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2018 Piper Davenport
Copyright © 2018 Trixie Publishing, Inc. All rights reserved.
Published in the United States
Stealing the Biker’s Heart is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Cover Art
Jackson Jackson
CONTENTS
Copyright Praise
Acknowledgements
Back Blurb
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Epilogue
Dalton & Andi’s Story
Badger & Quin’s Story
Minus
About Piper
Allit tookwas onepage andIwas immediately hookedon Piper Davenport’s writing. Her books contain 100% Alpha andtheperfect amount ofangst to keep me reading untilthe wee hours ofthe morning. Iabsolutely love eachandevery one ofher fabulous stories. ~ Anna Brooks – Contemporary Romance Author Get ready to fallheadover heels! Ifellin love withevery single page andspent the last few wishing the bookwouldnever end! ~ Harper Sloan, NY Times & USA Today Bestselling Author Piper Davenportjust reacheddeep into my heart andgave me every warm andfuzzypossible. ~ Geri Glenn, Author of the Kings of Korruption MC Series
This is one series Iwillmost definitely be reading!!Greatjob Ms. Davenport!! Iam in love!! ~ Tabitha, Amazeballs Book Addicts
Kelly:
Thanks again. Your insight is always so spot on!
Harley:
Thanks for being the bestest friend a girl could have!
Jasmine Buckley’s busy life has no room for anything that doesn’t involve color palettes, fragrance samples, or building her burgeoning cosmetics empire. And she’s certainly too damn busy for a man. Too bad for her, she’s about to meet a man who could either be the makeover her love life needs, or the ultimate test of her new waterproof mascara formula.
Valen "Alamo" Slater is the unapologetic Sergeant at Arms for the Dogs of Fire MC in Savannah. Alamo is used to getting what he wants, and right now what he wants is Jasmine Buckley. The beautiful and fiery redhead is everything he’s ever wanted in a woman. The problem is, she has rules... strict ones. Lucky for him, there’s never been a rule he couldn’t bend... or break.
When Alamo discovers his sister severely beaten, his pursuit of justice plunges him into the heart of an ever-present and growing darkness in Savannah. With everyone and everything he loves in danger, Alamo must face the demons of his past in order to protect his future.
For Sybil Woman, you’re one ofa kindandIADOREYOU!
Jasmine
“You are a confident, beautiful woman, Jasmine Elizabeth Buckley,” I said to myself as I stood in front of my bathroom mirror. “You do not let a man get under your skin.”
This was all true.
Until...
I shook off my thoughts with a frustrated growl. Valen “Alamo” Slater was apparently my kryptonite.
Alamo was the Sergeant at Arms for the Dogs of Fire Motorcycle Club, Savannah Chapter, and I’d met him when my best friend fell for his “brother,” Dash. Willow and Dash were now shacking up, which had surprised the hell out of me and Parker (the third bestie in our triangle), because Willow was the best “good girl” on the planet. Sweet, funny, and virginal to the nth degree. Now, however, she was Dash’s and he wasn’t letting her go.
God, I wanted that. No, that wasn’t entirely true. I wanted that with Alamo, but he wanted Parker. They always want Parker. Which
was understandable. I loved Parker too. She was perfect. Dark hair, model body, giant green eyes. Everything I wasn’t.
That didn’t mean I thought I was less than. We were just different. I was tall, about five-foot-eight, I had long, red hair, and I was a big girl...as my mother said, in body and personality. I owned that. Reluctantly. I’d done the fad diets, worked out like a mad woman, and taken pills that offered rapid weight loss, but none of it stuck. I was way more Ashley Graham (according to Sparky’s woman Poppy) than Kate Moss, and that suited me just fine.
Don’t get me wrong, I did have days where I wished I was more of the “ideal” (like when Alamo was chatting up Parker...I wanted to be her. I wanted to be what he wanted), but then I’d remember it was impossible, shake those pesky little desires off, and be back to my normal, confident self.
Which led me to today and why I was staring into my mirror, willing myself to believe I had this shit covered. I’d woken up on the wrong side of the bed, after having sexy as hell dreams of Alamo going down on me, and I was back to feeling insecure. Probably because we’d just been at another get-together at the club and I’d spent the entire time watching Alamo...and Parker. God, he’d talked to her for, like, forever.
Damn it!
Forcing my insecurities aside, I gave myself another pep talk. I had a salon to run and a cosmetics empire to build. No time to moon over some sexy as fuck biker.
After giving my perfect, precious (and sometimes psycho) cat, Scruffy, a quick cuddle, I grabbed my purse and headed to my car.
I only had a few appointments today (Parker was my first), and my schedule was purposely light, so that I could leave early to join Parker and Willow for dinner and a movie. I loved owning my own business. I’d worked hard to get here, having chosen a route unlike my brother and sister who were both doctors.
I had a very successful salon and had just started looking at properties across town to open a second. I was also seriously close to finalizing the perfect formula for a new skincare line that could
put me on the map. I loved my life and was proud of what I’d accomplished.
Walking into the salon, I disarmed the alarm and turned on all the lights before locking my purse up and unlocking the front door. I headed to the reception area and powered up the computer just as the bell rang, indicating a customer.
Which was weird, considering Parker wasn’t scheduled for another half-hour.
I glanced up and stalled. Okay, my lungs stalled, but my girl bits reacted with a violence I’d never experienced before. All six-footone of biker deliciousness stood before me in all his glory and my lungs constricted.
Lordy, I needed relief.
Immediately.
“Hi,” I managed to squeak out.
“Hey, Firefly,” Alamo said with his southern Texas drawl that caused my womb to contract as I yearned for his baby to grow in my belly.
God.
Yum.
Firefly.
