Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Mattie

I’m embarrassed for being so irritable with Rigs earlier. It’s just my luck those assholes chose today of all days to send me another of their shitty warnings. I’ve been trying to convince myself that’s it’s nothing, but it’s been escalating. I hadn’t wanted to say anything to Cleo, she’s on leave, and anyway I’m her supervisor so anything like that is my responsibility. Like I said to Rigs, I had reported the first couple of letters to the police, but they just took a statement and that was about it.

It’s pretty clear that I have been underestimating the danger, but by the same token I’m sure Rigs is overestimating it. I guess it’s a moot issue now that we’re pulling into the clubhouse. I feel like a traveler in a strange land with my five suitcases and snack duffle. My only guide on this wayward adventure is a hot minister wearing a Savage Legion cut. Rigs is a contradiction in almost every sense of the word. Though if we’re going to be working together, I need to get my little crush on him under control, he’s a freaking minister for crying out loud, I can’t be lusting after him. Anyway, if he was into dating—could ministers even date? Or was that just priests—men didn’t see me in that way anymore. To them I was something to be pitied, and it had been that way pretty much since my diagnosis. Ugh… apart from the creeps that either had a thing about women with disabilities, or those who wanted to take control.

I have to hand it to Rigs though. He must have called ahead because as soon as we pull up, half a dozen prospects run out to the van and start unloading the boxes. I’m standing around taking in my surroundings, I’ve been to the clubhouse before with Cleo, but I’d been too distracted to pay it much notice. Aside from the garage and the front bar area, the place is far bigger than I thought, and I wonder if it was purpose built or had been used for another purpose originally. Maybe a residential school or something?

Pulled from my reverie when a couple of the prospects return for my suitcases, I motion for them to stop, or at least leave something for me to do. I feel bad that they’re rushing around after me.

Rigs shakes his head, “Leave them, it’s their job.”

I now understand the dynamic going on with the prospects. They are in the proving stage, where they’re looking for opportunities to make themselves useful to the brothers. They all seem like nice guys, so I make sure to thank each one for their help.

As we walk into the clubhouse, Rigs asks, “Did you have a chance to have breakfast yet?”

“I’m afraid not and I’m starving. I was just about to dive into my snack bag. You’re welcome to join me if you like.”

“As tempting as that is, I’m going to pass. I would like you to join me for breakfast on the patio. Part of being your protector is making sure that your basic needs are met and that includes food.”

There’s something about him I can’t quite put my finger on, the way he talks and acts makes me think of a different time. I don’t even bother to comment on how taking care of my basic needs is in no way shape or form his responsibility. Instead, I just roll with it. “Breakfast I don’t have to cook? Leave the way, Mr. Rigs.”

“It’s just Rigs, no mister. You have a nice way about you Miss Mattie. I really like that about you.”

“Thank you,” I was about to say that he did too, but stop myself before we got into some kind of compliment competition. I actually found his sometimes, old-fashioned way of speaking to be really sweet, I realize now what he made me think of—the old Western movies that my dad used to love. Many would have a quiet preacher character, who would end up being all badass. That’s what Rigs reminds me of, though I guess old time cowboys and bikers aren’t too dissimilar, I take a minute to examine my surroundings as I follow him further into to the Bar area. I have become familiar with parts of the clubhouse from being Cleo’s guest over the last few months. We grab a table that have been set up with the tablecloth, tableware and a carafe of coffee. Looks like someone was expecting us. I suspect Rigs arranged this for us, because it doesn’t make sense that any of these rough bikers would think to do something like that.

“The coffee smells amazing,” I announce as we sat down.

“One of the prospects make a special blend of beans and grinds them fresh every day. We’ve all been spoiled by his talent as of late.”

I respond brightly, “Well, I feel like I’m on vacation already, it sure smells better than my local coffee shop.”

Rigs chuckles. “We aim to please, Miss Mattie. I don’t know what you like for breakfast. I asked him for a traditional breakfast of bacon, eggs, and toast with some fresh fruit on the side. I hope that will be okay. But if you prefer cereal or something else, I’m sure we can do that. Though it might be mermaid cereal as Rider’s daughter Amy’s obsessed with the stuff.”

My mouth is watering just thinking about the bacon and eggs, I haven’t been eating as well as I should lately. I haven’t been doing a lot of things as well as I should lately. My neurologist is always telling me that with MS, while medication is important, so is keeping a healthy lifestyle. Plenty of sleep, avoiding stress and good nutrition. Though that’s easier said than done, especially when you’ve been receiving threats, and your workload has tripled. I smile at him, “Bacon and eggs sound perfect!”

“One order of bacon, eggs and toast coming up. How would you like your eggs?”

I’m tempted to joke with him and say I’d love eggs benedict, but the trouble he’s gone to, I really think he’d be out there telling the prospects to make it. “However, you’re having them is fine by me.”

“Scrambled it is then,” he says as he gestures to the young guy lurking by the door. “Miss Mattie will have her eggs scrambled as well.”

“On it,” the prospect says as he skuttles inside.