Page 14 of His Road Dog

"On that grass?" She shook her head. "Not to insult you, but that's not pot."

He growled, pulling her away from the group. On the other side of the building, he put her on his motorcycle and forced his leg higher to sit in front of her on the Harley.

She wrapped her arms around him. He was taking her home and not letting her go anywhere until he had the whole story behind how she showed up in Missoula six months ago and ended up with a boyfriend murdered in her motel room.

Then, he was going to find out the real reason why she showed up at the clubhouse the night before. Her whole story wasn't jiving.

At his house, Nicole led the way to the front door. Not because he wanted her to feel comfortable and treat the place like she belonged here, but because he enjoyed watching her walk, and he hadn't worked off the tension yet from having her glued to his backside.

"Oh, look. Your front door has the lock on the inside of the door. You got one right." She grinned, waiting for him to let her inside.

"Smartass," he mumbled, swinging the door open for her.

She laughed on her way inside. Her shoes came off in the entryway, and she walked barefooted into the living room. Skipping the couch, she went straight to the window, turned the swivel chair around, and curled up, making herself at home.

Leaving her there, he went into the kitchen and grabbed an ashtray from the drawer. Then, he returned and sat on the couch. Lighting a cigarette, he stretched his feet out and crossed his ankles.

Though he was in the same room as Nicole, he could only see the back of her head, laid on her bent elbow, on the arm of the chair. Her hair hung down the side, and the ends touched the floor.

He inhaled deeply, exhaling the smoke above his head. There were things to do. Contacts to make. A run at the end of the month to plan for.

But today, he wanted to fix the current problem in his house, despite his natural tendency to walk away if it had nothing to do with him or Tarkio MC.

Nicole wasn't his responsibility.

The murder of Guthrie wasn't his business.

But she'd come to the clubhouse, and there had to be a reason why.

"What are the two red circles on the interstate that don't move?" she asked.

Without getting up from the couch, he said, "Marker balls, warning small aircraft away from the powerlines."

He knew every inch of the view Nicole was currently studying. There were many days and nights he stared out at the landscape, mulling over problems that involved Tarkio Motorcycle Club. The peace that came to him cleared his mind and let him see problems that were normally hidden as he went about his day.

"Did we go over that part of the highway when we went to the clubhouse?"

"Yeah."

"I'll have to look up at the electrical wires the next time we go to town."

She assumed he'd take her away from the house again. As it was, he'd like to lock her in the bedroom and keep her there for the foreseeable future.

Several silent minutes passed. He should probably have her make him lunch, but he wasn't hungry. There was a ton of shit he needed to do, around the clubhouse and at home.

The phone rang. He pushed off the couch and walked into the hallway, where the wall phone hung. From there, he stretched out the cord to stand in the living room.

"Yeah?"

"Hey, Prez. It's Aaron."

"How's it going?" he said.

"Can't complain." Aaron lowered his voice. "We have a load ready. Jerry wanted me to call and let you know."

"Good. We'll hold off until the end of the month and get a crew together at the next meeting."

"Sounds good. I'll pass it on."

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