Chapter One
If there was one thing Aunt Winter didn’t approve of it was Wes’s motorcycle parked in the driveway. She said the engine spooked the chickens and they wouldn’t lay the following day. She claimed the horses were bad-tempered after Wes drove “that thing.”
But none of it was true. She just hated what his motorcycle meant and associated it with losing her sister.
Halfway up the driveway to the ranch, he cut the engine and swung his leg over to walk the bike in so Aunt Winter didn’t have anything to complain about. He hadn’t been home in too long and he wasn’t out to cause trouble.
He dragged in a deep breath of the ranch air, a mix of country living mixed with the mountains. He could never put words to what it smelled like other than home, and he was glad to be here.
The big house where he’d grown up with his twin cousins was unchanged. Same with the barn. But one of the outbuildings had a new roof, which only gave him a sore spot in his chest that could only be guilt.
He should have been here to help with the roof. Hopefully one of his cousins had assisted Uncle Matthias in the construction.
As he approached the house, he heard the low cluck of Aunt Winter’s chickens. Since he and his cousins had grown and moved out, she treated those chickens like kids, spoiling them on special grain and even talking to them in baby voices. She said it made them lay the biggest, best eggs, but he knew better. She missed the boys she’d raised—and that gave him more of a guilt complex.
Using the heel of his heavy black boots, he flipped down the kickstand and ensured his bike was safely balanced before turning for the house.
A welcoming front porch and many windows in the front of the home beckoned. The thought of home-cooking reminded his stomach he was at Eagle Crest too.
The door opened and his aunt stepped onto the porch, hand to her brow, shielding her eyes against the bright spring sun.
“Hello, Aunt Winter.” His voice was dusky from thirst and disuse. He’d been riding too long. His search had taken him far this time.
Her jaw dropped and then she leaped off the porch steps like a schoolgirl. He caught her as she threw her arms around his neck. “Oh, my dear Wes! I thought I heard that motorcycle engine, but then it stopped and I wondered if I’d imagined it. It’s been so long since you’ve been home.”
He hugged her hard, aware that she was rounder than he’d last seen her but the same old aunt who’d raised him like a son.
She planted a kiss on his cheek and stepped back to look at him.
Study him, more like. She started at his heavy boots, not cowboy boots, and moved to his leather chaps, not his worn jeans, up to leather jacket, not his plaid shirt, and ending at his helmet. Most definitely not his black Stetson.
She made a sound like a sigh.
“I like you better in your hat. I think there’s one upstairs in your closet.”
He had to admit he preferred his hat too. He couldn’t count the times he reached to tug on the brim, only to find his head bare. Living among bikers, he wanted to fit in. Turning up like the cowboy he was wouldn’t have many doors opening to him, and he definitely would not be getting the answers he’d been seeking these many months.
“I’ve got my hat in my saddlebag. I’ll wear it to dinner.”
She slapped at his arm. “Oh you will not wear it to the table. You know better!”
He chuckled.
“Teaser. Always trying to give me heart attacks your entire childhood, I swear. But I must have done something right—look how you turned out. If anything, I fed you well.” She gave his six-two frame another once-over.
“I’m glad to be home. Where’s Uncle Matthias?”
She waved at the ranch. “You know him. Could be checking the herd at this time of day. Why don’t you get changed and then ride out and see if you can bring him back for dinner?”
He knew her suggestion was partly for selfish reasons. She hated seeing him in biker garb, and he had to admit those soft, worn jeans and flannel shirt sounded good about now. He grabbed his stuff out of the saddlebag and then followed her inside.
“How’re Judd and Aiden?” He kept in touch with his cousins. As a bounty hunter, Wes needed info on bail jumpers at times and Judd and Aiden, both lawmen, sometimes helped out.
“Your cousins are well. Their wives too. Amaryllis is about to pop out that baby any minute and still the woman refuses to stay home. She goes with Aiden on every single call.”
Aiden and Amaryllis shared a passion for investigating cattle thefts around the state and Wes could see her dragging a baby along with them once it was born.
“And Judd and Cecily?” he prompted.
“No baby bumps in sight yet.” Aunt Winter tsked like it was a crime they didn’t have another grandbaby in the chute yet.
“All in good time,” Wes said. She stepped aside and he put his foot on the bottom step leading up to his bedroom. “They coming up this weekend?”
