Page 9 of My Dream

Yarder shook his head, strode toward me, and shoved the list into my hand. “I’m not thrilled about you heading off with Fallon as it is. So you can pick this up while you’re out, and no one else has to leave.”

I crumpled the list into my pocket and glared at him. “Great. First, you shove Fallon on me, and now I’m the goddamn maid running errands. You ever think Pirate or Smoke could handle this crap? I should be helping to find Russ.”

“Dove’s on that,” Yarder replied and set his coffee down on the pool table. “She mentioned a few spots her dad used to go. He’s smart, but he’s never had to run for his life before. He’s bound to slip up somewhere. We’ll find him before Boone and Gibbs do.”

I frowned. “Dove hasn’t really talked to her dad in years. Don’t you think Fallon has a better shot at figuring out where Russ is hiding?”

Yarder gave a slow nod. “We’ll use her when the time comes. But right now, you can get groceries and whatever other crap she’s got planned for this little trip.”

“I’m ready!” Fallon’s voice echoed down the hall before she came sprinting into the room. Her boots skidded to a halt as soon as she spotted Yarder. She looked between us, wide-eyed. “Please don’t tell me you’re canceling the trip to the store. I need the store to tell me what to buy!”

Yarder tilted his head like he wasn’t sure he’d heard her right. Hell, I wasn’t sure either.

“Just get the shit on the list,” he said gruffly, clearly deciding not to ask. “And try not to get shot at or killed while you’re out.” He slapped my shoulder a little too hard to be friendly. “Call me if you run into trouble.”

I chuckled as Yarder walked off and left Fallon and me standing in the common room.

“What’s on the list?” Fallon asked, bouncing on her toes like this was some kind of field trip. “Biker stuff?”

I pulled the crumpled paper out of my pocket and handed it over.

“Milk, butter, chocolate chips, orange juice,” she read aloud. Her nose wrinkled in confusion as she looked up at me. “He wants us to go grocery shopping?”

“Yup,” I said, popping the ‘p’ as I reached for the list and shoved it back in my pocket. “Looks like we’re not taking the bike.”

Her face fell. “Well, that sucks. I was looking forward to riding on a motorcycle. I’ve never done that before.”

“Maybe another time,” I said and headed toward the door. As much as I preferred taking the bike, there was no way we were fitting everything on that list in my saddlebags.

Fallon followed close behind. “They’re not working on the garage today?” she asked and nodded toward the half-built structure outside.

“It’s Sunday, babe. Plus, it’s fucking early.”

“It’s eight, Compass. Most people are awake by now.”

“They may be awake,” I muttered, “but they sure as shit aren’t running to the damn store.”

Her eyes widened when we rounded the clubhouse, and her gaze landed on the truck parked near the garage. “We’re taking that?”

I smirked and nodded toward the dark blue ‘81 Chevy pickup. “Yup. That’s the garage truck.”

“It’s... old.”

I laughed, headed to the passenger side, and opened the door for her. “I think you meanclassic, babe. And we can fit a hell of a lot more groceries in the bed than we can on the back of my bike.”

She climbed in and ran her fingers over the interior. “Itisnice.” She smiled, but there was a hint of timidity in it.

“Classic,” I corrected her again as I walked around to the driver’s side. “She’s a classic.”

“You sound like you’re pretty fond of it,” she teased.

I slid on my sunglasses and gave her a quick grin. “That’s because I built it. You ready to go?”

“You built this?” Fallon asked, her voice full of amazement as she ran her hand along the dashboard.

I shut her door and rounded the front of the truck. “This,” I said as I slid into the driver’s seat, “and a whole lot of other cars.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “I’m impressed, Compass.”

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