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  Ride Free

  Book 2 of The Chromes and Wheels Gang series

  by Debra Kayn

  Breathless Press

  Calgary, Alberta

  www.breathlesspress.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or

  persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Ride Free

  Copyright© 2011 Debra Kayn

  ISBN: 978-1-926930-65-7

  Cover Artist: Staci Perkins

  Editor: Spencer Freeman

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations

  embodied in reviews.

  Breathless Press

  www.breathlesspress.com

  To Dreams of Horses, Sneaky Coyote, Tough Turtle, and Wise Owl – May you always remember the summers of teepee living, running barefoot, and the love that Spirit Dog gave you.

  Chapter One

  Sarah walked with her head down. Her hand shuffled through her oversized beach tote in a search of the key chain with two house keys Mrs. Donaldson had given her almost a year ago. The cool metal tickled her fingertips. She lifted her hand out of her bag and smiled at the keychain. The “Ride Like The Wind” emblem on the silver hoop gave her hope that someday she’d travel the open road.

  A slow-growing rumble in the distance brought Sarah’s head up. She gazed down the street in front of her patient’s house, but nothing moved. No cars traveled down the street, yet the sound grew in intensity. She placed her hand on her chest. The loud purr thumped against her rib cage, similar to how the drums at the reservation changed her heart rhythm to match the beat.

  The first motorcycle rounded the corner and headed straight toward her. She hurried over to stand behind the rose-covered trellis beside the walkway to Mrs. Donaldson’s house. Out of harm’s way, she openly gawked at the motorcycle gang as they drove past.

  One after another, the leather-clad men zoomed past her, not minding the speed limit along the residential street or turning their heads to check out the houses. Some of them rode with a woman on back. Others cruised by all alone. The roar deafened her to any other sound, and she dared not blink. She didn’t want to miss a single thing.

  From the shining chrome on the side of the bikes, to the long hair flapping in the wind, she soaked up every little detail. At the sight of the last lone rider coming around the corner, she stepped out from behind the trellis to catch the last glimpse of their short ride through the neighborhood.

  Sarah stood at the end of the walk, her hand shielding the glare of the sun from her eyes. She peered at the man who rode the end of the long line. His hair whipped his shoulders, and his black shirt pulled against the width of his chest. I’d love to sit behind him, wrap my arms around his waist, and let him take me wherever he wants to go.

  The last rider slowed, turned his bike around in the middle of the street, and headed in Sarah’s direction. She brought her hand down to cover her mouth on the off chance she’d speak her thoughts and make a fool of herself.

  He revved the engine in front of Sarah and glided to a stop. His leather-clad legs spread wide to balance the motorcycle. He looked confident and powerful.

  “Nice day, huh?” He raked one hand through his straight, brown hair.

  She nodded. What do I say?

  His hair fell forward, half covering his eyes, and she imagined that the breeze from riding usually kept the long strands out of his face. Her hand still covered her mouth, and she jerked her arm down to her side. Way to go! Look like an idiot in front of the first biker who finally pays me the littlest bit of attention.

  “You want to ride?” The man folded his arms across his chest. His biceps bulged beneath the sleeves of his black T-shirt.

  “I…I’ve never rode, but I’d love a ride.” She wrinkled her nose and glanced over her shoulder at the house. “I can’t, though”

  “Sure you can.” He patted the seat behind him.

  Sarah shook her head. “No, I have to go to work. I’m late already.” She walked backwards up the walkway to the house. She wanted to say more, but waved instead. “Thanks, anyway.”

  “Maybe next time, huh?” He lifted an eyebrow.

  “Yes, next time. I’d really like that.” She smiled, turned, and hurried up the double steps to the front door. She fumbled with fitting the key in the lock.

  The man started his motorcycle, and the noise grew louder with each shift of the engine. She gazed over her shoulder until he’d disappeared from sight, and then she pushed the door open with her shoulder and walked into the house. She dropped her tote on the bench by the door and hurried into the living room.

