Reprise (13 page)

“Old man left me a to-do list. In his own way.”

“You need help?”

“We’ve been at it all day, almost done. Get it finished first thing in the morning.” Tiny chuckled. “Then I have to fix the fence.”

“The fence?”

Tiny shook his head. “Two things the realtor wanted done to sell it: flooring and fence. This morning a truckload of fence boards were dropped off, and then I found the flooring in the garage.”

“Crafty old bastard,” Tank shared the old man’s sense of humor.

“Tell me about it.”

“Well, we got about half an hour before the women descend on the place with food,” Jayce said, checking his watch.

“I was just about to open some beer.”

“Perfect timing!” Knuckles shouted, yanking on the sleeve of Tank’s jacket. “Strong and silent here is about as thrilling to hang out with as a potted plant.”

Tank laughed at that, then Tiny was enveloped in back-slaps and side hugs from the rest of his brothers. He led them to the fridge for refreshments and then out to the deck, the only place with enough furniture for people to sit on. There was an old wooden picnic table, wooden benches ringing the low wooden platform and a few lawn chairs.

As advertised, within thirty-five minutes there were car doors slamming in front of the house. Tiny met his new visitors at the door, accepting a tight hug from Gertie, also holding Davie, and Rose, who was juggling bags of what smelled like Chinese takeout. Sharon was always more reserved but she still offered a hug and he smiled, returning the awkward but genuine gesture. Behind her stood Adeel, quietly gazing up at him with dark eyes, one hand holding onto Sharon’s purse strap. His other hand was clutching another paper bag of food that matched the one Sharon was holding.

“You remember Tiny, don’t you, Adeel?”

The kid stared a split second longer then hid behind Sharon’s leg.

“Sorry,” she breathed, reaching down to hold her hand over the kid’s. Like she was reassuring him. “He’s really shy today.”

Tiny shrugged. “No worry. How’s he been otherwise? I’m surprised they let you take him out of state.”

Now when Sharon smiled it was wide, warm and beautiful. “I’ve been granted foster parent status for him. Filled the paperwork yesterday to adopt.”

Tiny’s eyebrows went up. “Holy shi—I mean, really?”

Sharon nodded. “Yeah. I’m really excited.”

“Well, congrats. You deserve it.”

She nodded, then tugged Adeel into the house. The kid kept wary eyes up at Tiny as they passed.

Then it was Trinny walking up the stoop, and as the kids attacked his legs he ruffled their hair, then crouched to give Libby a big noisy kiss on the cheek that she declared “Gross!” in a high-pitched squeal before darting around him into the house screaming for her dad. Trinny watched with a little sad smile on her face. She snagged Jayce Junior and handed him a large greasy bag before letting him off the leash.

When Tiny straightened he held his arms out and she walked right into them. He folded her up, resting his cheek on top of her head. “Miss you, Trinny,” he mumbled.

She patted his back. “Been missing you guys, too.”

“Everything okay up in Washington?”

“Great.”

He nodded then let her step back before catching her by the arms. “I’m glad you came.”

She smiled brilliantly. “Of course. I’m so sorry about your dad.”

Tiny nodded. “Thanks. You need me to help carry anything else in?”

“No, that’s everything. They took it all.”

He led her into the house to the fridge, opened a beer for her, then they joined the rest of the group on the deck. It could have been the clubhouse, Buck and Gertie’s, or even Jayce’s place for all the difference location made. Libby and Jayce Junior were tearing around the grass like maniacs while Adeel watched, perched on a bench so close to Sharon’s hip it was like they were joined. Tank had pulled his old lady onto his lap on the lawn chair he’d taken up, and Tiny worried about the integrity of the chair but it held. Tank’s hand was on his old lady’s belly, rubbing it in a proprietary and affectionate way.

Tiny had to smile. He remembered that—he’d always needed to have his hand on Mallory’s stomach while she was baking their baby. He’d once told her he was jealous that she was always connected to the little sprout. No matter where she went, she had a tie to their unborn child. So whenever they were together, he wanted his hand on her stomach, reassuring himself that all was well. That was the reason they’d both felt it the first time the baby kicked.

There was a loud squeal, ear-splitting, and with a smile Tiny watched Buck hand Davie back to his mom. Buck was frowning but Gertie laughing, patting her man’s cheek once her son was draped on her chest. Buck rubbed his son’s back and kissed his wife quickly, moving out of the way so she could sit.