Aunt Winter’s eyes twinkled, and he thought he spotted a tear in the corner of one. Now that made him feel really bad. He needed to make a better effort to come home more often. It was too easy to get caught up in his own life. Between hunting fugitives and his personal searches of every motorcycle club in the tristate area, he didn’t have a lot of down time.
“The whole crew will be home for dinner. I am a happy woman.” She eyed Wes. “I’ll be happier to see you in your own clothes.”
“These are my own clothes,” he said gently. He understood why she hated the bikers—she blamed them for taking her sister, Wes’s mother, and turning her away from her family. In the end, she’d died far from home and Aunt Winter had never forgiven the bikers for it.
Before she could comment more on his leather, he started up the stairs. “I’ll change and then go find Uncle Matthias.”
A few minutes later he slipped outside without his aunt fussing over his appearance. His comfortable Stetson shaded his eyes and he hardly had to squint into the sun as he strode to the barn.
The scents of horse and hay brought a smile to his face and his shoulders relaxed. He went down the line of stalls, greeting each horse there. They’d been well-exercised all morning and were now getting comfy. But his favorite mare was always up for a gallop.
He opened the stall door and she pushed forward, nudging him hard in the shoulder. He reached up to stroke her mane. “I know I haven’t been here to ride you much, have I? I’m sorry.”
The horse answered with a soft whicker. While he tacked her up to ride, the animal stood completely still, patiently waiting. He led her out the door and swung into the saddle. A whoop gathered in his chest but he didn’t release the sound. Instead, he put his boots to flanks and took off across the field.
He rode for ten minutes, looping around the land and just staring at the steel-blue mountains in the distance. Being on horseback was an entirely different rush from being on two wheels. Though in his mind, they were equal.
He loved the bikers he’d met and lived with. He might not have found his father among them yet, but he had no doubt he’d eventually locate him. He wasn’t a legend for hunting men for nothing. Not many people could hide from Wes. If only his aunt would come clean with him and tell him exactly which club his mother had belonged to, he’d be able to find his father in a blink.
Aunt Winter was beyond stubborn on that front, and Wes had learned that pushing caused her pain.
Up ahead, he caught the jingle of a harness, the sound carrying back to him on the breeze. He lay over the horse’s neck and kicked it up into high gear. Running flat out through the high grasses that whispered with each hoofbeat. His own pulse added to the music of home.
When he caught up to his uncle, he found himself smiling. After a tense week of trying to get a group of bikers to trust him enough to give him answers about his father, he’d managed to get three fugitives back into custody. Damn, he’d needed this time to unwind.
Though he’d count it as one of his busier weeks, it was nothing as rough as his stint in the government. Top secret, talk-and-be-killed stuff. No one in his family knew about his time in Operation Freedom Flag, but he suspected Judd knew. As sheriff, he had access to a lot of intel and lawmen talked to other lawmen.
He turned his thoughts to what his uncle was doing out here. Matthias circled the back of the herd once, twice.
Wes crossed the field toward him, and his uncle looked up. Surprise lit his face, and he gave Wes a big smile that was more welcome than he deserved for one day.
“Hey, Wes. Wasn’t expectin’ ya.”
“Didn’t think to call. What’s going on up here? Dinner’s almost ready.”
“I know fine what time your aunt gets dinner on the table. I thought I saw one of the young’uns limping. I keep looking closely, but as soon as I see it, I think I’m imagining things.”
“I’ll take a look.” Wes held the reins loosely, easing his mare forward. He rode in an arc behind the cattle, watching their feet for the limp Matthias had mentioned.
“That one there with a white spot on its rump.” His uncle pointed.
Wes looked closer. After the animal took three or four steps, he thought he saw it. A misstep.
“That’s odd, isn’t it?” He scratched his jaw, the five o’clock shadow rasping under his thumbnail.
Matthias dipped his head in a nod. “Sure is. Thinkin’ I should pull her out, examine her closer.”
Wes set his hand over the coil of rope clipped to his belt. “I’ll do it.”
“You?”
Wes stared at him. “What’s wrong with me doin’ it?”
“You’ve gotta be rusty. When was the last time you roped a cow?”
“Been a while, but I roped a fugitive who was running from me last week.”
Matthias chuckled and waved at the cow. “Be my guest, then. Just don’t miss. She won’t stand there pretty for you very long.”
Wes grunted and lifted the rope. The familiar motion of throwing a lasso came as naturally to him as walking. When he tossed, a shrill whistle sounded and he came up short. His rope hit the young cow’s back and slipped off.
“Damn.” He looked around to see two more riders—Judd and Aiden—making their way across the field to meet them.