I didn’t know why he called me that, but I loved it. So did my vagina. I bit my lip. “What... um... what can I do for you?”
“Was wonderin’ if you had time for a haircut.”
I absolutely had time for a haircut, but I was a little confused as to why he’d driven into downtown Savannah for a forty-two-dollar haircut... not that I would charge him that much money, but he could head to a local chain for less than twenty bucks.
“Ah, sure. I can do that,” I said, and stepped from behind the desk.
He nodded. “’Preciate it.”
I led him to my chair and he settled his big body into it. “Do you want the works?”
He grinned at me in the mirror. “I always want the works, baby.”
I shook my head, trying to bite back a smile. “I’ve heard that about you.”
He laughed, and I led him over to one of the sinks. Guiding his head back, I started the water and settled over his hair. “Temperature okay?”
“Yeah, babe, it’s good.”
I soaked his head, pumped out a quarter size of my favorite shampoo, and massaged it into his scalp. Good lord, his hair was soft and thick, and long enough to hold onto while he was going down on me. Okay, maybe that was wishful thinking, but it was all true.
His black, long-sleeved Henley was stretched over his massive chest and I itched to trace the curves of his pecs (and the rest of his muscles) with my fingers. If the size of his arms were any indication as to just how cut he’d be, I would have a lot of terrain to cover.
I spent a little more time at the sink than I normally did with clients, relishing the feeling of his hair in my hands. His eyes were closed, and he had a slight smile, which made him even more gorgeous (if that was possible), and it took every ounce of my selfcontrol not to cover his mouth with mine.
Shaking off my erotic fantasies, I led him back to my chair and covered him with a cape. “How short?”
“Just a trim,” he said.
I found myself relaxing. “Good. Perfection like this should never be destroyed.”
He grinned at me in the mirror and his eyes got soft. I liked it when his eyes got soft... he looked at me like I was the prettiest girl he’d ever seen. “You comin’ on Saturday?”
“What’s Saturday?” I asked.
“Drinks and pool at Barney’s.”
“I actually have plans, but that sounds like fun. Give me more notice next time and I’ll try and make it.” I didn’t have plans, technically, but Barney’s wasn’t really my jam, so rather than insulting one of his favorite hang-outs (along with the entire club), I bent the truth a little. “Is Parker going?”
“How would I know if Parker’s goin’?”
I shrugged, forcing a smile. “Figured you asked her already, is all.”
Parker walked in a few seconds later and grinned. “Well, looky here...two of my favorite people.”
She kissed Alamo’s cheek, then hugged me, and leaned against my station desk. “Did you make coffee?” she asked.
“I did. I have to get a different comb, so I’ll grab you a cup,” I offered. “Do you want one, Alamo?”
“Sure, babe, that’d be great.”
I headed to the back, grabbed everything I needed, then returned to find Parker and Alamo laughing about something.
“You’re high,” Parker said, and Alamo laughed.
My girly bits contracted, and I almost dropped the coffees. Lordy, his laugh did dirty things to me.
“You don’t think so?” Alamo asked.
“No way in hell.”
I raised an eyebrow, handing Alamo a cup, then Parker.
“Thanks,” she said. “Alamo thinks the Cowboys are going to make it to the Super Bowl.”
“You never know,” I said. “Miracles do happen.”
Alamo grinned as he studied me in the mirror for a second, but I dropped my head and focused back on his hair.
“Well, you two are apparently smoking from the same crack pipe,” Parker said, and sipped her coffee.
After a few more snips, I ran my fingers through his hair to check length. I met his eyes in the mirror again and smiled. “How does that look?”
“Looks great, babe.” I grabbed a hand-held mirror and showed him the back. He nodded and said, “You do good work, Firefly.”
“Thanks.” I moved to his beard, but he stayed my hand.
“No one touches the beard, babe.”
I smiled despite being disappointed. His beard was long, but he obviously took good care of it, because it wasn’t bushy, and it was yet another item on his body I wanted to touch. “Well, you’re no fun.”
He chuckled as I removed the cape and shook it out, while he slid out of the chair.
He pulled a fifty out of his wallet, but I pushed his hand away. “On the house, Mo.”
“Don’t work that way,” he said.
“I’m not taking your money, buddy,” I insisted.
He raised an eyebrow, dropping the cash on the reception desk. “Keep the change, baby.”
He walked out, and I shook my head. “Stubborn, gorgeous...”
Parker laughed. “You okay?”
“I’m great.” I forced a smile. “I just have to sweep up and then I’ll be ready.”
“Want me to grab you a cup of coffee?” she asked. “I’m getting another.”
“That would be great, thanks.”
Parker headed to the break room and I finished sweeping up Alamo’s hair. As I pushed it into the pan, I contemplated saving some. Maybe I could put a little in a locket and wear it around my neck. Better yet, I could research a love incantation and use his hair in a spell to make him fall for me. I rolled my eyes as I dumped everything into the garbage can. I’d probably need something weird like eye of newt, or frog’s teeth or something to make it all work, and I didn’t think I was ready to go to those lengths to make Alamo love me.
Parker returned with a cup for both of us and plopped herself into my chair. “Did you hear they found another body?” she asked.
“No.” I shivered. “That’s four in the last month.”
The top story of late was the discovery of several women’s remains in the area. The media was calling the serial killer the “Gentleman Strangler,” because he’d sexually assault the victim, strangle her, then dress her in fifties clothing, detailed down to the stockings and white gloves. Every woman was petite, brunette, and had olive skin. It was super creepy, and our little community was on high alert.
Parker nodded. “They found her in the park.”
The park she was referring to was Forsythe Park in the most historic part of town.
“Seriously?” I frowned. “That’s close.”
“I know. You have a client down there, right?”
“Yep.”
