Protected by my Hogg Daddy

A Place for Her

Bjorn

The service bay door rattled open just after eight, letting in a burst of warm Oklahoma air along with the rumble of another motorcycle rolling into Davidson Cycle Works. Bjorn glanced up from the engine spread across his workbench long enough to identify the customer before returning his attention to the task in front of him. The bike belonged to Curtis Malone, a retired rancher who had been bringing motorcycles to Bjorn for almost six years. Curtis treated every strange sound like a mechanical emergency and every oil change like a life-or-death decision. Most of the time there was nothing seriously wrong with the bike. The other times, Bjorn fixed the issue before the older man could convince himself he was one mile away from disaster.

The familiar routine should have been comforting. Most mornings were. Davidson Cycle Works had become exactly what Bjorn hoped it would be when he purchased the run-down building nearly a decade earlier. What had started as a small repair shop had grown into one of the most respected motorcycle businesses in the region. Riders came from across Oklahoma for repairs, custom builds, and routine maintenance. Veterans stopped in for coffee and conversation even when they didn't need anything fixed. Members of The Hoggs treated the place like a second clubhouse. Every square foot of the building represented years of hard work, sacrifice, and stubborn determination. The shop wasn't just where Bjorn earned a living. It was something he had built with his own hands after leaving the Army and figuring out what came next.

Motorcycles made sense to him in a way people rarely did. Machines didn't lie. They didn't manipulate. They didn't pretend to be one thing while secretly being another. If an engine was broken, there was a reason. If a repair failed, there was a solution. Problems could be diagnosed. Solutions could be found. After years spent around conflict, both overseas and at home, Bjorn appreciated that kind of honesty. It was one of the reasons he still enjoyed walking into the shop every morning. No matter what else happened in life, a motorcycle would always tell you the truth.

He tightened the final bolt on the engine assembly and wiped his hands on a rag before carrying the completed part toward one of the service bays. Around him, the shop buzzed with activity. One mechanic was discussing repair estimates with a customer near the front counter while another argued with a parts supplier over the phone. Air compressors hissed. Impact wrenches barked to life and fell silent again. Country music drifted from a speaker mounted near the office.

Normally, the familiar rhythm of the shop helped clear Bjorn's head. Today, however, his concentration kept slipping in ways that annoyed him. Nothing was wrong at Davidson Cycle Works. Business was good, the mechanics were handling their work, and the day was moving exactly as it should. Yet every time his attention drifted, his thoughts seemed to circle back to the same place.

A hospital room across town.

The realization irritated him more than he cared to admit. Samantha Styles had been in his life for less than a week. He barely knew her. Under normal circumstances, she should have been little more than a woman he helped after finding her injured on the side of the road. Instead, she kept finding her way into his thoughts no matter how busy he tried to keep himself.

Yet somehow she kept finding her way into his thoughts.

Finding her on the side of that highway had changed something. Bjorn couldn't explain exactly what. He wasn't foolish enough to mistake concern for love, and he certainly wasn't the kind of man who believed in destiny. Still, every time he pictured Samantha sitting in that hospital bed trying so hard to pretend she was fine, something tightened inside his chest.

The sound of boots approaching pulled him back to the present.

"If you're about to tell me somebody forgot to order parts again," Bjorn said without looking up, "I'm not interested."

Diesel leaned against the workbench beside him. "Good morning to you too."

Bjorn snorted. "What do you need?"

"Nothing."

"Then why are you standing there?"

Diesel grinned. "Thought I'd annoy you for a few minutes."

"Mission accomplished."

The younger man laughed and grabbed a bottle of water from the cooler. For several minutes they worked in comfortable silence. It was one of the reasons Bjorn trusted him. Diesel understood that not every silent moment needed filling. Some people couldn't stand silence. Diesel wasn't one of them.

Unfortunately, he eventually spoke anyway. "The guys and I stopped by the hospital yesterday."

Bjorn kept working, though his attention shifted immediately. "Yeah?"

Diesel twisted the cap off his water bottle and took a drink. "She's doing better."

Relief settled somewhere deep in Bjorn's chest before he could stop it. "Good."

"She's eating more. Talking more. Doctor seems happy with how she's progressing."

Bjorn nodded once and continued tightening a bolt.

Then Diesel smirked. "She laughed."

That got his attention. Bjorn looked up. "A real laugh?"

"Yep." Diesel's grin widened. "Tank was being an i***t. Business as usual. She finally cracked and laughed so hard she couldn't stop."

Despite himself, Bjorn smiled.

