I made my way back to my tiny house, full of Da’s great lamb stew. I was parked on the opposite side of the lot from the job site, partly because my house had specific needs when setting up, and partly because it gave me a chance for some real privacy from my brothers. Incinerating toilets and other wastewater drains and systems had to be set up and maintained carefully in tiny houses or else there would be unholy messes to deal with later. Privacy was something I grabbed anytime I could.

I listened to the constant shushing sound of the river as it flowed between its wide banks. People always talked about how quiet the mountains were, but I really didn’t get it. At night, crickets and other bugs hummed and chirped, and in the morning, birds twittered with their different calls and sounds. Once in a while, the muted roar of a motorcycle could be heard making its way up to the MC’s compound, commonly called the Lair. At least the hammering, sawing, buzzing, and banging of the day was gone, as well as the cursing of my brothers and the shouts of my father.

When I got to my house, I immediately took a shower, cleaning the grime and sweat of the day from my body. When I lived in the RV with my family, getting clean daily was sometimes difficult. Seven people use a lot of water and the RV had limited supply. Sometimes we were able to stay at a campground close to the job site, sometimes travel centers, but there were jobs where we had to take care of our own needs. I had built a big shallow box on the roof of my tiny house that functioned as a rain barrel. It had a small solar panel for heating and was attached to a gravity-fed shower. This setup allowed me to take one anytime I wanted. The water was usually hot enough from the solar heater, but once in a while it was cold. Either way, I was able to bathe on a daily basis and not have to endure a time limit, nor the teasing that came with it in the RV. Connor came over from time to time to borrow my shower and I let him, but there was no way I’d extend that offer to my other brothers, especially Patrick or Angus. No telling what kind of nasty funk they would leave behind.

I dried off, wincing at the pull of my abused shoulder, and rotated my arm in the socket. I hadn’t torn anything, but I knew I would be feeling it for several days. Small injuries on the job site were common and very rarely did a day go by that I didn’t have some sort of jab, scrape, or bruise. I barely acknowledged them, they were so common. Big injuries happened, but were rare.

I slicked back my hair and combed through some of the leave-in natural conditioner I used, and slathered my body in my favorite sandalwood-scented lotion. This was my time, at night. No brothers around to tease me. It had been weeks since I’d indulged myself, and I was ready. I draped the damp towel over the bar on the back of the bathroom door and shimmied up the ladder to the sleeping loft, the padlock key in my hand, and I unlocked my treasure drawer.

I donned some of my favorite black lacy underwear. Despite being around my brothers for 98 percent of my time, despite working in a male-dominated field, I was still a woman and I liked woman stuff. Lacy, silky underwear that didn’t come in a plastic tube was one thing I could indulge in and not get any grief about it from my brothers. I kept my stash in my treasure drawer as well as some other items I didn’t want my brothers to know I had. Makeup, stockings, and garter belt, and the only pair of high-heeled shoes I owned, Jimmy Choos I bought on eBay. They had multiple silver straps across the toes dotted with shiny sequins, an ankle strap, and a tall, thin, spiky heel. I had one LBD (little black dress) in my secret girly collection. I’d spent more than one night in my tiny house dressed up and strutting around, pretending to be a sexy lady instead of a working grunt. I was tempted to play with my shoes now, but the way my back felt, I would end up looking like a heron with a broken leg. Instead, I put on my favorite Mickey Mouse lounge pants, another loose black tank, and my fuzzy slippers. My hair was starting to dry and curl despite the conditioner. Maybe a visit to this shop Betsey mentioned earlier would be a good idea.

I moved around somewhat painfully in the main room and pulled up the seat of my built-in sofa, revealing one of my other private treasures. My sewing machine! I’d learned the art of sewing from Mrs. Castillo, my other favorite teacher at Myrtle Beach.

