Authors: Laura Day
Hearts of Iron
This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons--living or dead--is entirely coincidental
Hearts of Iron
copyright @ 2014 by Laura Day. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embedded in critical articles or reviews.
CHAPTER ONE
Katie Brighton drove through her beloved hometown
of Miller on her way to the hospital where she worked. Small and provincial perhaps, but Miller’s heart pumped loud and its soul threaded through her own. Pulling up outside the coffee shop to collect something long, hot, and black, she peered over to the oak bench built in honor of her dear father and Miller’s former Mayor, Joseph Brighton.
Joseph raised his daughter to help her community, to work hard, to make a home and a family. It had been just the two of them since she was only three years old, and they became inseparable. So much so that her childhood home, the house he left her, felt empty without him in it so she spent most of her time at work. Hearing echoes in the empty house only made her desire to share her life more pronounced—even desperate on occasion.
A real daddy’s girl, she dreamt of finding someone strong and honorable like her father. She had yet to meet anyone who came close.
Katie pulled her stare away from Joseph’s bench and entered the coffee shop. “Hey Chris, my usual to go if you please.”
Christine’s Cafe didn’t offer the trendy interior of Starbucks, but the coffee tasted superb and had the required kick to get through a day at work.
“No problem,” Christine—better known as “Chris”—replied. “Anything else, Doctor?”
“How many times—Katie. Call me Katie. I’m only doctor at work.”
“Nope, I won’t do it!” Christine protested, attending to barrister duties. “Took years to earn that title; this town watched you study night and day for it. You earned it. Made us all so proud. Safest I ever felt in a doctor's hands, too.” She looked tired, handing the coffee to Katie. They both knew she could do with retirement, but Christine would work ‘till she dropped.
“God bless you,” Katie said, handing over some cash. “You give me reason to smile every day, and not just for this incredible brew.”
“Have a great day, Doc,” said Christine as Katie left the shop.
Katie sipped her coffee on Joseph’s bench. She’d rather sit and commune with him there rather than at his grave. Watching their beloved town wake up every morning was something she could share with him, wordlessly.
Hey Daddy, only me. What a sunny day, huh? Feels so good on my face.
Katie had been so proud of how the entire town loved Mayor Brighton. Of course, that was until he died of a heart attack five years ago— when
her
heart broke irreparably—and a dark cloud fell over Miller. He was all the law the town needed back then because people listened. Back then, officialdom was not a dirty word. Unlike what the Lance Brewers of the world would have folks believe.
Katie had heard all about Mr. Brewer’s attempts to convince the town to dissuade her from petitioning for a Sheriff, but she knew best. In the absence of her father, Miller needed a Sheriff, period. Not a club of bikers beating up anyone they deemed trouble. What right did they have to dole out punishment?
She sipped her coffee, imagining that the infamous Mr. Brewer had a dark, angry soul—a pessimist with little regard for the world in which he lived. Katie was of the mind that if you didn't like the law—if you feared it and rallied against it like Mr. Brewer and his pack of wolves—you were ultimately doing something you shouldn't.
Bikers aren’t exactly known for following the law. Wish you were here to guide me, Daddy. To help our poor Miller. But I’m sure what I’ve done will make you proud.
Of course, the idle sheriff half a county away saw no issue with leaving justice to an egotistical biker and his rowdy followers. Although Katie had never met Brewer himself, she had tended to the aftermath of his type of “justice” whenever they rolled into her surgery requiring stitches or even a splint on one occasion. That wasn't the kind of justice she wanted for Miller. That was thuggery, and she wanted it stamped out.
Katie checked her cell phone. No calls. She dumped her coffee cup in the trash. Looking back at the bench, she whispered, “Enjoy the sunshine, Daddy. See you tomorrow bright and early.”
During her drive to work, Katie smiled at her own success. After years of petitioning and hundreds of letters to the commission, she attended a meeting in the city where she was informed that Miller would indeed get a sheriff.
***
He opened the windows and the door to ventilate the place, wishing he had A/C as the sunshine flowed inside like steam from a bathroom. He turned on his trusty old coffee maker and splashed his face with cold water to clear his head of the booze from the previous night. He needed to finally meet Doc Brighton and see how the meeting went in the city. At first he thought she was just making noise, but now he feared that her noise may end up being productive.
She was no Crow Eater from what he'd heard, though she sounded a spinster type—single and childless in her thirties? Devoted to her work and the people of Miller, by all accounts. That would be great if she wasn’t trying to cause him and his club trouble by bringing lawmen into Miller. Just because his way of law wasn't good enough for her kind. The middle classes had no idea about the reality of law in
good ‘ole USA.
