Claim - Page 46

I chuckled. “Colt. Daisy is technically his niece, but he adopted her.”

Bell smiled. “I bet you all spoil her rotten.”

“Guilty as charged.” I turned and found a leather jacket that wouldn’t absolutely swamp her. “Put this on. The weather’s a little cool today.”

As she did the jacket up, I pulled my own on. Then I threw my leg over the bike. I took a second to pull my own helmet on, then I patted the seat behind me.

She climbed on, settling on the leather. “I should have known you’d have a bike. It suits you too.”

“Colt has a Harley. We ride together when we can.” I pulled her arms around my waist. “Hold on tight.”

She leaned into my back, and I felt a strange sensation.

Contentment.

I liked her there.

I started the engine and pressed the remote. The garage doors opened, and a second later, I rode out.

Bell clung tight as we drove to the Crescent City Connection Bridge. As we crossed the river, I could tell she was looking all around, enjoying the view.

As I got off the expressway, taking some smaller roads as we headed south, the sun valiantly tried to make an appearance. I liked to ride. I liked the wind in my face, the road stretching out ahead of me. I rarely had a passenger, but having Bell with me added to the experience.

Finally, we went south through the city, heading toward the Jean Lafitte National Historical Park and Preserve. City gave way to wetlands and bayou.

We rode past a slow-moving creek, bounded by dense vegetation. After another mile, I turned onto a private driveway, slowing down as we wound through the trees. I pulled to a stop.

I helped Bell off the bike. She looked around.

“Where are we?”

“On the edge of one side of the Jean Lafitte National Historical Park and Preserve.”

Her eyes widened. “Jean Lafitte the pirate?”

I smiled. “He was a complicated guy, and one of the most infamous characters in New Orleans history. He was a smuggler, a pirate, a spy, a folk hero. He did help fight off the British during the Battle of New Orleans. In return for a pardon for his crimes, of course.”

She smiled back. “Of course.”

“I like him. He did what he had to protect what was his.” I shrugged. “I guess I enjoy the shades of grey.” I held out my hand.

She took it.

“A friend owns this land.” We reached the edge of the bayou. It was all dark, still water and cypress trees.

“Wow. It has a haunting sort of beauty.”

I held her hand and led her to a wooden walkway. It ran along the water’s edge and ended at a large, square platform over the water, circled by a railing.

In the center of the platform was a table with a white tablecloth, and plates covered by silver dishes.

Bell’s mouth dropped open. “What is this?”

“Lunch.” I held out a chair for her. “My friend who owns the land is also an exceptional chef. He owns a local restaurant on the bayou not far from here.”

“You did this? For me?”

I nudged her into the chair. “For you.” I sat across from her. “Out here, there are no bad guys or anything to worry about. There’s only us, and maybe a few gators.”