Spotlight
with author Vicki Wilkerson
Hello
everyone! I am so glad to see you all again. Today I have a couple of
books to share with you. This is the first of the two posts. I wanted
to tame things down just a bit. I tend to do this ever so often for
those who find it difficult to jump deep into the smut as I usually
do. I get neck deep a lot and I know it is too much for a few of you
to handle. So I feature a book that has several of the components
that enjoy in my reads, but with less graphic scenes. In this story,
when it comes to sex, the scene will essentially end. You get the
hint of what occurs next without the description. These novels are
generally described as sweet. So today, I hope you will join me in
finding out about this author and her sweet romance. Please allow me
to introduce to the blog:
**VICKI
WILKERSON**
**BIO**
Vicki
is a native of the Charleston, South Carolina, Lowcountry and loves
to share her enchantment with the area with readers through her
writing. Even in childhood, she enjoyed penning stories and poems—no
doubt fueled by her grandfather's enthusiasm for telling tales
himself. Where else—but in the South—could one find the
interesting blend of salt water, eerie swamps, unwritten traditions
and unique characters? In her spare time, she loves traveling,
spending weekends at her family's lake house, playing golf and
cooking (with lots of wine).
You
can find out more about Ms. Wilkerson in the following places:
**BIKERS
AND PEARLS**
**BLURB**
Who
said tempting a sweet Southern belle would be easy?
When
rebel biker Bullworth Clayton gets tangled up with
pastel-and-pearls-clad April Church, sparks fly. Sure, April would
clearly rather work with anyone else, but if teaming up with Bull
means a successful charity event for a sick little boy they both care
about, then so be it.
April
is baffled at how drawn she is to the leather-wearing, tattooed
Bull—he just doesn’t fit with her simple, safe, country-club
life. And as much as the handsomely rugged man tempts her, she still
can’t shake the images of the tragic motorcycle accident from her
past, which left her scarred and her father broken.
Bull
tempts her to don a pair of leather pants and go for a ride with him,
while April desperately tries to resist her attraction to the wild
side and keep her exploits hidden from her small town. Will they be
able to navigate their differences and find a middle road to love?
Buy
Links
**EXCERPT**
By
reading any further you are stating you are at least 18 years of age.
If
you are under the age of 18, it is necessary for you to exit this
site.
©
2013 Vicki Wilkerson
Chapter
One
Motorcycles
were everywhere. April Church had never seen so many in one place in
her entire life. Row after row and side by side, they had been lined
up like opposing armies. Was there some kind of biker rally in town
that she didn’t know about? No. That couldn’t be. Surely,
something like that would have been announced in the Summerbrook
Gazette.
She
looked for a well-lit parking spot near the door of the buffet
steakhouse, but after circling the bikes three times, she finally
squeezed her car into the last space at the rear of the dark lot.
Motorcycles flanked both sides of her car. Flames embellished the
tank of the bike immediately to her left and razors decorated the one
to her right.
She
was trapped.
Trapped
like she had been in her father’s car the night he’d accidentally
hit a motorcycle—the night the dead man’s “pack” had
surrounded them like wolves. And here she was again, encircled by
bikes. She looked toward the building. In that steakhouse were the
same kind of people who had left her father with a limp, bound to a
cane for the rest of his life.
Why on
Earth did she tell Mr. Houseman that she’d go to the meeting? Well,
for many reasons, but the most important was Ben. He was special.
Every time he saw her, he gave her a hug. Started out when she first
helped him learn to climb a tree when the Humanity Project volunteers
built his home. When he dropped down from that tree and into her
arms, he also dropped into her heart. Ever since that day, he drew
pictures of trees and gave them to her as gifts. Yep. He was special,
and she had to do something to help the little boy’s parents with
the mounting medical bills. Mr. Houseman was her mentor at the
Humanity Project, and she owed him, too. She also thought about Miss
Adree, the sweet, elderly lady in her condo building who taught Ben
music lessons every Thursday evening. April loved picking up the
little guy and remembered Miss Adree doing the same for her when she
was a child. It was time to return favors.
Inside
would be all the civic-minded organizations from town that were
helping Ben, including the Summerbrook Ladies League. The bikers were
probably at the restaurant for a completely different reason—some
ride or party they had to plan. She glanced around at all the
motorcycles again. There were so many.
