Page 18 of Texas (Route 69 #1)

Eighteen

I hear them before I see them. Shouting, chanting, voices thick with self-righteousness and Old Testament venom. The Harley growls as I pull into the back lot of the Dogwood Bluff Women’s Health & Wellness Center, but even with the engine still rumbling beneath me, their noise cuts through.

I park, swing off, and jog around the side of the building.

And there they are. A group of protestors, maybe fifteen, all clustered on the sidewalk out front with signs held high.

Some are printed, and others are hand-scrawled with thick black markers, but all the same bullshit.

“Protect the Unborn.” “Repent and Return.” “No Abortion in Dogwood Bluff.”

A few have bibles clutched in one hand, and picket signs in the other.

None of them are people I’ve met, but one face is familiar.

Tyler. The young father from the clinic.

The one who made a scene while I was in the waiting room when Kristin helped his girlfriend.

The one who glared at me like I was poison.

He’s front and center now, red-faced and puffed up, holding a sign that says “Family First! Not Feminism!”

He sees me the second I round the corner, and his eyes light up like he’s been waiting for this. “Well, well,” he sneers, stepping forward. “Look what the devil dragged in.”

I stop maybe ten feet from him, boots planted with my hands loose at my sides. “You got something to say, say it.”

He grins. “Yeah, I do. We don’t need your kind in this town.”

“My kind?”

“Your kind. What do they call it? Dykes on bikes?” he spits. “I call it perverts. Sinners pretending to be saviors. You think you’re protecting women? You’re destroying families.”

I take a step forward. Just one, but it’s enough to make him flinch. “Say that again,” I murmur.

He puffs up, emboldened by the crowd at his back. “You don’t belong here. You and that homewrecking bitch inside—”

That’s when I see them. Two sheriff’s deputies across the street, leaning against their cruiser, arms crossed, and watching.

Waiting. They’re not here to protect the clinic.

They’re here to see if I give them an excuse to bust me, to put me in their little jail and throw away the key. I breathe deeply but I don’t move.

“Not gonna swing?” Tyler taunts. “Afraid of what happens when someone swings back?”

I smile but it’s not friendly. “You’re not worth the bruises.” He opens his mouth again, but then the clinic door opens, and Kristin steps out. She’s in scrubs, her hair pulled back, eyes sharp and steady. She walks straight to my side, not touching me, but close enough to send a message.

Her voice is calm. “This clinic provides basic healthcare to women who need it. Pap smears. Prenatal care. STI testing. Birth control. Cancer screenings. We don’t perform abortions here—”

“Yet!” someone shouts.

“But we do give women choices,” she continues, louder now. “And that seems to be what you’re really afraid of.”

There’s a murmur through the crowd. One of the older women clutches her bible tighter and shouts, “Isaiah 5:20 — Woe unto them that call evil good, and good evil.”

Kristin doesn’t even blink. “Thank you for the reminder,” she says. “Because I’ve seen the evil. It’s in the way women are silenced. The way they are controlled, even hurt, and then made to feel like it’s their fault.”

The crowd shifts. Some look uncomfortable.

Some still look angry. Tyler’s face is red now, but he’s not talking.

Not with Kristin standing there like she owns the fucking ground she walks on.

Suddenly, a silver Mercedes pulls up to the curb in front of the clinic, making all of us step back, and sure as hell, Will Cleveland steps out.

He’s wearing aviators with tailored slacks, and a white button-down rolled to the elbows.

He walks with that easy, polished confidence that makes people mistake him for decent. He doesn’t look at me.

Instead, he walks straight up and puts a hand on Kristin’s back. Slides it around her shoulder until his arm is draped across her like a leash. “Folks,” he says, voice warm and oily. “Let’s remember to keep this civil. My wife is only trying to help.”

Kristin goes still under his touch. I see it. The way her eyes go flat. The way her spine locks and I hate Will Cleveland like I never thought I could. If he senses it, he is good at hiding.

“She’s a good woman,” he continues to the crowd. “She’s always cared deeply about this town. About its people. Let’s not turn this into something it’s not.”

And just like that, the crowd starts to back off. There are a few murmurs, and a few glances. One by one, they drift away. Some are still holding their signs. Some tuck them under their arms, like maybe they’ll try again another day.

Will turns toward me now. His smile is sharp. “I’m surprised to see you here.” I say nothing. “Seems you’ve made quite the impression. On my wife. On this town.”