  “Did you hear?” Sarah swept her hair behind her back and sat down on the floor at Mrs. Donaldson’s feet.

  The older woman ran her hand down Sarah’s hair. “I did. Never a lovelier sound than the smooth putter of an engine, is there? Did you get close enough to peek at them?”

  “I hid behind your roses, but only because I wanted to stare without them noticing me.” She lifted Mrs. Donaldson’s foot off the footrest on the wheelchair and loosened the straps for the brace that circled her lower legs. “One of the men did, though.”

  “That feels wonderful. My legs have kept me awake the last couple nights with all their twitching.” The woman’s breath whooshed out. She laid her head back on the chair. “Now, tell me, what did one of the men do?”

  “He talked to me. I watched him ride past your house, but he turned around in the middle of the street and came back. For a couple of seconds I thought he heard my thoughts, but that’s crazy thinking.” Sarah glanced up at her patient and laughed. “He pulled up to the curb and asked if I wanted a ride.”

  “The back-up man.” Mrs. Donaldson nodded. “Why are you here if he asked you for a ride? Shoot, girl, after all these months with me, have I not taught you anything?”

  Sarah smiled and shook her head. “I have responsibilities. You know that. Besides, he only asked me to go for a ride with him, not join his gang and ride across the state line. That I would have done!”

  “But it was the back-up man.” Mrs. Donaldson raised her eyebrows.

  “What exactly does that mean?” Sarah worked on Mrs. Donaldson’s other leg.

  “The members only put the most trusted, loyal family member at the end. He’s the one who watches everyone’s backs in case there’s trouble brewing. If someone falls behind, the back-up man stays behind and helps the person out.” Mrs. Donaldson closed her eyes. “It’s a great honor to ride the end of the line. I remember when…”

  Sarah’s hands stilled, and she lifted her head. “You remember what, Mrs. Donaldson?”

  The other woman’s head cocked to the side, her mouth slightly open, and her eyes closed. It wasn’t unusual for Mrs. Donaldson to fall asleep without any warning. Sarah returned to massaging Mrs. Donaldson’s legs. Over the years, multiple sclerosis had left the woman’s body ravished and unable to support her own slight weight. On good days, with the help of braces, Mrs. Donaldson walked around the house with a metal walker. On bad days, Sarah found her bound to her wheelchair or stuck in bed falling asleep at a moment’s notice.

  She left the braces off Mrs. Donaldson’s legs, placed her feet back up on the footrest, and headed toward the kitchen to find out how many meals remained for the week. Volunteers from Meals on Wheels kept Mrs. Donaldson’s pantry stocked with food for the days she wasn’t up to cooking her own, but Sarah always checked to make sure her friend was well provided for. No one could predict how long one of her bad spel
ls would last, or if she’d even recover enough to keep mobile.

  After getting to know Mrs. Donaldson over the last year, Sarah embraced their friendship and stopped thinking that her daily visits were part of her job. Often times she found herself checking up on her friend on her days off because she truly enjoyed the company.

  On the way to the living room, Sarah stopped in the laundry room off of the kitchen and picked up the laundry basket filled with clean clothes. Once in the living room, she sat on the couch and began folding, smiling at the memory of the man on the big black motorcycle. She never dreamed a motorcycle gang member would ever ask her, Sarah Lightfeather, to go on a ride with him.

  She glanced over at the older woman. Mrs. Donaldson slept, and the corner of Sarah’s mouth lifted. She didn’t know if the stories Mrs. Donaldson shared with her about once riding with a motorcycle gang rang true, but she loved to hear the tales she told. Sarah saw the glow from the bittersweet memories on the older woman’s face that even multiple sclerosis couldn’t take away, but she also witnessed sadness inside her friend at reliving the past.