Taking
a deep breath, she gingerly opened the car door. But before she got
the chance to put her foot on the asphalt, the painted flames on the
motorcycle next to her pitched—almost imperceptibly at first. Or
perhaps she was simply denying what was happening.
Down
it went. The mirrors tilted and flashed the light of a distant
streetlamp over the body of the beast. Stop! Somehow, it
appeared to have picked up momentum on its way to its death. And then
it crashed against the pavement, the clang grating up her
spine as it hit. No! She couldn’t have touched that bike.
She had been so careful.
As she
stepped outside the car, a shiver iced down her spine in a cold gust
of March air. The motorcycle lay there like a fallen soldier. The
crash had amputated its rearview mirror, which was now in the middle
of the lane. She looked all around her.
For a
brief moment, she thought about bolting. But she’d never do that.
She worked at a local insurance company as a risk assessment manager.
Assessing her own risk, she determined that she was in real trouble.
She
knew she could analyze her way out of this. Maybe she could set the
bike upright again and no one would notice. That might work.
Fighting
some awful thing inside that wanted to paralyze her, she drew up
every bit of her strength, bent down, and grabbed the handlebars.
With her eyes closed, she strained and jerked with all her might. But
the beast wouldn’t budge.
Maybe
she could at least fix the mirror. Though her hand shook—probably
from the cold—she picked it up and tried to attach the cracked
piece to the bent chrome on the side of the bike. She pushed and
twisted and rocked the thing. Nothing worked. Now what was she to do?
She
could call the police. But it wasn’t a traffic accident. She still
didn’t believe that she’d touched the bike. No matter. What could
she do but try to find the owner and tell him? Dread rose up in her.
She would offer the biker her insurance information, and she could
let her company argue the claim later. And if the bike’s owner grew
angry with her here, she assumed the bystanders in the steakhouse
would provide some protection.
Glancing
around the dark lot, she noticed several other bikes with flames on
their tanks. Great. Now she’d have a band of angry bikers come
after her when she would announce that she’d knocked over a
motorcycle festooned with flames.
Shaking
her head, she tried to rid herself of the images of that night so
long ago. But this was very different. No one had died. And she would
accept complete responsibility, unlike her father, who’d blamed and
angered the drunken bikers from Rebel Angels the night they’d
played chicken with him.
Still
holding the metal thing, she had an idea. The mirror was a totally
different shape from the others around her, and it had a sticker with
flames on the back. That would help. She’d find Mr. Morrow and a
few of the people there for the fundraiser, and with their
assistance, she’d approach the bikers with the mirror.
So she
summoned all of her courage and bravely walked toward the entrance
where a giant fake cow stood with an ominous look in his eyes. It
watched her every step.
When
finally inside, the scent of old coffee and burned grease assailed
her. A gap-toothed hostess greeted April. “Welcome to Carolina Cow
Steakhouse,” she said in a particularly slow Southern dialect—the
brogue of her small town.
Not
immediately seeing the people from the Summerbrook Civic Club, she
turned to the waitress. “Umm, I’m supposed to meet a group here.”
The
hostess perked up and smiled. “Are you here for Ben Evans’s
Leukemia Fundraiser, too?”
April
nodded and glanced around again, still hiding the broken mirror
behind her back. She spotted members of the motorcycle crew secluded
away at a couple of tables in a shadowy corner. Oh, boy. In a few
short moments, she’d have to face them and confess what she’d
done. Well, at least they weren’t going to be a part of the civic
club meeting. After she gave them the broken mirror and her insurance
information, it would all be over.
“You’ll
have to wait here a minute ’cause I’m moving everyone into the
larger banquet room. Y’all have more people than we expected,”
the hostess said as she grabbed a few more menus and walked away.
April
backed up against the wall to better hide the crooked chrome she
held. Of all the stupid things that could happen.
With
her free hand, she brushed at the pleats on her skirt to straighten
them. Then she switched the mirror into her right hand and smoothed
out the other side. Everything was under control.
“What
do you have there?” inquired a low, masculine voice from above her
head.
She
snapped to attention like she was about to undergo a military
inspection.
A
handsome, muscular man in a black bomber jacket towered above her,
larger than life. His shoulder-length hair was pulled back into a
neat ponytail. Golden streaks highlighted his nut-brown mane. His
indigo-colored eyes perused her face. “Is something wrong?”
