Jack of Hearts (Desert Sons MC Book 1) (9 page)

“Why would you care?” Tina asked as she tried to back away from his embrace, but he held her snuggly to him and she finally relaxed.

“I just do, okay? You kind of remind me of someone I knew a long time ago.”

“Who’s that?”

“An old girlfriend, if you must know. But that’s not important. The important thing is, you should know how handle a weapon in case you ever need to. Besides, it’s a lot of fun killing old cans.”

Tina snickered into his chest. “Okay. I’ve had a beef with old cans for a while now. This will give me a chance to get even.”

“That’s my girl,” Jack said. When he realized what he had said, he wondered at his choice of words.

CHAPTER EIGHT

“You’re
sure
I can’t ride that one?” Tina asked as she slipped the helmet on. It was a little big, but it was the only spare helmet Jack had.

“Sorry. I like you, but I don’t like you that much. This is my great-grandfather’s bike.
Nobody
rides this bike but me. Are you sure you know how to handle the one you’re on?” Jack asked as she sat down on his new Softail Deluxe, his daily rider.

She thumbed the bike to life. “I think I can handle it,” she grinned as she snicked the bike into gear and pulled smoothly away.

Jack kicked the Knucklehead to life and duck-walked it out of the warehouse while it warmed. He pulled the garage door opener from his jacket pocket and closed the door behind him before booting the bike into gear with a solid
kerchunk!
He rumbled past Tina where she was waiting at the end of the short drive before he gave the old girl some beans as he turned onto the road. He checked his rearview and watched as Tina fell in a comfortable distance behind him.
A warm autumn day, my great-grandfather’s bike under m,e and a sexy brunette on another Harley as my wingman. Today is going to be a good day,
he thought as his face split into a wide smile.

They spent two hours rumbling through the New Mexico countryside, weaving and dancing the bikes along the back roads. When he had suggested they take a ride, he had meant with her riding bitch on the back of the Softail, but his initial reservations about allowing her to ride his bike were gone. She had quickly demonstrated a confidence and skill on the bike that put his mind at ease. As nice as it would have been to have her tucked in tight to his back, this was better.

Low on fuel, Jack pulled off the road at his normal shooting spot. They were at the end of the two-hour loop into the country and back. He dismounted and removed his helmet as she did the same.
She needs some riding leathers. And a helmet that fits,
he observed as she sauntered up.

“That was fun. Thank you, Jack,” Tina said as she melted into him and rewarded his generosity with a long and promising kiss.

As she pulled back, Jack felt flushed as he tried to gather his wits. “You ready for some more fun?”

“A little public for that, isn’t it?” she asked, her tone and body language saying far more than her words.

Jack snorted out a laugh. “Not that. This,” he said pulling his Beretta M9 from the bike along with a couple of empty hands and two full bottles of water.

It was the same gun that had been pointed at her head only three nights ago, and it looked as menacing now as it had then. “I don’t know, Jack,” she said, eyeing the weapon. A flat black, it looked ready to kill them both with little provocation. “Am I even allowed to touch the thing?”

“Technically, probably not. But it’s my gun, properly purchased. If someone comes up and starts asking questions, we’ll just tell them I’m the one doing the shooting.” This was where everyone came for shooting, and they wouldn’t think twice at seeing a stranger there. “Remember, this is just a tool. It’s no more and no less dangerous than any other tool,” he said, trying to put her mind at ease. “Here, let me show you.” He quickly unloaded the gun and placed it in her hands. The weapon was a little big for her small hands, but not overly so.

He quickly ran her through how to safely handle the weapon and how to work the controls. She was tentative when she started handling the firearm, but the more she handled it, the more comfortable and relaxed she became.

They did a few dry firing exercises to let her get comfortable with the gun in her hands. As he stood close behind her, his big hands wrapped around hers while he pressed into her back, both were aware of their closeness. Handling a firearm was serious business, though, and they focused on the task at hand despite the distraction.

“You ready to kill some cans?” he asked after she demonstrated the proper techniques for handling the weapon.

“I guess.”

Jack screwed some earplugs into his ears as she did the same. After their hearing was protected, he handed her the weapon and the magazine. She slapped the magazine into the grip as he showed her how and took her stance. She thumbed off the safety, aimed, and pulled the trigger. The gun roared in her hand, but nothing else happened.

“You missed,” he teased dryly.

“Ya think?”

“Remember what I said about jerking the trigger?
Squeeze
the trigger.”

She tried again, with the same result.

“What are you aiming at?” he asked. He hadn’t even seen where the bullet had gone.

“The cans. What do you think?”

He stepped behind her and placed his hands on hers. “Let’s do it together.”

This time she at least hit the post the two cans were sitting on.

“It’s going to be a long day,” Jack moaned from behind her.

“Just shut up,” she said with a grin. “This is the first time that I have ever shot a gun. You’re supposed to be some crack shot. Why don’t you show me how it is supposed to be done.”

