Chapter Two
In his struggle to sit up, Ryder knocked over the empty whiskey bottle, and it rolled off the nightstand and landed on the hardwood floor with a thud. Pain shot through his skull, and he sank back down on the mattress and groaned.
“Fuck!” Ryder rubbed his sticky eyes and stared into the darkness. His German shepherd, Brutus, nudged his warm nose against Ryder’s hand as he ran it over his soft fur.
Outside, the wind blustered, rattling against the windows and howling through the trees. Ryder gritted his teeth then tried to push up on his elbows as he ignored the stabs of pain circulating through his body. Sweat streamed down his face as he leaned against the headboard panting. After a few minutes, he switched on the table lamp beside the bed, and a soft golden glow illuminated the room. He gripped the aspirin bottle, shook out four tablets into the palm of his hand, and guzzled them down with a bottle of lukewarm water. Trickles of water slid down his chin, and he wiped them away with the back of his hand.
The house groaned against the wind, and Ryder darted his eyes to the window. White swirled about densely, erasing the world around him.
“They didn’t predict this. Those sonsofbitches don’t know shit about the weather,” he said to Brutus, who jumped on the bed and sprawled beside him. “Make yourself comfortable.” Ryder chuckled and ruffled the dog’s black fur. He craned his neck to see the glowing red numbers of the digital clock face on the nightstand: 6:23 a.m. There’s no damn way I can get back to sleep now. He reached over and grabbed his crutches then pulled himself up, groaning as the pain in his head ebbed and flowed. The empty bottle he kicked out of the way told him he’d killed the last of his Jack Daniels stash. How the hell he would get through the storm without any whiskey was something he didn’t want to think about at that moment. The whiskey kept the memories locked away in the darkest corners of his mind.
Brutus ran over to the back door, his tail wagging as his black eyes darted from Ryder to the door then back to Ryder. The biker laughed and opened it, and a surge of frigid Arctic air slapped him in the face. “Shit, it’s cold. Don’t go too far,” he said as Brutus bounced out of the house and disappeared into the whiteness.
As he placed six pieces of bacon in the cast-iron skillet, he heard Brutus barking in the distance. Looking out the window, all he could see was the blinding snow. Probably came across some downed trees or something. The bacon sizzled and its hickory scent filled the kitchen, mixing with the roasted aroma of brewing coffee. Just as Ryder took out three eggs, he heard the soft thud of Brutus’s paws against the door. He smiled then hobbled over to open the door, and the dog, covered in white powder, came inside and shook himself vigorously. Water drops flew everywhere, and Ryder let out a hearty laugh as he grabbed a large green towel from a hook by the door and whistled for Brutus to come over. Seated on the chair, he covered the shepherd’s body and thoroughly rubbed the towel over the wet fur.
“What were you barking at?” he asked. “Couldn’t be a squirrel or a deer. They’re huddled somewhere riding out the storm.”
Satisfied that Brutus was dried off, Ryder pushed up from the chair and hung the towel back onto the hook then went back to cooking his breakfast.
He reclined against the back of the wooden chair and sipped his coffee as he looked down at the empty plate. The only sound in the kitchen was Brutus slurping from his water bowl. Ryder lived a quiet life except at night when he couldn’t keep the memories away while he slept. When he’d first come back from Afghanistan, he’d moved into the Insurgents MC clubhouse. He’d been a member a long time ago, but had gone inactive when his dad suffered a stroke and he took over the family’s plumbing business. After his dad had passed, they’d sold the business, and Ryder decided to join the Marines so he could go to college after his commitment period.
He scrubbed his hand over his unshaven face. He didn’t want to go there; he didn’t want to remember. Not since he was still fighting a hangover from his late night binge. Closing his eyes, he tilted his head back.
The noise at the clubhouse unnerved him, and he didn’t feel like he belonged. Hawk told him he’d always be a brother of the Insurgents, but Ryder didn’t feel like an Insurgent. As a matter of fact, he didn’t feel like he belonged anywhere, so he bought several acres of land about forty miles from Pinewood Springs and hired a local builder to construct a home for him. That had been two years ago, and he’d never regretted his decision for one minute. His phone’s ringtone sifted through his reveries, and he stared at it for a second then picked it up.
“What the hell are you doing up so damn early?” he asked Hawk.
The Insurgent’s deep chuckle resonated through Ryder’s earpiece, and the corner of his mouth curled slightly.
“Just making sure the fuckin’ snow hasn’t buried your sorry ass,” Hawk replied.
“Still here. Are any of the stores open in town?”
“Probably not. They won’t even begin plowing until the storm lessens. Throttle and Rags are on standby, but Throttle told me it’ll probably be another day or so before he can get any plows out.”
