Lock and Key (15 page)

“Bullshit.”

“I’m not. Little Sister vaporized on the asphalt in Meager fifteen years ago,” I said. “Vaporized.”

“Here he is, Sister,” Jump whispered at my side.

My chest tightened. All the men had ridden in formation and entered Rock Hills Cemetery. They had parked their scooters one by one then stood with me. Jump and Alicia had led me here to Dig’s grave.

The vast sky with its puffs of popcorn clouds took my breath away. Here was one of the many beautiful, natural phenomenons of the Great Plains. The breeze tugged at my hair. We were tiny specks on this patch of stone-enclosed green. My eyes rested on the stone marker.

Jake “Dig” Quillen

Loyal Brother & Beloved Husband

1963 - 1998

The club’s skull logo was engraved over Dig’s name. I closed my eyes for a moment and savored the rush of cool air that wafted over us.

I’m here, baby. Finally here.

That’s what had tortured me for years, on top of all the rest of the horror, that I’d never had a chance to formally say goodbye to my husband. I had never touched his cold cheek or planted a kiss on his stiff chest before they sealed the lid of his coffin. Nor had I been a part of his big biker funeral send-off. I never got to see all his brothers gather who would have ridden to Meager from hundreds and hundreds of miles away to pay their respects to a loyal member of their brotherhood. Nor had I heard a preacher, or whoever, say a few kind words in his honor in order to send his soul to a better place and ease mine just a little.

All these years I had never truly felt in my bones that he was at peace and, therefore, neither was I.

Instead, at the time of his funeral, my doctors had pumped me full of anti-anxiety meds, fastened my wrists to a hospital bed for fear of my making another suicide attempt. My head only shook back and forth against the flat pillow, and an endless river of tears had spilled down my bruised and swollen face. My wired brain replayed over and over again those final, horrible shrieking moments. My insides were empty, my soul had been ripped to shreds, yet Dig’s hoarse rough voice still vibrated through me. I could only hear his voice say those words.

“Get gone, baby. Go, sweetheart.”

I took two steps forward, crouched and laid my bouquet of wildflowers on the blades of green grass. My trembling fingers pressed in on the cold unforgiving stone over the engraved letters of his name. A hot tear dropped on my hand.

Here in this tiny patch of cold hard ground directly beneath me were the remains of my husband.

His
remains
.

What does that mean? The life force had been removed, driven off, vanquished. Now there remained only a mass of particles, remnants, residue.

A stinging pressure caved my chest in. The door I had left ajar all these years was finally closing. Dig being dead and gone was no longer an idea that I could distract myself from or keep at arm’s length with new places to live, new jobs, new faces, new bed partners. It was real, it was done, and I felt it settling now deep in a corner of my heart right where it needed to be.

“Rest, baby,” I whispered.

My fingers scrunched the cool sharp blades of grass over the hard earth. I rose and steadied myself with a hand on his gravestone and slid my sunglasses back down over my aching eyes. Someone took hold of my arm and slipped it through his. I tilted my face to the side. Boner gave me a watery smile. My fingers gripped the sleeve of his worn leather jacket.

“It’s killing me to see her like this. She’s trying to keep up her happy face for Jake, that’s one thing, but she’s doing it for us now, too. Ever since your results came back negative, that spark of hope drained from her eyes. It’s not there anymore. I hate this.”

Alex growled and slung his arm around my shoulder. We walked through the parking lot of the hospital so he could have a smoke. I held onto his hand that hung at my shoulder and wrapped my other arm around his waist. High in the clear mid-day sky, the sun glared over the sea of metal cars in the visitor’s lot.

“We can’t think like that Alex. Jakey can’t see you like this, either.”

“Why do you think I’m dumping it on you?” He took a deep drag on his cigarette.

I bumped his hip with mine, and we both let out brittle laughs. “Good, dump away,” I said.

“I’m so glad you’re here, Grace.”

“Me too.” My vision got misty. I cleared my throat. “How about I pick Jakey up from pre-school and take him out for dinner and ice cream, and you can have more time with Ruby or go home and enjoy the silence for a couple of hours. Sound good?”

“Sounds great.” He let out a sigh, gave me a weary smile and planted a kiss on my forehead.

The roar of pipes blasted in my ears. My head jerked around. Lock straddled a Harley Fat Bob. He removed his helmet. The line of his jaw was harsh, and his mirrored sunglasses hid his eyes. His full lips twisted, but his body remained motionless. His broad shoulders were pronounced under the worn patched leather jacket, his long lean legs fitted with dark blue jeans were taut against the massive bike.

The sight of him far surpassed caffeine first thing in the morning.

Alex’s arm tensed around me. “I’m assuming you know this guy?”

I clenched my jaw as I took in all that was Lock. Dizzying sensations swirled through me at the memory of those powerful legs tangled up in mine, pinning me down…

Grace, no. Back to Earth.

Today Lock wore black Harley boots with chain detail. His fingers raked through his cropped hair, and the small hoop earring on one ear swung lightly. His sunglasses obscured his intense dark eyes, but his stiff, unhappy vibe was palpable. I ground the heel of my one boot into the asphalt.