Trinny was sitting on Sharon’s other side, getting acquainted, probably. They hadn’t been around each other much, but Trinny would want to get a read on any women with an eye on being an old lady. That familiar sight made him hopeful that she’d be back.

The thought made him feel old. He wasn’t the president, hadn’t even been in the club for the longest, but looking out over the yard he felt almost...fatherly to all the people gathered there. He wanted them together, happy, looking out for each other. He needed that sorted out before he...before he was gone.

He rubbed at a sudden pain in his chest that had more to do with his own bizarre thoughts than anything physical. Next to him Jayce knocked his elbow, bringing him out of his stupor.

“Looking pretty deep in thought there, Tiny.”

“Yeah.” The perfect cover came to him, quick as a wink. “Spaz stay in Markham?”

“Yeah.”

“Can you get him to check on any Dirty Rat association in Colorado?”

“You expecting trouble?”

“A few rode by earlier today. Gave us a pretty good stare-down. Now you guys showing up...might look like a show of force. Which of course it isn’t but they don’t know that.”

Jayce nodded, pulling out his phone. “Yeah. I’ll get Spaz on it. I know Dad said the Bastard Banshees used to have a couple chapters in Colorado, but they’re all gone now.”

“We’re pretty far from friends,” Tiny added. “Yeah, I know.”

“Fuck,” Jayce paused looking out over the yard.

“It’s all right,” Tiny assured him. “They’re all well protected. And I know the county Sheriff.”

“You do?”

“Went to school with the guy. I think he’s clean. If we need to call him in, I want to make sure we don’t cause him any grief.”

“I’ll keep it in mind. We’re not carrying right now, but the bags at the hotel...”

Tiny clapped Jayce’s shoulder. “Might be nothing, but...”

Jayce looked back at his phone. “I’ll get Spaz on it.”

Chapter Eleven

The skirt was layered, black, flared away at the knees. Usually Mallory hated this style, she felt it made her look wider somehow, but for a funeral a slinky wrap-around dress might be a bit much. The top was long-sleeved with a wide neck that went shoulder-to-shoulder. Her heels were, of course, also black with a strap that wrapped around the ankle.

After too much time spent thinking about it, she pulled her hair up and fastened it at the back of her head. It was a bit messy-looking but the front hung down on both sides of her face like it was on purpose. Plus, her hair was smooth today and wind wasn’t part of the forecast. For jewelry she chose her grandmother’s pearls and matching earrings.

She’d asked for the afternoon off from the bakery, so she’d worked a God-awful morning shift instead. Money was money, after all. Now here she stood, basically asleep on her feet, stressing about what she was wearing to Harlon Gray Senior’s funeral.

She left her make-up light—just a bit of shadow, blush, and tinted lip gloss—and transferred the essentials from her usual bag into a small black clutch. Then she was out the door, looking pretty and feeling a bit silly climbing into her old rust bucket.

The service was a grave-side one, and as she crossed the soft, still-green grass to where she thought the plot was she had the thought that they were lucky on the weather. The sun was shining bright but it had that edge to it—the edge that meant winter was closer than you thought.

She found the plot from a few rows away. There were a few flower splays set up on stands next to a grave marker, a priest of some denomination standing to the side. On the other side were a few chairs, two of which were taken up by a few women that she recognized as staff from the home.

They nodded hello then went back to their whispered conversation. Mallory counted eight chairs and wanted to weep. Yes, suicide was a touchy subject but the thought of only eight people realizing how wonderful this man was made her want to sob.

She took a chair in the second row, on the end. At the other end sat a man in a Sheriff’s department uniform, hat on his lap. She recognize him as Sheriff Wexler after a moment, and she really hoped this wouldn’t mean trouble for Harlon.

She checked the time. She was ten minutes early, even with all her agonizing over clothing. Before she could worry over what it meant that she showed up before Harlon Junior had, there was a mighty sound and the assembly jumped as one, then laughed at their own nerves.

Three motorcycles pulled to a stop on the little cemetery road, followed by a black Ram that she recognized, and then another black SUV. Behind that four more bikes pulled up and parked. The rumble was amazing—she could almost imagine it was shaking the ground. When the noise was killed it made the quiet of the cemetery even deeper.

