Acually, as the vision in my eyes starts to fail me, the more my life is starting to come into focus. Years and years of misspent youth…wow…if I had only known then… Is everyone getting less intelligent or is it just me starting to make sense of things that never made sense before?

         I look at things with a sense of urgency now. I know that in my mid-forties, my body only has about 10 years (hopefully) of absolute health left before things start hurting in my sleep and I wake up with a full-body hang-over more and more (tequila’s a bitch now-a-days). So is riding dirt bikes with my son…but damn…I love it all.

         So…I want to do it all now. I’ve done a lot of amazing things already but I just didn’t have the sense to enjoy them then.

         I’ve spent the last 15 years or so of my life furthering my education…Dad, I’m smart now. Now I’m the most educated uneducated man on the planet. Degrees hanging on the wall (5 of them all total)…reminding me that I’ve never been to Belize, never walked the streets of New York after midnight, never had two women at once, missed my kids growing up, damn…what a selfish bastard. It’s all been about me…and yet, it hasn’t. It really hasn’t. Talk about paradigms. Stand back…the world awaits.

         I’ve flown a plane (earned a pilot’s license at 18), drove a submarine (four years in the Navy), traveled the world, got drunk with the best of friends, and married the most beautiful girl in the world (second marriage) with whom I’m totally in love, rode a Honda and a Harley (Harley won…still riding one. Class and rumble will always win.) but I can’t help think I’ve missed a significant portion of my life while sitting behind this goddamn computer. May I forgive myself. God’s too busy and sometimes I think he doesn’t like me anymore. I can’t blame Him…I don’t like myself anymore. But I know He has a sense of humor. My parents don’t…and they hate me.

         I could have been a songwriter…hell, I could have even been on the stage. Skills for thrills…I can even still rhyme…and I don’t need that mundane hip-hop beat to do it. Imagine that, kids! Music… I can remember what it was like when it told a story…a somewhat clean one, for the most part…desperation, lost love, unrequited love, wrongs yet to be made right, or just plain kick ass rhythm that caused even your butt to move across the seat and the hands to break out in a ridiculous imitation air guitar or drum rendition. Take a listen to “The Blues Man” by Hank Williams Jr., or  “Misery and Gin” by Merle Haggard for the kind of heart wrenching stuff that makes me an American man.

         I need to be sitting on the deck of my yacht in the middle of the Mediterranean, drinking a cold Bud light with plenty of friends surrounding me…or even in Furr’s parking lot in Midland, Texas, across from Sonic on the old main drag, on the tailgate of my old ’64 Chevrolet listening to Huey Lewis and the News and drinking the same Bud Light. But, alas, I sold my bass boat…and my submarine has been scrapped and I’m probably shaving with the remnants. Sold the Chevy, too. I can’t remember how to fly. Damn it.

         But, I still feel young! What the hell are the wrinkles and gray hair doing here? There are not supposed to be hairs in my nose, are there? What are they doing on my old friends? They still sound the same… Except now they don’t worry about finding the next party. How will we look to the neighbors… outside drinking a Bud Light? Hope I can still get it up tonight…not a problem…but with those commercials, maybe I should consider taking a pill to be like Bob? Banks are failing but I’m not…at least not today.

         Can I still be an astronaut when I grow up? Are these cigars still really bad for me? Why can’t my grandfather still be alive to give me advice when I most need it?  I remember him standing, waiting on me, in his over-alls and straw hat and cane, to get off the airplane on my first leave after completing Navy bootcamp. He didn’t smile often but he did then. I miss him. Ain’t it funny the things you remember?

         Hell, I didn’t even grow up with computers or cell phones…and now I have to teach people how to turn them on and avoid the ones trying to run my Hog off the road while they are filling in their friends on the latest bit of drama in their ‘oh-so-dramatic’ teen-age lives via cryptic push-button, high-tech Morse-code via hands’full car phones that just can’t wait 20 minutes…or at least until they get off the Interstate. Damn, how did I survive being so out of touch as a teenager? I was an idiot I guess. Damn-it to Hell. If I would have had these tools, I probably would have been much more successful in the dating department in high school. Imagine, leaving that someone a special “I think you are hot” message without actually having to deliver it in person. Even better…maybe a few more of my teenage dream queens could have delivered that message to me. I know there had to have been at least one that was a little shy, right?

         My little brother’s dead…been that way for almost 20 years now. God, I definitely miss him. He probably would have identified with some of this crap. He’s forever a kid to me…died at the ripe old age of 20. I think his kids, if he would have had them, would have liked me. Nobody else does, hell…but they would have to love a relative, right? Uncle…would have been great. And it isn’t fair to my parents…isn’t fair for the world. I know he would have been a better man than me.  Kenny Chesney’s video “Who You’d Be Today” really makes me think. Yes, he would have be such a better man than I have turned out to be. I still can’t believe he’s gone.

         What’s left for me? An obtuse question, yep,…but a lot. Life has really just begun. I’ve got to find those old friends and make new ones. It isn’t over. I think…no it is probably better not to…. Memories, they make great fuel. Bucket list my ass. I have at least two barrels…Where is that purple shirt? My ass still looks good in Levis…at least to the ladies who haven’t taken advantage of Lasik surgery.

         My wife says I have a negative attitude. I don’t think it is negative. No, maybe just un-reimbursed. Is that even a word?  Life doesn’t owe me. I owe it. Period. It’s a debt I’m in a hurry to repay. Screw diets and worrying if my cholesterol number is two points higher than medical science, in its infinite modern wisdom, says it should be. I’ll take the steak, medium-well please. Throw in the loaded baked potato and …yes, I’ll have a Budweiser. I’ve been responsible for everything for the past twenty-something years and I’m sick of it.  It is still my world to conquer. Get the hell out of my way. World too warm for you? Deal with it and buy some god-damned sunscreen to cover your whining, pasty, pink ass. Want my guns? Come and try to get ‘em…and come ready. I’m loaded…literally and figuratively.

         AC/DC still rules…so does Def Leppard…and Boston…and Bob Seger…and Charlie Rich (God, why doesn’t anyone bring the world into perspective like he did anymore?). Willie and Waylon…still my heroes. Two wheels are still cooler than four. With age comes treachery. Want to lay around on your ass and expect me to pick up your hospital bill when you take your brats for a runny nose? I feel for you but I just can’t reach you…and I’m not paying for you either.  Kids still stupid after 80 hours a week of reality shows and video games? Make an appointment with Dr. Phil. Cry to Oprah. Then reload the frig…they will be with you for a while. Enjoy!

         Negative? Nah…just as the nice country lady says… “my give-a-damn’s broken.” Done my time…cared…made sacrifices, done. Paid my dues…had my card punched. Time for living…my way.  Punch my time card and clock me the hell out of this skate-by, something-for-nothing mess.  I’ve worked for every ass-kickin I’ve ever received (and I received a few well-deserved ones.)…and if your thinkin’ I deserve another…then bring it…and bring help.  I’m not as tough as I once was…but as Toby Keith puts it…I’m still good once as I once was…and I’m still scary mean. Tongue kiss this rattlesnake…

         Don’t get me wrong. I love my country…or at least the ideals for which it used to stand. And I’d love to put a size 12D up that stink-eyed Iranian prick or that little pickle-smoking North Korean’s ass. Suit me back up. My uniform still fits (with modifications…where’s my holsters?). I’ll stand at the front of the line right along with those there right now. America, by God, it’s still worth my life. Don’t discount the fightin’ fat boy. Two hundred and forty-five pounds of pure fuckin’ meanness wrapped in a Harley-Davidson T-shirt, Levis, chains, and a not-so-concealed Glock. Give me an AK and stand the fuck out of the way. Yes, I will shoot you…forty times…without hesitation. America…no need for apologies…period. Wanna give your life for Allah? Step right the fuck up. He knows I will shoot you and hopefully he’ll shove your sorry ass right in my way.  When we meet in the afterworld, I will be the first to plant my boot up your ass just so God will know I’m still pissed…and I tend to carry a grudge.

         Why all this? Just an another disgruntled old fool? Maybe. But one with a hella-of-a-lot of compression left…and a lotta miles.  And I’m still firing on all cylinders. I don’t owe you a god-damned thing but I’ll share a six-pack with you if you will carry your own.

         Point is…there is nothing wrong with old school.  And there may be just a few card-carrying old fuckers out here with my same mindset. Here’s to balls…and those that still carry ‘em.

The wind on her face was soft and cool. The Fatboy beneath her wasquiet and smooth. She missed the reverberating snarl of her Sporty through theslant cut drag pipes and the vibration of the 1200 Evo engine. But she hadwillingly traded in the Sportster, as well as her meager life savings, to buyhim the Fatboy. She pulled out from the light, the bike beneath her responding easily but not as quick as she would have liked. She wanted more speed off the light, more response as she wove recklessly through traffic, challenging the cages. She just wanted more.

She cruised the city, her eyes taking in the neon, the crowds and thescents of urban dwelling. It was aimless meandering. She had no place tobe, no one waiting, nothing to do. Not a good way to spend what might beher last free night out. Her eyes focused on her surroundings, 37th and Sandy.She knew a place near here. He used to bring her here years ago, when theyfirst began dating, when he actually took her places. There it was. Shebacked in next to one of the half dozen bikes parked at the curb. Her heartfluttered a little at the thought of being unescorted. It was exciting, andthis was no time to be alone.

Pushing open the battered door, she stepped into the under lit, smokybar. The Eagles were playing on the jukebox, Hotel California. Her eyes scannedthe small gathering of humanity. Two couples were at the pool table,leather-jacketed backs turned toward her, and a slender young man was talkingearnestly to a big-breasted brunette by the jukebox. She recognized thebartender, the same shriveled old man who had always worked here. She hadalways thought of him as a troll. She walked slowly to the bar and restedher weary body on the red vinyl stool. The troll came over, wiped the barin front of her and set down a square bar napkin covered with tastelesscartoons.

“What’ll you have?”

“Scotch on the rocks, please.”

“Sure thing.”

He served her, took her two dollars and left her to her own devices.Her hand trembled slightly as she reached for the glass. Bringing it toher lips, the smell of the liquor hit her nose. It was the same sour smell so often on his breath and oozing from his pores. She took a sip and rolled it around on her tongue. The tremor in her hand stopped and she smiled.

Another sip. He had smelled of Scotch tonight. Night had barelyfallen when he walked in the door three hours late and reeking of his favorite,Johnny Walker. He wrapped his strong, thick arms around her waist, pullingher tight against his broad chest.

“Give me some sugar, baby,” he had breathed against her neck.

“Sarah?” The soft voice broke her from her reverie and she turned toward the source. A familiar, bearded face with dark hazel eyes looked at herhopefully. Her mind wavered for a moment, struggling to focus.

“Sammy?” The question was more doubt than greeting.

“I didn’t think you’d remember me. It’s been a while. You here byyourself tonight?” he asked hopefully, smiling into the bright blue eyes.

“Yep. Gonna paint the town red,” she laughed, “all by myself.”

“By yourself? That doesn’t sound like much fun. Want some company?”

“Sure, have a seat,” she let her eyes wander from the handsome faceto the flat stomach and narrow hips, then back to the hazel eyes.

They drank silently for a moment. She was savoring every sour sip ofthe cheap Scotch, breathing in the fumes and letting them remind her ofwhat waited at home. She turned on her stool to face her new companion.

“So what’s a nice guy like you doing in a place like this?” sheteased.

He smiled back. “Not much. Just stopped in for a beer after work.Nothing to go home to. How about you?”

“Nothing at home I need to take care of either,” she answered.

?Unchained Melody? came over the speakers and she watched the slenderyoung man lead the buxom brunette onto the postage stamp-sized dance floor andencircle her with his arms. Sarah sighed.

“Want to dance?” Sammy asked, seeing the direction of her gaze.

“Really? Sure. I haven’t danced for a long time.”

He took her hand and led her onto the floor. He politely placedhis hands on her hips, her hands settled on his broad shoulders. She closedthe gap between them, letting her body press against his. His arms tightened.

As she settled her cheek against his shoulder, she could almost hearthe thick voice again, “Give me some sugar, baby.”

She closed her eyes and let her hips rub against him, feeling himharden, feeling the arms tighten a bit more. They swayed to the music.

“Give me some sugar, baby.”

The calloused hands had been rough, insistent. The familiar kisseswere rank and repulsive. The fingers tugged at her shirt. She had pushed himaway, knowing how angry it would make him. He came after her. She had backedaway, into the bedroom, knowing there was no escape. There never was.

Now she felt the tentative hands in the small of her back and broughtherself back to the present. Here and now, in the arms of a near-strangerwhose hands were gentle and who smelled sweetly of Old Spice. She snuggledagainst him, enjoying the feel of the warm body. She let her lips brushhis neck ever so gently and felt goosebumps arise at the touch. The songended and she let him kiss her softly.