Most of the updates he'd received about Samantha had been medical. Healing ribs. Fading bruises. Improving concussion symptoms. Hearing that she'd laughed felt different somehow. Physical injuries healed with time. Fear was harder to fix.

"Tank's been unbearable ever since," Diesel continued. "Apparently he's convinced he's some kind of therapist now."

Bjorn laughed. "God help us all."

"Amen."

The conversation drifted back toward work after that. For the next hour, Bjorn focused on motorcycles. He diagnosed a transmission issue, answered customer questions, signed invoices, and helped one of the mechanics track down an electrical problem that had everyone frustrated. For a while, the normal rhythm of the day returned.

Then Tank arrived.

The front door burst open with enough force to make the bell above it rattle.

"Where's the boss?"

Bjorn closed his eyes.

Across the shop, Diesel muttered, "There goes the peaceful part of the day."

Tank marched inside carrying a paper bag from a local diner. Bones followed behind him looking exhausted, while Rook headed directly toward the coffee maker without speaking.

"What happened to you?" Bjorn asked Bones.

Bones pointed immediately at Tank. "I spent forty-five minutes listening to him explain why motorcycles should come with cup holders."

Tank looked offended. "They should."

"No," Bones replied.

"They absolutely should."

Bjorn set aside the paperwork in his hand. "No grown man needs a cup holder on a Harley."

Tank threw his hands into the air. "See? This is why none of you are innovators."

"Because we don't drink coffee while riding motorcycles?" Bjorn asked.

"Exactly."

"That's not helping your argument," Bones said.

"It should."

The conversation dissolved into laughter before Tank finally dropped into a chair near the office and stole a handful of fries from the paper bag he'd brought with him.

"You should've seen her yesterday," he said around a mouthful of food.

Bjorn kept his attention on the invoice in front of him, though he was listening.

Tank pointed a fry toward Diesel. "She laughed so hard she nearly choked, and this i***t was no help at all."

Diesel rolled his eyes. "You're welcome."

Bones shook his head before looking toward Bjorn. "She's doing a lot better, though. Doctor seems happy with how she's progressing."

Tank nodded in agreement. "Shouldn't be much longer before they discharge her if everything keeps heading in the right direction."

The conversation quieted almost immediately as the implications settled over the room. Everyone understood what that meant. Getting discharged was good news, but it also created a new problem, because Samantha still had nowhere to go.

For several moments nobody spoke.

Then Rook looked up from his coffee. "She can stay in my spare room."

The room fell silent. Not because the offer was shocking, because it was exactly the sort of thing Rook would do. The kid had a good heart. Maybe too good.

"What?" Rook asked when everyone stared at him. "She's got nowhere to go."

Nobody argued.

It was a generous offer.

A reasonable offer.

A safe offer.

Which was exactly why Bjorn couldn't understand the immediate resistance rising inside him. Every objection he could think of sounded reasonable. None of them explained why the idea bothered him so much.

The discussion continued around him while he remained mostly silent. Tank thought Rook's offer was a great idea. Bones agreed that it was generous, while Diesel pointed out a few practical concerns that would need to be worked out. Bjorn listened without contributing much. Outwardly, he appeared focused on the conversation taking place in front of him. In reality, his thoughts had already drifted elsewhere.

Above Davidson Cycle Works sat the apartment he had called home for years. It wasn't anything extravagant, but it was comfortable and more than enough space for one man. The apartment had a private entrance, a full kitchen, a living room large enough to host club members when they stopped by, and two bedrooms connected by a short hallway. Bjorn occupied one of them. The second had remained untouched for so long that he rarely gave it any thought anymore.

Yet now he found himself thinking about it.

As Tank and Bones debated the details of Rook's offer, Bjorn's mind kept returning to that empty room upstairs. He could picture it clearly without even trying. The neatly made bed. The dresser against the far wall. The closet that held little more than a few forgotten storage boxes. Every day he walked past that room without a second glance. Tonight, however, it seemed impossible to stop thinking about it.

The reaction made no sense to him. Rook's offer was a good one. Samantha would be safe there. The kid was dependable, loyal, and possessed a heart far bigger than his own good sense. By every logical measure, the problem had already been solved. So why did the solution leave Bjorn feeling unsettled?

That question stayed with him long after the conversation moved on to other subjects. It followed him through the remainder of the workday, through customer conversations, repair orders, and service calls. Every time he managed to push the thought aside, it found its way back. By closing time, he still hadn't come up with an answer. All he knew was that the idea of Samantha staying somewhere else continued to bother him far more than it should have.

And for the first time since buying the building, Bjorn found himself wondering whether the empty room upstairs had been waiting for a purpose all along.