Chapter Two
Wes Roshannon went balls to the wall and never said die. But he’d basically stomped on all the rules by demanding entrance to the Bighorns’ club. These guys weren’t going to open their door like Grandma for the Big Bad Wolf, but he’d lost his mind a little thinking that the man who’d fathered him could be inside.
The club perched on the side of the foothill surrounded by pines like an ornament on a Christmas tree. The low building was large enough to house a lot of chickens or sheep. But Wes wasn’t in ranchin’ country anymore.
Inside were a lot of rough men, some he’d probably seen on the walls of the fugitive recovery office he was dispatched from. But he wasn’t here for that reason.
He stared at the metal door, waiting for the verdict. Things could go wrong fast, though he was confident he could handle pretty much anything.
Finally, James came out again and closed the door.
“You’re lucky, Dirty. We’ve got some guys inside who’d like to use you for target practice, but I vouched for your good behavior. Don’t make me look bad.”
Wes nodded. “Thank you.”
James’s expression was far from welcoming as he opened the door and stepped inside. Wes followed.
The interior was dimly-lit and clouded with smoke, and he couldn’t make out the shapes of people right away. But as soon as he stepped inside and someone else shut the door behind him, his eyes adjusted.
A dozen or so men stood like guards with hands on hips or folded over their chests. Wes resisted the urge to reach for his sidearm. Knowing he couldn’t risk insulting these guys by bringing a weapon onto their turf, he’d left it in his saddlebag. He couldn’t risk challenging them either. But in a pinch, he didn’t need firepower when a perfectly good knife was stuffed down his boot, and Wes had taken on worse situations.
“Who the fuck’re you? And why are you looking for Sundance?” A brute of a man stepped up to Wes. Dark hair with strands of white running through it gave away his age as late forties. He was as big as Wes but lacking the bulk he had and he bore a jagged scar through one eyebrow, splitting it in two.
“He knew my mother,” Wes answered. “Her name was Blanche. Went by Baby?”
A wiry-looking man with steel-gray long hair and piercing blue eyes moved into the greenish light cast from overhead.
Wes went still. This had to be Sundance.
He studied the man. Okay, studied was an understatement. He drank in his appearance like a shipwrecked man slurped up water. But what he saw wasn’t quenching his thirst.
Wes was six-two and two hundred pounds with thick dark hair and steel gray eyes. But Sundance—the only man who might be his real, unnamed father—stood much shorter with a toughness to his smaller frame like dried meat clinging to the bone. His hair was faded to gray, but Wes could tell by the lack of pepper amidst the salt that Sundance had never had dark hair.
And their eyes were completely different, though Sundance could give a hell of a mean glower.
He peered at Wes more closely. “Known lots of women over the years. Who was your mother again?”
“Blanche Washington.”
Sundance’s gaze zeroed in on him.
“I think she was called Baby.”
Sundance blinked. “Now that’s a blast from the past. Hell yeah. I knew your momma, boy. Jesus Christ, you’re a big ‘un. I never would have guessed she’d have a son of your size. Sit and have a beer with me.”
Wes’s pulse jumped as he realized this was it—he’d tracked down the right guy who could tell him more about the woman who’d birthed him, then run out, leaving Wes with her sister and brother-in-law to raise him.
The place smelled of booze and something earthier that was weed or sex or both.
Sundance nodded toward the wooden row of stools in front of a bar and circled behind. “Pull up a stool. What do they call you?”
“Dirty.”
“Now that’s a memorable name. Who gave it to ya?” Sundance grabbed four beers, two in each hand. He set them on the bar, and Wes realized no one else was drinking with them. They each had two.
He sank to a stool and wrapped his fingers around the cold beer to steady himself. This was fucking surreal, coming here. How many years had he thought about doing just this?
Since he was a kid, wondering why the cousins he shared a home with had a mom and dad and he didn’t.
Or since he was eight years old and rumors started flying that his real daddy was actually the man he lived with, his uncle Matthias Roshannon. A lawman had to investigate every lead before coming to a conclusion, though, and Wes was touching all his bases with the biker club.
“I was in Colorado for a while and the Disciples gave me the nickname.”
Sundance grunted at the mention of the other club, and Wes went on. “Funny story. I was invited up to the clubhouse for a barbecue and it was raining when I set out. By the time I reached the club, I was soaked to the skin and covered with road muck.”
A woman edged up to the end of the bar. Wes turned his head and met her stare. Warm brown eyes and long dark hair along with a peaches and cream complexion made him forget what he was saying.
Then the big man who’d challenged him at the door stepped in front of her, blocking her from Wes’s view. He took her by the arm and led her out of the room.
Wes swung his attention back to Sundance, hoping he hadn’t committed another social crime. He’d probably find his ass beaten and tossed out after what he’d pulled to get inside.
