Snow in Texas

Chapter Four: Jenny

Four

Jenny

She heard the low rumble of voices on the other side of the sanctuary door, but she didn't knock. All such formalities had long since been disbanded. And no women were ever allowed in the sanctuary anyway; none save her.

Inside, the suite of rooms was dim, lit only by the glow of the massive HD TV affixed to the far wall. The living area was cozy, comfortable, and smelled of cigars, Scotch, and other secret masculine things. Candy was parked in his usual chair, socked feet up on the ottoman. It had to be Fox in the recliner opposite; no one else vibrated that kind of calm intensity through the dark the way Charlie Fox did.

Talk ceased, and their heads turned toward her, just shadows against the TV.

"Boys," she greeted.

Candy was smoking, a thick tendril of cigar smoke curling above his head. "Where you been?"

She grinned to herself. "Does it matter?"

"Yeah." He was dead serious.

A soft crinkling of leather meant Fox had shifted in his chair; his attention was fixed on her, she could tell.

She sighed. "Would you two old hens quit worrying? I went to see Aunt Edith. She needed groceries and a little TLC. Is that alright with you?" she challenged.

Candy exhaled with a low hiss through his teeth. "Did you tell her I said hello?"

"Yeah. I told her that her favorite no-good nephew said 'hey.'"

He snorted. "She always liked me better than you."

"Says you." Jenny sighed as she kicked off her shoes and set them neatly in the rack by the door. She'd spent hours with Aunt Edith, organizing her fridge, cleaning her small apartment, playing Scrabble with the elderly woman until Edith had begun to doze in her chair. Her face hurt from smiling and her back was tight from bending low to hear what her aunt had whispered in her small, frail voice. Being Southern meant taking care of your family, and that was no easy task.

"I met your new prospect," she said as she straightened, an image of the tall, dark-headed man filling her mind. Attractive was too mild a word. He'd given off that dark vibe that suggested heat, power, and licentious intent. He probably thought of himself as a playboy; she'd detected something more feral and disturbing than that. Something dangerous.

"Yeah?" Candy said. "What do ya think?"

"I think he's gonna make a terrible prospect."

He laughed. "Too bad you weren't a boy, Jen. You coulda been my right-hand guy."

"You've got plenty of those, brother," she tossed back. "Night, you two."

"Night," two voices – one Texan, one English – said together.

She was all the way down the hall and just slipping into her room before their conversation started back up again.

"...Riley?" she heard Fox say, and she froze, one hand curling tight on the edge of the doorframe.

It was funny how a single word, just a regular ordinary name, could render a person down to her most elemental, reactionary pieces. But that's what that name always did. Remembered pain fisted her lungs; all the old bruises were long healed, but they flared hot beneath her skin now, memories seared down to the bone.

"I saw him today," Candy answered, voice barely audible. He breathed a long, sad sound. "He's getting out. Couple weeks, probably. Overcrowding or some shit."

"Christ," Fox said.

Yeah. Christ.

Jenny couldn't listen anymore. She ducked into her room and eased the door shut silently, going to the bed and letting it catch her weight before her knees gave out.

Riley. Getting out.

She heard a distressed sound building in her throat and pressed her knuckles to her lips. She couldn't do this, not now. Panicking would solve nothing. And she wasn't that woman anymore; she didn't have reactions to things.

She put both hands down on the mattress beside her and took a sequence of deep, steadying breaths. She tipped her head back, brought her shoulders together, felt her chest open up. The exercise the therapist had walked her through; the therapist Candy had forced her to see, back when he'd first come home.

The tension bled out of her, draining from her head, down through her throat, leaving through her fingers. She imagined the soft fleece blanket beneath her absorbing the emotion, dispersing it somewhere safe, where it couldn't take hold of her. When she felt calm, she opened her eyes, straightened, surveyed the room.

They called this wing of the clubhouse the sanctuary, and that's exactly what it was. Seven years ago, when Candy came home, when he cleaned out the club Magnificent Seven style, he'd promised a new era for the Texas chapter. The renovations, physical and mental, had been slow, but steady. They had started here, with this added-on space that was their home, and then worked their way through the rest of the building. All that remained was the exterior at this point.

Back here, they each had a bedroom and bathroom. There was the living room where the boys were currently watching TV, plus a small kitchen and a porch that overlooked a long flat stretch of dirt where she watched the sun set most nights.

Jenny Snow was thirty-nine and she lived in an MC clubhouse with her older brother. A truly charmed existence compared to the life she'd finally shaken off seven years ago.

The fine tremors had subsided, and the knot in her stomach was gone.

"Get it together, Snow," she muttered, and got up to change.

When she was in yoga pants and one of Candy's old threadbare Longhorns t-shirts, she headed back out to the kitchen, in search of a snack. She'd skipped dinner, dealing with Aunt Edith, and that new prospect's loaded-up barbecue plate had set off her hunger.

"Candy go out?" she asked as she passed through the living room and found only Fox.

"Yeah."

The kitchen was a tiny affair, just a bank of cabinets, stovetop, microwave and fridge. "You hungry?" she asked over her shoulder as she pulled out the makings of a turkey sandwich.

"Nah. I wouldn't turn down another drink, though."

She grinned and shook her head as she put her sandwich together. She popped it on a plate and grabbed the half-full bottle of Macallan sitting out on the counter.

He held out his glass when she reached him and she poured a generous two fingers.

"Charlie, you've got a drinking problem, you know that?" she asked, dropping into Candy's abandoned chair across from him.

The Scotch caught the light from the TV as he swirled it around. His eyes glinted, an unnerving blue in the dark. "Obviously."

She laughed and snuggled back deep into the chair. It smelled like Candy, and that was a comfort.

He downed half the drink in one practiced swallow. "How much did you hear?"

She shrugged. "About what?"

"You know what."

She took a bite of sandwich and stalled. "Enough."

He sat forward, and his voice gentled, gained traces of something like emotion. "It's not going to be like it was last time, Jen. I promise you that."

"Is that why you're here?" Her throat tightened, some of the panic lapping back in. "Because of..." She didn't want to say his name, so she didn't.

"He can't hurt you. Not this time."

"No," she agreed. "I'm a much better shot this time around."

He grinned. "Thank God for that."