The Biker Needs A Nanny (Thirteen Bikers for Christmas)

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Lucky—

Monday afternoon, I climb off my bike and grab the drink from the cup holder I borrowed from Brick. He gave me a look, but let me use it.

Heading inside, my phone rings. I check the screen.

“Yeah, Prez?” I pause on the porch, pressing the phone to my ear.

“We’ve got more toys for this run than we can carry on the bikes. Can we use your pickup to haul some of them?”

“Sure,” I say automatically, then pause. “Uh, Grace probably needs it to bring the girls to town to watch the parade.”

I open the door and walk through to the kitchen. Grace sits at the dining table, looking at an old cookbook of Melanie’s. I reach over her shoulder to set the Frappuccino down.

Her eyes get big, and she spins, but seeing I’m on the phone, she doesn’t speak.

I give her a wink and withdraw to the kitchen.

“All right, VP,” Prez says. “We’ll work something out. See ya later.” He disconnects and I slip my phone in my pocket.

Grabbing the jug of OJ out of the fridge, I chug some straight from the carton and look through the doorway to the dining room. I catch the big smile on Grace’s face as she takes a sip.

That right there made it all worth it.

I spot a plastic grocery bag hanging off the back of one of the barstools and peer inside. There are a couple of shirts which look used. I spy a receipt poking out and snag it.

Good Will.

She shopped at Good Will, and she spent a grand total of seven dollars.

I glance at the clock. It’s one pm. The girls don’t get out for two hours. Hooking the bag on my finger, I bring it into the dining room and drop it on the table in front of Grace. “Did you get a coat?”

“I… no. I haven’t found one yet.”

“You need a coat, Grace. And not some second-hand thing from Good Will.”

“What’s wrong with second-hand?” She glares at me.

“So, the only coat you have is that threadbare thing in the hall?”

“I’m fine.”

“I didn’t ask if you were fine. I asked if it was the only coat you have.”

She rolls her eyes. “Yes.”

“Come on.” I grab her by the arm and put her drink in her hand.

“Where are we going?”

“Shopping.”

“Shopping for what?”

“For you.”

She tries to pull free. “Oh, no we’re not. I don’t need your charity.”

I’ve still got ahold of her. “Call it a Christmas bonus. And don’t argue with me, Grace.”

“Who are you to boss me around?”

“Uh, your boss . And we’re not leaving until you spend three-hundred dollars.”

“ Three-hundred dollars ? For a coat?”

“For clothes.” I haul her to my truck and open the door for her.

She huffs but climbs in.

I go around the hood and slide behind the wheel. She sips on her Frappuccino, trying to look all pissy. I grin.

“What?” she snaps.

“You. Trying to look all pissed off while sucking down that whipped cream treat.”

She turns her head and looks out her window, but I see the curve of her cheek and know she’s smiling.

I throw the truck in gear.

There is no big mall in this small town, but we have a small department store, so I head there. I hold the door for her, and she glances around the parking lot. She suddenly seems nervous.

Once we’re inside, she seems to calm down.

A saleswoman approaches. “May I help you?”

I point to Grace. “She needs a warm coat and a couple of outfits.”

“I only agreed to a coat,” Grace insists.

“She’s got three-hundred to spend.” I talk over her head to the saleswoman.

“I’ll take good care of her.”

Half an hour later, Grace picks out a coat and a pair of jeans. The sales woman leaves to check for another size of an item, and I stroll over toward a display of shoes. I spot a pair of boots suitable for riding, then check myself. She’s my nanny; she’s not going riding with me. I can’t even think about shit like that.

I round a table, and a guy smacks into my shoulder.

“Sorry.” He mumbles, but I don’t catch a look at his face.

I glance around to locate Grace, and she’s white as a sheet. I look over my shoulder, but the guy is gone. “Did you know that guy?”

She shakes her head and flips through garments on a hanging display, but her motions are jerky, and her hand is shaking.

“Grace, you okay?”

“I think I have enough.” She seems to want to get out of here in a hurry and stalks toward the nearest register.

I stop her at a display of fancy sweaters. “You don’t have enough stuff. Get something nice for Christmas.”

She hurriedly grabs something, throws it over her arm, and goes to the counter.

I frown and spot a mannequin with a sexy, off-the-shoulder red sweater. The sales woman returns with the correct size of an extra pair of jeans, and I point at the mannequin. “Get that in her size.”

She nods. “Of course.”

“Lucky, I don’t need that. Where would I wear it?”

She seems nervous, so I don’t drop the bomb that she’s coming to our clubhouse party. “Just humor me.”

“Fine, if we can just be done.”

“You’re the first woman I know who doesn’t enjoy shopping.”

Soon, I’m carrying her bag to the truck and opening the door for her. The moment we’re inside, she hits the lock and glances around.

“Can I borrow these?” she asks, grabbing my sunglasses off my visor.