“Please be careful, Jazz,” Parker begged. “Whoever this guy is, he’s scary and seems like he’s reckless. If you’re in that area, stay aware of your surroundings. Especially if it’s dark.”
“I’m so not his type. He’s partial to brunettes,” I pointed out. “I also don’t go down there when it’s dark. And back atya, okay? You like to run the park.”
“I’m not running there now,” she insisted. “Too creepy.”
“You could take one of the guys with you.”
Parker raised an eyebrow. “Have you ever seen a biker run for fun?”
I thought about that for a second, then laughed. “Maybe you’re right.” I sipped my coffee. “Are you going on Saturday?”
“What’s on Saturday?”
“Pool and beer at Barney’s.”
“Um, no.” She wrinkled her nose. “Are you?”
I chuckled. “No. Alamo asked if I was going... I figured he’d have asked you.”
“Why would he ask me?”
“Because he wants you.”
Parker raised an eyebrow. “Come again?”
“He’s always all over you at the get-togethers,” I said. “Plus, you guys were all heads-together and giggling like lovers just a few minutes ago.”
Parker did a spit-take... like a bona-fide spit take. “What?”
“What, what?” I asked, handing her some tissues.
She set her cup on the counter and laughed. “Ohmigod, you beautiful, beautiful woman. You are so, so pretty.”
I frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means, you’re very pretty... not so smart, but super pretty.”
I rolled my eyes. “He is all over you... every time we’re at the compound.”
“Maybe so... but he’s asking about you.”
“What?” I squeaked.
“That man might be considered brooding, but he’s good at grilling for information, and the only topic he’s ever interested in is you.”
“Shut up,” I rasped.
She swiveled her chair to face me. “You like him.”
“My vagina does, yes... jury’s still out on if it’s simple lust or something else.”
Parker giggled. “Well, you’re both in the same place.”
“His vagina’s lusting after me?”
“Yes, yes, it is.”
“Weirdo.”
“That man is primed and ready for some Jazz... and it sounds like you’re primed for some jizz—”
“Parker!” I admonished.
She shrugged. “Whatever. He’s raring to go, and you won’t even have to work for it.”
I couldn’t stop a snort as I shook my head. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Maybe so, but I’m not wrong.”
“If he’s really been asking about me, why didn’t you tell me?”
“I thought you knew,” Parker said.
“How would I know if he’s always talking to you?”
“I wondered why you always changed the subject when his name came up.” Parker sighed. “I thought I was reading you wrong and you were totally not into him.”
I grimaced. “You weren’t reading me wrong.”
“Were you super pissed at me?”
“No! Why?”
“Because I can’t say I wouldn’t be jealous as hell, or want to scratch your eyes out if the situation was reversed.”
I laughed. “Well, I love you enough to not let a boy get in the middle of our friendship... even a boy as delicious as Alamo.”
She grinned. “Outside of the fact you’re obviously a better woman than me, Alamo’s totally not my type. I like men with longer hair.”
“Correction. You like men who are prettier than you.”
“No comment.”
“Okay, change of subject,” I said with a chuckle, setting my coffee down. “What am I doing to you today?”
As Parker gave me in-depth instructions on how she wanted her hair cut and dried, I allowed part of my mind to imagine Alamo primed and ready for me. God, that would be amazing. * * *
Alamo
Fuck me, this woman was gonna be a challenge. I was still tryin’ to figure out if the challenge would be worth it as I walked into her fancy-ass salon, but then I saw her, and all those questions were forgotten. Jasmine Buckley was a fuckin’ knockout. She was tall and curvy, had big blue eyes, and the most glorious red hair I’d ever seen. All I wanted to do was wrap it around my hand and fuck her ’til she screamed... this thought made it difficult to focus, but it was no less the truth.
I’d first noticed her at Willow’s dad’s funeral. I doubt she saw me, but I clocked her the second she walked in. She was playin’ referee with Willow’s ex-douche of a fiancé and she was takin’ her role seriously. She wouldn’t let him anywhere near Willow, and since Brad Aljets was a total asshole, I was ready to jump in if he got nasty with her, but it hadn’t been necessary. She “handled” him perfectly.
When she walked into a pig roast with her friend a few weeks after the funeral, I knew I needed to get a little information about her... and endear myself to her friend in order to figure out my next move. I knew she was twenty-seven, owned a couple of businesses, and came from money. What I was intrigued by, was she didn’t seem to care about status. She didn’t wear designer shoes or carry thousand-dollar handbags, she was as down to earth as they came. All of this was confirmed by Parker. She’d promised she’d smooth the way for me with Jasmine, but apparently, it didn’t work.
Jasmine had cut my hair and refused my money, which pissed me off. I didn’t ask for shit I couldn’t afford, but then she’d called me ‘Mo,’ and I’d had to stop myself from kissing her stupid right then
and there. The problem was, I could never get a good read on what she was thinking, and unfortunately, I’d flunked out of mindreading school.
The shit truth was, Jasmine didn’t seem interested, even though I know Parker approved of me (and Willow adored me), so now I planned to back off. If Jasmine wanted me, she’d have to give me some indication. I didn’t chase anyone I couldn’t catch.
I shook off my thoughts and headed to the compound. We were in the middle of opening a few night clubs, as well as rebuilding one that had been burned to the ground by some folks who wanted to fuck with the Dogs.
I took the long route to give myself some extra time to recalibrate. There was an older stretch of the highway that lead to Fredricks Mill Rd., and eventually to a network of semi-paved service roads. One of these roads ended about a quarter mile from the Dog’s compound, and even though the road was rough as shit at times, I loved to ride it when I had the time. Today, I was making the time. I had to make sure my focus was strictly on club life when I rolled through the compound gates. I took my role as Sergeant at Arms very seriously, and after the shit we’d just gone through, I had to show my club that I was in top fuckin’ form. I knew that we had a lot of shit to go over, and the guys would be buttoned up, and ready for business when I rolled in. When I arrived, I parked my bike around back, and inspected it for any damage that may have occurred from rocks or debris on the service road.
