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

she said adamantly. “Besides, who would buy a failing business? I can barely afford to pay my workers. I’m up to my ears in debt…”
     
     
    “Listen, the business may not be worth much but the land is a different story,” he said. Her heart sank at his words. Trisha knew he was right but she hated the mere idea of it. “Look Trisha, I’m saying this as one of your father’s oldest friends. You need to do what’s best for you. Don’t let your pride get in the way of your reason. Sell the land and you’ll be able to live comfortably until you find some other type of work.”
     
     
    “Enrique, I’ve been a farm girl my entire life,” she said, trying to fight back tears. “I’ve grown up milking cows and pulling turnips. This is my life. I can’t just sell what’s left my parents.”
     
     
    The man sighed. “It’s just something to think about, Beatrix. Just make sure to take care of yourself.”
     
     
    Trisha gave a soft nod. “So long.”
     
     
    After watching Enrique depart, the young woman decided to take a stroll through her field. The farm wasn’t big compared to her rivals but she was proud of it. Watching the cycle of planting crops and watching them grow never got old.
     
     
    She watched her workers toil away I the fields. She couldn’t afford to hire many of them but she appreciated the work of the ones who worked for her. Trisha realized that it was not just her future at stake. Her workers had families to feed as well. Perhaps selling the farm would be the best choice in ensuring she and her workers had the best future they could possibly have.
     
     
    That’s when she saw a stranger talking with Harold, one of her workers. This man looked dangerous between his leather jacket and his fingerless gloves. Yet, there was something familiar about him. The young woman had seen him from somewhere before.
     
     
    There was also an expensive looking motorcycle parked in the driveway. It looked way more powerful than her dad’s cold V92C. Its fuel tank had an emblem of some type of dog engraved upon it.
     
     
    The man would be just as intimidating if not for his boyish smile. His eyes were bright, welcoming, and intelligent. However, his body was as powerful and rugged looking as his motorcycle. A trail of intricate tattoos snaked its way across his collarbone and onto the side of his neck. There was a small scar running to across his temple. Trisha wondered if he got it from a motorcycle crash.
     
     
    Or a violent fist fight.
     
     
    That was when she realized who he was. That man was Dante Alastair, president of the Black Hound Motorcycle Club. She had seen his handsome face and his notorious motorcycle club on the news and in her dad’s old subscription to Motorcycle Monthly.
     
     
    Now, the man was trying to start a motorcycle manufacturing company. She didn’t know why this man would care about her tiny farm. The motorcycle club president claimed that he wanted to legitimize his business and give back to the community. It was a line she had heard from every politician and businessman who wanted to make money at the expense of the poor, including her financially strapped family.
     
     
    Nevertheless, she was curious to why the bad boy biker was in her neighborhood.
     
     
    Harold seemed pleased with the man. The young farmhand was enthusiastic about the mini-tour he was conducting. “This is Ms. Kaplan. She owns the place. She’s the one you should be talking to if you’re placing that big of an order.”
     
     
    Trisha’s ears perked up at the last word. “Hello, I am Beatrix Kaplan, owner of Foxtail Farms. And you are?”
     
     
    “Pleased to meet you, Beatrix,” he replied, his eyes fixated on the woman. “My name is Dante Alastair. I was just discussing a business to business deal with Harold just now.”
     
     
    Trisha fought and failed to keep from blushing. The biker was even more handsome and charming in person than he was in magazines. His face was