Tex (Burnout) (4 page)

Abby felt her heart sink. So far this was less the dream job than she’d hoped. Oh, she’d understood exactly what she was getting into with office work and daily management tasks. She hadn’t lived in an 800 room hotel in the entertainment capital of the world her entire life and not learned a thing or two (or everything under the sun) about the day-to-day operations of a hotel.

But she didn’t have the decades of comraderie at the Custer that she’d had with the staff at the Coral Canyon in Vegas. And though the Custer was beautiful and definitely a luxury hotel, it lacked a few modern amenities. Most notably, to Abby, it didn’t have a restaurant. Abby had gotten an extra certification in restaurant management and was disappointed not to be able to use it in her first job. Not that she didn’t have more than enough to do, but it was a little disappointing.

She went over the books for nearly two more hours until it was officially quitting time. The hotel seemed to be doing well financially, according to the books, even though in the short time she’d been there it hadn’t been booked anywhere near capacity. Of course it was the last week in March and peak season didn’t start until May.

She marked her place in the binder and decided to call it a day. She’d stayed late every day her first week, but was now putting herself on a strictly normal working schedule. No sense in getting burnt out in the first month. She knew from the experience of working part time and taking one extra class every semester since freshman year in order to graduate a semester early, that she needed to get some air.

She drove home, shed her suit, and pulled on a pair of 501’s, boot cut to accommodate her Icon El Bajo’s. She pulled her hair back, fastening it at the base of her neck, and shrugged on her brown cowhide leather jacket.

The panhead’s engine caught immediately and she tweaked the gas to warm it up. Paying for school out of pocket, she’d been making do with a Toyota for the last five years. It was cheap, required little maintenance, which between work and school she rarely had had time for. But now that she had her first post-grad job plus the money from her father’s life insurance, she’d have to look into a new set of wheels. A nicer car, definitely, and after that, maybe a bike of her own.

It was chilly now, in the evening. The sun was just setting. But Abby, ever a desert dweller, had on a tank top and a long-sleeved henley and a t-shirt under her jacket. Nights in Nevada could get downright cold, as many a Florida snowbird unhappily discovered when they’d checked in to the Coral Canyon with only warm weather clothes. She took the ramp onto the highway and put the panhead through all five gears smoothly as she opened up the engine. She relaxed down into the seat and flexed her fingers through her leather gloves. Despite the chill, it was worth it to go for one final ride on her father’s Harley.

Just a few days later, Abby’s cell phone rang. She smiled at the screen before hitting the button. “Tex,” she drawled, mimicking his on again off again accent.

“Vegas,” he replied. “I’ve got a guy up in Spearfish who wants to come down and take a look at the panhead.”

Abby wrote down the date and time and assured Tex that she didn’t need anyone to help her get the bike to the garage.

****

Abby left work on time for once on Friday and suited up into a pair of jeans, boots, and her leather jacket. She tucked a check into her front pocket and snagged the keys to the Harley off the kitchen counter. She ran her thumb over the smooth metal of the keychain and for a moment considered keeping it, but thought better of it when she realized she already had boxes of photos. She used her remote to open the garage door and straddled the panhead one final time.

The drive to the garage was a bit longer given the hour, but she was still on time as she turned into the gravel lot of Burnout. It seemed the men were already waiting for her. Sullivan, whom Tex called ‘Shooter’ and Tex were talking to a man just outside the large bay doors. All three of them turned to watch her as she pulled up to them. She killed the engine and swung her leg over the bike.

Given the warm weather she hadn’t worn gloves and so she simply extended her hand to the only man she hadn’t met yet. “Hi. I’m Abby Raines.”

He grunted as he took her hand. He looked her over first, then the Harley. “Nice ride,” he finally declared.

“Yes, Sir,” she merely agreed, not wanting to steamroll him.

“Your father’s, they said.”

Abby nodded. “Yep. My old man won it in ‘85 in a poker game with Dean Martin’s chauffeur.”

The grizzled man raised an eyebrow. “Dean Martin?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Martin ride this bike?”

“Not that I’m aware of. Martin didn’t much care for motorcycles beyond the occasional movie role or publicity shoot. His only love was a ‘62 Chrysler Ghia. Which my father did
not
win a poker game, but he said it was just as well because it constantly popped out of fourth whenever he drove it.”

All three men stared at her.

Abby blushed, forgetting herself momentarily. “Vegas is a small town, Mr. Hale.”

Hale chewed on this. “Where apparently anyone can drive Dean Martin’s car,” he replied dubiously.

“Just the mechanics, Sir. My grandfather was a mechanic. So was my father.” She gestured to the Harley. “My father rebuilt it from the ground up. Every part is original, no reproductions.”

Hale grunted again and swept past her to inspect the classic motorcycle. Abby remained silent while he took his time perusing. When he was finished, he gave a low whistle. “Asking price is a little low,” he countered.

Abby smiled. “Not in the mood to haggle.”

Hale turned his attention to the bike again and Abby watched his shrewd eyes going over the chrome finish. She felt another pang of nostalgia as Hale ran his hand over the seat. She’d spent hours polishing the leather on Sunday afternoons, even when she was younger. His fingers brushed over a scratch that she’d accidentally put on it sneaking it out at 17. She’d frantically buffed it out upon return and had it quickly painted before her father had noticed. Or so she’d hoped. The next time her father took off the all-weather cover to tune it up and take it out for the “first” ride of the spring season, she sworn he’d paused over the spot she’d painstakingly fixed. If her father had noticed anything out of the ordinary, he hadn’t commented on it, though.

