Biker Chick Campout (Rebel Wayfarers MC) (2 page)

DeeDee spoke again, still out of sight.
“She’s been cooped up with the twins. ‘Course that’s her own fault,
having four kids all in diapers at the same time.” Her tone
changed, turned musing when she asked, “What was she thinking? Four
kids that close together? Crazy momma.” A sigh, then she called
out, “Hold on. Stop here, let me look.” Brushing past him as he
rolled to a slow stop, she reached out to the shelves and grabbed a
couple of cans, tossing them into the cart. “You just gotta hold
your
cool
. Gotta let her do her thing, Hurley.
She’ll burn out fast.”

Turning to look at him, the expression on
DeeDee’s face softened as she registered his displeasure; she
appeared almost regretful. “Don’t
look
like
that, honey.” Carefully he blanked his features, wiping away the
sneer he was sure he’d been wearing. “You know this is an honor,
right?” She was another who had known him his whole life. Shit,
he’d only stopped calling her Mama Dee a couple of years past.
No doubt she thinks it’s
a
fine
assignment for a
piddly
little prospect
.

“Yeah, right. Sure I do.” Pushing past her,
he leaned his forearms to the cart handle and continued up the
aisle. “Where to next, DeeDee?” No sound of following footsteps so
he paused and glanced back to see her still planted, unmoving.
Rolling his eyes, he asked, “What?”

She stared at him for a long moment before
stating firmly, “You know who I am. You know who Ruby is. You
better have learned about Mica and the rest of the gals from
Chicago by now, and I know the boys are long
on
history, so I trust you have. So how exactly do you
see this as beneath you?” Head tipping to one side, she sighed
heavily. “You see us as unimportant? We’re just the old ladies, so
no big. Ain’t no thang, right?” He straightened and opened his
mouth to speak, but DeeDee raised her voice, cutting him off.

“Club first, we all know that. Every woman
who hooks her life and love to a man in a club gets where she
stands. And she only stands there for as long as she remembers. Try
to make
a man
choose, you might not like the
choice he makes. But we women,” —she gestured to herself— “we also
know that we make your lives easier. We know that we matter.
We know
our men worry and fret, and the less
reason we give them to do that, the more they can focus on staying
healthy and making good decisions. Every time Slate or Jase roll
out there’s a chance they won’t come back, and my job is to make it
so they have one less thing to worry about. If you,” —her hand
swept out, not quite finger-pointing, but it was close— “think
that’s not worth your time,
if you believe
that
making it so our men worry less is so far beneath you,
then you should petition to stay at home. Us old ladies? Honey, we
don’t want you. Don’t want you and sure as hell don’t need you,
except as our men feel you are necessary. You go on now, walk
away,” —hands to her hips, head tipped far to the other side— “I
got this.”

Shaking his head, he tipped his chin down as
he told her, “You’re a pain in my ass. When did you turn into a
drama mama?”

“Isn’t me pulling
a
drama
in the middle of a grocery store.” She denied her
tirade,
and he laughed, looking up to find her
grinning at him. “Gonna help an old lady out?”

His answer was to ask, “What’s next on your
long-ass list of things to do?”

Following the cone of her headlight through
the deepening dusk, she guided the bike down the country road,
steering carefully around the sweeps and curves. The bright light
of a bonfire shone through the trunks of the trees lining the
road,
and she smiled at the sight. Navigating
the final turn, she slowed to a crawl, dropping her feet to balance
the bike as she braked to a stop.
This was the first
of what she hoped would be many annual girls’ weekends, and she had
been looking forward to having a chance to talk, really have
conversations with the women she saw already gathered around the
fire and camping spaces in the clearing ahead.

Heads had popped up at the sound of her
engine, and she mentally counted off the women, putting names to
faces as they appeared. Standing next to two bikes near a partially
erected tent was DeeDee Spencer, a longtime biker babe from Fort
Wayne. In a space adjacent to her stood a petite blonde and a
striking black woman, Jessica
Nalan,
and her
girlfriend,
Brandy Still. It looked like those
two had ridden down together on Brandy’s cherry red crotch rocket.
Opening the bike’s throttle a little, she continued rounding the
clearing in
a broad
sweep, pulling up next to
three bikes parked in a neat row. These would belong to the other
women from Chicago, Mica Rupert, her sister Molly Scott, and their
friend Kathy
Montcell
.

