Tex (Burnout) (3 page)

Surely she didn’t dress that way for work. He imagined Vegas in a tailored business suit that accentuated those breasts and that lovely round bottom and smiled. Hot. Add a pair of killer heels and he’d get on
his
knees and beg her to go out with him. He got out his cell phone and dialed the cell number printed on the card. She answered on the second ring.

“Abigail Raines.”

“Hey there, Vegas. It’s Tex.”

She was quiet on the other end and he almost checked his phone to see if the call had gotten dropped. “Hi,” she finally said. “Thanks for calling.”

“No problem, honey. Sorry I didn’t call sooner. Been a busy week.” Teeny tiny lie. So worth it, though.

“I just needed to talk to someone about something and since I don’t know anyone in town, you seemed like a good starting point.”

Tex almost laughed at the lack of effort she put into her cover story. “Okay, sweetheart. Let me just finish up here at the garage and we can-”

Abby cut him off. “You work at a garage?”

He paused. “Yeah. We do car repair and custom bike builds.”

“You’re kidding,” she said, sounding shocked.

“Nope,” Tex said, wondering why she was so interested. “The place is called Burnout on the South Side, just a few blocks from Maria’s.”

“How long are you going to be there?” she asked. “I could come by...”

“Well, now the garage is closing in about 15 minutes,” he told her.

“Oh. I can’t get off work that fast. Maybe...” She thought for a minute. “Maybe you could come by my place? In about an hour?”

Tex was both shocked and pleased she’d jumped the gun on him so fast. He grinned widely. “Absolutely. Just give me your address.” She did and he committed it to memory immediately, whistling as he put his phone away and then his tools.

“Why so happy, cowboy?” Hawk asked, coming into the bay area from the office.

“Vegas wants me at her place in an hour. To talk.”

Hawk laughed. “Oh, the poor, poor girl. Has no idea what she’s getting into.”

Tex scoffed. “Hey I can do nice! I can do nice very, very well thank you.”

Hawk shook his head and walked away.

Tex closed and locked the bay doors and headed to his Harley. He threaded his way through the streets of Rapid City until he turned into her neighborhood. It was all condos, all exactly alike. They didn’t have any personality at all. He cruised past the postage stamp lawns and stark white mailbox posts until he found the one he was looking for. Vegas’ Toyota was in the driveway already.

He got off his bike and headed to the front door, intending to knock, but she swung it open and came out to meet him. She was wearing a business suit, and it showed off her T and A a little better than the jeans and tee, but almost by default. It wasn’t tailored and it didn’t look sexy at all. If you looked up androgyny in the dictionary, that suit would be pictured. He glanced down. The shoes were nice, though. High heels. He approved.

“Thanks for coming,” she said. “I just got home.”

“Pretty late for a Friday,” he replied.

She nodded. “Pretty late every night, just trying to figure out the ins and outs of the hotel.” She walked past him and flipped up the cover on the keypad for the single car garage. He watched as she dialed in a code and the door started to rise.

“So, I saw you had a Harley,” she declared, gesturing to his bike. “And I thought maybe you could help me out. But then you said you work at a garage, which is really even better.”

The door reached its full height and Tex saw why the Toyota was in the driveway and not in the garage. Sitting in the center was a gleaming black 1963 Harley panhead. He laughed in surprise. He gave a low whistle stepped inside, circling it.

“It was my dad’s,” she told him. “He passed away last year. I’ve held on to it. I just wasn’t ready to sell. I take it out, though, and keep up with the maintenance.”

Tex looked up at her in surprise. “
You
take it out?”

“Yeah. But...it’s not mine. It’s
his
, you know? And no matter how long I own it, it’ll always be his. I don’t even know why I brought it up here, except that I just wasn’t ready. But then you showed up and you had a Harley and you work at a garage. Maybe that’s a sign that’s it time to let go of it. So, if you know anyone, or hear of anyone who might be interested in it, could you give them my card? I’d put an ad in the paper or online, but I’m too busy at work and moving in to deal with anyone who isn’t serious about making an offer. I’ll cut you in, as the facilitator. Say 15%?”

Tex tore his gaze away from the bike. “That’s too much.”

She shook her head. “Not to me. I just don’t want to waste my time. It’s worth it to me. And it’s not costing me anything sitting here. So, I can wait until the right buyer comes along.”

Tex tried to hide his disappointment that she hadn’t asked him over for a booty call. On the other hand, it was a god damn gorgeous bike and if she needed help unloading it, he was her man. Plus, he’d at least have an excuse, a real excuse it seemed, to talk to her. He took out his phone. “You mind if I take some photos?”

Abby shook her head and he took several shots of the bike at all angles, the re-pocketed the phone. “I know a few people,” he told her. “Up in Sturgis, Spearfish. I’ll make some calls.”

Abby extended her hand and he took it in his for a handshake. It was small and soft. Her nails were short, but neatly manicured. He imagined them wrapped around the handlebars of the panhead. Which then led to him imagining them wrapped around other things. He grinned at her and squeezed gently.

“Thanks, Tex,” she told him.

“No problem, Vegas. My real name’s Mark, by the way. Mark Marsten.”

Tex got back on his dyna-glide and fired up the engine. Abby waved and he nodded to her as he backed out of her driveway and headed out to the main road. Well, that had been damn disappointing. But a lot of things were worth waiting for and he had a feeling Abigail Raines might be one of them.

