9.

Caitlin

 

“Try to only touch what you need to touch.” Tommy orders us after he’s taken my statement. “We need to dust for prints. Though, if this is Houdini, which I hope to god it ain’t, we won’t find any.”

Both he and Duke follow me around upstairs and down as I pack a few bags of essentials for Jade and me. I left her outside clinging a death grip in the arms of Jesse. Hero, Sneak and Carver check out my backyard for any more signs of Houdini’s presence.

After I’ve packed two bags for each of us, Duke hefts them over one shoulder, and taking my hand, leads me back downstairs. “Need anything else before we leave?”

“No. Thank you. My purse is in the truck.”

“Good deal. Tommy, you need any more from Doc?”

Sgt. Tommy Doyle gives his head one sharp shake then squats down to open a kit he’d set down on the front stoop when he’d arrived, to fish a pair of blue latex gloves out and shove them over his hands.

We leave Tommy and his police brethren to search my house.

The brothers ride off, some in front of the pickup, some to the back like a convoy. A different recruit mans the gate since Jesse’s been promoted to protection detail. He opens the gate for us, then as the bikes drive straight, Duke turns to the right to park his truck under a carport attached to a gorgeous painted white wraparound porch off the pretty blue doublewide. Flower boxes and hanging baskets overflow with red and pink perennials.

Several other double and singlewides dot the grounds, but this one is by far, the cutest. My umbrella table and chairs would look great on the back stone patio, an extension off the covered porch, with a clear view of the woods and mountains.

Plenty of room for a little girl to play.

Without thinking, I admiringly tell him what his yard screams for. “You need a swing set.”

“Sorry?” he asks.

Thankfully I start thinking once more, enough to realize my faux pas. “Oh, nothing.” I reply. “I was overstepping again.”

“Something you or Peaches need?” He stares out to the open acreage, along with me.

“No. Nothing we need. Just me being foolish.”

“Then let’s go inside.”

We climb out of the truck, Jade in my arms because Duke once again, hefts all four of our bags over his shoulder as we walk up the steps to a side door which opens into a large utility room. He has a nice, front loading washer and dryer and a couple wicker hampers with probably a week’s worth of dirty laundry stuffed inside. A dusty blue washer and dryer. White wicker hamper. I’m sensing a theme.

From the utility room, we emerge into a huge, open plan kitchen. Smack in the center is a ginormous butcher-block island with an attached bar along the back where four white barstools sit snuggly pushed under the lip. The stools are white with dingy from use, flowery chintz fabric covering each. Not the fabric a biker would choose.

All the cabinets have been painted white, the upper ones fitted with glass fronted panels. All the doors, to the utility room and I assume a pantry, are white as well as all the appliances. A short curtain made from the same flowery chintz fabric of the stools, hangs from the window over the sink, which looks out into the backyard.

Next to the kitchen he walks us through the dining area. More white on the rectangle table legs with a varnished tabletop, the same blond wood as the butcher block. A variation on the flowery chintz, although using the same colors, each high-backed farm chair has a cushion. And long chintzy curtains drape from a rod, framing each side of a set of double French doors.

Very pretty. Very girly. Again, not at all where I’d expect a biker like Duke to live. Too much flowery, even for me. My denim covered sofa would fit in nicely in this space. Something hearty, but with class. That’s what Duke needs.

 First we stop at a smallish room of four white walls and a window with standard, white horizontal blinds, no curtains. There’s a twin bed with a faded, navy blue comforter and two pillows in white cases. A guest room, which will work as a temporary room for Jade, although I know she’ll miss her pink princess room back home. Though, he has an older television and a DVD player. So she should be happy.

Duke drops her bags next to the bed. I’ll get her settled after the rest of the tour.

There are two more rooms the same smallish size of Jade’s, but without bedding. One he uses for storage and for bike parts. And one, stark empty. Those three share a decent sized bathroom with a large tub-shower combination and double vanity, along with the commode.

At the back of the home, last room in the hallway, he leads me into the master suite. I’m not sure why one man would need so much space. Granted, he’s filled it with a king sized bed. The headboard pressed center to the main wall opposite the door we entered. There’s a walk-in closet as big as the room Jade will sleep in and a master bath with a swimming pool for a bathtub, complete with hot tub jets, a separate two person shower, double vanity and a separate, sectioned-off “room” for our other bathroom needs.

My heart breaks even more for Duke as I walk around the place. He’d set my bags down in the closet and now just watches me, arms resting at his hips. A single man with all this room. In a house made for a family. The man has so much love to give. He’s already given glimpses. But has lost his world.

Thus, I walk over to him, wrap my hand around the back of his neck to pull his head down, as I go up on tiptoe for us to meet in the middle, and place the tenderest kiss I could imagine against his perfect lips.

Duke being Duke, he takes over the kiss.

