Bikers and Pearls (8 page)

“I didn’t ask you to. Are you getting your things or not?”

Hesitating for another moment, she stepped inside her office and retrieved her sweater,
purse, and keys. After all, she had to eat.

As they walked down the long corridor of desks, she felt as if every eye was upon
her. Was she merely being paranoid? What would they be thinking?

He isn’t wearing a helmet. How much is he paying in skyrocketing motorcycle premiums?
And
he must have a heck of a deductible.

Or maybe they were thinking:

She’s being careless.

She’s playing with fire. And wasn’t it
her
family involved in that motorcycle tragedy and scandal years ago?

What must
she
be thinking?

That’s what
they
were thinking.

But she did need to give him his jacket.

“Here,” Bull said, ushering her toward a big black Cadillac Escalade.

Turning to him she asked, “Is this yours?”

“You think if someone owns a bike, they can’t own an SUV?”

“No. It’s that— Well, I never pictured you for a—” She held her face toward the unusually
warm March sun. “Never mind.” Nothing she said around this man was right. Of course
she knew that people who owned motorcycles owned other vehicles. Her company had a
number of dual riders insured, as well. Safe ones. Weekend riders. Probably none who
used to belong to Rebel Angels, though.

He helped her into the passenger seat by supporting her right arm. It had only been
last night that he had held her in his arms. Recalling the strength and the warmth
she had felt in his embrace made her smile. But what was she thinking? She should
be remembering what the Rebels did to her father and to the town. That was what she
had told herself to do.

“Have anything against Mexican?” he asked.

“You mean like Mr. Taco?” she asked.

He burst out laughing. “No. Like authentic Mexican food.” The left side of his lips
curled upward.

“Oh. No. I guess that’ll be okay, though. But I’ve never had authentic before.” The
genuine variety had always sounded a bit too spicy to her.

“There’s a little place on Cedar Street with a courtyard. Good stuff. And the weather’s
great today.”

“Sounds fine.” She might even like something new. Once again that feeling of safety
and warmth enveloped her, and once again she was confused. She had to remember that
he had once been with the Rebels. That she still needed distance from this man.

When they arrived, Bull asked for a seat in the courtyard. “This okay?”

She nodded, even though it was not okay. What could be okay about how she was gawking
at him? What could be okay about all the silly fluttering deep inside her? What could
be okay about being so attracted to someone who was so completely wrong for her?
She
was not okay around him.

…

Bull couldn’t believe his fortune. He wasn’t at all certain he’d be able to pull April
away from her stuffy office to talk to her. If they were to help one another, like
he wanted, he’d have to explain his past with the Rebel Angels to her. But that wasn’t
going to be easy.

The Spanish moss dripped from the limbs of the oaks that wove a green awning over
the little outdoor space. Between branches, needles of sunlight pricked the ground.
It was pleasant to be outside. And with April.

She looked distracted, though.

“Something on your mind?” he asked as she stared blankly at the menu.

“No.” She glanced over her shoulder and back at her lunch choices. “What is an encha…enchi—how
do you pronounce that?”

“Let me help you with that. I can’t believe you’ve never had real Mexican,” he said.

She sheepishly shook her head. He watched as her hair gently moved across her shoulders
as it swung.

“Let’s see what we’re going to order for you. You like chicken?”

She didn’t answer his question. “Look, we need to talk.”

This sounded final. Like a hundred other conversations he’d had with people who wanted
to erase him from their list of contacts after they’d found out about his past. “About
what?”

“First of all, I wanted to thank you about last night. If you hadn’t been there, I
don’t know what would have happened.” She took a deep breath, but before she began
again, the waiter came.

“Señor, Señorita, what you want today?” he asked, poised to write.

“I’ll have the beef fajitas, fried, and she’ll have the chicken enchiladas, soft,”
said Bull. She’d probably be upset that he had ordered, but it was obvious that she
didn’t have a clue about what to choose. At least a chicken enchilada was a mild introduction
to the spicy cuisine of Mexico.

“Thank you, Señor,” the waite
r said.

“You were saying?” Bull sat back to listen.

“Oh, yes. I also wanted to thank you for lending your jacket. I felt so bad when I
realized that you were riding without one in the cold last night.” She lowered her
head, then looked up with her deep brown eyes. “Really bad.”