Sundance didn’t sit but remained behind the bar, steadily watching him. Wes had a hell of a poker face, though, and the man wouldn’t see anything to raise suspicions. Lifting his beer to Wes, Sundance said, “Let’s drink to your momma.”
“To Blanche.”
“To Baby.”
They clinked bottles and Wes pursed his lips around the bottle. The hops and flavors hit his tongue, a welcome distraction from the fire coursing through his system. His mind was still on that woman. The way she’d fixed her gaze on him, so boldly…
Sundance drained his beer and turned his bloodshot, wary stare on Wes.
He nursed his own beer, weighing his words. And he eyed Sundance’s empty bottle. All he needed was a split second of distraction to gather the DNA off the rim. “So you knew my mother.”
He nodded. “That I did. Beautiful woman, couldn’t find a sweeter one. Thought she’d make a fine old lady to someone one day if… Well, I was sorry for what happened.”
Sorry that she’d overdosed on sleeping pills and never lived long enough for her son to confront her about giving him up.
Wes nodded his acceptance. The other members had relaxed a fraction, no longer surrounding him as if ready to pick him up and spear him on a spit. But they were still watching him—closely.
Sundance talked about his mother for a while, giving Wes the stories about her time here with the Bighorns that he’d longed for his entire life. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the dark-haired beauty again. She stood off to the side and he noted that when the big guy moved, she did too. Trying to keep out of his sight?
Finally, the oldest member and leader of the club asked Wes what he was riding. They went outside to look at his bike along with a few other guys acting as guard in case Wes pulled any shit.
“You’re a Harley man. Your momma would approve.”
“Can’t resist beautiful curves on a bike or a woman, can we?”
Sundance barked a laugh. “No, that we can’t.”
Wes touched his pocket, hoping the film with the smear of DNA would be enough.
Then Sundance clapped a hand on Wes’s shoulder. He didn’t realize it was a dismissal until the man pointed to the road leading down into town. “A clear ride home for you. C’mon back and see us, Dirty. Baby was a dear friend of mine, and I see her strength and her love of life in your eyes.”
All the way back home, Wes played and replayed this encounter. The lawman side of his mind tried to pinpoint some action that would cause him to question Sundance—his motives, what was truth or falsity. But he couldn’t find any holes in what Sundance had shared with him.
Wes had to get the DNA analyzed, but his guess was Sundance was as much his father as Donald Trump. He was no further in his search than when he’d begun.
It shouldn’t matter so damn much, should it? He’d been raised well, as one of the Roshannons. His cousins Judd and Aiden were like his brothers. His aunt couldn’t have treated him more like a son. And Uncle Matthias… well, he was a hard rancher who didn’t show much emotion, but he was always good to Wes.
His mind wandered back to the Bighorns and the way the gorgeous woman had flashed a look at him that in any other situation, would have had him on his feet, talking to her.
She was probably about the same age his mother had been while here. Young, full of life and promise, and possessing a beauty that would lure in any man with a pair of eyes and a cock.
The road stretched before him. Where it would take him now, he had no friggin’ idea.
But there were always fugitives to hunt. For now, it had to be enough.
* * * * *
Stormy sat at the computer, working on the next event flyer for the club. There was always something going on, and she welcomed the work.
The Bighorns had to look like a nonprofit, but that wasn’t too difficult. They were always holding some fundraiser. She did the bookkeeping, recording where every dime went. From buying gas cards for guys who had to travel back and forth to the VA hospital for chemo to someone who couldn’t make his mortgage payment.
These things made Stormy proud to be part of the club. It was the other shit that went on—the stuff her father didn’t want her knowing—that had her questioning what a life away from the bikers would be like.
She had an itchy feeling that Alexander was involved in the dirtier goings-on and that was the reason he’d been sent away.
Dirtier.
Dirty.
That man had some guts coming to the club that way. She couldn’t help but admire his strength and determination to get info about his momma. Family meant a lot to Stormy, and his mission was admirable.
Who was she kidding? She liked the way he looked.
As big as her daddy but thickly muscled, his shoulders so huge that a woman could shelter beneath them. And those eyes. They’d been dark all right—steel gray, nearly black. And the way he’d looked at her…
She wrapped her arms around her middle, holding in those quivery feelings she hadn’t felt in too long. With her father around and only the same old biker family to look at day in and day out, she didn’t have any romantic opportunities. She was protected from the worst of the world, which she could appreciate. But when she thought of what she wanted out of life, she couldn’t picture herself here with a Bighorn, having his babies and looking after him forever.
She loved the club—the members were her family, but there was something else out there for her.
She leaned back in her chair to examine the flyer she’d made. The raffle tickets would be sold for $100 each and the winner received the latest model motorcycle. Happy with her work, she sent the document to the printer.
