A Fourth of July Proposal, page 9
“What should I wear? Can I meet you at Benny’s?”
He frowned. Did she not want him to pick her up because she didn’t want anyone to know she was spending time with him? Would it cause too much talk? Would it upset her dad?
For some reason that bothered him, but it only made sense. It would be easier to outfit her with the gear at Benny’s, rather than try to bring it over here on the bike.
“Wear jeans, and boots that cover your ankles. Leather gloves. I’ll get a helmet.”
Rachel nodded and took a bite of the pineapple-tarnished pizza. She looked a little tired, but her face was still lit up from the idea of riding on his bike.
He could do this for her.
Ryker shrugged, and decided he could manage to eat pineapple on pizza.
He hoped he could manage the rest of this, as well.
* * *
BENNY GAVE RYKER a strange look when he asked where he could get another motorcycle helmet.
“Dude, I don’t have one. I don’t ride.”
Ryker had been careful in what he said for the first couple of days, unsure how Benny felt about being in his chair. Ryker was impressed by how well Benny had adapted. He made jokes at his own expense and appeared comfortable receiving them. Ryker had relaxed around him.
Ryker didn’t apologize for his question.
“Who around here does?”
Benny gave him a considering look. “I’m not sure if you want to talk to the guys who ride around here.”
Ryker nodded. He’d had to change some of his behaviors and the people he spent time with to gain and keep his sobriety. He understood Benny was giving him a heads-up.
“Any secondhand stores? Places like that?”
“There’s a pawnshop in Oak Hill.”
That was a possibility.
“Thanks, I’ll try that.”
“Who are you taking out on your bike?”
Ryker shook his head. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
* * *
HE WAS UP EARLY on Sunday and drove over to Oak Hill. He was lucky enough at the pawnshop to find a helmet. It looked like it should fit Rachel.
He checked that it hadn’t been in an accident or showed any signs of weakness. Half of him hoped one ride would be enough for Rachel, so that after today she wouldn’t want anything more to do with the bike.
Half of him wanted her to like it, and he was worried about that half. That half was imagining spending time with Rachel and seeing what else she came up with for her project to change the town’s perception of him. That half was going to get him in trouble.
In any case, the helmet needed to protect her. If, God forbid, the bike went down, she had to be as safe as he could keep her.
He didn’t need this kind of confusion. There was no good reason for him to stay in Carter’s or Cupid’s, whatever they wanted to call it. Not once the house was sold.
No need to get more involved with Rachel than necessary. It would be safer for her and him both.
Still, when he saw a bright red-and-white women’s jacket at the shop, one that looked to be her size, he added it to his purchases.
The first step in staying safe on a bike was to be seen. Might as well do his best to keep Rachel safe. If he didn’t, he could leave town now.
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHURCH RAN FOREVER. At least, it felt like it did. Rachel hadn’t been this impatient for the service to be finished since she was a little kid.
It had been a long time since she had something she looked forward to this much.
More fodder for the “I have to get out of here” grist.
She took the direct way out the back door of the church, missing most of the people wanting to chat, and slipped into the parsonage to put lunch together. She ate in the kitchen and left a portion for her father on the table. He had lingered at church, happy to talk to anyone wanting conversation.
She normally hung around, as well, but not today.
She went upstairs and changed quickly. Her dad had come home while she was doing so.
He blinked at the single serving set out in front of him.
“You’re going out?”
He preferred to eat with someone. Some weeks he had lunches set up with friends after church, but not this week.
“Yep. I should be back for dinner. If not, there’s leftovers in the fridge.”
Rachel rarely left him on his own.
“Leftovers?” he echoed, sounding aggrieved. Rachel ignored it. This afternoon she had something she was looking forward to, and for once, she wasn’t going to let her father’s expectations limit her.
She left him, a puzzled frown on his face, and got in her car and drove to Benny’s repair shop. The place was closed on Sundays, so there weren’t any other cars in the lot. She saw Ryker’s motorcycle sitting out front, and a pleasant shiver shot down her body.
She’d never been on a motorcycle. It seemed tremendously daring.
Then again, almost anything was daring for her.
She wasn’t sure what to do. Stay in the car? Get out and wait here? Go upstairs and knock on the door?
She saw Ryker’s boots first, coming down the stairs. Decision made. She got out, hoping she’d dressed well enough.
She was wearing the new jeans again. Her sweater, under her jacket, was a plain navy, but it was warm. She’d put on her hiking boots and carried the leather gloves she normally wore when she dressed up in winter. Her hair was tied back, and she’d chosen a purse that crossed over her body, leaving her hands free.
She didn’t know if this was motorcycle-ready, but it was the best she had.
Ryker had a helmet in his hands, but Rachel could see the one he’d been wearing hanging on the bike.
The one he was carrying must be for her.
Then she noticed a bright, red-and-white leather jacket tucked under his arm. He was wearing his own black jacket and had black chaps over his jeans. She sighed.
