Bikers and Pearls (3 page)

“But I thought—” April stopped midsentence. She’d be home soon and the whole thing
could be their little kettle of fish. “I’m sorry. A biker-rider thingy is fine. Just
fine,” she said as she leaned back in her chair.

“Good,” said Bull. “Because you and I are in charge of permits and advertising.” He
smiled again, the left side inching up more than the right. No, it wasn’t quite a
smile. It was more of a grin.

With his perfectly straight teeth. If someone would turn him in on one of those makeover
shows and cut and style his hair, he’d be downright dangerous. But he didn’t know
what he was talking about because she wasn’t about to help with any of their far-fetched
ideas. She couldn’t. With her aging father’s cardiac condition, it would absolutely
kill him if he ever found out.

The man named Crank explained all about what they had decided. She sat there biding
her time and tried to blend in with the furniture. Then her cell rang. So much for
trying to look inconspicuous.

“I’m sorry,” she said. She pressed the phone to her head as tightly as she could and
bent down toward the table. Everyone in the group grew silent as Jenna’s voice barreled
through the little cell phone.

“I called Mr. Houseman. He said he can’t help you right now. April, I think you could
be in a lot of danger. I asked around about that Bull guy and found out he had been
involved with Rebel Angels. Those people might have chains or knives—or even guns.”

Yeah, they might. But why would they want to use them on her? Because she was wearing
pleats?

Jenna’s voice grew even louder, if that were possible. “Be careful. Stay away from
the bikers and get your butt home.”

“Jenna, don’t be ridiculous. I’ll talk to you later.” April quickly ended the call
and looked up at Bull. He raised his eyebrow, and a strange expression covered his
handsome face. It was almost another smile. Wait. No. It was a smirk. She knew it.
He’d heard everything Jenna had said—about the chains, the knives…and Rebel Angels.

How dare he be snarky with her? She sat up, glanced around, and realized by the looks
on their faces that the others had heard Jenna, too.

Before, she was merely being paranoid, but now she had a real reason to worry. That
phone call would have insulted anyone. In Jenna’s effort to be a mother hen, she’d
actually made the situation worse.

She had two options. She could stand, run, and take her chances in the parking lot
with the chains and knives Jenna had mentioned, or she could prove them all wrong.
Being the chicken that she was, she said, “Well, people. When do we get started?”

Chapter Two

Give me a break
. Funny how some hair, clothes, and boots could disconcert some people. Bullworth
Clayton knew that the attractive young woman beside him was all out of sorts. That
kind of reaction sometimes came with not looking like a good ole boy from the South,
and he was getting used to it—especially after he’d moved to town. Unfortunately,
when he first moved here right out of high school, he had gotten mixed up with the
wrong crowd. But all that was behind him now.

He was amused by the way the woman sitting next to him fidgeted with the pleats on
her conservative skirt. And the way she wrinkled her perfectly shaped forehead. “Write
your name and phone number down on another sheet. I’ll need it to call you tomorrow
to set up the meetings,” he whispered. As he lingered in her space, a sweet scent
caught his attention. Not too intense, and it made him want to breathe it in a while
longer.

He sat back and watched as she fumbled with the notebook, turning the pages until
she reached the last. Her hand hesitated before she wrote. He noticed something else
about her, too. She was minus her sweater. Wonder where that went?

Everything he knew told him how much she hated writing down her personal information.
He chuckled inside, imagining how she felt. He had seen a lot of phonies in his life,
but this woman had to take the cake.

Too bad she was so cute. With her sandy-beige hair all pulled back in a clamp. In
any other situation he would use her information to try to get a date. But this time,
he would only use her number to help Ben. And to do a little needling to amuse himself.
Yep. It really was too bad she was so cute.

“My friends call me Bull,” he said as he extended his hand.

“April Church,” she said.

“Let me guess. Born in April?”

She nodded and tentatively reached out. Everything about her was so predictable. He
grasped her hand firmly—like he meant it. Her fingers felt soft and fragile, and he
worried for just a moment that he had held them too tightly. They were also cold and
clammy.

She fidgeted with her pen and tapped it on her notebook again. He smiled at her nervous
habit.

This was going to be more fun than he had at first anticipated.

He looked up and saw Betsy waiting on a table in the back. So that’s where the sweater
had gone. And he knew exactly why. He had had to look away from the waitress earlier
because of her…trouser situation. He glanced at April. “Okay,” Mr. Morrow said as
he walked back to the front of the room. “Crank, your group first. Tell us all. What
are you planning and when is the event?”

Crank half stood and said, “I’ll let our secretary give you the details.” He extended
his hand toward April and sat back down.