This was not a night for temerity or hesitation. She whispered, “Doyou want me?”

She could see the look of shock in the hazel eyes, quickly replacedby desire. “Who wouldn’t?”

“Do you live near here?”

“Just around the corner. Would you like to see my place?”

“Since you asked so nicely?”

The two left the bar under the watchful gaze of the troll. He toohad recognized the woman from her visits a few years before. He couldn’t helpbut hope her ape of a boyfriend didn’t show up and kill Sammy, he was agood customer. But it was none of his business. He wiped the bar with a whitetowel.

Neither spoke as they walked arm in arm to the small house around thecorner. He fumbled with the keys, suddenly more than just a little nervousabout the inevitable outcome of this evening. But his desire mounted as hecaught a whiff of her perfume, sweet and floral, and thought of honeysuckle.He flicked on the living room light, revealing a small, tidy space withlittle thought beyond function and comfort.

“Can I get you something to drink?”

“I don’t think so,” she stepped close, her arms returning to the firmshoulders, her hips pressing against him again.

He wasn’t going to question her actions. He pulled her tight andkissed her hard. She felt like warm honey in his arms, flowing against him,conforming to his body, rubbing gently against him. He was hard as a rockin seconds.

She could feel his eagerness, barely suppressed. It was good to knowshe was still desirable, that she wasn’t the ruined husk he had made herfeel she was. Despite the warm body in her arms, she felt cold. She knew he hadmeant to hurt her, rape her, maybe kill her. He had threatened it oftenenough, usually with his hands at her throat. But this time she had stoodher ground, daring him. She had seen the doubt flicker across his face,replaced as quickly by red-faced rage. His face had taken on the red hue and arched brows of Lucifer. His teeth glinted as he snarled his fury at her suddendaring.

“Do you want to go into the other room?” a soft, kind voicewhispered against her ear, gentle hands caressing her full hips and round ass.

“As long as the other room has a bed,” she whispered back. Shewould not be alone tonight. But she was still cold.

He led her by the hand into the bedroom. He lit two candles on thenightstand, casting the room in an amber glow. The flickering light playedacross the amiable face and glittered in the dark eyes. He smiled down ather, helping to lift a bit of the chill that had settled on her soul.She stepped back into the eager arms, willing herself to accept the caresses, allowing herself to feel the desire and need in the warm hands. The heatin her groin was helping to dispel the cold.

He unbuttoned her blouse, slipping it from her shoulders. The deftfingers unhooked her bra, dropping it to the floor. Deft fingers so unlikethe brutish fingers that had so often left their tracks behind as tattletale reminders in the morning. Bruises that even now showed, livid on arms,shoulders and thighs, but camouflaged by the shadows cast by flickeringcandlelight. Soft, tender lips unknowingly kissed the welts and bruises onher shoulders before kissing their way to her soft, pink nipples. Shemoaned softly at the unaccustomed sweetness of a gentle touch. The nimble fingers found their way to her waistband, unsnapping and unzipping the jeans,slipping them from her smooth hips before pressing her back onto the bed.He paused long enough to remove his shirt and jeans, adding them to the pileof still-warm clothes accumulating on the floor. She opened her arms and legsto him, he settled down on top of her.

Her breath caught in her throat as the additional weight pressed herdown into the mattress, pressing on the painful bruise on her back, areminder of the blow that had knocked her to her knees beside the bed. Onhands and knees she had fought against a red haze that threatened toswallow her, fought hard. The raging voice faded from her ears to be replaced by a roaring not unlike a stormy sea. With a will of their own, her fingerscurled around her salvation, just before the booted foot connected with her ribs. She did not lose her grip.

Hot lips nibbled the soft flesh of her stomach, a teasing tonguetrailed from her belly button down to her inviting pussy. He kissed her softly,his tongue flickered against her, eliciting a moan. Her fingers ran through hissilky hair, encouraging the skillful mouth, letting it take her body farbeyond any place her mind could follow. Even as she arched against him, thecold still held her in its vile grasp. But for a brief, shining moment itwas forgotten in the pleasure of the purely physical. Pulling him up toher, she kissed the warm mouth that tasted of her own juices, guiding him insideof her.

As they thrust in unison, the bruises on her long framewere nagging reminders, keeping his presence near at hand even asanother man pleasured her. She could feel his specter looming over her. Her eyeswere pressed tightly closed, but behind her lids his furious face andsneering lips loomed large above her. He had towered above her, haulingher viciously to her feet by her blond hair.

“Give me some sugar, baby,” he had repeated with only hate and rancorin the low voice. His hand clung to her hair, holding tight, painfully tight.She knew he was capable of removing the hair and scalp beneath it. She hadno options left. If he had felt the steel beneath his chin, he gave noindication.

The warm body on top of her shuddered and moaned. Lips sought hers,kissing as if he could pass his life force to her through the contact. Shereturned the kiss feeling as if she could drain him to revitalize her owndepleted spirit. Whispers, caresses, kisses, given and returned.

Behind her closed lids, the image was seared into her retina, thesoundless image of his head dissolving under the intrusive impact of a .32slug entering at high velocity and exiting nearly as rapidly. He hadfallen backward across the bed, a look of surprise frozen onto his face. Shestood above him for a moment, gazing wonderingly down at the suddenlysilent monster. A smile played across her lips as she wiped the handle of the gun on her shirt before placing it carefully in his limp hand and leaving theroom.

She lingered only long enough to wash her hands in the bathroom sinkand run a brush through her hair. She grabbed the keys from the hook by thefront door and stepped out into the welcoming twilight glow of the city night.The Fatboy sat silently at the curb, as if waiting to whisk her from thereality of her life and into one final night of living. He had started easily ather touch, as if he lived to serve. She had only ever been allowed to ridepillion, even though the bike was in her name and paid for with her money.She had smiled as she pulled from the curb, realizing that it was now herbike. Who would dispute her claim?

She looked into questioning hazel eyes, seeing a trace of doubt.Concern for her, concern for her needs.

She kissed him softly, smiled and whispered, “Want some sugar, baby?”

Their hands bumped as each reached for the only copy of “Bugs andDaffy: The War Years.” He snatched his hand back and looked at his competitor.His eyes widened slightly as he found himself staring into sullen blue eyes inan ivory face.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, “go ahead.”

“No, that’s all right. I’ve seen it before.”

“No, really. Ladies first.”

“No need to get insulting,” she chuckled.

He looked at her again, his natural shyness in the face of a femaleovercome somewhat by the friendly sound. “Oh sorry. I just meant? I meanI’ve seen it a couple of times too. It’s just a good way to spend an evening.”

She grinned at him, all too obviously amused by his flusteredresponse. “I know. I love it? Gremlins from the Kremlin. And Brick-a-brackafirecracker, sis-boom-bah, Bugs Bunny, Bugs Bunny??

“Rah, rah, rah,” he finished, returning the grin.

Relaxing an iota, he let his eyes take in the woman beyond the blueeyes. The leather jacket had been hard to ignore, but now he could see therally pins in the collar, the chain around the shoulder and theHarley-Davidson patch across the left side of her chest. He took aslightly closer look at the pins.

“You’ve been to the Love Ride? And Sturgis? Cool. Me too. Whatyears?”

Her stance relaxed and the easy grin got even wider. “Been to Sturgisthe last three years, did the Love Ride year before last, when my brother stilllived in L.A. Went to the Laughlin River Run this year, ’cause now mybrother’s in Vegas. He and I meet up at events, makes for a good reunion.”

“Wow, I’ve been in Sturgis the last two years and Laughlin this yeartoo. Weird.”

“Yeah, small world.” Her eyes roamed over his scooter-style jacket,torn Levis and engineer boots before coming back to his bashful eyeshiding behind thick lashes. “What’dya ride?”

“Got a ’98 Springer. How ’bout you?”

“Cool bike, I’ll bet that’s the one I parked next to in the lot.Black?”

He nodded.

She continued, “I got a ’00 Deuce, purple pearl with ghost flames.”She looked at him speculatively for a minute, as if making up her mind abouthim. “I?ve got an idea. Maybe a bad one, I’ve been known to have a few of those on occasion, but how about you come to my place, we’ll watch the movietogether, swap biker lies and have a few beers.”

He hesitated, feeling a nervous clenching in his stomach. His mouthwent dry, but looking into the friendly eyes he found himself saying, “Sure.OK, sounds good.”

“Great, but then you get to pay for the movie,” she laughed.

Out in the fresh evening air he pushed his fear of women from hismind. After all, she wasn’t a woman, she was a biker. He looked over herimmaculate Deuce, admiring the smooth, flowing curves.

“Beautiful bike,” he breathed.

“Thanks. But have you ever met a Harley you didn’t like?” She laughedagain, so easily, so naturally.

His tensions began to ease in her presence. As soon as he straddledhis bike, he was calm, as always. Riding made him forget all his worries. Concerns slipped away like rain off of a well-waxed tank. He looked overat the tall brunette on the Deuce, she grinned again, obviously as happy inthe saddle as he was.

“So, you want to take the long road?”

“OK,” he answered, not telling her that he always took the longroad whenever he could.

“OK then, follow me.”

They pulled out into the light evening traffic. She took the lefthalf of the lane, he fell in behind on her right. He followed easily, his eyesroaming up the long legs that seemed to embrace the big V-Twin. Hecouldn’t help but watch her ride, she seemed as at-ease on the low profile solo seat as he was on his. As her braids flowed in the wind, he wondered how she’dlook with her hair down.

It took nearly half an hour to reach the narrow driveway in front ofa small brick bungalow. He parked along side the Deuce and killed theengine. He heard a deep barking coming from inside the house. As soon as hestepped from the bike his trepidation returned. He almost changed his mind.

She must have sensed his nervousness and mistook it for concern about the dog barking loudly inside.

“C’mon. Don’t worry. That’s just Gomer. He’s all bark, trust me.”

“That’s OK, I like dogs.”

“Rub his ears then, and you’ll be his friend for life.”

He followed her up the cement pathway to the front door. Itwasn’t locked. Pushing the door open, she was greeted by a low-slung black andwhite hound.

He laughed. “Not quite as fearsome looking as he sounds, is he?”

“Nope. Part Basset and god knows what else, but at a whopping 28pounds he’s an awesome burglar alarm.” He knelt to rub the long, silky ears. The dog groaned his pleasurethen followed his heels into the living room.

“I just realized I’ve invited a strange man into my home and hehasn’t even asked me my name yet.”

“Oh, uh?sorry. What is your name?”

She saw the hint of a blush creep into his cheeks, smiled, extendedher hand and said, “My friends call me Billy. Don’t tell anyone, but it’s causemy real name is Wilhemina.” She made a sour face. “But call me that and I’llhave to hurt you. What’s yours?”

“Funny, mine’s Bill. Short for William though, and you can call methat, but I’ll think it’s ’cause I’m in trouble.”

They both laughed.

“Okay, Bill. Make yourself comfy, I’ll get some chips and beer.”

He slipped off his jacket, but definitely was not comfortable. Theplace smelled feminine and sweet. His mind was getting jumbled with conflictingemotions; fear and turmoil with a rising undercurrent of attraction. Hehad never felt at ease with women, always feeling that there were ulteriormotives for every action. In his mind they were predatory pack animals,waiting to devour the weak and injured. His stomach churned, his mouth wasdry and his hands were damp.

He was still standing, coat in hand, when she returned to the livingroom with two beers in one hand and a bag of Doritos in the other. “Well,sit down. The couch offers the best view?well, actually the only view of theTV.”

He obliged as she set her burden on the small coffee table and slidthe tape into the VCR. She fast forwarded through the FBI warnings andpreviews, getting right to Leonard Maltin’s introduction to the war era cartoons. She settled onto the couch next to him, near enough that he could almost feel the warmth of her thigh. He swallowed hard against his panic, washing it down with a long pull on the cold beer.

Soon enough though, he was relaxed and laughing as Daffy took on theMata Hari of pigeons.

“Oh, oh?I love this part,” she laughed as Daffy popped out of arefrigerator. She quoted along with him, “Well, what do you know? Thelittle light?it stays on.”

Both laughed. He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. Thebeer had relaxed him enough that he no longer felt sick, and now he wasbeginning to wonder if he dare ask for her phone number. Damn he hated being such a chicken shit with women, but he just couldn’t help himself. He watchedsurreptitiously, enthralled as she unbound the braids and ran her fingersthrough the shiny light brown hair, loosing the tresses into waves thatflowed over her broad shoulders. He caught a faint whiff of flowers.