When the sheet flew off the printer, she plucked it up and walked out of the small room serving as her office. All events had to be approved through Sundance, and where he’d be at this time of day was anybody’s guess.
Popping her head into the kitchen, she saw DeeDee wiping down counters. The woman was a permanent fixture here, a mother to all, the best of friends to her and so many other women who lived or passed through the club.
DeeDee looked up from cleaning. “What’s up, pretty?”
“You seen Sundance?”
“Garage.”
Stormy threw her a cross-eyed look, which had DeeDee chuckling, and breezed out, flyer in hand.
She didn’t take two steps out the front door when she set eyes on him. Dirty.
God, the man lived up to that name. Her mind exploded with at least twenty dirty thoughts about him and what she could do to him. That big, muscled body would be good for taking for a ride.
She bit her lower lip, wondering if she could approach him without her father’s radar going off and him running interference. Dirty stood near his bike. It gleamed in the sun like a beacon.
Without thought, she moved toward him.
At her approach, he glanced her way. Then angled his body to face her. The way he hooked his thumb in his jeans pocket sent a shiver through her.
As she closed the gap between them, her insides heated. Just seeing the man up close did things to her body she had no idea happened between a man and woman. The couples who hooked up at the club seemed to do so less out of chemistry and more out of raw need. And she was never part of that. Even if she wanted to, her daddy wouldn’t allow anyone near her.
“Hey.” Dirty’s voice was deep, gritty and melted a woman’s ovaries. She felt them throb with the primal need to have a man like him. Strong, tough and fucking hot as hell.
When their gazes locked, she forgot how to speak.
“I saw you the other day. What’s your name?” A hint of a smile toyed around the corner of his lips as if he knew exactly what effect he had on her. He probably saw it all the time with women. Hell, even men.
“Stormy.”
He grinned. “Fits you.”
She eyed him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You look like the kind of woman who can upset the universe.”
She didn’t know whether to be flattered or insulted. The way Dirty was looking at her, though, had her leaning toward the compliment.
He did that sexy chin nod thing a lot of Bighorns did. But from him, it was… so… much… hotter. “What’s that in your hand?”
She remembered the flyer she still clutched. “Oh. It’s a new event.” She held it out for him to read and he nodded.
“I’ll be there to support the cause. Can I get a ticket now?”
“Oh. Not yet. I need to run this by Sundance first.” She should ask where the president of the club was, but she didn’t want to quit talking to Dirty.
“Okay, well, I’ll find you to buy a ticket when I’m able to.”
Hot stuff, you can find me for any reason at all.
She let her gaze roam over his rugged features. Tanned skin and small creases around each eye from squinting into the sun as he navigated all that power between his legs.
She squeezed her thighs together and he dipped his gaze over her body. Her stomach dropped along with it.
“So Stormy, what do you do outside the club?”
She blinked. “I, um, spend most of my time here.”
His expression darkened. “Are you with one of the guys?”
“Oh. No, Druid’s my dad.”
Dirty swung his gaze to the garage where all the guys were most likely congregated, talking club business, which was why Dirty wasn’t allowed in. He wasn’t a member. “Druid’s your father?”
She nodded.
“Damn,” he said quietly.
The sound of the curse shouldn’t make her nipples harden, but it did.
Dirty landed his stare on her, pinning her firmly. “You wanna get out of here for a while?”
Her jaw dropped. “Take a ride? With you?”
He nodded. “What do you say?”
Her father would kill her. No, he’d kill Dirty. But she could talk sense to him before he broke both of Dirty’s legs. And the opportunity was too good.
She dropped the flyer and reached for his helmet dangling off the handlebar.
He flashed her a grin and arched a brow as if tempting her to do more than try his helmet on for size. He slipped his leg over the bike and flipped the kickstand. She fastened the helmet and climbed on behind him, arms around his thick middle and thighs braced around his muscled hips.
He threw her a look over his shoulder that made her ovaries finally explode. “Hold on, baby.”
She was in deep shit, and not only because her father was going to kill Dirty and lock her in her room. But oh yeah, it was worth it.
* * * * *
Having a woman’s arms around him and her legs locked tight onto his thighs as Wes took the curves heading out of the foothills was the reason men loved bikes, he was convinced. He was far too aware he had precious cargo on board, and not only because of who Stormy’s father was to the Bighorns.
Wes would sooner destroy a champion stallion than let any harm come to her.
She fit against him like a piece of a puzzle. Her soft breasts plastered to his back, her parted thighs—
He couldn’t think on it long. She already had his balls aching and bluer than the Wyoming sky.
“Faster,” she said into his ear.
A thrill hit his stomach that had little to do with the heat of her breath on his skin. She liked it fast, just as he did. He didn’t know much about this woman, but he was damn well going to find out more—whether her father approved or not.
He was already on the guy’s radar for looking at Stormy. Once Druid discovered he’d taken her on the back of his bike, he’d better have his wits about him and be prepared to duck Druid’s fists.
