Mara followed his gaze.
“Don’t look at her.”
Hammer’s eyes returned to Mara.
“She’s the reason.”
Mara’s jaw tightened.
“You stay away from my daughter.”
Lucy hugged the patch harder.
“Mom.”
“No.”
“You don’t understand.”
“I understand enough.”
Mara extended her hand.
“Give me the patch.”
Lucy shook her head.
“Lucy.”
“No.”
“Baby, that belonged to your father.”
“I know.”
“Then give it to me.”
Lucy’s lower lip trembled.
“I fixed it.”
Mara stopped.
“What?”
Lucy turned the patch around.
She touched the ugly blue stitches.
“I fixed it for Daddy.”
Something passed over Hammer’s face.
His shoulders seemed to become heavier.
He stepped closer.
Mara immediately moved between him and Lucy.
Hammer stopped.
He did not challenge her.
His eyes remained on the thread.
“How old were you?”
Lucy stared.
“When?”
“When you sewed that.”
She looked toward her mother.
Mara seemed unable to answer.
Lucy whispered:
“Four.”
Hammer nodded once.
“Kitchen table?”
Lucy's eyes widened.
Hammer continued.
“Yellow lamp?”
She stared.
“Your dad kept moving.”
Lucy’s mouth opened.
Hammer’s voice softened.
“You poked his finger with the needle.”
The patch lowered slightly.
“How do you know that?”
Hammer looked away for a moment.
That was the first time I had ever seen the big man look as though words had become physically difficult.
“Because he showed everybody.”
Lucy stared at him.
Hammer smiled faintly.
“He came into the clubhouse holding his hand like he’d been shot.”
A couple of the older riders lowered their heads.
One smiled.
Hammer continued.
“He said his daughter had performed emergency surgery on his patch.”
Lucy almost smiled.
Almost.
Mara did not.
“Owen never told me about you.”
Hammer looked at her.
“He mentioned you every day.”
“Then why did he hide you?”
“He didn’t.”
“He didn’t talk about the club after he got sick.”
“That was different.”
Mara stepped closer.
“No.”
“You don’t get to do that.”
“Do what?”
“Talk like you knew him better than I did.”
“I didn’t.”
“You took him on that ride.”
The room tightened.
There it was.
The sentence people around Flagstaff had heard in pieces for three years.
Some knew more.
Most knew less.
Everyone had an opinion.
Three years earlier, Owen “Rook” Hale had left home on a motorcycle with the Iron Saints.
He had not returned alive.
The public version was simple.
A dying man had demanded one final ride through Oak Creek Canyon.
His health deteriorated near Sedona.
He fell.