This was my other passion. The one I kept from my family. Connor knew about it only because he caught me one night while I was piecing together the quilt that now lay on my loft bed. Mrs. Castillo was the sewing and design teacher at the school I managed to attend for a whole year. A large Italian woman, she had taken me under her ample wing, teaching me how to design and sew my own clothes and other stuff. I fell in love with the art. Choosing colors, styles, designing and piecing different fabrics together, was something wholly mine that I didn’t have to share with my brothers. I’d made a number of my own clothes, including the pants I was wearing. All my handmade clothes were made to fit and flatter my body. I’d made my one LBD from an old pattern I bought at a Goodwill store for a quarter and adapted it to my own body. Why not? It really didn’t matter to me whether I needed this type of dress or not. I really liked making something that was truly girly-girl just for me. The fabric was a deep maroon, not black, but since I would never really have a place to wear it other than strutting around my own little space, I didn’t think color was an issue. I had never worn it in public because I didn’t go to places I could wear it. To my family I was Eva, a hardworking carpenter and their sweaty, cursing, loud, jeans and T-shirt clad little sister who was just another one of the guys. Deep down, I really just wanted to be Eva, woman, strong but soft, dresses, heels, makeup, hair, a woman who had doors opened for her, a woman who was asked to dinner and movies, a woman who was treated like a lady and not another set of working hands.

Maybe someday. Just not today.

I set up my machine on my table, got out the latest project I’d been working on, and put on my radio to an oldies station that had decent reception. Sewing was a good way to wind down from the day. At least I thought so, however my shoulder was really starting to throb and bug me. Keeping it moving around would hopefully bring some of the swelling down and stave off a little of the soreness I’d have tomorrow.

I was running a long seam when a knock on the door made me jump a little and go off track. Earlier Connor had mentioned coming over to my place to shower off the day if the RV was running out of hot water. I knew he also found the place crowded from time to time, and he too needed his space to get away. The jobsite provided electricity through several long hookups so the solar panel had some help, but the water was limited over there.

“Come on in, Connor!” I called out. “Shower is open and there should be enough hot water left!’

I heard the door open and I looked up expecting to see my brother. Instead, I found myself eye-to-eye with the last person I thought would come to my door.

“Monster feet?” a laughing voice asked. “The look goes well with Mickey.”

I closed my eyes and nearly groaned. Fuck my life!

“Thought you were my brother. Why are you here?” I stood and came around my work table, fuzzy monster feet and all. My house seemed even tinier with him in it. His size, his perfection, his presence overwhelmed my small abode. My heart started to pound and I became hyperaware of him. The feeling was unusual for me, disturbing and a little frightening. No, I wasn’t scared of Stud. I was scared of the way I was reacting to him. Crap! I’m not wearing a bra!

“Checking on your back and shoulder, babe. I told Betsey ’bout the accident today, and she wanted to send you this stuff. She said it smells like shit and stings like a bitch, but there’s nothing better for sore muscles.”

He held out a tub of thick white cream. Betsey was right; the stuff reeked.

“I’m good, Stud.” I wasn’t, but I didn’t want to admit it out loud. “I took a hot shower.”

He frowned. “Doesn’t look like you’re good. You’re holding yourself funny and standing stiff. You can’t be comfortable. I’m sure the shower helped, but this stuff will help more and may make it easier for you to sleep. Turn around and I’ll put it on your back. As strong as you are, I’m sure you can’t reach that spot between your shoulders.”

Sweet Jesus! Is he offering to put his hands on me? On my bare skin? I think I choked a bit.

I took too long in answering. He half smiled and shook his head.

“Come on, Cactus, sit down and relax! I won’t bite, I promise. Just let me take care of you.” He put a hand on my shoulder, making me sit on my sofa.

“Cactus?” I questioned, trying not to feel the warmth of his skin.

“You’re prickly. Cacti are prickly. Therefore, your new road name is Cactus. Here, turn this way.”

Well, I couldn’t fault his logic. He put his hands on my hips and pulled me to face away from him. I might have wet myself a bit when he moved my hair and draped it over my shoulder. He scooped up some of the smelly cream, and then I felt him dig those wonderful strong fingers into my sore muscle. I hissed at the burn as it made contact with my skin and winced as he dug in.

“Hang in there, babe,” he said, keeping the pressure of his hands steady and firm. “Let it sink in.”

I couldn’t help myself.

“Oh!” I moaned long and closed my eyes in pleasure. “That feels incredible! Mmmmmm!”

I heard a choking sound behind me. I bristled up. “If I hear the words ‘that’s what she said,’ I’m going to turn around and punch you in the nose!”

He laughed out loud again. “Like I said, prickly. No, don’t get up. Relax. I got this.”

He certainly did.

