“Almost!”
Mercy was already fed and dozing in her car seat in the office where Christine was working, but Abilene herself was a mess. She dashed into the guest bathroom and dried her hair, hunted down two shoes that matched, and realized too late she hadn’t shaved her legs. So much for the skirt she’d pulled on, and too bad—she always made better tips when she showed her legs. Men really didn’t care if your legs were all tanned and svelte like a gazelle’s, or plump and pale like her own, as long as they were bare. Oh well. She dug out some jeans and named herself presentable. She didn’t much care what she wore, only where she’d be spending her night. Behind the bar, with Casey, for the last time until she didn’t know when. It took her back to a simpler time—before he’d known she was pregnant, before he’d been her boss or watched her become a mother. Back when he’d still hit on her, and still looked at her with fire in those blue eyes.
“Ready,” she called as she shut her door and shouldered her purse. The second-floor landing on this side of the house overlooked the big den, and she could see Casey leaning on the back of the couch, checking his phone.
He glanced up as she hurried down the steps. “Grab your coat, why don’t you?”
“I’ll be okay. Your car warms up quick.” She didn’t have a ride of her own just now, which sucked. Her little crapbox ’94 Colt was in the shop, needing a whole new engine. She couldn’t really afford the repair, but as it was Vince who’d gotten it towed into town for her last week, she had a sneaking suspicion the bill would never arrive.
The Grossiers and Raina, and even Miah to a lesser extent—he was by far the most upstanding of their tight little group—had all made her nervous, once upon a time. She was no stranger to shady company, but the lot of them were all so much more . . . something, than she was used to. Like they knew and trusted their own places in their dusty, scrappy hometown.
Abilene, on the other hand, felt lost most of the time, and more insecure than ever now, with Mercy to worry about.
“We’re not taking my car,” Casey said as she met him downstairs.
“Whose, then?”
“It’s your last night of freedom until this all blows over. Thought we might brave the cold and ride into town in style.”
“What, on your bike?” Jeez, she’d never ridden on a motorcycle before. “I dunno.”
“Bundle up. Bring gloves, too—it’ll be real cold by the time we close up.”
She weighed her anxiety against Casey’s confidence. Maybe he was right. Maybe she ought to relish the wind in her hair one more time, icy though it undoubtedly would be.
“Fine.” She grabbed her winter coat off its hook in the front hall and pulled on her mittens. “What about a helmet?”
“Got you covered.” Casey led the way outside, down the porch steps to the big front lot. As she eyed his Harley, the last of her hesitance waned. This machine no longer looked like a frigid threat to her life, but rather a perfect excuse to wrap her arms around the man she was otherwise in no position to embrace. Twenty socially acceptable minutes, each way, to spend with her body hugged close to his . . .
Sign me up.
Casey handed her a black helmet and clipped his own silver one on.
“I’ve never seen you bother with one of these before,” she said, fiddling with the strap.
He helped her tighten it, seeming tall and exciting. “Got to start setting a better example, if you’re gonna keep letting me hang around your kid.”
Her goofy smile went blessedly unseen as he swung his leg over the seat.
“Thank goodness I didn’t wear a skirt.” And thank goodness Casey was busy digging in his pockets for his keys and didn’t see her graceless first attempt at getting her leg up and over the back.
“Little help?”
Without a word, he hooked out his arm and she used it to haul herself into position.
“Thanks.”