Page 46 of You're My Person - For Always

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Smoker walked into the office of the clubhouse. Kingsley picked up the bag on the desk and tossed it across the room.

"Hey, thanks." Smoker grabbed the handles and flung the bag over his shoulder. "I was looking for this."

"You left it in the cabin. One of the cleaning girls found it." Kingsley picked up a baggie of weed and tossed it to Smoker. "She found this, too."

Smoker stuffed the bag in his vest pocket. "That's not mine, but I'll take it."

"Do you need the truck?" Zane kicked back in the chair and put his boots on the desk.

"Nah." Smoker chuckled. "Don't have anything but bags."

"If you need to come back, just let us know." Zane latched his hands behind his head.

"Thanks, Prez." Smoker walked out of the office.

Smoker had lived in one of the cabins behind the clubhouse for the last year. He only recently decided to move into town with some woman he met. Kingsley shut the door. Members would often move out of Gem Haven if they looked toward settling down. Women tended to demand more from them, and the clubhouse had too many parties and girls. It made for jealous ol' ladies.

A knock came. Still by the door, Kingsley opened it again.

Guy stood in the hallway and pointed toward the main room. "The delivery truck is at the bar."

Kingsley looked at Zane. His brother put his feet on the floor and walked past him.

"Take the keys for the truck," said Zane from the hallway.

Kingsley stayed behind. Every week, after the delivery to the bar, two of the kegs and several of the bottles were brought up to the clubhouse. The state's stringent liquor permit process banned the clubhouse from purchasing alcohol within close proximity to the bar, so they ordered extras and transported them to the clubhouse themselves.

The landline phone on the desk rang. He picked it up, expecting Lori with news about the kegs. "Yeah?"

"I'm calling for Kenna Pruitt," said a woman.

His skin prickled. Kenna was at the bar working, and hesitated on giving the phone number out without knowing who was calling.

"Who is this?" he asked.

"This is Idaho State Penitentiary calling for Kenna Pruitt."

Fuck. He thrust his hand in his hair. Kenna had waited for the day they would contact her, but he wanted to make sure he was there when she received the news. If the judge denied her visitation request, she'd be devastated.

A big part of him wanted to tell the woman Kenna wasn't there and that she'd moved on, and he had no idea how to contact her. It was the only way he could protect her.

But, he wouldn't do that to her. He couldn't.

"She's working. I can give you the phone number of where to reach her," he said.

"Is it 555-3190? She's given us two numbers on the form."

"Yeah, that's the one."

"Thank you for your help. Goodbye."

The call disconnected. Kingsley set the phone down and shot out of the office.

Running through the clubhouse, he pushed men aside as he flew out the door. His Harley was twenty feet away, but it might as well have been a mile. His chest hammered, needing to get to her.

By the time he parked in front of the bar, rushed inside, and found Kenna, she was already on the phone with her back toward him.

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