In the morning, he got to the garage earlier than anyone else and let himself into the office. He emailed the photos from his phone to the garage’s email address and turned on the computer to download them.

Shooter was the next person to arrive. “You’re here early,” he said, entering the office. “How’d it go with the redhead?”

Tex grinned. “Not terrible.”

“What are you doing?”

“Downloading photos I took at her house.”

Shooter frowned. “Tex, I don’t even want
regular
porn on that computer, let alone your personal stash. Put them on your laptop. Be a pervert in private.”

Tex chuckled and turned the monitor toward his boss. Shooter glanced at the screen. Then he moved closer. “Oh, sweet.”

“It’s hers,” Tex told him. “Dad died, left it to her. She’s been holding onto it a while, not ready to sell, but now she thinks she might let it go. Makes sense. New job, new city, new life.”

Hawk ambled in. “What’s up? What are we looking at?”

“Photos I took last night,” Tex replied.

Hawk scoffed. “Cowboy, is it a good idea to document your crimes against the fairer sex?”

Tex shook his head. “Alas, there were no crimes. Not even misdemeanors. She’s got a Harley she wants to sell and she’s cutting the garage in 15% to find a buyer.”

Shooter frowned. “Fifteen percent feels like we’re ripping her off.”

Tex nodded. “I said as much, but she doesn’t want to deal with a bunch of mouthbreathers showing up at her place. She said it’s worth it to her to keep the hassle to a minimum.”

“Alright,” said Shooter. “Call Kenzie up in Spearfish.”

“Yeah. I was thinking Harper in Sturgis, too.”

“Good idea. No one’s going to pass up a ‘63 panhead in that condition.”

A lazy grin spread over Tex’s face.

“What?” Shooter asked.

“She takes it out sometimes.”

Shooter rolled his eyes. “Well, don’t go falling in love with her. You don’t even know if she’s one of yours.”

“I’m probably not lucky enough for that, but damn, one night with her would be sweet.”

CHAPTER THREE

Abby leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose. She was on her fourth hour straight of analyzing the hotel’s operational costs for the previous quarter and her eyes were beginning to cross. She stood up and shook out her limbs and decided it was time for a much needed break.

She shrugged into her black blazer and buttoned it up. Today she was wearing a cream silk blouse underneath and a just-below-the-knee black skirt. She had on her usual heels. She stopped behind the counter at the main desk, smiled at the girl working the counter, and tapped a key on the computer’s keyboard to kill the screen saver and bring up the hotel’s reservation software. She looked for three rooms chosen at random and collected key cards for them.

The job itself was beginning to look like a Herculean task. Her immediate boss, Steve Kessler, seemed to be the least organized person she’d ever met. He also seemed a little too grateful for Abby’s presence. He’d started heaping piles and piles of work on her right after her formal tour. Financials, work orders for repairs, and a stack of customer surveys that needed to be reviewed and responded to as needed.

None of this was outside her purview as the hotel’s Assistant Manager, but it was a lot to take on all at once and Steve kept throwing more at her under the guise of “getting to know the Custer.” It made matters worse that she had no idea what Steve himself was actually doing all day. He seemed content to spend most of his days in his office with the door closed or didn’t even come in to work at all.

Abby glided through the well-appointed lobby with its stone fireplace, gleaming, polished tables, and comfortable black leather chairs. Her heels clicked on the marble floors. The hotel was an art deco masterpiece, built on a whim by a retired New York City shipping magnate who had come to South Dakota in the mid-thirties to visit Mount Rushmore with his family and, sensing, an opportunity for a second career, he stayed and built the hotel in 1939.

Abby may not have liked Steve Kessler, but she liked the Custer. Definitely. The ground floor featured a newly renovated fitness room, but still kept the vintage feel with clean white tile floors and botanical green pinstriped white walls. Just off the lounge was a small, but well-stocked bar. Abby appreciated its elegance and though she could get a martini there, drinking in front of guests and her employees was not a good idea, especially since she had just started the job. She smiled a bit at the idea of
her
guests and
her
employees.

There was a grand, carpeted staircase that led to a ballroom that hosted weddings on the second floor, as well. Abby climbed the stairs and breezed past the ballroom, entering the long hallway that led to the guest suites on the second floor. She used a keycard on the door and did a spot check of the unoccupied room. The housekeeping staff seemed to be doing a fair job despite what appeared to be lack of any actual management by Steve.

The Custer Hotel had 150 rooms including a Princess, Presidential, and Honeymoon suite on the top two floors. The Princess was occupied, the Presidential was booked for the following weekend, but the Honeymoon suite was not reserved for another six weeks. They really needed to find a way to keep that room booked more consistently. Abby had a few ideas, but it was too early to pitch them.

She spot-checked the other two rooms and questioned the housekeeping staff about whether or not they felt the supplies were adequately stocked in the services storeroom. It was on her list to double check the supplies next week, but it wouldn’t hurt to have some feedback now. She eventually decided that she’d had enough of a break and headed back downstairs to her office. Steve was waiting in her office when she got there. She hid her frown.

“Where were you?” he asked.

Abby smiled. “I was spot-checking some rooms upstairs. Just keeping up with housekeeping.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “Well, did you finish going over the quarterlies?”

“Nearly.”

“Best get on that then and not running around upstairs,” he said curtly and walked away.