Chapter One
The days were hot, the nights were cool, and Lieutenant Hart Temple loved experiencing both from the back of his Harley Softail. His final destination was the Florida Keys, a motel with a bar close to the pool, and endless amounts of white sand. Maybe he’d rent a boat and do some fishing. He had no set plans, nor did he want any. Set plans meant a schedule, and he was on vacation from Uncle Sam’s army. He spent every day following the rules and working by someone else’s schedule. When he got his leave, Hart left his uniform in his townhouse and the car pulled into the garage. He got his bike out and threw a duffel bag over the back before setting off. He didn’t look back and wouldn’t think about his MOS change or duty for his eight weeks extended leave. This was his time for peace and quiet if he could find it.
He wasn’t about parties and women, not like other men with a few weeks’ leave who were horny as hell. He wanted to be alone and if someone decided he looked like an easy mark and had beef with him he’d fix it quickly and efficiently before getting back to his cold beer. He had a few things he wanted to catch up on in his duffel, aka some reading, and that was good enough for him. His sunglasses kept the glare of the sun out of his eyes and the music from his iPod was pumping in his ears. Metallica kept him company as he passed the large sign that said “Welcome to Georgia”. He was exhausted and would probably stop for the night in Savannah and grab some dinner on River Street. He heard the seafood was great in Savannah. His bike had other plans because the smooth ride he was having started to change. He revved the engine, hoping that it was just air in the fuel lines, but no such luck.
“Come on, baby, don’t do this now,” he muttered as he looked around.
He pulled off at the exit and got to a rest stop before it cut out completely. He tried to get it started again but to no avail. His baby was dead and wasn’t about to go anywhere. He’d rebuilt her from the frame up himself and knew every part as he looked the bike over. He soon found the problem. He’d have to get the part from a mechanic or order it online. God knows what the shipping time would be because his girl was a vintage piece. He wouldn’t know exactly until he found some place to stay, got on his laptop and made a few calls. He looked around. He’d have to walk and push his bike to the closest motel. He began his walk, passing the signs that read “Honeywell, Georgia, Population: 700”. He rolled his eyes . Great I’m stuck in the armpit of a dead-end town.
Hart got a lucky break when he spotted the Honeywell Motel a mile down the road. For a rinky-dink town he expected peeling paint and a neon sign that only partially worked. But this place was nice, painted in a cream beige color and stonework at the bottom. The landscaping was nice. There were plants and trees blooming with blossoms of huge white flowers. The weeping willows were heavy with yellow flowers and the air was sweet. Hart kicked the stand down to balance his bike. He grabbed his duffle off the back and walked into the office. The air was cool inside; he could feel the breeze against the sweat on his neck. Somewhere, someone was vacuuming. He walked up to the desk where a woman behind it was bent over some books.
He cleared his throat. “Excuse me, are you booked solid?”
When she raised her head, her face stunned Hart. He pushed his sunglasses so he could see her clearly without the tint. The woman was gorgeous, with soft brown eyes and long, dark hair that was meticulously curled. Soft bangs lay on her face, parted to one side, and her skin was flawless. She studied him with narrow eyes and a frown that made him immediately wonder what it was about him that she disliked.
“If you’re from the Deuces so-called bike club, let me tell you again that no more of y’all are staying here.”
She stood with her hand on her curvy hips. Hart’s
The days were hot, the nights were cool, and Lieutenant Hart Temple loved experiencing both from the back of his Harley Softail. His final destination was the Florida Keys, a motel with a bar close to the pool, and endless amounts of white sand. Maybe he’d rent a boat and do some fishing. He had no set plans, nor did he want any. Set plans meant a schedule, and he was on vacation from Uncle Sam’s army. He spent every day following the rules and working by someone else’s schedule. When he got his leave, Hart left his uniform in his townhouse and the car pulled into the garage. He got his bike out and threw a duffel bag over the back before setting off. He didn’t look back and wouldn’t think about his MOS change or duty for his eight weeks extended leave. This was his time for peace and quiet if he could find it.
He wasn’t about parties and women, not like other men with a few weeks’ leave who were horny as hell. He wanted to be alone and if someone decided he looked like an easy mark and had beef with him he’d fix it quickly and efficiently before getting back to his cold beer. He had a few things he wanted to catch up on in his duffel, aka some reading, and that was good enough for him. His sunglasses kept the glare of the sun out of his eyes and the music from his iPod was pumping in his ears. Metallica kept him company as he passed the large sign that said “Welcome to Georgia”. He was exhausted and would probably stop for the night in Savannah and grab some dinner on River Street. He heard the seafood was great in Savannah. His bike had other plans because the smooth ride he was having started to change. He revved the engine, hoping that it was just air in the fuel lines, but no such luck.
“Come on, baby, don’t do this now,” he muttered as he looked around.
He pulled off at the exit and got to a rest stop before it cut out completely. He tried to get it started again but to no avail. His baby was dead and wasn’t about to go anywhere. He’d rebuilt her from the frame up himself and knew every part as he looked the bike over. He soon found the problem. He’d have to get the part from a mechanic or order it online. God knows what the shipping time would be because his girl was a vintage piece. He wouldn’t know exactly until he found some place to stay, got on his laptop and made a few calls. He looked around. He’d have to walk and push his bike to the closest motel. He began his walk, passing the signs that read “Honeywell, Georgia, Population: 700”. He rolled his eyes . Great I’m stuck in the armpit of a dead-end town.
Hart got a lucky break when he spotted the Honeywell Motel a mile down the road. For a rinky-dink town he expected peeling paint and a neon sign that only partially worked. But this place was nice, painted in a cream beige color and stonework at the bottom. The landscaping was nice. There were plants and trees blooming with blossoms of huge white flowers. The weeping willows were heavy with yellow flowers and the air was sweet. Hart kicked the stand down to balance his bike. He grabbed his duffle off the back and walked into the office. The air was cool inside; he could feel the breeze against the sweat on his neck. Somewhere, someone was vacuuming. He walked up to the desk where a woman behind it was bent over some books.
He cleared his throat. “Excuse me, are you booked solid?”
When she raised her head, her face stunned Hart. He pushed his sunglasses so he could see her clearly without the tint. The woman was gorgeous, with soft brown eyes and long, dark hair that was meticulously curled. Soft bangs lay on her face, parted to one side, and her skin was flawless. She studied him with narrow eyes and a frown that made him immediately wonder what it was about him that she disliked.
“If you’re from the Deuces so-called bike club, let me tell you again that no more of y’all are staying here.”
She stood with her hand on her curvy hips. Hart’s
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