Page 9

9

S imon held his hand out to her after she slid from her seat. Curling her fingers into his, her attention strayed to the clubhouse. The massive building did a good job of camouflaging its size, and the way the tall windows reflected the trees and sky fascinated her. She didn’t have the patience to be an architect, to think about all the tiny details that made a building exactly what the owners wanted, but it was clear that considerable thought had gone into this one.

“Stone.”

Juliana turned as a tall man with brown eyes, dark brown hair, and a thick beard approached them.

“Monk,” Simon returned the greeting. Then pulling her to his side, he added, “This is Juliana. Juliana, this is Monk. Or Collin.”

Though large, the man had a quiet, almost peaceful air about him. “Nice to meet you. Do you prefer Monk or Collin?” she asked, holding out her hand.

His engulfed hers. “Either, but most people stick with Monk. Sorry to hear about what’s going on,” he said.

She glanced at Simon.

“Monk’s going to help us,” he replied.

“Viper gave me an update,” Monk said. “I don’t know the details, but let’s go inside. Philly will be here in fifteen minutes or so.”

As they crossed the gravel parking lot, she focused on the building rather than the feel of Simon’s hand wrapped around hers—as if it were a perfectly normal occurrence. One coffee date had ended with her rushing out to lead a tour of the presidential library that hadn’t been properly scheduled, and the other with a quick (and slightly awkward) hug. They’d touched more in the past twenty minutes than in their previous three hours together. And she liked it. A lot.

Monk held the door, and Simon ushered her in. Stepping out of the morning sunshine, she blinked, then took in the room. Two women were playing a serious game of air hockey in one corner, and another sat curled in a chair, reading. Her attention didn’t linger on the women, though. Instead, it shot upward to the massive (and gorgeous) beamed ceiling, then to the calm, earthy light beige walls, before finally drifting to the huge stone fireplace that anchored one wall. Of all the ways she imagined a motorcycle clubhouse looking, this cozy, airy, lodge-like building hadn’t even been close to making it on the list.

Before she could comment, a tall, lean, older woman pushed through a swinging door. Black flip-flops smacked against the hardwood floor as she strode out. Her spiky gray hair, tipped a bright purple, was an intriguing contrast to her black jeans and gray tank top.

Spotting the trio, her eyes lit up, and she changed direction to head their way.

“I’m Dottie,” she said, holding out her hand. “You must be Juliana.”

Juliana couldn’t help but smile back. “I am. It’s nice to meet you,” she replied, greeting the woman Simon referred to as the club’s house mom/house manager. Curiosity flared, and she wondered how Dottie had come into the lives of the fifteen former military men. Though old enough to be Simon’s mother, he hadn’t mentioned anything about any relation.

As if sensing her questions, Dottie smiled. “About six years ago, the boys helped me out of a bad situation. One I’d been in for nearly thirty years. I had no family, no kids, and thanks to my now-ex, no friends. So I decided to stay with them. I take care of the cooking, finances, those sorts of things, so that they can focus on helping more people like me. I don’t touch the cleaning, though, just FYI,” she said with a wry smile. “I have a little cabin out back. If you need anything and can’t find me, I’m probably there. Or out running errands. Make sure Stone gives you my number.” Without waiting for a reply, she turned to Simon and Monk. “If you need a late breakfast, there’s cowboy casserole in the fridge, and believe it or not, there are even a few pieces of coffee cake left.” She paused, her already welcoming eyes softening with affection. “Mantis stayed at Charley’s last night,” she added, as if that explained it. “Amber and I are headed into town to pick up a few things for dinner. Tacos tonight. With lots of fresh fixings from her garden.”

Both men groaned in anticipation, making Dottie smile again.

“Go do what you need to to keep our Juls safe,” she continued, startling Juliana with both her knowledge of the situation—apparently news traveled fast among the Falcons—and her reference to “our Juls.” She’d never been part of a “we” or “our.” Caution told her to take it with a grain of salt, but still, a tendril of warmth wrapped around her.

“The atrium is all yours,” Dottie added before nodding to the woman reading. The woman slid her feet to the ground and rose as she set the book on the side table. Juliana watched with envy as she stood, then reached for her purse. She had a fragile beauty that Juliana didn’t even bother to feel jealous over—although they were both tall, she and the woman she assumed must be Amber were as far apart in looks as two women could get.

She glanced at Simon, dreading the appreciation she knew she’d see on his face as Amber walked toward them. To her surprise, he was on his phone. He gave her a friendly nod as she neared but barely pulled his attention from his texts. Monk nodded to her as well, then excused himself to grab a late breakfast, saying he’d meet them in the atrium in a few minutes.

“Amber, Juliana. Juliana, Amber,” Dottie did the introductions. The woman offered her a shy smile and held her hand out.

Juliana took the delicate appendage, her own hand feeling the size of a bear paw. “Nice to meet you.”

“You as well. I hope you’ll be staying for dinner?”