Ryker wearing leather chaps was almost too much for her.
But the red-and-white jacket looked too small for him.
He crossed toward her, holding out the jacket and helmet.
“Is that for me?” Her voice squeaked. Literally. She felt her cheeks warm.
Ryker nodded. “I didn’t have a spare helmet, so I picked one up for you to wear. They had this jacket there—it’s nice and bright. You need that so drivers see you.”
He passed the helmet and jacket to her. She accepted them with shaking hands. She’d never, ever in her life had anything anywhere near this cool in her hands.
Sad that this was a truth when she was almost thirty years old. And sad that she was this excited about it when she was almost thirty years old.
Rachel set the helmet on the car roof, and pulled off her own jacket, dropping it in the passenger seat of her car. She held the cuffs of her sweater, carefully pulling on the leather jacket.
It fit. It was snug, not loose. She zipped it up and was sure she was grinning ear to ear. She was wearing a motorcycle jacket!
She reached for the helmet, but Ryker put up a hand.
“Wait a sec. We have to talk about some stuff, and you won’t hear properly once that’s on.”
It was actually an effort to set the helmet back down. She wanted it. No, she coveted it. She was ready to break a commandment for it. She wanted to feel cool, daring for once. But Ryker had a serious look on his face.
“Okay.” She rubbed her hands on her jeans.
“You’ve never been on a bike?”
She shook her head.
“Okay. Do you know what we call a passenger on the back of a bike?”
She shook her head. Was it a cool name? She bet it was a cool name. And now she’d know it. She had the inside edge.
“Luggage.”
The happy dance in her head stopped. Luggage?
He was watching her closely. Again, the corner of his mouth pulled up. Despite her disappointment at being luggage, she felt a little thrill at that quirk. She was pretty sure Ryker didn’t smile much. She wanted to make him smile, upset his composure the way he did hers.
“Luggage,” he repeated. “Your only job is to sit there. You do what I do, and nothing else. Don’t try to drive or help drive the bike.”
She was a little confused. How could she help or not help?
“You’ll be hanging on to me.” For a moment her brain fried. Hanging on to him? She glanced over at the bike. There weren’t any handles, anything for a second person to grip.
She was going to be hanging on to Ryker. That made her belly shimmy. And almost throw up her lunch.
“When I sit upright, you do the same. When I lean over, you follow. Just keep your arms around me and do what I do. When we corner, we’re going to lean in. You might want to stay upright, think you’re balancing so we don’t fall. Don’t do that.”
She pictured the bike leaning low around a corner. Well, that was definitely something new. That shimmy she was feeling was a different shimmy from the hanging-on-to-Ryker one.
“When we stop, I’ll put down my foot. You don’t. You stay sitting, same as always. There are footrests for your feet. You keep your feet there until we’re getting off the bike.”
He put his hands on his hips. With the leather, the chaps, the scruff, since he hadn’t shaved—he looked anything but nice. She swallowed.
“Do you understand?”
She nodded. “Luggage. Lean when you lean, straight up when you’re straight up, don’t put my feet down.”
He spent a long minute watching her, as if making sure she truly understood what she’d just parroted back to him. That she wasn’t mocking him.
Then he nodded.
“Those boots cover your ankles?”
She pulled up the leg of her jeans, showing that the boots went up over her ankles.
His gaze traced up her legs, over her jacket, checked on the purse, examined her gloves. She felt that gaze, through the denim and leather.
More shimmies.
He jerked his head toward the bike. “If you’re sure you want to do this, then let’s go.”
Rachel nodded, grabbed the new helmet and followed him over. He stopped at the bike.
“Should I put the helmet on now?” She wasn’t sure what the protocol was. Was she supposed to throw it on as they pulled out? No, that didn’t match with Ryker’s safety talk. Did you only put on a helmet once you were on the bike? Maybe it was bad luck to put it on first.
Ryker nodded, but when she reached for the straps, he took the helmet from her, and she let her hands drop. He raised it over her head and lowered it, moving with slow care. It settled over her head, briefly tugged on her ears, then the inside cushion landed firmly on the top of her head.
Sounds became remote.
He jiggled the helmet. She stood, waiting.
“Fits pretty good. We need the straps tight enough to keep it in place.”
She could hear him, but not clearly. His hands brushed her chin as he wove the strap through the buckle, firming it on her head. Noises were muted, echoing slightly in the helmet. He dropped the clear plastic face guard down over her face and stepped back.
Rachel felt like a robot, head encased in plastic.
Ryker pulled on his helmet and gloves. With languid grace, he slid his leg over the seat, and then tugged it forward off the kickstand. He turned back to her and nodded at the seat behind him.
Rachel was awkward, trying to stretch her leg up and over the seat. She had her supporting leg on the ground, the other mostly draped over the seat.
Ryker flipped up his face guard.
“All the way on. Don’t worry about the bike. It’s my job to keep it upright. You’re the luggage.”