The door of the truck opened and Harlon climbed down. Her breath caught just at the sight of him, which was stupid. He circled the front of the truck to the passenger seat as the rear door of the extended cab opened, and his friend, Knuckles, eased out of the truck. Like Harlon, he was in jeans and heavy-looking boots. His long-sleeved shirt wasn’t a button-down, however, and that’s where the similarities ended.

People were spilling out of the SUV as well. Mallory was surprised to see women and children being joined by the men who had dismounted their bikes. One of them swung a pretty little blonde girl up to his hip, his arm swallowed by the dark pink puffiness of her skirt. The bow in her hair matched. Another one of them cradled an infant to his chest while a gorgeous redhead took his free arm as they began walking.

Her throat clenched. It would appear as though Harlon—sorry, Tiny—had found family after all. And she was glad for it.

When she caught sight of Harlon again he was leading his mother across the grass. She was stepping carefully, dressed in a navy sheath with matching blazer. Her arm was hooked around her son’s and he held her hand. When they were closer the nurses from the home stood and helped settle Angelina Gray in the seat closest the grave marker.

Eight chairs weren’t enough, after all. The law man at the end, of course, gave up his seat immediately, accepting a hand shake from Harlon. That was odd but Mallory felt relief seeing it. The newly arrived women all sat, holding smaller children where needed. The man holding the little girl kept her with him, and her head was rested on his shoulder quietly. A blonde woman was sitting right next to Mallory, holding a boy on her lap who looked to be about seven. The man holding the girl stood right behind them. In front of Mallory a tall, stunningly gorgeous black woman was sitting down, with a giant man helping her even though she seemed to have it under control. Before he straightened the man kissed her cheek, his long hair falling around both their faces. When he pulled back the woman beamed up at him with nothing but radiant love.

The men all wore dark jeans, boots—and in the case of the large man in front of her, cowboy boots. The ones that had arrived on bikes wore leather jackets. Their women, however, were all dressed almost like Mallory. Knee-length skirts and black tops, and they were all quite beautiful. Not exactly what you’d expect to see with bikers, as harsh as that sounded.

Two seats down a little boy was sitting, his hand clasped in the hand of a blonde woman on the far end. He was wearing black pants, a white shirt and a little black tie, which was adorable. He was older than the boy right next to her, but there was something about him that made her suspect he was the most scared person in their group, which made her wary. The woman with him looked normal enough, but she certainly wasn’t his mother. You could tell by their coloring. She was very blonde and fair, and the boy was almost Middle Eastern-looking.

That worried Mallory, and she didn’t really know why.

Looking around, she realized that all the seats were taken now and the guilt was instantaneous. She stood, and then held out a hand to her seat as she spoke to the man holding the little girl. “Please, you should sit.”

He smiled at her, and Mallory wasn’t too slow to realize the smile was bright and gorgeous, making the lined face around it even more gorgeous. “No, no. That’s fine, Ma’am. Go ahead.”

“Please,” she insisted. “And anyway, in fifteen minutes when she’s restless she’s going to want to sit on her own anyway.”

His smile broadened. “Must be a girl thing,” he muttered, then leaned back to peer down at his daughter. “This nice lady is giving you her seat, Libby. Do you want to sit on your own like a big girl?”

Mallory’s heart melted. The man’s face was lined, the stubble looked permanent, and she could see the ink peeking out around the cuffs of his leather. But talking to his daughter in her puffy pink dress like that...it was almost too much.

Apparently there was an answer because he set the girl down on her shiny, patent leather shoes. She toddled around to the front of the chair, paused, then looked up at Mallory.

“Your hair is pretty.”

Mallory had to smile. “Well thank you. Your dress is quite pretty, too.”

“I know.” Then the little girl climbed up onto the chair with a dismissive “Thank you.” It was either for the chair or the dress compliment. She huddled close to the arm of the blonde in the next seat, who put her arm around the girl while the boy stayed put on her lap.

“Thank you,” the man next to her repeated, and she just nodded, crossing her arms around herself. She moved a few steps back as he stood next to his daughter.

She looked around the group, catching Harlon’s eye. He must have been watching her, but he didn’t look away. He just nodded like he appreciated her being there. That’s how she read it, anyway. It could have just been a hello.

“Miss Mallory,” a voice said, and she turned to face Knuckles, who was grinning at her. “Stunning. As always.”

“You hardly know me.”

“And yet you’re always stunning. It’s good to see you.”

She shook her head as he surprised her with a kiss on the cheek.

“The big lug won’t say it, but it’s good you’re here.”