As I was looking, I heard a loud voice yell out from inside, followed by a crashing sound. I drew my gun, and quietly slipped in through the rear entrance. I crept down the long hallway towards the main hall, and could hear the sounds of a struggle. Had someone breached the compound? I quickened my pace, remaining careful not to make a sound. I crouched at the door and listened, waiting for my moment to move in.
“I swear to God, I’ll let him kill you!” a voice said to a muffled response. “Okay, I guess I’m just gonna have to choke you to death.”
Hearing that, I raised my gun, kicked the door in, and charged into the great room, only to see one of our newest recruits, Shadow, sprawled out on the ground, being held in some sort of half-assed Jiu Jitsu hold by Badger. Dash, whose leg was still in an air-cast after surgery due to his accident, was standing over Shadow with his cane raised in the air. All eyes were currently pegged on me, the only one in the room currently holding a gun.
Doc, Gator, and Milky were sitting together, opposite a large folding table that had clearly been snapped in half. Rather than acting like officers and discouraging whatever the fuck was going on here, each of them sat relaxed, beer in hand. Not even my dramatic, completely unnecessary, entrance seemed to phase them at all. That was until they started laughing.
“Fuck you, guys,” I snapped. “What the hell is going on here?” I holstered my weapon while Shadow freed himself from Badger’s hold, and scrambled to his feet.
“We were teaching young Shadow here a lesson,” Dash said.
“Tell me, Professor, which class of yours did I walk in on? Dumbass 101 or Grab-ass 201?”
Another round of laughter from the President and my fellow officers, Statler, Waldorf, and Statler, Jr.
“And what the fuck are you three doing?” I asked.
“What does it look like, Alamo? We’re drinking beer and watching Badger and Dash pummel the shit out of young Shadow.”
I turned to Shadow. “Do I even want to know why the fuck you’re gettin’ pummeled?”
“Careful now, Cleveland, don’t make things worse for yourself,” Dash called out.
“Alright, Dash, seriously what the fuck is goin’ on here?”
“Shadow’s only been in the land of peaches and honey for a short period of time, and it seems he’s not quite ready to give up the Philistine ways of his homeland just yet.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning, he thought it would be kosher to bring the filthy mojo of his hometown team into this house, so we were in the process of re-educating the boy.”
I shook my head. “Aw, shit, Dash, leave the kid alone.”
“He’s a fucking Browns fan, Alamo! The fucking Browns!” Dash shouted.
He then spun around and addressed the room, his cane held high. “Are we gonna let this filthy Clevelandite sully this holy temple? This immortal shrine to the Falcons? I say nay brothers! Are we gonna let the horrific record of Cleveland skid marks contaminate that of our beloved team? I say nay, now what say you?”
The room made their unanimous decision known. The infidel was to verbally renounce his love for the Browns, and henceforth fly the flag of the red and black.
Since I could see he had no representation in this matter, I took it upon myself to act as the boy’s council. My opening statements were brief, yet eloquent. “Y’all are a bunch of fuckin’ idiots, who should have been sold off as medical experiments a long time ago,” I said, before turning to Doc, Gator, and Milky. “And you three should be ashamed of yourselves.”
“Oh, we are, but not for this,” Gator said, to howls of laughter.
“Gentlemen, the kid may have the misfortune of coming from a place with a shitty football team, but he took a beating rather than turn on them, so he’s alright by me. Besides, you’re all wrong. The Cowboys will always be the greatest team in the NFL.”
With that, young Shadow and I were assaulted with a barrage of boos and empty beer cans, but we stood proud.
“Dash, you and Badger clean this shit up,” I said. “The meeting starts in five minutes, and by the way, you owe me a new fuckin’ table.”
I headed into the conference room, unable to keep my grin to myself.
Jasmine
Two weeks later, I walked into Daily Grind, my local coffee shop, and ordered a latte and a muffin (plus a treat for my client). I had a little time before my first appointment and had decided to indulge myself. It was raining (which I loved), and I was cold (which I also loved), because it gave me the excuse to buy a warm fancy coffee with a gazillion calories.
As I waited for my order, I thought back to my conversation with Parker. At this point, I was pretty sure she was insane, because I hadn’t seen Alamo since his haircut, which was an obvious sign he wasn’t interested in me. If he really was grilling Parker for information, I would have thought he’d have come back to the salon, or something... find any excuse to see me, but he hadn’t. Alamo had become a ghost.
So, today, I chose to eat my feelings. I wasn’t so naïve as to think this wasn’t what I was doing. I typically didn’t eat much for breakfast, so I recognized that I was about to consume a muffin the size of my head in an obvious attempt to soothe my hurt... or libido.
Both of them needed a little TLC, but I couldn’t very well whip my vibrator out in public, so socially acceptable breakfast cake it was.
Once my name was called, I grabbed my purchases and headed for the side door, finding it opened at the same time as I went to push on it, so I looked up to gauge whether or not I should wait... and nearly dropped my coffee.
“Hey, Firefly.”
“What... um... hi,” I manage to stutter out.
He grinned (still holding the door). “I come here every morning.”
I stepped outside, and he let the door close, guiding me under the awning, out of the rain. “You do?”
“Pretty much every morning I work this side of town. The shop’s right around the corner.”
“Oh, I didn’t realize.”
Alamo was a mechanic. I think. He also worked for BMW or something like that. I wasn’t sure. I drove a Mercedes, so it’s not like I’d run into him accidentally or anything.
