s team pulled up.

“How are you guys playing?” April asked.

“Like we didn’t know the difference between irons and woods,” Bull said.

“Speak for yourself, Bullworth,” Hogan said. “How have you been, Jenna?” He reached
out his hand to shake hers.

Jenna’s face popped out of her novel. She stood, letting her book slide from her lap.

“Fine. I’ve been very busy,” she said with a little half smile that made her look
all discombobulated. Her face flashed the same shade as the azaleas blooming in the
distance.

Hogan was still shaking her hand. “Maybe I’ll see you after we win this tournament,”
he said.

“Hog, you’re always the optimist,” Patch said. The group laughed.

April stared at Bull, marking the shadow of the stubble along his jawline. He was
so striking in his ponytail and Polo shirt. So sexy. She wanted to come from behind
the table and plant another go-for-broke kiss on his generous lips. She’d need a different
kind of strength when it came to him. “Get yourselves a glass of tea.” She held out
an open palm. “Anyone want a sandwich?” she asked, still gazing at Bull.

They all said yes to that, and she took four from the cooler and handed them to the
other men. When she gave Bull his, she grazed his hand with her fingers, longing pulsing
through them. She needed to get a grip. There was no time for flirting with him now.

As soon as they pulled off in their golf carts, Jenna picked up her book from the
tile floor. “You didn’t tell me
they
would be here.”

“You didn’t ask,” April said.

“That’s not fair and you know it. I didn’t want to see Hog again,” Jenna said, settling
back down in her chair.

“Well, he sure wants to see you. Bull said he asked him to try to get your number
for him,” April said. She tucked in her chin and raised her eyebrow. “You sure there’s
not something going on between you two? I mean, the night at the auction, you were
pretty giggly. And I’ve never seen your face turn that shade of pink before. The way
it did when you shook Hogan’s hand.”

“It did not,” Jenna said.

April smiled. “It surely did.”

A stillness settled between them.

“He didn’t really ask for my number, did he?” Jenna asked with a note of incredulity
in her voice.

“Yes, he did. Bull told me so, but Hogan probably figured he’d best give up by now.
The auction was a while ago,” April said. “I’m sure he’s no longer interested.”

“I couldn’t possibly give him my number,” Jenna said. “What if he called?”

“I think that would be the whole idea. Come to think of it, that would be awful. Then
you would have to go out with him, probably to some nice restaurant or somewhere.
Bull tells me Hogan is quite the connoisseur.”

“How can that be?” Jenna asked.

“He does own one of the largest Harley shops in the tri-county area, and he’s very
successful. I think he’s a Clemson grad like you.”

A group of golfers came through and Jenna passed out the tea and sandwiches faster
than she had before.

“How do you know that?” Jenna asked.

“Clemson? Oh, there was an alumni sticker on his Jaguar in the parking lot. I saw
it when he was taking out his clubs.” April became silent. Her best friend needed
time to think, to get past her misconceptions.

Jenna was a good person deep inside, just a tad shallow on top. But whenever April
needed Jenna, she was there—like she was at the auction—like she was with the fliers
on the town square—like today. Oh, Jenna might complain a bit. But she’d be there.
April couldn’t even count the times she’d helped others out. Like Miss Adree. And
Ben.

Jenna filled a few more cups with ice. “He drives a Jaguar?” she asked, pretending
to not be impressed.

“The two of you would probably have a lot in common,” April said.

Then the inquisition started. Who were his folks? Where was his shop? Where did he
live?

“Ask
him
, if you’re interested,” April replied to each question. She knew she was infuriating
her friend.

“Well, it’s probably best that I don’t know. He does have a mullet, remember?” Jenna
said with finality.

“And last I heard, they weren’t giving haircuts at Romey’s Barbershop any longer.”
That shut Jenna up. She sat with the book open, staring out at the beautifully manicured
course.
“Hair can be cut, lost, colored, straightened, or curled, you know. It’s as impermanent
as a gust of spring air. Who cares about hair in the big scheme of things?”

Jenna twirled a lock of her own blond hair around her finger and stared at the fuchsia-colored
azaleas in the distance.

…

Bull sat at his team’s table in the country club and watched as April flitted around
gathering the scorecards. Too many men were watching her as well, and he didn’t like
it one bit. She had on a white cotton skirt and a blue-and-white striped shirt with
sleeves that capped the top of her slender shoulders.

Bull was uncomfortable. Golfers could be a deceptively acceptable appearing bunch.
But he knew what some of them could be like. For a few, it most certainly was not
a gentleman’s game.