She
twisted the strand of pearls that draped from her neck between her
fingers with her free hand. “No. Everything’s fine,” she said.
It would be as soon as she could meet up with Mr. Morrow or some of
the other members from the civic organizations.
“Then
what are you hiding behind your back?”
He
had seen. Oh, no. He had seen.
“Just
a little mishap. I’m going to take care of it.”
“You
ride?” The left corner of his mouth curled up. “In a skirt?”
“No.”
She hoped her voice didn’t sound strained. “No, I’ve never
ridden on a motorcycle before,” she said calmly.
He
narrowed his eyes. “Then why are you walking around with a Harley
dome billit mirror?”
That
was a good question. Why was she? She held out the broken piece of
the bike in front of her. “I don’t know how it happened. I was
opening my car door, and then—”
He
took it from her, examined it, and gave it back. “Let me guess. It
just fell.” He tilted his head, exposing a strong, angular jawline.
“All by itself.”
“That’s
right. It really did happen that way. Exactly.” He probably didn’t
believe a word she said. And she couldn’t blame him. She heard
unlikely stories like hers from claimants at the insurance company
all the time.
“Ahhh,
I see. Sure it did,” he said. But the left side of his grin inched
upward again. His eyes radiated light like the mirror in her hands.
“Believe I know who owns that. ’Cause of the sticker on the back
there.” He nodded at the chrome and took a step toward her. “Won’t
be too happy, though. You want me to take you to him?”
A
spicy scent replaced the old coffee and burned grease in the air. She
looked around, half expecting to see one of the men from the
Summerbrook Chamber of Commerce or the hostess with a can of air
freshener. But April hadn’t ever experienced anything like that
fragrance—not on a businessman or from a can. “No, thank you. I’m
meeting some people here for a fundraiser first. They’ll help me.”
“I
know where they are, too. It’s where I’m headed.” He touched
her elbow. A warm tingle ran up her arm.
“The
hostess said to wait here.”
“We
don’t have to wait.”
“But—”
Before she could protest, he placed his hand on the small of her back
and guided her through the large, open restaurant and around a
corner. With each step she took, her pulse beat faster.
They
stopped at a door, which had a sign on it that read Banquet Room.
“You
sure you don’t want me to handle that for you?” He arched his
brow and glanced at the mirror.
“No,
thank you. I’m going to ask Mr. Morrow to walk back with me. To
tell those people in the corner of the main dining area.”
He
opened the door. “Be my guest.”
As
soon as she walked into the room, she knew she was in trouble. The
large table in front was filled with people sporting leather fringes,
rivets, Harley insignias, and long hair. Motorcycle people. But what
kind of motorcycle people were they—the weekender kind who had
regular day jobs, like the safe ones they insured at her company? Or
some other kind?
A guy
with a Z Z Top-looking beard stood up and said, “Hey, that’s my
mirror.”
The
packed room became silent.
April
wanted to sink through the floor. “I’ll pay for it. I have
insurance. I don’t really even know how it happened.”
The
whole room stared at her like she was a liar. Trapping the mirror
between her arm and side, she fumbled in her purse to get one of the
copies of her insurance card she’d made at work in case she might
ever have the need for it.
“She
was probably standing there and it just fell over,” said one
of the bikers at the table.
All
the people at the table laughed. She turned to see Mr. Morrow
standing silently behind the lectern, looking at his notes. Why
wasn’t he backing her up? Surely he recognized her. She wanted to
say, “It’s me. April Church.” In case he didn’t remember. But
he only stood there looking unconcerned.
The
tall, handsome guy who’d walked her back took the broken mirror
from her and tossed it toward the biker with the long beard. “Okay,
let’s go, Slug. I’ll give you a hand to upright your bike. This
time. But you’d better fix that kickstand before that old
motorcycle falls over again—with the next stiff breeze.”
The handsome man looked at her. “Might accidentally hurt a pretty
young lady next time.”
The
group laughed more. Slug kept his eye on April as he inched around
the table. She didn’t see anything funny. She’d known she hadn’t
hit the motorcycle with her car door. But she’d been
discombobulated all the same.
The
man in the bomber jacket gave Slug a reprimanding look and then
turned to her. “Slug here’s real sorry he hasn’t fixed that old
kickstand. Even though we’ve been warning him about it for months.
