Page 41 of Driving Whiskey Wild
She felt her cheeks flush, wishing she had the kind of constitution that would allow her to hide her embarrassment, like Penny or Isabel. They were unflappable. “I’m sorry, yes, that’s true, but in a friendly way.”
“Honey, there’s no competition. We’re all family, and now that you’re with Bullet, you’re family, too. You can come down and get a tour of the kitchen, meet the staff, whatever you’d like. Dark Knights families stick together.”
Chicki headed over to the pool table, where several of the club members’ wives were gathered. Just a few weeks ago, Finlay had wondered why anyone would want to be involved in a motorcycle club, and Monday night, when she’d learned the women weren’t allowed at the meetings, she’d questioned it again. But as she looked around the bar, she took in Tru and Gemma dancing beside Bear and Crystal. Biggs sat at a table with a group of men, each of whom wore Dark Knights patches, including the high school principal. Penny stood at the bar beside Tru’s brother, Quincy. Quincy hadn’t taken his eyes off her since he arrived. Beside him, two other women who she’d seen arrive with two members she recognized from the clubhouse were leaning in to hear something Jed was saying from the other side of the bar. Bones approached, wearing a leather jacket with the Dark Knights emblem on the back. He put an arm around Quincy and Penny, weaseling right between them. Her gaze shifted to Bullet, who was pushing two drinks across the other end of the bar to a couple of bearded, tattooed guys who were also wearing Dark Knights shirts—men she once might have overlooked, or dismissed as trouble. One of them did a fist bump with Bullet, and she saw deep friendships and lasting connections. Now she understood what it really meant to be a member of the Dark Knights.
She barely had time to process her thoughts before remembering she’d been on a mission to refill the food trays. She stacked the empties and carried them into the kitchen and set to work preparing the next round of food for the tasting session. A short while later she was concocting what were quickly becoming known as her specialty—sliders topped with her special Whiskey sauce and coleslaw and sides of bourbon fries—when Red breezed through the kitchen doors.
“How’re you holding up, sweetie?” Red set an empty tray down on the counter beside Finlay.
Finlay had learned a great deal about the spunky, take-no-guff redhead since Monday night. Red was no queen, that was for sure. She was not afraid to get her hands dirty. It was clear that she was the cog in the wheel that held the Whiskey family, and the club, together. She nagged and pushed when people needed it, and Finlay had quickly realized that Red was the one who coordinated most of the Dark Knights family-friendly events.
She looked up from the sliders she was preparing and smiled. “I’m good. Thanks for asking, but this is fun for me. I can’t believe how many people showed up. Thank goodness Jed is here to help with the bar. I’m starting to wonder if having two cooks on staff is going to be enough. We’ve been interviewing with the thought of hiring two for different shifts. But based on tonight’s turnout, I don’t think it’s going to be enough.”
Red helped Finlay finish filling one tray with sliders and fries and another with sandwiches. “Well, that says something about your cooking, doesn’t it?”
“I think it says more about Whiskey’s reputation and what this place and your family mean to all those people out there. But I am really worried about staffing. You and Dixie can’t waitress twelve hours a day, and Dixie has found something wrong with every candidate I’ve brought in to cook.” She hadn’t realized how much this was worrying her until just then. “I thought you guys could do this on a smaller scale, but I’m not so sure.”
Red set a hand on her hip with an unsurprised look in her eyes. “I hear you on that, sweetheart. I have to believe that the right thing for Whiskey’s will show itself at some point. Between the fundraiser and the expansion, there’s a lot on our plates. Dixie is either not thinking clearly, or thinking more clearly than ever. Time will tell.” She shrugged. “We have a family meeting here Sunday to discuss the hiring. Can you be there?”
“I have a catering job Sunday midmorning, but I’ll be here in the morning. Bullet said it would be okay for me to use the kitchen to prepare for the event. Do you mind?”
“Not at all. Our kitchen is your kitchen.”
“Thank you. But about the staffing, I’m worried that this might turn out to be more than you guys bargained for. Bullet already works more than sixty hours a week, and Jed isn’t full-time. You might need to beef up the bar staff, too.”
