Keep - Page 59

“Thank you.”

He nodded.

“Are we going for a bicycle ride, then?”

He snorted. “No.”

No, I supposed badass, grumpy bounty hunters did not ride bicycles.

He led me farther into the garage and that’s when I saw the motorcycle. My pulse jumped. A big, tough-looking motorcycle. A Harley.

“We’re going for a ride on that?” I breathed.

He glanced sideways and his lips quirked. “Yeah. You like bikes?”

“I’ve never been on a motorcycle, but I’ve always wanted to.”

He pulled a helmet off a hook on the wall. “Here.”

I put it on, and he helped me adjust the straps. Then he pulled his own on. He climbed onto the bike, and my belly did a weird tumble. He looked so hot.

“Hop on.” He patted the seat behind him.

I swung my leg over and settled behind him on the leather.

“Hold on tight.” He pulled my arms around him.

I rested my hands against his flat stomach and my cheek against his back. Oh, I liked this, and it had nothing to do with the bike.

He started the engine. It was loud and grumbly, vibrating through my body. I grinned. It reminded me a lot of Colt.

Then I held on, as he pulled out of the warehouse.

Wherever he took me, I knew it would be just where we both needed to be.

24

COLT

Ifollowed Route 18 out of the city, running parallel to the Mississippi River.

I kept checking for a tail, but when I was sure there was no one following us, I relaxed a little.

The city gave way to countryside, and soon it was all swamps and plantations. Every time we caught a glimpse of a stately plantation home nestled amongst old trees, Macy would pinch me.

I found myself smiling. It was like taking Daisy somewhere. Her excitement was infectious.

Although what I felt for Macy was nothing like what I felt for my daughter.

My tension drained away as we passed sugar cane fields and levees, shacks and country churches. I turned south, and we passed through small towns and bayous. There was so much history here, imbued in the landscape—from the slaves who’d survived here to the Cajun and Creole culture.

Memories of my earliest years bubbled up. I’d been born in a town like the ones we were passing. But with Macy snuggled up against me, for once, I didn’t remember the bad times, the fights, or the times I went hungry. This time I remembered running wild with my friends, fishing, catching crawfish.

I pulled over on the side of the road so we could drink some water and stretch our legs.

Macy hopped off the bike. “I want a Harley.”

My gut cramped as I handed her a water bottle from the saddlebag on my bike. Macy riding a Harley alone was not happening.