“What are you doin’ here?” he asked.
“I have a private client. Her place is near the Park.”
He frowned. “You need to be careful down there.”
“She’s a block off the park.” I smiled. “It’s very safe down there.”
“You sure?”
“Yes. She’s almost ninety now and finds it difficult to get out of the house. So, I go to her.”
I met his dark blue eyes and realized pretty quickly that that was a mistake, because they got soft and I melted. Well, my vagina melted. No, actually, everything melted. If I stood here much longer, I was going to end up a pile of goo. A very horny pile of goo.
“What time you done?” he asked.
“Um, usually sometime around twelve. I do her hair and then we visit for a little bit.”
“You wanna grab lunch?”
“With you?”
He cocked his head. “No, I’m askin’ you out for a friend. Need me to hand you a note with a yes or no on it?”
I bit back a chuckle. “Depends on who the friend is.”
Alamo grinned. “I can meet you somewhere or pick you up from your client’s place... whatever works for you.”
I smiled. “That sounds fun, actually. I have a meeting at two, so lunch around noon would be perfect. How about I meet you?”
He held his hand out. “Phone.”
I handed him my breakfast (and Miss Opal’s breakfast... I should have grabbed a cup carrier thingy) so I could dig in my bag without dropping anything, and once I found my phone, we switched. His thumbs flew over the display before he gave it back to me. “I’ll text you.”
I nodded. “Sounds good.”
“By the way, you look real pretty today, Firefly.”
“Oh,” I whisper-squeaked. “Um, thanks, Mo.”
He grinned and walked into the coffee shop, and I stood watching his ass for a few seconds before I came to my senses and headed to my car.
I pulled up to Miss Opal’s 1880s townhouse, which was on W. Gordon Street, right around the block from Forsythe park. She was old south with a shit ton of money, but you’d never know it if you met her. Well, you might guess, as she was highly “proper,” but, outside of my family and closest friends, she was the kindest person I knew.
I knocked on the door and her butler answered within seconds.
“Miss Buckley,” he said with a huge grin. “It’s so lovely to see you again.”
“Hi, Geoffrey.”
He reached for my breakfast burdens, which I happily handed over to him. “Are you spoiling the madam with treats again?”
“Guilty,” I said, as I entered the home.
He chuckled, closing the door behind me. “She’s out in the solarium. If you’ll follow me.”
Opal had a live-in butler and housekeeper/chef who prepared most of her meals, but she also brought folks in twice a week for various things.
Today, however, was Sybil’s day off, so I grabbed Opal breakfast since she was typically on a strict diet, and had mentioned (often)
that she loved cinnamon coffee cake.
I was clearly the bad influence in her life.
I walked into the solarium and found her laughing with her grandson, Thomas. Thomas Ellis; and you called him Thomas, not Tommy, Tom, or T-Bone. He was tall, blond, and very, very pretty. He wasn’t bad, for an old-world, southern man as rich as Croesus.
Even though Thomas and I had gone to the same high school (he was a year ahead of me), we had only really gotten to know each other when I started doing his grandmother’s hair two years ago.
He grinned (and stood) as I came into the room, closing the distance between us and greeting me with a kiss on the cheek... which was weird since he’d never done that before. “Jasmine Buckley, Grannie said you were coming this morning.”
“I’m a little early. I’m so sorry. I can come back.”
“You’re not early, dear,” Opal countered. “Thomas was supposed to leave an hour ago, but he stuck around for—”
“Grannie, you’re my one true love,” he interrupted. “I simply couldn’t possibly pull myself away from your witty conversation.”
I set my things on the ground before hugging Opal. “How are you?”
“I feel as though I could run a marathon.” She grinned up at me. “It’s just too bad my body disagrees with me.”
I smiled. “Bodies are such jerks.”
“Yes, they are.”
“I’m going to take my leave,” Thomas said. “May I steal Jasmine for a moment, Grannie?”
I was a little taken aback by his request, as I couldn’t imagine what Thomas Ellis would want to say to me, but I followed him back into the north parlor and he faced me with a gentle smile. “I was wondering if I might ask you out. Dinner... perhaps tonight?”
“Uh... um...” Fuck, what do I say here? I liked Thomas. He was handsome and sweet, but I’d never had him on my radar because he was super rich, super popular, and I wasn’t in his league.
“Lunch, then, if dinner’s too forward.”
“That’s not it,” I countered. “This is simply a surprise, and, uh, I’m actually busy tonight.”
Withmy vibrator, because, duh, lunchwithAlamo. That part I kept to myself.
“Of course you are,” Thomas breathed out. “I should not have presumed. Would Friday night be agreeable?”
I grimaced.
“You’re booked then as well,” he deduced. “Of course. A woman such as yourself is bound to be in high demand.”
“I’m free on Sunday night,” I offered, and his face lit up.
“I’ll get us reservations at Olde Pink.”
“I love that place.”
“As do I.” He grinned again. “I’ll call you with details.”
He leaned down and kissed my cheek again, then left me standing there wondering how he would call me if he didn’t have my number. Heading back into the solarium, I unpacked my bag and began to set up my mobile salon.
“My grandson is sweet on you,” Opal said.
I paused my busywork. “I’m sorry?”
“Thomas. He’s sweet on you. He’s been askin’ after you for close to a month now. I see he’s taken his chance... finally.”
I shook my head. “I had no idea.” And I really didn’t. If there had been signals, I'd missed them. All of them. Apparently, I’d lost the ability to detect a man’s interest in me, if I’d ever possessed that skill at all.
“Am I free to give him your number?”
“Yes, Miss Opal, you are free to give him my number.”
