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him out here!” Walt said. “This is unbelievable—this trout is amazing! The man is a genius!”
Dylan looked at his plate and saw that he’d been eating, but it hadn’t even registered. “Excellent,” he finally said. He took another bite. “Really excellent.”
While the little boys had child-size hamburgers, Katie and her friend had the trout and made a very big deal about it with a lot of eyeball rolling, fanning their faces and letting their eyes fall closed as they hummed in ecstasy. Katie tried to coax a little fish into her son’s mouth, but he shook his head and resisted, which made the women laugh.
She positively sparkled. But he wasn’t interested in sparkle right now—he had too much on his mind. His business, his company, was in trouble and the only thing that mattered right now was coming up with a solution to their financial crisis. Besides, even though he was a world-class flirt, he was not attracted to young mothers. He was never tempted to get involved with a woman who had kids. He’d grown up around that—yours, mine and ours—and it might’ve worked in the movies, but it didn’t work in real life.
But when Jack brought him a cup of coffee he asked, “How long are you renting that little cabin for?”
Jack gave a small smile. “At least a couple of weeks, but probably the whole summer. There’s no waiting list. Why? You interested?”
“Maybe,” Dylan said. “Like sometime in the future…if I get back down this way…”
“Really?” Jack asked. He shifted his eyes toward Katie and said, “I thought maybe you were interested right now.”
With the enthusiasm Walt poured over Preacher’s dinners, Dylan might’ve wondered if he had been more influenced by the food than their routes. But he had to admit, the riding around here was awesome. And it wasn’t an original idea; they passed and followed a number of groups of riders while they were on the narrow mountain roads, the edgy cliff roads, beachfront, the dark paths through the redwood groves, the sunny hilltop ranch roads and the vineyards.
They stopped along the road to help bikers who had problems; Walt handed out a lot of business cards. None of his cards said President and CEO. They all said Harley-Davidson Sales and Maintenance. He drew attention away from himself. There really was a lot more to Walt than met the eye. Walt was an extremely successful businessman. Because of the look Walt presented, that of social outcast living hand to mouth, it was hard to imagine the amount of business acumen buried beneath that shaggy beard that would lead him to own five dealerships and build a small fortune. But he had.
“You have to remember, while the economy and fuel prices worked against you, they work in my favor,” Walt told the Childress Aviation contingent. “Motorcycles—fuel efficient—and sold in a moderate climate where there are very few days of the year they can’t be ridden.”
“Yeah, we couldn’t get away with that in Payne,” Dylan said.
The four bikers sat on a ridge in Mendocino County that overlooked vineyards and the ocean. Their bikes were propped up on stands, and they were in various positions of repose with big submarine sandwiches and cans of cola.
“I get that,” Walt said. “What’s up with the company, Dylan? Last time we rode together, you couldn’t shut up about it. This trip, you’re not talking in a real obvious way.”
Dylan took a long drink of his soda and lifted his head. “Sales are way down,” he said. “In this economy, not only is fuel too expensive to run a cost-effective flying operation, but people don’t hire charters as often. They fly their executives commercial. Coach. We’re not profitable—we’re barely above the red line.”
It was quiet for a minute.
“Bummer,” Walt said.
“We’re probably going to have to downsize. We’re going to have to give up the BBJ.”
“Oh, no!” Stu wailed. “Not the BBJ!”
That made Dylan smile. As a mechanic, Stu so loved