Page 58 of Nomad

Following the sound, she walked the length of the bar, turned left and headed into the part of the complex that was the heart of the club; the kitchen, pantry, laundry, and covered walkway to the warehouse that served as a garage for a wide array of vehicles. Behind that was the kennel and Rescue’s cottage where he gave three dogs sleepover privileges every night.

When she entered the kitchen everything came to a full stop.

Bud stood one step inside the doorway taking in the scene. It was a large commercial kitchen that was a study in stainless steel. Refrigerators, sinks, cabinets, gas ranges, and ovens lined the walls. In the middle of the large room was a stainless steel island, long, narrow and counter height, that doubled as a dining table. Stools with arms and leather seats and backs were sturdy enough for big rambunctious bikers. There were enough to seat thirty people at a time.

While the stainless steel was without color, the room was not. The walls above the cabinetry were painted with murals of Austin scenes and classic motorcycles in vibrant hues that brought both life and warmth to the room. The pièce de résistance was a counter height fireplace framed in red brick that sat between ovens and gas ranges.

She fell in love with it instantly.

Eight faces congregated near the end of the island/table closest to her turned toward her expectantly. Brenda and seven bikers. She recognized a few from the night she and Cannon had arrived and there was Brash, whom she’d met that afternoon. Beautiful Brash. She was sure that, if she’d seen him first, she’d be crushing hard.

Sitting at the end near the door, he gave Bud a big grin and pushed the stool next to him with his foot. “Come on over here and sit, darlin’. We’re having some of Brenda’s gooey chicken enchiladas.”

She gave Brash a grateful smile for being welcoming and took a seat on the stool. “Thank you.”

“I’m not normally here ‘cause I’m a married guy with an actual life.” Some of the others scoffed. One threw a tortilla chip at his head.

“Hey!” Brenda said in a schoolteacher voice. She had gotten up to get Bud a place setting, but whirled around with hands on her hips. “How many times I gotta tell you? The food is for eating. So grow the hell up and eat.”

Brash turned back to Bud with a smile. “I was sayin’ that I’m not usually here, but my wife is out with girlfriends, faculty members at U.T. You’re probably thinkin’ that doesn’t sound like a good time and I’d have to agree. But it takes all kinds to fill up the freeways. Right?”

“Right,” Bud said as Brenda put a plate and flatware in front of her.

Brenda patted Bud on the shoulder. “You get whatever you want to drink out of that cooler over there.” She pointed to a glass front cooler stocked with bottled waters, soft drinks, and beer.

“Thank you,” she said, sliding off the stool.

As she was grabbing a water, Brash began introducing her to the other people in the room.

“Arnold. Axel. Burn. Car lot. Eric. Rescue.”

“Nice to meet you,” she said as she sat down, feeling a little shy about being the center of attention. “I hope I can remember your names.”

“Well, let’s see if we can help you with that.” Brash smiled. “Arnold is easy because the resemblance is uncanny. Rescue, down there at the end, is easy because he always looks like the crazy homeless guy who won’t make eye contact. Eric. Just think Eric the Viking. The fact that he’s taller than a person should be will help you remember. As for the others, they’re just not that important.”

“Hey,” came a chorus of voices and half a basket of tortilla chips was thrown at Brash’s head.

Brenda turned even redder than usual and looked ready to pull the bazooka out from behind the giant sack of flour.

“I’m not pickin’ those up,” she said.

“Yeah.” Brash glared at the others. “Pick those up.”

Axel and Burn got up and picked the chips off the floor even though Bud knew for a fact they hadn’t thrown them.

She leaned toward Brash and said, “They’re not the ones who did it.”

Brash gave her a charmingly amused smirk. “They’re prospects, darlin’. It’s their job to clean up after patched-in members.”

“Oh.” She looked down at the plate where Brenda was delivering chicken enchiladas from a casserole dish with a spatula. “This smells…”

Eric jumped in. “Taste it. It’s as good as it smells. We’re sure hopin’ you’ve got some kitchen chops because Brenda here is gonna leave some big shoes to fill.”

Brenda returned to her seat beaming from the compliment. “Don’t you worry,” she said to Bud. “These boys will eat anything. Raw. Burned. Too much tabasco. Don’t matter. They’re eating machines.”

Bud nodded and smiled. “That’s good to know.”

“So tell us about your best stuff. What do we have to look forward to?” Eric asked.