“You needed it more than me,” he said, remembering how she’d felt in his arms last
night.

At first, Bull simply sat there, staring at some fallen leaves blowing across the
concrete of the courtyard. He had to choose his words carefully. A lot was resting
on them. Finally, his thoughts congealed. If he was going to work with April, he had
to clear the air about his past.

“I know I owe you an explanation. About the Rebel Angels,” he said.

“No you don’t. You don’t owe me anything,” she said.

He nodded. “It was a long time ago. I was young, and I’d just left home. Right after—”
He swallowed hard. “I told you last night about Adam dying.”

She nodded. “But why did you leave your home?”

“That’s the ugly part. You know how kids can be. Adam wasn’t like the rest of the
children.” He took a deep breath. “It was a brain tumor. Affected a lot of functions.
Surgery didn’t go well. Neither did radiation and chemotherapy. Adam didn’t want to
make a big deal out of what went on. He simply wanted to fit in. Some kids were kind,
but mostly, they didn’t get it.”

She touched his hand and closed her eyes. “I understand.”

When she opened her eyes he thought he saw some kind of alliance or empathy in them.
But what could she possibly know about feeling ostracized?

She shook her head. “I don’t understand how that’s connected to the Rebel Angels,”
she said.

“Simple. I needed to belong. To something. Some of the guys befriended me. My dad
had taught me a lot about working on bikes and they needed help with their motorcycles.
At first I had no idea what they’d been involved in. After a few months, I found out
that some of them ran a chop shop…some were drug running.” He thought about his next
words. “Yeah. I admit I did some things. Things I regret.” He wanted to come clean
so he gave her a few details. “At first I didn’t know exactly what was going on. They
said they were purchasing cars for parts when insurance companies totaled them for
floods and such. When I couldn’t see any damage, I figured out the vehicles had been
stolen, but by that time I was dissembling the autos and acting as a courier.”

“My company takes some pretty big hits with stolen vehicles. Makes everybody’s premiums
go up. It isn’t fair to people just getting by,” she said.

“I know. When I confronted the Angels about it, they called me some pretty ugly sissy
names and laughed. At the time, I couldn’t go back home and deal with what had happened
to Adam, so I stayed. The only way out of my involvement in it was I had to become
invaluable in the legit part of the garage. So I did. I ended up being worth more
to them there.”

April took a deep breath and gazed up at the sunlight straining to make it through
the old tree. Then she reached for the chipotle sauce and twirled the bottle, watching
the insides stir.

“I also need to tell you that sometimes there were more than car parts in the courier
runs. I even have a record.” He shook his head. “I’m not who I used to be, though,”
he said. Maybe he’d said too much.

She bit her bottom lip, nodded, and took the drink menu that the waiter had left on
the table and began to fan herself.

“I left the Angels a long time ago,” he said.

She squinted her eyes and shook her head. “What made you leave?”

“I’m nothing like those guys. I’d simply needed to grow up and figure out who I was.
And what I realized was that I wasn’t a criminal,” he said. “They left town and continued
what they had been doing. I stayed and kept clean.”

He wanted to tell her how he’d worked hard, bought the garage, and turned it into
a legitimate business. A legitimate business that was very lucrative, but he could
tell her all that later.

She turned over the napkin in her lap, adjusted it, and turned it over again. She
became completely still and stared him squarely in his face. “What do you know about
this town’s history with the Rebels?”

“Not much. I heard bits and pieces about some kind of trouble a long time ago. Before
I came to Summerbrook. All I know is that they weren’t too sorry to leave when the
council passed all those ordinances that, in effect, ran them out of town.”

She opened her mouth to speak but only let out a sigh.

“What?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Nothing.” She closed her eyes.

“I understand if you don’t want to help. I just need to know now. Before we get underway
with all the planning,” he said.

She stared into his face, searching it for answers or words or something. After a
small nod, she said, “I know about wanting to belong. About wanting to be like everyone
else. I get that.”

He reached for her hand and held it in his lap.

“But it’s hard for me to understand reaching out for that acceptance to those people
in that gang,” she said.

“Look. I get it. I do. Even I can’t understand it sometimes. Let’s put all that aside
for now. I need to know if you’re coming to the tackle shop tonight for the meeting.”
It was his turn to search her face for answers.

What he really wanted to know was if she was going to put aside her concerns and worries
to help Ben with him.

