It was Wednesday, two and a half weeks after the drama with Tabby and, fortunately, not much had happened. Or it had, just that all of it was good.

The hog roast had been a blast.

The trip down memory lane, tequila-infused sex-a-thon in Tack’s room at the Compound during/after was even better.

And last Saturday, Tack had driven his big Ford Expedition down the mountain to my house, Rush and Tabby trailing in Rush’s car. Once there, we’d loaded up a bunch of my stuff so I could move in with them.

Earlier in the week, while eating a dinner Tack wisely cooked (buttering them up, not, in the end, that they needed to be buttered) but before my introduction to the TV show Justified (and the dude who played the lead reminded me a lot of Shy, or at least his body did, and, incidentally the show was also good), Tack had shared the news I was moving in. Rush and Tabby, to my relief but not surprise, declared this “the shit”. Thus the five minute family meeting was over and the TV watching commenced.

Tack had ordered the recruits to move my furniture and anything else I didn’t take up the mountain to a storage unit. I was going to sift through it. Tack and I would decide what to switch out, what to add and what to get rid of. In the meantime, we were renting out my house and Tack declared we’d put it on the market, “When you’re ready, darlin’.”

I thought it was cool he didn’t rush me into this. Not that I needed an out. Just that things were happening fast. It felt less fast and more in my control knowing my house was still there. I was never going to move back, I loved my house but I loved Tack more and his house in the mountains was awesome. But at least the hold on my past was still in my grip and it was up to me when I was ready to let go.

I talked regularly to Lanie and she reported she and Elliott were doing “just fine”. She didn’t give a lot of detail on what they were doing but I guessed this was a Tack edict and this lack of information would keep me safe. I guessed this, I didn’t like this but I also didn’t question it. I had niggles of worry about it but my friend sounded happy. On my part, I shared with Lanie that I’d successfully helped her Mom with canceling all their wedding plans which was some serious work but it was also all done.

“And, maybe, soon, we’ll be home,” Lanie had said the last time I talked to her.

I figured this was an unintentional share of intel on the state of Operation Rivers of Blood but I didn’t ask, not her or Tack. I just hoped she was right.

Aunt Bette, on the other hand, hoped I knew what I was doing. This she shared in her last e-mail which was in response to the one where I told her I was moving in with Tack.

Since I suspected Aunt Bette shared, this also got me a phone call from my mother who told me, “We’re coming out soon, your Dad and I, to meet your new young man.”

For a variety of reasons, it was pretty hilarious she referred to Tack as my “young man” but I didn’t tell her this. I just told her flat out what she’d find when she and Dad got to Denver.

“He’s one of those Harley Davidson people?” she asked in a horrified voice.

I visualized her clutching her dress, her mind filled with thoughts of Tack wearing leathers and eating with a huge-ass hunting knife at the same time it was panicking about how she’d break the dire news to my Dad.

Though, one thing Tack had going for him, he worked with his hands.

“He’s that,” I confirmed to my mother and kept going. “He’s also handsome. He’s responsible. He’s devoted. He’s a good Dad. He’s unbelievably smart. And he loves me.” I paused. “A lot.”

“And you?” Mom asked softly.

“He’s everything I ever wanted,” I answered not softly.

“On a Harley Davidson?” Mom asked and I smiled.

“On a Harley,” I replied and it was then my voice got soft. “Give him a chance, Mom. I warn you, he won’t care what you think of him. He is who he is and that’s it. But he loves me, he takes care of me, he’s a good man and I love him. And if you give him a chance and don’t give into preconceived notions, you’ll like him too.”

Mom hesitated then asked, “He has kids?”

I told her all about Rush and Tabby which got me talking more about Tack and when I was done she was silent.

“Mom?” I called.

“You do love him,” she whispered.

One could say my apple fell far from their tree. Even so, they loved me, I loved them and my Mom knew me.

“Yeah,” I whispered back.

“We’ll come with open minds,” she declared.

That would be a first.

I didn’t say that.

I said, “Thanks, Mom.”

Monday night, I’d gone shopping and had dinner with Elvira and Gwen.

