Page 20 of Ranch's Resolve

He shrugs. “I don’t mind. I’m a firm believer that women need to learn to protect themselves. If they can face off against me, they won’t shy away from facing off against an attacker. I can be a scary son-of-a-bitch.” He grins ferociously. He’s not wrong. Deion is tall, muscular, and carries himself with the confidence of a former gang leader. He’s not as massive as Puma, but he has a cruel air about him that makes most think twice about messing with him.

Deion climbs into the passenger seat of Killian’s car while I mount my bike. I consider heading back to the clubhouse, but the image of Athena comes to mind. I feel a need to see her. I want to see her and make sure she’s alright. Hell, I just want to see her. I consider heading to her house, but I don’t know if she’s going home. Taking out my phone, I call her.

“Ranch, what can I do for you?”

“Where are you?” I ask when I hear silence on her end.

“I’m sitting in my car outside Crossroads. Selena and Santina are safe, and I’m on my way home. Oh, you’ll never guess who else I ran into. Angelica and her baby. She and Selena are sharing an apartment. Turns out they know each other.”

“How about you tell me all about it over dinner,” I suggest.

“Dinner? Oh, that sounds wonderful. But how about I fix you something at my house instead of going out? I just want to be home. If that’s okay?”

“You want to fix me dinner?” I ask, stunned at the offer.

“Nothing fancy, but I make a mean spaghetti and meatballs.”

“I’ll meet you at your house,” I say, ending the call and hopping on my bike. Instead of heading straight to her house, I make a quick stop to pick up a bottle of wine and a small gift.

Athena lives in a cottage-style home two blocks from her office. After parking on the street, I studied her home. Rather than grass, rocks cover the front yard, interspersed with bushes and flowers. The pretty yellow and white house is welcomingand charming, just like Athena. When my knock doesn’t get a response, I sit on the porch swing to wait.

A few minutes later, I watch her pull into the driveway. The garage door opens as I step off the porch to greet her. When she pulls into the garage, I follow. The space is tidy, with built-in shelves and an immaculate floor. Unlike most two-car garages, this one has room for two vehicles.

She beams at me as she exits the car and circles to the rear. “Hi! You beat me. Let me grab my briefcase and the groceries.”

“You grab what you need, and I’ll grab the groceries,” I tell her, opening the back and grabbing the two bags of groceries. I follow her into the house and notice, without surprise, that the inside of her home is just as neat as the garage. I place the groceries on the counter and unpack them while taking in the home she has created for herself.

The kitchen is the same yellow as the house, maybe a little brighter. The countertop and cabinetry are all white. The cabinet pulls are sunflower-shaped. That reminds me of the gift I brought her. Both it and the wine are still in my saddlebags.

“I need to run outside and grab the bottle of wine I brought,” I say after folding the empty grocery sacks.

“I’m going to change, and then I’ll start dinner,” Athena says as she disappears down the hallway.

Passing through the living area, I admire her taste in furniture. The dark blue couches are oversized with thick cushions. It looks comfortable and large enough to hold my weight. A round dining table, painted to resemble a giant sunflower, is situated between the kitchen and the living area. Smiling, I step outside and go to my bike. Out of my saddlebags, I pull out the wine and a pot containing a dwarf sunflower in a pretty blue pot. Back inside, I place the flowerpot on the table and search her kitchen drawers for a corkscrew. I’m opening thewine when she comes back into view. My tongue wants to roll out of my mouth.

She’s exchanged her business suit for bright pink shorts and a filmy top with swirls of the same color. The shorts and the top make her ebony skin glow; she looks like the Goddess of Spring.

“You’re stunning,” I tell her.

She blushes and glances away. Her eyes land on the potted sunflower and widen. “Oh! How beautiful.” She turns bright eyes to me. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Now, put me to work. What can I do to help with dinner?”

“Oh, no. How about you sit and keep me company? I’m used to making dinner alone; it’s just easier.”

I slide onto the barstool. “Okay, but I’m here if you change your mind.”

She smiles shyly at me as she pulls out a saucepan, a cookie sheet, and a bowl. I watch her as she dumps a pound of beef and other ingredients into the bowl before digging her hands in and mushing everything together. She palms the meat into balls and places them on the lined cookie sheet. She then moves on to the sauce. I watch in amusement and awe as she makes the sauce from scratch.

“Who taught you to cook?” I ask her.

“My grandma started to when I was a little girl, but she died before she could finish the job.”

“I’m sorry.”

“She was very old. She died peacefully in her sleep; I couldn’t be too sad. But I do miss her. After she died, I taught myself how to cook because I had to feed Killian and myself.”

“I’m sorry. Where were your parents?”

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