The waiter appeared and pushed two sizzling plates onto their table. As he stepped
away, Bull saw what looked like pure fear in her eyes.

Humph
. She hadn’t begun to see spicy yet. If she was that afraid of a little fiery food,
he doubted she was going to make it to the end of the rally. He needed to get all
the help he could from her before she crabbed her way out of helping. By the expression
on her face, it looked like it would be sooner rather than later.

Chapter Five

April gaped at her plate, which was buzzing with heat. Everything was too hot, spicy,
and dangerous for her. The meal, the man, and the tackle shop proposition. She doubted
she even possessed the ability to overcome all the anxieties that had made a home
in her since childhood.

And then there was work. There was no way she could ask her boss to insure a bike
rally. Her company was very conservative and hardly conceded to insure retired old
men who rode bikes on Sunday afternoons. Really. These bikers were crazy. In fact,
she was crazy for continuing to hang around one of them.

In addition to the rolled-up flour tortillas, red, green, and orange peppers bejeweled
the platter. Hot, hot, hot. Still gazing at her food, all that would come out of her
mouth was, “Oh, my goodness.”

“What?” Bull asked. “You don’t like your food?”

She moved the plate. “It smells…spicy.”

“Well, that might be your problem. You might need some spice in your life. You haven’t
even tried it and you don’t like it. Is it that way with everything with you? You
only want to stick to your familiar, milquetoast world? Why don’t you try living a
little?” His lip inched up in a smile.

She fumed. He knew nothing about her world, or what had happened to her in the past.
And he’d just dumped all this stuff in her lap about his affiliation with Rebel Angels.
Sharp pains shot through her temples. She pushed back her chair and stood. “This was
a mistake. I knew it would be. I’m calling someone to take me back to work.” She turned
away. Her face felt as hot as the plate that had been set before her. She nervously
rifled through her purse to find her phone, but suddenly remembered she had thrown
it at those creeps last night. Then she felt a hand on her elbow.

“Look. I’m sorry. I had no right. It’s only that I need you to help with this rally
and…” He leaned close to her head. “I want you to help
me
.” His voice was low, enchanting. “Please.”

She didn’t know if it was the word or the way he’d said it, but it made her want to
throw her arms around him and say,
I’ll do anything you want. I’ll even eat hot and spicy food
. Her good sense had taken a vacation.

There was just one thing, though. She wasn’t about to go to some seedy bar that also
served as a tackle store. Marvin’s Bait and Tackle Shop. Her company even refrained
from insuring places like that. Places that sold more beer than bait. Places that
sold more tobacco than tackle. Places where the drunken brawls could be had for free.

He whispered again. “Please sit down and have lunch with me.”

She had no defenses against that word.
Please
. Or his voice. Or that scent. And she really needed to put some physical distance
between them, so she sat as he requested. The plate had stopped sizzling, but her
heart and head had not. Being here with him was still way out of her comfort zone.

“Go ahead. Taste it,” he said. He smiled and those cute lines formed on either side
of his mouth again. What she’d really like to taste was his lips.

She really didn’t have a choice at this point. The accompanying salad looked like
a good place to start, even though it resembled no salad she’d ever had in South Carolina
before. In addition to the crisp lettuce, hot refried beans smothered one side of
the plate, and on top of the lettuce was a smooth guacamole sauce and cool sour cream.
She took a bite. The mixture of the different textures and temperatures was refreshing.
And good. “Mmmmm. I like it.”

“Now the enchilada.” He took a sip of his tea.

She leaned in, inhaled, and lifted her brow. The scent of onions and peppers and chilies
wafted about the plate. When she cut open the enchilada, more color spilled onto the
orange ceramic dish. She worked to get the menagerie of tomatoes, peppers, and chicken
onto her fork and took a bite. “Wow, that is spicy,” she said.

“Spicy can be good,” he said. One side of his mouth inched up as it did before.

“I’ve never had anything like this. Ever,” she said and took another bite. The chilies
and chicken melted together with the cheese and guacamole.

He raised a brow. “Different can be fascinating. And delicious,” he said.

She guessed it could be, but he wasn’t talking about food.

“I like…hot,” he said as he took a big bite of the colorful concoction on his plate.

April thought herself as anything but hot. Well, maybe a little last night in her
red heels.

