Lucky Baby by Taryn Quinn

Two

I decidedto kill two birds with one motorcycle. Queenie, my Triumph, needed a test ride to see if my tweaks on the engine had fixed the noise that was driving me crazy.

They had not.

In fact, it was freaking louder. I swung my leg off the bike and resisted the urge to kick it. That rarely solved the problem. Queenie was a refined sort. Brute force wasn’t her thing, and finesse wasn’t my finest quality.

I toed down my double kickstand as I flicked open the chin strap on my helmet and gave a disgusted huff before I tugged it off. The crisp fall air felt good, even if my hair was now all over the place. I should have put it in my usual braids, but my brain had been offline since Ezra’s call.

Dammit, I was normally a planner. I didn’t do things impulsively. I wasn’t even sure where to go to find Thor aka Lucky. He wasn’t quite as bulky as the screen version of the god of thunder, nor did he have the pretty factor, but he did have the hair and drinking aptitude. And to be honest, I wasn’t into pretty boys.

Not that I had time for them—or guys like Lucky—right now.

I had a barn to remodel in less than six weeks. I was pretty sure even the Property Brothers would give me grief about that, and they had a huge crew as well as the magic of television.

I was watching DIY shows by the dozen and still not working on my house. There was a small amount of shame for the fact that I had the Pinterest app on my phone, iPad, and a perpetually open tab on my computer at this point. I could pin like no one’s business, but doing the actual work?

Yeah. Fuck.

I was stuck in the planning stages, lost in a jumble of ideas that had no cohesive vision. I could design a car from the tires up, but ask me to pick a paint color and my pits tingled. Now time was up and I couldn’t make excuses any longer.

I stepped onto the sidewalk outside of Gideon Gets It Done’s shop. I was pretty sure that wasn’t where I’d find Thor, but John Gideon usually knew where his people were. As it was, I should have been at the shop, but I could juggle my projects for a few days if need be.

I’d called Dare to let him know I’d be out of pocket today. Not that he was my boss, but he liked to think he was. His brother Gage and I let him think so because it made our lives easier.

Tucking my helmet under my arm, I stepped inside. Macy was sitting on the counter with her legs wrapped around Gideon’s hips. His fingers were twisted in the belt loops of her jeans, and they were going to town like a pair of teenagers.

The sounder over the door was a screeching bat, which made both of them jump. I dropped my helmet and ducked. “What the hell?”

Macy’s peal of laughter made me straighten. “That’s your doing, I imagine?” I grumbled.

“Halloween season!” She slapped Gideon on the ass.

He groaned. “The sound effects are everywhere. Every doorway, every place of business between us. She’d add them to every project site if I let her.”

She gripped the front of his shirt and dragged him closer. “Oh, would you?”

He gave her a quick kiss. “No.”

“Spoilsport.” Macy pushed him back and hopped down. “I’ll let you work. Missed you this morning, Tish.”

I picked up my helmet by the strap. “Family stuff.”

“Oh, I know how that is. My house is chaos.”

“Your house?” Gideon leaned his hip on the counter and crossed his arms.

“Ours. Jeez, so touchy.” She came around the counter and passed me. “It’s mine during fall. He’s just grumpy because I had an awesome new noisy delivery at the house and the Haunt.” Macy sailed out the door with a cackle as the bat screamed again.

Gideon shook his head. “Good thing I love her.”

I rolled my eyes. “Gross.”

He grinned. “Wait until it happens to you.”

“Dear God, no.” I set my ruby red helmet on the counter. “I’m looking for a man to do only one thing for me.”

“Father a baby?”

I would not even dignify that with a response.

“C’mon, it’s Crescent Cove. Gotta wonder.” He plucked the pencil behind his ear out of his dark curls. “What can I do you for, Tish?”

“Tell me where to find Lucky.”

He tucked his pencil back in its perpetual spot and smiled wider. “I thought you weren’t looking for love.”

“Hell no. He owes me a bet, and I’m ready to collect. It’s a sizable job, so I may need to hire a few of your guys to help out if that’s possible.”