He kept massaging my shoulder, back, and arm muscles, moving the spaghetti straps of my tank top when needed. My nipples hardened at every brush of the cloth, but since he was behind me, I was sure he couldn’t see the reaction. His warm, firm hands felt great, and my soreness grew less and less. I was also getting tight in other places. My nipples hardened into little points and I hoped the black tank was enough to hide them.

“Sewing, eh? Never would have pegged you for a domestic person, but I’m not surprised. You’re a very creative woman,” he commented.

Thank you, God, for the distraction! Wait? Is this flirting? Is he flirting with me? GAH!

“Thanks,” I muttered.

“What are you making?” he asked, his voice going low and breathy. His firm hand kneaded my flesh.

“Umm—just a lap quilt.” I let my head droop forward. No wonder women flocked to him. His hands were magic!

“You make the quilt here on your sofa?” His breath whispered across my neck and I had to stifle a shiver.

“Mm-hmm.” I kept my mouth closed to keep from drooling. “Cushions too.”

“They’re really nice. I think Molly does a lot of sewing and custom work. You’ll get to meet her Sunday at the club pool. You’ve got a lot of movies. James Bond? Star Trek?”

“Sean Connery is the best one, hands down. Captain Kirk all the way,” I muttered.

I was in heaven. My shoulder and back were relaxed and loose. The smell and burn of the cream wasn’t too bad now that it had been worked into my skin. I wanted to relax even further, lean back into that hard body of his, feel his heat behind me—

“Stuuuuuuuud!” a high female voice screeched outside my house.

I jumped three feet in the air, and I think Stud did too. If I hadn’t known any better, I’d have thought he forgot he had other company.

“Stuuuuuuud! How much longerrrrrrr?” Now the voice was imitating a whiny five-year-old.

“Hold up, Bambi. Just a minute,” Stud called, his voice sounding normal again.

What the fuck? I could kick myself for thinking he was flirting with me and that his concern for me was genuine. Time to get the Irish bitch out.

I turned to him and raised an eyebrow. “Bambi?” I said with as much derision as I could fit in one word. “Really?”

“I’m just her ride to the Lair tonight, Cactus,” he said, laughing at my tone like he found it amusing. Clearly, I needed to work on my Irish bitch.

Yep, I’m sure he’s her ride, all right. I rolled my eyes and stood up, breaking contact with his hands. My shoulders felt cold without his touch.

“Yeah, well, I think I’m good now, so you’re free to take Bambi to your clubhouse.” I stretched long and high, my arms over my head, relishing the renewed feeling in my back. I heard a choking sound come from Stud and I immediately dropped my arms, realizing what kind of show I was presenting to him. “Umm—thanks. I really do appreciate it. I don’t usually have anyone do this sort of thing for me. If you ever need a new career, masseur would work. You have my recommendation.”

“No problem, Eva. Damsels in distress are my thing,” he coughed out as he got up. His eyes met mine and I wanted nothing more than to be lost in their blue. He gave me what was fast becoming my favorite of his expressions, that half smile.

“See you tomorrow, Stud,” I answered, watching him turn to leave. “Hey, Stud?” I asked as he opened the outside door. He turned back and looked at me in question. I took a breath. “My family doesn’t know about—well… what I do outside of the carpentry and job site work, and—um, I don’t really want them to know. Connor is the only one who has seen my sewing, but my other brothers and my da? They just wouldn’t get it and I’d have to listen to their shit, so would you please keep my hobby to yourself?”

“No problem, Cactus. I understand. What are friends for?” He chuckled a bit. I was soooo glad he found me amusing.

“Well, friend, some of us can’t party all night and have to get up at o-dark-thirty to deal with large and loud power tools. And I’m not talking about table saws and drills!” I quipped, hoping he got the reference to my brothers. Time to put some humor in and lighten up a bit.

It worked. He threw back his head and laughed loudly. “No doubt, Cactus! No doubt!”

“Stuuuuuuuuud!” The whine was back.

His eyes went soft, and he reached out to tap me on the chin with his finger. “Babe, I’m really just her ride to the Lair.”

“Well, you’d better get going before she decides to run off with Thumper,” I joked while I moved to get back to my sewing. I wanted to redo the crooked seam before I went to bed.

He laughed again as he finally left, seeming to drag his feet. I locked the door behind him and a few minutes later, I heard the distant sound of his bike starting and fading as he left the job site.

I got out my seam ripper and started taking out the tiny stitches.

“Friends. I can do friends.”

