Riot: A Hell's Heathens MC Christmas Story (Older Man, Younger Woman MC Romance) by Dark Raven

Author:Dark, Raven [Dark, Raven]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2019-12-17T16:00:00+00:00

8

Cold, Cold Shoulder

Three days later, Monday afternoon rolls around, and Riot still hasn’t returned.

The day I’d argued with Devil, when my brother had said Riot was taking care of some “his shit”, I’d assumed he’d merely told Devil that as a way to explain his absence without having to explain about us, but now I wonder if it was actually the truth. He wouldn’t have been stranded at that motel for three days, even with all the snow.

I put another tray of cupcakes into the oven for baking and glance out the clubhouse kitchen window. The storm has since abated, leaving everything a blanket of white, but the roads have been plowed, creating snow banks several feet high.

The dirt road that leads away from the clubhouse is clearly visible, snaking toward Whiskey two hours to the left and Holden to the right. I catch myself watching for any sign of a biker with California blond hair and shake myself.

I know I shouldn’t be worried about him. He’s more than capable of taking care of himself by the looks of him, and there’s no reason to believe his business is dangerous.

Besides, he’s not mine to worry about. So why am I watching the road like a fretting ol’ lady waiting for her man to return from a shootout with the Grim Reapers?

“Red? Earth to Red.” Barbie peers at me.

“Huh?” I blink at her stupidly.

“You wanna do these, or you want Anne to do them?”

I look down. Barbie’s holding out a freshly baked batch of cupcakes that have been left on the counter to cool for decorating. “Oh.” I take the rack from her. “I’ll do them.” I take them over to another counter and start preparing fresh frosting.

Barbie, Anne and Sandra have been spending the afternoon helping me bake and decorate Christmas goods for the toy drive. Most of these batches will be carted off to a homeless shelter in Whiskey. The men are out gathering donations from the stores, which makes it easier, since they aren’t underfoot. The women have been talking and laughing most of the time, but I haven’t heard a word they’ve said.

“Someone’s preoccupied,” Sandra says, looking up from her mixing bowl with a grin.

“Yeah, and I get the feeling the only cure is a hot blond hunk with blue eyes.” Anne gives a dramatic, dreamy roll of her dark eyes as she slaps a lid on a box full of cookies.

Barbie and Sandra laugh, casting a look at me.

“They’re hazel, actually,” I correct without thinking, filling a decorating bag.

As soon as I say it and I hear the girls chortle, my face heats.

For the past three days, I’ve been trying to convince these ladies that I’m not hung up on Riot. I’m failing miserably.

“Yep, someone’s hooked,” Sandra says, continuing to stir her batter.

“Just because I know the color of his eyes doesn’t mean I’m hooked girls.”

“Uh huh.” Heavily pregnant, Anne waddles over with the box and sets it on top of a pile of others, all lined with freshly decorated cookies and cupcakes.

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