Right, Slug?”
“Yeah.
I’m sorry and all,” said Slug. He reached out his tattoo-covered
hand and snatched the mirror.
The
two men left with the twisted chrome.
Slug
didn’t sound very sorry. Even if the broken mirror wasn’t
her fault, she didn’t want to face him alone in that dark parking
lot. She was staying right where she was for the time being.
She
wanted to do this for Ben. She’d have to stay no matter what.
Mr.
Morrow said, “April, if you’ll take a seat, we can get started.”
So now
he knew who she was.
Glancing
across the room, she saw the ladies from the group she wanted to join
all decked out in their Lilly Pulitzer sweaters and pearls, cozily
talking around a couple of the round banquet tables they’d pulled
together on the other side of the room. Shoot. All the other chairs
were filled—except for two at the table with the bikers. The
evening couldn’t possibly get any worse.
An
older man with long, gray hair and a woolly beard stood up and said,
“Here’s one, miss.”
Things
had just gotten worse. All she could do now was to sit. She clutched
her purse tightly against her body and eased her way between the
tables to one of the two empty seats.
Nothing
was going to happen. Everything would be fine now that her little
mirror emergency was over. These people had to be good people, right?
They were here to help Ben, too. And Ben needed lots of help.
April
fidgeted with the pearls at her neck. She knew there was no good
reason for her insides to be so tense. These people weren’t the
same rioters from Rebel Angels who’d burned down her father’s old
hardware store for revenge. She straightened the pleats again on her
skirt, trying to forget about the unfortunate event that had divided
the town. But how could she possibly forget with all the reminders at
the table? The earthy scent of leather hung all around her.
She
wound her arms around her purse and sat up straight. If only she
could leave. But she wouldn’t know what to tell Mr. Houseman. She
had already promised him she was going to help.
She
moved her seat closer to the empty chair, but as soon as she had, the
man in the bomber jacket returned. Without Slug. And he’d spotted
the empty seat.
Nothing
she could do now. She scooted her chair back to its original position
and closed her eyes. Take deep breaths. Take deep breaths.
With her next inhalation, her senses were filled with the most
heavenly fragrance. Spicy and aromatic.
She
opened her eyes to find the striking stranger sitting next to her.
She turned to look at the table behind her.
The
hostess closed the door. April was simply going to have to make the
best of the situation. For now. Maybe later she could somehow wiggle
her way over to the Lilly Pulitzer table. April also had an ulterior
motive to help with the fundraiser. This was going to be her magic
ticket into the Summerbrook Ladies League—something she’d always
wanted—and something her mother had always wanted for her.
Her
best friend, Jenna, had automatically joined the league years ago
with all the other young debutants in town. Right after the big ball.
April wanted to be a part of it—all the cookbook committees, the
parties, and the fashion shows. She and her BFF would do them all
together. If only she could get in. But she wasn’t a debutant and
her family didn’t have the pedigree that Jenna’s did. Jenna
didn’t care, though. Never had cared that April had her…past, and
she loved Jenna for that. It wasn’t going to be so easy, however,
for April to enter the cliquish league.
Mr.
Morrow, president of the Summerbrook Civic Club, tapped a butter
knife on the wooden lectern at the front of the room. “Thank you
all for coming tonight. I guess you know why we’re here.”
She
heard some stirring, and she caught a glimpse of a woman near the
lectern nodding, but April didn’t move. She stared ahead and hoped
to blend in with the others at her table. But how her pleats and
pearls were going to fit in with all the rivets and leather she
didn’t know exactly.
Mr.
Morrow looked down. “When Ben Evans’s grandfather came to me and
told me about Ben’s leukemia and his medical bills at the
Children’s Hospital, I knew that all the Summerbrook civic
organizations had to get involved in a big way. We’re all going to
work together like we haven’t before.”
The
handsome biker with the blue eyes and hard, angular jawline leaned in
his chair and closed the space between them. She clutched her purse
even tighter to minimize her presence at the table. She turned her
attention back to Mr. Morrow.
“We’re
all going to undertake multiple projects as quickly as we can for
Ben. Those medical bills aren’t going away after only one
fundraiser. Each table or team will choose a date for their event and
the type of project they want to sponsor,” Mr. Morrow explained.