In the brief lull between cartoons, she went to the kitchen toretrieve two more beers. She settled on the couch close enough that her thightouched his from hip to knee. Her hand settled on his knee as she handed him anopen bottle and smiled into his eyes. He found himself suddenly and profoundlyaroused.

She saw the flush in his cheeks. “So Bill, how come you haven’t madeany moves on me yet?” she asked in a teasing tone.

“Uh?” he had absolutely no response, and couldn’t meet her eyes.

“It’s OK to be shy, you know. It’s kind of sweet. And a definitechange from most of the apes I meet.”

He forced his eyes up to meet hers and was caught off guard by thegentle, kind gleam he saw there. A small smile touched her lips and sheheld his gaze. She leaned forward and kissed him lightly.

“See, not too bad.”

He was still unable to formulate a response. His mind was in chaos.She leaned forward again, kissing him, lips parted and tongue teasing. Shecaught his lower lip gently in her teeth. His breath caught in his throat.Of their own accord his hands reached for her waist, pulling her closer.She came easily, her arms wrapping around his shoulders, her lips suddenly moredemanding, her mouth soft and sweet.

A long kiss, leaving him gasping and no longer confused. She tookhis hand from her waist and settled it lightly on her breast. He could feelthe firm nipple pressing through her T-shirt. Cupping her breast, he gentlyrubbed his thumb in light circles, feeling the nipple harden and her breathcatch. He slid his hand under her shirt, her skin smooth and oh-so-silky,his heart was hammering in his chest.

She felt his hesitation, understanding his shyness, knowing all heneeded was the tiniest of encouragement. She peeled off her T-shirt andtossed it aside. He stopped breathing for a bare instant, silent andexpectant. She flowed back into his arms, her bare skin beneath his handswas exquisite. He kissed her throat, slipping the bra straps from both themuscular shoulders. She moaned softly, encouraging his furtherexploration. He reached behind her and only fumbled for a moment before releasing the hooks holding the white satin bra in place. Her small, round breasts were firm and the rose pink nipples beckoned to be kissed. He kissed his way across her shoulders, down her chest and took a firm nipple gently in hislips, happy with the soft moans it elicited.

Her hands roamed across his chest and down to the buttons of hisjeans, slowly releasing him as he savored the tenderness of her breasts. To hisdismay, she pulled away, a teasing smile on her lips. She moved around infront of him, kneeling on the floor in front of him, still smiling. Sheleaned down and he felt her warm tongue dart out and lick lightly over thetip of his erection. He groaned through clenched teeth. Hot, wet lips slidover him, the tongue toying gently. He was ready to explode from theintensity of the tender touch. His hands ran through the long silky hair,barely able to keep from clenching into tight fists. He could barelybreathe.

He looked down at the woman kneeling before him, watching as her mouthslid over him, her hands slipping the jeans from her hips without losing contact or rhythm. Just when he knew he could take no more, her lips pulled gentlyaway and she kissed his stomach. Her hot lips worked their way up his torso,lingering over his sensitive nipple, as she peeled his shirt from his body.

She climbed into his lap, straddling him. Her bare breast pressedagainst his chest with phenomenal warmth. Her mouth found his, kissing himhard as she guided him inside her. He groaned uncontrollably as he sliddeeply into the tight, wet pussy. She rocked slowly, still kissing him.His hands cupped her breasts, his thumbs finding the pink nipples. He pulledhis mouth reluctantly from hers as the allure of her breasts becameirresistible.

She continued the slow, deep strokes as his mouth found its objective.The nipple was firm in his mouth as she arched against him, her breath comingfaster. Her rhythm increased, until it was nearly in sync with hispounding heart. A groan escaped her lips, matched by his own moaning as he felthimself peaking beyond tolerance. Finally he came explosively, almostpainfully as she arched against him, shuddering with her own orgasm. Heburied his face between her breasts, gasping as she continued to pulsegently, excruciatingly against him.

She giggled as he begged her to stop, wrapping her arms around hisneck and kissing him happily. “I think the shy thing was just an act to lureme in and take advantage of my sympathetic and giving nature.”

So relaxed and temporarily satiated, he couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah,works every time.”

The club was dark, crowded. The smoky air and press of bodies wasstifling. She felt a hand grope her crotch as she pushed her way through.She grabbed it without a thought, bending the fingers back until sheheard a yelp over the din of the music. Her eyes met the bloodshot, pain-filledeyes of her molester.

“Oh shit, it’s you Skunk. Sorry,” Char yelled the apology over themusic and left him nursing sprained fingers.

She continued to scan the crowd, she knew he was here somewhere. Inthe sea of black leather though, it would be hard to find anyone. She wedgedher way through the tight mob, fending off more than a few wandering hands butwith less force than she had used on her hapless friend.

She paused for a moment and watched as a young woman climbed onto thebar to dance. Hips grinding, the girl began a strip tease for the growingcrowd of avaricious men gathering at her feet. The shirt came off, exposingfull round breasts encased in black satin. She continued swaying, herhands caressing her body but with no obvious move to continue her disrobing.Hands reached out, grabbed the girl and she disappeared into the tight group ofwatchers. The black satin bra emerged and was passed through the laughinggroup, followed by what Char recognized as the young woman’s skirt. Uglycrowd tonight. A bouncer appearedand roughly rescued the now-sobbing young woman. Char couldn’t help butthink it was a lesson learned with minimal injury. She moved away, stillsearching the crowd, the careless young woman all but forgotten.

She was about to give up and head for the door when she caught sightof unruly blond hair. Finally. She pushed through the undulating masses andapproached her target from behind. Reaching out, she grabbed the leather-clad arm roughly. The man jumped and whirled to face her, an angry sneer on thehandsome face.

The sneer disappeared and was seamlessly replaced with the familiar,oily smile. “Char, darling. Good to see you,” he yelled almost inaudibly.

She leaned close and yelled into his ear, “I gotta talk to you Bruce.Now. Okay?”

He nodded and followed as she led him back the way she had come. Shetook his hand and pulled him to the battered door of the women’s bathroom.

“Hang here. I’ll go clear out any bodies.”

She disappeared inside for a long moment, finally reappearing andgesturing him inside. With the door closed and locked, the music wasreduced to a bass rumble vibrating the graffitied walls.

Bruce leaned in close, placing his hands on her shoulders, tequilafumes in a powerful aura around him. “So baby, how come you dragged me in here?Trying to get me all to yourself?”

She looked into the bloodshot eyes and pinpoint pupils and forced a smile.”Uh huh. Why else?”

He grinned and tried to pull her to him but she was sober and quicker.

“Down, big fella,” she teased. “First I got a couple of things fromStella. You heard about Steve,” she managed to keep her voice steady.

“Yeah. Too bad. Found him in the john of that dim-sum place, didn’tthey?”

“Wednesday night,” she swallowed. “The service for him was today. Ididn’t see you there.”

“Naw. I don’t do funerals. They depress me.” He shrugged, looking bored.

“He came and saw you Wednesday, didn’t he?”

A paranoid glint sparked the bloodshot, blue eyes. “Maybe.”

“I thought you weren’t gonna sell him any more shit. You promisedStella. He was trying to get clean.”

“What of it? His money’s as good as anybody’s. And I gotta make alivin’. You ain’t blamin’ me cause he OD’d, are you?”

She could see the hostility rising in the perpetually suspicious andparanoid dealer. “No. We all choose our own path. Steve chose his, youchose yours and I’ve chosen mine. Some of us just have a little more free willand motivation than others.”

“That’s right, baby. Now, how ’bout you choose to shut up and let’sget busy.”

Another tight smile. “I told you, I got some stuff from Stella. Shewas cleaning out Steve’s desk and found a few things I knew were yours.”

She pulled a brown glass vial from her right pocket. Through the tintedglass it was easy to see it was nearly full of white powder.

“Thought you’d want this. Me and Stella don’t touch the stuff, so wethought we’d get it back to someone who’d appreciate it.”

The blonde eagerly took the stash and grinned. Unscrewing the lid, hetapped a small hit onto the tip of his little finger and snorted itwith obvious pleasure. “Right on baby. And Steve always had good taste.”

She could see eagerness growing in the wild eyes. She quickly wenton.”And here, I think this was yours,” she pulled a small semi-auto handgunfrom her other pocket. “I think you left it there a few months ago.”

“Hey baby, don’t shoot. I thought we were friends,” he stepped away,his tone light, but his eyes wary.

“Shit, Bruce, I wouldn’t shoot you,” she handed it to him grip first.”Here take it. I don’t want it.”

She watched as he slipped the clipless gun into his right jacketpocket. The brown vial found its way into the safety of his Levis. “Sonow, where were we?”

She let the unoriginal line pass without comment and took the collarof his jacket in both hands and pulled him against her. She kissed him hard,tasting tequila and cigarettes on his tongue. Rough hands went instantlyfor her breasts, kneading them with painful clumsiness. She unbuttoned hershirt, letting the greedy hands grope her without impediment. The handsfound the buttons of her jeans and managed to undo the fly with minimaleffort. She felt a hot, dry hand slip down between her legs, fingersbungling and unskilled. Bruce was breathing heavily, wafting alcoholvapors over her.

“Oh baby, come on, come on,” he mumbled hoarsely.

She let herself be pulled against his chest. Rubbing against his rock-hard crotch, she whispered, “Not here. Let’s go to my place. It’s justaround the corner.”

“I can’t wait. I want to fuck you now,” he complained.

“It’ll just take a minute, c’mon. I’ll make it so worth it.”

She pulled away and smiled up at him, buttoning first her jeans thenher shirt. Eyes less clouded by drugs and lust would have been alarmed at thedangerously predatory nature of her smile. Bruce saw nothing.

She knew he would follow, docile as a puppy, so without another wordshe left the bathroom and plunged back into the fray. She pulled Bruce alongby the hand, only releasing him as she neared the exit. She pushed aheadquickly, leaving him to negotiate his own way.

Bursting out into the bleak, rainy street, her eyes scanned quicklyfor signs that her hurried phone call from the bathroom had bore fruit. Thestreet was nearly deserted. There, an obscure, dark-colored sedan with twomen sitting motionless in the front seat. And leaning too casually againsta parked van, two more men looking studiously rumpled. She made her wayquickly across the street to the shelter of a darkened doorway and turnedto watch the participants of her orchestrated drama play their parts.

Bruce stumbled out into the night, his head pivoting as he searchedthenight for her. The two loitering men left their post against the van andapproached. In the quiet of the evening, she could hear a clear voice.

“Bruce Campbell? Portland Police, we’d like to talk to you.”

She could see the panic run through Bruce’s body. He tensed as ifready to run. The cops slowed their advance. Now was the moment she had waitedfor.

“He’s got a gun!” she yelled hoarsely from the shadows.

Both cops reached for their weapons. Bruce reacted as she had knownhe would. His right hand went to the jacket and came out with the empty .25.Both cops fired. The noise was deafening as it echoed off the brick andcement buildings. Bruce crumpled to ground like the bag of sewage that he was.

“Your path just came to the end of the line,” she muttered, a smileplaying across her lips before she slipped away into the drizzling night.

“There’s a table open,” she smiled at him over her shoulder, “I’ll gorack ’em if you want to get the beer.”

He nodded agreement and pushed his way to the bar. He watched herwork her way through the crowd, up the two steps to the raised pool area and puther quarters in the table. He turned his attention to his currentobjective — beer.

She racked the balls and scanned the room for Smokey. He was stillat the bar. She started sorting through the cue sticks, oblivious to hersurroundings. The smell of stale smoke and staler sweat made her turn.

“Hey baby, how bout you and me shoot a game?”

Her eyes raked the half-tanked, slovenly cretin. “Sorry, but mypartner’ll be here in a minute.”

A nasty smile pulled the unshaven lip. “Oh, did you send your bitchfor beer?”

“Excuse me?”

“Why don’t you and your girlfriend play doubles with me and my buddy?” The scabrous smile widened.

“What?”

“Stop playing stupid. All a dike cunt like you needs is a good fuckfrom a real man. That’ll bring you around.”

Her confusion vanished and her vision clarified. There was nomistaking the intents of this Neanderthal for anything other than sheer, brutaloffense. She realized she was backed into the corner with the solicitoussubhuman blocking her on one side, and his plug-ugly pal closing in fromthe other side of the table. Her fingers closed around the shortest cue as ifof their own accord.

“I got a van in the parking lot. So, whaddya say? How’s about youand me slipping out the back?”

The familiar calm flowed through her like an ocean breeze, herbreathing slowed, her stance became relaxed and deceptively casual. She looked intothe vacuous eyes and said softly, “Despite your confidence in your own selfworth, the thought of having your malodorous, festering, fetid body anycloser to mine than it already is, is so repugnant and loathsome that themere idea makes me want to vomit.”

