Page 48 of Iron Heart

“You accepting?” he grins.

The first fewmoments on Dante’s bike, I’m nearly convinced this whole thing is a colossally bad idea. My heart is pounding in my chest, and I swallow repeatedly as I cling to him and tell myself this is probably just a natural adrenaline reaction. But for me, even a natural adrenaline reaction can be a little scary.

It’s your birthday,I tell myself as I take deep slow breaths.Calm down, heart. Live a little.

I have to admit that the motorcycle engine revving under me isn’t the only reason my heart is beating a little faster. Being this close to Dante, my arms wrapped around his hard, chiseled torso, would be enough to give any red-blooded woman palpitations. I’m not sure where he’s taking me, or why he’s decided to give me this ride as a birthday present, but I’m trying like hell to pretend that sexy bikers do this kind of thing for me all the time. Even though I’m pretty sure he figured out immediately that this is my first time on a motorcycle when I had no idea how to get on, or where to put my feet, or anything. I stopped just short of asking him if there was a seatbelt on this thing.

I cling to him tighter, relishing the heat of his body as it warms me against the cool of the air rushing past us. In spite of my fear, I start to note how I can feel the slightest shifts of his weight, the flexes of his muscles as he maneuvers the bike. He throttles up and we accelerate, leaving my stomach behind for a second until I get used to the new speed. We’re flying past phone poles, fields, and banks of trees now, the air changing fragrance every minute or so as the tires eat up the road beneath us.

It’s not hard to understand why people like riding motorcycles, I realize dizzily. It’s exhilarating. I’ve never experienced anything even remotely like it. God. I can’t remember the last time I felt so alive.

About an hour into the ride, Dante turns us back toward Ironwood, and we cross back into the city limits around seven. “You hungry?” he calls out. I realize I am, and tell him so. Next thing I know, we’re pulling into the parking lot of a small, run-down looking restaurant called Big Daddy’s. The spark of a memory hits me as Dante stops the bike and waits for me to get off.

“Hope you like ribs,” he says once the engine is off. “This place might not look like much, but the food is great.”

“I’ve actually been here before!” I exclaim, breathing the aroma of cooking meat deep into my lungs. “Years ago. My aunt Jeanne brought me here once. I’d forgotten all about it.”

“Good memories?” Dante asks as he lifts a leg over the bike and stands.

I nod happily. “The best.”

Fifteen minutes later, we’re sitting at one of about a dozen picnic tables, munching on ribs, sipping beer, and looking out at a view of the creek that runs through Ironwood on its way to the Ohio River. Around us, a motley assortment of families, teenagers, and couples concentrate on their own meals.

“Ribs as good as you remember?” Dante asks me between bites.

“I don’t really remember the food as much as the location,” I admit. “I was a lot younger.” I look over at a bunch of pre-teens, chasing each other around the yard. “I was probably more focused on horsing around than eating, like those kids.”

“Sounds like you had a good time here.”

I take another bite, trying hard not to get sauce all over my face. “Like I told you before, Ironwood used to be my happy place when I was a little kid. My escape.”

“Escape from what?”

The bluntness of Dante’s question catches me off-guard. But for some reason, it also loosens my tongue a little. Maybe it’s the beer, too.

“My parents were… protective,” I say carefully. “I had a twin brother that died when we were babies. My mom and dad didn’t really ever get over losing him so young.”

“You’re a twin?” Dante blinks.

“Yeah.” I suck in a breath. “They never had any other kids. So, it was just me. My whole childhood, my parents were terrified of losing me. I used to tell people they were really strict when I was growing up, but honestly, it was way beyond that. I’m almost surprised they ever let me out of the house, even to go to school.”

Dante whistles. “That’s a lot of pressure on a kid.”

I’ve been staring down into my plate of ribs, but I look up now and give Dante a thin smile. It actually makes me feel good that he seems to take my little family drama seriously.

“Aunt Jeanne was my mom’s sister. She was the only person Mom trusted besides her to look after me. Lucky for me, she didn’t think of me as quite as fragile as Mom did. And…” I chuckle, “also lucky for me Jeanne wasn’t above stretching the truth about how much stuff she let me do when I was down here in Ironwood.”

“Stuff like what?”

I wiggle my eyebrows in mock scandal. “Like… going swimming, and jumping off thehigh dive,” I stage whisper. “And riding a bicycle no-handed!”

“Holy shit, you rebel.”

“You joke,” I snort, putting my elbows on the picnic table and cradling my chin in my hands. “But my mother would have been apoplectic to know I did that stuff. And that was even before…”

I stop abruptly.

“Before what?”

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