Carmela
Estavez
shifted
into neutral and then carefully pushed her bike
backwards
onto the concrete pad, toeing down the
kickstand and killing the engine before she tipped the bike over
onto the support. Taking off her jacket, she folded and draped it
over her handlebars, rolling her wrists and stretching out her
forearms. Looking around, with
a broad
,
welcoming smile she nodded at the women coming her way. “
Hola,
mi
amigas
,” she called
happily, lifting her leg over the seat just in time to be engulfed
in a hug from first one, then another of the women. Passed rapidly
from one set of arms to another, she found herself finally at rest,
tucked into a lean
body,
and she looked up,
grinning. “DeeDee,” she said, “so
happy
to see
you, mama.”

One hand smoothing her hair, she heard
DeeDee say, “Good to see you, too, honey. We were starting to worry
when you weren’t here by sundown.”

“Give her to me.” This shout came from
behind
her,
and she turned in DeeDee’s arms,
knowing to whom that voice belonged. Headed her direction was a
determined-looking
redhead. Carmela twisted,
holding out her arms in welcome, as they wrapped each other up in a
hug. When the
affectionate
greeting came, it
was soft as a wish. “Maria Luisa Carmela
Estavez
, I’m so glad you were able to come.”

“Ruby Melanie Davidson Jones.” Her own voice
was rough with emotion. “I’m so
glad
I could
make it, too.” She stepped back, her hands dropping to Ruby’s
wrists, holding on to that connection. “Lookin’
good
, little mama. Who knew popping out two babies at a
time would make you even more beautiful. Oh yeah, baby. You’ll
find out if you look
this good with four kids,
your old man’s gonna keep you busy-busy,
chica
.”

“Shut up, Mela,” Ruby scoffed, pulling her
in for another hug. “I’ve missed you, missed talking to you.
College agrees with you, it looks like.” The diminutive woman
dropped one hand and turned, towing Carmela behind her across the
clearing, and so didn’t see the change Carmela knew came over her
face. She was glad Ruby didn’t see her expression of anger and
frustration because having her friend know everything that had been
going on would only cast a pall on their time together, and even
before leaving for this trip, she had been determined not to let
anything ruin the weekend.

Oblivious to her
brooding
thoughts, Ruby kept babbling, dragging her along
in her wake. “Everyone’s already here and unpacked.
Supper
first, then we can
set up
your tent. Food’s
ready,
and we’re just about
to eat, so let’s get you some pre-grub libations.”

Turning around to scan the open space, she
saw a van nearby parked nearly underneath the trees, out of the
way. “Whose cage?” she asked, following Ruby.

The
eye roll
was nearly
audible when Ruby responded, “Slate had one of our prospects drive
it. The pros
is
under strict orders from me to
not leave the interior.” She giggled. “Hurley is
a
nice guy
, but this is girls’ weekend. I’m glad he was able
to bring the coolers and chairs, but we don’t need no dicks all up
in our business.”

“
Says the woman who’s getting
regular dick up in her business, as is evidenced by the beautiful
babies she keeps producing.” Carmela laughed, throwing herself onto
a blanket spread near a grouping of lounge chairs.
Looking
around at the tents and chairs, she asked, “Seriously? How much
shit did you guys bring? Are you truly going to make the poor boy
stay in the van all weekend? Does he at least have some titty
magazines to keep him busy?” She had winced when Ruby said he
wasn’t allowed out of the
vehicle
because,
after the last two months, she hated being
the reason for
anyone to have less than free
rein of their own wishes.

“Ewwww. I don’t want to think about how
Hurley would get busy in that van. I have to drive it sometimes.”
This came from Kathy, and as she turned to sit in one of the lawn
chairs Carmela saw the back of the leather
vest
she wore over her sweater.

