“Holy shit! Preacher!” The younger of the approaching pair rushed forward, his brown eyes shining with excitement—eyes that Debbie noticed were very similar to Preacher’s. In fact, the more she studied him, the more similarities she found between them. She suspected they were related, though this man was slimmer than Preacher, clean-shaven and with a much shorter hairstyle. And unlike the others, he wasn’t wearing a leather vest.
Preacher rolled away from his assailant and jumped to his feet, pulling the younger man into a hug.
“Do Mom and Dad know you’re here?” the younger man asked, confirming Debbie’s suspicion.
“Naw,” Preacher drawled, and gave him a friendly punch on the shoulder. “Hightower told me you’d headed up here.” He shrugged. “I was in the neighborhood. Figured I’d swing by and see what you sorry bunch of assholes were doin’.”
“Preacher.” The remaining man stepped forward. A great deal older than the other three, he had short dark hair with thick, graying sideburns. Low on his nose sat a pair of small round bifocals that were in sharp contrast to his worn leather vest and dirty jeans.
“Doc,” Preacher greeted him, clasping his hand, and Debbie’s gaze was drawn to the extensive scarring covering his hands and forearms—a road map of raised white lines. As their hands pulled apart, she counted only three fingers on Doc’s right hand.
“Who’s the broad?” Red-faced and breathing hard, Preacher’s attacker gestured to Debbie. And to her absolute horror, all eyes were suddenly on her.
Preacher looked at her, his eyes glittering with amusement.
“Wheels,” he said. “Meet my littlest brother, Max. And this here’s Doc.” Preacher nodded at the older man. “And this shithead—is Tiny.”
Preacher tossed Tiny a carefree smirk. “Found her poundin’ pavement on 89. She’s headed to the city, so I offered my…services.” He said the word “services” in such a way—drawing out each syllable, and imbued with insinuation.
Everyone but Debbie laughed. Feeling mildly incensed, she crossed her arms over her chest.
“Her name is Wheels?” Tiny asked.
All eyes were still on Debbie—Tiny and Doc’s were filled with questions, while Max unabashedly stared at her in a way that made her wish for her jacket despite the heat.
Laughing, Preacher hooked an arm around Tiny’s neck and tugged him forward. “It’s Hell on Wheels. I call her Wheels for short.”
Chapter 16
Preacher’s family’s campsite consisted of three successive sites. A lone pop-up trailer sat in the center, and behind it, a robin’s-egg blue Chevy van was parked amid a handful of motorcycles. Tents had been erected in every direction, ranging in size from single-person to large enough to house a family of four. A short distance from the trailer several picnic tables had been pushed together, their benches currently brimming with bodies.
Debbie swallowed back her surprise. Even after realizing Preacher’s family was here, she hadn’t anticipated that a bona fide army awaited her.
As their small group neared the picnic tables, Debbie’s anxiety reached its boiling point. She envisioned more eyes on her, studying her, judging her, wondering who she was and what she was doing with Preacher. Her late lunch swirled inside her gut and her palms grew sweaty.
A young man with long blond hair shot up off a bench. “Preacher!” he shouted, and the campsite went silent as everyone swivelled in their seats, turning their shocked and gaping expressions toward Preacher.
The picnic tables exploded. People jumped to their feet, cursing and shouting his name. A woman darted across the grass, her hand over her heart. “Damon!” she cried. “Oh God, Damon!”
She was a tall woman with wavy brown hair that hung thick and heavy to her waist. As she hurried across the campsite, her generous curves swayed and bounced beneath an orange and yellow sundress that billowed and swirled around her bare feet. Large, ornate earrings dangled from her ears, and a stack of silver and gold bangles lined each of her forearms. She was naturally beautiful and stunning in a way that reminded Debbie of Sunshine.
Who was this gorgeous creature? And why did Preacher look so happy to see her?
“Mom.” Preacher packed so much emotion into the lone word as he folded the woman into his arms. Debbie blinked, startled. This striking, bohemian woman was Preacher’s mother? She didn’t look like a mom, at least not any mom Debbie had ever known. Certainly not her own.
Debbie watched them embrace—a hug that seemed never-ending—and it caused swirls of envy to stir beneath her skin. The tiny twisters roused a maelstrom of emotions that swept through her like an unforgiving wind and sent her staggering back a step.
Her mother had never greeted her like that, never looked at her like Preacher’s mother was looking at him—with her hands on his cheeks, looking up at her son with such adoration, as if the sun rose and set in his eyes.
Hands clenched into fists, Debbie took another step back and released a shaky breath. It wasn’t that she was unused to seeing families. She saw them often quite often in passing and paid them the same amount of attention they paid her—next to none. Certainly not to the point where she’d allow herself to become overwhelmed with feelings.
Deep breath after deep breath, Debbie slowly but surely steeled her emotions, forcing them back down to the darkness where they couldn’t hurt her.
“So, uh, are you and my brother, you know…”
Debbie’s head swiveled to find Max beside her, grinning slyly. He might share his brother’s good looks, but there was a world of difference between the two. Max’s gaze was too bright and full of youthful mischief, whereas Preacher’s was much darker, heavier, and filled with things Debbie recognized, things she’d glimpsed in her own reflection.
“He’s just giving me a ride,” she mumbled, turning away. She searched out Preacher, finding him surrounded by nearly everyone in camp. Only one man remained by the picnic tables—older, of stocky build, he was heavily muscled with salt-and-pepper hair cut into a high-and-tight. Thick arms folded over his broad chest, he watched the happy reunion through narrowed eyes.
