Move the Sun (Signal Bend Series) Read Free

mirror on the wall behind it, the booze arrayed on glass shelves on the mirror. Straight off the Universal Studios lot. Add some swinging louvered doors and a spittoon, lose the Wurlitzer, and sit back and wait for Wyatt Earp to stroll through.
    Well, except for the big, hand-lettered sign on the mirror that admonished: “This Is A CASH ONLY Establishment: Save Your Fucken Plastic For The Mall.”
    The place was doing some brisk but not overwhelming business. Most of the tables were occupied, mostly with the typical farmland types—grungy John Deere caps, dark red, lined faces. Not a lot of women, Lilli noticed. Those around were, on average, fuller figured and dyed. Lots of plaid and denim. Lots of draught beer. This was definitely not a pick up joint. It was a place for hard-working men to get drunk. Lilli noticed sandwiches and baskets of fries on several tables. Score.
    She went to the bar, which was crowded with the owners of the Harleys out front—a row of six men, all wearing kuttes with the same patch: the Night Horde MC. Three of the men were leaning with their elbows on the bar; the other three were leaning back against it, keeping an eye on the room. One of those was the man she’d noticed riding down Main Street with a couple of his brothers earlier in the day.
    He was watching her.
    She made eye contact with him, and he nodded and lifted his beer bottle. No beer on tap for him, it seemed. She wasn’t sure whether he was acknowledging that he recognized her from earlier, or whether he was simply letting her know that he’d noticed her. She supposed she did stand out a bit in this crowd. She walked to the end of the bar, where there was an empty stool. The bartender, a curvy, very-not-natural redhead showing a huge rose tat on lots of cleavage, came right down and asked for her order.
    “Any chance the kitchen’s still open?”
    The bartender looked over at the old, animated beer sign on the wall. It would be “vintage,” except Lilli was pretty sure it had been hanging exactly there since it had been brand new. There was a clock embedded in it. “Fifteen more minutes. What can I get ya?”
    “Just a cheeseburger and fries. And a bottle of Bud. Thanks.” The busty bartender offered an approving nod, popped the top on a Bud, and handed it to her before she went back to push the swinging door to the kitchen open and yell in her order.
    Lilli took a long swallow of the cold, soothing brew. Bud might not be the smoothest or the fanciest beer around, but it was the King of Beers, after all. She felt a tingle up her back and turned quickly to find the Biker Man coming up on her. Despite his general mien of menace, he wasn’t casting an especially aggressive vibe, so she leaned back on the bar and watched him come. He stopped directly in front of her and took a pull of his beer. He was wearing black leather cuffs on his wrists and three big silver rings on each large hand: thumb, middle finger, ring finger.
    He was tall—really tall, at least six-five, maybe more. Broad shoulders, with the firm swell that indicated real definition under his kutte—a kutte with several patches on the front, one of which, on his right side, read “President.” Top of the food chain, then.
    His beard was dark and full; his hair, in that thick braid halfway down his back, was also dark and full. Vivid green eyes. Long scar running up and across the left side of his face, from just under his nose to his temple.
    He had her attention, definitely.
    “You set?” His voice was deep and rumbly. Of course it was.
    Lilli lifted her bottle and waved it a bit. “Yep. But thanks.”
    He winked. “I’ll get the next one, then.” He took another swallow, killing his beer. Leaning in on her to set his empty on the bar, his head near her ear, he said, “I’m Isaac.” Lilli could smell the leather of his kutte.
    When he stepped back, she smiled at him. “Hi, Isaac.” Without saying more, she drank some beer.
    Isaac grinned. It was