A Broke Old Biker Opened the Door and Found the Boy He Saved

Leather vests.

Beards.

Boots.

A whole lot of presence.

But then one of them leaned in and kissed Mrs. Callahan’s cheek.

Another brought two grocery sacks up the steps.

A third crouched to inspect the sagging porch rail like he was on the clock.

Gloria frowned.

Mrs. Callahan waved.

Hard.

“You just gonna spy, or are you coming over?” the old woman called.

Gloria almost laughed in spite of herself.

A minute later she was standing at the edge of the porch feeling underdressed, underslept, and very aware of how large the men in front of her were.

Mrs. Callahan beamed.

“Gloria Bell, meet my boys.”

The broadest man of the bunch turned from the railing and gave Gloria a respectful nod.

He had a beard with silver beginning to touch it, a leather vest over a black T-shirt, and the kind of eyes that looked dangerous until you noticed how careful they were.

“This here is Jim Lawson,” Mrs. Callahan said, patting his arm. “Vice president of the Steel Horse Riders. Don’t let the patches scare you. Half these men have changed my light bulbs and all of them have heard me complain about my hip.”

The others chuckled.

A mountain of a man carrying the grocery sacks said, “That’s because you complain real professionally, ma’am.”

Mrs. Callahan pointed at him.

“That’s Buck. And that one there with the bad haircut is Red.”

“It is not bad,” Red muttered.

“It’s criminal,” she said.

Gloria smiled before she meant to.

Jim noticed.

“Nice to meet you,” he said. “Miss Callahan’s told us about you. Said you work over at county medical.”

“Night shift,” Gloria said.

“Single mama,” Mrs. Callahan added. “And too stubborn to ask for help.”

Gloria opened her mouth to protest, but the old woman kept going.

“How’s your boy? Haven’t seen him riding that little blue bike lately.”