“Fuck,” Ryder muttered under his breath.
“What’d you say?”
He cleared his throat. “You never answered my question as to why you’re up so fucking early,” Ryder said.
“Isa’s sick. Cara was up with her all night, so I’m taking over and letting my old lady sleep.”
“What’s wrong with Isa?”
“She’s got a fuckin’ ear infection. The meds the doc gave should trigger in pretty soon. She’s better than she was yesterday, but I feel for her … Do you need anything?”
Good ol’ Hawk—always watching out for me. The outlaw biker had been the one who’d coaxed Ryder to attend the VA peer support group when he’d returned to Pinewood Springs.
“A bottle of Jack. I drank my last one last night, and I’m paying the price today.”
“Bad night?”
In the background, Ryder heard the small whimpers of Hawk’s daughter.
“Yeah,” he answered.
“You wanna talk about it?”
The whimpers morphed into loud cries.
“Nah. Anyway, you got your hands full. Thanks for checking in. I’ll call later and see how Isa’s doing.”
“Yeah, I gotta calm her down. Call if you need me.”
Ryder put his phone down on the table and stared at the blank screen. If it hadn’t been for Hawk and Tank, he wasn’t sure if he would’ve made it through those dark days when he’d returned from a two-year stay at Brooke Army Medical Center in Houston. At first, Ryder preferred to deal with the demons clawing at his mind in his own way, but Hawk and Tank kept after him, so he finally relented just to shut the two guys up. Both Tank and Hawk had done tours in Afghanistan when they’d been in the armed forces, and they went with him to the first meeting. The group met a couple of times a month in one of the rooms at the town’s community center. After a few meetings, Ryder had been hooked, and now he looked forward to going. He enjoyed the camaraderie and connecting with other men who understood and could relate to what he was going through. Tank had stopped going after six months, but Hawk usually attended at least one meeting a month.
Ryder picked up his phone and tapped in Tom’s number then held his breath as he waited for the older man to pick up the phone. He was just about to cut off the call when a grouchy voice said, “Hello?”
“Hey, Tom. Ryder. Did I wake you?”
“What the hell do ya think?”
Ryder bit back a chuckle. “I didn’t mean to, but I just wanted to come by and get a couple of bottles of whiskey before the storm gets worse.”
“I jest got four left. When do ya wanna come git them?”
“I can be there in an hour. Does that work?”
“Yep. I’ll be a waitin’.”
Ryder stood up and put his dishes in the sink; he’d deal with the cleanup later that morning. He walked into the bedroom and leaned the crutches against the wall then grabbed the silicone liner and rolled it over the stump on his left leg. After he slipped on his prosthesis, he shed off his boxers, picked up the two large plastic bags he used to cover his artificial leg while showering, and made his way to the bathroom.
Less than two hours later, Ryder was behind the wheel of his Jeep Renegade and the three bottles of illegal moonshine whiskey were safely tucked underneath the rear driver’s seat. Ice pellets bounced off the windshield as white flakes whirled all around obscuring everything within three feet of the jeep. He turned the vehicle onto the narrow road leading back to his cabin, and as he slowly drove along the snow-covered lane, Brutus went wild, barking and pushing his nose against the passenger window. Ryder looked at him and noticed the dog’s eyes fixed on something he couldn’t see.
When they’d left earlier to head to Tom’s house, Ryder had taken the road behind the cabin, but he decided not to take that road back because the snowdrifts were worrisome. He didn’t want to chance getting stuck in one of them.
“What’s going on, boy?” He stopped the jeep and tried to see past the fog and swirling white powder, but he didn’t have any luck. Brutus banged the side of his face against the window while he continued to bark and growl.
Ryder knew his dog didn’t behave like this just for the hell of it. No … something must be out there. A familiar stab in his gut told him that it wasn’t just a lost deer or a squirrel. He switched off the motor and reached back to pick up his shotgun from the back seat.
“Let’s see why the fuck you’re making all this noise,” Ryder said as he opened the car door. Brutus jumped out, woofing loudly, then disappeared into the blinding white. The wind raged, screaming through the trees and open spaces, bringing blasts of bone-chilling air.
“Fuck, it’s cold,” Ryder said aloud, his breath rising in white puffs of clouds. “Brutus! Where the fuck are you?” He wrapped the black wool scarf, which Addie—one of the old ladies—had knitted for him, tighter around his neck as he walked slowly to the right of the road. While cussing under his breath, he followed the sound of frantic barking.