The lady squeaked in excitement. Yes, she squeaked. I’d never heard so much emoting from her before, and I couldn’t stop a giggle at her outburst.
“I want six grandbabies.”
“It’s just dinner, Miss Opal.”
“It’s never just dinner,” she said. “Not with Thomas.”
I bit my lip. That gave me pause. I didn’t want to rush into things with Thomas. I didn’t want to rush into things with anyone...
well, no, that wasn’t true. I wanted to rush into things with Alamo, but he was like a unicorn to me. A fantasy... with a really big horn.
“Bah! Ignore me, dear,” Opal rushed to say. “Chalk it up to the mutterings of a crazy old lady.”
I sighed. “You are neither of those things to me. Your body might be up there, but your mind is as sane and witty as a teenager’s.”
“This is why I love you so, sweet Jasmine.” She grinned. “Now, tell me about your newest face cream. You said last time that you felt like you were onto something.”
I squeezed her shoulder gently and then went about filling her in on the new discovery while I pampered her.
Alamo texted that he’d meet me at the little café by the park at twelve-thirty, but I’d gotten out of Opal’s late, and now I was almost twenty minutes past our meet time.
Shit!
I hated being late. For anything. I did text him to say I was running late, but, still, this was Alamo, and I didn’t want to let him down.
After finally finding a parking space, I rushed into the café to find Alamo sitting in the corner, his eyes glued to his phone and I took a minute to watch him. Okay, not a minute, damn it... I didn’t get a full minute because his eyes met mine and he smiled... sort of. He looked a little irked, actually, and my heart raced as I approached the table.
He stood and greeted me with a kiss on the cheek, which sent my nether regions into a tailspin, but that didn’t last long either as we took our seats. “I’m so sorry I’m late,” I breathed out. “I could not get Miss Opal to stop talking.”
“It’s all good, babe. ’Preciate the text lettin’ me know.”
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah, why?” he asked.
“You looked a little pissed... I hope it’s not at me.”
He smiled then, a gentle one that melted me. (Oh, alright, all his smiles melted me).
“Not you, Firefly.”
He didn’t elaborate, so I didn’t pepper him with questions. If there was one thing I’d learned early on (because of Willow’s experiences with Dash), it was that if they didn’t offer information, you didn’t ask. Club business was sacrosanct, and wasn’t shared outside of the brotherhood. Ever.
“Did you order?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Waitin’ on you.”
I opened the menu and scanned the pages just as the server arrived to take our orders.
“Do you know what you’re getting?” I asked him.
“Burger, rare, no onions,” he said to the server.
“That sounds perfect.” I closed the menu. “I’ll get that as well. Medium, no lettuce or onions, please.”
“Cheese?” she asked.
“Cheddar,” we said in unison.
As the server took our menus and left us, I checked my phone, then turned it off and dropped it into my purse. I wanted to be fully present with this unicorn and I didn’t want the buzzing of my phone to spook him.
“Dash says you’re a mechanic,” I said.
“I am.” He leaned forward slightly with his forearms on the table. “Own my own shop, but I also help my buddy out on occasion when he needs it.”
“Is that why you’re over this way?”
He nodded. “Dalton owns the BMW and Cadillac stores downtown. He’s out a shop manager for the moment, so I come in, when I can, to run it. It’s temporary.”
“That’s nice of you.”
He chuckled. “Not really. He pays me a shit ton of money to do it.”
I cocked my head. “Doesn’t mean it’s still not nice of you. You could say no.”
“I guess that’s true,” he said. “You’re right, Firefly. I’m Mother fuckin’ Teresa.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Okay, Saint Alamo, let’s slow your roll.”
“Fuck me, you’re funny, Jasmine.”
“So are you.”
He smiled. “I’ve been called a lot of things, but funny isn’t one of them.”
Lunch arrived, and our conversation was cut off, so I took a minute to prep my burger.
“You always been into cuttin’ hair?” Alamo asked, then bit into his burger.
I nodded. “I was styling my Barbies’ hair even as a little girl.”
“No shit?”
“No shit.” I chuckled. “My dad’s a doctor, as are my siblings, and Mom’s a teacher, so I’m their classic underachiever.”
“You’re not a fuckin’ underachiever, Firefly,” he ground out.
“I’m kidding,” I rushed to say.
“Kidding because you don’t wanna throw someone under that bus who made you feel that way? Or...?”
“Because I’m kidding,” I said. “Honestly, my family’s awesome. It’s me that sometimes feels like I should do more.”
I couldn’t believe I told him that. I wasn’t shy, but I didn’t typically offer up feelings of insecurity to people I was interested in...at least, not for a while.
“Do you love what you do?”
“So, so much,” I breathed out.
“You moochin’ off anyone?”
I shook my head.
“Then, you’re ahead of the curve, baby. Don’t let anyone, including yourself, tell you otherwise.”
Heat crept up my neck. “Stop being sweet, Mo.”
“Now, I can absolutely confirm nobody’s ever called me sweet, Firefly.”
I took a bite of my burger so I wouldn’t say anything stupid like, “Ohmigod, Alamo, can we go back to my place andget naked? Oh,
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permanent surrender of Toro and Zamora, he demanded that the kingdom of Galicia should be joined to Portugal.
These conditions Ferdinand and Isabel indignantly refused; whereupon Alfonso, who had been reinforced by his son, Prince John, and a large body of troops, advanced once more on Zamora, pitching his tents near the river-bank. On the other side was a formidable array of earthworks and ramparts, making communication with the citadel impossible; and after a few weeks he broke up his camp and slipped away one dark night as silently as possible in the direction of Toro.
