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She lifted a shoulder. “Who knows? Could be the remains of a trespasser or a nosey federal agent. Maybe even a famous writer,” she smirked.
When Bash’s eyes went wide, she shook her head. “You are just too easy.” She flashed him a devilish grin. “Careful, Bash. Your wussy is showing again. Don’t worry. We are about to leave this place in the dust.” He stepped back as she flung the door open.
It was hard to tell when she was joking or if she was serious, but he decided too many questions would only make her wuss point. He stepped beside her and peered inside. A thrill spread through him. The contents were hidden under black protective covers emblazoned with the words Harley Davidson. He could hardly contain his teenage boy excitement. Grabbing one of the covers, he yanked it off.
“That one’s mine,” she said proudly, patting the handlebars of a shiny blue 1200 Sportster.
“You know how to ride a motorcycle?” Bash asked, surprised.
“You’re kidding, right? How could I possibly be raised by one of the best motorcycle mechanics in the country and not know how to ride?”
He frowned and crossed his arms over his chest. “You said your Pops ran a bike repair shop?”
“I know. A motorcycle repair shop, but I’ve always called them bikes. He could do anything to motorcycles. Build them. Repair them. Dress them. You name it. Fixed classic cars on occasion, too. His business was word of mouth and cash only. His shop was out in the sticks, but that didn’t matter. People from coast to coast sent their bikes to his shop. They all respected his need for privacy. It was almost like an exclusive club you had to be invited to join. I guess it makes sense that when one of his customers found out he died, they didn’t think the privacy mattered anymore. That tribute was the only way my father could have found him. We didn’t use social media. To answer your question. Of course, I can ride. The better question is, can you, city boy? Or are you going to have to get on the back of mine?”
No way in hell I’m going to lose my balls by getting on the back of her Sportster. “Hell yeah, I ride! My friend Alex has a couple of Harley Softtails. He couldn’t decide if he wanted a black or a blue, so he bought both. Gray and I take turns riding with him.”
Morgan yanked the cover off the second bike in a ta-da fashion. Bash’s eyes grew into saucers at the reveal of a black Harley-Davidson Ultra Classic Electra Glide touring motorcycle.
“Wow. She’s beautiful,” he said, running his hands over the black leather seat. “Magnificent. This is my dream bike.”
“Down, boy. We’ve got to get moving. There should be plenty of space in the saddlebags between the two bikes to handle the stuff we’ve got. The only problem is the temperature. We may freeze our patooties off, so put on as many layers of clothes as you can. Then we’ll decide where we’re going.”
“I’ll trust your expertise since I have zero knowledge of this mountain range.”
“I don’t think it’s safe to go back to Hwy 74, so we’ll have to take the backroads.” She pulled out a paper map from a rusted metal cabinet. It was much more detailed than the GPS maps, highlighting obscure roads, points of interest, and service areas throughout the Appalachian Mountain range.
“We’re here,” she pointed on the map. “At the end of this dirt road, we intersect with Wayah Road, which will take us into Nantahala. We can get something to eat and buy some decent riding gear. Then, we’ll head to Franklin, North Carolina. That’s probably as far as we can get today without running out of daylight. It’s too cold to ride at night. I’m hoping we’ll be far enough away from the cabin to feel a little safer. Maybe your friend Gray can help us figure out our next move.”
Bash nodded in agreement. She knew the area. He couldn’t help thinking that Morgan had been wrong about Pops’ paranoia and overprotectiveness. His timing had just been off.
Morgan opened a beat-up footlocker in the corner and pulled out a stack of folded leather clothes. She handed him a pair of chaps and a leather vest. “These belonged to Pops. He was larger than you, but if you can make it work, the chaps will protect your legs.”
Next, she pulled out two high-tech-looking black helmets and handed one to him. “This is a full-face helmet with a built-in Bluetooth for intercom, integrated speakers, and a microphone. We can communicate on the road.”
“Of course, we can. I would expect nothing less,” he said, eyeing the new toy.
She put a few more items from the footlocker in her backpack, but Bash couldn’t identify them from where he was standing without appearing nosey.
When they were packed up, layered up, and chapped up, they rolled the Harleys out of the shed and secured the padlock. Bash couldn’t stifle the thundering of his heart or the shit-eating grin on his face as he turned over the engine of the sexiest machine he had ever seen. Feeling all that power between his legs was intoxicating. Morgan glanced over and rolled her eyes at his glee. He could tell she was proud of herself for making his day. She flipped her hair back, slipped on her helmet, and straddled the bike. Her leather chaps fit her like a glove. Her cute little, innocent kindergarten teacher image melted away.
Damn, that’s hot! Who knew Morgan would turn out to be such a badass? A mental picture of her Pops smacking him off his bike flashed through Bash’s head, making him flinch. He could visualize the tough old dude in his mind’s eye even though he had never seen a picture. What the actual fuck was that? “Duly noted, Pops,” he muttered under his breath as he gunned the throttle. “I apologize for mentally objectifying your granddaughter.”
“Did you say something,” Morgan called over the roar of the engines. You’ll need to turn up the volume on your Bluetooth like I showed you.” Bash bit back a sly grin and nodded.
It was only a few miles to Nantahala. Morgan found a general store where they bought emergency snacks, sandwiches, and bottled water. The clothing selection in the store was limited, so they decided to wait until they reached Franklin to look for boots and outerwear. Bash tried to call Gray but couldn’t get a signal.
Riding through the mountains on the bagger FLHTCU was a dream, but it was colder than he had anticipated. The chaps helped his legs, but even with two pairs of socks, his toes were freezing. It had to be in the mid-50s, which didn’t seem that cold until they had been riding for a while. The frigid wind seeped into the creases of his clothes, making him feel like he was riding nude. Morgan had to be just as cold, but she showed no visible signs of discomfort. Little Miss glass half-full was annoying sometimes.
She led most of the trip. Now and then, she would slow down and check on him. Even though the helmets were equipped with radios, neither spoke unless it was necessary. He was too busy trying to figure out how the hell he ended up in this nightmare situation.
It was difficult to determine the time of day. The roads were shaded by mountains and trees that completely masked the location of the sun.
“Bash.”
“Yeah?”
“We’re about five miles from Franklin. There is a lookout point up ahead on the right. We’re going to pull over.”
