Vigorously, I shake my head, trying to clear those thoughts from it. I’m a soldier in need of a war, not a goddamn homemaker and mechanic. The best I could do is become a mercenary for hire, and I doubt Cat would think much of it.
My place is with the Satan’s Devils MC, isn’t it? While I have the laptop out, I frown, then delve back into the Utah servers again. There’s another mention of me in the minutes.
Three months.
They’ve given me three months. Thirteen weeks. I’ll be out bad if I’m not back by the time limit they’ve set.
They’re actually generous, I wouldn’t have given myself three hours. Still, at least I have a time frame. It’s up to me what I do with it.
Tomorrow, we’ll go get her truck. I’ll sort her roof tiles out and when that task’s done, I’ll head off into the sunset. I’ve been here too long.
I need to find a woman to sink my cock into before it decides Cat’s irresistible. There are limits to my self-control, and while I’d never force myself on her, I’ve caught little glances, odd smiles, and at times her face reddens for no reason that suggest if I turned on the charm, I’ve little doubt she’d respond. I think too much of her to take advantage.
Three months. Even if I stayed, my time with her is limited. That’s if I want to reclaim my life.
Tomorrow’s going to be interesting. To get to the airport, she’ll have to ride on the back of my bike. That, in itself, doesn’t worry me. I know some of my brothers are dead set against having anyone but their old lady riding behind them, but I’ve never subscribed to that notion, never expecting to land a woman of my own, and seeing my passenger seat as just a convenient mode of transport. Not that I’ve had anyone riding behind me before, but nah, I have nothing against the idea of it.
Except, this is Cat. Her breasts up against me, her arms around my waist? That could be one of the limits to my self-control I was just thinking about.
It really is time that I should go. I can’t offer her a future, and she’d want nothing else.
“Dinner’s ready!”
“Coming.”
There’s a formal table and six chairs in the dining room, but since the first night we’ve fallen into the routine of just using the stools at the counter. Cat knows her way about the kitchen and seems to enjoy cooking. I’m happy to eat whatever she serves up. She could rival Cowboy in some of her dishes, and her chili tonight is no exception. I don’t feel guilty leaving the meal preparation to her. I’ll clean up after, and work to my strengths getting the exterior of the house in order.
When I tell her I’ve found her truck and we can collect it the next day, she sighs with relief. “I thought that was gone.”
“If it was, you could claim it on the insurance.”
“I’d have had to have told them Weston had taken it, and as I can’t contact him…”
I grimace. Yeah, that would have opened a can of worms. The Satan’s Devils hadn’t left any evidence of Tiny being in Utah, but a plane ticket would link him to that state. My brothers would prefer not to have attention brought to his disappearance. Now I’m glad I found the truck for more than one reason.
“You’ve told me no one else would contact me about the booking, but I’m still worried.” Her lips press together. “Even if I don’t have to worry about Weston, what if he’s got friends who try to find him? If they knew he was here, they might come calling.”
As far as I know, his friends, or more accurately accomplices, are dead. I doubt she’s got reason to worry. But, what if she’s right? Could I view staying here as providing protection? At least for the next couple of months before I have to make a decision.
Sure. A bodyguard with fantasies of getting into her bed. I sigh, unwilling to tempt the limits of my resistance.
Sometimes I wonder how I’d have treated her had I turned up to find her unharmed. Would I have suspected her of protecting her cousin? Probably. But the cards fell as they had, and the thought of anyone hurting her doesn’t settle at all with me.
Should I go before I cause her pain, or stay and risk the consequences?
Replete with food, and with a beer in my hand, I settle back uncharacteristically and join her in watching a quiz on television. Arrogant, I’m certain I’ll know more answers than her, but she surprises me with general knowledge that surpasses my own. When she yawns and says she’ll go to bed, I say goodnight, assure her I’ll lock up, and wait for her to finish in the bathroom before I go to the guest bedroom.
I’ve never not worked since I left home, except for that brief spell of unemployment when ejected from the SEALs, but even then I’d been searching for jobs suitable for a disgraced man. These past couple of weeks I’ve been content to let the world turn on its own, having no desire to look for trouble or even go searching for shit on the dark web. It’s a vacation, I tell myself. And, like any vacation, I’ll end up getting bored. But not just yet.
The next day is dry, the sun shining down as we set out for the airport. Cat’s never been on a bike before but approaches it with something more akin to excitement than trepidation. If you’re over twenty-one, you don’t need to wear a helmet in this state, but being gentlemanly, I give her the one that I always carry with me anyway. Without me having to tell her, she’s wearing jeans, a denim jacket and sensible boots.
Having given her basic instructions, she slides on behind me, her arms coming around my waist without being told. Immediately, her closeness affects me in ways it shouldn’t. Trying to ignore the scent of her shampoo and the strand of hair that’s escaped from her pony tail and which the breeze whips around my face, I kick up the stand. I allow myself a moment to get used to the extra weight—not that there’s much to notice—then I engage first gear and smoothly move off. Her delighted shriek makes an uncharacteristic grin appear on my face.
The airport is an hour away, and I quickly get used to her being behind me. When we stop at a red light, I turn my head, but the question of whether she’s doing okay dies on my lips. Her eyes sparkling, her mouth curved, give me all the answer I need. She looks like she’s exactly where she needs to be.
Regret is what I feel as we pull to a stop and I park in a motorcycle designated parking slot. Maybe I can convince her to come for another ride with me, or maybe I shouldn’t risk it. But for now the question is moot. She’s got to get her truck.
She does so without any difficulty. I wait on the exit ramp until she comes into sight, and follow her on the return journey.
Thoughts are going through my head. If I’m to return to the Devils without further punishment other than the beatdown and prospect patch already decided, I should start to make my way back. Three months was the limit. It will go easier for me if I don’t make them wait.
But something’s been growing inside me that has me questioning whether returning is what I want. It’s not the thought of prospecting all over again, it’s the question that since losing my SEAL dream, I’ve never once asked myself… What do I want?
I worked my ass off to become a SEAL. Except on short periods of leave, I could never relax. On tours, I had people barking orders at me. Prospecting the first time was more of the same, then I threw my all into becoming a full member.