Hellion (Southern Rebels MC)

I pulled into the driveway, my gaze going immediately to the RV shed, but her truck was gone. I parked, scanning the area as I wondered where she’d gone. It wasn’t my business, I told myself, the words hollow even to me as the feeling of anticipation dissipated. I was about to go in the house when I noticed tire tracks in the grass and curious, I followed them.

Her truck was parked in the back, out of sight of the road and the driveway, blocked from view by the RV shed. In fact, if I hadn’t seen the tire tracks I wouldn’t have realized her truck was back there. I glanced back at the road and then to her truck, “What are you hiding from?” I murmured, the Thermos still in my hand, giving me an idea.

I went to the RV’s door and knocked, not missing the fact that she had to unlock at least three deadbolts before opening the door. “Officer March,” she sang, staring at me through the screen door. “What brings you to my door?”

I held up the Thermos. “Coffee and supper?” I offered and the screen door squeaked open.

“It’s not the same swill you left on my doorstep this morning, I hope?”

I chuckled, well aware my coffee making skills were mediocre at best. “No, it’s much better, I promise.”

She let a low whistle, finally getting a good look at my face in the fading sunlight. “Not so pretty today, March. Did you go three rounds with a door?”

Her question gave me an opening I couldn’t resist and I nodded at her arm, once again covered by a long sleeve t-shirt on the hot summer day, but it didn’t erase the memory of the healing scars that crisscrossed her skin. “You tell me and I’ll tell you.”

She looked down, shaking her head lightly, “Of course he noticed,” she mumbled under her breath. She lifted her head, a slight smile dancing on her lips. “You don’t want to talk about it. Got it.”

“Not exactly what I said,” I countered, but let it go as I saw her expression start to close off. I hurriedly mentioned “Supper though requires no words. I promise my pancakes are better than my coffee.”

“I should hope so.” She chewed her lip for a minute without answering and afraid she would say no, I added, “Nico is also invited.” She glanced over her shoulder thoughtfully before asking, “You have bacon?”

“Is the Pope Catholic?”

“Let’s go!” It wasn’t Cadence who answered as Nico flew from somewhere inside and landed on her shoulder. “Chop, chop. Bacon, woman!”

“I hope you have a lot of bacon,” she muttered, coming down the steps, and shutting the door behind her. “He’s a hog.”

“Oink!” Nico did an extremely impressive imitation of a pig and I glanced at them in surprise.

“He likes Animal Planet,” Cadence explained. “I leave the TV on for him when I have to go anywhere.”

“Explains a lot,” I murmured as we walked across the yard. “Nico won’t fly off?” I asked curiously and Cadence shook her head.

“I haven’t been able to get rid of him yet,” she answered and Nico pecked at her head, drawing a strand of hair from her braid. “He can fly, clearly, but he doesn’t go far. I’m his people.”

“Nico, Cadence,” he squawked. “Nico, Cadence, Noah.”

An unexpected warmth filled my chest at hearing my name included with theirs as I unlocked the back door, ushering them inside. “1970. Retro. Vintage,” Nico commented as he flew off Cadence’s shoulder and through the house.

She looked at me sheepishly. “We both watch HGTV.”

I glanced around, seeing the place through new eyes. “I haven’t had time to make any changes,” I muttered, scratching my cheek.

She shrugged, looking around curiously. “It’s cool. I think shag carpeting and avocado green appliances are underrated.”

I had to do a double take. “Are you serious?”

She rolled her eyes. “You’ve seen the RV. Nothing in that thing has changed since 1989.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t realize it was by choice,” I replied, flipping the lights on in the kitchen. She squealed and I spun around, checking the floor to see if there was a mouse. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“I love it,” she declared, smiling hugely, and it took me a second to respond, stunned by the sheer beauty of her happiness. “I love it.”

“The fake laminate butcher block counters?” I quipped. “Or is it the mint green backsplash?”

She punched my arm. “Don’t tell me you don’t like it at least a little bit.” She plopped down at the Formica table, rubbing her fingers around the metal edge. “It’s got history. Character.”

“Stains. Scratches,” I countered, opening the fridge to get the bacon. “Energy sucking appliances.”

“But they still work. Can’t say that about new things.” I tilted my head, giving her that one, and rolled up my sleeves, revealing a two inch scar. “Is that from when you fell out of the tree when you were eight?” Cadence asked, pointing to the scar and it took me a second to remember that was the story my mom had told everyone.