It had been a rather slow day. It was way past midnight and rapidly approaching closing time when she heard the bike coming up the highway. For some reason the sound of his engine caught her attention even while it was a long ways away.

Lone rider. Loud pipes. Late at night... She glanced over at the shotgun and then at the .45. Maybe he was just pa.s.sing by. And even if he wasn't, a lot of people rode this highway late at night on two wheels, four wheels, or, in many cases, eighteen wheels. She heard them drive by all night from her bedroom above the bar.

Yet the sound of this engine caught--no, demanded--her attention.

Sarah caught a glimpse of herself in the bar mirror. The anxious reflection stared back at her with hair slightly out of place. She reached up with her hands to straighten it and smooth it down. Normally, the long dark hair was worn in a pony tail but tonight, for some reason, it hung loose around the shoulders. That was enough out of ordinary to make one of her more astute regulars to tease her with "You expecting somebody special tonight?"

She had laughed and answered, "Just couldn't find my rubber bands, Dwayne, that's all." Actually, she had no idea why she had not secured her hair tonight.

But now...

The loud motor was slowing down, stopping.

Silence. Then came the crunch of boots on gravel. Whoever it was, he was coming in.

She looked around. The kitchen closed at midnight, so the cook was long gone. The only people in the place were herself and two of her late-night regulars who were already getting ready to leave. As they stepped out through the front door, he entered.

Though he had never before been in her bar, Sarah recognized him immediately. She had seen his picture numerous times on the evening news. The news anchors always identified him as Garrison Sloane, "president of the reckless and ruthless Red Skulls motorcycle club."

Sarah didn't know how reckless they were, but from conversation among other clubs who stopped at the bar, she knew he was ruthless. There had been something of a "war" several years back and things had gotten really nasty. No one, not even the news media, would talk about everything which had actually happened, but everyone agreed that the heads of the other four groups, now all deceased, had badly underestimated Garrison Sloane.

Regardless of who or what he was, when he walked through that door, he was a customer, and Sarah greeted him with her usual smile and those often spoken words, "What can I get ya?"

Garrison was surprisingly young, perhaps only a year or two older than Sarah herself from the looks of it. He wore a leather club vest over a black T-shirt and his muscular, heavily-tattooed arms were clearly visible. Unlike many of the heavily-inked menor women who came into Sarah's Place, his tattoos were almost mainstream. No Swastikas, lightning bolts, or any of the other awful things that Sarah could never understand why anyone would be proud of. He had the almost compulsory Harley Davidson wings on his right shoulder along with a thick snake that came from somewhere on his back and curled down his arm to just above his wrist. His left arm was entirely consumed in flames which intertwined with skulls and the faces of beautiful women of all races.

Sarah had no ink whatsoever on her body and normally was put off by body decorations of any sort, but something about Garrison's artwork intrigued her and seemed to call to something deep within her soul.

He slowly covered the distance between the door and the bar and placed his hands on that well-worn mahogany surface. He stood smiling at her for several minutes, staring intently at her with huge brown eyes that seemed amazingly warm.

Sarah coughed slightly and then returned his smile and asked once again, "So, what can I get ya?"

His voice was also surprisingly soft and gentle, although he spoke only one word, "You."

"I'm not on the menu, Garrison," she answered. She had wanted her voice to sound stern and in control, but somehow it came out almost as a giggle. Sarah hadn't giggled since she was in high school.

"Sometimes I order off the menu, Sarah," he replied. "And my friends call me Gary."

"You don't seem to have any friends with you, Garrison," Sarah, replied, picking up a rag to wipe the surface of the bar.

"Oh, I do," he continued in his deep, smooth voice, "but she doesn't know it yet."

Sarah bristled slightly and put some heat in her voice, "Don't you come in here thinking you can force me to be your friend." Then, after tapping the bar with the small bat, she added, "and the sign says no colors."

He shrugged out of the leather vest, carefully folded it to conceal the flaming red skull on the back and laid it down. "I didn't think it'd make any difference if no one else was here.

"Besides." He continued. "I didn't come here to force anything. That's why I left all my regular friends back at the clubhouse. It's just you and me. If you tell me to walk out that door, I'll leave and fade off into the night." He paused to let his words sink in and then added, "Your choice."

She stood silently watching him for a long time. Finally he sighed, picked up his vest from the bar and turned to leave. He was half-way to the door when Sarah said, "Gary, wait. I'm sorry if I was a little short with you. Time of night... where we are... who you are... "

He walked slowly back to the bar as she was speaking. He put his finger to her lips to stop her embarra.s.sed stammering and said softly, "I'm just a man who would like very much to be your friend and perhaps more than that."

Sarah knew what she should say. She should say politely and firmly, "That's good to hear, Mr. Sloane, but it's closing time and you will have to come back tomorrow." The words ought to have come easily from practice but instead, the words that tumbled out of her mouth were: "How 'bout a cup of coffee, then, and we talk."

When he arched his eyebrow at her, she blushed "Bar's closed. I play by the rules. But coffee comes from the kitchen." Her face brightened in a smile, "So, what can I get ya... besides me?"