This was the opportunity for which the Castilians had been waiting, and as soon as they discovered what had happened they swarmed over the fortifications in hot pursuit. The Portuguese had broken up the bridge behind them to cover their retreat, so that long hours were spent in repairing it sufficiently for the transit of the troops. The road also was often narrow, winding between the Douro and the hills, and it was almost dusk before Ferdinand came in touch with the enemy’s rear-guard about three leagues from Toro.
Then the battle began in grim earnest. Prince John of Portugal, who was on his father’s left, by the use of his small ordnance followed by a daring charge, succeeded in shattering the forces opposed to him; but on the centre and right a prolonged struggle ensued, intensified by all the bitterness of national hatred. Here fought the rival kings, and hard by, with a lust of war ill becoming their office, the Archbishop of Toledo on the one side, the Cardinal of Spain on the other. After three hours of hand-to-hand combat, the Portuguese broke and fled. In the darkness and the rain, Prince John sounded his trumpets and, rallying such of his forces as he could, retreated in good order towards Toro. Before him went a mass of flying fugitives who, coming to the city, beat in vain upon the closed gates for admittance.
“Where is your King?” cried those within. “You guarded his person in his room and at his table, in his pleasures and at his feasts, but when his life and honour were most in your care, you left him alone in the battle. Where is your King?”
Those of the royal body-guard that stood without hung their heads in shame and misery. They could not answer. The Archbishop of Toledo appeared, later Prince John, but neither knew aught of
Alfonso. The Portuguese looked at their Castilian allies askance. Had these betrayed him? The Castilians returned their glances with defiance. Little good had foreign help ever brought them!
In this suspense the city continued till morning, when messengers came from Castronuño, a small fortress in the neighbourhood, to say that Alfonso had taken refuge there. As easily cast into the depths of despair, as buoyed by main hopes, he had believed all lost when the retreat began and imagined Toro already in Ferdinand’s power. This mood of depression did not last long; for his dispatches to Lisbon narrated a signal victory.
Isabel was at this time in Tordesillas and celebrated her husband’s triumph by a religious procession to the church of San Pablo, where barefoot she gave thanks to God for the mercy He had shown them. She and Ferdinand also founded the magnificent monastery of San Juan de Los Reyes in Toledo in memory of the event.
The battle of Toro did not end the Portuguese war, which was destined to drag on its somewhat uninteresting course for another three years; but it was decisive enough to show with whom the final victory would be. Alfonso, in spite of claiming success, left Toro in the charge of a lieutenant and retired in disgust to his own land. He complained bitterly of his Castilian allies and the failure of their promises, but soon recovered heart in the conception of another scheme. This was nothing less than a personal interview with Louis XI., by which he hoped to persuade that monarch to join with him in an invasion of Castile; and with this intention he left his government and niece to the care of his son, and set sail for France.
Less sanguine of the future, most of his captains in Castile struck the best bargains with their opponents that they could; the citadels of Burgos and Zamora both surrendering at once, while Toro followed their example in the early autumn. Characteristic also of the trend of events was the appearance of the Duke of Arévalo’s son at Tordesillas to beg forgiveness for his father; a petition to which Isabel, who was more anxious to pacify the country than to extort vengeance, readily agreed. The Duke restored to her the town of Arévalo, changing his title to Plasencia.
FROM A PHOTOGRAPH BY ANDERSON, ROME
The Marquis of Villena and Archbishop of Toledo, deprived of their friends, also sued for mercy, thinking that it was better to lose a portion of their estates than the whole, but there was little sincerity in the homage they offered. The rift had widened too far between Carrillo and his royal mistress ever to be bridged again by mutual trust; and the Primate remained on his estates brooding over his fallen fortunes.
Ferdinand in the meanwhile, having realized that the crisis of the war was over, had gone to Aragon to see his father. The old King, clear of mind and enterprising as ever at an age when most men have set aside their life work in weariness of spirit, was planning new schemes for gaining Roussillon and Cerdagne, while he worked to keep Navarre, now owned by his grandson Francis Phœbus, from undue French influence. He had fought through his other difficulties,
recovered his sight, subdued Barcelona, achieved the Castilian alliance; perhaps time would be given him to realize the rest of his ambitions. If not, there was the son in whom he had always believed to carry on his work; and he greeted Ferdinand, not with the mediæval condescension of father to child, but with the reverence one sovereign offers to another of somewhat higher rank.
From Aragon Ferdinand was called to help the men of Biscay and Guipuzcoa in their struggle against their French invaders; while Isabel, left as sole ruler in Castile, carried on her policy of mingled suppression and reconciliation.
At the beginning of August, 1476, what threatened to be a serious rebellion broke out in Segovia, during the absence of the governor, Andres de Cabrera, now Marquis of Moya. The malcontents, whose disaffection had been roused by his appointment of certain officials, succeeded by a ruse in gaining entrance to the citadel and seized the deputy governor, the father of Beatriz de Bobadilla, while the rest of the garrison were forced to take refuge in one of the towers with the Infanta Isabel.
The Queen, warned by messengers, came in haste from Tordesillas and found the city in confusion, all but one of the gates being in the hands of the insurgents. The latter begged her not to enter by the gate of San Juan, which remained faithful to Moya, nor to take with her Beatriz de Bobadilla his wife nor the Count of Benavente his friend, as such actions would be bitterly resented by the mob. To this Isabel sent prompt reply:
Tell these knights and citizens of Segovia that I am Queen of Castile and this city is mine.... I need not laws nor conditions, such as they would impose, to enter into my own.
Then with the Count of Benavente and the Cardinal of Spain, one on either side, she rode through the gate of San Juan and so to the Alcazar. Behind her surged the crowd, crying death to the Marquis and his adherents. So threatening was their attitude that the Cardinal of Spain begged her for her own safety to have the doors tightly closed and barred; but she, bidding them stay within, went out alone to the top of the staircase overlooking the big courtyard. At
her command the gates were flung wide, and the mob surged through them, howling and gesticulating, but at the sight of the Queen their cries died away to silence.