“What? What the hell you talking about?”

“Too many syllables? Let me put this as monosyllabic as possible andI’ll speak slowly and clearly. If you even try to touch me, I’llkill you. Then I’ll puke. Now do you understand?”

The piggish eyes that so suited the porcine face glittered withanger, the chapped lips pulled back from tobacco-stained teeth in a vicious snarl.”You bitch. Who the hell do you think you are?” He was nearly screamingin her face, spittle showing white at the corners of the ugly mouth. Hestabbed at her shoulder with a thick, callused index finger.

“Don’t touch me again,” she warned. She just wanted to get free fromthe corner and the two men so bent on their offensive assault.

Smokey finally flagged the bartender, ordered two pints ofheffeweissen and turned his gaze just in time to see the fat, grubby drunk thump Red inthe shoulder. He charged through the crowd knowing that if he could justreach her before the inevitable explosion, he could smooth things over andget her the hell out before she got hurt. “Don’t let her get her hands on astick, don’t let her get her hands on a stick,” he muttered, knowing herproclivity. He saw the fat drunk grab at her. She moved with remarkablespeed, dodging the clumsy attack and bringing the pool cue into play. Withan audible crack, the cue connected with the forehead of the aggressor. Theman staggered and bellowed as the stick snapped in half. Smokey almost smiledas he saw the strapping redhead grab the fat half of the stick, all tooobviously pleased with the new, more mobile and more familiar length of herweapon.

He felt like he was moving in slow motion. The crowd seemed to pressin against him, angry voices protested as he bulled his way through. Hecouldn’t get to her side fast enough to prevent the beefy fist of the drunkfrom landing a glancing blow to her grinning lips. But he smiled as shecaught her attacker across the wrist with a vicious, bone breaking blow.He saw her shoulder drop and knew she was going for her favorite target, thevulnerable knee. Connecting with her usual speed and efficiency, he sawthe fat man’s leg buckle. She followed up with a resounding smack to thetemple and the man dropped at her feet.

Smokey was close enough that her green eyes met his. Her color washigh, her eyes glittered and her lips were pulled into a tight, humorless smile.Her grip on the cue was loose, casual. He still hadn’t figured out how shecould wield a stick with such devastating force and accuracy.

The scene around the three pool tables was quickly dissolving into agood old-fashioned barroom brawl. The other patrons of the bar hadgathered into an ugly, cheering crowd. All seeming to take depraved, voyeuristicdelight in the plight of the aggressive redhead. Smokey was disgusted.

“Look out!” she shouted the second before he was hit by a rapidlymoving, heavy body. He crashed to the ground hard enough to force the windfrom his lungs. Striking out blindly, his fist met flesh and bone, hisassailant grunted with the pain of the furious blows. Smokey managed toroll from beneath whoever the hell it was that hit him and tried to get to hisfeet, years of training making his moves sheer reflex. He could see Redwas lashing out with her improvised baton, trying to keep two burly rednecksfrom getting their paws on her. The crowd cheered them on. He’d had enough.

He reached under his jacket and freed his Colt from its restraints. Hethumbed off the safety and ratcheted a round into the chamber. The sound,soft in the din, caught the attention of those nearby. Silence spreadfrom him like a ripple in a pond. The two assholes had managed to snare Red’shands, preventing her from wielding her weapon. One man had his hand onthe waistband of her jeans and a cruel smile on his lips. Smokey pressed thecold steel of the barrel against the ridge of bone behind the man’s ear.

“Let her go fucker, or I’ll blow your worthless brains all over yourpals here.”

Both men froze and slowly, carefully removed their hands. Red wasbreathing hard, a welted handprint beginning to show on her left cheek.

“C’mon darlin’, let’s hit the road.” He took her by the hand, pullingher from the motionless, ashen-faced duo.

The crowd parted like Velveeta under a hot knife as he pulled her tothe door, keeping his weapon out and threatening. He pushed her out into thenight. “Get your bike started.”

He felt her move away. He tossed his business card onto the bar, “Ifyou decide to call the cops, give ’em my card. Tell ’em I’ll be more thanhappy to press charges.”

He heard her Panhead rumble to life and slipped out the door afterher.His Low Rider started easily at his touch. He heard the chirp of her tireas she pulled out into the deserted street and he followed a bare second behind.Knowing she’d be getting hit with the shakes in about three minutes, hewatched her carefully as she headed straight to the hotel. They pulledinto the spot right in front of their door. The engines fell silent.

“I don’t want to leave Bob out here overnight. Someone might messwith him.”

“Sure, we’ll push ’em into our room. Nobody’ll notice.”

He opened the door and held it for her as she maneuvered the bigblack and gray Duo-Glide into the small room. She returned the favor, holdingthe door for him.

The adrenaline was still pumping hot through his veins, demandingthat he do something, fight someone or have a stiff shot of scotch. He keptseeing her in his mind, her red hair glowing like a vibrant halo, her skinpale and nearly translucent but her cheeks flaming. God she wasphenomenal.

He fell back onto his bed, chuckling. “You were amazing. I thinkyou scared the whole place shitless. I’ve seen you in full frontal assaultthree times now, and I still don’t know how it is you do what you do.”

He looked over at her. She was sitting on the edge of her bed,elbows on knees, her face in her trembling hands. Her auburn hair fell in thickwaves, hiding her face from him. He thought he heard a sniffle.

“Hey, you did all right,” he got up from his bed and kneeled in frontof her. He lifted her chin so he could see her eyes. A single tear trickleddown her cheek. She wiped it away.

The handprint on her cheek was fading but her lower lip was beginningto swell. “Aw baby, look at your lip.”

She touched it gingerly. “It doesn’t hurt. Really.”

He could see the tears welling in her eyes. “Then what’s wrong?”

“It?it wasn’t my fault! It really wasn’t. I wasn’t doing anythingwrong. He just?he just?” Her face crumpled. “You don’t think I’m a diketoo, do you?”

He struggled against his natural reaction to flee from a weepingwoman, especially this one. He brushed her hair from her face. “Of course Idon’t.The guy was a drunken idiot. He was just pissed ’cause he knew he didn’thave a chance to have a classy babe like you.” He touched the swelling lipgently, “Now let me get you some ice for that.”

“No it’s fine, really. It barely hurts at all.”

“You’re so tough.” Without thinking, he gently kissed the injury.

The brief contact stunned them both to immobility.He could see a near-desperate loneliness in the green depths of her eyes, and the look ofdesolation tore at his heart. He took her face gently in his hands and hereyes took on the panicked look of a deer in headlights. His conscience warredwith his wants. She was so vulnerable, yet so vibrant. Desire won out. Hekissed her long and deeply, savoring the taste of her lips, realizing hehad wanted this for a long time. Breaking contact, he looked into her eyesagain, seeing willingness overcome the panic.

Still on his knees before her, he slipped off his jacket, tossing itonto his bed. It was followed by the Colt and shoulder harness. Hecarefully helped her out of her jacket, then pulled her into his arms.Feeling the strong body beneath his hands, he had to force down the residualenergy from the brawl. He knew better than to push her. He felt sure thatany sudden move or loud noise and she would shy away and flee into thenight like a creature of the wild. And as if taming a wild thing, he gentlystroked the sleek hair, the soft cheek. Her eyes closed and he kissed awaythe last tear that trickled from the corner of her eye. Her lips were partedever so slightly, inviting another kiss. He obliged, wanting to devour herin his fervent need for her.

He could feel her body begin to respond and relax. Her hands began toroam across his chest and shoulders, timidly at first, but with morepurpose with each passing moment. He ran his hands under her shirt, slowly,allowing her the chance to reject him. He was emboldened when the rejection failedto come. He pulled the shirt from her, exposing milky white shoulders with agentle spray of freckles. His lips tasted the salty sweetness of her skinas he kissed and nibbled his way to the round, firm breasts. She reachedbehind her back, easily unhooking the bra one handed, as women do. The breastsfreed from their bondage, he took one in each hand, kissing one then theother while Red moaned softly. He pushed her back onto the bed, kissing andcaressing her smooth body. Still fearful of rushing her into something shewasn’t ready for, he contented himself with carefully attending to each partof the lithe body already exposed; her white neck, hot lips, soft pinknipples, silky smooth stomach, long firm arms, delectable shoulders. Hecontinued his ministrations until she reached for the button fly of hisjeans, trying to free him from the painfully tight jeans.

He smiled and returned the favor, unbuttoning her jeans and slidingthem off the long legs he had begun to dream about. The black silk boxers madehis grin widen. He should have guessed she’d wear boxers. He ran his handslightly over the thin material, feeling her beneath the fabric as if itweren’t there. He slid one hand up the loose leg, seeking andfinding the hot, wet objective. She moaned as he gently slid one finger inside,then brought the finger to his lips, relishing the delicate tang. He pulled theboxers from her round hips, exposing soft auburn curls. His heart waspounding as he fumbled to rid himself of his own jeans. He then blissfullyslid between her legs and into the waiting arms of the redhead, fittinginside her like a key in a lock.

She murmured his name, softly, breathlessly as he pressed deepinsideher with slow strokes. Her long legs hooked around his waist, pulling himin tighter. Her mouth found his and she kissed him with a single-mindednessthat drove any shred of hesitation from his mind.

A considerable time later, as they lay entangled in the sweat-soakedsheets, she sighed heavily.

“What, disappointed?”

“Oh! No,” she chuckled and ran her hand over his chest. “Not at all.But does this mean we can’t still be friends? It’ll be different now.”

“Just better,” he reassured.

A long moment later she sighed again.

“What now?”

“I was just wondering how long you’re gonna keep having to haul myass out of trouble.”

“I guess as long as you keep stumbling into it. Just one thing, nexttime try to save a little fun for me, will ya?”

He stepped into the chilly night, the clean air a welcomechange for his abused lungs after the stuffy confines of the tavern. To counter the shocking effects of pure oxygen, he fumbled in his jacketpocket for the crumpled pack of Luckys. He pulled out abent but unbroken smoke and fired up the Zippo lighter, revelingin the slight petroleum flavor it lent to the harsh tobacco. He pulled thesmoke deep into his lungs, expelling it in a curse.

“Fucker!” he hissed, his eyes lighting on the spanking new Dynagleaming under the streetlight. He fought the urge to kick the bike over. Howcould he have let the bastard take him for so much at the table? Shit, he shouldbe walking out with a pocket full of cash, not some smart ass Valley RUB.He lifted his foot to knock the bike from its stand. Serve the bastardright and he had the money to fix it now. But he couldn’t bring himself tointentionally damage the sleek machine. It wasn’t the bike’s fault thather rider was a total asshole.

Looking over the smooth, graceful curves of the bike, he couldn’t helpbut think of Dee — she hadn’t been at the bastard’s side tonight. Home allalone? Hell, that would be payback in spades. He chuckled at the thought.One night with him and she’d be throwing rocks at the bastard. The chuckleturned into a devious laugh. He flicked the cigarette into the gutter andheaded for his own bike.

Straddling the Softail, he thumbed the ignition, still chuckling. Heknew the bastard would be still suckering people out of their hard-earnedcash at the pool table, there was plenty of time. And what if he did getcaught? All the better. More than one pedestrian shivered at the sound ofthe wicked laughter blended with the throbbing of the big Twin 88.

The lights were on. He sat on the quiet bike for a moment, staringat the house, wondering at the sudden pang of what could only be guilt. Hetried to shrug it off, but it gnawed at his conscience. Dee was just aninnocent, no more at fault than the Dyna for the bastard’s lizard-likepersonality. As he stared at the house, he saw a shapely shadow pass infront of the window. He had a sudden vision of full, soft breasts and doe-like hazel eyes. Shit, he was doing her a favor if it broke her awayfrom the bastard’s inexplicable hold over her.

His mind made up, he swung off the bike and walked to the front doorwith his typically slow, long strides. His finger hesitated for a split secondbefore stabbing at the doorbell. The door opened before he could changehis mind again and he was looking into those warm eyes.

“Bill? What are you doing here?” The hazel eyes flicked past him asif looking for the bastard. “Is John with you?”

“No. He’s still at the Stumble. I just wanted to come by and seehow you were,” he lied. “Since you didn’t show up with John tonight I wasworried you might not be feeling well.” The lies flowed smoothly.

He was rewarded by the wide, bright smile. “I’m fine. I just didn’tfeel like going out tonight. Come on in for a beer?”

He shrugged casually, his heart accelerating slightly. “Sure, but Ican’t stay long. I gotta work tomorrow.”

