TRACKING TRISHA - A Black Hounds Motorcycle Club Romance (The Fox and the Hounds Book #1) (13 page)

Trisha smiled holding the. “Quite the international businessman.”

“No, Lucia would fit the bill better,” he said. “Did you know she speaks four languages? I barely speak one good enough!”

“You mean ‘well enough,’ right?” Trisha teased. Dante rolled his eyes and began taking off his jacket. Even with the air conditioning on, sitting around in a heavy jacket could get uncomfortable. “I thought motorcycle club members were obligated to wear their jackets all the time?”

“It’s true that we do wear our jackets while we shower,” Dante joked, placing his jacket on a nearby coat rack. He saw the farm girl eye his now exposed biceps. “But I’ll make an exception now that I have a guest.”

Trisha pulled out the hem of her dress. “Hey, Dante could I ask you a favor?”

“Want another beer? Or some of the harder stuff?”

“No, it’s just this dress,” she said, finishing her beer. “It’s getting kind of stuffy in here. I’m also afraid to have it snag on something and tear it. Lucia would kill me if I tore it.”

Dante leaned back against the couch. “Relax, you’re more valuable to my sister alive than you are dead.”

“Uh-huh,” she replied, folding her arms. “Well, I’d hate to impose on you but I’d like a change of clothing. Do you happen to have something that’s in my size?”

“You’re asking if a bachelor has any change of clothing for a lovely female guest who is staying over for the evening?”

“Oh, ha-ha!” she answered back in mock laughter. “So do you have clothes that aren’t quite as stuffy as a two thousand dollar dress?”

“Head down to my bedroom,” he replied, pointing “Go straight down that hallway and it’ll be to your left. On your right should be a dresser. The bottom drawer has some nightgowns that should be your size.”

Trisha raised an eyebrow. “You keep woman’s clothing in your drawer. That’s very gallant of you. Or perverted.”

Dante held up his hands in defense. “Hey, it’s for Lucia when she’s staying over!”

The farm girl playfully slapped him on the shoulder. “I’ll be back. Save some beer for me.”

As she entered to Dante’s bedroom, a strange thought came to Trisha. He was easily the powerful man she had ever met. Yet, he had let his guard down due to their unusual arrangement.

The whole apartment reminded her of him. There was a part that encapsulated his duties as CEO of a fast-growing company. There was a part that that conjured up the image of an outlaw biker. Finally, there was side that he had hid in his heart and the deepest parts of this apartment.

Rummaging through the drawers, she found a satiny nightgown that looked comfortable enough to sleep in. She carefully slipped out of her dress and folded it neatly on the top of the dresser. That’s when she noticed a photograph.

It was of Dante’s parents in some desert. The two of them posed against a motorcycle with sun shining behind them. Conveniently enough, it had their names etched into the frame. Trisha read it out loud. “Vergil and Samantha Alastair.”

The man was tough and aloof. Only the tight grip around his woman and the look in his eyes betrayed the compassion he held for his lover. Vergil looked like Cool Hand Luke or some hero from a Western. Trisha could see where Dante got his devastatingly handsome looks from.

Samantha Alastair was a beauty. She didn’t have the pouty lips and high cheeks of the models that dominated today’s magazines. Yet, there was regal quality to her appearance. The wind-swept hair and sun-dried jeans, however, suggested to was no stranger to hard work and the outdoors. She looked so happy being with the man who would become her husband.

Now, they were dead.

Trisha thought it was strange to feel such emotions for two people. Stranger still, the lives of the Alastairs and the Kaplans were linked. Her mother had known Dante’s mother. Now, her life was intertwined with that of the Alastairs.

When she returned, she say that Dante had taken off his shirt. She saw the contours of his well-muscled torso. Trisha also eyed the various tattoos and scars that intermittently marked his athletic body. The farm girl wondered if the biker always took his shirt off to impress his female guests.

It was working. Then again, it was his home and it was a hot day. She wouldn’t have minded if had taken off his pants as well.

“Took you long enough,” Dante said, nursing another bottle of beer. He had placed a bucket full of beers and ice cubes on the table. “Trisha what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, I found a change of clothing,” she said, picking up her beer bottle. “And I saw a photo of your mother and father… the one on top of your dresser.”

“It’s nothing,” he chuckled, his laughter sounding more like a cough. “That was taken back before Lucia and I were born.”

She sat down next to him. “It looked like the photo was taken out in a desert in Arizona.”

“That’s right, they took it for their honeymoon,” Dante replied, a bittersweet smile on his face. “Dad had saved enough money to take them to Paris. Mom told him she’d rather be sipping a cold beer with him in a desert than sampling frog legs and wine under the Eiffel Tower. I think that’s when he realized she was a keeper.”

“Where did they go for the honeymoon?”

“The took two week road trip across Texas, Arizona, and California. They even went down to visit Mexico.”

“She’s beautiful,” Trisha said absentmindedly. “Your mother that is.”