“
Ohhh
, Kathy. Did you
finally get patched? How long did it take you to convince him, all
of two minutes?” She accepted a red plastic cup full of wine from
Ruby, stretching her legs out on the blanket with a sigh. It had
been a long couple of days, and she had ridden hard to make it here
in time. “Digger, right?” Kathy had been enamored with a handsome,
tall, shy biker from Chicago for a while, but the last Carmela
heard they weren’t that serious. Things had
apparently
changed
because her
wearing a ‘Property of Digger’ patch on her vest was a declaration
of
an ownership
that went both ways.

“Yeah.” Kathy went quiet for a moment,
accepting her own cup from DeeDee. She lifted her head and looked
around at the women. “It means a lot that he wants me.”
The smile on her face was filled with undiluted pleasure,
knowing in this group she would never receive criticism for
welcoming a role that people on the outside might look on with
disdain, not understanding what the words actually
meant.

Carmela looked around, listening as everyone
chipped in, confidently explaining to Kathy how lucky Digger was to
have her. They were good friends, from varied backgrounds, but
having the most important thing in common: all of them had at least
one foot
in
the motorcycle club life.
A life that some people romanticized, but here, among
these women, she knew every one of them understood what it took to
be part of, yet apart from the things that impacted their family
and friends.

Except for her, every woman here held an
affiliation with the Rebel Wayfarers, from either the Chicago or
Fort Wayne chapters. Some of them, like DeeDee, Ruby, and Kathy,
were in relationships with men who belonged to the club. Mica,
Molly, Jess, and Brandy were friends of the club, attached in less
definite ways, but still part of their extended family.

As usual, I’m the odd one out
, she
thought, taking a deep drink. She was associated
with
the Rebel
club
by friendship,
one that was
long-lasting
and
profound
, but not
actually
part of
this family.
Hers lay far to the west, with one part
in Mexico where the Machos, her father’s club, was based and the
second part in Las Cruces, New Mexico, where she lived with a
family associated with yet another club, the Southern
Soldiers.

“Hurley can come out to eat now, but that’s
it.
Afterwards,
he will be banished again.
Banished to the nether regions of the van.” Ruby got her attention
with another giggle and Carmela looked at her, head tilted.

“You already drunk, woman? When did you
start sucking wine back? Yesterday?” She took another deep drink.
“
Pansy-ass
shit, shouldn’t be hitting you that
hard.” She glanced at Ruby again, then turned and yelled. “Mica,
where’s the fucking tequila?”

“
Now you’re talking,” Mica
shouted from across the fire pit, and before Carmela knew what was
happening, all the women were standing, holding smaller plastic
cups while the dark-haired woman freely poured liquor in
each.
Holding the bottle by the neck, she lifted it and
tapped it against each cup’s rim. “To us, the
baddest
women in town.” With a laughter-filled chorus of
‘fuck
yeah’
and ‘you know it,’ the women all
raised their cups and drank.

“Brats are done,” DeeDee said a minute
later, leaning sideways to escape the heat of the fire as she
turned the bratwurst sizzling on the campfire grill. “Ruby, get out
the
slaw
. Mica, did you say you packed some
chips? Wanna grab those and the plates for me?” She turned to look
around, “Brandy, I know you had Hurley drop by to pick up dessert,
so you’re off the hook for anything else.”

As the food and other things were brought
out and organized, Carmela turned to DeeDee. “I’ll go let the poor
boy know he can come make a plate. I still can’t believe you’re
making him stay in the van.”

DeeDee leaned close and whispered, her voice
shaking with laughter, “I can’t believe he’s letting us.”

Picking up her tequila cup, Carmela let Mica
top her off with another inch or so of the clear liquor, thanking
her with a grin.
God, I love these women
, she thought.
Carmela had been away from home at
college
until
recently
when events around the Southern
Soldiers had warranted enough concern for her father to force her
withdrawal. Since then she had been locked away in their compound,
not permitted to even go grocery shopping in town.