He watched the full hips sway as he followed her to the kitchen,wondering how their roundness would feel under his fingers. He had toforce his hand to stay at his side. The light from the refrigerator gleamed offthe soft flesh that pressed up from beneath the snug sweater as she leaned into retrieve two beers. He swallowed hard. This wasn’t fair, but shit, therewas no way he was going to pass on this now.

She smiled again and handed him his beer. He nodded his thanks andtook a long swallow.

“I was just about to watch a movie. I know John won’t be home tillafter closing time.”

“What movie?”

She blushed a little. “It’s a chick flick. I can put in something alittle more macho.”

“What were you going to watch?”

“Oh, ‘Fried Green Tomatoes.’ But I could put in Steven Segal orsomething.”

He smiled down at her. “I happen to like that movie. Besides, Ishouldn’t stay long. You know how John is.”

“Oh screw him. Have a seat. Should I make popcorn?”

He settled onto the couch, shaking his head. “No, you just relax. Iknow you worked today.” He was astounding himself with the cavalier lies thatwere spilling so easily from his lips. He almost felt bad for how easily thiswas going, but not too bad. He suppressed a smile.

His eyes ran over her from heel to hip as she bent over the VCR andslid the tape into the slot. She straightened up and ran herfingers through her soft brown hair. He looked into those warm eyes again, holding her gaze a few seconds longer than necessary until she flushed slightly and lowered her lashes.

“C’mon and sit down. Put your feet up and enjoy your movie. I’lljust stay for the first bit, then I’m off.”

She settled onto the couch next to him, near enough that he couldsmell the light floral fragrance he had noticed her wearing on several otheroccasions. His mouth watered. The movie rolled.

Before he knew it they were on their fourth round, the movie was halfover and she was sitting close enough that their thighs touched. Both werelaughing uproariously at the screen. She turned to him, her eyes shiningand her sweet lips curved into a happy smile. It was more than any man couldhave resisted. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled thosedelectable lips to his. He felt her stiffen beneath his arm but he refusedto relinquish his hold as he pressed his mouth to hers in a devouring kiss.Her hands were against his chest, pushing him away without conviction. Thetaste of her against his tongue set a fire in his groin that was not goingto be easily extinguished. The hands on his chest found their way to hischeeks as she began to return the kiss with equal ferocity.

With his free hand he pulled her legs across his lap, cradling heragainst his chest without losing contact with the now-insistent mouth.Finally, she feebly pushed him away. Her lips were swollen, her eyes brightand her breath came in trembling, shallow pants.

“No Bill, I can’t do this. I can’t,” she said without conviction.

He kissed her softly on her deep cleavage. “Why not?” His tonguetraced a trail between the full breasts, her breath caught.

He began slowly unbuttoning the tight sweater. The knit fabricpulled away as it was released from its restrictive embrace and more of theluscious breasts were exposed. There was no stopping now as her soft asspressed against his now explosively hard erection. The sweater came off,exposing milky white skin and rigid nipples straining against the red satinof her bra. He kissed each nipple through the smooth fabric. No protestsescaped her lips, only soft moans. He reached around behind her andunhooked her bra, slipping the straps from her smooth shoulders and completelyfreeing the breasts he had seen in his dreams. Cupping one gently in his hand, he licked and kissed the nipple to the accompanying music of sighs and moans. Helet his lips find the hollow of cleavage, burying his face and inhaling thesweet fragrance. He pushed her back onto the couch and began kissing hisway down to the buttons of her jeans.

The protests came again, with even less sincerity than before. “No,really Bill.”

One button at a time gave way beneath his fingers. Her fingers woundinto his hair. There were no protests now, she was barely breathing. Hepulled the jeans from the round hips and down off the shapely legs. Hekissed the delicate skin of her inner thighs, marveling at the silkysmoothness. He could smell the musky sweetness of a woman fully arousedand he kissed her gently through the satin panties. He could almost taste her.The panties followed the jeans onto the floor, revealing the gleaming blackcurls and glistening pink lips of her vulva. He licked softly, savoringthe sweetly delicate tang. To soft moans of encouragement he nuzzled, nibbledand kissed. Her back arched and the moans changed to a barely articulatestream of mumbled words. He pushed her to the brink and beyond, her bodyconvulsing and a cry escaping her lips.

“Oh my God, Bill. Stop, stop…” she whispered breathlessly, pullinghim away and up to her mouth. She kissed him hard, he pretended to not see thetear that escaped from the corner of her eye.

She fumbled with the buttons of his jeans, her fingers clumsy in hereagerness to release him from his confines. She didn’t even give him achance to get the jeans beyond his slender hips before she was guiding himinto her. It didn’t matter. He still had on his boots, that didn’t mattereither. All that mattered now was a hot, wet, tight pussy and soft lipskissing him hard enough that he thought she was going to draw his soul outthrough his mouth. He drove into her with a force that bordered onsavagery but she hooked her legs around his waist and pulled him in ever tighter, demanding more until he came with a shuddering surge and a yell. Hecollapsed against her soft body, kissing her deeply before burying his faceagainst her neck, feeling the dampness of her skin and inhaling thefragrance that now made him think of raspberries.

“Oh God, Dee,” was all he could manage for a long moment.

He finally managed to push himself up onto his elbows and lookdown into the hazel eyes. Tears were threatening to spill out from behind thethick lashes and he felt that pang of guilt again.

“What’s wrong?” As if he didn’t know.

“I shouldn’t have done this — it was wrong. I know John can be a jerksometimes, but…”

“But what?” Bill was suddenly angry at the bastard, again or still,he wasn’t quite sure.

“But he loves me…” she trailed off, her voice cracking.

“OK, so I’m a total dickhead,” he thought, now angry with himselftoo.

He sat up, hitching his jeans and tucking his still-wet dick backinto his pants, “I…I guess I should go, before John gets home.”

“Yeah, sure.”

She sat up and started gathering her clothes, then disappeared intothe bathroom. He didn’t know if he should wait or just leave. He was feelinglike the supreme asshole now, making John look like a saint. Oh well,shit, payback was hell, right?

She emerged from the bathroom, still rumpled, her makeup alluringlysmudged, her lips red and swollen. But it was the eyes that stopped him. The warmth and happiness had been replaced with an injured innocence. God,he was a fucking jerk.

“Aw baby, don’t look that way,” he took her in his arms, pulling hertight to his chest and kissing the top of her head.

Before she could answer, the front door slammed open with a violentcrash. “GOD DAMN IT! WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?” John burst intothe room like a psychotic Rottweiler, screaming, snarling and red faced. Before Bill or Dee could respond, John grabbed her by the arm andyanked her to him, backhanding her hard across the mouth. “You fucking cunt, Iknew it! God damned slut!”

He raised his hand to slap her again but Bill managed to react,grabbing the fist before it could do any more damage to the soft lips.

“Don’t touch her again or I’ll kill you,” he snarled into the rabideyes.

“I’ll kill you first, you son of a bitch.”

John wrenched his arm from the iron grip and took a couple ofstumbling steps backward. Even without the reek of Jack Daniels it was easy to see the guy was shit faced. Bill stepped back away from the raging drunk, waiting to see where this was going. He didn’t have to wait long. A sharp hunting blade emerged from the sheath tucked into the waistband of John’s jeans. Even drunk, the guy steadied the blade with cold accuracy, the drop tip wavinggently in the direction of Bill’s throat.

“I’m gonna kill you first, you bastard, then I’m gonna kill her forfucking around on me.”

Bill had no reason to doubt him and began moving slowly away, lookingfor any available weapon. A cold metal click grabbed their attention. Bothmen turned to see the brunette standing in the kitchen doorway, blood tricklingfrom the corner of her full mouth and a Colt .45 steadied in both hands.It was aimed unerringly for John’s chest.

“Drop the knife John,” she said softly in a voice that neither manwould have argued with.

The knife dropped from nerveless fingers. “I wasn’t gonna hurt himhoney, just scare him a little. I was mad, you know…” he trailed off feeblyat the cold glint in her eye.

“Nobody hits me. Nobody.” The trigger clicked once more into fullcock, the barrel lifted ever so slightly until the bead was steadied on theterrified face of the suddenly sober man.

“Jesus, Dee, what are you doing? I didn’t mean it, I was just pissed.And drunk…and…”

“Nobody hits me,” she repeated. The cold voice sent chills downBill’s spine. She was really going to shoot him.

The terror was too much for John. His face turned chalky and hisbladder cut loose. The room was filled with the reek of strong piss. Dee steppedcloser, the gun ever steady. Both men watched, immobilized by the coldhatred burning in the hazel eyes. She stopped about three feet from thetrembling, panic-stricken bully. Bill could only watch with horrified fascination. In a swift move, her foot lashed out and she kicked John square in the crotch with an audible crunch. Bill winced reactively as the injured man crumpled to the floor, gasping and retching at the explosive pain radiating up from his damaged balls into his gut. Bill couldn’t pull his eyes from the morbidsight as John began puking onto the carpet, writhing in his own urine andvomit.

“Nobody hits me,” Dee reiterated. Bill cringed away as she turnedher attention onto him, but she gave him a small smile. “Could you give me aride to my sister’s, please?”

“Huh? Uh, yeah, sure.” There was no way in hell he was going to arguewith her. “But at least put the piece in your purse, OK?”

She flashed him a grin, “It’s not loaded,” then went to get her coat.

Bill leaned over the thoroughly humiliated bastard rolling in his ownbodily fluids and said softly, “Payback is hell, ain’t it pal?”

He was still chuckling as he escorted the pretty brunette out to thebike waiting at the curb.

For all my sisters who have known the terror and indignity of anassault, and there are far too many of us.

The young woman walked slowly to the bar, took a napkin from theholder and held it to her abused lip. Pulling it away, she stared at the dirt and blood. Tears stung her eyes, tears of pain and fury. She swallowed hardagainst the emotional reaction and signaled the bartender.

“Could I get a Jim Beam on the rocks and a glass of ice waterplease.” There was the faintest tremor in her voice.

Josh looked at the disheveled hair, the cut lip and the bruising thatwas beginning to darken the left cheek. “Sure honey. You all right? Youlook a little roughed up.”

She touched her lip with the napkin again. “You should see the otherguy.”

He set a tumbler of amber liquid and ice in front of her on a barnapkin and followed it with a large glass of ice water. “I could callsomeone.”

“Naw. I just need to relax for a minute. But thanks.” She lookedinto the kind brown eyes and the open face of the burly bartender. The concernin his eyes nearly started the tears again. She blinked hard and took a longswallow of the JB.

Of its own bidding, the terror of the assault flashed into her mind.The rough hands tearing at her jeans, the big fist connecting with blindingaccuracy against her cheek. She hadn’t been able to see his face in thedark alley he had pulled her into, but he had smelled of cigarettes, beer andcheap cologne. The memory triggered her gag reflex. She took another hitat the whiskey. Her hand trembled as she set the glass carefully back ontothe square of napkin.

Looking at her hand, she saw the streaked splatters of blood. A grimsmile tugged at her swollen lip and she went to the restroom to wash up. Inthe white, overly bright bathroom, she looked at her face. God, no wonderthe bartender had looked worried. Her face looked like it had been used as abattering ram. She ran cool water over her hands and wrists, scrubbingaway the sticky, drying blood. Hands cleaned, she splashed the purifying waterover her face, rubbing hard enough to cause pain to the abused flesh but feelingthe need to erase the indignity of the attack.

The attack. She had walked into it so blindly. How many times hadDaddy told her to be prepared for anything? How many times had she boastedthat she’d never get caught off guard? She was always alert for signs oftrouble. Except for tonight of all nights. She had parked her new Deuceunder the streetlight and stepped back for a minute to admire the sweetlines, polished chrome and gleaming purple paint. She had been grinninglike an idiot all day, her first new bike. She had been riding a rustingShovelhead for so long she thought bone rattling vibrations were a fact of life, until she allowed herself the luxury of test riding the Deuce.She had always considered love at first sight to be an idiotic concept, nowshe knew better. She would have sold her own mother to finance that bike.Fortunately all she had had to do was sign away the next six years of herlife. Worth every minute.

Unfortunately, her infatuation with the new bike had held herattention to the exclusion of all else, including the asshole lurking in the alley behind her. He had grabbed her with a strong gloved hand over her mouth.She bit, but the leather prevented her from drawing the blood she wanted.She fought with every ounce of strength she could muster from her 5-foot-8-inchframe, but her attacker had her by a good hundred pounds.

Her eyes refocused and saw a slack, pale face staring back at her inthe mirror. At least the smudges of dirt were gone now, as well as the bloodon her hands and lips. She turned off the water, wondering how long she had stood staring. Grabbing a handful of the coarse brown paper towels, she rubbedher face vigorously, returning a little of the color to her cheeks. Shearranged her clothes, tucked in her shirt, checked her pockets and returned to the bar.