“They must all know you, huh?” Alex said in my ear. “Their Prodigal Old Lady has returned and all that?”

“Shut up, Alex,” I said through gritted teeth. Lock lifted himself up off his hog in a powerful and graceful maneuver that took my breath away. He directed his gaze at me, his lips pressed into a firm line. My mouth suddenly went dry.

“He doesn’t look too happy. I think you better go talk to him. I’ll go.” Alex released me and turned to move. My hand pressed into his middle.

“Oh no. Let me introduce you.” I hooked my hand in his arm and dragged him toward Lock.

“Not necessary,” Alex said. “I could really do without this right now, Grace.”

“Lock.” I nodded at him. His features remained tight.

Lock leaned back against his bike. “Don’t waste any time do you?”

Alex’s eyes widened. A lone muscle in Lock’s face pulsed.

I smiled at him. “Lock, this is Alex. Alex this is Lock. Alex is my sister’s husband. I think I mentioned him to you another time.” Lock’s lips parted, and his face relaxed. He raised his sunglasses over his head.

“Good to meet you.” Lock thrust his hand out to Alex.

“Same here,” Alex said shaking his hand.

Lock’s shoulders loosened. “Sorry to hear about your wife and all that your family is going through right now. I can’t imagine how difficult this must be.”

My mouth fell open. Lock was not only polite, but he was empathetic and articulate.

I’m really in trouble.

“Thank you,” Alex leaned in closer to Lock as they shook hands. “It is very difficult, but we’re thrilled that Grace is here with us now.”

“I’ll bet.” Lock released Alex’s hand. “We’re glad she’s back, too.”

Alex shot me a look. He dropped what was left of his cigarette to the ground and squashed it with the toe of his shoe. “I’m going to head up to Ruby now.” He gave my shoulder a squeeze. “Call me when you get Jake, okay? Nice to meet you, Lock.” He lifted his chin at us and left the parking lot.

“Nice guy,” Lock said.

“Very. My sister is a lucky woman.”

“I came to see if you wanted to grab a cup of coffee,” he said. “I found some information on your dad.”

“You did? Already?”

“Wasn’t too hard, Grace.”

“So he’s still alive and kicking?”

“Yes, he is,” Lock said.

“Where?”

“In Montana, just over the border from North Dakota.”

“Montana?” I asked.

Lock nodded.

“Montana?” My brain fired burning particles off in the direction of what I hoped was Montana.

“Grace—” Lock’s hand gripped my bicep.

My eyes blinked up at him. “Tell me.”

“Why don’t we go get a cup of coffee and talk about it?”

“Montana,” I said.

“C’mon, let’s go.”

“Where are we going?” I suddenly snapped out of my huff and landed in a new one.

“Grace—coffee.” He flicked his sunglasses over his eyes once again. The Fat Bob roared to life underneath him. “Now get on the bike.”

“What?”

He held out his helmet to me. “Get on the bike. Let’s go.”

Lock hit the accelerator, a muscle in his jaw pulsed. My mouth watered before the combined greatness that was the Fat Bob and Lock straddling it.

“Grace, get on the goddamn bike!”

I snapped the helmet from his hand, fit it over my head, and got on his bike. We took off. My body lurched forward, and we zipped through the back exit of the hospital parking lot, my heart in my throat. It had been a while since I had been on a bike with someone who really knew what they were doing. Lock was no Sunday rider. He was an organic part of his machine.

My hands eased over his waist. No use being shy about this. It certainly wasn’t my first time on a bike, not to mention that Lock and I had already done the deed, hadn’t we?

Even so, my palms prickled against the smooth leather of his jacket.

“Erica Drake?”

“That’s right.” Erica laughed. “Oh my gosh, Grace! It’s good to see you again.”

Lock had taken me to Meager for coffee. On the bike it took less than an hour.

“There was a Starbucks down the block!” I said in his ear as the bike tore out of Rapid City.

“You need to get out of the hospital routine for a bit,” he said over his shoulder as he guided the bike onto Route 44. “Town’s changed, it’s picked up. I think you’ll like seeing it.”

Erica’s revamped cafe was remarkable.

The walls were painted in cool hues of robin’s egg blue and grey. Dark wood trim framed the interior. Small cushioned chocolate brown and grey sofas and apricot arm chairs dotted the room. Large framed black and white photos of the magnificent eroded buttes, pinnacles, and spires of the Black Hills landscape punctuated the walls.

An oversized picture window let in golden streams of sunlight and offered an ample view of Clay Street, Meager’s winding main drag. From here you could lie back and people watch all day. Dark glossy wood flooring glistened in the glow of the midday sun. A brick fireplace in the far corner of the room lent coziness to the mood of the cafe perfect for the colder months of the year. A single fresh red flower in a tiny vase on each table added a stroke of bold color. This was fresh country elegance, not a jot of backwoods hokeyness in sight.

“My aunt and uncle had the diner that used to be here, remember?” Erica asked.