“We get pretty booked out. How fast are you looking for?”

“ASAP.”

He whistled. “Fall is a slower season, but it’s still not easy to shuffle things in a hurry.”

I bit my lip. I didn’t like using emotional blackmail, but I was desperate. “Look, my brother was in an accident.”

Worry instantly furrowed his brow.

I held up a hand. “Not too terrible, but it jacked up my timetable for the renovation I had in mind.” Sure, we’d go with that. I’d definitely had no plan. “He’s in rehab right now for the injury, but he’ll be dropping in on me for Christmas and staying indefinitely. My house isn’t ready, and he probably can’t do stairs anyway.” I sucked in a breath. I was pretty sure this was more words than I’d ever spoken at once since I’d lived in this town. “I bought the old Slide house.”

“Oh, right. On the lake.” He whistled. “That’s a nice property. We’re nearly neighbors.”

I patted my helmet and resisted the urge to twitch. Neighbors wasn’t a word I threw around. I rather liked that my house was secluded, and I didn’t want to start doing cookouts or some shit. “Yeah. I can’t believe I own property, to be honest. But the old barn would be a good rec room-slash-guest house for my family.”

“A great idea. But if I remember right, that place is…” He rubbed the back of his neck, clearly searching for a nice word for my new home.

“Hellish? Yeah, it needs to be gutted. I already made some calls and have a dumpster coming tomorrow accompanied by some burly football players from the high school who wanted to make some quick money destroying shit.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Wasting no time.”

“Nope. I have a small window of opportunity. Lucky owes me, so I’m collecting.”

“He’ll be thrilled.”

“I bet.”

“No, he actually will. Lucky might look like a frat boy on steroids from the 80s, but he’s one of the best designers and carpenters on my payroll.”

“Well, that’s promising. I was just hoping I would have a decent area to frame out to put my brother in there. Maybe a few electronics to keep him occupied.”

Gideon reached for a folder, then pulled out his keyboard and started typing. “What’s your budget?”

“I don’t have one.”

He glanced up, one eyebrow spiking. “As in you expect him to do it for free?”

I laughed. “No, I mean no limits. I have money to throw at the project to get things moving faster. Over the last three months, I’ve started proceedings on permits and all that.”

“Huh.” He scribbled something on the folder, then went back to his keyboard. “Well, that makes things easier. Shoot me what you have, and I’ll take care of whatever else is needed to get the ball rolling. Permits are a pain in the ass.”

“I did some custom work for Earl Jennings over at City Hall. Should make permits a little easier.”

“Impressive. Maybe I should have Macy create a special blend for him so I could get my permits easier too.”

“Would help if Earl drank coffee. A Lipton tea bag dunked in hot water for about ten seconds is more his style.”

He curled his lip. “Fitting,” he muttered.

I pressed my lips together against a smile. “But he loves his cherry Oldsmobile Cutlass. The engine could take a cop car after what I did to it.” I folded my arms on the counter. “Just don’t tell the sheriff.”

Gideon shook his head. “The things you learn.” He tapped a few more keys and pushed a form in front of me. “This covers the start to the project. I’ll put Lucky down as project manager. He’s over at the Olsen’s house on Elm Street doing a fence install.” He slapped down a sticky note with an address. “If you want to take a ride out and talk to him, you can.”

A twinge of something like worry niggled between my shoulder blades. “Give out details on your employees so easily all the time?”

Gideon crossed his arms. “Word of mouth is king in a small town, but this is mostly a little payback. Lucky losing a bet makes me giddy. Especially since he still owes me forty bucks from our last poker game.”

“Sucks at poker, huh?” Good to know.

“He’s actually usually cleaning us out, but Joe, one of my guys, may have doctored his drinks with double shots.”

I laughed. “Sounds like my brothers.” I scrawled my signature on the contract. “Thanks, Gideon.”

“Don’t thank me yet. Overtime gets expensive.”

“Worth it.” I pulled out my phone and took a photo of the contract, then tucked my copy into my inside jacket pocket. Another thing I’d learned long ago—keep paperwork organized. Especially the kind with signatures. I grabbed my helmet. “Talk soon.”

