“It's in the bike.”
“Outside?”
“In a waterproof pocket.”
Margaret shook her head.
“You're not going out there tonight.”
Ray smiled.
“Wasn’t planning to.”
The storm continued.
By ten, snow reached the lower porch step.
By eleven, the county issued a travel ban.
At midnight, the lights went out.
The entire house became black.
Someone cursed.
Margaret said:
“Language.”
“Sorry, ma’am.”
Several phones appeared.
Flashlights illuminated the room.
Margaret immediately walked toward the basement.
Ray followed.
“Generator?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Shed.”
Ray looked through the window.
The shed was barely visible.
“No.”
Margaret turned.
“No what?”
“You're not going outside.”
“My generator won't start itself.”
“We'll handle it.”
“You know generators?”
“Among forty-four bikers?”
Ray smiled.
“We can probably find somebody.”
He turned.
“Anybody here know old diesel generators?”
Six hands went up.
Margaret blinked.
“Fine.”
Ray pointed.
“You six.”
Margaret interrupted.
“No one goes alone.”
Ray nodded.
“Four at a time. Ropes between them.”
Margaret raised an eyebrow.
“You've done this?”
“Bad weather.”
“Not Montana bad weather.”
“Fair.”
They tied ropes from the porch to the shed.
Men rotated outside in small groups.
Snow reached their thighs.
The wind nearly knocked them over.
Margaret stood at the window despite Ray repeatedly asking her to sit.
Thirty minutes passed.
Then the generator coughed.
Stopped.
Coughed again.
Finally roared.
The lights returned.
The bikers cheered.
Margaret smiled.
“Tell them not to waste fuel.”
Ray laughed.
“You really can't just enjoy a victory?”
“No.”
By three in the morning, everyone slept.
Some on floors.
Some upright against walls.
Ray remained near the fireplace.
Margaret sat in Thomas’s old chair.
“You should sleep,” Ray said.
“So should you.”
“I’ve slept in worse places.”
“So have I.”
Ray looked toward her.
“You?”
“Three children.”
He laughed quietly.
For a while they listened to wind.
Then Margaret asked:
“Your father ever tell you why that photograph mattered?”
Ray nodded.
“He said it reminded him that sometimes the person who saves your life isn't the person you expect.”
Margaret looked at him.
“What did he mean?”
“Dad wasn't easy when he was young.”
Ray smiled faintly.
“He got into trouble. Fights. Drinking. Thought he was tough.”
“Sounds familiar.”
Ray laughed.
“He probably would've liked you.”
Margaret looked toward sleeping bikers.
“And these men?”
“My brothers.”
“All forty-three?”
“Not blood.”
“I understand that.”
Ray nodded.
“We were riding to Bozeman for a charity fundraiser.”
Margaret raised an eyebrow.
“What charity?”
“Children of incarcerated parents.”
“That doesn't fit the picture people have of you.”
Ray looked at her.
“People like simple pictures.”
Margaret nodded slowly.
“So did Thomas.”
“What do you mean?”
“He used to say uniforms made people assume they understood the man inside them.”
Ray looked toward his leather vest.
“Same with patches.”
Margaret smiled.
“Exactly.”
Ray looked at her for a long moment.
“You're not afraid of us?”
Margaret considered lying.
Then didn't.
“When I first saw forty-four of you?”
“Yes.”
“I thought either I was about to make the stupidest decision of my life or cook a very large dinner.”
Ray laughed.
“And now?”
Margaret looked around.
“Now I’m worried someone is sleeping with his boots on my sofa.”
Ray turned immediately.
“Who?”
Margaret pointed.
Ray stood.
“Take them off!”
The sleeping biker woke confused.
“What?”
“Boots!”
Margaret covered her mouth to hide her laughter.
By six thirty, the wind began weakening.
The world outside remained buried.
But visibility improved.
Margaret made coffee.
Then eggs.
Then biscuits again.
Gus insisted on cooking them.
He burned the first tray.
Margaret stared.
“I knew it.”
Gus looked devastated.
“You cursed me.”
Breakfast became louder than dinner.
People told stories.
Margaret learned names.
Tiny.
Moose.
Doc.
Rabbit.
Johnny.
Red.
Mack.
Several were grandfathers.
Two owned construction businesses.
One was a nurse.
Another repaired elevators.
Doc had actually been a veterinarian.
Margaret asked:
“Why Doc?”
“Because he fixes us when we're stupid.”
“Frequently?”
Ray answered:
“Constantly.”
At seven fifteen, flashing lights appeared through the kitchen window.
Someone noticed first.
“Police.”
The room changed instantly.
Men stood.
Conversation stopped.
Ray looked outside.
Four county sheriff vehicles.
One state patrol SUV.
Officers exited near the gate.
Margaret frowned.
“What do they want?”
Ray said:
“Probably checking on the bikes.”
Another biker looked uneasy.
“Someone called.”
Margaret opened the door.
Ray stopped her.
“Stay inside.”
She looked at him as though he had lost his mind.
“This is my house.”
“I know.”
“Then move.”
Ray stepped aside.
Margaret pulled on Thomas’s old coat and walked onto the porch.
Ray followed.
Then the others.
Not aggressively.
Quietly.