Free Given (Give &Take) by Kelli Maine

behind the barn. Paul put a hand up to shade his eyes as he watched. My heart sputtered and pounded. I hated motorcycles. Something so… open and precariously balanced shouldn’t go that fast. Seeing Merrick’s dark hair whipping around his head, I gritted my teeth to rein in my anger at him for not wearing a helmet.
    Wrapping my arms around myself, I trained my ears on the distant engine and tried to keep calm. Shouldn’t he ask me how I feel about him riding a motorcycle? We were engaged now after all.
    Maybe that wasn’t how it worked. I’d never been engaged before, so I had no idea what I should expect from him. But staying alive at least until the wedding should be a given!
    Walking toward me, Paul closed the distance between us with long, eloquent strides. “He come around,” he said with a decent grasp of English, pointing to the opposite side of the vineyard.
    True to Paul’s claim, a couple minutes later, the whine-rumble of the motorcycle could be heard coming up the far side of the grapevines. Paul put a hand in the air, waved it back and forth, and began to laugh. “He’s good. Good driver.”
    “He’s something,” I muttered, rising on tiptoe to get a better view. “If he kills himself, I’ll kill him.”
    There he was, Merrick Rocha, king of the road, or theRenault Vineyard at least, pumping a fist in the air and laughing into the wind. It was the happiest I had seen him—out of our bed—in weeks. With a swift pang in my gut, I held my left hand out and glimpsed at the sparkling diamond on my finger.
    There’d been so much stress and animosity between us lately. A ring doesn’t make it all disappear. There were issues we had to face and work through. He had to see me as a partner, someone to make decisions with, not around. I knew he was used to being the man in charge, but if he was looking for a meek woman who would sit back and let him rule, he picked the wrong woman.
    Mama Renault bustled out the patio door chatting rapid-fire French to Paul while lifting both hands to shade her eyes, looking toward Merrick on the motorcycle. Before Paul had a chance to respond, she grasped my arm and cried out, “Oh! Papa’s motorcycle!” Then began to laugh and clap her hands.
    “Papa can’t ride,” Paul explained. “Too old.”
    “You like to ride?” Mama asked me, gesturing enthusiastically at the quickly approaching bike. “Go for a ride.”
    “No. I don’t like to ride,” I said, taking a step back.
    Merrick pulled up to the patio and lowered his feet to the ground to brace the bike. It idled like the purr of a wild cat just freed from the zoo. He patted the seat behind him, grinning at me like a madman. “Hop on!”
    He
was
mad to think I’d go anywhere near that thing. “No way.”
    “Come on. You can hold on to me. There’s a lake way down past the vineyard I want you to see. It’s beautiful.” He cocked one brow and shot me his dimpled Rocha smile. “Please?”
    In light of my need to assert myself and enforce my opinions, I wanted to plant my ass firmly on the picnic table bench and refuse to budge, but the warm gush of emotions flowing through my chest at the sight of him, excited, filled to bursting with exuberance and wanting to share that feeling with me, had me giving in.
    I sighed. “Fine, but if you kill me, I’ll never forgive you.”
    He laughed as I swung a leg over the seat and wrapped my arms around his waist. “You’ll haunt me for the rest of my life alive
or
dead.” He lifted my hand and kissed it. “I prefer you breathing, though.” Leaning back, he turned his head to whisper in my ear, “I lied. I prefer you breathless underneath me. Hold on tight.”
    We took off with a jolt and I buried my face against his back. The wind whipped my hair around in tangles, and the seat sent vibrations through my entire body. I eased my eyes away from Merrick and glanced over his shoulder.
    My breath caught in my throat at the sight of endless green hills and