Duke being Duke, it quickly turns from tender to heated. He lifts me, both hands hold my bottom as he urges me to wrap my legs around his hips, but he doesn’t move to the bed. Only holding me there in that spot, making out in a room I presume we’ll be sharing. Making out hot and heavy.

When the kiss comes to its natural conclusion, still panting like I’d just been making out hot and heavy, I ask the most mundane question in the world. “What do you want for dinner, Chief?”

Two slow blinks and stares at me, then barks out a beautifully boisterous laugh.

“You cooking tonight, honey?”

“Absolutely. You like stuffed peppers? I make an awesome Italian stuffed pepper. Even Jade eats them.”

“Should probably make enough we have drop ins. Men find out a woman’s cooking here, bound to make ’emselves at home. At least the men without women at home to take care ’a ’em.”

“Boss is out on a run. We should invite Elise and baby Gun over, too.”

He starts laughing again, downgraded to a snicker, though it still makes me smile.

“What?” I ask.

“Been here ten minutes and your already planning a fucking dinner party.”

“I don’t… we don’t…” I sputter. He squeezes me again.

“Just giving you a hard time, honey. Be good to fill the house again.”

Oh.

My burly biker wants to fill the house again. Foolish as it may seem, it makes me happy to be the one to give him that. A night hanging out, no pieces, no pressure to be or act a certain way. Just friends eating and maybe enjoying a few beers together.

Then, because he must sense my feelings, Duke hugs me. “Make a list, Doc. Everything you think your gonna need, ’cuz chances are, I won’t have it. Don’t do a lot of shopping. Go up to the clubhouse and eat whatever one ’a the women makes.”

We walk back into the kitchen, and he shows me a drawer where he keeps a scratch pad and pen. I write down, one by one, all of the ingredients I’ll need for the peppers, and the dessert I decide on the spot to make. Then Guinness. Milk. Breakfast and lunch options, and other sundries such as sugar, flour and butter. Sundries most people keep standard in their pantry.

Once I hand him off the list Duke phones Jesse—because Jesse has Caitlin duty and Caitlin duty apparently involves all things Caitlin, which in this case would include grocery shopping—to come grab the list. Which he does right away. And takes the keys to the old pickup.

While my bodyguard shops for us, I unpack Jade. Clothes hung up in the closet and moved to the one dresser in the room. Then take her body wash, shampoo, toothbrush and toothpaste to the bathroom across the hall.

I can hear Duke on the phone again, but his words are murmured. So I move to the master to unpack myself. After I’m done, I sit on the bed and stare out the window, watching the leaves of the trees blow in the soft, summer breeze.

Not knowing how long I’ve sat here, I know it has to be a while when Duke calls into the room. “Honey, Jesse’s back.”

When all the groceries have been put away, leaving out what I need to start dinner, I take note that Duke needs canisters. For flour. For sugar. They keep the bugs out. He needs newer pots and pans, too. Copper or cast iron. Like I have at my house.

Come to think of it, Duke needs a lot of new. And that’s when it hits me. His home life stalled when his wife died. He’d thrown himself into the club to compensate for her loss. As such, his home turned time capsule. Not even a shrine to her, but a representation of how his life stopped when hers did.

Which makes the fact that he brought me and my daughter here to stay, even temporarily, mean even more than it otherwise might have. At least for me.

I pull a pot for rice from the pot shelf in the pantry, fill it with the appropriate amount of water per the rice directions, throw in a Jade-size handful of salt, replace the lid securely and set the pot on the back burner to come to boil.

From there it’s a whole lot of chopping, grating, sautéing. Dicing to chiffonade. Not to mention measuring, zesting, mixing and pouring for the gooey Limoncello cake I’m preparing for dessert.

The house smells amazing, if I do say so myself, from the lemon and Italian herbs and sweet sausage.

“Where’d you learn to cook?” Duke surprises me by asking.

“When I was a girl, I spent every summer in Ireland with my grandma. She was a wonderful cook. Lived a glamorous life, lived all over. Had lots of affairs before she settled down with my grandfather. Some even with famous men. Actors. Producers. She’d tell me saucy stories about her life while we cooked and canned and baked. Stories my parents would have freaked out if they’d known she shared. As a parent, I’d freak, too.” As I talk about my grandma, a hint of accent comes through, as it always does. Maybe because I hear her stories spoken in her soft Irish lilt, in my head.

“Sounds wonderful.”

“Some of the best times of my life. My grandma was my best friend. When I cook, even things we never made together, I think of her for the simple fact that she’s the one who taught me. Though… you’ll be happy to know…” I huff hair from my eyes, not wanting to touch it which would mean stopping my work to rewash my hands. “The stuffed peppers are mine. But the Limoncello cake is hers. Something she picked up when she lived in Rome for a summer. With a famous Italian producer, I might add.”

“Lips,” he says bizarrely non sequitur.

“Come again?” I ask, pulling my brows together.

“Lips,” he says again. This time sounding more like an order.

