Page 4 of Weatherman

“Holy shit, look at that!”

“She’s going way too fast.”

“Watch out!”

His friends had screamed and panicked while Weatherman—Bryce back then—concentrated on staying with the careening vehicle, hoping the driver stopped before the brakes completely drained. Ultimately, the car crashed into the guardrail on a sharp curve. Only by the grace of God did it not flip over the rail and tumble down the mountainside. He’d stayed with the woman he now knew as Lori and waited with her until her boyfriend showed up with help.

That was the night he met Table and found his future with the Dragon Runners MC.

“It’s not easy getting into the club, and not everyone is cut out for club life,” Table had told him. “You’re serious, I can talk to my people. If it’s mostly about your mom, you just let me know if she needs somethin’ and I’ll take care of it.”

He prospected right out of high school during his freshman year at the University of North Carolina at Asheville. He learned that Lori had been abused by her ex-husband and went into hiding from him. Thankfully, she found Table and the club, who protected her and gave her a new life. But somehow, her ex found her, and then all hell broke loose. Table even took a bullet for her and nearly died. Brick, the club president, somehow fixedthe situation, and nothing else came of it. Eventually, Table and Lori moved to Bryson City and began their life together.

Through summer classes and several semesters of credit overloads, Bryce graduated early, and his good looks, along with his natural charisma, landed him the perfect job as the weather forecaster at a TV station in Knoxville. His mom had always wanted to live in Bryson City, which was fortunate, as the Dragon Runners MC was headquartered there. Some kids wouldn’t want their parents around, but Bryce was okay with it and, in fact, encouraged Natalie to move close to him.

Only a year into his promising career, life threw a major curveball at them. Natalie’s lung cancer diagnosis had them both reeling, and he’d made the decision to end his budding career for now to take care of her.

Weatherman fired up his bike and caressed the handlebars. His Softail Harley only seated one, but his cruiser had an extra spot. He used to take his mother on the occasional trip, but she was too frail now. So far, the cancer hadn’t metastasized to other parts of her body, and the doctors said it was treatable, but still very serious. Natalie had a long, difficult road ahead of her.

“One step at a time,” he said to himself as he strapped on his helmet.

The summer heat brought a sticky humidity to the air as he rode away from the garage. Most of his furniture and personal belongings were in storage for now. The little two-bedroom house his mom bought was small, but he planned on living there until she got back on her feet.

Or not.

No, he wasn’t ready to face that part yet. As long as Natalie Turner had the capacity to breathe, she could heal, and he wouldn’t give up on any shred of hope.

With that thought, he pointed his bike in the direction of Tambre’s place and headed there.

CHAPTER 3

“Didyou go to that new restaurant that just opened? What’s the name?”

“Smoky Mountain Bistro, if I’m not mistaken. Real fancy food, but damn, it is good!”

“Burna Jones said she didn’t like the way the place looked.”

“Hmph. Burna Jones doesn’t like anything.”

I listened to the shop gossip as I painted another section of hair on my client’s head and then carefully wrapped the foil. There was something therapeutic about doing this routine basic highlight job. I found it soothing to watch the repetitive motion of spreading the thick lightening paste over the strands and listen to the crinkle of the foil as I folded it into an even, compact rectangle.

The bell tinkled, and of course, the newcomer was greeted by a wave of curious eyes. Normally, what I saw and heard were waves and shouts of “Hey, girl,” but the woman in the door was dismissed coldly.

So, not a new person, but someone everyone knew and shunned.

Except Tambre.

“Good afternoon, Donna. How are you?”

Donna tilted her head back and ignored the snubs. “Hey, Tambre. I got a little problem.” She reached up and tugged at her dry strands. “I did my roots at home to save some money, an’ it didn’t go so good.”

“Hmph. Ain’t enough bleach in the county to clean some stains,” the woman in my chair muttered under her breath. Her remark was brief, but the ugly tone made me take a longer look at the woman standing at the front of the salon.

She could have been anywhere between thirty-five and forty-five. Her clothes consisted of short-shorts and a ripped T-shirt over a spaghetti-strap cami, but her breasts hung low and loose. She was pretty, but underneath the heavy makeup, there were deep lines and shadows of hard living. The straw-like consistency of her greenish-blonde hair made me wince.

“This is bad, Donna. We can try a deep keratin treatment and see what happens.” Tambre’s voice held a note of compassion for the woman. It made me love my boss even more.

“How much?” Donna asked warily.

---