The Four Stages of Loving Dutch Owen - Debra Kayn Page 0,4
of his own. He was at a loss on how to comfort her.
A car zoomed past them, not slowing down. The side of a highway wasn't the place for a child to be, especially at night.
"I need to get you home." He cupped the back of her head, hesitated, and patted her. Her fucking skull fit in his palm.
Resolved to get her home and safe, he pushed her away from him. He couldn't put it off any longer. Someone would be looking for her, and the last thing he wanted was the cops on his tail and catching him with a little girl.
"Can you tell me where you live?"
She looked behind her. Okay, she lived on the other side of the highway.
Not wanting to take her on his motorcycle and not wanting to leave his ride on the side of the highway, he took out his cell phone and made a call. It'd take a couple minutes to have someone from the Moses Lake Chapter ride over and watch his bike.
After he put the call out, he took his pack of smokes out of his vest pocket. "Hang on a second. Once someone comes, I'll walk you home."
She scooted on the seat as if to leave. He stepped in her way, preventing her from running.
Losing patience, he set her back on the bike. "You're not going anywhere."
She struck out, every limb going in different directions. Afraid of hurting her, he could only deflect her tiny hands and feet from striking the buttons on his vest or the chain at his hip. He couldn't have her hurting her little hands.
He realized quickly that he couldn't stop her without touching her. Hauling her off his motorcycle, he hugged her small body to his chest.
She gave up the fight and stilled. He exhaled in relief.
She slipped her arms around his neck and her head pressed against his shoulder. Her warm breath blew on his skin. He looked around. Someone had to be looking for her.
He was unfit to watch over a child.
Pacing back and forth along the side of the highway, he kept looking for a WAKOM member to come to his aid.
He'd done some risky things in his life, but holding a little girl that was a stranger to him, seemed more dangerous than anything he'd ever done—including a two-year stint in prison.
He looked down the two-lane highway. Headlights beamed in both directions. He turned his back, facing the field.
His heart pounded. He'd hate to kill someone in front of the child.
People see him, and they believed the worst. They wouldn't see what was right in front of their face.
The low rumble of a motorcycle reached him. He glanced in the direction of town and spotted the lone headlight.
"I'll get you home," he whispered, turning back around as the cars passed.
The rider pulled around and came to a stop behind Dutch's Harley. He carried the girl to his MC brother.
"Jesus Christ, man. What are you doing with a child?" Piston heaved his overweight body off the motorcycle and sauntered over to him.
"I found her at the pool hall, eating scraps outside." His arms tightened around the girl. "Fed her a meal, and she ran off. It was dark."
Piston shook his head. "Probably a runaway."
"Nah, she's a baby." He hefted her higher in his arms. "She's probably around ten years old."
Teenagers ran away from home. He'd taken off more times than he could count when he hit his teen years. But ten years old was too young to be on her own.
"Her daddy will kill you if he catches you." Piston sighed. "Take her home."
"Plan to, but I don't know where she lives." He couldn't leave her on the side of the road. "You live around here. Who does she belong to?"
WACOM members normally kept to themselves but kept abreast of news and people in the community. It was their business to make sure they knew everyone. It helped keep targets off their back.
Piston stepped around him. He understood his MC brother was trying to get a look at the girl. She had her face against his neck, and going by her breathing, she was out for the night.
"I can't see her." Piston sauntered over to his bike, removed a flashlight from his bag, and returned to Dutch.
The light shined on his shoulder. He kept his gaze on the road. The faster he could get out of here, the better he'd feel.
"Fuckin' hell." The light went out. "That's Sue Smith's kid."