The woofs became louder and Ryder narrowed his eyes against the blinding snow, then stopped when he walked through a cluster of trees. He saw an outline of something in the fog, but he wasn’t sure what it was.
“Brutus!” The dog bounded over to him, his dark eyes sparkling and staring straight ahead. Ryder’s gloved hand tightened its grip on the shotgun as he walked in closer with Brutus at his heels.
All of a sudden he saw it—a small travel trailer hitched to a brown SUV. Slivers of yellow light framed the ivory shades that covered the windows. What the hell? He just stared at the trailer for a few seconds, not really believing that someone had the gall to homestead on his property. The excuse of the storm wasn’t something he was buying since it looked like the trailer was purposely hidden from the road. Some goddamn asshole who thinks he can live rent-free on my land. Well … fuck that.
Brutus growled as he stared at the trailer, his body stiff and ready to protect. Ryder stretched his arm down and patted the dog on the head. “Down, boy. It looks like we got a squatter. I can handle this.” Then he saw the shade move slightly; someone was looking at them, and it infuriated him.
“Get the hell out here!” Ryder shouted, but a gust of wind carried his words away. “Shit!” He walked over to the door and banged on it several times. Nothing. He put his ear next to the door and thought he could hear hushed talking coming from inside. He pounded on the door a few more times. Again nothing. Brutus started barking again, and Ryder jiggled the door handle a bit.
“I know you’re in there. Open the fucking door or I’m gonna break it down!” he yelled into the door. At first, there was no reaction until he caught the shade by the side of the door move again. “Stop acting like a goddamn pussy. Man up and face me.” Again nothing. “Fuck this! I’m coming in.” He took a few steps backwards then lifted the butt of the shotgun and was poised to slam it into the door when it flew open.
Ryder stumbled back and stared. Fuck. I wasn’t expecting that. Brutus rushed over and started to climb the steps when the woman cried out and closed the door. Ryder stood there staring at the cream-colored fiberglass. Did I imagine that? Am I seeing a mirage like I sometimes had in the Afghan desert? Can you see a mirage in a snowstorm? What the hell is wrong with me? That chick sure as fuck wasn’t an optical illusion. He pounded on the door again and it cracked open a bit.
“Please keep your dog away from us.” Anxiety laced her voice.
Us? She’s got a man with her and he’s letting her deal with me? What a fucking pussy. Ryder tugged on Brutus’s collar. “Stay,” he said sternly, and the dog froze in place, but his eyes stayed fixed on the woman.
“He won’t hurt you,” Ryder said, gesturing to Brutus. He watched her open the door and the glow from the inside light shimmered around her like the sun. He pressed his lips together and his eyes widened when she came into full view. She was gorgeous with her golden hair draped down softly past her shoulders, curling along the ends. The woman looked at him through apprehensive eyes that were the color of a perfect spring sky and were as deep as a blue columbine along the banks of a mountain stream.
Ryder lowered the shotgun and let his gaze roam over her body from the beautifully full breasts that made his dick twitch to the low-rise jeans emphasizing her small waist, and then finally resting on the rounded hips that he could imagine gripping while he pulled her on top of him. He sucked in a breath and slowly brought his eyes back up to her face. She wasn’t drop dead gorgeous, but beautiful in the girl-next-door kind of way with luminous skin free of makeup, long lashes framing almond-shaped brows, a short pert nose, and a mouth shaped with a luscious cupid’s bow. Damn. He wanted to reach out and touch those lips, full and glossy pink, even in the fading light.
“Mommy, it’s cold.” A little boy’s face peered out from behind the woman’s shapely legs.
The voice snapped Ryder back to the moment, and he walked up to the two short steps, ignoring the strain of fear etched on her face. “What the hell are you doing on my property?” he asked.
Her eyes focused on the shotgun in his hand then slowly moved to his gaze. “It’s only temporary … until the storm passes.” Ryder put a foot on the step and the woman stumbled back into the camper. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think anyone would find us before we left.” She wrung her hands while she kept walking backward. “Please, don’t hurt us,” she said as her gaze looked downward.
“I’m not gonna hurt you. It’s fucking cold out here.” When he pulled himself up the stairs, he noticed the familiar look of surprise masking her face. He’d seen it more times than he could count since he’d lost his leg, and the sting of discomfort never went away. “Come on, Brutus,” he said.
“Not the dog. I don’t want it in here,” she said, raising her eyes to meet his.
“You’re the one trespassing, so you don’t get to call the shots,” he snarled. Brutus padded up the stairs, and the woman rushed over to the table. Ryder slammed the door behind him and looked around the place. The small boy now sat in the corner against one of the cushions around the table. His mop of dark hair and shining brown eyes reminded Ryder of Colt, but he’d be damned if he was going to think about him at that moment. Ryder shook his head and made the memories of a long-lost son scatter into the dark shadows of his mind.
