“That’s a great idea.”
“What do you want to get into?” he asked.
“I don’t know, but I was thinking about something along the lines of sociology or psychology. I’m interested in understanding people, maybe helping them.”
“Either would suit you. You’re a generous, caring person. I knew that about you the moment we met. It’s why I chose you.”
“Is that so?” she asked, curious about the statement.
“Yes.”
Leslie smiled and reached for his free hand, holding it as they pulled into the parking area outside the clubhouse. There was a long line of motorcycles parked there, longer than usual. When there were family events, it was mostly SUVs and minivans to accommodate the families of the pack, but days like this brought only the male members on their bikes.
It was an oddity to her that Tucker owned a bike of his own and he rarely rode it. He worked on other people’s bikes and occasionally drove them to test them out or determine problems, but he wasn’t much for riding his. It had only been since they had rejoined the pack that he brought it out for rides with the group when necessary. She’d never asked and he’d never really said if there was a reason for this, but she got the impression that it was just another part of his rebellion against his roots.
“All right, I would insist upon going with you to the barn. It’s old and can be dangerous in some places, but I happen to know that those pots are sitting just inside the front opening on the right. Take the flashlight from the glove compartment. Even in the daylight, it can be a bit dim in there.”
“Okay,” she told him, retrieving the large mag light he kept in the glove box.
It was one of the old, heavy ones that he had gotten from his father. There was one in every vehicle he owned. It was another one of his little quirks. He liked to be prepared for any emergency and that, apparently, meant having a flashlight on hand under all circumstances.
“I’ll be in the meeting room. If you get done before me, just hang out in the lobby and wait for me. I shouldn’t be too long.”
“Sounds good,” she told him, climbing out of her side of the car. He met her around the front of the car and kissed her before heading toward the clubhouse.
Leslie looked toward the barn. It was old, a bit dilapidated. She could understand his concerns about her not going too far into it. Stepping inside, she was surprised to find herself in a corridor rather than an open room as she had expected. There were stalls, some with doors and some without. The one to her right was without and she could see the stack of black pots as she approached it.
Stepping inside, she looked down at them, carefully stacked upside down on a sideboard built along one side of the stall. They were the perfect size for flowerpots and there were two of a much larger size sitting below the table, the kind people used to hang over fires for large batches of stew or heating a quantity of water. She definitely wanted them.
Turning the flashlight toward the rest of the stall, she found it was empty, but some carvings on the opposite wall caught her eye and she stepped toward them. Her fingers rolled across the letters of a small child, scrawled into the wood with what was probably a pen knife or something small like that. She smiled as she read the words. Tucker was here. Below that was another, in different script. So was Marshall!
She considered that the two boys probably played in here as children and left their mark. She wondered, if she were to explore the rest of the barn, would she find more of their work. It was tempting, but she knew that Tucker was right, it most likely wasn’t very safe. Leslie turned to leave and gasped, surprised to find someone standing behind her. She had been so lost in thought that she’d not even heard him come in.
“God, you scared me to death!” she laughed, recognizing him from the pack, but unable to remember his name.
“Is it true that you kissed Marshall?” he responded menacingly.
It had caught Leslie completely off guard. Not only had she not expected the interruption, but she hadn’t been prepared for the question itself.
“That was a misunderstanding,” she replied.
“Misunderstanding, huh? You’d think an Omega would know her own husband from his brother. Or maybe you chose to pretend you didn’t.”
“I don’t like your tone and I don’t appreciate you cornering me to ask me questions about something that is none of your business.”
“I bet you don’t. Do you and your husband even sleep in the same room? That must get lonely. I could help fill any holes that might be empty if you want. I bet you’ve got some tight little spaces my cock would fit into just right,” he said, taking a step closer.