“I’ve never been adventurous when it came to cuisine. My dad was always a meat-and-potatoes
kind of guy, so that was pretty much what my mom cooked,” she said. “I love it.”

She surprised herself. Living in the South, she was acquainted with soothing foods—grits,
macaroni pie, and rice. For years her little town hadn’t even had an ethnic restaurant,
so she’d never had the opportunity to try anything Mexican before. And then she got
set in her ways.

“I believe it’s about time we exposed you to a little adventure. Don’t you think?”
he asked.

She smiled and took another bite. That all depended upon what kind of adventure he
was talking about.

They continued eating, glancing up occasionally at one another. She almost forgot
that she was sitting in plain view of passersby. Eating Mexican food. With a former
Rebel gang member.

“So, meat and potatoes, huh?” he asked.

“Well, yeah. Actually honey ham and potato salad. My mom cooked the same thing for
almost every Sunday dinner when I was young.”

“It that your idea of a perfect Sunday afternoon? Honey ham and potato salad with
your parents?” he asked, eyebrow raised.

“Yeah, and eating alfresco under their big magnolia tree. With a light breeze and
some sweet tea.”

“Alone? Or would this perfect afternoon include a boyfriend?” he asked, smiling his
crooked smile.

“No boyfriends here, I’m afraid. Though one would be nice. The right one. I’m rather
cautious about dating, and I haven’t introduced anyone I’ve gone out with to my parents
since high school. Don’t want them worried,” she said. “What’s a perfect Sunday afternoon
for you?” she asked.

“A ride down winding country roads on a spring afternoon,” he said. “No helmet.”

She winced. “Alone?” she returned. She shouldn’t concern herself with his love life,
but now the question was out there.

“Would have to be alone. Haven’t met anyone yet who’s come remotely close to filling
my requirements,” he said.

“And what would those be?” she asked, curiosity stinging her with every bite she took.

“Hmmmm. Let’s see. Supersmart, willing to take risks, open-minded, generous, cares
about others. Beautiful. Oh, and could ride a Harley like nobody’s business,” he said.

Well, she’d never fit his bill. Not that she should want to. Not that she could. Ever.
Because she’d never, ever get on some dangerous motorcycle and ride around the countryside,
looking to get killed.

They settled in to finishing their meal. The quiet between the two was comfortable,
but soon Bull broke the spell. “So, I can count on you, right? You’re still going
to meet me at the tackle shop?”

She wanted to help him for Ben’s sake. She wanted to prove something to herself and
to the bikers who overheard Jenna’s call that first night. She also wanted to please
Mr. Houseman. But most of all she really wanted to get to know this perplexing man,
even if it was uncomfortable. Even if it meant dealing with all the anxieties she’d
grown up with.

“I guess you can count me in.”

“Then what about the insurance?”

She took an extended breath. “I don’t know. My boss has a thing about taking risks
with the company.”

“And you don’t have a thing about risks?” He smiled.

“Touché. I am, however, risking my palette with this four-alarm food.” She lowered
her head and lifted a brow.

“Mmmmm. Let’s see what I’m risking.” He pushed his honey-streaked hair behind his
left ear and let his eyes survey her form. “This could all be a set-up for one of
your…risk assessments. Who knows? I may get a bill with higher insurance rates next
week.”

They both laughed.

He rested his fork, grabbed her hand, and leaned into the table. “Why don’t you let
me talk to your boss?”

“Oh, no. That would be a very bad idea. I know what to say to sugarcoat it. I can
recite all the statistics he’d need. It would be better coming from me.” His hand
felt strong and capable in hers.

He let her fingers go and leaned back in his chair. Slivers of sun brightened the
blondish streaks on the top of his head. “Will you have something for us this evening?”
His sexy, rich voice enchanted her once again.

There was no getting around it. She was going to the tackle shop tonight. Goodness
only knew what she would find there.

After their surprisingly delightful meal, Bull drove her back to her office. She stole
glances at his form as he drove. The muscle in his forearm flexed when he pulled down
on the steering wheel. She noted the light stubble on his well-defined chin and she
took deeper and deeper breaths to keep herself focused.

All the steadying breaths had almost made her dizzy. She needed to keep her wits about
her, though. “Let me get your jacket before you go,” she said as she slipped out the
large vehicle.