Gideon gave me a salute, and I rushed out the door. It was only a little after ten in the morning, but I’d been on the phone all day already trying to pull this insanity together. And okay, maybe I’d put off talking Lucky for last, but it was time to face that blond-streaked, large, brutish fire.

So brutish wasn’t the best word for him. He was just a big, affable steamroller. But I was ready to do some rolling over of my own.

That had sounded better in my head.

I fastened my helmet and kicked Queenie’s engine to life. The throttle was off and maybe the timing belt. Nothing that would be earth-shattering for a quick ride out to the suburbs of Crescent Cove. I flicked up my kickstand and eased into the moderate traffic on Main Street. Colorful awnings used throughout the summer for some shade were in various stages of breakdown. Bright pots of mums and pumpkins and the occasional cheerful scarecrow framed out the doorways.

Drinking stations for the dog-friendly shops shone with fresh water and shop owners waved customers in off the street. School was back in session, leaving the daytime pedestrian traffic a little lighter as well. Sugar Rush had a tower of cupcakes in the window with a huge selection of carved pumpkins surrounding them like a freakish crowd at a concert where the main attraction got eaten. A new store, Vintage December, had quietly opened up with repurposed clothing. Mannequins were decked out in concert T-shirts from the late 80s and ripped jeans had been patched with colorful matching bandanas.

I was tempted to pull off and and have a look. I had a soft spot for faded jeans that were already broken in the right way, not in manufactured evenly spaced rips and frays.

A delivery truck blocked the road, giving me a few more minutes to take a closer look. Nope, those were the kind that had been carefully frayed with a razor during times of boredom or creativity, depending on the day.

Alas, new denim wasn’t on the agenda today.

Finally, the diesel-belching truck in front of me shuddered forward. I flipped my visor down against the smoke and eased around the death trap when his flashers went on again. A horn behind me had me opening up my throttle to make tracks. The wind off the water sliced through my leathers. Pretty soon, it would be time to put my bike away for the winter.

I’d picked up a beater at auction for the off-season. No way was I driving my convertible Lucille in the sleet and salt-heavy months of Central New York.

I eased around the bend and took a side street shortcut to get out of the increasing truck situation. The more picturesque gold and burnt orange array of trees replaced stores as I hit Lake Street. Sun glinted off the water, reminding me why I’d settled here. Day-trippers were clogging up the shoulders of the road, eager to park and look out on Crescent Lake.

The mansions and foliage were a good stopgap for snacks and a little shopping on their way to the mountains for even more views, but I didn’t mind so much. It kept the town alive.

I’d lived in plenty of smaller towns on their way to seedy and rundown. Drug dens and meth labs usually followed pretty quickly thereafter. I much preferred the quaint aspect of the Cove, even if I had to slap a smile on my face more than I was comfortable with.

It was better for business and why I usually left customer service to Gage whenever I could help it. He was the charming one of our unit—well, at least usually. Now and then, he pulled out his inner growl and reminded people how he’d dominated back in his racing days.

About ten minutes later, I pulled off the side of the road to check my maps app on my phone. I was definitely close to the burbs, complete with little cul-de-sacs and driveways crammed with SUVs. Some still had lakefront views, but for the most part, this was a maze of endlessly circular streets with an army of high-end minivans marching along at exactly fifteen miles per hour. Safe blues and silvers with the occasional pop of sassy burgundy seemed to be the color palette of choice.

Holy boring. My skin itched to turn around and get out of there. Most seemed to be coming and going with moms, and a few dads, in errands mode.

“Need some help?”

I flipped up the visor on my helmet. “Sorry?”

The cherubic woman in one of the minivans I’d been careful to avoid gave me a dimpled smile. An improbably perfect head of blond ringlets spiraled around her face. Wig? Extensions? Curling iron influencer on Facebook? “Need some help? It can get a little confusing in here. A lot of the roads have the same name with east or west tacked on. Super original, I know.”

