WRECKED: CHOSEN FEW MC - BOOK TWO: OUTLAW BIKER/ALPHA ROMANCE (2 page)

“Melanie Wilford,” she said, shaking his hand and noting his sad, pale-blue eyes—Carly’s eyes. The man’s calm manner surprised her. The contrast between his wild appearance and gentle manner was stunning.

“I wanted to introduce myself and not just take off with the Grease Princess here. I could imagine having a stranger show up unannounced to get a kid must be unsettling.”

“Yes. We take our responsibility for them rather seriously.”

He put his hand in his jeans and pulled out a folded paper. “We figured as much, so Willow wrote a note, just in case anyone didn’t like the idea of me swooping off with a student.”

“Willow?”

“Her mom. She has to take Jake to therapy, if she can get the stubborn bum to go.”

“Carly said her father was injured in an accident.”

“Right. He’s going to survive, but he doesn’t get around well. Messed his legs up in ways the doctors aren’t sure they can fix, or to what extent they can fix them. A lot depends on him and he’s not in a great place. Jake is a handful when he’s feeling good so I figured her mom could use a little less to deal with right now.”

“You take her to a garage?”

“Where I work. Then, at the end of the day, I take her home. She seems to enjoy our time together, and she’s practically my apprentice anyway, so with Willow busy, I offered to take care of making sure she gets to and from school safely.”

Melanie glanced at the paper and saw it was an authorization to pick the girl up. She looked past Greg Jones to the girl, who was now perched on the back of the big motorcycle, swinging her legs impatiently. She frowned. “You’ll get her home safely on that thing?”

Greg followed her gaze and laughed. “Yeah, safely.”

“But your brother had a fall…”

“Oh, the kid’s safe, believe me. She’s got more hours on a bike than most people you know as it is. You can’t totally prevent accidents, but I’m extra careful with that precious cargo.”

“She looks so unprotected on that… thing.”

“The truth is that Jake’s fall shouldn’t have happened. It was his own fault. And it’s the case that accidents happen whether you’re in a car or on a bike. People are aware that a bike is a lot less forgiving in an accident, and they equate that with unsafe. The truth is that it’s a better vehicle, a safer one, in terms of avoiding accidents. It’s more responsive, you’ve got better visibility and maneuverability. Jake screwed up. He got careless and if that happens, it doesn’t matter if you’re on a bike or in a tank.” He glanced back at Carly. “Anyway, I better get the grease princess back to the garage before she blows a gasket.”

“Grease princess?”

“Yeah, the guys in the club like to give everyone a nickname. They call me Wrench, because I fix things. They all adore Carly, so she gets a title. The guys said that even though she tends to get greasy hanging around the garage, somehow she still manages to look like a princess.”

“She said you are going to let her rebuild a carburetor.”

“After she does her homework.”

“I hear you are a taskmaster.”

Greg smiled. “I’m not the one who scheduled the upcoming math test. My job is to see that she is prepared to do whatever is required of her, Miss Wilford. Any job worth doing is worth doing well—doing it the right way. And yes, she is going to rebuild a carb. It is a practical exam. Before I showed her how to rebuild a carburetor, before she got to assist me with one, I insisted she learn the theory of carb design in combustion. She knows it cold and that will let her work through any problems she encounters. Now, if you give her half a chance, she’ll talk your ear off about jets and the Venturi effect. Actually, it’s a great lesson in practical fluid dynamics.”

“I see. Well I doubt I’d understand any of it myself, and to be honest I don’t see where I’d wedge that into the sixth grade curriculum.”

“Well, you might want to explore doing that. It makes learning fun.”

“I’ll pass that along to the school board, but it sounds too practical for their lofty goals.”

“Okay, I tried.” He glanced at Carly. “I guess I better get her to the office now.”

“I want to thank you for introducing yourself, Mr. Jones, and providing me with written permission. It saves a lot of concern. Besides, meeting you helps me understand Carly and her situation better.”

She saw a twinkle sneak into his eyes. “Well, I’m delighted to meet you. Anyone Carly approves of is okay in my book.”

The idea that Carly approved of her warmed her. She didn’t pander to the kids and some of them thought she was tough. It was nice to hear that some appreciated her, even if they’d never say it her face.

