Until Harmony (Until Her 4)

“That’s probably smart. With everything that’s happened with Dillon and Ashlyn recently, you can’t take a chance.”

“You’re right.” I lift my chin in agreement.

“You’ve fallen for her.”

“Hard and fast, brother,” I mutter, and he smiles.

“It’s a good ride. Hold on tight and enjoy it,” he murmurs back. He would know; him and his wife July fell hard and fast for each other. It wasn’t always easy and they had their own dramas, but things between them are solid and have been that way from pretty much the beginning. I’ve never seen my friend as happy as he is now.

“When did you turn so sentimental?”

“I do not fucking know. But it probably happened around the time I moved into a house and became the owner of a bird, a dog and a fucking cat.” He laughs and I smile. “I’ll go with you to Skitter’s.” He stands, but I shake my head.

“I’m good going alone. Go home to your wife.”

“I know you’re good.” He claps my shoulder. “But I also remember a time when you had my back when I needed it. I’ll never forget that. Haven’t had a chance to return the favor until now. So I’m going with you. Besides, I need a beer and some entertainment, and I figure I’ll get both if I go. I don’t imagine Nico’s warmed up to the idea of you with his daughter in the last week, regardless of what he’s told her.”

“You’d probably be right about that,” I chuckle.

“Let’s roll. Don’t want to make a bad first impression on your future father-in-law,” he says, walking through the door, and I laugh while following him out to my bike.

Parking in the dirt lot of Skitter’s at ten to six, I shut down my bike as Wes pulls up and parks next to me. Skitter’s is in the middle of nowhere, off one of the back-country roads in town. Three years ago, it was nothing more than a rundown cabin. Then a couple from Montana bought it and the surrounding fifteen acres. They put thousands of dollars into the renovations, with plans to turn it into a small winery.

They didn’t take into account the two well-established wineries in the area, both on hundreds of acres set on hilltops with views of nothing but open land, rolling hills, and pure beauty. Knowing they had no way of contending with the competition, they changed the name from Sovon’s to Skitter’s and started serving beer and bar food. The place immediately became popular with bikers, locals, and those just passing through.

Climbing off my bike, I tuck my keys into the front pocket of my jeans and head toward the front porch of the bar, where there are a few people standing outside smoking and watching the TV that’s chained to the wall. I enter after Wes and I scan the room. Even on a weeknight, the place is packed; every stool lining the bar is taken up, along with most of the tables on the floor.

“Gonna get a beer. You want one?” Wes asks, and I lift my chin in the affirmative then watch him head toward the bar while I go in search of a table. I find one in the back near the jukebox that’s playing some country song about a man, his pickup truck, and his dog. Taking a seat, Wes comes over handing me my beer and sitting in the chair on the opposite side of the table from me. “Was thinking on the way over here, man. We should talk to Evan about this, see if he can find anything out about the rumors and if any of it’s true.”

“I thought about that too. I’ll give him a call tomorrow,” I say at the same time I spot Nico at the bar getting a beer from the bartender. The second our eyes lock, he walks our way, his long stride eating up the distance quickly. It doesn’t surprise me that he tried to convince me to leave Harmony alone, and if I were anyone else, it might have worked. Even at his age, he’s fit with an air of intimidation that’s hard not to notice when you’re around him. It’s not his tattoos or piercings. It’s more than that. It’s how he carries himself, how you know just by looking at him that if you cross him, he will have no problem taking you out with a bullet between your eyes. What he didn’t account for when he came at me is I would have no problem doing the same, without even blinking.

“Wes… Harlen.” Nico lifts his chin to Wes then me before taking a seat, resting his beer on the top of his knee. “What’s going on?”

“I need a favor,” I tell him, and he lets out a bark of laughter, tossing back his head and leaning back in his chair.