Page 54 of The Biker's Brother

The kid smiled. “Number forty-three.”

“Forty-three? I don’t see that many rooms.”

The clerk rolled his eyes. “I know. The owner’s into numerology. She has her own reasons for how and why the rooms are numbered.”

“Okay.” Brand lifted an eyebrow in solidarity with the kid’s misgivings.

“Stop it,” Cami said, looking between them. “That’s as good a reason for numbering things as sequential order. Maybe she knows something we don’t know.”

“Look. Everybody’s entitled to her own opinion, but does it look like she knows something we don’t know?” The kid gave a small wave to indicate the condition of the establishment that cut his paycheck.

Cami lifted her chin. “I’m glad to have a warm, dry, clean place to spend the night.” After a couple of seconds, she added, “The room is clean, isn’t it?”

The kid grinned. “That is about the only good thing you can say. The owner is a maniac about clean. It’s like that disorder where people can’t stop cleaning.”

“Obsessive compulsive?” Cami asked.

“Yes. Like that.”

“Well, I hope it’s not debilitating for her, but…” she looked at Brandon, “good for us?”

Brand held the key up. “Thanks again.”

“Oh. About getting there tonight.” He pointed to the road outside. “Take 70 south. You’ll run right into the park visitors’ center. They’ll give you directions. A lot of people bring folding chairs. But you can sit on the ground if you don’t have them. I mean, the sand sort of conforms to your, um, body.”

Brandon chuckled. “We don’t have chairs with us, but we’re both okay with conformity.”

As they were leaving, she said, “Speak for yourself.”

He chuckled. Handing her the key, he said, “You can check out the room while I bring in the stuff.”

When he pulled up to number forty-three, she was out of the car as soon as it stopped rolling.

He grabbed the bags out of the back seat first and hauled them inside.

“A double bed,” he said.

She turned and looked at the bed. “Is that a problem?”

He assumed her question meant that he’d said that out loud.

Yes. Yes it is.

“No. Why would it be?”

He turned without elaborating to retrieve the rest of the luggage.

“Come on,” she said. “It’s almost dark. We’re going to miss it.”

“We’re not going to miss as much as I’d like to.” She rolled her eyes. “I just need to sort through a few things.”

She watched him hide various-sized guns. Two in a hunter-style vest with zippered pockets. One in a boot.

“Aren’t you afraid of shooting yourself in the foot?”

“Metaphorically, yes. Physically, no.”

“I’m bringing waters. We didn’t ask if they sell stuff.”

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