As she watched him walked back to the bike, where Carly sat waiting, Melanie automatically glanced around the yard. Brian stood by the classroom door, staring at the front gate as if he was expecting something to happen. He was one of the students who walked home. Normally he walked by himself, leaving right after the bell, but he was hesitating, making her wonder what he was waiting for.

“Can we go now?” Carly asked her uncle.

“You bet, let’s to get greasy,” he said.

“You’re already greasy,” the girl laughed. “Greasy Wrench Jones.”

“And his lovely Princess Grease.”

With Carly wrapping her thin arms around Greg Jones’ waist, he used his body weight to kick start the engine. The throaty roar of the motor rasped, a harsh sound of the bike coming alive. Carly gave Melanie a wave, then hugged her uncle’s waist again. The bike moved smoothly out of the parking lot and they slipped out onto the road.

A twinge made Melanie aware that she was a bit jealous of the warm and obviously supportive relationship between the two. That didn’t seem right—it went against reason, that this smart and balanced little girl adored her uncle who was a biker. He probably had a criminal record and yet Greg Jones surprised her by coming across as a totally reasonable man. And as she relaxed, she realized that she thought him a sexy man. Was it his mystery? He wasn’t afraid to walk a bit on the dark side, maybe a lot on the dark side. She’d seen a scar through the open neck of his work shirt that suggested he didn’t take an easy path through life. Was she becoming a romantic? It seemed that those things made him even more intriguing.

Naturally some of the attraction could be written off to the idea that he lived by some code she didn’t understand. Melanie had lived by the rules of the mainstream world her entire life. To be a teacher, to be respected, you abided by the rules. Even if you didn’t think they were reasonable, the fear of punishment had always been a deterrent for her. And here was a man that didn’t necessarily feel that way at all.

Suddenly she realized that the twinge she felt when she watched the bike disappear was an ache of loneliness and emptiness.

Where did that come from?

She liked a great deal about her life, especially her work, but that ache told her it was far from complete, and no matter how many children she helped, she needed something more. Maybe she needed something quite like Greg Jones.

* * *

When the last child had left, Melanie turned back to the classroom to do the inevitable paperwork, to satisfy the bureaucratic monster schools had become. In addition to grading papers, doing evaluations, there always seemed to be a new form or two in her inbox, with items to be checked, or new rules or procedures to be acknowledged.

Brian sat just outside the door, his back to the wall, reading a book. She had been glad to learn that he was an avid reader. The quiet ones sometimes compensated by turning to books, and that was a good thing, as far as she was concerned. Often she wondered about his book choices, however. They seemed to be awfully serious and rather eclectic for a young boy. She’d seen him reading books propounding theories about the Kennedy assassination, titles on currency manipulation, and others on the perils of world government. She’d checked with Mr. Affir, the civics teacher, and found that none of them were on the reading list for his class, or even titles he had mentioned.

As she approached Brian, he looked up at her and gave her a bittersweet, apprehensive smile. Those stunning green eyes of his, framed with jet-black hair, accented his sad, subdued expression. Given half a chance, as a young man he’d develop the look of a brooding artist.

“What are you reading today?”

He looked guilty. “It’s called Shadow Government. It’s by a man named Grant Jeffrey.” He showed her the cover. “It’s about how the secret elite keeps track of people, and spies on everyone.”

“Secret elite? Who are they?”

He scowled. “It’s the people who really run the governments of the world for their own interests.”

“Is that something that interests you?”

He shut the book. “I don’t know. I don’t think I understand much of what they are talking about. I mean, why would the government let these other people tell them what the laws should be?”

She sat beside him, noting the way the book cover was covered with short blurbs in large type: ‘An ultra-secret global elite, functioning as a very real shadow government, controls technology, finance, international law, world trade, political power, and vast military capabilities.’

“I’m not sure, but then I haven’t read that book.”

“Is it true? Does the government hide things from the people and work for a secret group?”

She considered her reply, not wanting to talk down to him. “I’m sure there are people who, because of their money or position have more influence on what governments do, and there are people who spy on others. I would think that if they were that powerful they wouldn’t let this man publish that story. That’s something to consider.”