I tilt my head. “You always show up late to a problem, or is that just for effect?”

He chuckles. “Cute. But I’m going to keep this simple.” He steps in close. Too close. His voice drops low, just for me. “You need to leave. Now. Pack up your little saddlebags, hop on your bike, and ride off into whatever sunset you crawled out of.”

I don’t blink. “Or what?”

“Or this gets worse,” he says with a smile.

“For her. For you. For everyone.” Then louder, for the deputies still watching, he says, “Appreciate your help, officers. Everything’s under control.

” Turning back to Kristin, still trying to play the part, he leans into her.

“Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get you inside—”

She shrugs him off. “I’m not your sweetheart,” she snaps. “You don’t get to tell people what to do. Not anymore.” Will’s smile doesn’t falter, but I see it. The crack in the mask as Kristin steps closer to me. “Reggie is my friend. And she can stay as long as she wants.”

Will looks between us. “You think this town’s going to support an adulterous lesbian running a women’s clinic?

” he hisses just loud enough only we can hear him.

“You think they’ll forgive that? You’re not a hero, Kristin.

You’re a scandal waiting to happen.” Then he straightens, fixes his cuffs, and walks away.

The deputies watch him go. One of them glances at me, like he’s still hoping I’ll lose my temper, but I don’t.

Not today. Kristin exhales beside me and I see her hands are shaking.

“You okay?” I ask.

“No.”

“Good,” I say. “Because there’s nothing okay about this.”

She turns toward me, her face flushed, jaw tight. She looks like she’s holding it together by sheer force of will. “You know what the worst part is?” she says, voice low. “He still thinks he’s doing me a favor.”

I glance at the Mercedes pulling away. “He’s not used to being told no.”

“He doesn’t hear it,” she mutters. “He just rewrites it in his head until it sounds like yes.”

We stand in the shade of the clinic porch, the heat still thick around us. I look at her and she’s trembling, but not from fear. It’s from adrenaline. The kind I know you only get after a near-miss. “You need to go inside,” I say. “Cool off. Drink some water.”

Her eyes snap to mine. “You’re not coming?”

“Not yet,” I say with a shake of my head. “I don’t want to lead any more eyes to your door.”

She hesitates. “Where will you be?”

“Riding,” I say. “But I’ll keep the phone close.”

She nods. Then, softer, “Be careful.”

I touch her hand. Only for a second. Only enough for her to feel I mean it and then I walk back to the Harley, fire her up, and roll out slowly, making sure anyone still watching sees me leave.

With my eyes on the rearview mirror, I take the long way out of town, back roads and side streets, until the clinic is behind me and the fields stretch wide in every direction.

When I’m sure I’m not being followed, I pull over, kill the engine and just sit.

I replay every second of that scene. Tyler’s red face.

The protestors. The way Will’s hand curled around Kristin’s shoulder like it belonged there.

The way she flinched but didn’t step away.

I want to go back and punch him. I want to find Tyler and drag him into the dirt and make him say it all again to my face. I want to scream.

But I don’t. I reach into my pocket, pull out my phone and stare at the screen. Then I write a quick message to Matt. “Will showed up at the clinic today. Publicly. Put his hands on her.”

Only a beat and then Matt answers. “You want me to come down?”

I hesitate before typing back. “Not yet. But keep your boots ready.”

Tucking the phone away, I ride another twenty miles before I turn back.

The sun’s starting to dip when I pull into Kristin’s drive.

I don’t go inside. Instead I sit on the porch steps and watch the sky shift into reds and oranges.

Kristin shows up a little after seven. She parks in her usual spot and gets out.

Her hair’s down now, and she’s changed into jeans and a soft cotton tee.

Seeing me, she walks over without a word and simply lowers herself onto my lap.

We sit like that for a while not talking.

Finally, she says it. “They’ll be back.”

“I know.”

“And he’ll try again.”

“I know that too.”

She turns to me. Her eyes are tired, questioning. “Are you still staying?”

I don’t hesitate as I meet her eyes. “As long as you need me.”

Kristin stays curled in my lap, her cheek pressed to my shoulder, her breath warm against my neck.

I hold her like that until the sun dips below the trees and the sky goes purple at the edges.

When she finally moves, it’s sluggish, like the weight of everything is still pressing down on her.

Standing, she takes my hand and tugs me gently toward the house. “Come on,” she says. “We should eat.”