Country Roads(102)

The tears spilled down her cheeks. “I—”

He waved his hand for silence. “I love you as a father loves a daughter, and I understand that children must rebel sometimes. So I will step aside.”

“This will be better, I swear,” Julia said, nearly choking on the lump in her throat.

“You know she will charge you forty percent commission?” he said, giving her a mock warning look. “I worked for only twenty-five.”

Her laugh was shaky, but it was a laugh. She and Carlos would be all right.



“Verna, can you give me a lift to my house?” Paul said, as he closed the door after his last client before lunch.

“That fancy car of yours break down in the parking lot or something?” his secretary asked. She opened the bottom drawer of her desk and hauled out a purse the size of an overnight bag, ornamented with silver fringe and rhinestones. “Course I can give you a lift.”

“Thanks, and the ’Vette is running fine.”

She didn’t ask why he needed the ride in that case, just walked out the door he held for her and waited while he locked up. It was one of the things he valued about her; she knew when not to probe.

Fifteen minutes later, he stood in his garage with the door open, stowing the cover for the Harley in one of the bike’s storage compartments. He shrugged out of his suit coat and folded it into another compartment. He took his helmet and leather jacket off the hook on the wall and slipped both on.

Running his palm over the curve of the fairing, he let his eyes drift along the sweep of the exhaust pipes. It was a beautiful machine, and someone else needed to own it now.

He kicked in the stand and straddled the seat as he started the engine. For a moment he just stood there, feeling the power vibrate deep in his bones. Then he gunned it and peeled out of the garage with a squeal of tires.

Minutes later he turned into an alley stretching behind the block of buildings that included the theater. Parking the bike by the stage door, he removed the helmet and rapped loudly, hoping someone in the office would hear him.

The door swung open and an older man poked his head out. “Paul Taggart, as I live and breathe. What brings you to our back door?”

Paul waved at the motorcycle. “I brought in my auction donation, Lester. Is Belle here?”

“She sure is, but the auction’s not till Saturday.” Lester opened the door wider to let him in. “Don’t you want to keep ridin’ it for a few more days?”

Paul followed him along a dimly lit hallway. “Belle wants to put it on display in the lobby to drum up interest.”

They walked into an office whose walls were plastered with brightly colored posters of plays the theater had produced in the past, some classics, some written by local talent. “Belle, Paul’s brought his Harley for you.”

The tiny woman behind the desk practically leaped from behind it. “Aren’t you a generous donor? Letting us have your precious motorcycle early!” She clasped her hands to her breast and raised her eyes to what would have been the sky had they been outdoors. Her short, straight hair was bleached almost white except for the ends, which were dyed a deep teal. “I’ve already had Vincent set up a spotlight in the lobby to make it positively gleam. Can you two big strong men roll it in there for me?”

Paul held out the helmet and the leather coat. “You can add these to my donation.”

She accepted the two articles of clothing as though they were the crown jewels, widening her eyes in admiration. “Maybe you could autograph the helmet,” she said. “Mayor Paul Taggart.”

“I’m not the mayor anymore,” Paul said. “And nobody wants my signature except as a witness to their will.”

“You’re too modest, but I won’t pester you.”

“That’s a first,” Lester muttered under his breath. Paul gave him a wink as they followed Belle back down the hallway.

The two men wrestled the big bike into place under Belle’s supervision. The chrome gleamed in the artfully placed spotlight, and Paul felt a jab of regret. The Harley had been his dream since he was a teenager. He took his suit jacket from the storage compartment, sliding his arms into it and settling it on his shoulders.

“Ah, I know what this needs to make it the perfect display,” Belle said, trotting back to her office. She returned with the helmet and jacket. “We’ll create the sense that you’ll be back at any minute to roar off into the sunset.”

When Belle draped the leather jacket over the seat and positioned the empty helmet atop it, Paul turned on his heel and headed for the door.

“Hope it fetches a good price,” he said over his shoulder.