Page 18 of The Biker Needs A Nanny

After the truck pulls out and the dishwasher is loaded, I grab another cup of coffee and check the decorations at the front of the house. I think I need another string of lights.

I’m on the porch when I hear footsteps on the crushed shell drive and turn.

The woman who gave me the lead on the job walks up with a little toy poodle on a leash. She waves. “Hello, neighbor.”

I give her a big smile. “Hello. How are you?”

“I was just out walking Cinnamon and saw you on the porch.” She stops and puts her hands on her hips. “My goodness, what a beautiful job you’ve done. I haven’t seen lights and decorations on this house in years.”

She extends her hand. “I’m Mildred Warrington, by the way. I don’t think we ever exchanged names.”

“Grace Reed. Thank you again for telling me about this job. It’s really been a lifesaver for me.”

She winks. “Is it working out well, then?”

“So far, I suppose. Mr. Hartwell is a little hard to deal with, but the girls are lovely.”

She again studies the house.

“You’ve really made some changes, my dear.” She nods. “Yes, indeed. Why, I haven’t seen this place so done up since before Melanie passed away.”

“Is that his wife? Melanie?”

“He hasn’t told you?”

“No. He’s very… closed off.”

“Well, how about you invite me up on the porch, and I’ll sit a spell and tell you all about it?”

“Oh, I’d love the company. Would you like a cup of coffee? Would you like to come inside?”

“I’d better keep Cinnamon outside, but I will take you up on that coffee.”

Ten minutes later, we’re both sipping coffee, and Cinnamon is curled at Mildred’s feet.

“You see, dear, Melanie died after a long battle with ovarian cancer. She fought hard, and that man of hers was by her side for every minute of it. I’ve never seen such devotion.”

“How sad. He must have loved her very much.”

“Very much, indeed. I know he rides a motorcycle in that club of his, and maybe he’s no saint because of it, but I’ve never seen a man love a woman like he loved his Melanie. I don’t think he’s been the same since she passed. I think it nearly destroyed him.”

“He hates these decorations. He seems to hate everything about Christmas.”

“She passed on Christmas day.”

“Oh, my goodness. I had no idea.”

“Albert—my husband—and I were out on our back deck that afternoon, taking in a little sun, when all of a sudden, we sawhim stalk to the end of his dock and wail and scream at God. It was heartbreaking.”

“Oh, no.” I cover my lips with my hand.

“We both knew right away what had happened. That sweet woman held on for her girls. She wanted them to have Christmas morning. It took everything out of her to hang on that long. She was in so much pain at the end.”

“How terrible.”

“It was cold the day they buried her. The casket was covered in roses. All those bikers were there, of course, but to see Lucky with his two girls, trying to comfort them when it was obvious he was devastated as well… It was tragic.”

“I didn’t know any of this,” I whisper.

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