Right now, with the open road stretching before them and a beautiful woman with her thighs spread for him, he didn’t give a damn what he’d be facing once he returned her to the club. He couldn’t even pretend he hadn’t returned to the Bighorns to see more of her. Something about her pulled at him.
Fresh air scented with pine and growing things was spiced with a deeper hint of woman. Sweet, delicious woman. He had no doubt that if he pulled her hair aside and buried his nose against her throat that he’d find more reasons to stick around the club.
He planned on doing both.
Keeping his eyes peeled for a pull-off, he noted the way she adjusted herself to his every movement. Just as she’d done with her father to hide from him, but she seemed to be trying to get closer to Wes.
When he spied the grassy area off the road, he throttled down and eased to a stop. She leaned closer, shooting pangs of pure desire to his cock.
“What are we doing?” she asked.
“I thought we could talk.”
She nodded and moved. He felt her arms stretch upward so she could remove the helmet. Then her long hair brushed his arm.
He wanted to get off the bike and talk face to face, but it was a bad idea. He wasn’t the type of guy to hold back when he wanted something, and Stormy roused his deeper instincts.
He twisted his neck to look at her over his shoulder. “What do you do around the club?”
“Well, I work with the ladies, making sure everyone’s fed and comfortable. And I’m sort of a Sundance’s personal assistant.”
Wes felt a flip of jealousy and bit back a growl. The word personal better not mean what he thought it did.
“You’re not with anyone, right? Nobody’s going to come after me for putting you on my bike, are they?”
“You didn’t ‘put me’ on your bike. I climbed on myself. And no, I’m nobody’s old lady.”
Silence filled his ears as he just took in the moment. She leaned forward to look at his face and they shared a look that got his cock fully hard. One flash of her eyes and he was a goner—he couldn’t be responsible for carrying her to a spot of shade and having his way with her.
Trouble was, once he claimed her, he wouldn’t give her up. He didn’t think she was prepared for that.
“What do you do when you’re not hanging around bike clubs, Dirty?”
He felt the words on his tongue and didn’t hold back from speaking. “I grew up on a ranch an hour or so from here.”
“Horses?” She sounded like an excited girl.
He nodded. “My uncle’s got a big herd of Angus too.”
She whistled. “That’s worth some bucks.”
“He does well. I go there as often as I can to help him. You mentioned horses. Do you ride?”
“I haven’t since I was a kid, but I used to love it.”
“Then I’ll take you there.”
She looked at him, her lips inches away. He could kiss her but then he’d never stop.
“I’d like that, Dirty,” she said almost breathlessly.
At the sound of a motorcycle engine—no, engines—she stiffened against him. “They’re coming for me.”
“It’s more likely they’re coming for me,” he responded and set wheels to the road again, going more slowly this time so the Bighorns could catch up. They surrounded them, with Druid riding right alongside, giving Dirty a look that could kill a lesser man. But Dirty wasn’t backing down from this guy’s intimidation tactics. There was far too much chemistry between him and Stormy to give up to an angry papa.
With a dozen bikers circling him, he had no choice but to head their direction back to the club. After he pulled in and cut the engine, Druid barked at Stormy. “Get off that bike.”
“Dad, don’t treat me like a child. We just went for a ride.”
The man dismounted from his ride and crossed to where Wes was parked, fists clenched. He didn’t look at his daughter when he spoke but glared at Wes.
“I said get off that bike, Stormy.”
“Not if you’re going to give Dirty trouble.” She tightened her hold on him.
Wes had to defuse the situation. He rested a hand over hers where it clung to his middle. “It’s okay, Stormy.”
“Don’t fucking talk to her like she belongs to you,” Druid bit off.
Wes swung his leg over his bike and stood to face the man. “She doesn’t belong to anyone, far as I see. She made the choice to come with me and I’ve returned her safe.”
“Without my permission,” Druid growled, getting in Wes’s face.
Damn, what he wouldn’t give to lay hands on the man right now. Wes hated being challenged—it went back to his days of being bullied as a skinny, weak kid. He ground his molars and stared Druid down.
“If you’re smart you’ll drive out of here while you still have the use of all your limbs.” Druid’s threat raised a gasp from Stormy.
She grabbed her father’s arm and tried to pull him away. “Stop it. It was just a ride.”
“It’s okay, Stormy.” Wes swung his gaze to her and fuck, the way she looked at him… All rosy cheeks and plump, bitten lips he hadn’t even gotten a chance to kiss. This wouldn’t be the last she’d see of him. He tried to convey the message in the look they exchanged before getting back on his bike.
He’d hunt some fugitives while giving Druid time to cool off—the other Bighorns too. But he sure as hell wasn’t giving up that easy, not when he hadn’t felt this good in far too long.