Jack took the weapon. He stood still for a moment, then popped the gun up one-handed and blasted both cans off the post with two quick pulls of the trigger. “It just takes practice,” he said as he handed the weapon back to her.

“Jesus…” she breathed. It was a good thing Jack was a levelheaded guy, or she would be laying on a slab in the morgue right now.

They spent another hour with Tina plinking away at the cans and water bottles. Jack was a patient and skillful teacher. He used humor and encouragement to put her at ease and to prevent her from getting frustrated. By the time the last of the ammo had been fired, she could hit the cans … sometimes.

“Well, when we started, the safest place for me to stand was wherever you were aiming. I don’t think I can say that now,” Jack teased as he slipped the last four shells they had into the magazine and slapped it into the handle before returning the weapon to its holster.

“I thought I did pretty good there at the end. I hit the cans four times.”

“Out of fifteen shots.”

“You always look at the downside!” Tina grinned. She had gotten over her fear of guns and found she
did
enjoy killing cans. Too bad she would never have a chance to do so again because of her felony conviction.

“Maybe we’ll come back again some time.”

She smiled at him. “I would like that.”

“You ready to roll?” he asked as they moved back to the bikes.

“Where to now?”

“I need gas. And more ammo. And I think one more stop is in order.”

After the short ride back into Albuquerque, they stopped for gas, then went by his regular gun store to purchase several boxes of shells. He caught her eyeing the various handguns on display and had the owner let her handle a few. As she handed back a small Ruger semi-auto that she particularly liked, she reflected on all the poor choices she had made in her life. She would give a lot to be able to go back five or ten years and live them over. She would do things a lot differently this time.

After they left the gun store, she was surprised when they pull into a Walmart. She was even more surprised when Jack tucked the weapon under his jacket. “You’re carrying that inside?” she whispered in surprise.

“Safer than leaving it in the bike where anyone could take it, don’t you think?”

Tina had to admit the logic of that was sound, and she said nothing else. She didn’t know why they had stopped there until Jack led her directly to the women’s clothing section. “Pick out three pairs of pants and three shirts. And underwear.”

“Jack. I don’t…” she began until he held a finger to her lips, shushing her. “Thank you, Jack. I guess just put them on my tab.”

“These are a gift. No charge.”

“Jack! You don’t have to,” she began, but she fell silent when his finger touched her lips again.

As she pawed through the jeans and blouses, she had a hard time holding back her tears. Why was he being so nice to her? What had she done to deserve such treatment? She had tried to steal his great-grandfather’s motorcycle, and yet here he was buying her new clothes because she didn’t have any. She whimpered quietly once in shame and gratitude as she stared at the rack of clothes so he wouldn’t see or hear.

“May I have these, too?” she asked meekly, offering him a package of socks in addition to the rest of the clothes in her arms.

He looked at her feet. “Yes. And a new pair of shoes. Those look like they are about to come apart.”

“Jack … no.”

“What size?” he asked as he took her by the arm and pulled her toward the shoes. He held his hands out and, after a pause, she placed the clothes gently in his hands. She found a pair of shoes in the proper size. Head down in shame, she brought the shoes to him.

“Thank you, Jack,” she said quietly as she struggled to hold back her tears.

“Anything else you need while we’re here?”

“No, Jack. You’ve done enough,” she said without meeting his eyes.

He could see the shame on her face, and he felt bad for her. He hadn’t intend to make her feel bad about her situation. “Hey,” he said, trying to cheer her up. “These really are a gift. But if it makes you feel better, you can send me the money when you get on your feet, okay?”

“I will, Jack. I promise I will,” she said softly.

He smiled at her. “I know you will.”

Jack was worried about Tina and he hoped he hadn’t offended her somehow. She had hardly said a word since they arrived back at his home. He wouldn’t call it sulking, exactly, but her normal exuberance was missing. He set the steaks on the table and watched as she pulled two potatoes from the oven, unwrapped them, and placed each on a plate.

“Tina, what’s wrong?” he asked. “Have I upset you?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” she said. She set the plates on the table, then returned for the salads while Jack opened a bottle of wine.

“Something is bothering you. What is it? Maybe I can help.”

She sat down, her mouth all but watering over the smell of the steaks Jack had grilled. She couldn’t remember the last time she had eaten as well as she had since he took her in. “Why are you being so nice to me?” she asked bluntly.

“What? What kind of question is that?”

“A honest one. What do you want from me, Jack?”

“What?” he asked in confusion.

“You let me go when I tried to steal your bike. Then you didn’t turn me over to the cops when I stole your wallet. You haven’t laid a finger on me in anger. You didn’t try to force yourself on me. You bought me clothes. I want to know why. Why are you doing these things?”

“I don’t know. I guess I feel a little sorry for you. Having to steal for food is no way to live.”