Page 5 of Rolling Thunder

She glanced up at him, seeing his eyes clearly for the first time under the plain black ball cap he wore. He met her gaze and held it, giving her the distinct yet impossible impression that he saw more than he should, like he was touching her without moving. Goose bumps rose on her arms in stark contrast to the ever-muggy heat, but there was something strangely comforting about him.

But comfort could be even more frightening than danger, and she had an overwhelming urge not to unlock her gate. The wiggling dog reminded her that she had to, so she turned the key and pulled the chain back.

“Why are you here?” she asked.

“To pick you up.”

“Excuse me?”

“I just wanted to make sure you’re all right. Then I figured I could at least buy you a beer since I almost got you killed.”

“Yeah, I’m fine. But maybe some other time. I’m exhausted right now, and I smell like a horse.”

A slow smile spread across his face, and she felt like the ground was shifting under her feet.

“You smell fine to me.”

She rolled her eyes.

“No. Just no. I only go to the feed store or the vet in this shape.”

“Then I’ll take the dog home and pick you up on my way back. Want to take a ride?”

“I’ve been riding all day.”

“On the motorcycle.”

“Oh.”

They stared at each other for a moment. What the hell was going on? He wasn’t taking no for an answer. And…despite her resolve to avoid him…now that he was here, she didn’t want him to go. The only thing she had planned for the evening was to incessantly reread the foreclosure notices and fret that she couldn’t make the payment in time. A little distraction and a lot of alcohol suddenly sounded great. Her twisted teenaged years, controlled almost entirely by Trent, hadn’t allowed her to date like a normal young person or have any freedom to make her own decisions. Since she’d made her break, she’d stayed mostly isolated out here on the farm. The interest of a great-looking guy who gave her butterflies was novel enough to inspire impulsive and foolish decisions.

“Okay. I guess I could go for a drink.”

With that same infectious, boyish smirk, he said, “Usually, girls are a little more excited about getting to go for a ride on my bike.”

“I’ll just bet they are.”

He laughed again, not exactly the response she was going for. She wondered how his face could transform so completely when he laughed, while other times, he looked so dangerous. He swung the gate open six inches and slapped his leg.

“C’mon, Trouble.”

The dog shot through the gate, launching into the cab of his truck, which sat with the driver’s door wide open. She sat behind the wheel, tongue lolling, looking perfectly pleased with herself.

Kayla found herself grabbing the chain and snapping the padlock back into place. She needed the cold metal between her and him.

“Half hour?” he asked nonchalantly as he sauntered back to the truck.

“Okay.”

He looked at the dog.

“Scoot over. You can’t drive.” With a theatrical face like her feelings were hurt, the dog moved down enough for him to get in.

CHAPTER 3

Curiosity and adrenaline overrode her exhaustion, yet she wasn’t altogether clearheaded. It was a heady rush of freedom to be approached by a guy like this without Trent looking over her shoulder. The thrill was just enough to inspire the impulsive decision to go out with him.

Fresh from a speedy shower, she poured herself into skintight Levi’s, a black Harley tank top studded with bling around the neckline, and her own biker jacket for good measure. She called it “the bitch jacket.” It was adorned with clinking chains that wove in and out of grommets on the outside of the sleeves. It was thin, nylon, and cinched up tight around her waist. She took five minutes for mascara and eyeliner and gulped a shot of vodka from her freezer to take the edge off. She went out the door, braiding her hair as she walked, not noticing that he was already in the driveway outside the gate half reclined on his bike. It was a pretty bitchin’ bike: a custom-painted 116 cubic inch V-Twin Indian Chief Dark Horse with pull-back beach bars, blacked-out anodized engine, milled metal jugs and ground-pounder straight pipes to top it all off. It was mean as fuck and loud. Well, she wouldn’t lose her mind over the badass motorcycle. It wasn’t her first rodeo, and she intended to let him know it.

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