Free Harddrive Holidays (Rebel Wayfarers MC Book 14) by MariaLisa deMora Page A

the empty room, “Cereal it is.”
    When his wife was here, she would have had his head for considering breakfast cereal a meal, but she hadn’t been here for a long time, not for years. He swallowed, his throat suddenly tight, remembering the Christmas Eve dinners she would put on the table. Simple fare, but good, and always accompanied by a mug of her spiced rum, served with a sweet kiss.
    It took some effort, but he pushed those thoughts aside.
    Walking around the island that divided the kitchen from the rest of the open plan room, he made quick work of preparing his bowl, then leaned a hip against the front of the sink and ate standing, as was his custom these days. Gaze focused outward, staring through the dark panes of glass, he saw the snow the forecasters promised for Christmas had finally started falling. Tomorrow morning would find a fresh coat of white; pristine, it would patiently wait for kids with new winter gear to ski and sled. Their eager and tireless legs creating new tracks through the snow; those tracks plotting lines of experiences they would carry with them for the rest of their lives. Memories built to last.
    Rinsing the empty bowl and putting it into the strainer, he turned from the window and his gaze swept the room. Mentally weighing the benefits of sleeping in what would at first be a very chilly bed versus the already warm recliner, he slowly made his way back to the chair, grabbing a hand-knitted afghan off the back of the couch on his way past. Dumping the covering on the seat, he quickly settled a couple of fresh logs on the fire, adjusting the existing fuel before putting the screen in place. Back in the chair, he draped the blanket across his legs, and then pushed the chair back, settling in and getting comfortable. Soon, the only sounds in the room were the crackle of the burning logs and the soft, deep breaths of the man sleeping in the chair.
    “Rodney,” he yelled, waiting for his older brother to catch up, nose pressed to the large window overlooking the sidewalk on which he stood. “Come on, slowpoke. Look at this, would ya?” The two brothers stood side-by-side in identical poses of excitement and admiration. “Would ya look at this,” he said again, slowly, hearing the expected noise of approval from beside him.
    They were staring into the car dealership where one of the salesmen had just rolled one of the biggest and prettiest motorcycles he had ever seen right in front of the wide picture window. The bike was shiny, so shiny he thought he could comb his hair using the reflection from the gas tank, and the salesman was using a handkerchief to polish the backs of the already gleaming mirrors. “Did you ever see anything like it?” Rodney asked, and he shook his head.
    “Boys,” he heard, and both he and Rodney automatically took a half-step back, because this voice belonged to the owner of the dealership. They both knew firsthand that he didn’t like smudges on his windows, but instead of the expected scolding, the man asked them, “Do you boys want to come inside and get a good look at the motorcycle?”
    Twisting, Landon looked up at the man whose big belly was doing a poor job of hiding behind his buttoned suit coat and nodded, answering for both of them. “You boys can help me out. I need a picture of someone on the bike for my newspaper advertisement. Let us see if you boys will fit the bill.”
    For the next thirty minutes, he and Rodney were in second Heaven after the man lifted and placed them astraddle the bike’s seat, leaving them there while the photographer fiddled with his camera and lights. Landon even got to lean far forward, putting his hands on the straight handlebars, making vroom noises and pretending to drive the big bike. He had reverently touched the logo attached to the side of the gas tank, the headdress on the Indian man’s head bumpy underneath the pad of his finger. Rodney played with the fringe on the bottom of the seat and the photographer