“Right.” I unearthed the sticky note. “You probably don’t—”

“Oh, honey, I know everyone here. I’m the head of the HOA.”

I didn’t know what that meant, but it sounded terrifying. “Okay. I’m looking for the Olsen house on Elm.”

“Oh, Kimberly. Yes.” Her voice went a little sly. “She’s got that handsome handyman working on her fence.” She fanned her face. “All the girls have been making excuses to go over and watch him dig the post thingies. Then he uses this handheld mixer thing to make cement. I’ve never seen muscles like that outside of watching The Bachelor. My husband isn’t anything to sneeze at, truth be told, but nothing like that.”

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “I’m sure he’s enjoying the attention.”

“Oh, do you know Lucky? Of course you do, you look like…”

I tightened my hold on the handles of my bike. “I look like…”

“Um, well, you look like the kind of woman who would go out with a man like him.”

Being insulted took too much energy, but it certainly threatened. Lucky and I didn’t fit in any shape or form. He was the Jason Momoa sized key to my non-standard-sized lock.

Then again, with Lucky, you’d probably need an expandable one if he was built to scale all over.

I huffed out a breath. Already I was experiencing suburbia-induced psychosis.

“He’s working on my house next.” Why I felt the need to explain, I had no clue. I’d been learning that some sugar was easier than the vinegar that flowed through my veins on most days. I pasted on a smile—as much as I could with the foam insides of my helmet pressing on my face. “So, you know where the house is?”

“Why don’t I just drive there and you can follow?”

God save me from nosy neighbors.

“Oh, I’m Bethany. You are?”

Of course, she was a Bethany. “Tish.”

“Well, Tish, let’s get you over to Kim’s house. She’ll just die.” Her voice lowered and she peered over the window to scan the length of me. “Are those leather pants?”

I lifted my boot onto the foot peg and revved the engine. Maybe this wasn’t exactly the best idea. I glanced around at people craning their necks to check us out. I was going to be talked about during dinner tonight for sure. “Leather from top to bottom, Bethany.”

She probably figured that included underwear. I was obviously a rough and rowdy chick the likes of which these suburbs had never seen.

My plain cotton would kill all her secret dreams.

“Wow.” She shook her hair back and straightened her shoulders so her mom rack was on display.

Not sure what she thought it was going to do for her. Or maybe she was hot for my leather. Go HOA lady. “Ready?”

“Oh, yes. Of course.” She brushed her hair away from her face and put her hands on the wheel at ten and two. She put her blinker on and then eased onto the street.

A few people came out of their houses and even a few bold ones ended up on the lawn to get a good look at the chick on the motorcycle. I resisted the urge to gun the engine. All it took was a tiny tap of my boot, but I didn’t want to give anyone the vapors. That and Queenie still needed some adjustments before I could do fancy maneuvers on her.

Three minutes later after traveling through a maze of sameness, we turned off and a dizzying circle of houses in the exact cookie-cutter house plans greeted me. How could anyone handle this? The only differences were the fonts on the mailboxes. Twenty to one, that had to be approved by Bethany.

The meaning of HOA finally clicked in my brain. I’d bet Bethany liked to lord over her little dominion—with a smile and brownie, of course.

Two cars were in the driveway. Instead of honking her horn and moving along after she pointed to Kimberly Olsen’s place, she parked beside the perfectly manicured lawn.

Great.

I eased behind the Beemer with the vanity plate, Bethany1. She’d probably had that plate since her sixteenth birthday. Hell, probably got it with her first car, thanks to daddy.

I tamped down the snarling bitch that lived in my chest. Bethany and her privilege were just a part of life. I was here to call in a marker, not judge suburbia rules of etiquette.

I hooked my helmet to the handlebars and leaned down to shake out my hair, then flip it back. Bethany was staring at me again. Kinda like I was an alien. Maybe I was in this part of town. I tugged down my fitted motorcycle jacket and dropped my double kickstand to the unmarred blacktop.

