Page 2 of The Biker's Brother

Brand shook his head and followed his dad down the hall through the bar and out the door.

“You out, boss?” Ruby asked from behind the bar.

“Getting Mexican with my boy,” he rumbled without looking over at her. “Whoever needs me, it can wait.”

“Yes, sir,” she said.

It was hard to say when it had happened, but gradually the position of bartender had acquired dual duties as admin. No doubt as the club grew its network of business enterprises, there was more to be accomplished than alcohol consumption.

The weather was close enough to heavenly to make Brant wish for days like that in the hereafter. As they sped toward Bee Caves he mulled over Brandon’s place in their lives and came to some conclusions. He wasn’t a follower. He was an innovator. And it was time to innovate.

They snagged a patio table next to the parking lot where they could keep a close eye on their bikes. They waved the menu away and ordered. Brant got the Elvis special as usual.

“And bring me a cold Lone Star, darlin’.”

She smiled and nodded. “You pulling for Texans or Cowboys, Mr. Fornight?”

He grinned. “What do you think?”

She laughed. “I’m thinking Cowboys.”

He shook his head. “I’m just going to let you wonder.”

She laughed again. “You’re no fun.”

Brant gave her a smile that was still sexy as fuck at fifty.

“I assure you, darlin’, I’m more fun than most people’s hearts can stand.”

Brand broke in. “He’s married.”

The waitress looked at Brand and giggled. “Yeah. Everybody knows that. What’s your name?”

“Fornight.”

She looked between the two of them. “Sure. I see that.”

Brand got cheese enchiladas in red gravy and flautas in salsa verde.

“I’m going to be putting in extra time at the gym tonight.” Brand smiled like he wasn’t the least sorry. He slapped his abs. “Got to keep them tight if you want the ladies to fall to their knees when you walk by.”

Brant looked at his son. “No self-respecting woman is going to give a second look to a dandy wearing ‘faded salmon’.”

Brand looked at his dad with renewed interest. “You homophobic or something?”

Brant pulled back. “Feared of queered? No!”

“I think you are,” Brand challenged with a mischievous gleam.

“Then you’d be wrong. Now, unless you want to come out over lunch and tell me that you’re wearing pink because you’re a gay boy then let’s change the subject.”

Brandon laughed. “Whatever you say.”

“You were making noises that you feel disrespected by the club.”

“That is not the way I’d characterize what I said.”

“You want to restate?” Brand thought about how else to put it, concluded that his dad’s synopsis was more or less dead on, and shook his head. “So what do you want to do about it?”