Crap, they’d seen him miss. He was never going to live it down.
Matthias gave him a crooked grin, the same Wes had adopted as his own over the years. His uncle was his role model, and he couldn’t have asked for a better one. Except he wasn’t his father. Wes wished it didn’t matter. Had spent a lifetime trying to convince himself that his uncle’s affection was enough. But the fact was, he had to find his roots. There was no other option for him.
His cousins reined up with twin shit-eating grins on their identical faces. “I see you haven’t improved your rope skills, Wes,” Aiden teased.
“You’re lucky I don’t have my taser on me,” he grumbled.
Aiden gave him a bored look. “Dude, we’ve all taken turns using the taser on each other, but it was you who pissed your pants.”
“I’m pretty sure we were fifteen when we got ahold of that taser. I’m a lot older and bigger now.” Wes only had some inches on his cousins but a hell of a lot more bulk. As a kid he’d been bullied, and his cousins had always stuck up for him. He’d vowed the minute he was old enough that he’d start putting on muscle. And he hadn’t just put it on—he’d packed it on.
He looped his rope again and made the toss, landing it square over the cow’s ears. He gave a yank to tighten the rope and then threw his cousins a smug look. He lazily dismounted from his horse to walk up to the cow.
The herd skittered away at his approach. He inspected the leg, careful to stay out of reach of the hooves. When he glanced up, his cousins were grinning at him.
“Assholes,” he said with only the highest affection for them. “Least you could do is compliment me on that throw.”
“What throw? That piddly little toss you made? Hell, I’d call it dumb luck, wouldn’t you, Aiden?” Judd patted his mount’s neck.
“Pathetic,” Aiden added, always playing along with his brother’s game.
Uncle Matthias chuckled. “Good to have you boys home. We’d best get on back before your aunt squawks like one of her chickens about us being late to dinner. Wes, you need a hand leading that cow home?”
He snorted at his uncle’s jab. “Not you too.” Wes shook his head but couldn’t stop the smile from spreading over his face. It was so good to be with family again. Even if they were extended family and not the ones he was born to.
* * * * *
As kids, Wes and his cousins had started hanging around the local tack shop. Eyeing up the leather tool-work and the latest in lightweight saddles. Back then they didn’t have any cash to spend but the owner still tolerated the Roshannon boys being in the way.
Now Wes had grown accustomed to bike shops. The cultures of cowboy and biker were different, but he appreciated both equally. But today, dressed to avoid road rash and with a wad of cash in his pocket from bringing in another fugitive, he felt a kinship to the sleek leather embossed with the insignia of a local chapter of the Bighorns.
He wanted to run his fingers over the arching letters with the jagged triangles representing mountains but had learned enough about club culture that to do without being a member was disrespectful.
“Turned out pretty sick, didn’t it?” the shop owner said from beside him.
“It’s pretty fucking hot,” Wes agreed.
“Custom order. The guy who crafted it poured a metal stamp just for the Bighorns. The piece is going on the wall of their club, I hear. A gift for one of their oldest members.”
Today Wes hadn’t come in here looking for answers, but his ears perked up. “The club’s been around a long time then?”
The shop owner arched a brow at him. “Oh yeah. The Bighorns have been around forever. Split into two chapters, both pretty hidden from outsiders.”
The door opened and a rough guy came in looking for a part. It had to be special ordered, so the shop owner circled the counter to do that. Wes roamed the space some more, checking out chaps, jackets and custom saddlebags. But he kept revolving back to that Bighorns piece.
A flat of thick black leather couldn’t intrigue him more than a coveted breastplate did to a twelve-year-old ranch boy with dreams of a 4-H win.
The door opened and closed again and suddenly the shop got really small. Six bikers, all wearing the same patches on their leather vests they called cuts. When one turned aside, Wes caught the Bighorns insignia on his back.
He slowed his breathing, aware that his heart was pounding a bit too hard. He’d spent a lot of time researching, visiting and becoming a friend of clubs, so how had this one flown under his radar? The shop owner had said the Bighorns were secretive, but his skills at finding people should be better than that.
All this searching for his mother’s history and his true father was throwing him off his game.
While the group spoke with the shop owner and the other customer, Wes neared the group, the club etiquette ingrained in him after a year of hanging around bikers. He stood on the side until a guy noticed him.
The biker fixed him in his stare. Wes stepped up and extended a hand. “Hey man, just wanted to pay my respects. I’m Dirty.”