She opened her trunk, took out the coat, and she handed it to him. “I can’t thank
you enough for helping me last night.” Their hands touched again, and she didn’t want
to let go the coat to break the feel of him.

“Good. That means I’ll see you tonight so that you can thank me some more.” He gave
her that little one-sided grin.

She smiled and started toward the building, then turned. “Oh, and lunch was great.”

She saw that he was holding the jacket close to his face. The way she had held it
last night in bed.

“I guess I’ll have to treat next time,” she said in an effort to minimize her astonishment.

“If that’ll get me another date, sure you can.”

Another date. Maybe they’d been on a couple if she counted the library.

Oh, my goodness.

As soon as she sat down at her desk, Mandy arrived. “What was that all about?”

“Just business,” April replied.

“What about that jacket you handed him in the parking lot?”

April wanted to tell her that it was business, too, just not Mandy’s. Even though
she’d tried to make it hers by peeping at her through the front window. “Long story.”
She paused. “By the way, I didn’t get those forms I asked you for, and headquarters
is breathing down my neck about them. Would you like me to have them call you so that
you can handle it? I was only a middleman anyway.”

“Oh, no,” Mandy said. “I’m in enough hot water with them as it is.”

April knew that already. Mandy had had two written warnings about her professional
conduct in the office. Go figure.

“I’ll get them right away,” she said.

April busied herself for a while, trying to muster the courage to talk to her boss—her
very conservative supervisor—who cautiously lorded over their very conservative insurance
company. Who answered directly to their very conservative headquarters. And if anyone
understood their apprehension about motorcycles, it was she.

Tapping her pencil on the edge of her desk, she thought about how to mitigate the
sound of it all. Finally, she came up with a few ideas—ideas that could get her through
the whole conversation with her narrow-minded manager. It was worth a try. She fumbled
through the file folder of fliers until she found what she’d been looking for. She
held a picture of the sick little boy they were all helping.

The clock was ticking, and she was going to have to show up at that tackle place tonight
with an answer. She walked into her supervisor’s office. “Charles, I saw an e-mail
from headquarters last week and it got me to thinking. They were asking about ideas
for their Give Back program. You know, the one where local adjusters donate or provide
some service for the community. Anyway, some of the civic organizations in town are
organizing a fundraiser for Ben Evans.”

It was sounding good to her so far. She explained about Ben’s leukemia and put the
little boy’s picture on the desk. “So, I found a way for us to make a contribution
to the community without there being any cash out of the company’s pockets.”

“You’ve got my attention. I’ve been racking my brain for an idea since I saw that
e-mail.” He picked up Ben’s picture. “We are running low on money for charitable contributions,
but headquarters is kind of insistent about the community-involvement thing.”

“Well, a group of people with the Summerbrook Civic League is organizing a rally,
and there are going to be bike rides, and they need some kind of group policy to cover
any accidents that might exceed each individual’s coverage.”

“Great idea. How much damage can a bicycle accident cause? I think we can do that.
In fact, I’ve worked with the Civic League before.” He put down the picture and turned
on his computer. “Let’s see what kind of policy we may want to write.”

She took a deep breath. This was going to take courage. “I don’t think you understand.
It’s a motorcycle rally, not a bicycle rally.”

He pushed away from his desk. He wrinkled his forehead, pursed his lips, and tapped
his fingers on his desk.

“Motorcycles? Oh, I don’t know about that. I’ll have to look into the liability of
it. And you’ll have to do a risk-assessment report on it.” He reached over and turned
off his computer. “I don’t know.”

She tapped a pen on the desk. “Well, I have done the assessment, and if we make certain
requirements, like cordoning off the town square for rides and making the riders wear
helmets and setting a reasonable speed limit, the risks would be quite minimal.”

He shook his head. “Let me think about it.”

“Fine. But I need to know by this afternoon.” She placed another file on his desk.
“This might help you to make up your mind. It’s the statistics correlating speeds
and accidents. What you’ll see is that we’ll be taking almost no risk at all. Accidents
at the speeds we’re addressing are minimal and the related costs…almost negligible.”
She paused. “I’m sure it won’t be a big deal if we don’t take this opportunity. They’ll
easily get another company to be a sponsor if we don’t. There’ll be tons of advertising.
It’s free PR.” She picked up Ben’s picture and sighed. “And headquarters has a bee
in their bonnet this year about that Give Back program.”