As he stares, pursed perfect lips waiting for it to click, it clicks.

Oh, lips.

I stretch my body over the island to lean in and give Duke my lips. I guess he likes my sharing.

 Our moment gets interrupted when we hear a female voice say, “Knock, knock.” At the same time hear the double rap of a fist against the front screen door. Duke has central air, but opened the windows and doors to let the breeze flow through the space.

Elise, with baby Gun in a carrier, stands waiting and I don’t mind one bit she interrupted. “Will you get that, Chief?”

He brushes his thumb over my cheek before walking over to the front door and holds it open for our first guest to pass through. “It was unlocked,” he says, and grumbles.

“But it’s rude to just enter someone’s home.” Elise protests.

“You just enter the clubhouse.”

“But that’s not your home.” She continues to argue her point.

“She’s got you there, Chief.” I decide to chime in.

And that’s when Jade who’d been watching movies in her room and most likely heard voices thus came out to be nosey, spies Gun and screeches. “A BABY!” Then she makes a beeline straight for Elise and her son.

“Oh my gosh, Caitlin? Is this Jade?”

I nod.

“She’s your mini me.” Elise finishes.

“Yes. She most definitely is. I’m so glad you two could come over,” I say, pointing to her and her boy. “Too bad your husband couldn’t make it.”

“Yeah, well…” she trails off.

And I understand why, because he’s still not home and from what she’d explained, no plans have been made to bring him home. So I change subjects promptly. “I hope you like stuffed peppers.”

“Are you kidding? I like anything I don’t have to cook right now. Although I like to cook, cooking with a baby attached to your hip isn’t the most fun experience. Oh, but my boy started rolling over.”

“That’s exciting. Did you bring a blanket? Lay it out on the floor, then you can set him down. Jade will look out for him. She loves babies.”

Elise walks over to the living room area to drop her diaper bag down on the—yet again, dingy from use, chintz fabric sofa—to retrieve Gun’s blanket. “Jade,” she calls. “Would you like to hold Gunner while I get him set up?”

My daughter, meanwhile, in her little girl exuberance, climbs up next to Elise and the baby carrier, knowing it’s alright to talk to Elise because she’s here in the house with us and so has registered her as a friend.

“I’m Elise Hollister.” Elise introduces herself. “This is my son, Gunner. But we call him Gun.”

“Dat’s cute.” Jade giggles, clicking her sock-covered feet together as she reaches a gentle hand out to stroke Gunner’s head. The excitement of her feet juxtapose the calmness of her hand. I love my little girl.

“Your mom’s my friend, but she’s also the one who delivered baby Gun, because she’s my doctor.”

“He’s da pwettiest baby I evur seen.”

“Think you can hold him?” Elise asks.

“Oh yes. I helwp Miss Jenny wiff da babies at school.”

Then I watch as Elise unbuckles Gun from his carrier and sets him in Jade’s waiting arms. Not needing direction, my daughter carefully cradles the boy, taking care with his head. Then she begins to sing to him. My heart might explode from the cuteness factor, while Elise moves the coffee table out of the way and lays the blanket out on the carpet, then spreads some soft baby toys around on the yellow and gray baby elephant blanket that I’d given her as a gift when he was born.

“How about we lay Gun on the floor, and you can play with him?”

Jade vigorously shakes her head yes, while Elise takes her son and waits for my girl to situate herself on the blanket. After, she places her boy down next to Jade and steps back watching, like me and Duke, as Jade picks up a squeezy toy and squeezes it to get Gunner’s attention. Once Elise seems satisfied my girl will be gentle, she walks back over to us and slips onto one of the barstools.

“Beer?” I ask.

“That’d be great,” she answers.

I look to Duke expectantly and wait.

Then he gripes. “Damn woman in my house not even a day, and she’s already bossing me around.” But, I will add, he does it going to the refrigerator to grab Elise’s beer. “Doc?” he rasps, his back to me while grabbing bottles.

“Yes, please.”

He sets them down. Twists the cap off the first and slides it over to Elise. Does the same with the second, but sends it my way. And the third, he keeps for himself, taking a long pull. When he sets the bottle on the island, he has a smile on his face that I know isn’t from drinking beer.

“You got company, Imma head up to the club. Got some work to do there.”

“Okay, Chief.” I don’t mind.

“Call me when dinner’s ready?” he asks.

“You know I will.”

“Good. Lips,” he orders. And this time I don’t have to think about what he wants, and walk around the island to kiss my man. Quick and closed-mouth, but as always, satisfying.

When he turns to leave, we all hear, “Duke?” And turn to look at my girl who has set Gun’s toy down, and is resting her hand to her hip.

Her face looks hurt, her lips pursed.

“Sorry, Peaches.” A red-faced Duke walks over to her and bends down, where he kisses her cheek and allows her to kiss his.

“Oh. My. God.” Elise mouths.

“I know,” I answer verbally. Then I turn back to dinner prep.