Preacher (The Untouchables MC 5)

“Oh, well. At least there will be coffee,” I grumbled, grabbing my keys and stuffing some money into my pockets. I would be too busy to notice how tired I was soon enough. I knew from experience that pushing through and going to bed early was the best course of action. Working and going to school since the age of sixteen had taught me that!

When I got there, I was surprised to see Preacher and Clarice laughing as they sipped coffee in the courtyard. Preacher had brought out his kitchen chair, as usual. But this morning, he’d brought out two.

He saw me and immediately disappeared inside, returning with a coffee made just the way I liked it. He handed it to me solemnly and offered me his seat.

He kissed my cheek as I sat, murmuring a husky ‘good morning’ that sent chills through my body.

I’d missed him, I realized. More than I could have imagined. It scared me a little bit, truth be told.

“Refill?”

Clarice nodded, and he went back inside, coming back out with two steaming cups.

“Is it spiked?” I asked archly. I knew it was unfair. Preacher didn’t drink nearly as much as he had when he first took over for Rev. Paul. But I was feeling cranky. I was still mad, not to mention overtired, and I was taking it out on him.

Not fair, one voice inside me said.

More than fair. He deserves it, another voice said.

I sighed, realizing they were both right.

“No. Not spiked.”

“But that’s not a bad idea!” Clarice cackled.

“Maybe later,” Preacher said with a wry smile. “A couple of cold ones on me. When we are wrapping things up.”

“It’s a deal, Preach!”

I said nothing, not sure if I was included in the invitation.

“Did you take a test?” he asked suddenly. And just like that, the tallest woman for miles disappeared. Clarice was on her feet and across the courtyard before I could even blink.

“Coward,” I muttered. Then I looked at him. “No. It’s too soon to tell anyway, I think.”

“So no beer for you,” he said with a nod. “Unless it happened that first week.”

My jaw dropped. He was right. I really knew nothing about baby making. I’d done a lot of Googling, but that hadn’t quite clicked in. They considered you pregnant as of the date of your last period. Which was . . .

I pulled out my phone and glanced at the calendar, scrolling back a month.

Hmmm, I should be getting my period any day now. Is it messed up that a secret part of me hopes I won’t?

“Listen, Cynthia. As happy as it would make me to have a baby with you, I never meant to force it on you. I made some big assumptions and I got carried away. I’m real sorry for that. But I’m not sorry for anything else.”

I stared at him, my throat working and tears suddenly forming in my eyes.

“I know. I . . . it’s my fault, too.”

“I’m the more experienced one. I should have thought things through.” He sat across from me in Clarice’s recently vacated chair. I watched as he ran a hand through his salt and pepper waves. “I can’t think straight when it comes to you, sweetheart. I just can’t.”

“If I am . . .” I said in a raw voice. “What are we going to do about it?”

He stared at me, his jaw ticking.

“Well, first of all, I want to marry you. Whether or not you keep the baby. If there even is a baby.”

My jaw dropped.

“You don’t have to . . . you shouldn’t marry me just because you knocked me up.”

“Don’t say that,” he said fiercely. “Don’t ever say that. I’ve wanted to lock you down since the moment I laid eyes on you. I just never imagined I would get past that wall you threw up.”

“It was a pretty big wall,” I admitted. “But you really wanted me then? For real?”

“Wanted is an understatement. Every second I spent around you just made me more determined.”

I let out a startled laugh.

“But I was such a . . .”

“Bitch? Maybe a little. But I didn’t blame you for that, and I still don’t. Paul means a lot to you. Here I was, this half-drunk, tattooed biker stepping into his shoes. It must have been a lot to swallow.”

He gave me a warm look, and I blushed, remembering taking him into my mouth only a few short days ago. But things felt different now. Things between us suddenly felt more . . . formal.

“You really want to marry me, Preacher?” I asked softly.

“I told you I loved you, woman! You think I go around saying that?”

I stared at him, not sure what to say. But Preacher wasn’t finished. He stood up, kicking his chair out of the way as he stood over me. It should have been intimidating. But it wasn’t. Overwhelming, maybe, but not scary. I knew he’d never hurt me.