“Thanks, Knuckles.”

He nodded in return, then appeared as though he was going to spend the funeral standing right next to her.

Well, all right then.

The ceremony was decidedly non-denominational, but that was no surprise. It all passed with sniffles and nodding and hands being patted. It wasn’t until everyone readied to leave that Angelina Gray made the proceedings more interesting.

The priest or reverend or whatever he was came forward and shook her hand. Harlon stood near, hand on her shoulder, as quiet words were said. Knuckles was just starting to say “So everyone will be meeting up at the homestead—”

“That’s not it. It’s not done!”

All heads turned to the widow, and her son crouched at her side.

“But, the eulogy. And there was no music, Harlon. There’s always music. Why isn’t there music?”

It wasn’t confusion. The woman was visibly distressed, and how could anyone explain the memorial service of a suicide to her?

“At least a song, Harlon! He’s your father!”

Not sure what came over her, Mallory stepped forward. She hadn’t sung acapella in years, and she was only about ninety percent certain of the words, but she opened her mouth anyway.

“
Amazing grace, how sweet the sound...
”

Heads swiveled her way, even the official. When Angelina Gray looked her way there were tears in her eyes, but her face softened and she allowed a gentle smile, hand going over her mouth. Her gaze didn’t waver for one second.

Both palms ached to be holding a guitar. She hated this song. For some mysterious reason halfway through, around
When we’ve been dead ten thousand years
she always choked up. She was raised religious, but conveniently so. Still, that verse of the song made her eyes sting and it was no different now.

She skipped a verse just to end the spectacle, and as she stepped back to her spot Knuckles squeezed her elbow. “That was beautiful, red,” he mumbled.

She nodded, distracted. In the seats the women had turned to appraise her, and she had no idea how to take their interest. Their eyes, as one, seemed to go to Knuckles’ grip on her elbow. She moved her arm away from it, then looked for Harlon.

He was standing now, and as he caught her eye she noticed his sharp inhale. He swallowed hard and she felt the prickle return to her nose. She had to look away first.

Now
it was over. People were standing, talking in small groups. The little baby she’d noticed earlier began wailing, obviously from being wrenched from his nap by all this visiting. The truck was a short distance away. She had the irrational urge to flee, and while everyone was occupied she made a casual break for it.

In the small clutch her keys were easy to find, and her head was down but she still managed to miss the dip in the grass. Her foot planted much lower than anticipated and her weight hit her ankle bone, effectively rolling it. She went down on one knee, her “Shit!” luckily gasped out rather than shouted.

“Mal!”

Her eyes closed and she took a deep breath. Shit, it really hurt and she just wanted quiet to let the initial shock pass. And with that voice she felt tears spring up into her eyes.

“Holy shit. Are you okay?”

A large, warm hand took her elbow and helped her up. Looking at him would make her instantly start the waterworks, so instead she nodded.

“Try putting weight on it.”

“I’m fine!” Even though it was quiet she still managed to sound like a major bitch.

“Fuck, Mal. I’m just trying to help.” Despite swearing, Harlon’s voice wasn’t rough or nearly as abrasive as hers. That made the water in her eyes rise higher.

Head still down she took a step on her wounded limb, and sure enough the ankle was compromised. She dipped slightly but her other leg came to the rescue.

“Whoa, honey.” And now Harlon had an arm around her waist. How had he done that?

“I’m fine,” she repeated, managing to sound civil with it this time. Now she risked looking up, right into those gorgeous eyes. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

“Those shoes are meant for aerating, not walking on sod.”

She smiled, sniffling. Her eyes were fine but now her nose had decided to catch up with the program. Lovely. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry for twisting your ankle. And uh...thank you for that.”

“For what?”

His face softened. “For singing for Mom. I mean, she wasn’t even sure who’s funeral we were going to, and then she knew exactly what was going on. I didn’t expect that.”

“Don’t worry.”

“And she knew who you were after that.” Harlon inhaled. “She said to me,
That Mallory always had such a lovely voice
.”

Mal smiled. “She said that?”

“Yeah. She knew who you were. So...thank you.”

Mallory nodded, then moved away on her good leg to get his arm off of her. “You have a lot of visitors here. That’s...that’s good.”

“Yeah. Listen, the old ladies put together a spread at Mom and Dad’s place. I sprung mom until after supper today. You should come by. If you’re not busy,” he was quick to add.