  Sarah carried the pile of folded towels to the bathroom and returned to the living room. Mrs. Donaldson stirred, and Sarah sat down to wait for her to wake up. This must not be one of Mrs. Donaldson’s better days, she thought. Usually she managed to stay awake during Sarah’s visits.

  Mrs. Donaldson lifted her head and blinked. Sarah patted her arm. At times, the older woman became lost for a few seconds after one of her naps. Today appeared no different, and her brow squeezed together in concentration.

  She yawned. “I’m sorry, Sarah. I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you.”

  Sarah lifted Mrs. Donaldson’s hand and worked her magic over the tired muscles in her arm. “Stop that. There’s nothing to apologize for. You know I understand what you go through with your condition. Besides, it gave me a chance to fold your laundry and put it all away. Last time I came over, I got so caught up in our conversation, I didn’t have time to finish.”

  “You’re running late again, because of me. Don’t you have other patients you need to visit today?” She turned the wheelchair so Sarah didn’t have to move off the couch to massage her other arm.

  “As a matter of fact, I don’t.” Sarah grinned. “I have the next four days off.”

  “Oh my! How did you manage that?” Mrs. Donaldson raised her eyebrows.

  “Mr. Bailey’s daughter is visiting and let me know I wouldn’t be needed for the next two weeks. Mrs. Chekoff is in the hospital again, and they don’t think she’ll be released to come home. Her family is deciding on which nursing facility to place her in. That leaves you, and I’m not on schedule until Monday.” Sarah stood up then pushed the wheelchair into the kitchen and up to the table.

  “Do you have any plans for a long weekend?” Mrs. Donaldson gazed toward the window.

  Sarah removed a frozen lunch tray from the refrigerator, popped it into the microwave, pushed a few buttons, then leaned against the counter with her arms crossed. “I do have plans. I’m going to a pow-wow back home. They’re trying to raise money for the littlest Browntail boy. He’s got leukemia and needs a marrow treatment.”

  “Poor dear.” Mrs. Donaldson clicked her tongue.

  Sarah nodded. “There’s going to be music, dancing, and gambling tables set up in hopes of raising enough money. Without insurance, the family can’t afford the transfusion.”

  “Hm…I wonder…”

  Sarah removed the plastic tray from the microwave and grabbed a fork out of the utensil drawer. She slid the food across the table to Mrs. Donaldson and sat on one of the kitchen chairs.

  “What do you wonder?” Sarah snuck one of the green beans off of the tray.

  Mrs. Donaldson wheeled her chair closer to the table. “I wonder if the motorcycle gang from earlier were headed to the reservation. The one group that I belonged to did those sorts of things for their community. They’d help raise money for events and organize toy drives during the holidays.”

  The thought of running into the man on the motorcycle brought heat to Sarah’s cheeks. She leaned forward, forgetting all about the rule of never placing her elbows on a tabletop.

  “Mrs. Donaldson, can you tell me more about the time you rode with the motorcycle gang?” She clasped her hands together under her chin.

  “I’ve told you to call me Ellen. Calling me Mrs. Donaldson sounds old and boring.” The corner of her mouth lifted. “I might sit in a wheelchair half my life, but I can promise you I’m not boring.”

  Sarah leaned back, laughed, and shook her head in amusement. “Okay, Ellen, tell me everything you know.”

  Chapter Two

  “Sarah Lightfeather, you grace us with your presence.” Bill Crowley, acting chief of the Winapiti clan, held his arms wide open.

  The old man stood outside the community building, his skin wrinkled by countless hours in the sun, his eyes almost lost in the crow’s feet that ran deep along his face. Sarah always wondered if years of worrying over his diminishing tribe carved the tracks in Bill’s face.

  “How are you, Bill?” Sarah stepped into his welcoming arms.

  She squeezed the man who used to intimidate her as a child with his bigger-than-life stature, but now, in his elder stage, only stood a few inches taller than her. She inhaled deeply. The wood-smoke scent on his clothes curled around her and reminded her of the times she ran wild within the reservation.