Late morning sunlight fought its way through the huge oak trees that canopied the boxy modern house. A stone pathway led to the side of the house where a bright white fence stood. A wheelbarrow and bags of quick cement were stacked beside a bed of fall flowers. A trio of pumpkins and a scatter of gourds artfully framed the small hand-painted sign decreeing that The Olsens had been established in 2012.

Shoot me in the forehead.

Maybe I just should have texted Lucky.

“Are you coming?” Bethany was standing at the gate.

“Shouldn’t we ring the doorbell or something?”

She laughed. “Why would we do that?”

“Why indeed.” I carefully stepped over a pink bike crossing the wide gray pathway. A squeal from the backyard nearly had me running back to my bike. Shouldn’t the kids be in school? Ugh.

“Kimmie! Are you here?”

Yeah, I should probably just go. Before I could turn around, another small blond stuck her head around the corner. “Hello.” She was of an indeterminate age, but probably not old enough to go to school. I was pretty sure she wasn’t big enough to ride the bike I’d stepped over.

“Hi.”

“I’m Abby.”

I wiped my palm on my hip. “Tish.”

“Your hair is pwetty.”

“Um, thanks?”

“I like your pants. They’re shiny.”

“Protective leather for riding my bike.”

“I think my sister needs them. She falls down a lot on hers.”

I pressed my lips together against a laugh. My fall would be a bit more intense, but the kid was quick, I had to give her that.

She wasn’t so bad. Maybe there was just the one. A high-pitched squall had me wincing. I’d never had any luck, why would today be any different?

Before I could back down the path, the little girl stepped up to me and took my hand.

“It’s okay. It’s just Gus. He cries a lot because he has a toof that won’t come in. Drools a lot too.” The loud whisper shouldn’t have been adorable, but it was.

“Is that right?”

“Yeah, he’s chewing on everything. It’s ‘esgusting. Misty, our cat, won’t come out from under my bed.”

“I wouldn’t either, kid.”

She laughed. “You’re funny. I like your voice too. It’s so…different.”

Smoking like an asshole through the better part of my teens and early twenties had deepened my already husky voice. “Different is good, right?”

“Yeah!” She dragged me behind her as she headed for the backyard. “Mom! We have a vis—vis…” She glanced back at me with a furrowed brow.

“Visitor?”

“Right. That. Visitor!”

Bethany and a slightly harassed looking brunette were on the deck. Three other women were sitting at the table with Brewed Awakening cups scattered around with a bakery box from Vee’s part of the café.

They didn’t seem to care about my appearance in the least. Then again, their attention had zeroed in on a certain long-haired construction worker.

Lucky had lost his plaid shirt, leaving his shoulders glistening with exertion. A white ribbed tank stretched across his back, smeared with dirt and cement debris. His arms were a grid of flexing muscles as he used the hand-mixer in a large white bucket.

His hair was up in a messy man-bun with his aviator sunglasses perched on the blade of his sharp nose. A red bandana was wrapped around one wrist and a leather cuff draped over the other.

He was outrageously fit. I had to fight not to do some staring of my own.

Make that a lot of staring.

My first instinct was to head for the gate and jump on my bike. I could totally find another builder. Maybe even hire Gideon without Lucky.

I definitely shouldn’t have come.

But then he switched the mixer off and turned to put it on the flatbed cart with his tools. The cart was splattered with old cement and his discarded red plaid shirt fluttered in the breeze like a flag.

He spotted me and put his sunglasses on top of his head. His gaze skimmed down my body without a single hint of remorse. His mouth went from a grinning slash to a wide smile. His eyetooth was slightly crooked, and I had the most ridiculous urge to lick it.

Where the hell had that come from?

Maybe escape really was the answer.

Possibly a lobotomy.

He hauled a large piece of wood off the pile on his cart and muscles I didn’t know the name of shifted under his bronzed skin. Objectification station had one more gawking female.

Checking him out was one thing. That was natural, and hell, it had been a damn long time since I’d even looked up from my fabricator. I was human, after all. Much to my consternation sometimes.

But Lucky Roberts was definitely not going to be added to my already full slate of complications.

Look but don’t lick was officially my new motto.