Two weeks in our new place and it’s finally feeling like home. Jo has been spending even more time with Caden since he stays a few doors down while I spend more time on my studying.
As grateful as I am for the job I have, the Lord knows I don’t like it. I need something challenging, which is why I’m finishing off med-school part-time.
It isn’t easy, but I have enough credits to do it. Add in the Harvard letter I received a few years ago when I decided to go down this road, I’m finally able to complete my four years. It would take me another six years until I’m done, but I’m okay with that.
I have nowhere to go, and I’m in no rush to finish it, well, not much of one. It’ll be nice to make more money and not have to worry about counting my quarters for once.
I’m sitting by the black plastic coffee table outside with the floral umbrella stuck in the center. My notes lay scattered on the table, while my chipped coffee cup stands to the side, where a bee currently buzzes about.
Jo and Caden are running around the house, chasing each other. It’s one of those days when the sun is just there, and the heat isn’t going to get better, nor is this bee harassing my cold coffee.
Groaning as a big sigh leaves my mouth and my stiff neck protests my movement, I get up from the plastic chair I’m sitting on. It’s so hot that my white dress is sticking to the back of my thighs.
I tug on the fabric until it’s properly in place, aware that I probably have a wet spot on the rear of my dress, but don’t care much to change it and head on inside to the kitchen.
Today I marked as my day of studying, I wasn’t wearing makeup, and my shoes didn’t consist of a pair of four-inch heels.
Nope, I’m in a couple of two-dollar red beach tongs I got from the local people’s market, the town hosts every 4th of July. My hair isn’t blown out. Instead, it’s in a messy high knot on top of my head, and I couldn’t be bothered. I won’t say I look bad, but I don’t look like I made an effort either.
Today’s my day off, I have no shopping, and definitely, no man to dress up for, and even if I did, there’s no way I’m doing it in this darn heat.
I’m thinking all this as I trot my sticky, sweaty body into my kitchen.
I pull the freezer key from the top of the white, old rusty refrigerator that has been dying a slow, painful death since I bought it seven years ago.
I couldn’t afford a new one then and certainly can’t afford a new one now. I open the freezer, which I keep stacked with Popsicles and ice-cream, hence why I keep it locked from Jo. Taking two red Popsicles out for the kids, I head on outside.
Walking around the white and brick surfaced house, my smile drops from my face.
“Jo, Caden,” I call out.
They seem too quiet all of a sudden, that is so far from a good sign when you put those two together in the same sentence, it’s troubling.
The sound of motorbikes coming up the street isn’t anything unusual, and I ignore it as I have for the past two weeks since I’ve moved in.
Ricky’s local supermarket is up the road from our home, and the bikers go there often just like most folks in our small town.
Rounding the corner, I spot two bikers in front of my house, watching Jo kick the one biker’s motorcycle.
I see the error of my ways and also the temper of my daughter.
Mindful of the other small group of bikers driving past us without slowing down, I don’t look too closely at the two Satan Snipers stationed in front of my house.
I rush over to pull Jo way.
“Jo, stop it,” I yell in my sternest voice I can manage, considering I’m nervous and a tiny bit scared.
“You had no business killin’ it, now he’s dead,” She screams at them, and I can hear the tears in my girl’s voice.
My eyes instantly go to the ground spotting the squashed frog.
I cringe, poor Grogg.
“You killers, I wish someone smashed you under a bike,” Jo yells loud enough to inform the entire neighborhood.
“Jo, that’s enough,” I say in a quiet but firm voice pulling her closer toward me with the Popsicles still clutched in my hand.
She doesn’t listen to me, and I’m winded when she elbows me by mistake (I hope) and forces me to let her go as I drop the Popsicles on the ground.
My kid doesn’t go kicking the bike again but stands there with her arms folded and a big angry scowl on her tear-filled face, and I see this as I bend my head looking at her instead of the two men.
The heat is scorching, and I’m tempted to pick up the Popsicles I dropped on the ground and shove it between my breasts.
But I don’t think it’ll be appropriate behavior with the men who are both off their bikes watching my girl and Caden.
He is standing a few feet in front of Jo with his arms folded across his small chest. So, protective.
“Where’s your dad, kid?” The deep gravel voice has me looking up into the sunglass covered gaze of the biker talking.
My eyes don’t wander below his chest even though I want to.
He’s about six-two, broad-chested with a grey t-shirt covered with a sleeveless biker jacket that’s decorated with numerous colored badges.
His chin has a small indent that is noticeable under the short scruff of hair surrounding the bottom half of his face.
“With his other family.” That stops me dead in my tracks from looking any further or deeper at him or the other silent statue biker behind him.
I straighten my shoulders and grab my kid and Caden loosely around their necks.
“I’m sorry about my kid, but you crushed her frog,” I say incomplete defense to my kid’s actions.
Yes, I am that mother.
Jo is quiet, which I’m glad for, ’cause I know that question hurt her something fierce, and when my kid is hurt, she typically lashes out.
“Sorry ’bout your frog kid. Swear I didn’t see it. If there’s anything I could do lemme know.”
I start to shake my head, refusing when he lifts his hand. His index finger shakes, shushing me at the same time he’s bending down and taking his glasses off.
My god, the guy has gorgeous light blue eyes that don’t waiver from my girl.
“There must be somethin’ you want?”
He emphasizes the word somethin’, with a slight southern drawl. I’ll never admit it, but my heart does weird things.
I’m getting a funny feeling that I have long since forgotten how to have.
I’m not comfortable any longer. I’m aware of my messy hair, sticky skin, and thin dress.
Yet, the biker hasn’t looked away from Jo.
I’m almost invisible. Staring at this man, a second more is going to make me seem like a hussy. I know this.
Yet, I don’t stop looking until Caden bends his head over to Jo.
Caden whispers in Jo’s ear while I stand there a bit helpless, a lot stunned, and extremely flustered.
Damn, it’s so darn hot.
“There is one thing.” It’s the tone of Jo’s voice that has me dreading this conversation that will follow my daughters’ request.
“Okay, shoot.”
Jo steps a few feet forward stopping in between his thick thighs, and leaves me stunned when she sits her bottoms on his right leg.
I expect him to fall since he is balancing on his haunches, but he maintains a solid form from his boot covered feet.
It’s silly, but I’m impressed.
Jo whispers in his ear.
I watch his eyes crease up on the sides as his cheeks pull taut into a big close-mouthed smile. The biker is a good-looking guy, but dangerous. Someone I should stay away from.
“Hah, you gonna make me pay for that frog aren’t you, he must’ve been one hell of a pet, but I did say anything. I guess I’ll be seeing you bright and early tomorrow.”
She hops off the biker’s leg and steps back, right into my clutches as he stands up.
He doesn’t extend his hand when his blue gaze focuses on me.
“You must be Hannah, Daisy Jane told me alota ’bout you,” He says this as he peruses my body without making it too visible but noticeable enough to get his point across.