The biker threw his head back and laughed. “I don’t want to know how you got that name. I’m James from the Bighorns.”
“Good to meet you, James.” He gripped his hand and met his gaze.
“Yo, Breaker, this here’s Dirty.” James tapped the guy next to him on the shoulder.
Breaker turned and fixed Wes in his gaze. “He don’t look dirty to me.”
Wes grinned and shook his hand. “Breaker.” He found repeating the names impressed them in his mind. It was the worst disrespect to forget a name.
The rest of the guys came forward to meet Wes and the ice was broken. Behind the counter, the shop owner eyed Wes with a new gleam of respect in his eyes. It wasn’t easy to interact with bikers this way. They stuck to themselves. But Wes had enough experience by this point that he could infiltrate the Hells Angels.
“What’re you riding?” James asked him.
Wes told him and added how he’d souped up the engine and tricked out the body. James nodded in appreciation.
Finally, Wes felt comfortable pointing to the leather work he’d been admiring. “That the piece you’re here for today?”
James followed his gaze. “Oh yeah. Turned out fucking beautiful, didn’t it?” He stroked his graying goatee as he admired it.
“I’d love to support your club. Do you have an event?”
James bobbed his head and reached into an inside pocket of his cut, coming out with a folded flyer. Wes took it and read over the bike night they were throwing as a way to support patients at a nearby VA hospital.
“This is great.” He meant it. Most of the clubs he’d hung around supported charities from children to the elderly. Wes admired all their efforts, but he could get behind this cause. His cousin Aiden had been a Marine and he’d met his share of war vets in Operation Freedom Flag.
“You can count on me to be there,” he said to James.
The man clapped him on the back. “’Preciate it, man. Look me up.”
“I will.” He understood he was dismissed and drifted away but kept an ear on their conversation as they were presented with the leather work and paid for it in cash.
Wes waited till they left the shop and the sound of their engines had faded before he leaned on the counter and looked at the owner. “How can I find that club?”
The man eyed him warily. “If you’re smart you’ll just attend their bike night and not walk up to them on their own turf.”
“So they’re tougher than most?”
The man narrowed his eyes. “Awful interested, aren’t ya?”
“Yeah, I am. I’m new to town and I’m lookin’ to find guys who love the life.”
“Being stupid could get your ass hurt.”
Wes pulled up his sleeve to show a burn mark on his forearm where one of the fugitives he’d been chasing across the county had tried to stub out his cigarette. Next to that was a twisted scar he’d gotten when a horse kicked him, but the guy didn’t need to know that.
“I’m no stranger to pain.”
The shop owner grunted. “The club’s hidden in the foothills. Not easy to find.”
“That’s all the information I need.”
Wes purchased a few items out of courtesy and left. His bike waited for him. He curled his fingers around the handlebars and eased his leg over, mounting it with no less reverence than he would a horse.
He’d come to think of himself as walking between worlds. The cowboy he was at Eagle Crest wasn’t the same man who got along with bikers. Yet if he was right about his roots, his father had been—or was—a club guy. His momma had spent time with bikers and come home pregnant. She’d given Wes up to her sister and her new husband to raise.
He could take the shop owner’s advice and attend the bike night to ease his way into the Bighorns. But he wasn’t the kind of guy who waited around for things to happen. He took action.
He had a reputation for getting things done. People relied on him to get it done. He sure as hell wasn’t slacking off in his own affairs, sitting on his thumb waiting.
Heading out of the small town and into the foothills, he steeled himself for what was to come.
* * * * *
As Stormy walked into the clubhouse kitchen, she threw a look at the women sitting around the table, sharing coffee and gossip.
“Now Stormy, sweetie, how the hell do you do that?”
“What are you complaining about now, DeeDee?” Stormy walked to the coffeepot and grabbed a mug. She needed the caffeine to wake up, not get sober after a long night of partying. Though after celebrating Sundance’s thirtieth year with the Bighorns, there had been a lot of booze flowing.
“You were awake all night same as we were.” DeeDee waved her hand around the table. “But you look like you just stepped out of a spa.”
“She’s right. Girl, your skin glows,” another lady added.
“That’s from a hot shower.” Stormy scoffed off their compliments. She took her mug to the table and sank into a seat. “What’s on the agenda today? Chili to cook?”
“Yeah, we got the big pots out and ready to go. Green Hills chapter riding out tomorrow and we gotta give them a good send-off.”
“Where’s my dad?” Stormy asked, taking a sip.