Her eyes widened. She crouched over the notebook and started to address the entire
room. “Um, first of all…”

“Stand up,” Mr. Morrow said. “So we can hear you.”

Bull knew she was nervous, but she stood anyway. He watched as she took a couple of
deep breaths. Anyone would have to admire her willingness to keep on trucking through
that kind of anxiety. Couldn’t ever see someone like her on the back of his Harley,
though.

The pretty blonde glanced at a table of stuffy-looking women and then back at the
notebook. She squinted. “They, um, we decided that we would host a charity bike ride,”
she said in a small voice.

“A little louder, please,” said Mr. Morrow from the lectern.

“Yes.” She paused. “A charity bike ride,” she said in a louder voice. Her face grew
redder with every second she spoke. “People and businesses would sponsor miles, and
they—um—the motorcycle owners—will give rides to people who want to actually go for
a ride on a bike. And—”

“When are you planning this event?” someone in the crowd called out.

“They want, um—” she began. Three times she’d referred to their group as
they
, distancing herself from them. Though she was doing it subconsciously, the results
were the same.

“Um, we want to have it in April. April twenty-seventh and
twenty-eighth,” she said as she let out a deep breath. She grabbed the table as if
to steady herself. Yep. She was definitely embarrassed. Bull almost felt sorry for
her. But then he stopped himself. She was like all the others—like the ones in school
who hadn’t bothered to give Adam, his little brother, a chance. What did it matter
if a child had thinning hair, pale skin, and used a walker? Not a
single
kid in school had given his brother a break. He remembered the stares and how the
kids pointed and referred to his poor family as
them
, making them feel like outsiders. He clinched his jaw, made a fist, and pushed it
into the side of the chair. And later, when they’d found out Adam was dying, no one
from his school even came to visit. Not even that witch of a teacher who’d worn big
pearl earrings and had thought she was better than everybody else. He’s hated pearls
ever since.

They’d all had their chance. Bull sat up straight, pulled to adjust his distressed
vest and turned his head—and gaze—toward her, letting his short ponytail swish the
top of the leather at his shoulders.

Why should Bull give this woman a break now?

April sat back down and released a deep breath.

A woman in the second group stood and said, “We’re going to have a bake sale.”

Crank snorted. “A bake sale?” he asked quietly. “Probably won’t bring in more than
a couple a hundred dollars at best.”

Bull smiled and nodded at Crank in agreement. At least April had stayed with their
group.

He leaned toward April. “You bake?” he asked.

She nodded and smiled. “I’m really good at red velvet cakes and sweet potato pies.”
She paused. “Oh, I know how to make some killer lemon squares.”

“Lemon squares? How much would those bring in for Ben?” He smiled.

After the woman gave a few details about her bake sale, a man at the next table stood.
“Our group is going to have a craft bazaar at the Summerbrook Square. We’ll need about
four weeks to advertise the affair and get the donations.”

“So, you do crafts, too?” Bull asked April, figuring she’d prefer to be at any of
the other tables than his.

“Oh, I can crochet and knit.”

“I bet you can.” Bull knew it. If only he had the chance to prove to her how much
more the rally would help Ben. But he didn’t think he was going to get that chance
with April. He knew her type. It would simply be a matter of time until she left their
group.

The other teams followed, giving details about their events. A spring festival and
quilt raffle. A car wash and candy sale. With each report, Bull recorded the amount
the group would raise.

One of the young women at the table off to the side of the room stood. The whole table
looked as if they’d gotten a memo to wear pink and green. Half appeared sort of stuffy
and the other half prissy. Kinda like the one sitting next to him. He recognized some
of the ladies. Megan Dillard, who was always showing up at his garage with her BMW,
which was never broken. She just wanted to bat her eyes and show how short her skirts
could get. He had no use for women like that. He also saw Mrs. Tradd and Mrs. Armstrong
and figured the whole lot of them probably belonged to that ladies group that had
shunned his mother.

“We’ve decided to sponsor a golf tournament at our country club,” the attractive young
woman said.

Bull leaned in close and spoke. “Don’t tell me you play golf, too,” he whispered.

“No. I hope to learn one day, though.” She scribbled something on the notebook in
front of her. “I guess I would need to belong to the country club first.” She scribbled
some more and then glanced up at the ladies across the room. “However, that’s not
about to happen anytime soon.”

It was so easy to read this woman. He could tell she wanted to be like the ladies
at that other table. Sort of like the way so long ago he wanted to fit in with the
kids at school.

There was something about April. He wasn’t quite sure what it was, but he didn’t want
to blow it with her just yet.