  “I am good, my child.” He placed his hands on each of Sarah’s shoulders and cocked his head. “You are still searching for your path in life, I see.”

  She laughed and tossed her hair behind her back before stepping away from the man she’d known her whole life. “You see too much, but I’m doing good. Working, paying the rent.”

  “It is good to stay busy.”

  She nodded, and her smile faded. “How’s my father?”

  Bill shook his head. “The same.”

  She nodded and breathed deeply through her nose. “I didn’t really expect anything different.”

  He nodded and motioned for her to leave. “Go. The ladies have worked hard on tonight’s potluck, and seeing you will be a gift to them.”

  The kitchen in the community hall burst at the seams with women and children rushing about with various foods clutched in their hands. She stood inside the doorway, the familiar tugging on her heart.

  The same group of people who taught her everything a mother teaches a daughter busied themselves with preparations for the fundraiser. She smiled tenderly. Growing up, the women of her tribe had taken her under their wing, taught her how to cook, how to fix her hair, and how to sew when her own mother neglected the most basic maternal guidance. Each one held a special place in her heart for giving her the attention she craved years ago.

  Her own parents might have lacked the loving skills needed to raise a child, but she’d been cared for by the tribe. Her lonely upbringing could’ve been a lot lonelier if it weren’t for these special women in her life.

  She ruffled the hair of a small girl running past her for the door. “Anyone need an extra pair of hands?”

  Several women raised their heads, and at the sight of Sarah, threw up their arms and hurried toward her. She choked on a laugh and let them pass her from one person to the next. She squeezed them to her chest. Every one of these ladies fed, clothed, and guided her through her childhood, and she missed the daily interactions.

  “How long are you staying for?” Allena ran both hands down Sarah’s cheeks, wiping the joyous tears off her face.

  Sarah pulled Allena in for one more hug. “Not long. Just for the powwow.”

  Roberta leaned closer. “Are you going to see your father? Please don’t go over there alone. Take one of us if you must see him.”

  Sarah blew out a breath. Her shoulders fell, and she shook her head. Chief Bill had already informed her nothing had changed, and she decided today was a day for the young Browntail boy, not family drama.

  “No, I’m not
going over there. Maybe next time.” She squared her shoulders. “Now, take me to the kitchen. We’ve got work to do.”

  ***

  The sun dipped behind the trees on the horizon, and a few of the men lit the ceremonial fire in the middle of the ring of people. Sarah sat with Allena’s family and pulled the blanket tighter around herself to ward off the chill that came with the night.

  The soft thump thump of the drums broke though the voices in the crowd and brought an ethereal hum over the Winapiti people. Sarah closed her eyes and sent a prayer of charity up into the smoke of the fire for the littlest Browntail.

  Please see that tonight’s activities bring the Browntail family enough money to get the care the young boy deserves. Watch over him, and make him strong enough to fight his ailments.

  The music grew louder, stronger, and several dancers stomped the ground in beat with the drummers. Alenna’s dress brushed Sarah’s blanket, and she opened her eyes. The dances were always her favorite part of any ceremony.

  Sarah swayed sideways and let the rhythm sweep her away. Her feet begged to move. She threw off the blanket and joined the others by the fire. Opening her arms wide, she threw back her head and closed her eyes. The music captured her soul and produced the steps needed to become one with the tom-tom.

  Another faster, deeper drumming joined the others—one Sarah had never experienced—and she twirled around faster. Her heart sped up, and her breath came in great gasps. A tremendous excitement curled around the pit of her stomach, and she dared not stop for fear she’d lose the euphoria that overcame her.

  Her hair floated off her shoulders, and the chant of the powerful pulse threatened the confines of her chest, wanting to break free. She lost herself in the song that reached her ears and spoke to her heart. Never once did she gaze at the other dancers or the drummers, but instead gave herself the freedom to express her emotions through the music that flowed through her bloodstream.