When
Mr. Morrow finished, an old, woolly-bearded man in leather chaps
stood up. “Jim, most of you know that Ben is my grandson. Oh, for
those of you who don’t know, I’m Patch Evans.”
She’d
had no idea who the man was—even though she knew Ben’s family
well. Ben’s dad, Purvis Evans, had recently been laid off at the
local car dealership, and his mom worked at April’s bank as a
teller. She wouldn’t have guessed that Ben had motorcycle riders in
his background. Not that that was bad or anything. It’s just that
people in small Southern towns usually shared similar interests with
their family members. Families were tightly woven units below the
Mason-Dixon. Take a family who likes country club living…well, they
all usually belong to the club. Take a family who likes NASCAR, well,
mostly they’re hanging out together at the local racetrack.
She
broke away from her thoughts when the old man choked out a few more
words. “My family is terribly grateful for all your help.”
The
lean bomber-jacket guy beside her moved again in his seat and looked
into his lap. She was careful not to let him see her glancing at him
from the corner of her eye. All the emotion in the room and at her
table caught her off guard. Maybe that was why she was so…so…twitchy.
“No
problem, Patch.” Mr. Morrow checked his watch. “In about an hour,
we’ll stop and discuss what each team has decided. In the meantime,
I’ll walk around and make sure we’re talking about different
dates for each of the events.” He turned as the door behind him
opened. “Betsy here will take your drink orders if anyone’s
thirsty. Her sweet tea is so good, you’ll think your tongue will
slap your brains out.”
Betsy
smiled hugely at the compliment. She didn’t seem to mind the
crevice between her teeth. Or the unusual expression of praise. April
wished she could be less uptight—like Betsy. But April worried
about most everything, a trait she grew up recoiling from because of
her own overprotective mother. And old-fashioned grandmother.
Betsy
leaned over to take a drink order from the table beside her and April
saw something Betsy would have minded. She had a small split in the
seam of her trousers. April’s heart ached for her. Gapped teeth and
pants.
Chairs
grated on the tile floor as people settled down in their groups to
talk. April glanced at the table to her left. No room to move her
chair. She peered at the table behind her. If she turned her seat
around, it would look bad. She eyed the door. But she couldn’t
leave. For so many reasons.
At her
table, a middle-aged man with a red bandana said, “How ’bout I
start. I got some ideas you guys might like. Oh, excuse me. And
ladies. I’m Crank Allman, by the way.”
What
kind of ideas did these people have? Coming up with names like Crank
and Patch—not to mention Slug. In all her twenty-six years, she’d
never heard of so many odd monikers in one place. At one table.
Whatever happened to names like Bill and Bob?
She
twirled the pearl ring on her left hand and noticed how much it
looked like a wedding band when the pearl was on the palm side, so
she left it that way. Wouldn’t hurt if anyone there thought she was
married.
“I’m
gonna need me a secretary, though.” Crank paused. “How ’bout
you?”
She
didn’t look up. He couldn’t possibly be talking to her. She was
planning to move her chair to the sweater-and-pearls table as soon as
it wouldn’t look so obvious. These people probably didn’t want
her in their group anyway. She was merely waiting for the right
moment to oblige.
The
bomber-jacket guy next to her reached for her arm. “I think he’s
talking to you.”
She
startled at his touch. His strong hand was warm and almost electric.
She tried to smile. “I don’t know that I’ll be here that much
longer. Maybe someone else should volunteer.”
“I’ll
take over if she has to leave early,” said the blue-eyed man
sitting next to her. He smiled and handsome lines formed parentheses
on each side of his mouth. The angles of his jawline and his
perfectly straight, perfectly white teeth made him look like a male
model in one of those Armani suit ads. Without the suit, of course.
“The two of us can share being secretary.”
He had
to be kidding. She tried to hide the concern from showing in her
face. There wasn’t a pig’s chance at the Miss Summerbrook Fire
Queen Pageant she was going to stick around—not with the cookbook
clan merely feet away. She didn’t know a single one of the people
at her table. But she couldn’t let on to them right now that she
was uneasy. And had a completely different agenda. She had to go
along for the time being.
Think,
girl, think. There had to be a discreet way out of this. If there
was, she was going to figure it out. She always did.
Crank
tossed a spiral notebook onto the table. “You each need to write
down your name, address, and phone number so our secretary—excuse
me—secretaries can keep a record in case we need you for
something before our next meeting.” When the good-looking man
beside her received the list, she watched as he wrote, “Bull
Clayton.”