They walked about with their heads in the clouds, with idealistic notions of what humanity was or should be, and never for one moment would they challenge the status quo. He had nothing against idiots, but he had no time for lawmen and neither did his club.
Especially the kind of law he'd known outside of Miller.
No, all that interested him about Doc was her meddling, do-gooder ways. She thought she knew better when she really knew nothing. She lived in a delusional state, believing any law was better than none.
But she’s dead wrong.
As the son of the deceased founding president of his club, he had to take control after
his father, Baxter, died. His kind was often blamed for all sorts of things so they moved around to stay out of the law’s way. They could only maintain the permanent base they had found there if Miller stayed as it was. He knew a sheriff would find some way of roping his club back into crime or chasing them out of town.
Besides, there was no reason to change things. He made sure people in Miller were safe and his club helped keep things that way. They had claimed Miller as their territory—period. So no outsider would dare challenge them.
For the first time, he’d even begun thinking about starting a family. Something about being able to do right what his dad did wrong, and something about wanting what he never had—a normal family and a home. He always had the club, of course, which was family. But not in the sense he now needed. He wanted a home, a kid in school, a wife in his bed. Maybe he had grown tired of male company? Maybe he just decided there was more to life than beer, empty sex, money, and parties.
True, Baxter had been a legend in biker circles. But as a man—a father—he sucked. Lance never said as much to a brother and never would. His club would string him up, for one thing. Recently he watched little league games with envy, hiding at the back. He’d never had much schooling, never had the opportunity. When his mother died early on in his life from a biking accident, his needs as a child became irrelevant. He loved his life at the time, and he loved his dad more than anything. But as he grew older and he realized what he’d missed out on, he began to question Baxter. When he saw how other fathers encouraged their sons on the baseball field, he knew if he ever had a son, he’d do it that way and not his dad’s way. He’d do it right.
More than a few of his twenty guys had a family, so why shouldn’t he? Especially now that they lived in Miller. Now they were settled there. Most of the guys in his club were over thirty, some even in their fifties and sixties. He couldn’t bear being an old guy with nothing more important than his Hog. He wouldn’t be that guy!
Of course he had never met the right woman, and often doubted he ever would. Women who liked his kind were, well, not the mothering kind. And those who were the mothering kind weren’t his type. He needed a good woman to have kids with, but a bad woman for everything else.
Those, he realized a long time ago, were hard to find.
You never knew what you would get until you got them in the sack, and he soon got bored of the relentless chase a good girl needed to get past the guilt of having sex. He wanted a woman who loved sex as much as he did, a woman who wasn’t chastised by her own sense of morality. But not a slut.
Did she even exist?
He pushed the thought out of his mind. There were more important things to worry about. Lance promised himself and his men that he wouldn't let so-called “justice” into the one decent home they'd ever had. They wouldn’t get chased out of Miller. Miller already had law—
his
law.
After a quick shower he dressed in his usual jeans, t-shirt, and patched leather vest, smoothed back his shoulder length flaxen hair, and scratched his straw-like beard. As he picked up the keys to his Hog, preparing to check in with the guys at their club camp on the outskirts of town, his phone rang, "Yeah?"
The youngest brother, Josh, said, "Meet you at Grace Hospital in twenty, Cap. Heard Doc’s back from her trip and went straight to work." Josh was many things—good and bad—but he was one of those guys who knew everyone within a week of moving into a town. In this day and age information was more important than anything else, which made Josh an indispensable asset.
“Like a good little girl." Lance ground his teeth. "On my way.” He tucked his cell in the front pocket of his vest beside a half packet of Lucky Stripes and his ancient Clipper lighter.
He had to persuade the Doc that he was policing this town just fine and that she should back the hell off.
If
it was too late, he had to find out just precisely when the law was going to ruin Miller.
Well over the speed limit, he rode the highway how a surfer rides a wave. His Hog became an extension of his body: One graceful, roaring machine.
CHAPTER TWO
"Yep, feeling good too.” Katie was all ramped up, in fact. “Bet you can guess why.”
Janice’s jaw dropped at the same time as the proverbial penny. “No!” Janice intoned. “I need details.”
Katie smiled, stood on tiptoes to reach Janice’s ear, and then covered her mouth to whisper. "The meeting went more than well. In fact, keep it to yourself for today, but… the plans to reopen the station and employ a sheriff and three deputies are go!"
Janice gasped. “You really did it, Katie!"
“Keep it down.” Katie didn't want the bikers hearing about it until the law had moved into Miller properly. "Secret, remember?”
