Train's Clash (The Last Riders Book 9) (18 page)

T
rain turned the blinker on
, signaling the turn onto the street where Killyama’s mother lived. He had expected other houses on the road, not familiar with Jamestown as he was with Treepoint, but it was further out of town than what he had expected. No man’s land.

The house was a mile down from the turnoff, the road turning into gravel. He almost lost his struts on the first pothole.

“Son of a fucking bitch.”

Train had taken the back road to the Porters’ house many times to purchase pot from the brothers, but the one Killyama had directed him to made theirs look like the yellow brick road.

The next rut almost buried the truck in the mud. He had to saw the truck back and forth before he could find enough traction to free his tires.

Becoming aggravated, thinking Killyama had sent him to the boonies to make a fool out of him again, he was ready to turn around when he went over another rut that had his truck dipping so low he expected to see his bumper in his rearview mirror.

Turning a corner, he was searching for a place to turn around in the knee-length grass when he saw a trailer sitting on the side of the gravel road. He knew he was in the right place when he recognized the Escalade Killyama had been in when she had taken Sasha.

Train parked Cash’s borrowed truck beside the Escalade at the back of the house. Getting out, he saw Hammer and Jonas, shirtless and on the roof, nailing shingles down. Killyama moved into view from behind the house, wearing blue jeans tucked into work boots and a tank top with a bright red bandana tied around her throat. Her curly hair had been swept up on top of her head into a careless knot.

“I was beginning to think you chickened out of meeting my mother.”

“Nothing could have kept me away, not even what you called a road.” Train brushed a smudge of dirt off her cheek, letting his fingers linger before dropping his hand. Then he looked up at the two men on the roof. “Hey, Hammer, Jonas.”

The men didn’t stop hammering to greet him.

“That’s one of the chores we have to work on today. Come on inside and meet my mama.”

Train’s nerves went on high alert. He still had to get past Sex Piston and the rest of her friends. Plus, Hammer and Jonas were giving him the cold shoulder. The last thing he needed was another person keeping him from making headway with her.

Killyama casually held the screen door of the trailer open for him. He caught a glimpse of her anxious expression as he stepped inside.

“Mama, this is Train. He’s a friend of mine. He offered to come and help with the roof.”

“Hi, Train.” Killyama’s mother removed her hands from the sink, drying them on a dishtowel.

The woman who came over to hold his hand was so delicate he was afraid she would disappear like a whisper of smoke. He knew her age from Crash’s report, but she looked more like Killyama’s sister than her mother.

The only characteristic of her mother’s he could see they had in common was their hair color. Her nose and cheeks had a sprinkle of freckles, while Killyama’s complexion was flawless. Her eyes were brown, and she was so small Train thought she might need a stepladder just to shake his hand.

“Train, this is my mother … Peyton.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Peyton said. “We’ve already eaten, but I could fix you some breakfast if you’re hungry?”

“I already ate, but thank you.”

“I appreciate you offering to help Hammer and Jonas fix my roof. That last storm decided to take a chunk out of it.”

“I’m glad to help out,” Train said, releasing her hand.

“I’ll be mowing the yard, Mama. If you need us, just yell out.”

“I’m going to vacuum and get started on white washing the front porch before I make lunch.”

“Don’t bother; I promised to buy pizza when we finish.”

“Oh, I don’t mind.”

“Anything you fix would be fine.” Train smiled gently at the soft-spoken woman. She was dressed as if she were going to an afternoon tea, and not the housework she had described.

“I don’t want to disappoint Hammer and Jonas if they’re expecting pizza.” She stared at her daughter as if she didn’t know what to do without her say-so.

“You know they’ll like anything you fix. Okay?”

“All right. If you’re sure.”

“I am. We better get started.” Killyama went to the door, and Train followed, carefully shutting the screen door behind them so it wouldn’t slam shut.

When he was sure her mother couldn’t hear them, Train said, “That can’t be your mother.” He shook his head in disbelief.

“I don’t know why everyone says that when they meet her.”

“You don’t see the differences?” Train lifted a mocking brow. “You’re twice her height, and I don’t think you inherited that attitude you carry around your shoulders from her.”

“No, I didn’t.”