Another sip of Jim Beam. Her hands had stopped shaking. Thebartender was polishing the wood bar with a soft white cloth, casting an occasional glance at the battered woman. He wanted to help, but knew there was little he could do for someone who wanted nothing.

His attention was pulled from the woman to the two uniforms that hadjust entered through the double door. They made a slow procession throughthe room, eyes scanning every barstool and booth. They approached the bartender.

“Can I help you officers?” he asked, ever helpful.

“Have you heard or seen any disturbances this evening?”

“No. Been real quiet.”

“Have you had any customers in here acting suspicious?”

“You mean more so than usual? Nope. Can I ask why? If I knew whatyou were trolling for I might be able to help.”

“A body was found in the alley next to your building. Big guy.Looks like he took a point blank shot to the face and another to the chest.”

“Huh. Haven’t heard a thing.”

“Has anyone come or gone in the last half hour or so?”

“No. These are all my regulars, been here all night.”

“All right. If you hear of anything, let us know. OK?”

“Sure thing, fellas.” He returned to his meticulous polishing and theuniforms left.

She looked up when the big bartender stepped in front of her, settingdown a second drink. “On the house,” he smiled warmly.

Her hand touched the warm steel held snug against her chest in itscustom holster, a bit of her confidence reasserted itself. Daddy had alwaystold her to be prepared. She returned the smile and accepted the drink.

What the hell was he thinking? Obviously he wasn’t. Becausehere he was, idling down a long, narrow, graveled road at ten o’clock atnight in the middle of nowhere. Shit, they didn’t even have streetlightsout here. He should have just stopped at the motel out on the highway,called her, thanked her for her kind offer and forgotten the whole deal.Instead he was looking for the driveway of “the widowed wife of a friendof a friend.” Sarah McGill-Morrison. He knew she had two grown kidsand he had built up a mental image of a motherly, graying, plump woman in herlate 40s. He was about to turn the bike around when his headlighthit the white address sign. This was it, no turning back now. She wouldhave heard the rumble of his V-twin by now.

He could see the house 100 feet off the road. The garage doorwas open and light streamed out into the moonless night. As he idled up tothe house, his gaze was drawn into the well-lit garage. Half of it was taken upby an immaculate, forest green ’54 Chevy pickup. The other side wasobviously the scooter side. He could see the glossy black Hydra-Glide, anewer Sportster XLH1200, a pile of parts in the corner that might somedaymake a whole bike, as well as bits and pieces hanging on the walls and piledon shelves. To his surprise, someone unfolded from a crouch along side theHydra-Glide. A tall redhead in jeans and a black tank-top smiled at himand waved him inside. He pulled in and cut the engine.

She wiped her greasy hand on her jeans and extended it in greeting,her bright blue eyes almost level with his. “Hi. If you’re not Poodle Imay have to call my rottweiler. I’m Gil.”

He returned the grin and took the proffered hand in a firm shake. “Don’tcall out the dog, you invited me.”

Her eyes roamed over his 6-foot-4, broad-shouldered frame andsettled on his hazel eyes. “With a name like Poodle, I was expectingsomeone small, obnoxious and trembling nervously. You don’t quite fit the bill.Park your scooter,” she said, closing the garage door and returning to her bike. “I justgot another bolt or two to tighten on the valve cover. Just a sec.”

He watched as she knelt along side the old bike, the ratchet in herhand moving rhythmically over the top of the old Panhead. She finished,pulled a bandanna from her hip pocket and wiped a few infinitesimal motesof dust from the chrome. She eyed the glossy black tank and wiped a smudge.

“There, I’ll finish later. You hungry?”

He had been so engrossed in the muscular lines of her shoulders andback that the question barely registered. “Huh? Oh yeah. I guess I am. Ihaven’t eaten since lunch, I was trying to make time.”

“You must be tired, Frisco’s a long haul. C’mon inside, wash thebugs out of your beard and I’ll dish you up some dinner.”

He followed her up the steps, watching her shapely hips swayinginspirationally. The black, greasy handprint on her right hip pocketbeckoned. He shook it off. She wasn’t his type. He preferred ’em small,brunette and bitchy, at least that’s what he always ended up with. Shit,this one was at least 5-foot-10 in her stocking feet and looked strong enough tokick his ass if she wanted to. The long red braids and dusting of freckles onher tanned cheeks made her look about 16, but he knew that with two grownkids she must be more like 40-plus.

They stepped into the warm, clean kitchen and he immediately thoughtof his grandma as his nose was assaulted by the mouthwatering fragrance of hotfood and warm bread. He was almost drooling.

He looked around. “So where’s the rottweiler?”

She smiled. “Little white lie. My old dog died last winter and shewas a geriatric, amiable black lab. Anyway, bathroom’s last door on the left,”she pointed him down the hall.

He washed the road grime and bugs from his hands and face, hisstomach grumbling at him after the tantalizing whiff of real food. He was atypical bachelor; living off of fast food, pizza, cold cereal and beer. Maybestaying here for the rally weekend wasn’t such an idiot idea after all.

He rejoined her in the bright, comfortable kitchen. “Have a seat,”she offered.

He sat at the oak table. She set a large bowl of thick, chickennoodle soup, heavy on the chicken, and a basket of homemade rolls in front of him.

“I wasn’t sure what time you’d arrive, but I knew if I made soup andbread it would hold up until you got here. You want something to drink?Milk, beer, water? I don’t have any soda, that stuff’ll kill you.”

“A beer would be great, thanks.” He was a little overwhelmed. Hehadn’t been treated like this since he was a kid spending a weekend at his grandma’s.

“Don’t wait for me, I ate an or so hour ago. Shit, I’mused to feeding two teenage boys as well as their horde of ever-hungryfriends, so we don’t stand on formalities here.” She opened the fridge. “I’vegot Haystack Black or Mirror Pond Golden. So amber or stout?”

“Amber sounds good.”

“Yeah, definitely goes better with white meat,” she joked. “Thestout’s a little heavy for a dinner beer.”

She settled herself across the table from him, sipped her beer andkept him company while he wolfed down the rich, garlicky soup and ate half adozen rolls dripping butter. When he finished the first bowl she served himseconds. Finally, stuffed and feeling as if all was well with the world, hepushed the empty bowl away.

“Man, I don’t think I’ve had anything that good since my grandmadied. Thanks.”

She dimpled appealingly. “No problem. I almost made an apple pie butI was afraid you might get a little weirded out by my over-domesticity. But my youngest son just went off to OSU two weeks ago and I’ve been a littleat a loss.”

“Apple?” he asked with a wistful sigh.

She dimpled again, “Yeah, maybe I should have followed my instincts.Oh well. Want a little after dinner Scotch instead? I know that byreputation you’re a Jack Daniel’s man, but I’m afraid all I have isBushmill’s single malt.”

Gee, what a tragedy. “Sounds good, sure. I still feel pretty wiredfrom the ride.”

She took his dishes, piled them in the sink and pulled two tumblersfrom the cupboard. “Rocks? Or not?”

“Rocks.”

She added a handful of ice to each glass and poured a couple offingersof amber fluid into each. She handed him one, both took a sip of thesmooth, smoky liquid and sighed. She swirled the ice cubes around in her glass, watching them spin. “The Scots call this uisgebaithe, you know. It means ‘Water ofLife’. They certainly have their priorities in order. Say, I’ve got tofinish up with my scooter. I don’t want to have to deal with anything inthe morning. I don’t function real well before noon. Feel free to watch TV orwhatever, or if you want a shower.”

“Actually, I was just thinking that my bike should be cool enoughthat I can tighten everything down before I hit the sack.”

“Cool. I’ll even let you use my tools if you say please.”

They took their Scotch and a fresh beer out to the garage and spentthe next hour in companionable near-silence as each focused on their respectiverides; she on her ’53 Hydra-Glide, he on his ’98 Bad Boy. They spokeoccasionally, passing tools, locktite and WD 40. A radio on the workbenchplayed the oldies, she sang softly along with her favorites, he got theidea that she was singing to the machine she was working on. Time passed in ahappy haze.

They straightened from their tasks almost simultaneously and turnedto grin at each other. He caught a tantalizing whiff of her fragrance underthe comforting smells of oil, gas and exhaust.

“Done?” she asked.

“Yep. Ready to head out in the morning.”

“Good. I’ve decided to take you into Bend, the back way, more scenicand no traffic. You just have to watch out for deer and suicidal chipmunks.”

They returned to the warmth of the house and stood shoulder toshoulder at the kitchen sink washing the grease from their hands with Orange Goop.She showed him the hide-a-bed already made with clean white sheets and asoftly worn quilt then headed upstairs to her room. “If you need anything,my room’s the last one on the right,” she said from the bottom of the stairs.

He listened to her steps as she climbed the stairs. He could thinkof something he needed, but knew better than to try. Besides, she wasn’t histype. Sleep was slow in coming.

He was roused from a light drowse by the familiarclicking of a computer keyboard. A dim light filtered in from the familyroom. He heard a sigh and a rustle then the sound of the computer beingshut down. He slid from his warm bed, slipped on his jeans and stepped intothe family room just as she rose from her seat at the desk.

“Oh, sorry. Did I wake you?”

She was wearing a green, satin robe and clearly little else. He couldsee the shadowy suggestion of her nipples through the thin fabric. Hisjeans were suddenly a little tighter. “Not really, I always have troublesleeping after a long ride.”

He saw the flash of an easy grin. “I know what you mean. I justhave trouble sleeping, period. As usual, I couldn’t sleep so I came down towork on my latest novel. It’s building to the exciting climax. I had to sneakdown and put in a little time.”

He had moved a little closer, now he could smell the sweet fragrancerising from her warm body. He took another step. “I know what you mean.Half the time I write my articles at three in the morning. There’s no risk ofinterruption, the world is so quiet. And I’m a chronic insomniac.”

She took a step closer, her robe opening another inch to give him atantalizing view of soft, white cleavage. Even in the dim room he couldsee the light in her eyes. “I’ve always thought there was only one cure forinsomnia.”

“Warm milk?” he asked.

She stepped up to within an inch of him, smiled into his eyes andwhispered, “Not exactly.”

Her hand settled lightly on his hip. The smile left her lips butremained in her eyes. He tugged gently at the belt of her robe. It slippedloose, the robe fell open and she stepped easily into his arms. Her mouthwas sweet and insistent. His hands roamed over her satiny smooth skinfeeling the muscles sheathed in feminine softness. Without losing contactwith her soft lips, he pulled her into the other room and gently pressed herdown onto his bed. She pulled him after her. He began exploring his wayalong her throat, across her broad shoulders and slowly between herbreasts.

His mouth found a delicate rose-pink nipple, kissing it gently as his handsoftly cupped her white breast. She moaned softly. He continued hisexploration, his tongue finding the line of fine, downy hair that led fromher navel down to her red curls and buried his face into the soft, sweetflesh. She gasped softly as his tongue worked its way into every crevice;exploring, teasing, arousing. He felt her tense, heard her moan andreveled in the intense spasm that wracked her body and made her cry out softly.

Her fingers were twined into his hair an he planted a soft parting kissbefore allowing her to pull him away. She brought his mouth to hers and,kissing him hard, whispered breathlessly against his lips, “My turn.”

She rolled him onto his back and slowly, torturously worked her waydown. Her breasts rubbed softly against him, her lips left a tinglingtrail.

Reaching her objective, she took him gently in hand, kissing the singledrop of fluid from the tip. A shiver ran through him as her warm mouth slowly,carefully, brought him near the exploding point. He almost cried out asher mouth pulled away, her soft body rubbing against him as she slid up alonghis body.

Straddling his hips she leaned down, covering his mouth with hers,her silky hair blanketing them both as he slid inside her. Moaning against hislips she rode with long, slow strokes. He fought the urge to rush her,despite the pleasurable agony that was building beyond human tolerances.He came with such explosive force that he bit his own lip as his teethclenched against the rush. She arched her back, her hair wild about her face, eyesclosed, lips parted as her breath hissed between her teeth. Finally spent,they collapsed against each other, sweaty and trembling.

Still joined at the pelvis, he rolled her onto her side, sharing thepillow. He brushed damp hair from her forehead and she smiled drowsily at himwith kiss-swollen lips. They fell asleep without speaking.

He woke as she quietly slid from the bed. He tried to grab hold ofher but he was still groggy with sleep. It was daylight.

“I’m gonna start coffee then take a shower. C’mon up if you want tojoin me. I’ll wash your back,” she smiled over her shoulder as she headedinto the kitchen. “Don’t forget, you got a rally to report on.”

