Page 7 of Amy's Santa

“You’re doing great,” Xander leans in, speaking quietly. “Just a few more minutes and you can relax.”

“Do you think they can tell?” I whisper back.

“Of course not,” he reassures me. Though I think that he’s wrong. I’m more attuned to my family than he is.

“This is you.” Dad comes to a halt. “You’ve got both suites to yourself. Choose whichever you want.” He hands keys over to Xander, making me smile. Yup, that’s Dad, thinking a mere female can’t open a door.

I hadn’t told Dad about bringing Xander until just a few days ago. He’s clearly giving us options for different sleeping arrangements, we can use both rooms or just the one. I appreciate his thoughtfulness. I’d been vague about exactly who the man I was bringing with me was, and hadn’t given details about our relationship.

“When you’ve gotten settled come back down,” Marc tells me, eagerly. “We’ll be eating in about an hour.”

“Tell me it’s one of Ma’s recipes?” I beg.

“Of course.” She smiles at me. “Would we ever use anything else?”

Life moves on. I might now be twenty-seven, but some things remain exactly the same. I suppose it’s what makes the place home, everything’s more familiar than not. It’s just me who, this time, is different.

I swear Dad winks at Xander as he walks back down to the clubhouse, the second love of his life by his side.

Yeah right. Got that wrong Dad. And we’ve been given two suites. Suddenly I worry about the sleeping arrangements tonight.

Gentlemanly, Xander opens the main door, then indicates the two leading off to the left and the right. “Any preference?”

When I shake my head, knowing they’ll both be identical, he opens one, and carries both bags inside. Putting them down by the door, he continues over to the patio doors that open onto a balcony with views over the mountain ranges surrounding the Tucson basin. He turns with bemusement in his eyes.

“Christmas at a biker compound, you said. You didn’t think it was my thing, you told me. Hell, Amy. This could be a vacation resort.”

Now we’re alone, I can relax, enough to smile. “That’s exactly what it was. It burned out, what, thirty-five years ago? The club bought it up and rebuilt. There’s even a swimming pool though it’s not warm enough to use now.”

“This was where you grew up?” He knows full well it is, so I don’t answer the rhetorical question. “Does everyone live in a suite like this?”

“The men without old ladies, yes. But there are several houses at the top of the compound built for families and couples. I lived in Heart’s house up there. I expect Eli and Olivia will be building one for themselves now.” The corners of my mouth turn down, and I place my hand to my forehead.

Proving how well he knows me, Xander steps closer, but keeping free of my personal space, keeping a comfortable distance between us. “Hey, there’s someone out there for you, Amy. I promise you that.”

I turn away before he can see the tear forming in my eye. But I should have known better. He never misses a thing.

“You will get through this. Youwillcome out the other side.” Using gentle fingers with a light pressure, he turns my chin so I face him again, and his dark brown eyes stare into mine. It’s hard to break my gaze.

Of course he knows exactly when to push and when to retreat, as he lets his hand drop and his lips curve into a smile. “Why do you and Heart call her Marc, when the others call her Marcia?”

“There’s a story about that.” I smile, remembering how Dad and Marc met. He literally wouldn’t be alive if he hadn’t met her, she’d saved his life more than once. “Marc needed a place to stay after her house was destroyed. Dad was out in California and rang Drummer, who was the prez then, asking to put Marc up in his old house. That’s all the club knew. Can you imagine their surprise when a woman turned up, and a cop at that?” Now I chuckle. “They’d stocked Dad’s house up with beer and condoms, thinking they were expecting a man.”

He chuckles loudly. “What does she prefer to be called?”

“Marcia by the women, but she won’t mind whichever name you use.”

“Her house was destroyed, you say? What happened?”

I either never knew all the details or hadn’t been told. Not unusual if it came under the heading of club business, so I give him the little I knew, while not admitting there’s probably more to it. “There was a fire, it burned.”

My answer satisfies him. Then he purses his lips for a moment, a sign he’s thinking. “Is there anything I should or shouldn’t do or say while I’m here? Any protocols? First time I’ve ever been near a one-percenter motorcycle club.”

I give him the only instruction I’ve heard a thousand times during my life. “Just don’t ask questions if you’re told something comes under the heading of ‘club business’. Oh and don’t touch anyone’s cut or bike without their permission. They’re sacrosanct.”

Chapter Two

Heart

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