Page 70 of The Price of Love

Storm pulls her bike to a stop at the crossroads of Highway 3.

She narrows her eyes when she looks at my face. “I see wheels turning in that pretty head of yours. What are you thinking?”

I smile. “Just how different it is up here.”

“Different good or different bad?”

The sincerity of her question takes me by surprise. She wants me to like it up here, so I weigh my words. “A little of both. The countryside is beautiful. I can still enjoy the mountains where I live, but here you’re living among them.”

“They’re part of us,” she says.

“And I like that.”

“But?”

I smile again. She’s astute, and I’m certain she won’t let me dodge her question. “But the town…uh, there’s just a…” I’m at a loss for words.

“Heaviness?”

Thank god, she said it for me. “Yeah, I suppose there is. Looks like people are struggling. Hurting for money.”

“Work. They’re hurting for work. For jobs that pay enough to support their families.”

I know the feeling all too well, but I won’t feel sorry for myself in front of Storm, so I say, “It’s a shame since it’s such a cute little town.” I glance in my mirror, thinking we can’t sit here talking forever, but there’s not a soul behind us. Another reminder of how desolate it is.

“We’re trying to change that. Aces started working with the town board about eight years ago.” Storm points back the way we came. “Did you see the development south of town?”

“The heavy machinery?”

She nods. “Yeah. That’s where I work. I used to drive a truck, but I traded it in for a bulldozer. We’ve been working to develop summer rentals around Black Lantern Lake.”

“Competing with Tupper Lake?”

She chuckles. “Nah, complement. High-end, but secluded. Close enough to Tupper to draw tourists without becoming it.”

“You guys have deep roots here,” I say quietly.

Storm smiles, but it’s sentimental, not cocky. “We do. It’s a proud town, proud people, just like the Thorns. We go together.”

And suddenly, I understand. This isn’t a club occupying a town. It’s a town protecting its own.

“I like that.” While Saratoga accepts the Steel Graces, we never quite fit in, but it’s different here.

Storm points to the road in front of us. “Ready to see our clubhouse?”

“Absolutely.”

We pull onto Highway 3 going east. While the road cuts through the trees, it’s not claustrophobic like the road from Cinder Ridge. As we ride, even with the occasional car we meet, the dark green walls of the forest heighten the feeling of isolation.

I let the mountain air fill my lungs and let it out slowly. The air still holds a nip, so it burns my throat, causing me to cough.

Storm lets off the throttle, and I slow beside her as I continue to cough.

“You okay?” she asks.

“Too much clean air,” I joke, even though it’s true. Talking loud into the wind causes more air to rush down my throat.

“We’re almost there. Do you want to pull over?”