"Whoops.” Janice covered her mouth. “It’s just, your father would be so proud right now. And shit, so am I." Janice held Katie's hand for a silent moment, and when she let go she said, "You should run for mayor; I'd vote for you quicker than a pig slips in shit.”
Janice sure had a way with words, but she was right. This was a good day. Katie swallowed a lump in her throat. “Thank you so much, Janice. But me as mayor is never gonna happen, sweetie. I could never fill my father’s boots. Anyway, I’m just fine delivering babies and treating the sick. Never really saw myself as anything else other than Doc Brighton.”
Janice shrugged. “One day I’ll persuade you.”
“One day, but today I'm just getting back to work.” Katie beamed, changing the subject. She was eager to dive in, as always. She’d missed it on her two-day trip to the city. She missed the social interactions and being useful. “What have we got?”
“You’re not due back ‘till tomorrow. Why don’t you go put your feet up?”
“And do what? Watch daytime TV? Boredom is the devil's plaything.”
“Thought that was idle hands?”
“Same thing.” She smirked. “So, what have we got?”
“There’s no arguing with you.” Janice shook her head. “Never was. But first…” Peering around them and lowering her voice, she asked, “When’s the law coming to Miller?”
Katie beamed again, butterflies in her tummy. “Tomorrow. Can you believe it? After two years of back and forth, letter after letter, petitions and meetings.” She grabbed Janice’s clipboard while she was distracted to check the in-patient notes.
Janice resigned herself to the fact that Katie was back to work. “You’ve done us all proud, standing up for us like you have. It’s exciting news.” Suddenly thinking of the side bonus of having new men in town, she grabbed Katie’s forearm. “Oh, and it won’t hurt if they send us some good-looking deputies. Town could do with a challenge to those bikers. Small towns have their benefits and all, but boy, a choice of good looking fellas sure ain't one of them.”
“True.” Katie quietly hoped for an attractive sheriff, but a deputy would do too. She didn't need her guy to be a big earner, but he should at least have a good work ethic. “What is it with women loving bad boys, Janice? Seems ever since the bikers came to town, ladies have been falling over themselves. I never really saw the attraction myself.”
“Gimme a bad boy in fiction any day, Doc.” Janice recalled a steamy novel or two and sniggered. “But in real life, give me a good man to lean on.” She retrieved the clipboard from Katie and told her to start her rounds in the maternity ward. There was a potentially difficult labor taking its sweet old time and the junior doctor could do with a hand. Katie moved swiftly to perform her duties.
But as she moved to help bring new life in the world, Katie couldn't help feel a certain tinge of emptiness. Yes, she really was happy in her job, and she was mostly happy with her lot.
But boy was she lonely in her bed.
***
One security guard approached them with a calming raise of his hands and a smile on his face. "Okay Lance. I don’t want any trouble on my watch. How about we all calm down a little?”
“We’re not here for trouble,” Lance assured the security man, whose name, Charlie, was scrawled across the name badge on his chest. “We just need to see someone.”
“Who are you here to see?” Charlie knew Lance's reputation as the president of the notorious biker club, but remained even-tempered as his training and general good nature prescribed. “How ‘bout I bring you to them so you can stop scaring the other patients?”
“Look at that, Lance, someone with sense around here,” scoffed Josh. “Maybe you could take us to Doc Brighton. We got business with her."
"Ah.” Surprised to hear two bikers had a meeting with Katie planned, Charlie frowned. “What business might that be?”
Josh’s shackles flared. “The fuck’s it got to do with you?”
“Enough," Lance snapped at Josh. “Sorry, forgot his muzzle. We just need five minutes of her time, Charlie. That’s all.”
“Well.” Charlie clearly didn’t like Josh, but he could see Lance had a tight hold on him and trusted he wasn’t there to make trouble. “She's a busy lady, fellas. Let me check when she's free."
"I don't think you understand,” insisted Josh, all brawn with limited sense. “We have business with her… now!"
“Another word, Josh, and you'll wish you hadn’t,” Lance snapped, and Josh lowered his head like a beaten dog.
Lance knew the smart move was to show reason and patience, not to storm around threatening everyone and confirming stereotypes. “So, when’s she free, Charlie? We can wait.”
Charlie smiled; pleased that his faith in Lance was proving right. “Let me check.” Charlie stepped aside to radio reception for details of the Doc’s schedule. He’d normally know it, but since she wasn’t supposed to be back until tomorrow, he wasn’t sure.
Josh nudged Lance and whispered, “We should be persuading him to take us to her. Not standing around like good little citizens. Bribe him with $30; that’ll do it.”
