Regifted

By Kim Fielding

It's December, and although Chrys Carvalho loves his home among the trees in the California Sierras, he's a little lonely. While trying to find a new owner for a motorcycle—gifted by Chrys to his late husband—he meets handsome rancher Monroe Ogden. Monroe would dearly love to own the bike, but it's out of his budget. In the spirit of the holidays, Chrys offers the motorcycle as a gift—and gets a new friend in return.

When friendship turns to something more, Chrys must decide whether to keep his secrets or reveal his true nature. Can love and trust, like the motorcycle, be given more than once?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tin Box Press
• Release date: Nov 28, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223603344

Kim Fielding

Kim Fielding is pleased every time someone calls her eclectic. Her books span a variety of genres, but all include authentic voices and unconventional heroes. She’s a Rainbow Award and SARA Emma Merritt winner, a LAMBDA finalist, and a two-time Foreword INDIE finalist. She has migrated back and forth across the western two-thirds of the United States and currently lives in California, where she long ago ran out of bookshelf space. A university professor who dreams of being able to travel and write full-time, she also dreams of having two daughters who occasionally get off their phones, a husband who isn’t obsessed with football, and a cat who doesn’t wake her up at 4:00 a.m. Some dreams are more easily obtained than others. Blogs: kfieldingwrites.com and www.goodreads.com/author/show/4105707.Kim_Fielding/blog Facebook: www.facebook.com/KFieldingWrites Email: [e-mail] Twitter: @KFieldingWrites

Book preview

Chapter

One

Bobbi tucked one of her braids behind her ear and frowned. December isn’t the right time to be selling a motorcycle. Nobody wants to ride in the cold and rain. She gestured past the open garage door toward the driveway, damp with the afternoon’s light rain.

"You rode here today," Chrys pointed out.

Well, yeah. ’Cause if I’m gonna haul my ass to Farthest Podunk, I’m gonna at least enjoy your twisties. Man, just your road alone is worth the ride. Plus, I’m not made of spun sugar. I won’t melt. Can’t say the same for all the rubbies out there.

Chrys decided he wasn’t in the mood to argue or decipher biker slang. He sighed. Look, I don’t care whether I get top dollar for it. I just want it gone. It’s… it’s taking up too much space.

Although Bobbi undoubtedly knew that the last statement was an untruth—there was plenty of room in the three-car garage—she let it slide. Her expression softened, and she stroked the fuel tank. Well, she’s a beauty. A ’53, right?

Yeah. I mean, I guess so. He was fairly certain that was what Jeff had said, although Chrys hadn’t paid close attention when Jeff soliloquized about his hobby. Chrys wasn’t interested in motorcycles. He was, however, interested in seeing the joy in his husband’s eyes and had concentrated on that rather than the specs of things that went vroom. So when Chrys had spied an old bike decaying in front of someone’s house, a faded For Sale sign attached to the handlebars, he’d succumbed to a whim and bought the thing as a gift. Jeff had spent a lot of happy hours working on the project, although he’d never had the chance to finish it.

Bobbi was still caressing the bike. That was the last year the Indian Motorcycle Company was in business. I mean, a while back someone started a new Indian, but the original folded in ’53. And they only manufactured a few hundred of these babies. Fully restored, she’d be worth a fortune. Fifty grand, maybe. Especially if you wait until spring to sell.

But what about… sort of in pieces? In December?

She shrugged. Dunno. Half that. It’s a matter of finding the right buyer.

That made Chrys’s head hurt. He just wanted it gone. He’d considered simply having the thing hauled to a junkyard, but that would have felt like a betrayal. Jeff had loved it. Still, if Chrys could have waved a magic wand and made the bike go poof, he would have.

Why don’t you take it? Chrys said. For free, I mean.

Although she continued to pet the bike, Bobbi shook her head. Thanks for the offer, hon, but my wife would blow a gasket. I promised her no new projects until I finish the ones I got. At my current rate, I’ll be ninety.

And then, likely noticing the way Chrys’s shoulders drooped in defeat, she flashed a bright smile. Tell you what. I got friends who maybe don’t have such uptight spouses. I’ll spread the word around. Okay if I give your contact info to anyone who’s interested?

That’d be great. Thanks, Bobbi.

They went into the house, where Chrys brewed tea while Bobbi prowled around a bit, admiring Jeff’s carvings. The big fancy ones were in museums or the homes of rich collectors, but Chrys preferred the smaller, simpler ones anyway. Jeff had found ways to integrate the natural wood