Last night in bed, I’d given Tack what I’d bought. A long dogtag chain with two stamped dogtags at the end. One was stamped with an American Flag. The other one was stamped with the words “Ride free”. We’d just happened onto it and it couldn’t be denied it was made for my man. So I bought it.

Some of the brothers wore jewelry, some of them lots including rings, necklaces and bracelets. They were all exclusively silver or leather or studs. But Tack didn’t wear any at all. He didn’t even use one of those wallets with the long chains on them that attached to his belt like the other boys did. So I didn’t know how he’d take this.

I still thought it was made for him.

So I gave it to him while we sat in bed. Tack with his back to the headboard, legs stretched out in front of him under the covers that were pulled up to his hips. Me sitting nervously on the other side of the bed from him.

Tack had the chain dangling over his hand, the tags in his palm, he was looking down at it, his thumb moving it around, face expressionless and he asked, “You had these made for me?”

“No, I just happened onto them and thought of you.”

“Thought of me,” he muttered to his palm.

“You don’t have to wear them,” I offered, slightly disappointed but not surprised by his reaction. “You can hang them from the rearview mirror of your truck or something.”

His eyes lifted to me but they gave nothing away.

What gave it away was when his hands lifted, he opened the chain and dropped it over his head to settle the chain around his neck.

“You don’t have to wear them, honey,” I repeated softly though I kind of wished he would since they looked freaking great on him.

“We’re in bed,” was his strange reply.

“Uh… yeah.”

“Don’t like bringin’ her here.”

Uh-oh.

I braced and asked, “Who?”

“Naomi.”

Oh boy.

“Kane –”

“She never gave me anything.”

I blinked.

Then I whispered, “She never gave you anything?”

“Birthdays, yeah. Christmases, yeah. For the fuck of it, ‘cause she was out somewhere and thinkin’ of me,” he held my eyes, his getting heated then he finished with his voice a low rumble, “no.”

“Handsome,” I breathed.

“You gave me this,” he wrapped a fist around the dogtags and gave them a yank, “so I should express my gratitude but I’m in a certain mood which means you’re also now gonna give me head.”

My nipples started tingling.

“Don’t worry, darlin’, after, or maybe during, I’ll return the favor,” he went on and someplace else started tingling too. When I didn’t move he asked, “You gonna sit on your ass starin’ at me or wrap your mouth around my cock?”

“Do you like them?” I asked quietly.

“I’m never taking them off,” he declared.

Wow.

“Never?” I whispered.

“Not ever,” he returned.

God, I loved him.

“Babe, want your mouth,” he prompted and I didn’t move. “About now,” he growled.

His intensity wasn’t about getting head.

It was about the dogtags.

Yeah, my man liked them.

I grinned. Then I crawled to him and gave him my mouth but I started doing it by kissing his.

Though it ended up somewhere else.

Then that led to something else and that something else was what made Tack able to get away with ordering me around at work.

I went through the door to the garage and searched the huge space with my eyes as I walked down the stairs. I spied Tack standing beside the cherry red car.

My eyes ran over it. It was gleaming. It was old but in a way where it got more badass and awesome as time went by. The color was righteous. The shape sleek and kickass.

Bottom line, it was cool as all hell.

Tack watched me walk to him and after I rounded the hood to get to the side he was on, his arm moved and he underarm threw a set of keys to me. My hand shot up automatically to catch them and I stopped moving.

“Mustang,” he stated loudly to be heard over the noise in the garage. “1967 Eleanor Fastback,” he continued like that meant something to me which it didn’t until I stood standing beside what I was guessing was one.

“It’s cool, Kane,” I told him the truth and also did it loudly.

“It’s yours, Red.”

I blinked, blood seemed to rush quickly through my entire system but mostly through my head and my legs started shaking.

“What?” I breathed.

He read my lips and I knew he did because he responded.

“Your car is solid, decent, you got a lot more miles before it’ll start givin’ you headaches,” he declared. “But it isn’t you.”

“Me?”

“Wild and sweet, can both snarl like a bitch or purr like a kitten.”

My hand flew out, I leaned down and pressed my fingertips into the hood of the kickass Mustang my man just gave to me and I did this to hold myself up.