Page 19 of Santa's Girl
I hesitated. “Tight how?”
He met my eyes, calm and steady. “You’ll know.”
A dozen snarky comebacks died on my tongue. I climbed on behind him, awkward and over-bundled, and settled my hands at his sides.
“Closer,” he said.
I swallowed hard and obeyed, wrapping my arms around his solid middle. The engine roared to life, rattling the air, and before I could second-guess it, we shot forward into the night.
The cold hit like a slap, then melted into exhilaration. Snow sprayed around us in glittering arcs. The trees whipped by, branches heavy with white. The world was silver and black and endless, the sky so clear I could see every star. My fear dissolved into something wild and free.
The wind tore at my hair where it escaped the helmet. I pressed closer, laughing out loud when we crested a drift andthe snowmobile lifted for a heartbeat before landing smooth and fast.
For a while, I forgot everything—Huntley, the job I’d lost, the wrecked car. It was just the engine’s hum, the crisp bite of the air, and the steady weight of Bear in front of me, guiding us through the dark.
Twenty minutes later, he slowed, headlights cutting through a clearing. Up ahead, a massive log building glowed with light. Smoke curled from a wide stone chimney, and trucks lined the packed-snow lot like an army at rest. Music drifted from inside—low, pulsing, beat.
The sign over the porch read:IRON FORGE MC: Home of the Appalachian Outlaws.
I frowned. “Is this… a brewery or something?”
Bear didn’t answer. He just cut the engine, swung a leg over, and helped me off the sled. My knees were shaking from the ride—or maybe from adrenaline.
We climbed the steps, passing men in leather and flannel, beers in hand, laughter thick in the cold air. Someone nodded at Bear, and he nodded back. Respect, recognition—whatever it was, it was mutual.
When he opened the heavy door, heat and noise rushed out. Pool tables. A bar. A band in the corner playing some gravel-voiced country song. The smell of bacon, fries, and beer.
My stomach growled audibly.
I turned in a slow circle, taking it all in. “What is this place? Heaven?”
Bear looked down at me, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Glad you think so.”
I felt ridiculous.
Like, 1990-era Halloween-store ridiculous. Puffy snowsuit, clunky boots, helmet hair. If Mattel madeArctic Barbie: Lost Edition,this would be the outfit.
Bear pointed to a side room lined with helmets, coats, and boots. “Gear stays there.”
“Gladly.”
I stripped off the layers, shook out my hair, and tried to pat it into something human. When I stepped back into the main room, the wall of noise hit me again—music, laughter, cue balls cracking against each other, the smell of fried food and beer thick in the air.
Bear was already across the room, standing with a group of men. One had a silver beard, another a shaved head and arms covered in tattoos. They were drinking pints of something dark and frothy. Bear said something low that made them all laugh, and I caught a rare flash of his grin.
Around me, the women noticed.
Their eyes flicked from him to me and back again, expressions ranging from bored curiosity towho the hell is she?
Most wore jeans and tanks under leather cuts, confidence like armor. None looked particularly welcoming.
I hovered by the wall, trying not to look like the world’s most confused snow angel.
“Hey there.”
I turned to find a tall guy leaning against a table—dark hair, flannel shirt half-unzipped over a leather kutte, smile warm enough to melt frost. “Name’s Jinx.”
“Becca,” I said, relieved someone was talking to me who didn’t growl. “Please tell me there’s food in this place before I start gnawing on a barstool.”
