Page 49 of Lone Star

She bit back the uglynoshe wanted to give Jenny, and, to her horror, felt her eyes begin to sting.

“Oh, shit,” Jenny said softly, expression going concerned. “I didn’t mean – look, why don’t you–”

“Don’t say sit down,” Michelle gritted out through her teeth in a last-ditch effort to keep her tears in check. “I won’t–”

A rapid knocking sounded at the door, and it swung open before either of them could call out a question. Darla burst in, big-eyed and breathless.

“Chelle, it’s your uncle,” she said.

She said something else after that, Michelle thought, but didn’t hear. She tightened her arms around TJ and took off. Past Darla – glimpse of an even more startled expression, rush of a breath as she gasped – and down the hall. All the way down. Holding TJ too tight – he was starting to cry – nearly running.

She almost crashed into a table when she reached the common room; caught herself against its surface with an unsteady hand, and TJ wailed in her ear for the effort.

She didn’t care. Fox was here.

A small knot of people occupied the center of the large room, Texas brothers getting up from chairs and from the bar to walk toward Fox, calling out surprised and delighted greetings. Fox had a hand lifted in Gringo’s direction, his lazy, confident smile almost a smirk; that look that said he knew more than everybody in the room, even though he’d only just arrived.

She needed that smirk right now. Badly.

She walked forward, down a clear path; was aware of guys stepping back, giving ground, but couldn’t have said who, her gaze lasered in on Fox.

He turned to her, just before she reached him, and his expression softened a fraction, the smirk melting into the crooked half-smile she’d learned over time was his truest expression of all.

She didn’t slow down, but plowed into him, and he caught her, TJ and all. Wrapped them both up tight.

TJ quieted immediately, as if by magic.

Michelle clutched the back of his cut, gritty with travel dust, and pressed her face into his shoulder, eyes burning. He still smelled as he always had: of the wind, and the road, and gun oil, and a faint spice that would always remind her of Baskerville Hall.

“You came,” she whispered.

“I said I would.” Then, softer, “It’s alright, love. I’ll sort it.”

And for the first time since this whole mess had started, she felt like she could breathe.

~*~

Candy had spent a fruitless day trying to run druggies to ground and bribe answers out of them. Of the three he’d found – the ones he’d known to look for, regular customers – two had bolted on sight, and the other, even after lunch and a cup of coffee, refused to say a word. Just clamped his lips shut tight and shook his head, eyes bugging out of his skull.

On top of that, Melanie had called twice, and left voicemails both times. He hadn’t listened to them yet, and the knowledge that he should was nagging at him. What if Pacer had gotten even worse? What if he’d OD’d on whatever it was he was taking but Candy hadn’t found?

Distracted, he pushed through the gate of the clubhouse yard with only a cursory glance toward the dusty GTO parked out front.Huh, was all he thought. One of the boys must have gotten in some repo work amidst the chaos.

He thought he saw an extra bike or two parked in the line of Harleys, but he was tired, so maybe not.

Then he walked into his common room and found an atmosphere of unexpected revelry.

Nickel was behind the bar pouring drinks, and his boys, the ones already here, wore smiles; were laughing and calling to one another across the room. Someone had turned on the music, down low, an unobtrusive bit of twangy country guitar floating through. He’d expected sighs, and slumped shoulders, and rounds of whiskey for the frustration, but instead full pints of beer were sitting on the bar, foam sliding down their curves, and people were hugging, people were–

Oh, that was a woman. Two women. Women he didn’t recognize, and not Lean Bitches, either going by their clothes. A slender brunette with a tight ponytail was shaking hands with Cowboy, and then was turning to Michelle – there was his Chelle, TJ on her hip; shit, the boy was getting too heavy for her to be lugging around like that in her condition, and…

His gaze landed on one face in particular, as a man of unremarkable height with very remarkable blue eyes swiped a beer off the bar and sucked the foam off the top. Then it all clicked into place.

Fox. Fox was here.

He’d brought company. That was…shit, that wasAlbie. Candy hadn’t seen him in over two years, not since he and Chelle were in London.

The women, upon closer inspection, remained strangers. The brunette was beautiful in a sharp-featured, don’t-mess-with-me sort of way. The other, a blonde with big wavy curls and a much-loved tan leather jacket, had her head lifted, and her chin stuck out in a way that left Candy thinking she was nervous as hell, but trying valiantly to cover it with bravado.

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