Stud tossed a tequila shot in his mouth and tilted his head back, feeling the burn slide down his throat. The Lair was full of sound and people, a cacophony of music, talking, laughter, and games. This was a typical night at the clubhouse. He spotted Kat behind the bar, serving drinks, still in her nurse’s scrubs from her day job at the hospital. Mute, her old man, was nearby as always, watching the crowd for potential trouble. They were engaged and would be married in the early fall, a big biker wedding planned à la Betsey. That woman did nothing by half measures and the club was bearing the expense. No matter. The club was solid both in brotherhood and financially. Besides that, Mute and Kat were perfect for each other. After the obstacles they had faced in their lives, they both deserved some happiness. Stud had no problem writing the checks that were paying for the elaborate ceremony. All the bookkeeping problems had been resolved and Stud was now looking at more investment properties. Maybe another campground or a motel. There was still a lot of work to be done and a lot of papers to be filed, but there was this new place close to Maggie Valley that looked promising.

“Wooo!” A shrill voice screeched in his ear. “I’m sooooooo drunk!” Bambi hung her slight weight on his shoulder and giggled at him, her eyes slightly crossed from the amount of booze she had consumed.

Stud jumped at the sudden noise, irritated at the interruption to his thoughts, but turned and smiled at the staggering girl.

“Is that right?” he crooned, putting an arm around her waist to keep her from falling over. “You wanna slow down a bit?”

She blinked at him. “Huh?”

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough?”

She looked confused. “Had enuff what?”

Stud nearly rolled his eyes. At one time he would have found her drunken cuteness appealing. Now it was more annoying. “Alcohol, sweetheart.”

She looked at him owlishly before bursting into a loud cackle.

“Oh Schtud! Yoo zound like mah dad! Yoo’wanna be mah daddy?” she purred, and giggled again, rubbing her barely clad breasts against his ribs and sliding her hand low across his stomach. In her mind, Stud guessed she thought she was being sexy and seductive. In reality, she looked like a drunk kid playing at being an adult. Not the turn-on he needed or wanted at that time. Rather than turn her down completely or hurt her feelings, he gently disengaged himself from her grasp and murmured something about later or another time. She collapsed into a nearby chair whooping and laughing.

Stud grabbed a cold bottle of beer and walked out of the Lair to the upper balcony deck overlooking the high bluff. Below, he could see the river, its calm currents glistening in the moonlight. There were a few lights dotting the opposite bank and below the bluff where the new River’s Edge Bar was being built. The party noise was muted slightly but still in contrast to the serene scene in front of him. He tilted the bottle back and took a long drink. A lone light caught his attention from the area outside the work site. Eva was still up, working at her very unexpected hobby. In his mind’s eye, he imagined her sitting in front of her sewing machine, stitching away while a movie played in the background. Very domestic and totally opposite of what she appeared to be. He’d never met a woman like her before. She looked like what a fabled Amazonian would: tall, warrior-like, strong, and more than anything else, confident in herself and her surroundings. She knew her craft. Both of them, in fact, and knew them well. He was impressed and intrigued with the redheaded Amazon. Not his type at all and yet he found himself genuinely curious and attracted to her.

A sharp drunken laugh cut through his thoughts, bringing him back to the party going on behind him. He turned to see three hangarounds surrounding the young Bambi like true predators. She was arching her back and grinding her hips, blithely unaware of what she looked like: fresh meat. Stud knew the men around her to be pretty good, and two were being considered as prospects, but at the moment they looked more like jackals ready to pounce. Bambi looked ready for them as well, but there was no way she was ready to take on three of them.

Stud sighed. I’m getting too old for this. He swallowed the dregs of his beer and went back into the lodge to rescue the naïve young woman. He stopped in front of the couch where Bambi was sitting. It took her a few seconds to focus on his outstretched hand before she tried her best seductive smile again. Three hangarounds were no match for a full-patched member. She got up and grabbed at his hand, nearly falling because of her ridiculously high stilettos. She awkwardly trotted after him as he led her down the hallway to his club room, giggling and weaving, almost pulling him down. Stud felt like sighing again. When did sex become a duty? Not that he minded it, but he already knew the outcome. He’d fuck the drunken girl, and she would take that as a sign he wanted more than a night’s entertainment. She’d end up getting hurt and Stud could add yet another broken heart to his bedpost.