Page 24 of Frosty the Biker

“Well, I’ll be. What a coincidence.”

“What?” I didn’t know if I could handle many more coincidences.

He held up a finger as he hit the speaker phone button. “Miss Howard, can you please go get that box Mr. Kimble dropped off?”

“Yes sir. Be right there, sir,” she replied, and the call was ended.

“Box he dropped off?”

“Mr. Kimble attended the estate sale. There were several boxes in the corner of the storage room on the main level of the house. They were sealed and in a back corner. My guess is they were dropped off after the death of your father and Mrs. Dickson had forgotten she had them—after all, she was over a hundred years old when she died. Anyway, Mr. Kimble bought them unopened, as unknown lots. He brought one back in because he said he didn’t know what to do with the items inside, but that the new owner might want them—if it was a relative of the Dicksons,” the attorney explained. “I didn’t look through it thoroughly. It looked like some old pictures. We put it in our storage room, but somehow, we found it with our Christmas decorations when we pulled them out this year.”

The woman from the front desk brought in what looked like an old boot box. She was carrying it to Mr. Rushing, but he motioned for her to give it to me.

“Thank you,” I told her. She blushed and hurried out of the office.

“I’m very sorry to rush you out, but I have a client coming in about ten minutes. If you can stop by later in the week, I can have all of the paperwork ready for you to sign for the house.” He stood up, politely signifying the end of our conversation.

I got to my feet and shook his hand. “Thank you for taking the time to see me, especially with your tight schedule.”

“Of course. I wish I’d had a bigger time slot for you today. Mondays are always busy though, then I’ll be in court the next couple of days. Thursday is fairly open, so I’ll have Miss Howard call you and set up a time for then or Friday,” he said with a kind smile.

I tucked the slightly heavy box under my arm and went out to my truck. After a quick glance at the time, I set it in the passenger seat and headed into work. If traffic wasn’t bad, I had time to grab some coffee and a sandwich before going into work.

Killswitch met me at the door as I was carrying my food and coffee in.

“Thanks, boss man.” I grinned.

“Any time. You wanna eat then I’ll show you around?”

“I can eat while you show me around if that’s okay. I’m almost done.” I held up the remainder of the bagel sandwich I’d picked up.

“Sure thing.” Killswitch showed me the room I’d be working in, and we popped our heads into the two other rooms with artists in them. They all seemed cool, but they were busy tatting or working up sketches for clients, so we didn’t linger.

We ended back at my room. Dallas had done me a solid last night and dropped off my toolbox I kept all my supplies in. Well, he said the prospects did most of the work—another reason I was good with not doing that prospect thing. Either way, I was thankful.

I popped a mint in my mouth and got started.

The day went by quickly and I was just going over aftercare with the second client, when I heard a child’s shout and Killswitch making… monster noises?

I walked the guy out and was shocked to see Ryian standing at the counter and Killswitch holding… my son. That still seemed so strange to think.

“Ryian?”

She turned my way and the sun hit the green flecks in her hazel eyes. I’d always loved when that happened. When she cried, they turned completely green—I both loved and hated that. Loved the color, hated to see her cry.

“Hey, Dalton,” she started, then she turned to her uncle who was struggling to hold Anson still.

“Okay, hold on you little monkey,” Killswitch said to Anson as he carefully set him on his feet.

The little boy stared at me, then walked straight to me. He stopped when the toes of his little Converses nearly touched my Vans and tilted his head back to look up at me.

“You’re my dad,” he matter-of-factly announced.

Though Ryian had warned me, it was uncanny the way he spoke. Almost like a little old man. I crouched down so I could be at his level.

“Yeah, buddy, I am,” I confirmed.

He scratched his nose, and I noticed the light sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of his nose that scattered onto his cheeks. Dallas and I had both had them as kids too. His big blue eyes were like looking in a mirror.

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