Hale didn’t notice it now, because there wasn’t really anything to see. Only Abby’s father appeared to have had a sixth sense about that bike. He stood up and took out his checkbook. Abby felt a heady mix of relief and anxiety and something a tiny bit like disappointment as he signed his name with a flourish and handed it to her. She was surprised to notice she was reluctant to take it from him, and even more reluctant to hand over the keys. The idea of selling the most precious thing her father ever owned was one thing. The reality of it was proving to be far more difficult.

After giving Abby a smile and handshake, Hale nodded to someone across the lot and she followed his gaze as a disinterested, younger version of the motorcycle enthusiast fired up a Chevy truck, gave the group a wave, and rolled out of the lot. Hale straddled the bike and bounced in the seat a little, feeling out the frame. Abby’s jaw twitched.

He fired up the engine, revved it a few times and saluted the group before pulling out of the lot to follow the truck. Abby fisted the check in her hand for a brief moment before taking a deep breath and folding it up meticulously.

“Well, thanks,” she said aloud to Tex and Shooter who were nearby. She dug out her own check, also folded neatly, and handed it to the owner of the garage.

“It’s still too much,” Shooter declared.

Abby shook her head, as much to quell any arguments as to will away any tears that were threatening to fall. “It’s worth it,” was all she managed to tell him. She pulled her cell phone out of her jacket pocket and turned away from them. “Have a good one,” she called out in a chipper tone. Her thumb swept over the screen and she was about to begin dialing a cab when the phone was taken from her.

She turned and looked up into Tex’s blue eyes. His blonde hair highlighted his tan. “I’ll take you home,” he told her.

Abby shook her head. “I can call a cab. It’s not-”

“I’m taking you home,” he said in a firmer tone. She realized he was holding her phone hostage as he guided her across the lot and toward a large, black Hummer. He opened the passenger side door for her and it wasn’t until she was safely ensconced inside that he handed her the phone back.

Abby sighed and resigned herself to being given a ride. As Tex pulled out of the garage’s lot, she leaned her head back on the leather head rest and looked out the passenger window.

“You okay?” Tex asked, glancing at her.

“Yeah,” she assured him. She sighed. “Maybe I wasn’t really ready.”

He turned the wheel and took the cross street. “You’re never ready.”

“He had cancer,” she declared. “It went on a long time. It’s not like I didn’t have time to prepare.”

“My old man had a stroke,” Tex confided. “He lingered a while, too. It doesn’t make it easier when you see the train coming, Abby. All you can do is make decisions and stick to them. No matter how strong the impulse is to change your mind.”

Abby turned to him, surprised. “How- how did you...?”

“The last thing I sold was my old man’s rodeo saddle. Never fit me right, but that might’ve been in my head. It seemed like the right thing to do. It was the right thing to do. But at the last minute it took everything I had not to back out of the deal.”

“Our relationship was....complicated,” she replied.

Tex smiled. “I think you just described everyone’s relationship with their father.”

He pulled up in front of the condo and parked. “Wait there,” he commanded.

Abby complied.

He came around the front of the Hummer and opened her door. He took hold of her elbow and helped her down from the rig. She smiled at him.

“I’ve got my boots on,” she reminded him. “I can get down.”

Tex was standing close, very close, and her body brushed up against his as she slid down to the pavement. His sparkling blue eyes met hers. “I didn’t ask.”

Abby’s stomach fluttered. Tex reached out and pushed back a strand of her hair that had come loose from its tie.

“I will ask you if you want to go out for a beer, though,” he said. “Rough day and all.”

Abby sighed inwardly. Of course a guy like Tex wouldn’t be interested in someone like her. He was just being nice.

“Well, thanks,” she replied in a steady voice that covered her disappointment. “But tonight’s a drinking alone night.”

“Some other time, then,” he said, in a tone that made it clear he wasn’t asking about that, either.

Tex was a nice guy, Abby thought. It was disappointing to just be friends with him, but she couldn’t complain.

“Some other time,” she agreed.

In her condo, she unzipped her jacket and hung it up. She left her boots by the door and mixed herself a martini. On the stereo Frank crooned that he’d left his heart in San Francisco.

“I know the feeling, Frank,” she said out loud. “I left something in Vegas. I’m not sure what, but it was big.”

The next day, Abby was torn between going out for lunch and staying in her office. She chose the latter and kicked the computer out of sleep mode to begin surfing the internet. She was clicking through pages when the door to her office opened. Kessler stood in her doorway, taking up the space. “What’s this maintenance request?” he demanded, jiggling a work order at her.

Abby tore her eyes away from the screen. “Pardon?”

She was more than a little irritated that he hadn’t knocked.

He sneered at her. “Looking at porn?” he asked. He flashed a crooked grin that he probably thought made him look cute. It only succeeded in making him look like a creep.

“No!” Abby retorted, disgusted.

Kessler just shook his head at her. “Maintenance request. What gives?”

“Among other things the carpet in the elevator vestibule on the second floor needs replacing,” she began, but Kessler only continued to shake his head.

“There’s nothing wrong with it,” he insisted.

“It’s ripped near the elevator bank,” Abby informed him.

“Whatever. I’ve never noticed it. It’s not a big deal.”