Still Standing (Wild West MC 1)

I felt that was pretty intense, and maybe a smidge too intense.

Then again, I’d never had a dad, much less a biker dad, so I didn’t know.

Though, I’d had foster fathers, but I’d always put every foot right and didn’t taste my first sip of beer until I was nineteen, so this was completely foreign to me.

At the end of the day, however, this lecture had been delivered in this manner because Buck had tried it a different way, Tatiana hadn’t listened, and the heart of it was that Buck cared, Buck worried, and Buck wanted all of us to get along.

And Tatiana was not with that program in any way, and she didn’t seem to be swinging in that direction.

So perhaps intense was appropriate in this situation.

Not to mention, it explained Buck’s Saturday morning bad mood.

“I’ve heard you,” Tatiana gritted between her teeth, her eyes glittering, her face still pale, and I had the distinct feeling she blamed this on me, and I had that feeling because her glittering eyes shifted to me frequently while her father was telling her off.

Fantastic.

“Now, say thank you to Clara for bein’ cool with you last night and then you can do whatever the fuck you need to do.”

Okay, according to me, that was taking it too far.

“I…that isn’t necessary,” I put in quickly, and said to Tatiana, “You don’t have to thank me.”

Buck’s arm gave my thighs a squeeze. “I said she did, Toots, that means she does.”

“Okay,” I whispered.

“Whatever,” Tatiana muttered. “Thanks…” She hesitated then sneered, “Toots.”

“Tat, sis, be cool,” Gear advised.

“Whatever,” Tatiana repeated and looked at her father. “Can I go now?”

“Oh yeah, you can go. But fair warning, girl, I see you and you’re still throwin’ attitude, I’m not gonna like it.”

I watched her clench her teeth. She looked to the scenery again, took a sip of water then pushed away from the railing and walked to the door.

Before she made it, I heard her murmur, “Who woulda thought I’d ever prefer it in Flag with Mom and fuckin’ Knuckles?”

I felt Buck’s arm tense around my legs, and I sucked in breath.

Then I heard the door close.

I let out my breath, thinking, oh dear.

* * *

I waited until afternoon, after Buck made the best French toast I’d ever tasted, and after I’d made grilled cheese for him and Gear for lunch, probably not the best they’d ever tasted.

I wasn’t a bad cook, especially considering I’d never had anyone teach me, so I was entirely self-taught, and whenever that happened, it was bound to be hit or miss.

But Buck had natural talent, and I couldn’t say I had that with cooking.

Or with anything.

As they had between breakfast and lunch, after lunch, the Hardy men disappeared back under the hood of the Nova outside and I made another grilled cheese sandwich, put it on a plate, grabbed a Diet Coke and walked to Tatiana’s closed door.

I knocked and walked in when I heard her impatient, “What?”

“It’s me,” I announced, closing the door behind me and walking in to see her sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed, her phone on the mattress, the vampire novel opened and facedown next to her phone, what looked like a journal balanced on her knee, a pen in her hand.

She narrowed her eyes at me, flipped the journal facedown and set it on the bed too.

“Can I help you?” she asked snottily.

I walked to the nightstand, put the plate and diet on it and then walked back to the corner of the bed.

“Thought you might want something to eat,” I told her.

“Thanks, Toots,” she mocked, tossed the pen to the bed and picked up her phone.

Bending her head to it, her thumbs started flying over the screen.

“I get you,” I told her, and she ignored me, so I pulled in a huge breath and carried on, “I grew up in foster care.”

“Poor you,” she muttered, obviously hit send, then tossed her phone to the bed again and grabbed her vampire novel before lying back on the pillows and lifting the novel in front of her face.

I persevered.

“I never really had a dad, so I can see you being territorial when you’ve got a good one.”

“It’s so cool you understand,” she lied to her book.

“A few days ago,” I pressed on, “my best friend’s husband, who is not a good guy, but who I had to work with so he wouldn’t hurt my friend, which he was doing in bad ways I won’t share, picked me up, beat the heck out of me and tossed me out of a moving vehicle. Your dad arranged for me to receive medical help and then he arranged for my protection.”

She moved the book an inch aside and her eyes came to me.

“So you’re here because he’s protecting you?” she asked, perfectly arched brows up.