Margaret simply turned and held the front screen door open wide.
"You boys needed help. That's all that mattered to me."
Within minutes, the old farmhouse living room was transformed. The eight towering bikers parked their heavy machines under the dry barn roof, kicked off their mud-caked boots at the mat, and sat quietly on wooden chairs around the hearth, their leather vests drying beside the stove.
In the kitchen, the aroma of garlic, chicken broth, and boiling pasta filled the air.
Margaret stood by the vintage gas stove, stirring a large iron pot of steaming soup with a wooden spoon. Lightning flickered across the blue-tinted window panes, casting dramatic shadows against the walls.