Red waved a hand dismissively, as if none of that was a big deal. “Bullet could have handled tonight on his own,” Red said with pride. “He’s run this place for so many years now, he could do it in his sleep.”
Finlay didn’t understand why Red wasn’t more concerned and made a mental note to bring her worries up again on Sunday.
They fell silent as they loaded up the trays. Red lifted her gaze, meeting Finlay’s, and said, “Speaking of sleep, my boy seems far less restless than he ever has, and my heart tells me that’s because of you.”
Finlay warmed, knowing Red had noticed the difference in Bullet, too. She turned toward the other counter to prepare the garnishes. “We talk a lot. I think it’s helped to get things off his chest.”
“Brandon talking,” Red said with disbelief. “My word, girl, what have you done?”
Finlay turned at the somber sound of her voice and was shocked to be met with teary eyes. “Um…Is there something I don’t know about? Should he not talk about things? He seemed to want to.”
Red’s hand covered her chest as she blinked several times. She looked up at the ceiling and used a napkin to carefully dab at her eyes, somehow managing not to smear her dark eyeliner. “It’s good, honey. So very good.” She paused, and her brow furrowed, and then she sighed and said, “My boy is so sensitive. He’s struggled his whole life, trying to keep everyone safe, and in doing so, he’s turned himself into some sort of…”
“Secret keeper?” Finlay offered. “I’ve been thinking about that. He hasn’t yet shared with me the stories behind his tattoos, but I know they have important meanings. It’s like he takes everyone else’s pain and doesn’t just try to eradicate it, but holds on to a piece of it.”
“Secret keeper,” Red said softly. “I couldn’t have defined him better myself. My boys are all so different. Bobby—Bear—wears his emotions on his sleeve, while Wayne—Bones—has always been able to distance himself from people just enough to see them clearly and evaluate his feelings without getting too involved. But Brandon—your Bullet—he struggles with it all. As a boy, if one of the kids got in trouble, he would take the blame, and he wasn’t sneaky about it. Imagine trying to keep a straight face when he told me he scratched ‘Wayne Rules’ into the kitchen table, or when I followed a blue paint trail of Bobby’s four-year-old footprints from the patio, up the carpeted stairs, into his bedroom, and back down the rear steps to the utility room, where I found Bobby, his feet stained from the paint they’d washed off and Brandon painting his own feet blue.”
Finlay laughed and covered her mouth. “I’m sorry, but I can so see him doing that.”
“Oh, it gets better, hon. You couldn’t argue with Brandon. When he took the blame, it was as if he believed it to his very soul. We tried to punish him for lying, but come on. He lied to protect his brothers. In the end, we’d punish him for what he didn’t do, with the hopes the others would learn that there were ramifications.”
“And did they?” she asked, unable to stop smiling as she pictured Bullet—her Bullet—painting his feet to save Bear.
“I don’t know if it helped, but Brandon then took it upon himself to teach the younger ones right from wrong. I heard him talking to Bobby later that afternoon, and I’ll never forget how much he reminded me of my Biggs as he told him about respecting property and how lying was wrong. Bobby asked him why he’d lied, and his answers told me everything I ever needed to know about my eldest son. He said, ‘Because Papa taught me to always do the right thing. And protecting you is the right thing.’ My heart broke and grew that afternoon, which I never knew was possible until I had children.”
Finlay had experienced her heart breaking and growing at once the first night Bullet had opened up to her, when she’d seen his tattoos, and it had happened several times since. She wanted to share that with Red, but those moments seemed too intimate to reveal.
“We should take these out there before there’s a rebellion on our hands.” Red picked up a tray and grabbed a handful of napkins. “You already have quite a fan club.”
“My mom used to say, if you want to have a happy crowd, all you have to do is feed them and smile.” Finlay picked up a tray, smiling as she thought of her mother. She’d told Red about losing her father and her mother moving away, and now, as she picked up a tray, she realized why she wanted to share her thoughts with Red. Red had a way of making people feel special, the same way Finlay’s mother did.