“Sure. Maybe we should buy you a pair—” I say, but she’s already slipping them on. “Something you want to tell me, Grace?”

“Nope. Why?”

I just stare at her.

“Can we just go, please?”

I shift into gear, scanning the lot. I spot a guy in the same royal blue sweat jacket as the guy who bumped into me. He’s leaning against the brick wall, smoking a cigarette. I dip my head and memorize his face.

He locks eyes with me.

Grace has her body shifted, almost like she doesn’t want him to see her.

I wonder if he’s some guy she dated. She said she’d been in town for a while. I’m sure she had plenty of opportunity to meet men.

Somehow, that thought pisses me off.

I squeeze her hand. “You okay?”

She practically jumps out of her skin when I touch her. “Um, yeah. I’m fine.”

“Grace?”

She tugs her hand free. “I’m fine.”

I drive to the girls’ school and park in the pickup line. There’s an uncomfortable silence between us, and I let it be for now.

When the girls climb in the backseat, they chatter happily, telling us both about their day, and Grace pastes on a smile. I don’t know if she’s just a good actress or if she’s actually relaxing.

When we get home, I notice she goes behind me and locks the front door. While I’m emptying the girls’ backpacks, I watch her move to the sliders that lead to the sunroom and check the lock.

Ella brings an ornament that she made in school today over to the Christmas tree. She stops, and her smile fades.

I move to her and lay a hand on her shoulder. I have to admit, it’s a sad-looking tree.

“Want to hang your ornament, honey?” I ask.

“Daddy?”

“Yes, baby.”

“Can we get a real tree this year?”

I glance at the ornaments. So many memories are contained in them. Everything in me wants to run out the door. But I force myself to stand here and look at them. The one that Melanie got when we first got married. The ones she got when the girls were born. One from when we went to Savannah, another from a trip to New Orleans.

It’s not that I have anything against a real tree, or the cost, or hauling it in. But the thought of having to rehang those ornaments, having to touch them, having to relive all those memories? I’m not sure I can do it.

“Please?”

“We’ll see,” I whisper.

Ella bursts into tears and runs from the room.

“They just want to spend time with you,” Grace says softly.

“Don’t tell me what my girls need,” I snap, the pain sharp.

“Well, you’re never here. How would you know what they need?” she snaps right back.

We’re both on edge, and the tension in the room is thick. I drag a hand through my hair. “I’ll talk to her.”

I go up to find Ella face down on her bed, her body shaking with sobs. I sit on the edge and rub her back.

“Okay, baby doll. We’ll get a tree. I promise.”

She sits up and hugs me, burying her face in my chest.

I stroke her hair, wanting to make her happy. I hate her tears. They tear my heart out. “We’ll get the best tree they’ve got, okay?”

She wipes her nose and sniffles. “Okay, Daddy. I love you.”

“I love you, too, honey. So much.”

I squeeze her tight.

“Now come downstairs and let’s get a snack.

After dinner, when the kids are in bed, I step onto the porch to make a call.

Our club enforcer picks up on the second ring.

“Yeah, VP. What do you need?”

“I need a home security system. Can you pick one up and bring it over?”

“I can get one tomorrow and set it up for you.”

“I want it tonight.”

“There a problem?”

“There was a guy in town today. He made Grace nervous. I get the feeling when she doesn’t feel safe, she runs. I don’t want her to run. My girls love her.”

“I’ll get on it.”

“Thanks, Pipe. I owe you one.”

He chuckles. “More than one.”

An hour later, he shows up with a bag of small boxes containing window and door sensors, glass breaking sensors, a base station, and a keypad that sticks to the wall.

He helps me set it up, and Grace observes us while folding towels.

When Pipe leaves, I motion her over.

“Grace, c’mere. I want to show you this. There are sensors on the doors and windows. When the alarm is set, if they’re opened, it goes off. That up there”—I point to the sensor mounted in the corner of the family room—“is a glass break sensor. The sound of breaking glass sets it off.” I give her a run-through on how to arm and disarm it. “What’s your birthday?”

“October twenty-second.”

“We’ll set the code as 1022. That way you’ll remember it.”

“Okay.” Her eyes glaze over. “Did you do all this for me?”

“I want you to feel safe. This thing goes off, I’ll get a notification on my phone, and an alarm will blare loud enough to scare them away.” I search her eyes. “Feel better?”

She nods, seeming too choked up for words.

I want to take her in my arms, but that feels like a line I shouldn’t cross. In the end, I just rest a hand on her shoulder.

She turns into my arms and buries her head in my chest. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m so emotional.”

I dip my head and breath in her scent. My eyes slide closed.

She pulls back and dashes her tears away. “Thank you.” Then she runs up the stairs to her room.

I stare after her, my heart pounding.

Jesus Christ. I’m in trouble.