“She was,” he said somewhat grimly. “The cancer treatment did a number on her… but she was still so beautiful. The other patients voted her the prettiest woman in the ward. Lucia and I even made a wig for her from some of my hair. She had the same hair shade as mine.”

“That was very sweet of you.”

Dante continued, seemingly forgetting he was even talking to a guest. “Dad said she was the most beautiful girl in Ironville, that’s our hometown. It’s a small iron mining town, hence the name, but the mine ran dry ages ago. It’s not too far from here but I haven’t had a chance to visit in years…”

The evening had taken on a somber atmosphere. Trisha wanted to change the subject. That’s when something on the wall caught her attention. “Is that a gun?”

“Winchester Model 1887,” Dante said proudly, walking up and carefully picking up the antique shotgun from its mantle. “It’s an original model. Been in my family for generations. It even has the hammer marks made from John M. Browning himself.”

“Wow,” Trisha exhaled, leaning over to inspect the weapon. It was in good condition inspite of the various dents and scrapes it had suffered over the years. “My grandfather was a gun collector. He would’ve liked to have this in his collection.”

“My grandfather smuggled it in to use for Vietnam,” Dante continued, placing the gun back in its display. “His father used it for World War II in the Pacific Front. You can even go back to the frontiers times and find an Alastair holding this gun.”

“Does it still work?” Trisha probed as Dante sat with her back on the couch. He felt her knee touch his. The friction between them was electric. “Wait, your apartment let you keep it?”

“The gun is purely ceremonial since its unloaded and doesn’t even have its firing ring,” Dante answered, hiding the desire swelling inside of him. She looked so lovely in that form-fitting nightgown. “Apartment doesn’t allow functioning firearms. They let me keep it so long as its only good for bludgeoning people.”

A strange thought appeared to Dante. He wondered what it would be like to have a long term relationship with Trisha. In the past, his relationships with women were usually brief, fleeting encounter. They were driven by sex and physical attraction rather than any substantive emotion.

As artificial at their relationship was, this was the first time in years Dante felt he had a connection to a woman. The mundane aspects of talking to her and drinking beer felt magical. Yet, he knew so little of this woman who could save or sink his motorcycle club and business.

Placing her cheek dangerously close to his, Trisha shot a glance at the gun. “Ever think of firing it?”

“No, I’m not,” he said, a bit more firmly than he had wanted. “This thing is a family heirloom. I don’t ever plan on using it.”

“Really?”

“When dad gave it to me… he told me to never fire it. He wanted me to the first of the Alastair men who didn’t live a life of violence. It was supposed to be a symbol of a bygone era for the Alastairs…”

Her body seemed to go limp. He wasn’t sure if he had frightened her or if she was falling asleep. “I see…”

“Want me to teach you how to fire a gun?” he offered, not wanting the tone of the night to get too serious. “There’s a firing range not far from our clubhouse. Lucia goes down there from time to time to blow off some steam.”

Grabbing another chilled bottle of beer, Trisha face broke out into a proud grin. “I’m already a decent marksman if I do say so myself.”

Dante raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Really?”

“Daddy taught me how to use his Varmint Gun,” she answered, sipping her beer. “We get pests every now and then at Foxtail Farms. We used some shotguns as well but I’m more comfortable with a light rifle.”

Intrigued, Dante locked eyes with her. “Ever have to shoot a pack of wolves before they ate all of your grapefruit?”

“First of all, wolves don’t eat grapefruit,” she said, rolling her eyes at his lack of agricultural know-how. “Second of all, there aren’t too many wolves around these parts.”

“What do you have to deal with? Bears? Coyotes? Those giant locusts from the Ten Commandments?”

Trisha giggled and playfully elbowed his in the shoulder. “Mostly raccoons and some small rodents. But, we do have some foxes.”

“Explains your farm’s name.”

“Daddy always told me that every pest bites the food out of our mouths,” her eyes, glistening as if hiding a sea of memories. “Those crops were our lifeline. Each crop we could sell would help keep a roof over our heads and food on the table.”

“I can tell your father took pest control seriously.”

“When I was ten, Daddy started to give me more responsibility,” she continued, locking eyes with Dante. There was a primal connection between them as they spoke about the past. “It wasn’t just simple farm chores. He wanted me to help him deal with a pest in one of our greenhouses.”

“What did he need help with?” Dante asked. “I can’t imagine a ten year chasing off a bear.”

“Try a fox,” she laughed, their knees touching again. Dante nearly jolted straight up but his guest didn’t notice. “A fox was sneaking into a greenhouse and damaging some of the plants and equipment inside of it. Daddy was too busy with managing the business to deal with it.”

“What did you do? Stake out with a rifle and wait for the unwelcome guest?”

“Nope, I set a trap for it,” Trisha answered, finishing her beer. She fetched another one from the bucket. “I made a box and put some bait in it. A mechanism would seal the fox in after it took the bait. It only took one night for it trap that fox.”