SAVIOR: A Motorcycle Club Romance (14 page)

“Likewise, Mr. Alastair.”

“Please, call me Dante,” he laughed, causing her to turn flush again. “Mr. Alastair was my late father’s name. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to being called that.”

“Dante said he wanted to place an order,” Harold chimed in. “Actually, he wanted to place a lot of orders. He wants everything from turnips to strawberries. He even wants some of the wool we have left over from shearing!”

“I’ll take it from here, Harold,” Trisha said, dismissing the kid. She led Dante to her house as she probed him for answers. “I’ll take you inside to fill out your order.”

“Thank you,” he replied. “It’s a long drive here from the city. This place is beautiful. I should have made the trip earlier.”

“What brings you to Foxtail Farms, Dante?” Trisha asked, eyes narrowing in suspicion. “From the looks of it, you’re placing a very big order from an admittedly small farm. In fact, I would say that this sounds like a recurring supply order.”

“Well, I enjoy… perusing smaller providers when selecting suppliers,” he answered, reaching the door to Trisha’s house. “The bigger farms can’t give the same attention to detail or natural quality as the smaller farms. I want to make sure we’re getting our money’s worth when supplying my business. That’s why I’ve come here.”

“Is that so?” Trisha answered, suspecting that something wasn’t right. “Do club presidents, or CEOs or whatever they call you do the grocery shopping?”

The man had to have an agenda. The biker was born into money and power. He never had to live paycheck to paycheck. He never had to worry if he had enough money to keep a roof over his head.

Trisha wondered why the man had come here. He couldn’t be sick and twisted enough to see her failing farm as some sort of entertainment. He also couldn’t possibly interested in buying her land considering the money he had.

Nevertheless, the man looked impressed at her line of questioning. “I learned of this place from my mother. I would always pass it when I would go out riding in this area. I figured I should finally drop by.”

“Your mother?”

“Whenever she was around here, my mother used to buy from Foxtail Farms,” he answered, looking somewhat nostalgic. “She always hated the city and preferred these parts. I remembered she would buy fresh fruits from here and bring it home for us. She would always get that dried grapefruit candy that was made fresh here. My sister Lucia and I would always fight over it. Do you still have some by any chance? I just got a craving.”

Trisha’s eyes widened in surprise. “I’m afraid not. We don’t grow grapefruit here anymore. It’s just too water heavy.”

Dante smiled. “My mother always made small talk with the woman who helped run the place. I think it was Mary Kaplan. Is she still here? I always ride pass here but never got the opportunity to meet her.”

“That was my mother,” Trisha whispered, tears welling up in her eyes. “She died earlier this year from cancer. Dad didn’t last too long after that. He just stopped taking care of himself.”

“I’m very sorry to hear that,” the man offered. He seemed to internally curse himself for upsetting her. “I’ve lost my mother recently as well, Beatrix”

“Please call me Trisha,” she replied, stopping the tears from flowing. This was now a time for business rather than reminiscing. “Beatrix is my real name but only my mother ever used to call me that. I always hated being called. It always made me feel old.”

“Okay, Trisha,” he said. “I should have come here sooner for a joyride. The fresh air is already making me feel better.”

Trisha gave him a teasing smile. “Happy to get away from the media frenzy surrounding your motorcycle club?”

Dante shifted uncomfortable in his riding boots. “You heard?”

“I may not be a city girl but I follow the news,” she replied. “I heard about the awful things they’re saying about your uncle. The man did his time. He should be able to live the rest of his time out in peace. It’s like as if the media wants another trial.”

“The media has to justify its wages,” Dante said, bemused at her words. “I won’t blame a dog for wanting to bark.”

“I apologize if I sounded rude earlier,” she said, opening the door to her home. “It’s just that when people come here to do business, I always expect them to give me offers for the land.”

“I can assure you,” Dante said with a playful smile. “I have no interest in your land. Let’s go inside and discuss my order.”

Life was hard for Beatrix Kaplan. Now, her burden felt a little lighter.