Wilder’s words hang in the air like smoke. Claire’s eyes widened, her blanket slipping from her shoulders. "Grandma...you can’t mean that."
Donna gasped, clutching her chest. "Wilder! That’s madness. You’d have Claire marry a stranger just to cover the truth?"
"My daughter will not be forced to marry a stranger," Victor declared, fury and disbelief warring in his expression. "I would rather do as Ben 2 suggested."
Wilder cursed under her breath, waving her cane at them all. "Blast it, you lot are acting like saints at a sermon. It is a temporary measure to buy time. Claire doesn’t have to live with that man; he just needs to show his face around here every now and then and go with her to a few family functions. After a year or two, they have a big messy public fight that leads to a divorce. They don’t even have to marry; just pretend they are together and break up."
The suggestion, which seemed so outrageous, somehow didn’t seem so outrageous anymore.
"It could work." Benedict looked at Claire with a mischievous smile. "Sis, do you know any man that hates your ex so much to the point of joining you in this play? He should be as rich as that jerk or richer."
Wilder nodded. "Smart boy. If your sister doesn’t know anyone, I can find her the right man. My knitting club has a few wealthy women that will be eager to help by volunteering their grandsons who live off the family fortunes while contributing nothing. They won’t sacrifice the promising ones."
Victor whispered to Claire, "They don’t knit with yarn and needles like ordinary old women. They ride bikes and cause the sheriff all sorts of headaches and keep him awake at night. Your grandmother is in a gang."
Claire raised her brows and gasped softly. Her seventy something old grandmother was in a biking gang! What kind of trouble were they causing the sheriff? Surely, not real gang related crime! "You are in a gang!" she exclaimed.
Wilder snorted, waving her cane. "Blast it, don’t listen to that fool. We’re just a group of old ladies who meet every Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday. We ride out together, sure, but only to stretch our legs. Nothing illegal about a little fresh air."
Donna frowned. "Women your age have no business riding motorcycles, mother."
"Keep your fretting to yourself, Donna," The old woman replied sharply. "We have got wheels and time. And yes, sometimes we race the deputy’s patrol car down Maine street, but that’s just good exercise for our bones and engines. If you ask me, the damn law needs to do some exercise too."
Claire’s jaw dropped. "Grandma, racing the deputy’s patrol car is kind of breaking the law."
Wilder waved her hand dismissively. "Nonsense. We are helping the boys in blue stay sharp. And when we block the traffic at the roundabout, it’s only so the children can cross safely. Damnation, you’d think saving lives was a crime the way these two make it sound."
Victor barked a laugh. "Last week, you hijacked Mrs. Pulaski’s bakery truck."
Wilder’s eyes twinkled. "Borrowed, not hijacked. We delivered bread to the orphanage before the driver even noticed. Holy hell, you’d rather see children go hungry than give up one measly truck of pastries? Besides, we paid in cash."
"You set off fireworks at midnight last month just one hour after Rosa Mullin’s death was announced!" Donna squealed in disbelief.
Claire gasped.
"Community spirit!" Wilder declared. "We lit up the sky to bring joy to everyone that mean- spirited woman had ever harmed. Sure, the mayor complained about property damage, but blast it, his father’s roof needed replacing anyway."
Claire had so many questions, but she couldn’t pick which one to start with. "Grandma, every single thing you’ve said sounds like breaking the law."
The old woman leaned back, utterly unbothered. "You’re focusing on the wrong issues presently. The Knitting club is just keeping the town lively. Better a little chaos than a dull graveyard of rules. And wait until you give birth to the little one, our club will have its first junior member. The torch can finally be passed."
The room fell into stunned silence. Victor shook his head, muttering about baby biker jackets and asked God to save them all. Donna looked torn between horror and reluctant amusement. Claire herself couldn’t decide if her grandmother was a menace, or a legend in this town.
Wilder rose slowly, grimacing and muttering about her old waist. She pointed the cane at Claire and said, "Go to town and buy some groceries, get some sun and a little exercise. You should also stop by Briarshore General and see Doctor Mindy. She is the best baby doctor in town. The rest of us are going to clean up this mess. If you can ride, take my motorcycle but bring it back in one piece."
Claire nodded. She just thought that she needed to take a walk around the town and see what other businesses the locals engaged in. Now that she had made up her mind to keep the baby, she also needed to know where the preschools and other child related-facilities were.
Donna shot her mother a glare that showed her disapproval for the old woman’s suggestion. "She is not taking a bike in her condition. And now that you have a pregnant granddaughter, maybe you should consider taking up some real knitting in that club of yours. A soft pink or blue sweater sounds safer for a baby than a black leather jacket with studs."
The suggestion started an argument between Donna and Wilder. Donovan and Benedict stepped between the women to play referee.
"I will drive you." Victor whispered to Claire.
"No." Wilder snapped him. "We have to start preparing a baby room. As a grandfather, making the crib and some wooden toys is your duty. Let Claire clear her mind and think about my suggestion. Maybe, when she gets back, she will have a firm response to my suggestion of borrowing a fake father for my great grandbaby."
Claire left her house a minute later, riding her grandmother’s vintage motorcycle. She gripped the handlebars, her oversized T-shirt fluttering like a flag. For the first time in her life, she was out in shorts and sandals, catching the sun. The wind kissed her face, freedom roaring in the engine’s hum.
She had learned to ride at the age of sixteen just to participate in a competition and win the cash prize. Since then, she hadn’t been on the back of a motorcycle because Heimi did not approve.
Claire laughed, leaning into the curve--until the sudden screech of metal jolted her. The bike bumped into a black car, the shock rattling her bones. Before she could think clearly, the door swung open.
Out stepped Apollo Ashford. Her childhood nemesis, tall, broad-shouldered, infuriatingly handsome. His smirk was the same one that had haunted her since grade school. Claire’s breath caught, fury and disbelief colliding with the heat of the day. Fate, it seemed, had a cruel sense of humor. Why else was she meeting her enemy at what could easily be the worst point of her life?