“My vassals, what do you seek?” she demanded, “for that which is for your good is for my service, and I am pleased that it should be done.”
One of the crowd, speaking for the rest, begged that Andres de Cabrera might no longer have command of the Alcazar.
“That which you wish, I wish also,” answered the Queen.
She then bade them go up at once to the towers and walls and drive out all who were in possession, whether of Cabrera’s following or the actual rebels who had since occupied the place.
“I will entrust it,” she added, “to one of my servants, who will guard both his loyalty to me and your honour.”
Her words put an end to the rebellion for, both Cabrera’s adherents and the insurgent leaders being suppressed, the city remained quiet, and Isabel was able to enquire into the true facts of the case. This resulted in the punishment and dismissal of various minor officials, but the Marquis of Moya, whose conduct was cleared, was restored to his responsible post.
When Ferdinand returned from Biscay, the sovereigns, after a short time together, were separated once more; he remaining in the north to watch over the affairs of Aragon and France, while she went south to Estremadura and Andalusia. The civil war was practically at an end. Here and there some strongly fortified place still floated the Portuguese standard; or the nobles, like wild horses bridled for the first time and unable to believe themselves mastered, chafed in secret conspiracies or flamed into spasmodic rebellion. The history of their suppression is connected rather with the work of reconstruction than of actual warfare. For the moment this one change, effected by the sovereigns’ methods, challenges our attention,—that the great cities of the south, lately the scenes of chronic feuds and rebellions, were turning again to be the centres of civilization and justice for their neighbourhoods.
SEGOVIA, THE ALCAZAR
FROM A PHOTOGRAPH BY LACOSTE, MADRID
It was in Seville, whose streets had often run red in the faction fights of the Duke of Medina-Sidonia and the Marquis of Cadiz, that Isabel made her headquarters; and here on the 30th of June, 1478, the long-hoped-for heir to the kingdoms of Castile and Aragon was born. John, Prince of Asturias, opened his eyes on a world of fairer prospects than the dangers and doubts that had hung about his sister’s cradle. Not only within their own territories but elsewhere in Europe the sovereigns had begun to make their power felt, and as their influence grew that of Alfonso of Portugal diminished.
His journey to France, so magnificently conceived, had ended in even greater ignominy than the rest of his castles in Spain; perhaps because Louis XI., so necessary a persona of his drama, utterly failed to play the part assigned to him. Alfonso’s reception at Orleans had been all that his heart could desire; citizens had bowed themselves before him, the torchlit streets had been hung with tapestry, feasts and music had entertained him at his lodging. From Orleans he passed to Tours and here Louis XI. met him, and the two sovereigns
affectionately embraced. They declared that the one hour in their lives for which they had always longed had come; but when they descended to business the French King showed himself coldly obtuse to his companion’s eloquence. He admitted the heinousness of Isabel’s offence, but protested that he had already shown his indignation by his invasion of Biscay and Guipuzcoa. At present he was too fully occupied with his quarrel with Charles of Burgundy to do more, but when that was settled he would have his hands free to embark on wider schemes. Besides by that time Alfonso would have obtained the dispensation for his marriage and so stand on far surer ground. It would be as well for all concerned to have Joanna’s claims acknowledged by the Papal Court.
The King of Portugal was in no position to apply pressure and could only wait in blind trustfulness for the fulfilment of these hints. He on his part did his best to carry out the conditions suggested; and messengers were sent at once to Rome, who, mainly through French influence, wrung the desired bull from Sixtus IV. Fortune seemed to throw her weight into his scales, for in January, 1477, Charles the Bold was killed at Nanci, and Alfonso now looked eagerly for his ally to turn his attention to Spanish affairs.
FROM “ICONOGRAFIA ESPAÑOLA” BY VALENTIN CARDERERA Y SOLANO
Disillusionment followed. Far from having his hands free, Louis XI. was busier than ever. It had been more arduous work perhaps to set pitfalls and traps for the warlike Duke than to attempt the annexation of Biscay and Guipuzcoa; but the profits and interest to be gained from robbing Charles’s daughter and heiress, the Duchess
Mary, of her outlying lands and possessions were infinitely greater than any to be found in Spain. Thus the Duke’s death had not only advanced the Portuguese schemes no further, but the French King had begun to look on his royal guest as an unmitigated bore, of whom he was only longing to see the last.
The truth that he was being duped dawned on Alfonso at length, and in abject despair he vowed that he would cast aside his crown and go on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land, or at least end his days in a monastery. So vehement were the messages that he dispatched to Lisbon to this effect that his people took him at his word; and when, having somewhat recovered his spirits, he landed on his own shores, it was to learn that his son had been proclaimed King in his stead. His adventures had now reached a stage when they might easily have drifted from the ludicrous into the tragic, had not Prince John generously withdrawn his claims in his father’s favour. Alfonso V. reigned once more.
With unabated anger he laid his plans for a new invasion of Castile and allied himself with malcontent nobles of Estremadura. Rebellion blazed again along the border, fomented by the Bishop of Ebora at the head of some Portuguese troops, but it was the last spurt of an almost exhausted fire.
Sympathy at home and abroad were alienated. Louis XI., more hopeful of adding Franche Comté to his possessions than the hostile population of Northern Spain, had come to terms with Castile; Sixtus IV., under pressure from Castile, Aragon, and the Aragonese House of Naples, had revoked his bull of dispensation for Joanna’s marriage; Ferdinand himself, in January, 1479, had succeeded his father peacefully in the three divisions of the western kingdom.