Train jumped out of the way when a hammer fell between them. Looking up, he saw Hammer’s head peeking over the side of the roof.

“Sorry, it slipped out of my hand,” Hammer apologized.

Train wanted to throw it back at him but restrained himself. He waited beside Killyama as Hammer climbed down to retrieve his tool, politely giving it back handle first instead of burying it in the arrogant asshole’s head.

“Is it safe to leave you three working together while I mow?” She stepped between them as they stared at each other challengingly.

“It depends on whether you have another hammer I can defend myself with,” Train drawled. He wouldn’t make the first move to pick a fight with Hammer, but he would be damned if he backed away from one.

Jonas stood overhead with his hands on his hips, watching the standoff. From their contemptuous stance, both of them wanted a confrontation.

Killyama raised her voice. “I invited him here. You can deal with it or leave. If Mama doesn’t hear any work going on, she’ll be out here, wanting to know why.”

“Everything is fine. Go mow,” Hammer gritted out.

“That’s what I wanted to hear. I’m going inside to make some lemonade. All this testosterone is making me hot. Train, anytime you want to take that shirt off, feel free. It’ll give me something to stare at while I mow.”

Killyama was teasing, yet she didn’t go inside to make the lemonade until he nodded that he would ignore the men’s attempts to start a fight.

“The extra hammer is in the toolbox in the back of the Escalade,” Jonas called out as Hammer started climbing the ladder.

Train found the hammer before he followed, keeping a cautious eye for any other missiles to mysteriously go sailing over his head.

The men worked steadily, nailing down the shingles, while he wondered where the lemonade was. That’s when he heard the mower start and saw Killyama driving it through the grassy field.

“Hammer, Jonas, Train, I brought you something to drink.”

Train let Hammer and Jonas go first, worried they would accidently push the ladder over. Once he was safely on the ground, he took the lemonade Peyton handed him.

After Train thanked her, she blushed before going back inside.

“You hurt that little girl, the squad will be searching for two new members.” The warm smile Hammer had worn for Peyton dissolved.

“Killyama isn’t a little girl, and I have no intention of hurting her.”

“You think I’ve forgotten the women you and Shade bragged about fucking when we were on a mission? The times we visited you in Ohio, you weren’t hurting for company there, either. If you think Jonas is going to sit back and watch our girl getting the same treatment as those cunts you claimed for The Last Riders, you better buckle up, because it’s going to take more than a parachute to save you.”

Train set his drink down on the porch bannister, taking off his shirt then turning so Killyama could see his muscular back. “Killyama has no problem taking care of herself. The Last Riders have all tried to guess where she came by the skills to fight the way she does. You two have done an excellent job training her.” He paused before asking, “Which one of you is her father?”

“Crash’s skills let you down again?” Jonas scoffed at Train’s lame attempt to discover who her father was. “Let me make it easy for you. Neither Hammer nor I are her father. A day hasn’t gone by that I wish it were true, but she’s not.”

Train sighed. He had worked with them on missions for years, so he knew that, if Jonas said one of them wasn’t Killyama’s father, they weren’t. Ultimately, it didn’t matter. They considered her their daughter, blood or not.

“I’m not going to apologize for my past. I’m not the only man here who enjoyed a good time. The only reason you and Jonas haven’t settled down yet isn’t because you haven’t met the right women, but because both of you haven’t met the right woman. I can sling mud just as easily, or we can call a truce and admit we want what’s going to make Killyama happy. I promise to do that to the best of my ability, but if you’re expecting me to cut off my left nut to keep you two happy, then I guess we’re all shit out of luck.”

Hammer reached for Train’s T-shirt, tossing it back at him. “Right now, I’ll be happy if you put that back on. She’s mowed the same patch of grass three times.”

Train grinned as he tugged it back on.

“Truce?” Holding out his hand, the men reluctantly shook it.

The window in the kitchen opened, and the men turned to see Killyama’s mother.

“The only one I see out there working up a sweat is my daughter. Do I need to put my jeans on and show you how to nail on a shingle?”

Killyama would have snarled profanities at them. Peyton did it much more delicately, but her message was the same.