Bull?
The Ladies League gals would have boyfriends and husbands named
Preston and Tillman and Hamilton. There was just no end to the crazy
things bikers called themselves. Bull looked nothing like a thick
male bovine as his name implied. A svelte stallion, maybe. When he
finished writing his phone number, he pushed the notebook in front of
her.
She
couldn’t write her address and phone number in there. Who knew
where that list would end up? And even though nothing would probably
come of jotting down her number, she didn’t need to take the
chance. In fact, she’d been the one at her agency to order and
distribute the pamphlets on personal safety last month. Single women
living alone shouldn’t advertise their addresses and phone numbers.
That was rule number one. At least the accident had had one positive
effect—steering her toward a suitable career—a career at which
she excelled in being careful.
She
glanced up at Bull, who still had his arm extended and hand on the
spiral notebook. A feeling of fireflies fluttering in her lower tummy
warmed her in a way she’d never experienced. Her body wasn’t
being careful at all.
This
was all too difficult to absorb and she felt a twinge deep inside her
head. Oh, no. Another of her stupid headaches was trying to settle
in. The whole evening had been filled with tension. Of course, a
migraine would follow.
She
closed her eyes. The flashes of light came first, and then the old
crash came rushing back. The screams. The sirens. The fire.
She
opened her eyes and shook her head. If only she could erase what the
Rebels had done. But that was impossible.
There
had to be a way for her to deal with this problem. All she had to do
was analyze it and sort it out. That might be hard to do at the
table; however, all the bikers were busily talking to one another and
weren’t paying any attention to her. Thank goodness.
Just
then Betsy walked toward her. April took off her sweater, whispered
in Betsy’s ear, and wrapped the sweater around Betsy’s waist. She
gave April the most beautiful smile ever.
Great.
The bikers were still debating something. No one had seen.
Her
phone vibrated. Jenna. With the phone in her lap and hidden by the
table, April texted back.
Can’t
talk now.
April’s
head tensed more. Another text from Jenna.
What’s
wrong?
April
took another deep breath, trying to compose herself, trying to keep
the headache away.
Long
story. I’ll call when I’m out of here.
She
really needed to pay more attention to what was going on at the
table. Lucky for her, she was off their radar. Her cell vibrated
again.
Out
of where? I thought you were at league thing with the girls.
She
wasn’t going to get rid of Jenna without an explanation so she
texted where she was and what had happened.
…but
this guy named Bull helped me out, so I’m okay.
April
sucked in a deep breath. Little lights twinkled in her vision from
the headache that was trying to get a foothold in her brain.
Maybe
answering Jenna’s text wasn’t such a good idea. She had a
tendency to be overly alarmist. And obviously April had a tendency to
be overly stupid for telling Jenna anything. No imagining what she
was going to do.
Maybe
April should just leave. But what if Slug was still out there? He
hadn’t come back to the banquet room, and his motorcycle had been
parked beside her car. By now, he could have rounded up all his
friends from the other corners of the restaurant.
She
had to be reasonable, though. He shouldn’t be upset at her because
he hadn’t fixed his own kickstand.
There
was another problem with leaving, as well. What would she tell Mr.
Houseman? And Ben? She couldn’t face letting him slip away. Then
there was the league. Too much was at stake. Whatever it takes.
No
matter what, she was going to stay. Tonight. She could always call
Mr. Morrow next week and ask to be reassigned to another group—even
if it wasn’t the league ladies—as long as she did something to
help Ben. Bull pushed the notebook back in front of her. She stole
another look at the handsome man. Humph. Nothing like Bull had
ever ridden into Summerbrook before.
She
needed to get her mind on the work at hand, though. As she read some
of his words, she became confused.
With
finality in his voice, Crank said, “So, the weekend of April 28th
is the best date.”
Curiosity
got the best of her. It sounded like they were planning to do
something big the weekend of her birthday. She raised her hand again.
“Excuse me.” She cleared her throat. “What exactly are you
doing, and what does ‘Bikers for Ben’ and ‘Ride for a Reason’
mean?”
Crank
said, “Well, we decided that we’d do a charity bike ride, gettin’
sponsors to donate money for each mile we ride from Summerbrook to
the Charleston Battery and then on to the Children’s Hospital.”