There was no artifice in her voice, or her eyes, just a wary sort of friendliness. “I’m not sure what the evening plans are, but judging by Monk and Simon’s response to the taco bar, I suspect you’ll see me.”

Amber smiled, pleasure lighting her big doe-like eyes. “I hope so,” she said before she and Dottie said their goodbyes and headed for the door.

“Atrium?” she asked as Simon slid his phone into his pocket.

“And a library,” he added with a wink as he tugged her toward a long hall. “Not a big one, but a library. Dottie probably set us up there for that reason.”

Another curl of warmth unfurled even as she knew she shouldn’t read too much into anything. She and Simon barely knew each other. They were all just being kind.

A minute later, he opened the door and gestured her into a large, lovely room. Dark wood bookshelves lined opposite walls, a table big enough to seat eight lay between them, and at the far end of the room sat two comfortable-looking leather chairs in front of a wall of windows with a view into the pine forest beyond.

“It’s beautiful,” she said, immediately walking to the closest bookshelf.

“Will you be okay in here while I get my computer?”

She frowned. “I left mine in my bag in your car. Should I grab it?”

“I’ll get it. You stay here and enjoy the books,” he added with a smile.

“Oh, I will,” she said, turning to them. If he wanted to fetch her bag while she perused the shelves, who was she to argue?

She was a third of the way down the first set of shelves when he returned. She heard him set both computers on the table, but her focus remained on the books. “Do you think anyone would mind if I organized this?” she asked. “Sometimes having books randomly shelved can be cozy. You go looking for a romance and find a new thriller. Or you want to read something on leadership but you find a history book instead. It can be its own adventure. But when you have more than a hundred books—and you do—it can be overwhelming.”

He smiled. “No, no one would mind. We have other things to tackle first, though.”

She stilled, then sighed and turned. “Welcome to the world of using books as an escape.”

He chuckled. “Once we sort this out, they don’t have to be an escape. They can just be something you love.”

Disconcerted by the impact of his words, Juliana stilled. Her aunt and uncle viewed her obsession with books as a sign of her failed ability to function in normal society. Her cousin was even worse, often berating her for spending too much time reading and “growing fat.”

Then there were her professors. Though readers and lovers of words themselves, their job had been to teach her the value of books as tools, the importance of information as a commodity, and how to engage with the communities in which she worked to promote libraries.

Now, with seven simple words, Simon had given her more than anyone else in her life when it came to her relationship with books—acceptance. Only it wasn’t just acceptance. It was as if he wanted her to be able to simply love them.

She cleared her throat and tore her eyes from his, letting them drop to the two computers. “Shall we?” she asked, nodding to the devices.

“Philly and Monk will be here in a minute,” he said, sliding her computer over and pulling out a chair for her.

Popping her laptop open, she booted it up. She hadn’t found a ton of information the night before, but she wanted to be ready for whatever questions the men might have.

Beside her, Simon slipped on his readers and started his computer, too. She frowned. “That first day in the library, you only used them on the computer, not when I showed you printouts. Is it a computer thing?”

He glanced over, hesitated, then nodded. “Looking at screens for an extended period of time gives me headaches.” He paused, his gaze flickering toward the wall of windows. “I was injured before I medically discharged. The doctors think it has something to do with the blue light, but they aren’t sure.”

“A head injury?”

“Among others, yeah.”

His attention drifted back to his device, making it clear he didn’t want to talk about it. A pang of rejection sliced through her. She’d shared a lot with him that morning. Although, admittedly, none of it personal. And if his injury was severe enough to still cause him pain, it had to have been horrendous. Not something he’d readily want to recount.

Her password prompt flashed, drawing her attention, and she decided to let his mild rebuff go. They didn’t know each other well enough for her to feel a right to his story.

Her screen came to life as a man opened the door and walked in. He drew to an abrupt halt, then grinned. Two rows of perfectly white teeth contrasted with his sun-kissed skin, deep blue eyes danced in the reflection of the light filtering through the window, and a lock of hair, too dark to be called blond but not dark enough to be called brown, fell over his forehead.

“You must be Juliana,” he said, stepping forward.

“Don’t make me regret asking Mantis for your help,” Simon growled.

The man smirked at him, then held out his hand. “Philly,” he said. She rose and shook it. He held on a tad longer than comfortable.

“I will not think twice about kicking your ass if you make her uncomfortable,” Simon said without turning around.

Philly’s grin turned into a smile. “I would never,” he said. Then winking at her, he added, “I wanted to see how long it would take him to react.”

She smiled back, not altogether sure what to think. She’d met a lot of men who pretended to be the fun-loving troublemaker type only to discover that underneath their playful comments hid barbs, criticisms, and jabs. And it was her “fault” if she didn’t find them funny.

“Should I grab my computer?” he asked, circling the table as Monk entered, carrying his.

“Let’s walk through everything, make a plan, and then we can go from there,” Simon said. “Does that work for you?” he asked her. She nodded, and he pulled her chair out again, urging her to sit.

“All right, darlin’,” Philly said, catching her eye. “Whose ass do we need to kick?”