“Heard Druid on the phone with your brother,” DeeDee said in a lowered voice. The woman was in her late thirties but looked like Stormy’s older sister.
Stormy straightened. “My brother?”
“Yeah. I wondered if he was bringing him in for Sundance’s party. He’s a Bighorn too, after all.”
Stormy’s brother Alexander had been living outside the club for months now. He’d fallen out with some members and their father, known as Druid, had sent him away. But when Stormy asked him about it, he’d only kiss her softly between the eyes the way daddies kiss their little girls and say, “I’ll handle it, okay?”
She pushed out an irritated sigh. “Well, if he’s bringing Alexander back, I’ll have a chance to talk to him at least. I haven’t been able to get hold of him in months.”
“Men come and go, girl. Time you get used to that, even if they’re your family.” DeeDee had been the mother figure Stormy had never known, and the woman was always offering advice. But Stormy’d grown up around the Bighorns and she knew what DeeDee said was true. Nobody could hold these men down for long. There was a reason they chose the Bighorns—and it wasn’t only the freedom they got on two wheels.
A scraping noise of chairs being shoved back from tables in the other room had all five ladies in the kitchen on their feet.
A sound like that meant trouble. Stormy started toward the door.
DeeDee grabbed for her sleeve. “Your dad won’t be too happy with you walking into men’s business.”
“I’m not a child and I have a right to know what’s going on.” She walked out the door.
Behind her, DeeDee said, “That sassy mouth o’ hers will be the death of me.”
“You’re the one who encouraged her to speak her mind at all times,” another woman commented.
Stormy entered the main room of the club, hanging with smoke and smelling of last night’s party. Liquor and sex.
The guys were all on their feet, as expected, a wall of black leather and rough denim, facing the monitor in the corner of the room. But they weren’t watching sports—they were looking at the live surveillance footage.
A lone biker had just rolled up to the club, parked his bike and was walking up as bold as if he was a brother.
Stormy’s gaze glued to the screen. The man was tall and built but that was all she could make out.
“Dumb fucker, ain’t he?” her dad said.
“Doesn’t know the code, that’s for sure. Time to head this off before he reaches the door,” Breaker said.
Three men moved toward the big metal door that wasn’t remotely welcoming and anybody who knew the Bighorns realized you couldn’t just walk through without invitation from one of the club members.
Stormy held her breath. Her father reached over the bar for a nightstick and caught sight of her. “Get back in the kitchen, Stormy.”
She raised her jaw a notch and met his stare. There were other women in the room, and she had just as much right to be here.
A rap on the door had her father turning away, leaving her forgotten. Silence fell over the group.
“Who the fuck is this guy?” someone asked.
“Ballsy, ain’t he?”
“No, he’s plain stupid,” her father snapped.
“I’ll go out and ask him what he wants,” Stormy offered.
Her father growled, which slapped grins over the faces of several big burly guys who just loved seeing her father go apeshit trying to shield his little girl from the club life he’d introduced her to.
“Stormy.” Her name came out as a warning.
But she wasn’t listening. She was gawking at the door as it opened.
Two guys rushed it, hurling it open and facing down the man who stood there.
A man dressed in black wasn’t so unusual around here. But Stormy held her breath as she got a clear view of the man’s face. Angular jaw with a stubborn tilt, a chiseled nose and dark, dark eyes.
What color were they? Brown or black for sure. She grabbed onto a chair to steady herself as she waited for what would come.
“Who the fuck’re you?” Her father barked the question.
Breaker threw out an arm across her father’s chest. “Wait a minute. James, isn’t this the guy we just met at the shop?”
James moved through the group to the door, not looking very happy with what he saw. He folded his arms over his chest and eyed the newcomer. “You got a problem understanding the protocol here?”
“I mean no disrespect.”
“Opening a door that doesn’t belong to you’s a damn good sign of disrespect,” her father said.
“Let me handle this. The guy seemed fine at the shop.” James stepped outside with him and closed the door. On the screen, Stormy watched the back of James’s head blocking her view of the guest.
Her father glared at her from across the room, but she’d long ago learned to stand up to him. He might be the protective father in all the right ways but at times it got out of hand.
Ignoring him, she watched the screen. James turned to the door and came inside, leaving the newcomer outside. He didn’t leave, though, just stood waiting, looking as if he owned the place.
“He’s asking for Sundance.”
“He asked for him by name?” Her father looked surprised.
“He asked for the member who’s been here longest. Says Sundance knew his mother.”
“Stormy, go get Sundance.”