Chapter 16: Sunday at the Farm

Maggie came home on a Sunday, three weeks and two days after she was born.

She weighed five pounds, four ounces, and the car seat swallowed her.

June had called the night before.

"He told the whole club it's at my house," she said. "So it will be. If he's going to do this, he does it on my grass, where I can see him."

Rafe drove us out to the farm with the car seat between us on the bench.

By noon, twenty-two bikes were parked along June's fence, and the Riders stood in her yard with paper plates and nothing to say.

The wives had set up the tables.

Several of them looked at me with a guilty, careful kindness.

Boone stood on the porch steps in a clean shirt and his club vest, with a glass of tea in his hand.

Krista sat in the cab of his truck, with the window up.

I carried Maggie up the walk myself, in her car seat, with a blanket over the handle.

Rafe walked one step behind me.

"There she is," Boone said, and he sounded warm and proud. "My girls."

A few of the men clapped.

"Everybody, I want you to meet my daughter," he said, and he set the glass down. "Margaret Tarrant."

"Her name is Maggie Gerrity," I said.

Boone laughed, easily.

"Annie's been through a lot. We'll sort the paperwork out."

"A month ago you told your club she was Rafe's."

The laughter in the yard stopped.

"I said that to scare you," Boone said. "I was out of my head. It was a bad night."

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