Page 2 of Biker's Babygirl

Her head bobs. “I do. I’m sorry.”

I’m skeptical, but I pull out the keys anyway.

When she hears them jingle as they clank together, her head snaps up, her expression hopeful. “Please. I won’t be a brat again… for atleasta week.”

I hear my brother snort, and personally, I’m inclined to agree with him, but the door to the diner has opened and shut twice since we’ve been standing here, and my stomach is rumbling at the aromas that have wafted out toward us.

“Don’t make empty promises,” I tell her with as much force as I can manage before tossing the keyring to her. “And by the way, if you stopped being so stubborn about carrying keys, we could have avoided this whole argument.” I swear I can see the exact moment she thinks about rolling her eyes and decides against it.

Instead, she smiles. “Thank you, Duke,thankyou!”

“You won’t be thanking me later,” I warn. “I doubt there’s more’n a can of tuna and a half-empty soda bottle in the fridge.”

Her smile is bright as she accepts the key I proffer.

Damn, but the woman changes moods fast.

“That’s okay, I’ll make do. I promise.”

I nod and wave her on.

My brother turns to watch her until she’s on her bike. Only when she’s roared out of the parking lot and turned in the direction of our family home do we resume our trek to the restaurant.

“She’s gonna be sorry she put a shower in front of food,” he predicts.

“Nah. She probably wants a long, hot bath away from the likes of us.”

“Us? We’re wonderful company. Delightful, even, I’ve heard people say that.” He slings an arm over my shoulders.

“Yeah?” I grunt. “What people?”

“The point is,she’sthe one people wanna run away from.”

I shrug. I wouldn’t say it aloud, but the man has a point. “Well, maybe one day someone will take her in hand.” I’m practically inside the diner before a thought strikes me. I turn to face him, and the blue eyes that are only a shade lighter than my own. “You wouldn’t happen to have a thing for Ellie, would you?”

“Nah. She’s like a little sister to me.”

I nod as he echoes my own earlier thoughts.

“Now, can you please stop matchmaking so we can get some grub? I’m starving.”

We finally enter the diner, and while I acknowledge that my brother is right, I can’t help it. I like seeing the people I care about taken care of. It’s just a part of who I am, and if that takes matchmaking, well, that’s what I’ll do.

“Elvis! Why didn’t you grab us a table?” Shep asks as we notice the last member of our team waiting just inside the door.

Our fellow doctor—whose name definitely isn’tElvis—At least, I don’t think it is—merely shrugs.

Of course, we both know the answer. Though he is a brilliant doctor, Elvis is truly a man of few words who seems to suffer from intense shyness. He’d rather wait for ten minutes for us to show up than ask for a table himself. In the grand scheme of things, there are worse problems to have, so though we tease him on occasion, it doesn’t bother us.

As soon as we bunch up at the front of the crowded, noisy diner, we hear a shriek of excitement.

“Well, it’s ‘bout time!” Our usual waitress, Peggy, comes rushing up. She’s a woman in her fifties with an ample bosom. In fact, everything about Peggy is ample, including her bleached, frizzy hair that she wears in a bun at all times. “I was startin’ to wonder if I’d ever see you again!” she chides teasingly, smacking me in the chest with her waitressing pad. “You don’t call, you don’t write…”

This is our usual stich, but I play along for her benefit. “Do people usually write to their waitress?”

She gives me a mock scowl, her eyes narrowed behind her glasses. “They do to theirfavoritewaitresses! Now, y’all just sit down anywhere and I’ll see if I can’t hunt down that coffee you like so much, Duke. Woulda had it ready, you know, if you’d let me know you were comin!’”

“Yeah, yeah,” I gripe back, but then I clap her on the shoulder, and she grins at me.

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