“No, ma’am.” Train winked at her as Hammer and Jonas scrambled back up the ladder.

The rest of the afternoon passed without incident as they worked in unison, sweat pouring down their backs.

Not caring if he made Jonas or Hammer angry, he removed his shirt and was about to call in a favor to Cash to help when he realized they were on the last row.

As he worked, the aroma of whatever Peyton was cooking wafted upward, competing with the sun to torment him.

“I hear your stomach from over here. Didn’t you have breakfast?” Jonas nailed a shingle with more force than was necessary.

“Only coffee and toast.” Train brushed the sweat out of his eyes.

“Don’t expect us to feel sorry for you. You have a clubhouse of women cooking for you. Peyton only cooks for us when Killyama invites us over.”

“I would have thought you were as close to Peyton as you are to Killyama.” Train didn’t expect either of the men to answer, so he was surprised when Hammer did after a slight hesitation.

“Peyton stays pretty much to herself … other than Killyama.”

“That’s hard to believe. She’s a beautiful woman.”

“She’s a one-man woman,” Jonas chimed in.

“Is Killyama’s father dead?”

Hammer stood up, giving Jonas a hard stare. “We’re done. Let’s go see if lunch is ready.”

The men climbed off the roof and went into the trailer that had seen better days. Train could tell it was cared for, but he bet the couch was the original one, and the curtains and the carpet were frayed around the edges.

Guessing they weren’t going to feed him any more information, Train found himself studying the woman who fussed over them after they had washed up in the bathroom while Killyama was washing up at the kitchen sink.

“You sit by Killyama, Train. Jonas and Hammer can share the other seat.”

The table was a four-seater booth that was at the side of the kitchen. Train slid over on the seat so Killyama could sit down, while Hammer and Jonas elbowed each other for room on the other side, fitting like two sardines in a can.

“Where are you going to sit?” Train asked as he started to get out, but was pinned in by Killyama.

“I’ll pull over a chair after I put the food on the table.”

Train expected Killyama to help her mother. Instead, she slid the huge bowl of hamburger pasta her mother had set down toward her, leaving Jonas and Hammer to start on the modest bowl of salad. They stared at the pasta that took up most of the table like ravaging wolves.

“Guests first.” Killyama gave him the serving spoon as Peyton placed her chair at the edge of the small table.

Seeing Peyton nibble at her salad, unobtrusively watching him, Train took a modest spoonful, placing it on his plate. He had learned to take small portions until he decided if he liked it.

“You sure you don’t want more?” Killyama asked, taking the serving spoon from him and ignoring the sulks from the other side of the table.

“I had a big breakfast.” Train stabbed a lone noddle with his fork.

“You snooze, you lose at this table. It’s Hammer and Jonas’s favorite. Mama makes it for them whenever they come over.”

Train waited until Peyton had taken a small serving before he took a bite of the dish. Not caring about being overly polite, Hammer filled his plate with enough pasta to feed three grown men. Jonas had no problem doing the same, leaving the bowl empty.

“I tried to warn you.” Killyama dug into her own large portion. “It’s kind of addicting.”

Train enjoyed the one bite he had taken. It was good, but it wasn’t great.

“It’s really good. Thank you for lunch,” he complimented.

“You’re welcome. It’s just poor man’s goulash. I used to fix it for Killyama when she was a little girl, when the budget was tight. A neighbor of mine gave me the recipe years ago. Her trailer used to be further down the holler. She would come over for visits until she passed away.”

Train listened as she talked. Looking down, he saw his fork was scraping an empty plate. Frowning, he stared at the empty bowl then at Hammer’s and Jonas’s still full plates.

Killyama used tongs to place a mound of salad on his plate. “I tried to give you a heads up. That was a double batch, too.”

“I’ll leave my number so if you need any more chores done around here, I can swing by and help any day you feel like cooking.” Train politely smiled at Peyton.

“I’ll get Killyama to key in your number on my phone.” Peyton smiled back, blushing at the compliments the men gave as the two women packed the dirty dishes to the small sink.

Train was about to volunteer to do the dishes when they each returned carrying two delicate dessert plates. This time, Train made sure to nab the largest serving, trying not to flinch as the men used their boots to stomp on his foot.