Trigger Happy (Black Mountain Bikers 3)

“Shit, shit, shit, shit!” She ran down the skinny staircase, burst out of the closet, ricocheted off the guest bedroom’s doorframe, and shot across the hallway into the bathroom. Hoping to be presentable by the time her doorbell rang, she flipped the hot water tap on and pumped soap into her hands, scrubbing hard and fast.

The reflection of her face made her sob. Not only did she have a clay smudged face, but her eyeliner was smudged toward her temple on her right side—the result of arming sweat off her forehead in that muggy attic space, no doubt.

The doorbell rang. Madison grabbed a washcloth and shoved it under the stream of hot water. Still on the second floor, Trigger wouldn’t hear her yell from the bathroom. She would have to go down and answer the door or risk him riding off and never coming back.

If he wanted to pay her for a sculpture, she didn’t want to risk losing a customer; if he was just wanting to get closer to her, well, she didn’t want to risk losing that, either. Despite his remark earlier, he’d been right and Madison knew it. That’s one reason it made her mad—it was a sexist remark, but it had been a very true sexist remark.

The doorbell sounded again and she flipped the tap off, elbowed down the light switch, and trotted down the main stairs while rubbing at her face with the cloth and trying not to poke out her eye on the way.

At the bottom, she yelled, “Coming!” Turning right, she ran through the kitchen and then stopped in the living room to catch her breath and check her face in the reflection in the glass of a picture on the wall.

The living room door opened and she jumped at the sudden blast of intense evening sunlight.

“Hello?” Trigger stood in the doorway, cutting a fine and sexy silhouette with the dying sun as his backdrop. The red-amber glow leaving its mark only on his outer edges left the center in complete darkness—mysterious and maybe dangerous.

Shuddering, she said, “Well, come on in. Don’t lurk in doorways, it’s rude.”

Stepping inside, he pushed the door shut behind him and squinted at Maddy. “I heard you yell to come in, but I didn’t want to go exploring to find you.”

“Actually, I said I was coming.” She pointed to the opposite end of the house and smiled. “But it’s okay. Come on in. I’m a mess; I got caught up working and lost track of time.” She motioned for him to follow her to the kitchen.

“Nice place you have here. Lived here long?” Trigger looked around but it wasn’t the kind of looking that made Maddy want to scream at him for being nosy as she felt with so many other people.

“Thanks. I’ve lived here the better part of eight years. Not stayed here much since the club opened, though. Most of us crash up at Jayda’s because it’s so close to work.” She laughed and opened the fridge, noticing as she did so that clay was still caked under most of the nails of her right hand.

“I noticed you all hired some help a couple weeks ago. How’s that working out for you?” He propped on the back of a kitchen chair, one hand behind his back.

“Hey, it’s getting me some days off, so it’s working great.” She turned with a beer, offered it to Trigger, and saw how he was holding his hand behind his back.

He took the unopened beer and put it on the table. “Thanks. Um, I brought you something.”

Madison, still nervously looking toward his hidden hand, said, “Brought me something? What?” She was a bit frightened and a bit excited. What if he pulled a knife or a length of rope from behind him? What if this was turning into one of those extreme uh-oh moments?

“I call it Harley Rose.” He presented her with a flower. A single large chrome and leather flower fashioned to resemble a rose, to be exact.

Obviously handmade, it was unique and a bit on the dark side. She instantly loved it.

“Did you make that?” The fridge door forgotten, she moved to the table and let the door drift toward home on its own slow path. She reached for the rose, wanting to inspect it closer.

“Mmhm. Used the leather from the seat of one of my old Harleys and the spokes from her wheels. I have one I made from part of the handlebar and a piston, too—I call it Thunder Rose.” He laughed.

Madison laughed with him. Again, there was that easy laughter as if they’d known each other much longer than the few months that they had seen each other in passing mostly.

He reached out and plucked the heavy rose from her hand and placed it on the table on its base. “It’s a free-standing ornament.”

Chuckling, she said, “Well, I wasn’t going to stick it in a vase with water. Thank you. That was very thoughtful of you. And nice.”

“You say that like it’s a shock that I’m both. I think you just hurt my feelings a little bit.” He put his hand over his heart.

“At least it wasn’t sexist.” She had to toss that in; couldn’t resist a little jab at him over his remark at the grocery store.

“I’m just going to ignore that you even said that.” He rolled his eyes dramatically and, grinning, picked up his beer. Opening his beer, he asked, “Don’t you want one?” He tilted it at her.

“No, nothing stronger than coffee for me yet, but you enjoy. You ready to go up and see the studio?” She smiled over her shoulder at him, unable to resist a little flirting.

“I was born ready.” He fell in step behind her.

Chapter 4