He glanced at how she was nervously toying with the pearls about her neck. On second
thought, who was he kidding? She’d already found out about his former involvement
with Rebel Angels. Even though it had been so long ago. And he had been so young,
but he knew that didn’t matter—not to some people.

After a few others spoke, Mr. Morrow said a few words and dismissed the meeting.

As soon as people started leaving the room, Bull’s phone rang. He took the call from
his old friend and looked at April.

“Hey, Bull. I hear you’ve met one of my volunteers,” Bertie Houseman said.

“Yeah, she’s sitting right next to me.” He sat back, extending his legs and crossing
his boots at his ankles.

“Well, I can’t get there and her friend has an overly active imagination and wants
me to see her safely to her car. Wouldn’t do any good to tell her there was no need.”
Bertie paused. “I’d owe ya.”

“Give me a break.” He paused. “No problem. Yeah, you do owe me.”

He ended the call, let out a deep breath, and leaned his head back. He looked at April
and caught her gazing at him. Finally, he said, “So, you need an escort to get yourself
out of here?”

Maybe she was worried about Slug still being out in the dark parking lot. Slug. Even
if Slug had it out for her, he’d be too lazy to lift a finger to even attempt to hurt
her. He was probably home right now. Snoozing.

“No, thank you. I’ll be fine,” she said as she gathered her things.

“Well, that’s not what Bertie Houseman just said.” Bull stood and looked straight
into her eyes.

“You know Mr. Houseman?”

“Yes, very well. And he knew I’d be here. Fact, I was the one who told him about this
whole deal.” He nodded at the room.

Her face grew red, and she started squinting again. There was no way for her to get
out of the situation. She’d have to leave with him—a complete stranger. This was fun.
He smiled.

She hugged the notebook as she walked out of Carolina Cow Steakhouse and past the
ugly steer by the door. She surveyed the area. Probably for Slug.

She almost jogged toward her car at the end of the parking lot.

“You going to a fire?” he asked.

“It
is
pretty cold out here, you know,” she said.

He had almost forgotten. The poor woman didn’t even have a sweater to shield her from
the frigid March air. Even he was surprised how cold it could get on a Carolina evening
before summer set in. And this Sunday night felt frigid, even for March in South Carolina.

At her car, she turned. Shaking from the cold, she said, “Look. I know you heard my
friend on the phone, and I know what you must be thinking, but I can assure you that—”

“Lady, I don’t need assuring. I have eyes and ears. And Bertie’s call cleared up anything
that I didn’t already understand,” he said, trying to be careful of the way his voice
sounded, trying not to let all the anger associated with his brother surface, trying
not to let all the trouble that it led to ruin the rest of his life.

…

A chilled wind blew and cleared away some of the clutter in April’s mind. The little
pricks of pain she had felt earlier vanished. There was that wonderful fragrance again.

She had to focus. She didn’t want her fears about them to give him the wrong idea.
She
wanted
to do the right thing—to help Ben. And it wouldn’t hurt if she won over a few votes
for the league in the process.

Still, it was so hard.

If only that man hadn’t swerved in front of them that night. If only her father’s
leg had healed. If only half this side of town hadn’t been burned because of her family.
If, if, if.

She couldn’t rely upon Bull to understand all that had happened. He would probably
tell her to just get over it. But now her father had heart problems. Three heart attacks.
She wasn’t going to give him a reason to have another. She could probably work behind
the scenes and her father wouldn’t find out.

“What you really need to know is that I
am
going to help, and I’m planning to work on this team. Everybody has a right to help.”
She paused. “Everybody.”

Boy, were his eyes ever blue. They stirred the fireflies in her belly again.

“Well, we’ll see,” he said and looked into the backseat of her car.

What did he think he was doing—protecting her? Humph. If she
did
need protecting, she’d best have someone protect her from him. The nearness of him
heightened her senses and set her off-balance. She needed to be careful.

She had to remember that she was at the back of a poorly lit parking lot with a total
stranger—a total stranger who used to be a part of the very same gang—which years
before gave her nightmares and started all the headaches. This whole evening needed
to end. Fast. “I can handle things from here. You didn’t need to walk me all the way
to—”

Without warning, Bull called out, “Holy cow!”

Everything seized inside. Her breath halted. Her body jerked. The notebook flew from
her arms as she tripped backward over the cement curb. What had he seen? Slug?

Still staring into her backseat, he let out a laugh that she knew had to be coming
from deep beneath tight abs under his very fitted shirt. He quickly composed himself
and reached out to help her stand.

She looked up and into his handsome face and took his hand. Some kind of static bolt
raced up her arm.
Get a grip
. She needed to focus on what this man was doing.

She could tell that he was trying desperately not to chuckle. “What’s so funny?” she
asked. Her insides shuddered as she rose.