Page 67 of Nomad

It couldn’t be said that he felt lighthearted. He might never feel lighthearted again, but he did feel worry free. And that was something.

The party that had been planned seemed over the top for the occasion, but bikers would use any excuse as a good reason to party. By the time the women had parked and walked inside, Cann was surrounded by bikers, many of whom had known him before he went nomad and hadn’t seen or spoken to him in years. They wanted a chance to celebrate his freedomandhis homecoming.

Bud was experiencing a classic conflict of emotion. She was thrilled, elated, that he was free. She was also dejected because she couldn’t get close enough to say, “Hi. I’m glad you’re free.”

She knew he belonged to all those people, more than he belonged to her, and she didn’t want to resent it. She also knew she should be behind the bar helping Brenda, but she couldn’t make herself put on a smile. Too much emotion for one day.

So she quietly withdrew and went to her room.

She sat on the side of the bed telling herself that she was not going to cry like a baby because she was disappointed. She was a big girl, about to be somebody’s mother and that was the way she’d behave.

After half an hour or so, she was thinking about taking a shower and going to bed when the door to her room opened. Her first thought was that she must have been too distracted to lock it. Her second thought was that she was glad she hadn’t, because the person stepping into her room was Cannon Johns.

He looked around, took in the English floral print on the comforter, the bright mosaic flower vase that Garland had filled with gladiolas, and the myriad sizes and shapes of pillows on the bed. Women and their pillows.

“What in the world happened in here?” he said.

She stood up, hesitated for a second, then after running a few steps launched herself into the air. He caught her as she wrapped her legs around his waist. Before he could protest she was kissing him like her life depended on it. His mouth responded to her like it had a mind of its own, before he had a chance to think through what was happening and make a rational choice.

By the time his brain engaged, it just felt too good to stop.

He’d hooked up with women over the years. There was always release. There was never satisfaction. And nothing that felt like the woman currently attached to him like a monkey.

At length he pulled back and caught his breath.

“Three nights. Just like you said.”

He set her down on her feet. “Don’t go gettin’ ideas. That didn’t mean anything.”

She blinked. “You mean that kiss? Of course it meant something.” He shook his head. “Liar.”

When he spoke, he looked sad but serious. “Not lyin’. I’m not your savior. I’m just some guy you met in a storm.”

“You better check in with your heart, Johns. Mine says that’s not true.”

Cann saw a flash of Molly walking away into sunlight so bright he couldn’t see her anymore, leaving behind a field of full blossom bluebonnets swaying in a gentle breeze.

He hesitated with his hand on the doorknob, but opened it and walked out without looking back. He walked straight past the bar and down the hall to Brant’s office. He knew Brant would be there. The prez wasn’t much of a party guy. He’d hang around because he didn’t want to snub a celebration, but he usually handled it by making brief appearances between long periods of keeping his own company.

Cann knocked on the door and heard Brant say, “Yeah. Come on in.”

Brant looked a little surprised to see him, but said, “Close the door and take a chair.” Cann did exactly that. “Lot to take in for somebody who’s been livin’ the solitary life.”

Cann nodded.

Brant pulled the good bottle of Scotch out of the file cabinet next to his desk and held it up. When Cann nodded again, Brant poured an inch in each of two glasses.

“What’s on your mind?” Brant said at length.

“Bud,” was all Cann said.

“What’s the problem?”

“She’s a kid.”

“That really the problem?”

“What do you mean? I said it was.”