“My dad says… this book says these people use the FBI and CIA to secretly spy on people who aren’t even doing anything wrong. Do they do that?”

Melanie felt a bit trapped. “I don’t really know, to be honest. But even if they spy on me, they won’t find anything interesting. I’m just a teacher. The worst thing they could learn is that sometimes I coach my favorite students a bit so they do better on tests.”

“You help all the kids.”

She grinned. “Because you are all my favorites.”

“My dad says this stuff is important.”

She nodded, glad to know where the interest came from. “Does he give you these books? Does he expect you to read them?”

“No.” He closed the book. “My dad believes these things. He believes things that Mr. Affir says are just silly.” He scowled. “But Mr. Affir says some things that don’t make much sense sometimes, too, so I want to find out for myself. My dad talks about this kind of stuff all the time. Sometimes he gets really, really angry about it and when he talks to me I want to understand why he’s so angry. He thinks it’s really, really important.”

“Do the books help you understand him?”

“Sometimes. But some of the books don’t agree with his ideas. Some mostly agree, but not with all his ideas and if I ask him about it, he tells me they are propaganda. So it’s confusing. How do you know which books are right and which are propaganda? How do you know what is right or wrong?”

Her heart went out to him. Brian was a logical kid, and she could see him having trouble accepting radical opinions. “That’s a pretty complicated thing to figure out, Brian. Different people have their own ideas on almost every topic. With things that are hard to prove, like talking about something that’s secret, it can be hard to know the truth, simply because some of the facts are secret. When you read a book, the rule I use is that when the writer says things, claims they are true, but doesn’t explain why it’s true, then doesn’t let you see their reasoning, when they won’t discuss the ideas, that’s usually propaganda. Discussion is important, because even scientists will disagree about what’s true or false.”

“Do the scientists get angry with each other?”

She laughed. “I imagine some do. It isn’t usually helpful. It’s better to talk things through.”

“I wish I understood my dad. If I try to get him to explain things, he just repeats the same thing that’s in the books. That doesn’t help.”

Melanie had zero interest in politics, but the hope she saw on his face was compelling. “I can see that. Why not ask him to loan you the books that he thinks tell the truth? After you read them, you and I can discuss anything that doesn’t make sense to you.”

He grinned. “You’d do that?”

“Sure. I might learn something too. I don’t know much about any of this.”

Brian got up, looking relieved. “Thanks. Well, I guess I better get home. My dad said we could order pizza tonight.”

“I see. I have my work to do too.”

Brian started to go, then stopped. “Do you like Carly’s Uncle Greg?”

“Like him?”

“I saw you talking with him.”

“Yes. He seems rather nice and Carly likes him. That’s a good recommendation.”

“Why do you ask?”

“Because I saw the way he looked at you, and I think he likes you a lot.”

“You do?” She was used to the kids teasing her about men, but this struck close to home. She’d noticed he was polite, but if was looking at her in a way that Brian noticed… “So what do you think of him?”

“I think he’s a little scary.” The boy said that with admiration. “I also think he’s also really cool. I wish I could ride on that bike.”

She laughed again. “Brian, I think you nailed it—you and I can agree that he’s a little scary but cool.”

And very sexy. She’d noticed him, but it said something about her that it took a twelve-year-old to point out to her that the man had been checking her out too.

Brian gathered up his things and she watched him head home. His explanation of his father’s issues concerned her. He was an extremist of some sort and obviously didn’t trust the government. That would explain why he didn’t make it to the parent-teacher conference or do anything else with the school. He didn’t approve of their agenda.

Eventually she would find out what was going on. Then maybe she’d be able to help the boy.

Maybe she’d even figure out how to help herself.

CHAPTER TWO

As they pulled away from the school with his beloved motorcycle throbbing between his legs, he let himself think of this teacher of Carly’s. Miss Melanie Wilford. Carly had told him she was good looking, and the girl was unfailingly honest, even blunt, but seeing her had still surprised him. Probably he carried old stereotypes of what a teacher looked like in his head from his own school days, thirty or so years ago. Although he wracked his brain, he couldn’t remember having any teachers who looked like this one. He’d been precocious and he was sure he would remember.