"And Rooster?" Butch fixed me with his penetrating stare. "Keep me in the loop this time."
I nodded, properly chastised. "Will do, boss."
I turned to leave, my mind already shifting to dinner preparations. The guys would be hungry after all the excitement, and cooking always helped me think.
"Oh, almost forgot," I said, pausing at the doorway. "Sammy and Joey are coming back tomorrow. Percy wants to make them a welcome cake." The young fox shifters had been staying with a neighboring friendly MC while we dealt with some club business, but they were finally returning home.
"Good." Butch's expression lightened slightly. "Those boys have been through enough. A cake sounds perfect."
I nodded and headed toward my kitchen, the one place in this chaotic world where everything made perfect sense to me. As I walked, I wondered if Liam would return tonight for food, or if our encounter had scared him off for good.
Something deep inside me hoped it was the former. The kid intrigued me in a way I couldn't quite explain—and wasn't ready to examine too closely.
I moved around my kitchen with practiced efficiency, slicing tomatoes, lettuce, and onions for the sandwich platter. After the excitement with the intruder, I'd opted for something simple—cold cuts, fresh bread, and a batch of my potato salad that the guys always demolished within minutes. Nothing fancy, just filling comfort food that would satisfy hungry bikers and hopefully coax a skittish lynx shifter back to our doorstep.
The last few hours had been a whirlwind of activity. Bear had taken our uninvited guest to the basement for questioning.Butch was holed up in his office making calls about enhanced security. The rest of the guys were either on patrol around the property or checking our surveillance systems for weaknesses.
Nobody would have time for a complicated meal tonight.
I arranged thick slices of roast beef, ham, and turkey on a platter, surrounded by Swiss, cheddar, and provolone cheese. Next came the condiments—mayo, mustard, horseradish spread that Bear loved despite the way it made his eyes water. A basket of freshly baked bread completed the spread.
The potato salad was my mother's recipe—red potatoes, hard-boiled eggs, celery, onions, and a dressing made with mayo, mustard, and a secret blend of spices I'd never share with anyone. Not even under torture.
As I set everything up on the serving table, I prepared two separate plates. One for myself—a massive sandwich with all the fixings and a generous portion of potato salad. The second plate was smaller, with just half a sandwich and a side of potato salad. For Liam, if he showed up.
I had a feeling he would. The kid had been scared off earlier, but hunger was a powerful motivator. I'd learned that watching him these past few months. He never missed more than one meal before his hunger drove him back to our picnic table.
I rang the dinner bell—an actual brass bell hanging by the kitchen door that I'd insisted on installing after getting tired of shouting for the guys. Within minutes, they started filtering in, grabbing plates and building sandwiches with the focused intensity of men who'd had a long day.
Gunner nodded his thanks as he piled roast beef high on rye bread. "Appreciate it, Rooster. Simple's good tonight."
"Everything quiet outside?" I asked, picking up my two prepared plates.
"So far," he replied, his eyes shifting to the second plate in my hands. "That for our little vigilante?"
"If he decides to come back," I said with a shrug that probably didn't fool anyone. I wasn't sure why I cared so much whether the kid returned, but I did.
I slipped out the back door while the others were still serving themselves. The evening air had cooled considerably since afternoon, carrying the crisp scent of approaching autumn. Soon Montana's brutal winter would arrive, and I couldn't imagine how a skinny kid like Liam would survive without proper shelter.
I set both plates on the picnic table and took a seat at one end, making sure to leave plenty of space. Then I waited, pretending to be entirely focused on my food.
Five minutes passed. Ten. I ate slowly, occasionally glancing toward the bushes near Gearhead's workshop where I'd first spotted Liam earlier today. The area remained still, but I had the distinct feeling I was being watched.
I was nearly finished with my sandwich when the bushes rustled slightly—too deliberately to be wind. Slowly, cautiously, a hooded figure emerged, golden eyes reflecting the security lights as they assessed the situation.
I kept eating, not looking directly at him. Like approaching a stray cat—let them come to you.
After a long moment of hesitation, Liam crept forward, stopping several times to check for threats before finally reaching the table. He remained standing, poised for flight, as he reached for his plate.
"You can sit," I said quietly, still not looking directly at him. "No one's going to bother us. They're all inside eating."
He eased onto the bench at the opposite end of the table, putting maximum distance between us. Smart kid. Always keeping his escape routes clear.
I watched from the corner of my eye as he picked up half of the turkey sandwich and took a small, careful bite. Once hedetermined it was safe, he devoured the rest in three huge bites, hunger overcoming caution.
When he finished the sandwich, he moved on to the potato salad, scooping it up with his fingers. The sight triggered something protective in me—this kid clearly hadn't had anyone to teach him basic things like using utensils.
"Here," I said, keeping my voice casual as I held up my fork. "Makes it easier."