Lance ignored him and looked around at the sick patients instead. Sickness made him uncomfortable, but at the same time it was like a road accident. You couldn’t help but look even though it made you want to hurl. He couldn’t be a doctor; he couldn’t help but develop a keen sense of his own mortality around the sick. He was nearing middle age. Some of those shuffling along with grey hair and papery skin were of the same age as him. That seemed way too close for comfort.
“Hey Lance, who’s that?” Josh elbowed him, thankfully disturbing his melancholy thoughts. “Look, over there.”
He followed Josh’s pointing finger down the corridor adjacent to them and spotted a short person—no, a woman—in a white coat. She appeared to be walking his way. Petite, her physical appearance conflicted with the way everyone followed her and listened as she spoke. This tiny woman was in total control each one of them, but the way she offered them an encouraging smile with every request, and thanked them when they offered her files and information, meant she was also no bully.
He marveled that her staff clearly respected her; that they didn't just do what she said for fear of losing their jobs. He admired that.
His father had been a proponent of ruling with fear. In fact, it was his father’s reputation, which had always ensured his own status in his club. And although he’d grown up an MC man, he wondered now and then, especially as he got older, whether he’d have chosen this life for himself. Sure, he lived to ride. Nothing would stop him doing that; even the best cage couldn’t tempt him to give up his Hog. And the brotherhood meant he’d never be completely alone. But it wasn’t enough.
When he changed the club’s status, from a o
ne percenter’s
club to a legal one—well, mostly—he lost a few members and possibly some of the respect bestowed upon him by birth. But most of the club members remained, so he could live with that. There were a few who said they would only stay a year to give it a try, like Josh and a few elders, but if they got bored or got poor, then they'd leave. Again, he thanked them for being honest and hoped they’d stick around. Turns out, they did. So far, anyway.
They stayed even though they had to get straight jobs. Many of them had to get jobs for the first time and didn’t like that idea one bit. But they got used to it. To help this transition run smoothly, Lance took money out of the club funds—all made from illegal means up until then— and built a body shop.
Craig trained most of the guys to fix stuff. Bikes, mainly, but also assorted cages and the occasional domestic appliance. At first they didn’t get much work, but they undercut the smaller shop that was run as a front to peddle meth through. The dealers that ran it needed a little help getting the message, and Lance was happy provide it. Soon, the shop closed and meth faded from Miller, along with the dealers.
Lance didn’t like drugs—never did. Plus, the creeps were cruising around playgrounds and other kids' hangouts looking for new users and recruits. They had no business staying in Miller.
A few of the younger guys didn’t really take to being mechanics, so they got work in town behind the bar. The manager, Dan, appreciated a little muscle on his side of the bar to help out when trouble broke out. Lucian, a fifty-year-old bruiser up until this stage, suddenly discovered a love for cooking. After testing out a few recipes on his brothers Lance agreed another slice of their illegal gains would go toward refurbishing an old diner, and they soon opened up a gourmet burger joint.
The locals were untrusting at first. Lance knew the club hadn’t been reformed long, so he couldn’t blame folks for assuming the worst of them. But he was determined to prove that the club was only in Miller to settle down and to make an honest living. He offered freebies and told the servers to wear a uniform, not their biker vests. Still, no one visited the restaurant apart from club members for at least six months. But eventually, a few older kids stopped by after school. They enjoyed the rock music playing in the background and liked that it stayed open until 10 at night. Their parents liked that they had somewhere to hang out without having to get drunk. Soon the older folks came, and slowly but surely, business started picking up.
Everyone in the club still had to pay their dues, but they had to do so legally, and from the pooled money everyone got an equal wage every month. No one had more than anyone else. Of course, the pool was a lot smaller now things were legal, but they no longer had to fork any of it out for legal fees or bail bonds, so there was that.
One thing Lance couldn’t change if he wanted to—and he wasn’t sure he
did
want to—was that new ladies were welcome to join their parties at least once, and if they proved themselves likeable and respectful, they could come again.
His father would turn in his grave if he saw how he was running things these days. He would tell him to use their legit businesses as fronts for running this or that. But he’d finished with fear and intimidation unless in extreme circumstances. It was also nice not having to look over his shoulder or live on the road all the time.
He was still focused on the little lady in a white coat that had folks running around with clipboards, hanging on her every word. If she led with respect, with a level of authority she’d clearly earned, so could he.
Wait a minute; is she the Doc?
Charlie interrupted Lance's thoughts. “There’s the Doc. See?” he pointed at the little lady. “Katie Brighton.”
“Yeah, I see her,” Lance replied, his gaze unwavering as he rolled the name Katie around his head.
“Think she's about to head into surgery.”
“Uh-huh.” Lance stared at the empty space left behind as she stepped through a door and was now both excited and nervous about meeting Katie Brighton.