He lay staring at the ceiling, listening to her run water and movearound the kitchen, then soft steps as she trotted up the stairs. Thesound of running water made him acutely aware of how much he needed a shower. Heslipped on his jeans and went up to find her. It wasn’t hard, he followedthe sound of water. Last door on the right. Her bedroom was devoid ofanything to show that a man had ever been in here, but he knew she had beenmarried for a long time before her husband died. Likewise, there were noblatantly feminine things in sight, except the leopard print bra and pantieson the bed. He could hear her singing softly in the shower. He went in tojoin her.

Neither spoke as he stepped into the shower. She was wet and glistening,her hair slicked back against a shapely skull. She let him into the hot spray andbegan gently soaping his back. He turned to face her and she continued withthe soap, washing his chest, his stomach, gently lathering as her handsslipped over his body, waking him thoroughly. She handed him the soap, he smiledand began washing her shoulders, breasts and stomach, warming to his task andreturning the favor. He pulled her slick, soapy body against his and herhands slid across his shoulders as he tipped his head to kiss her. She wrapped along leg around his hips and with one hand guided him inside her. The hotwater beat down on them as they swayed in rhythm until he gasped againsther wet neck and came so suddenly his knees almost buckled. They stood, lockedtogether for a silent moment, his face burrowed into her neck, her lipsbreathing softly against his ear. She unhooked her leg and he slid almostpainfully out of her.

She smiled devilishly and carefully soaped his now-flaccid penis. Hegritted his teeth against the excruciatingly sweet touch on theoversensitive flesh. She giggled. They finished washing each other, kissing andcaressing until the water began to cool. They finally stepped out and she handed him asoft, white towel. He dried off and wandered into the bedroom, towelwrapped around his narrow hips. He sat on the edge of the bed and watched as shecarefully rubbed lotion over her shoulders and breasts, across the hips,down the long legs and clear to her toes. She emerged, her hair turbaned in thetowel. He continued to watch as she dressed; leopard bra and panties,Levi’s, white T-shirt and Doc Martin boots. She draped the towel overthe doorknob and began brushing out her long hair, which almost reached her waist.

“Coffee should be ready,” she offered. He grabbed his jeans andfollowed her downstairs.

As he dressed in the living room, he could hear her clatteringaround, the refrigerator opening and closing several times, the ring of metalagainst ceramic, the hiss of something hitting a hot skillet, then a tantalizingaroma. He joined her as soon as he was dressed.

“Have a seat. How do you take your coffee?”

“Black.” It was the first word out of his mouth since last night. He wasbeginning to think he was deep inside an acid-induced hallucination. Thenthe thought occurred to him that it was still last night, he had hit a deerand was lying in a ditch with a head injury slowly succumbing to shock andhypothermia. But shit, what a way to go.

She set a large mug of steaming coffee in front of him. He took acareful sip and sighed, “That’s really good.”

“One thing about Oregonians, we’re coffee and beer snobs. And I’mone of the worst. I only drink micro-brewed beer and fresh-roasted, fresh-ground coffee, no canned shit for me.”

She was moving easily around the kitchen rustling up breakfast. “Ihope you’re not watching your cholesterol, I’m doing biscuits and gravy. I’vehad a craving for it lately but it’s not something I’m gonna make for myself.”

“Sounds good.” He watched as she cooked and drained the sausage,mixed buttermilk biscuits from scratch without a recipe and stirred the creamgravy.

“Eggs?”

“Sure.”

“Scrambled or fried?”

“Either.”

“Scrambled.”

In less than fifteen minutes he was looking down at a plateful ofgolden biscuits, creamy gravy and fluffy eggs flecked with fresh ground pepper.

He took a bite, his eyes rolled and he almost moaned. He had finally succumbedto his injuries, died and gone to heaven.

She topped off his coffee before she sat across from him with herplate. “There’s plenty, so eat all you want. I’m used to cooking for a couple ofbottomless pits. Is everything OK?”

“Perfect,” he mumbled around a hot mouthful of flakybiscuit and rich gravy. After a second helping and his third cup of coffee he wasready to nominate her for sainthood. He eyed her over the rim of hiscoffee cup. She sipped her coffee, caught his eye and smiled.

“We need to hit the road pretty soon. Going the back way it’ll takeover an hour to get into town.” She stood and gathered the dishes.

He followed her to the sink, wrapping his arms around her waist frombehind. She turned in his embrace and her arms moved naturally and easilyaround his shoulders. They stood nearly eye to eye, her lips tantalizinglywithin reach. He kissed her, tasting coffee, smelling her clean hair,feeling her strong body in his arms. She really wasn’t his type. But hewasn’t sure he wanted to leave the house, especially to join a crowd. Nottoday anyway. He had her pinned against the counter, their Levis button-to- button.

“You’re not thinking about bagging the rally, now are you?” sheteased.

“What would your boss say?”

“Depends on what I tell him,” he said, staring into her bright blue eyes.

“Don’t you want to ride?” The ultimate carrot on a stick. “It’s asunny day, a beautiful route, no cops and smooth asphalt.”

She knew the right buttons to push, he sighed in defeat. “All right,you twisted my arm.”

She kissed him warmly. “Good, I haven’t been out on my bike for threewhole days.”

“That long?”

“Yeah, I decided last minute to take the old boy instead of mySporty, and he needed some help, so I’ve been hard at it in the garage. The onlyadvantage of celibacy is ample nervous energy.”

He thought about that for a second, “I take it you’re not dating?”

“I haven’t even come close to a date since,” she paused, her eyessuddenly bright, “since my husband died almost three years ago. I haven’thad the inclination, nor the time really.”

“Why’d you invite me to stay? I mean, you had no idea what you weregetting into.”

“Friend of a friend. Tom thought it would be a good idea. Plus, you ridea nice bike and I’ve read enough of your stuff to know that you’re not atotal psychopath. Granted, I had no idea you’d be a broodingly handsomeguy that smells good enough to eat raw. But then, maybe I was due for somegood luck,” she grinned.

“Brooding? I’m always told I look pissed off.”

“I don’t think so, more introspective and pensive. Now, enoughchit-chat. We gotta hit the road, Bubba.”

He watched her as she braided her hair into two long plaits. He wasbeginning to suspect that they were two innocent participants in aconspiracy; his boss Harold and her friend Tom, both busybodies. Not thathe minded, now. They added a few more layers to offset the morning chillstillclinging to the thin mountain air, grabbed their jackets and headed intothegarage. They pushed their scooters out into the brilliant morningsunlight. He started his Bad Boy easily enough, with its electronic ignition. It took her a half-dozen kicks before the old Panhead grumbled to life. Shegently revved the engine, a smile of sheer delight lighting her face. Theysat and let the engines warm until she crammed her brain bucket on, flashedhim a grin, blew him a kiss with two fingers and kicked it into gear.They rode side by side out the long winding road. When they reachedthemain road, she turned left, away from the highway that had brought him, anddeeper into the pine forest. He followed. Once on the main road shecrankedthe throttle, her braids flowing behind her like living creatures. Theyblasted along through the cool morning air, easily hitting 70 on thetree-lined road. She was right, the road was smooth and scenic. Thetrees thinned and suddenly the surrounding buttes and lava domes came intoview, the rocky crags of the Cascades shimmered blue in the distance.Ten miles down the road they came to the Cascade Lakes Highwayjunction. At the stop sign, she hollered to him, “We’re going to head towardsSunriver. Once we get close there’ll be a few cops that are not real bike-tolerant.So when I slow, you’d better too.”

He flashed her an OK sign. She took off to the right. Mileafter mile of virgin forest and no traffic to speak of, it was bliss afterbattling the vicious, bitter car-people of the Bay Area. The air was so clean hecould smell the occasional creek or wildflower beneath the ever-presentspice of pine. There were plenty of suicidal chipmunks, waiting at the side ofthe road only to dash in front of their tires at the last second, being missedby mere inches.

He saw the sign, Sunriver two miles, and they both slowed to a sedate55. She smiled at him, her cheeks flushed with pleasure. Beforethey saw any signs of the fabled Sunriver, she signaled a left turn and theyheaded up a narrow but smooth National Forest road. Back into the virginold-growth ponderosas. She cranked the throttle and cruised back up to70. They wound through the beautiful hills, his head pivoting from side to sidetaking in the scenery. He saw signs of old wildfire damage, burned snagsrising up through verdant meadows and charred, giant survivors standing aslone sentinels.

Too soon they reached signs of civilization; massive, overpricedhomes dotting the hillsides, an exclusive golf course and luxury condos. Toobad. But the road widened and was smooth and clean as they headed down the hilland into the west side of Bend. She took the lead, slowing as they entereda commercial district, and pulled into a Chevron. He pulled in behind her to fill his tank.

The attendant, a young man of about 17, eyed the bikescovetously. He smiled a greeting, “Fill ’em up?”

“Yeah, premium.” She unscrewed the chrome cap and neatly wrested thenozzle from the dumbfounded youngster’s grasp. She flashed the boy anapologetic smile, “I’m just a little paranoid.”

“Yeah, sure lady.”

With the gas bought and paid for, they played follow the leader across town.

She knew the road less traveled, the path of least resistance. He followedtrustingly, knowing that if he tried to find his way back, he’d never makeit. He was entirely in her hands. As they progressed through traffic, henoticed more bikes. Brother riders waved, smiled and fell inbehind. Before long they were a couple dozen strong, all heading for the Bears andRoses H-D dealer. He could see bikes ahead and nothing but headlights inhis rearview. He stayed just to Gil’s left flank.

He knew they had arrived several minutes before he actually saw thedealership. The small side street was lined with bikes parked tail to thecurb. They slowed with the congestion and she pointed to an opening in thewall of Milwaukee iron. She rolled her bike easily into place and he followed suit,parking along side of her. They cut the engines simultaneously.

Even with their own engines silent it did little to diminish thebaritone din of the multitude of scoots passing. Theoccasional tenor of a Japanese bike cut through the sonorous rumble, butthey were few and far between. The two sat silently for a few minutes watchingthe parade of humanity, leather and chrome. He finally dismounted,strapping his helmet to his seat. He stood over her as her eyes scanned the crowd. Shefinally swung her long leg up over the tank, sat side saddle for a moment,then rose to stand next to him.

“I should have told you, I’m not much for crowds,” she apologized.

He looked at the gathering of perhaps 300 and said in herear, “Then you really don’t want go to Sturgis. Don’t worry, I’ll protect you,”he added facetiously, putting a protective arm around her waist.

“Thanks. I feel so much better now,” she retorted, her eyessparkling.

“Poodle? Shit man, it is you,” a burly blond with a full, red bearddescended upon them. “What the hell you doing here?”

“I could ask the same of you. Isn’t this a little off the beatentrack?”

“Naw, we moved here last year. Good schools and low crime,” heshrugged his broad shoulders, his eyes ran over her tall frame. “Who’s your friend?”

“Angus, this is Gil. Gil, Angus.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” he extended a beefy hand.

Taking it in her usual, firm grip she smiled into his brown eyes.

“Thanks, nice to meet you too. You’re a local?”

“Yeah, sort of. Poodle drag you up here from the Bay Area?”

“No, actually, I’m a local gal. I’ve lived in the south end of thecounty for over 15 years. Poodle’s a friend of an old friend. I offered himthree hots and a cot if he’d come and do an article on the Run for theCascades, as a favor to some friends of mine here at the dealer’s.”

Angus flashed a quick look at Poodle, then back to Gil. Their calmdemeanor gave nothing away. He elbowed Poodle. Knowing his taste in women,he asked sarcastically, “So, can she cook?”

“Oh man, you should taste her biscuits and gravy. She can evenrebuild an engine,” he flashed her a grin.

“Yeah well, with an old-fashioned upbringing and three brothers, Ikind of had to do it all. Besides, with an old scooter I knew I’d either haveto handle a wrench, have a mechanic on retainer, or trade engine work forsexual favors,” she winked.

Angus grinned. His eyes reluctantly left Gil’s piercing blue eyes andwere pulled to the black and chrome beauty leaning jauntily on its stand, “Hmm,nice ride.” He eyed the foot gear change. “Fifty-two?”

“Fifty-three, actually. I’ve had him now for about three years andhave him about back to showroom new.”

The big man was impressed, but kept his face neutral. “Not bad.Pretty nice, actually. I had a ’65 Duo-Glide. Loved that bike, but now that I’man old man I wanted something that had a little less vibration, a littleeasier on my old bones. Got me a ’99 Heritage Softail.”

“Those are beauties. But a little rich for my blood,” she smiled.

The three left the parked bikes and drifted into the crowd. Poodleglanced at Gil as she chatted easily with Angus about her Panhead and hebragged about his Big Twin and suppressed a smile. The rough blonde wasblatantly smitten with the tall redhead.