“Can I pet your dog?” the boy asked in a small voice.
The woman slid in behind the table and scooted over to him then placed a protective arm around his shoulders. “Timmy, you shouldn’t ask that,” she said softly, her gaze darting between Ryder and Brutus.
“Why the fuck not?” Ryder knitted his brows as he walked up to the table and plopped down on the seat. “His name is Brutus and you can pet him in a minute. He’s got to see that I’m cool with you both.”
“He’s a police dog, right?” The boy’s gaze stayed on the dog.
“A German shepherd. The badges use that breed a lot.” Ryder was keenly aware that the woman watched him. He turned to her. “What’re you looking at?” Redness crept into her cheeks and he thought she looked even prettier when rattled.
“Uh … nothing. I mean … I was listening to what you were saying to Timmy.”
Ryder grunted and pointed a thumb at the small boy. “I know his name now. What’s yours?”
“Savannah,” she said softly, but she didn’t ask his.
He tipped his head. “Ryder.” He snapped his fingers and pointed to the floor and Brutus immediately laid down. “So you got caught in the storm?”
Savannah nodded then lightly thrummed her fingers on the table. The noise drove him fucking crazy. “Stop that,” he ordered, glaring at her. “There’s no need to be nervous. I’m not gonna hurt you or your boy. I just wanted to know who was homesteading on my land.”
“We weren’t homesteading. I have every intention of leaving as soon as possible. I don’t think the storm will last too much longer, do you?” Savannah’s gaze met his and she smiled weakly.
“How the hell should I know?” Her face fell and Ryder almost reached out and tucked her hand into his. I don’t need to be feeling sorry for this chick or her boy. He pushed himself up and Brutus rose. “When the storm clears, I want you the hell off my land.” Ignoring the stunned look on her face, he put the shotgun under his arm and walked out.
As he lumbered away, he glanced back and saw Savannah watching him. When he locked his gaze on hers, she quickly dropped the shade.
Good. He trudged over to the jeep and let Brutus jump in before he slid onto the seat. As he drove to the cabin, he imagined how silky Savannah’s hair would feel wrapped around his fingers. He shifted in his seat as her image filled his mind. During most of the time he’d been in the trailer, her arms were folded across her chest like a shield, but when he got up to leave, she dropped her guard, and his gaze fell on her rounded breasts. Very impressive. There was no doubt about it—he was a tit man. A fine ass, shapely legs, and nice rounded hips got his blood pumping, but a decent rack made his dick jump to attention every time. To him, a work of art was a pair of natural breasts that filled his hands just right.
“It’s really coming down,” he muttered under his breath as he increased the speed of the windshield wipers. I bet her nipples are pink just like her lips. Damn … he wanted to slide into her warm bed and feel those naked curves, snug and yielding against his flesh. “Fuck!”
Brutus whined and put his head down on his paws.
“It’s cool, boy. I’m just pissed ’cause I’m getting hard thinking about that sexy woman.” I’m gonna have to get over to the clubhouse once the storm passes and spend some time with Brandi. She was the club girl he liked the best because when they were together, she acted like she really wanted to be with him rather than it was just a mercy fuck.
The cabin drew near, and Ryder hit the remote and watched the garage door slide up before driving in. When he opened the back door, the heat from inside washed over him, and he walked into the kitchen and set down the three bottles of whiskey on the counter. He was glad he’d bought the booze since he was positive he was going to need it to get through the night. The unwanted tenant and her boy stirred up a whole lot of feelings and memories he didn’t want to deal with.
Grabbing one of the bottles and a glass, he went into the family room and started a fire. He sat down on the couch and turned on the television in a desperate attempt to find a channel which would confirm that the storm would be over by the following day. But none of the stations did that—another day or two until it was over.
Ryder snapped off the television and stared at the flames curling and dancing over the logs. It seemed to him that the pretty woman and her son were running away from something. An abusive husband? Maybe, but there’s no damn way she’s living in that small ass trailer with her boy just for the hell of it. Long-buried emotions passed through the darkness of his heart, and he realized that something about her pulled him in, and he wanted to help and protect her. And the boy … fuck … I’m not even going to go there. Ryder couldn’t. He needed the safety of the wall he’d built around his emotions. His self-imposed limits of not letting anyone get too close protected him from losing more than he already had.
His forehead creased in a scowl. The sooner they get the fuck off my property, the better.
Ryder picked up the remote and turned on the television again then poured the whiskey into the tumbler and brought it to his lips.