Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 126098 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 630(@200wpm)___ 504(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126098 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 630(@200wpm)___ 504(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
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.