As she stepped over to inspect some leather vests, Angus said out ofthe corner of his mouth, “What gives, buddy? She’s not your type. I don’tthink I’ve ever seen you with anything that weighs over a hundred.”

“Uh huh,” he grunted noncommittally, “anything bigger doesn’t ride pillion as easy.”

“I always thought you were a closet pedophile,” he said, elbowing his friendgood naturedly. “But Gil looks like a grown up. What gives?”

Poodle shrugged casually. “She’s a nice lady.”

“And she’s got her own bike, so no need for two up?”

“Uh huh.”

“You heading back to the Bay tomorrow?”

“Probably.”

“So then what about Gil? You gonna keep seeing her?”

Poodle shrugged. But knew what he wanted.

“So then, she’s kind of available?”

“You’re married Angus.”

“Oh yeah.”

Gil rejoined the two, unaware that she’d been discussed. They continuedto mingle, losing Angus along the way. They ran into several people Gilknew, as well as several more that knew Poodle. Each time one introducedthe other there were speculative looks, appraising glances and raised eyebrows.

Poodle found his mind was not on his job. He was more than a littledistracted, and not in the usual ways. He hadn’t been drinking, had sleptsome and had eaten well. He tried to make mental notes on the gathering,but couldn’t corral his thoughts well enough, his mind refused to focus on thetask at hand. He looked around, seeing nothing but a bunch of happy bikersand beautiful bikes. The lack of uniforms added to the mellow mood. Mustbe the altitude and clean air. You’d never get this peaceful a gathering atsea level. He decided to kick back and just savor the day. Having Gil quietlyat his side added to the enjoyment. At one point, without realizing it, hetook her hand and they strolled along, fingers laced together, relaxed andcontent.

The Run for the Cascades was equally mellow, as mellow as 500 or so big motorcycles can be. There were few idiots and fewer maniacs.Everyone held tight formation as they wound their way up the Cascade LakesHighway toward Mount Bachelor, speed increasing gradually as they movedaway from town until the front half of the pack approached race speed.The air thinned and cooled as they rode, despite the bright, late summer sun.The ponderosas gave way to fir as they rose. The smell of exhaust couldn’tcover the pungent scent of pine. The road was smooth and everyone washappy.

Poodle was disappointed to realize they had hit the summit and werecoming down the back side. He saw Gil signal him. He grinned and nodded,acknowledging her plan. They turned right, off of the scenic highway andon to the familiar road they had traveled this morning.

Away from the chorus and back to a duet, the world suddenly seemed soquiet. There was only the rhythmic throb of their two bikes to startle the ravens from their roadkill. The empty road stretched ahead of them, at least fortoday.

The End

“Bastard,” she swore softly as she returned the phone to its cradle.”Jim, you dumb-fuck, butt-ugly, slacker bastard.”

Nice time to back out on a ride, half-hour before they were to hit theroad. Fine. It was only 150 miles; she was going anyway. In reality, shepreferred to ride alone. Setting her own pace, taking the whole lane in acurve, stopping when and where she wanted to.

She stood in her small living room, dressed only in black silk boxersand a hot-pink and black zebra striped bra plaiting her red hair into along braid. As much as she loved the wind in her face, it wreaked holy hell onher hair. She pulled on Levis, a white pocket tee, her favorite engineerboots and a black turtleneck. Grabbing her Langlitz jacket on the way out,she was nearly to the door when she realized she hadn’t shut off hercomputer. She sprawled in the chair at the keyboard and logged on for alast-minute check of her e-mail.

There it was: “Hey Red Sonja, I’m riding up 97. Want to meethalfway? Let me know. Smokey.”

Too late now. She had serious doubts about meeting this guy anyway.What the hell had she been thinking? E-mail pen pal, what a joke. It justgoes to show how desperate someone can get when they live alone in themiddle of nowhere and work at home. She had been slumming through a few bikerWebsites and found a posting from a guy in Klamath Falls, forty miles west.They had been writing and chatting for three months, but the only personalinformation they had shared was scooter stuff. The remainder of theiralmost-daily correspondences had consisted of barbed witticisms and jadedobservations.

She had told him of her ’64 Duo Glide. He claimed to have a ’75Shovelhead and was saving for a new Low Rider. Both were heading north tothe Run for the Cascades, a small rally in central Oregon. She was goingfor lack of anything better to do. He was going to “finally meet Red Sonja,”his nickname for her after she let it spill that her hair was deep auburn andshe was near to 6 foot in her boots. What a geek. She envisioned him as abalding, short, chubby computer geek who still lived with his mother. Andwhat the hell kind of a name was Smokey? But he did have a wicked sense ofhumor and seemed to know his bikes, so despite her natural skepticism anddistrust of the human race in general, she had always looked forward to hise-mails.

Her responsible adult brain warred with her typically adolescentmindset. She really should just stay home. She had a manuscript to finishand an agent waiting impatiently. But what the hell, if you can’t get outand ride every few days to blow the cobs out of your brain, what good is itto have a bike? She logged off and shut down her computer, unplugging itagainst the threat of late summer thunderstorms. Time to go.

Once again, she was heading out the door. Her bike, “Bob,” was packedand ready. She had reservations at the Satellite Motel on the main drag inBend, a clean shirt, tool bag, a thermos of good coffee and plastic with plenty of credit left.

She kicked Bob to life with a minimum of sweat. He grumbled happily,the joyful popping of his exhaust echoing through the surrounding woods,bothering no one but the squirrels and blue jays. She jammed the helmet onher head and took off down her 2-mile-long driveway.

An hour later, by the time she hit Highway 97, she was feeling prettysassy, glad Jimbo had spared her his constant yakking and whining.Her mind was settled and she was feeling loose and tranquil from the happyvibrations rumbling up from the Panhead between her thighs. It was betterto ride alone; no one to interrupt the flow. She pulled into the Astro Gas. OldDanny sauntered out and handed her the premium nozzle. She carefullyfilled the tank, paid cash, gave him a wink and was back on the road in under five minutes.

The ride was excellent in that it was uneventful. It was sunny, traffic was light and the deer had decided to take the morning off. The miles ofdecent asphalt rolled between the thousands of acres of forest that lined the way, only the occasional domicile to break the pleasant monotony of millions ofponderosa pines. It wasn’t until she was nearing the small town ofChemult that a small glitch appeared in the form of a smoking Ford pickup. She had been cruising at an easy 65 and could easily smell it long beforeshe caught up with the ugly, multi-hued truck rattling along at a sedate55, burning a quart of oil per mile and belching black smoke.

“Jesus asshole, get some new rings,” she choked, waiting for a chanceto pass and sneering at the ‘Bullriders do it in eight seconds’ bumpersticker. “Can’t keep it up either, huh?”

With clear road ahead, she accelerated to pass. The asshole bullrideraccelerated to prevent her passing. She could see his grin in his sidemirror, a wad of Copenhagen swelling his lower lip like a bee sting victim.His two buddies were laughing insanely at the driver’s clever little jest.

“So you want to play it that way, dumb shit?” she said to herselfthrough clenched teeth. No problem. Bob had more than enough power toeasily pass the moron in the Ford. She rumbled past, flipped him off anddidn’t give another thought. She gulped in the clean air, ridding herlungs of the scorched-oil pollution. She took it to 70 and put distancebetween herself and the slack-jawed morons.

Stopping for gas in Chemult, she couldn’t help but notice thespankin’ new, purple pearl, Dyna Low Rider sitting at the pumps. She ran anappraising eye over the clean lines, glossy paint and rubber so new shecould almost smell it. Bob still outclassed it.

“Nice Duo. You heading up for the Cascade Run?”

She turned her head to check the source of the soft voice. Cropped dark hair, clean shaven, broad shoulders, narrow hips, piercing blueeyes in a well-tanned face. He looked like a cop.

“Yeah. This must be your Low Rider. Nice.”

“Just got it. This is kind of a shake-down ride.”

Her eyes were pulled from the near hypnotic gaze of those crystalblue eyes by the arrival of a familiar Ford pickup. Three lanky young men infelt cowboy hats and dinner-plate sized silver belt buckles spilled out. Aquick whispering conference and six greedy eyes raked over her long frame. Sherecognized the grin of the driver, who blew her a kiss and grabbed hiscrotch. Giggling, the three headed into the mini-mart.

“Friends of yours?” the Dyna rider asked, still in the sibilantvoice.

“Not hardly. Just a group of mental midgets I obviously insulted bypassing a few miles back.”

She paid the attendant for her gas and kicked the warm Bob easilyback to life.

“See you in Bend,” the blue-eyed rider smiled, climbing onto his ownbike.

“Yeah, whatever.”

She was happy to be back on the road, but in her desire to rid herself of the three vapid young cretins she hadn’t used the bathroom. Now a half-pot ofcoffee had filtered through her kidneys and the pressure on her bladder wasagonizingly accentuated by the normally pleasing vibrations from the bigV-twin. She knew a rest area was only a few miles up the road. She hatedstopping again, but knew if she didn’t Bob was gonna be irritated by herlack of control. Besides, she hadn’t brought an extra pair of jeans. She hadno choice.

Stepping back into the bright sunlight from the cool, dark recessesof the cinderblock bathroom, she sighed with the pleasure of relief. Her blisswas cut short when she saw three now-familiar goobs hanging around herbike. What the hell did she do to deserve this? Couldn’t a gal go out alonewithout worrying about being harassed at every turn? Apparently not. Sheglanced around the empty parking lot. The only vehicles were Bob, theoil-burning Ford and a pretty purple Dyna, but its rider was nowhere insight.

“Fuck this shit,” she mumbled under her breath and pushed past thefirst young jerk to get to Bob. ” ?Scuse me boys, that’s my bike.”

“Nice Harley, lady. Will you take me for a ride?” Brown eyesglittered avariciously from under the brim of the felt hat. A wide grin pulled the peach fuzz mustache thin.

“Sorry, no room,” she straddled the bike and started it up, hopingfor a quick escape, wishing she had backed into the parking spot.

Unfortunately, the young thugs were quicker. Rough hands grabbed thefront of her jacket, hauling her from the bike. “Too bad, cause we’re gonnaride you hard whether there’s room or not.”

She managed to reach down with her left hand and pull her oldhardwood police night stick from its leather sheath along the right front fork.She brought the stick down with a crack across the wrist of the imbecileYanking on her jacket. He let loose with a howl. When she switched her weapon to her right hand and snapped a shot across the side of his knee, the howl changedto a scream. Using the force of the rebound, she brought the baton across thebridge of his nose. The bone dissolved. He dropped like a rock.

“You bitch,” his buddy hissed at her as he lunged.

Again she went for the knee, catching him across the top of the kneecap with a satisfying crunch. She thrust the hardwood tip into his solarplexus, then caught him under the chin as he doubled over. Glass jaw. Hejoined his friend on the cement.

The third acne-faced youngster was having second thoughts aboutpulling this particular train and turned to run. He met with the solid fist of the blue-eyed Dyna rider.

“You OK?” he asked in the same unperturbed soft voice he hadgreeted her with at the gas station.

“Yeah sure. No problem,” she slid her nightstick back into thesheath, trying to hide her shaking hands.

“You gonna press charges?”

She looked at him, he even sounded like a cop. “No, I just want toget on the road.”

“OK.” He walked over to the idling truck, reached in and turned offthe engine, chucked the keys into the grass. Then he stopped at the rearfender, pulled a nice little hunting knife from his belt and handily slitthe back tire. “You don’t want them waking up pissed and coming after you, doyou?”

“I guess not.” She got on Bob, backed him up and put him in gear.”Thanks. I guess I’ll see you in Bend.”

She drove slowly out of the parking lot. She watched him in herrearview mirror mounting his bike and following. She didn’t need any one to ridewith, but he had watched out for her ass. She didn’t get too far up theroad before the shakes hit. She began trembling so hard she was afraid she wasgoing to ditch if she didn’t pull over. She angled off at a wide shadyspot, dropped the stand and staggered from the seat. Her stomach heaved. Sheclamped her jaw against the nausea, forcing her breakfast to remain whereit was. The rumble of the Dyna penetrated her turmoil. She didn’t turn,hating for a stranger to see her losing it like this.

A hand touched her shoulder. “Take it easy. You did good backthere. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone handle a baton quite like that.”

She took a deep breath to prevent a tell-tale tremor in her voice.”Thanks. It’s all in the wrist. My dad was a cop, it was his nightstick.”

“Why don’t you let me ride with you to Bend? I promise I won’t getin the way,” he teased. “I’d even buy you lunch if you let me.”

“Sure, why not? It looks like I need a keeper.”

He extended his hand, “I’m Dan.”

She took the gloved hand, “Call me…”

“Red. I know,” he grinned devilishly. “You can call me Smokey.”