Or him saying, You looked better before, Ace. Now you just look like all the rest.

Eventually I fell asleep and as usual Wood was gone by the time I got up.

I was lying out in the sun wearing my periwinkle blue tankini with a top that was made of netting that had royal blue embroidery at the hem and the top of the bodice. The shelf bra covered my br**sts but the netting at my midriff hinted at the skin underneath. I had the royal blue sarong on the bottom of my lounge chair, a diet pop on the cool deck by my side next to my cell phone, sunglasses on my nose, sunscreen oil that made my body glisten and a trashy magazine in my hands.

I was also waiting for the last load of my laundry to dry. Ned and Betty had a laundry room at the top end of the building by their house, across from the room with all the vending machines in it. The washer and dryer cost a whack, much more than the Laundromat in town (I’d checked), but I paid it because it was convenient, just two doors away, so close, I could pretend it was just inside my garage instead of two hotel rooms away.

I was reading about celebrities going to jail and viewing pictures of them in orange jumpsuits when I heard the pipes of a Harley. It was summer. It was Carnal. Harley pipes were de rigueur so I ignored it totally.

That was, I ignored it totally until I heard the beat of motorcycle boots on the cool deck.

I looked around and up to see Tate heading my way. He was walking toward me but his head was turned to look into the parking lot so I twisted around to look over my shoulder.

Four Harley guys were outside looking like they were working on their bikes but two of them, one standing, one crouched, were looking in my direction.

My eyes moved back to Tate to find he was towering over me.

“Great show, Ace,” his rough voice growled. “Word gets out you live here, Ned and Betty’ll have a full house.”

Why had I ever even considered the option that this man, as beautiful as he was, was not a jerk?

“Can I help you?” I snapped.

“Yeah, baby,” he replied, his voice an insinuation and I knew that because his eyes were moving down my body. He had mirrored sunglasses on (and they looked good on him, which sucked) but I could tell his eyes were moving the length of me.

“Well?” I prompted irately, trying not to squirm under his stare. Tyler was a fantastic trainer but he wasn’t a miracle worker.

His shaded eyes came to mine.

“Krys needs you to train the two new girls. You’re on days for awhile.”

“And Krys couldn’t tell me this because…?”

“Because she’s at the bar on her own. We got some boys who rolled in and she’s busy ‘cause the minute Bubba saw me back, he took off. He was gone this mornin’.”

I stared at him. Then I thought about Krystal.

Then I whispered, “Darn.”

“So, you’re on days,” he finished and he looked like he was done and ready to leave.

“Tips during day shifts suck,” I muttered as my phone rang. I said this not to stop him, just to whine.

“You’ll survive,” he muttered back as I reached for my phone, his phone really as he’d paid for it, saw my sister’s name on the display and hit the button to take the call. This surprised me, she should be at work and she never called when she was at work.

“Carrie, honey, what’s up?” I asked.

“Laurie.” Her voice broke saying my name and my body darted up, my legs separating so both my feet were on the cool deck.

She didn’t say more.

“Carrie, talk to me, what?” I prompted urgently, too focused to note that Tate had stopped walking away and was moving back toward me. “Carrie!”

“It’s Daddy,” she whispered and then burst into tears.

I curled into a ball, it was automatic. My knees came up, my heels went in the lounge and my torso pressed to my thighs.

I did this because I loved my Dad and the tone of my sister’s voice made me lose my tenuous hold on my new biker babe and regress straight to an eight year old Daddy’s Little Girl.

This was a bad trait I had. It must be said I was not good in a crisis. It was all Dad’s fault, he had three women in his house and he was the kind of male who was all about being the man of the house so he was. He was the one who took care of everything most of my life and made me into a Daddy’s Little Girl.

“What’s Dad?” I whispered but she didn’t respond. “Carrie, baby, what happened to Dad?”

Tate crouched down by my side but I was still focused on the phone.

“Heart…” she hiccoughed, “heart attack.”

I closed my eyes and pressed my forehead into my knee. “Talk to me,” I croaked because my throat had closed. When she didn’t, I begged, “Please, honey, talk to me.”

“He’s… he’s alive, Laurie, but they… they’re worried.”

My body bucked with the sob and I barely felt my cell slide out of my hand. Though my hand knew it was freed because both my arms curled around my legs as I listened vaguely to Tate speaking while I wept.

“This is Tate Jackson, who’s this?” He paused. “I’m a friend of Laurie’s, you’re her sister?” Another pause. “All right, is there someone there with you?” Another pause. “Give him the phone.” Pause. “This Mack? Tate Jackson, friend of Laurie’s. What’s happened?”

I felt strong fingers wrap around my hand and then it firmly, but gently, guided me up and forced me out of the lounge and to my feet.

“Hang on a second,” Tate said into the phone. “Baby, put your wrap on and grab your stuff,” he ordered softly.

Automatically, I did as I was told. Once I had my stuff and slid my feet into my flip flops, he took my hand and guided me out of the pool area toward my room.

“Back,” he said into the phone. “I’ll get her sorted out and on a plane.” Another pause. “Yeah.” Another one. “Right, call back in an hour.”

We were at the door, he touched the phone and then slid my key out of my hand which I had held against my chest because most of my stuff was cradled in my arm.

“What’d Mack say?” I asked.

“Inside, baby,” he replied gently and opened the door.

I walked in and tossed everything but the can of pop on the bed. I put the pop on the nightstand and turned to Tate.