She
lowered her head and tapped her pencil. In a low voice she said,
“What about a bake sale or a charity auction or something?”
A
burley man with a handlebar mustache and muttonchops spoke up after
everyone chuckled. “We don’t know nothin’ ’bout no bakin’
or no auctionin’. All’s we know is bikes.”
Bull
had taken off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, and she could see
muscular definition in his forearms. Was he ever fit. “What Chops
means is that rides are what we know best to raise money. We’ve
done it before. It’s what we do well.” He smiled that same
Hollywood smile that she’d noticed before—the one that kept
taking her off guard.
He
moved his arms forward on the table and she saw a piece of a tattoo,
but as quickly as she saw it, he tugged at his shirt and it
disappeared under his sleeve again.
“But
I thought—” April stopped midsentence. She’d be home soon and
the whole thing could be their little kettle of fish. “I’m sorry.
A biker-rider thingy is fine. Just fine,” she said as she leaned
back in her chair.
“Good,”
said Bull. “Because you and I are in charge of permits and
advertising.” He smiled again, the left side inching up more than
the right. No, it wasn’t quite a smile. It was more of a grin.
With
his perfectly straight teeth. If someone would turn him in on one of
those makeover shows and cut and style his hair, he’d be downright
dangerous. But he didn’t know what he was talking about because she
wasn’t about to help with any of their far-fetched ideas. She
couldn’t. With her aging father’s cardiac condition, it would
absolutely kill him if he ever found out.
The
man named Crank explained all about what they had decided. She sat
there biding her time and tried to blend in with the furniture. Then
her cell rang. So much for trying to look inconspicuous.
“I’m
sorry,” she said. She pressed the phone to her head as tightly as
she could and bent down toward the table. Everyone in the group grew
silent as Jenna’s voice barreled through the little cell phone.
“I
called Mr. Houseman. He said he can’t help you right now. April, I
think you could be in a lot of danger. I asked around about that Bull
guy and found out he had been involved with Rebel Angels. Those
people might have chains or knives—or even guns.”
Yeah,
they might. But why would they want to use them on her? Because she
was wearing pleats?
Jenna’s
voice grew even louder, if that were possible. “Be careful. Stay
away from the bikers and get your butt home.”
“Jenna,
don’t be ridiculous. I’ll talk to you later.” April quickly
ended the call and looked up at Bull. He raised his eyebrow, and a
strange expression covered his handsome face. It was almost another
smile. Wait. No. It was a smirk. She knew it. He’d heard everything
Jenna had said—about the chains, the knives…and Rebel Angels.
How
dare he be snarky with her? She sat up, glanced around, and realized
by the looks on their faces that the others had heard Jenna, too.
Before,
she was merely being paranoid, but now she had a real reason to
worry. That phone call would have insulted anyone. In Jenna’s
effort to be a mother hen, she’d actually made the situation worse.
She
had two options. She could stand, run, and take her chances in the
parking lot with the chains and knives Jenna had mentioned, or she
could prove them all wrong. Being the chicken that she was, she said,
“Well, people. When do we get started?”
Well?
What did you think? The whole first chapter is a very nice treat and
it gives us plenty to be able to see this writer's style as well as
if the book would fit our reading preferences. I like the idea of the
book because it brings together two very different worlds and
ultimately shows that love transcends all – even opposite
backgrounds. At least that is the idea I have formed in my mind based
on what I have gleaned from this post. Are you guys likely to read
this book? Have you read this author before? Your feedback is always
welcome, so please feel free to tell me what you thought.
I
want to thank Ms. Wilkerson for spending a bit of time with us today.
I hope that you all enjoyed getting to know a little about her and
her book. If you are so inclined, please consider adding this book to
your TBR list – or better yet, consider purchasing a copy of the
book for yourself to show support for this author. It is, after all,
a great way to ensure future reading pleasure. :) I wish you all a
fabulous rest of the day and will be seeing you all soon. Be sure to
check out the second post of the day before you leave. Until next
time ...
HAPPY
READING!!!
Thanks so much! I was honored to be in the "Spotlight!"
ReplyDeleteLOL - You rock! I really enjoyed myself and loved getting to know about your book. Hopefully I can get back to reading very soon so that I can start enjoying some of these fabulous books I have been featuring. *wink* Please feel free to come back anytime! :)
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