“Is it safe to leave you three working together while I mow?” She stepped between them as they stared at each other challengingly.

“It depends on whether you have another hammer I can defend myself with,” Train drawled. He wouldn’t make the first move to pick a fight with Hammer, but he would be damned if he backed away from one.

Jonas stood overhead with his hands on his hips, watching the standoff. From their contemptuous stance, both of them wanted a confrontation.

Killyama raised her voice. “I invited him here. You can deal with it or leave. If Mama doesn’t hear any work going on, she’ll be out here, wanting to know why.”

“Everything is fine. Go mow,” Hammer gritted out.

“That’s what I wanted to hear. I’m going inside to make some lemonade. All this testosterone is making me hot. Train, anytime you want to take that shirt off, feel free. It’ll give me something to stare at while I mow.”

Killyama was teasing, yet she didn’t go inside to make the lemonade until he nodded that he would ignore the men’s attempts to start a fight.

“The extra hammer is in the toolbox in the back of the Escalade,” Jonas called out as Hammer started climbing the ladder.

Train found the hammer before he followed, keeping a cautious eye for any other missiles to mysteriously go sailing over his head.

The men worked steadily, nailing down the shingles, while he wondered where the lemonade was. That’s when he heard the mower start and saw Killyama driving it through the grassy field.

“Hammer, Jonas, Train, I brought you something to drink.”

Train let Hammer and Jonas go first, worried they would accidently push the ladder over. Once he was safely on the ground, he took the lemonade Peyton handed him.

After Train thanked her, she blushed before going back inside.

“You hurt that little girl, the squad will be searching for two new members.” The warm smile Hammer had worn for Peyton dissolved.

“Killyama isn’t a little girl, and I have no intention of hurting her.”

“You think I’ve forgotten the women you and Shade bragged about fucking when we were on a mission? The times we visited you in Ohio, you weren’t hurting for company there, either. If you think Jonas is going to sit back and watch our girl getting the same treatment as those cunts you claimed for The Last Riders, you better buckle up, because it’s going to take more than a parachute to save you.”

Train set his drink down on the porch bannister, taking off his shirt then turning so Killyama could see his muscular back. “Killyama has no problem taking care of herself. The Last Riders have all tried to guess where she came by the skills to fight the way she does. You two have done an excellent job training her.” He paused before asking, “Which one of you is her father?”

“Crash’s skills let you down again?” Jonas scoffed at Train’s lame attempt to discover who her father was. “Let me make it easy for you. Neither Hammer nor I are her father. A day hasn’t gone by that I wish it were true, but she’s not.”

Train sighed. He had worked with them on missions for years, so he knew that, if Jonas said one of them wasn’t Killyama’s father, they weren’t. Ultimately, it didn’t matter. They considered her their daughter, blood or not.

“I’m not going to apologize for my past. I’m not the only man here who enjoyed a good time. The only reason you and Jonas haven’t settled down yet isn’t because you haven’t met the right women, but because both of you haven’t met the right woman. I can sling mud just as easily, or we can call a truce and admit we want what’s going to make Killyama happy. I promise to do that to the best of my ability, but if you’re expecting me to cut off my left nut to keep you two happy, then I guess we’re all shit out of luck.”

Hammer reached for Train’s T-shirt, tossing it back at him. “Right now, I’ll be happy if you put that back on. She’s mowed the same patch of grass three times.”

Train grinned as he tugged it back on.

“Truce?” Holding out his hand, the men reluctantly shook it.

The window in the kitchen opened, and the men turned to see Killyama’s mother.

“The only one I see out there working up a sweat is my daughter. Do I need to put my jeans on and show you how to nail on a shingle?”

Killyama would have snarled profanities at them. Peyton did it much more delicately, but her message was the same.

“No, ma’am.” Train winked at her as Hammer and Jonas scrambled back up the ladder.

The rest of the afternoon passed without incident as they worked in unison, sweat pouring down their backs.

Not caring if he made Jonas or Hammer angry, he removed his shirt and was about to call in a favor to Cash to help when he realized they were on the last row.

As he worked, the aroma of whatever Peyton was cooking wafted upward, competing with the sun to torment him.

“I hear your stomach from over here. Didn’t you have breakfast?” Jonas nailed a shingle with more force than was necessary.

“Only coffee and toast.” Train brushed the sweat out of his eyes.

“Don’t expect us to feel sorry for you. You have a clubhouse of women cooking for you. Peyton only cooks for us when Killyama invites us over.”

“I would have thought you were as close to Peyton as you are to Killyama.” Train didn’t expect either of the men to answer, so he was surprised when Hammer did after a slight hesitation.

“Peyton stays pretty much to herself … other than Killyama.”

“That’s hard to believe. She’s a beautiful woman.”

“She’s a one-man woman,” Jonas chimed in.

“Is Killyama’s father dead?”

Hammer stood up, giving Jonas a hard stare. “We’re done. Let’s go see if lunch is ready.”

The men climbed off the roof and went into the trailer that had seen better days. Train could tell it was cared for, but he bet the couch was the original one, and the curtains and the carpet were frayed around the edges.

Guessing they weren’t going to feed him any more information, Train found himself studying the woman who fussed over them after they had washed up in the bathroom while Killyama was washing up at the kitchen sink.

“You sit by Killyama, Train. Jonas and Hammer can share the other seat.”

The table was a four-seater booth that was at the side of the kitchen. Train slid over on the seat so Killyama could sit down, while Hammer and Jonas elbowed each other for room on the other side, fitting like two sardines in a can.

“Where are you going to sit?” Train asked as he started to get out, but was pinned in by Killyama.

“I’ll pull over a chair after I put the food on the table.”

Train expected Killyama to help her mother. Instead, she slid the huge bowl of hamburger pasta her mother had set down toward her, leaving Jonas and Hammer to start on the modest bowl of salad. They stared at the pasta that took up most of the table like ravaging wolves.

“Guests first.” Killyama gave him the serving spoon as Peyton placed her chair at the edge of the small table.

Seeing Peyton nibble at her salad, unobtrusively watching him, Train took a modest spoonful, placing it on his plate. He had learned to take small portions until he decided if he liked it.