Page 5 of Gotta Dig Deep
Junkyard pointed to the side and Graeme noticed another bike already kitted out, just like his. “Mind a little company along the way?”
“Sounds like a plan, man.”
Shoulders shoved back, Graeme surveyed the front of the bar one last time, then dropped his gaze to the face of his unexpected champion. “Medric, what you said in there—”
“Nothing that shouldn’t have been said long ago. I just hope you understand your own worth, Graeme, because what Dot’s done isn’t reflective of who you are. That’s all on her.” He cleared his throat. “I understand every biker worth his salt has a nickname. A road name. I think what was said inside that building tonight carried with it all kinds of truths. One of which is children are a gift, no matter how they come to being. But Gift Horse is a bit of a mouthful.” Medric shrugged, then a bright grin took over his face. “Horse, however, suits you in a lot of ways. Junkyard and Horse, riding off into the sunset.”
Graeme stifled a chuckle. “How did you come to that conclusion? Never mind, don’t answer that.” He wrapped his arms around the older man’s shoulders, holding tightly as he whispered, “Saved my life, Medric. Thank you.”
After that, their actual leave-taking was uneventful and once on the highway, Horse glanced over his shoulder to see a broad grin on Junkyard’s face. Lifting his left hand, he pumped his fist twice, the movement echoed immediately by Junkyard as they both rolled their throttle just a little farther.
He might not have any idea where they were going.
But they’d get there fast.
Chapter Two
Horse
“This doesn’t suck.”
Horse laughed at Junkyard’s summary of their morning. They’d been on the road nearly eight months, and the same couldn’t be said for every day that had passed. Trekking through fifteen or sixteen states, they’d encountered a wide variety of weather, people, and prejudice. Graceful exits weren’t always possible, and after one physically vigorous encounter, Horse had ridden several hundred miles with a broken bone in his hand as it healed, slowly.
Which meant he agreed with Junkyard’s summary of their morning. “No, it sure doesn’t. I’m likin’ the piney woods and lakes, but without the massive mosquitos of Minnesota.”
“Now”—he drawled out the word—"we were told we’d just come during the wrong season up there.” Junkyard laughed and unwrapped a bandanna from around his handlebars and used it to wipe his face. “Only problem was the dude couldn’t tell us a season they didn’t have nasty tastin’ bugs.”
They’d fallen into an easy routine over the miles and months. They’d ease into a town and pick up on the local vibe. If it was welcoming, they’d find a hostel if available or a campground if not, then scope out the entertainment. It was amazing how many small towns had biker-friendly bars, and even more amazing that some of those locations were invisibly tagged as available to only a certain group. He and Junkyard had been tossed out of more than one bar when the local club decided they might be a threat. Their adventures made certain that both Junkyard and Horse had developed a sixth sense aboutthatparticular vibe.
Sitting on their bikes backed up to the front of a bar here in Northeast Texas was giving them both a good feeling. The campground owner had pointed out a spot that was perfect for bikes, with a flat pad for parking and trees to pitch their tents underneath. They’d done that, and then the man had aimed them at this bar situated on a small highway running next to a shallow river. In the time Horse and Junkyard had sat here, there had been four separate groups of bikers roll up, each with a different patch on the back. Even more important, each group had acknowledged him and Junkyard with a wave, a word, or chin lift.
“You ready to brave the masses?” Junkyard yawned. “I’m hungry for something to eat before we have to make our way back to the campground. The gates close at ten, so we’ll need to be back on the road by nine or so and I’m starvling.” He gave a piteous whine. “Starvling, I tell you. My stomach is poorly. So hungry.”
“Okay…fine, we’ll take care of your belly. I’m good to go, brother.” They were close enough to be blood, at least in Horse’s mind. Working side by side on various cash jobs, then sleeping within arm’s reach of each other for so many nights meant they’d shared thousands of conversations. He knew Junkyard, inside and out, and believed Junkyard felt the same. Nothing sexual, even if he didn’t give a shit if anyone swung that way, but a secure knowledge that no matter what went down, Junkyard had his back. “Beer and a burger sound pretty damn great right now.”
Pushing through the door unleashed the full volume of music and conversation, and unlike many an inhospitable bar they’d been inside, neither level lowered. A few heads swung their way, but each of the ones who did turn to look wore welcoming expressions.
Two stools were open near the end of the bar and Horse took one, leaving the other for Junkyard.
Rubbing his palms together, Junkyard grinned. “I could get used to this shit.”
“We’ll see if the beers are cold and the burgers edible before we make any long-term plans, yeah?” Horse chuckled as he plucked a menu from behind a coaster holder. “The work mentioned by the campground guy sounded promising, though.”
They’d done a variety of jobs as they moved through the eastern and middle states. Construction was the most frequent, and both had developed skills in that area, which made it easier to get a day gig. Nearly everyone needed someone to run the wheelbarrow or pitch bundles of shingles up onto a roof. All they had to be was courteous, responsive, dependable, and strong.Mostly strong.
“Can I get ya?” The bartender was a blonde woman with a ready smile, who never stopped moving. While waiting for their response, she was rinsing glasses, then gathering trash and used dishes from a position just down the bar, constantly in motion. “Beer or mixed?”
“Two beers of whatever’s on tap. Just none of that light shit, yeah?” Horse gave her a grin she returned, nodding. “We’ll order food too.”
“Know what you want yet? I can put that in while I’m pullin’ the beer.” She restocked the coaster holder in front of him, then pulled a bottle from the cooler behind her and opened it, tossing the cap into the trash. “I’m a multitasker.”
“I see that.” He looked at the menu. “Burger and fries for me.” Nudging Junkyard with an elbow, he broke the man’s stare at the bartender. “Junkyard, what are you hungry for tonight?”
“Uh.” Junkyard’s mouth hung open for a moment, then closed with a snap. “Uh, yeah. Yeah. Same. Beer, burger, fries—can’t go wrong.”
Horse’s glance traveled between the bartender and Junkyard, watching as she licked across her bottom lip and Junkyard’s tongue followed the same pass across his own. Then she nodded and stepped back.
“Coming right up.”
