Page 2 of Wild Hope
I pulled this photo out so many times in Iraq that the paper is worn thin and there are spiderweb lines where it’s creased around the edges. But Kendra’s smile is as bright as it was the day the photo was taken six years ago.
Kendra was only eighteen when that photo was taken. Unaware of how her short shorts and throaty laugh made my entire body stir with desire. I suppressed it. She was an innocent girl and I was a man of twenty-nine, who had seen too much and was jaded by life. Besides, Kendra’s my best friend’s little sister. Off limits.
My parents moved to Australia once I left for the military, so Quentin invited me to spend Thanksgiving leave with his family.
Mrs. Harrison cooked a Thanksgiving feast, and we played board games. I spent the entire two weeks trying to keep my eyes off Kendra as she moved around the house, singing pop songs and dancing every chance she got.
That was before the accident that claimed her parents. Before her and Quentin’s world fell into darkness.
Quentin left the army after his parents passed, and I soon followed. I visited my parents in Cairns, sweating like I was back in the desert. Then I followed Quentin to the cooler mountain.
By then Kendra was on the road, spending her inheritance and trying to outrun her grief.
Quentin used some of his inheritance for a down payment on the brewery, Raiden chipped in, and I used my military savings to stump up the other third, and the Wild Riders MC was born.
Life has been busy, life has been good, but I find myself pulling out the picture and studying Kendra’s face more often than I like to admit.
“You haven’t changed a bit.”
I glance up at the throaty voice, and there she is. In the flesh. Kendra Harrison. All five foot two of her, blonde hair streaked with bright pink cascading over her shoulders, wearing knee-high leather boots and a skirt as short as the shorts in the photo.
My jaw hits the floor, and I want to grab my coat and cover her legs. No one sees those thighs but me.
Her smile is as broad as in the picture, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. The cheeks are fuller, and she’s lost the little girl look. Her figure has filled out; she’s a woman now, with womanly curves a man could get lost in.
“Kendra.” It’s the dumbest thing to say, but I can’t believe she’s really here. “What are you doing here?”
She raises an eyebrow at me. “Good to see you too, Travis. Or should I call you Hops now?”
She’s referring to my road name, which means she must have been in touch with Quentin. Son of a bitch never told me.
“Call me Travis.” Damn, that sounds awkward. Like I’ve just met her, not like I spent Thanksgiving at her house and the last six years thinking about her.
Her eyes sparkle like she’s enjoying my discomfort. “It’s good to see you, Travis.”
She dumps the duffle bag she’s holding and strides over to where I’m sitting, the heels of her leather boots clacking against the wooden floor and turning the heads of my customers.
I slide off the bar stool, still stunned by her presence when she wraps her arms around me.
Her hair smells like peppermint, and her perfume is musky. Her body is soft, and her feminine curves pressed against me cause my blood to heat. I hug her back, just as she pulls away.
Her arms loosen, and she kisses me on the cheek. Like a brother. She kisses me like a brother.
“There she is.”
Quentin’s deep voice rumbles across the bar, and I drop my arms guiltily as if he can see into my mind.
“Quentin.” She squeals and runs at her brother. He sweeps her into his arms and twirls her around, making Kendra giggle. A jealous twinge rumbles through my heart. I want to make Kendra giggle like that.
“How did you get here?” Quentin asks. “I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow.”
She holds her thumb out and Quentin frowns.
“You hitched?” We both say it at the same time.
Kendra rolls her eyes. “Geez, it’s like having two over-protective big brothers. Yeah, I hitched from the closest town. Got a lift from a pregnant lady in a Caddy.”
“Danni,” I say, feeling relieved. Danni just married Vintage. Colter is his real name, but he goes by Vintage on account of his love for old bikes. It’s not surprising he hooked up with a woman who drives an old Cadillac.