She wiggled till her butt was centered on the seat. She picked up her feet, shoved them onto the footrests Ryker had flipped down.
She was on a motorcycle. She grinned.
“Slide forward and wrap your arms around me.”
There went the shimmy in her belly again.
Rachel did her best, but she wasn’t used to this. She never had her body pressed up against a man. She put her arms around his waist gingerly.
He gave her arms a tug and wrapped them tighter around his torso. The pull brought her closer to him, so that her chest was pressed against his back. Her helmet conked against the back of his.
“Sorry!” The word echoed in her helmet. She wasn’t sure he heard her.
He pushed the bike until it was straight upright and then pressed something. The engine roared to life, vibrating the seat between her legs. He checked again that her arms were wrapped tightly, then put both of his hands on the handlebars and they were moving.
Rachel gripped even tighter, her belly clenching for new reasons. The bike pulled onto the road and picked up speed. The air moved past her in a rush, cooling her arms and legs where it whipped by.
They passed the town limits, and the bike picked up more speed. There was nothing between Rachel and the world zooming past her, nothing but the helmet, the jacket and her jeans. She was exposed, vulnerable...and free.
She felt a smile grow, and she laughed out loud.
This? Was fantastic.
* * *
RYKER HADN’T DRIVEN with a passenger for a while, so he took extra care. He felt Rachel’s grip tighten around his waist as they moved onto the paved road. He maintained the speed limit, watching for other vehicles. As they left the town limits behind, he increased speed, still paying close attention to the woman wrapped snugly around his back.
He waited for her grip to tighten to a stranglehold, for a sign that she was not enjoying the ride and wanted to stop.
It didn’t happen.
They came to the first corner, and he leaned in, preparing to counterbalance her body if she fought to stay upright. There was a moment, a short one, of resistance, and then she leaned with him, the bike gripping the corner and moving forward, smoothly, swiftly. After a couple more corners, some acceleration, and Rachel still wrapped around him with every indication she was enjoying herself, he let his worry blow away and gave in to the pleasure of the ride.
Half an hour later he turned into a roadside waypoint empty this early in the year. He came to a halt, dropped his feet to the ground and turned the bike off. He flipped up his visor and told Rachel she could get off.
She released her grip around his waist, then slid sideways, landing on one foot and awkwardly pulling the other one over the seat. Ryker shifted the bike onto its stand and followed her off the bike, pulling off his helmet, waiting to see how she’d felt about the ride.
She tugged the helmet over her head, and her flushed face was glowing.
“That was awesome!”
For a moment he let himself enjoy the expression on her face. Huge grin, sparkling eyes, messy hair and happiness. If he had a photo of this moment, that was what he’d call it.
He felt his own expression relax, a smile crossing his face. He didn’t smile much these days, but it was impossible to resist the joy emanating from Rachel.
“You weren’t afraid?”
Rachel glanced over at the bike. “I was, for a minute. When we first took off, and I realized there was nothing around me. But then it was like flying. Oh, sorry I hit your helmet.”
He shook his head. That was nothing.
“So will you teach me to ride the motorcycle? And can I buy this helmet and jacket from you, or should I find my own?”
He took a moment. Taking Rachel for a ride was one thing. Teaching her to ride herself? That was different.
The smile faded from her face. Her jaw tightened. He could see her bracing herself. She expected a refusal.
He wanted to refuse her. Riding a bike could be dangerous. It would attract attention, and Rachel was not ready for some of the attention she’d attract on a bike.
Plus, teaching her would involve a lot of time spent together, and despite her intention to walk a little closer to the wild side, that might be more than she was ready to handle. And what about him, and the way spending time with Rachel made him dream of things he couldn’t have? Those were all good reasons. But watching that light die from her face—that was something he didn’t feel right about.
“You have to do exactly what I tell you.”
The words escaped his mouth before he realized they were coming out.
Her eyes widened.
“Safety is a big issue. If I tell you to stop, or slow down, or that you’re not ready for something, you do exactly what I say. For now, you can keep using the helmet and jacket as long as you need to. Take them with you if you want.”
As if they were anything but a gift.
She was nodding before he’d even finished his sentence.
“Anything you say, I promise.” The excitement was back on her face.
He drew in a breath. He’d committed himself now. He considered how this would work.
“We need to start somewhere off-road. A parking lot would be good. Maybe the church lot?”
That would get people talking, for sure. Was that what she wanted?
Rachel chewed on her lip and looked down.
“Um, maybe not the church.”
He considered that. He hadn’t been in the lot. Maybe it was full of potholes?
Or maybe she wanted to hide this. Why did that thought bother him? It was the smart call.
“The lot at Gifford’s is too small. We need space.”
She needed to get used to the bike, how to turn and start and stop somewhere off-road.
She fidgeted with the straps on the helmet.
“I don’t think I want anyone to see us.”
Disappointment stabbed at him. She didn’t want to be seen with him. Maybe at the church bazaar, with other people around, but not just the two of them. He was still a Slade.
