Page 15 of Crow's Haven
Chase grumbles, “I wanted to be born first, but Scout pushed me aside. It’s not fair.”
Sharon looks at Chase’s petulant face and says, “Maybe he was just looking out for you. So what’s your name? You look like an Algernon or a Humphrey.”
Chase giggles. “It’s Throttle, but that’s just my biker name. My real name’s Chase, but that’s too boring.”
She glances over her shoulder at me before turning back to my boys. “You have a biker name? That sounds like fun, butnothing about you looks boring,” she says with a grin, and for a second, she looks like someone else. Certainly not a scared woman on the run from an abusive partner. She looks like a regular person—just tired, but a kind one, trying to survive in the world.
I hang back, watching. She brings out the best in ‘em. My boys just take to her. I like the way my boys lean towards her without hesitation, and the way she shakes their little hands when they reach for her.
Scout tells her all about his current nickname. “Sprocket is the best biker name ever. That’s why I called dibs.”
I gesture at the store with one hand. “You working there, or just using the lot for shuteye?”
Her mouth twists at the corner, not quite a smile. “I’m not working right now.”
I raise a brow. “And you ain’t at Patch’s office either. I was lookin’ for you after you patched my kid up and you’d gone. Doc said you’d come for an interview.”
She shakes her head slowly as her expression turns blank. “I kind of panicked. I can’t go back there.”
I nod once, slow and careful. I don’t press her for answers because I have no right to pry into her personal affairs. I don’t ask about the cop. I don’t mention the tremor I noticed in her hands or the way her eyes scanned every corner of the clinic like someone waiting to be hunted. I already have my theories, and most of them lead back to a man with a badge.
“Look darlin’, you ain’t gotta spill your life story,” I say, keeping my tone friendly and unthreatening. “But I got two kids who need steady care. I have a huge house and can afford to paya decent wage. If you’re looking for work, it might be a good fit for you.”
Her brows pinch. “You’re really offering me a job?”
“Yeah. Room, board, and cash. You can help with the house for a bit extra, if you want.”
I see the wariness in her eyes. “I know I look like trouble, but I can get people to vouch for me. The Doc, my club president’s old lady is a social worker, hell, you can talk to Rigs, he used to be a damn chaplain. This is a genuine offer, no strings.”
She blinks at me, clearly caught between suspicion and surprise. “Why me?”
“Because my boys don’t normally warm up to strangers but sure seem to like you. And you handled the situation with Scout when he needed you. My gut says you’re smart, protective, and resourceful.” What I don’t say is that I recognize someone in trouble. She needs my help, and I know she’ll not ask for it, but at least if she comes and stays with me, I can protect her.
Her arms tighten around herself. “You don’t even know who I am.”
I shrug. “Maybe not. But Patch was willing to hire you—and he’s club, so that’s solid.”
She looks away, clearly mulling over my words. A strand of her dark hair falls over her cheek, a little wild from sleeping in the car. I want to reach out and tuck it behind her ear, but I have enough fucking common sense to know it’s wrong to touch her without permission, especially when she’s vulnerable.
“I’ve got a few properties,” I continue, keeping my voice low. “I flip houses for a livin’. Kept the best one for me and my boys and renovated it myself. You’d have your pick of bedrooms, any of them we’re not using. You’d have a roof over your head, plenty to eat, and a door that locks.”
She studies me, searching for the catch.
“Ain’t trying to crowd you,” I add. “My mom was watching them while I worked, but she moved to Florida a few months ago and I’m struggling.”
She asks, her voice barely audible, “And your wife’s okay with that? You dragging home a strange woman without her approval? Surely their mom would want to interview me.”
There’s a pause. Then a small, fierce voice sounds off from the truck. “We don’t need no stinking mommies!”
I look over my shoulder to see that Scout is mean-mugging us both.
Chase nods solemnly. “We don’t have a mommy. She was a butterfly that flew away.”
For the first time in my life, my face flushes with embarrassment. I truly didn’t think that was even possible for a badass biker like me.
Sharon’s gaze flickers between them and me. I see something tender pass through her expression.
I clear my throat and rub the back of my neck. “I’m a single dad,” I say, meeting her eyes again. “It’s just the three of us, doing what we can.”
