Taming Crow (Hells Saints Motorcycle Club) by Paula Marinaro Page B

needed was a fascination with the little brown hen of a widow next door.
    But there it was.
    Because when it actually came down to it, Crow knew that his earlier assessment of Melissa had been dead on. There was definitely more to Mousy Melissa than met the eye. No doubt, she gave off that white-bread soccer mom kind of vibe.
    But when she had shown up at his doorstep all fierce and determined… cocksucker and motherfucker rolled a little too easily off her tongue.
    She had barely flinched when he sprayed her with that beer foam.
    The way she flung her shoulders back and put that hand on her hip and flipped him the bird—that was hood shit.
    However, he noticed that his restraint of using cuss words when Jett was home had resulted in Melissa allowing her kid to spend more and more time out on that picnic bench watching Crow's every move. And lately Jett had been throwing out all kinds of questions that he seemed pretty confident that Crow knew the answers to.
       Crow found that he didn't mind that at all.
    ***
    “Hey, Crow!” Jett called out to him from his perch on the picnic table. “You gonna work on your motorcycle today?”
    “Yeah.” Crow nodded, grabbed the tool box out of the van, and slid the door closed.
    To his surprise Jett got off his bench and began to follow him to the side yard. But he supposed that technically the side yard was the kid’s yard too.
    “Hey, my dad used to have a tool box just like that!” Jett called out excitedly. Then he added thoughtfully, “I don’t know where it is, though.”
    Crow threw a casual glance over his shoulder at the boy. “It’s probably in the cottage somewhere.” Crow figured Melissa couldn’t have gotten the shit she had done in the house without some hardware.
    Jett shook his head with certainty. “No. It’s not.”
    “Well, I’m sure your mom knows where it is.” Crow put the box on the grass. “Ask her.”
    “She probably don’t know either. My mom sold almost all our stuff and then we moved. Because my daddy died.” The little boy looked hard at Crow.
    “Bad break.” Crow turned and gave Jett the full attention this share deserved.
    “She don’t think I remember him, but I do,” Jett told him. “I kinda forget what he looks like, but I remember that tool box, ‘cause sometimes when my dad came home, he used to fix stuff and I used to watch him. Just like I watch you.”
    Crow felt something tighten in his chest.
    “Why does your mom think you don’t remember your dad?” Crow asked carefully.
    “Because she don’t talk to me about him. Even when I ask her stuff.” Jett looked down at the ground and shrugged. “She just makes a sad face. And I don’t like that face. So I stopped askin’.”
    Poor fucking kid.
    “But it’s okay.” Jett assured Crow. “Lots of kids in school don’t have ‘em either. And my mom used to be sad all the time . She smiles more now. I’m glad you didn’t make us move.”
    Then, typical of a boy Jett’s age, he moved quickly onto the next topic.
    “Is that heavy?” He pointed to the tool box.
    “Heavy enough.” Crow indulged him. “Give it a shot.”
    “Really?” Jett looked at Crow wide-eyed.
    “Yeah. Check it out. Use two hands.”
    “Argghhhh.” Jett struggled to lift the box an inch off the ground, where he held it for a millisecond before dropping it back down with a thud. Crow smirked to himself when he saw Jett’s little chest puff out with pride.
    “You see that? Someday I’m gonna have muscles just like you. Mom said I’m getting stronger every day and this morning I got to carry in the heavy bag.”
    Crow shot Jett a quizzical look.
    “When we were bringing in the groceries.” Jett explained. “Usually my mom just lets me carry the bag with the napkins, and the cereal and the bread.”
    “The light stuff.” Crow nodded his understanding and knelt down next to the bike.
    “Yep. But today she let me carry the bag with the milk and eggs in it,” Jett