"I guess I will have to settle for some coffee for now," he replied as he matched her smile.

They were still standing at the bar talking when a loud voice speaking through a bullhorn drew their attention to the flashing red and blue lights visible in the front windows. "Sarah, this is deputy Tomlinson. Are you OK in there? Sign's still on and it looks like the door ain't locked."

"I'm fine," she yelled back. "I just lost track of time talking."

"Would you mind coming to the front door and talking to me?" the amplified voice asked. Then it instructed. "Just step outside so we can talk."

"He thinks you're my prisoner," Gary said quietly. "You'd better step outside by yourself. I don't think it would be real healthy for me to go through that door until they are sure that you are OK."

"Why?" she asked.

"Time of night. Where we are. Who I am." He counted off his finger with each one. "I'll just wait here until Sheriff Collins sees that you're safe."

"But that's deputy Tomlinson..." she started to say, but Gary gently cut her off.

"Count the lights." he said. "There are at least three cruisers out there. Tommy called for backup before making his presence known. They probably recognized my bike or ran the plates and are expecting the worst. Tell them they can search the bike... and me when I come out. It's clean and I'm unarmed."

When she opened the door, Sheriff Collins was standing there in full body armor. He pulled her out into his arms and asked, "Are you sure you are OK?'

Sarah looked over at the two deputies crouched behind their squad cars with automatic rifles. "I am so sorry, Sheriff." she said, obviously embarra.s.sed by all the commotion. "We got to talking and I lost track of time. Bar's closed, has been since two. I just never got around to the door and sign. I've never done that before; don't know why tonight is different."

She saw the Sheriff's head swivel to look over at the parked motorcycle and said, "Gary says you can search his bike... and him when he comes out. He's got nothing to hide tonight."

"Is it OK to come out?" Gary's voice carried through the open door.

"Yeah!" grunted the Sheriff, and Gary came through the door. He was walking backwards with his hands behind his head, fingers interleaved.

"No need for that," the Sheriff said gruffly.

"Just being careful," he replied. "Didn't mean to spook anyone."

Sheriff Collins turned to Sarah and sounded very much like a father talking to a daughter who had come home way too late from a date as he said, "I think you ought to lock up now, and call it a night."

He then turned to Garrison and said, "And you'd best be moving along, too."

Gary nodded to the Sheriff and as he got on his bike, turned to Sarah and said, "We'll talk later." Then he started the bike and with a very loud roar of his engine, rode off into the night."

"Is he really a friend of yours?" asked deputy Tomlinson.

"From way back," Sarah answered. But as she started back into Sarah's Place she asked herself out loud, "Why did I say that? I just met him tonight... didn't I?"

The next night Sarah's hair was again not pulled back in a pony tail. It was, however, brushed to a soft sheen, and held back from her face with bright red plastic band that went over her head and was in place just behind her ears. Her lipstick matched the color of the headband.

Dwayne, the regular who had teased her the night before noticed the additions and said, "Now I know you're expecting someone special."

Normally she would have had some sort of quick answer to counter his teasing, but tonight all she could do was blush and laugh nervously.

"Next thing you know," continued Dwayne, "you'll be wearing a dress."

Sarah turned a deeper shade of red and Dwayne lifted himself up on his stool so that he could peer over the bar. "Well, I'll be d.a.m.ned," he said as he stared over the bar. Sarah's legs were visible from about mid-thigh down beneath a loosely fitting, wrap-around denim skirt. "I'll be d.a.m.ned," he repeated as he settled back onto the bar stool. "Who's the lucky guy?"

Sarah finally found her tongue and answered back smartly, "Back off big boy or I'll tell your wife that it's you."

Dwayne and the other three men sitting at the bar laughed, but dropped the subject for now.

Sarah went back to her bar tending duties. As she worked, she kept looking out the front windows and listened carefully every time any vehicle drove by on the highway. As 2:00 am approached, she began to worry that Gary might not come back. Perhaps that would be best. He was white hot fire and she was the one who would get burned. Yet there was something about him that made her want to risk the flames. Maybe it was the heat of her own fires which had ignited the first time she looked directly into his eyes.

She glanced up at the large neon-lit clock over the pool table. It was almost two. He wasn't coming back, so it didn't make any difference why she was attracted to him.

Then her phone beeped. It was a text message that read: "I would like to order an item off the menu. One Sarah special for takeout. I will pick it up in a few minutes. Text back whether my order will be available."

Sarah texted back, "Order up and ready for pick up." Then she began hurrying through her closing routine. A lot of it could wait until morning. The receipts were in the safe and the sign was off when she heard the distant roar of a single bike coming down the highway.

Of all nights for her to wear a dress, it had to be the night she's about to go for a ride on a bike.

She was about to make a mad dash up the stairs to change when the noisy bike pulled up in front of the door. She stood for a moment wavering back and forth between the front door and the door to her apartment upstairs. Then Gary came through the front door and asked, "Is my order ready to go?"

"I'm not dressed for riding," she began to explain, but Gary just laughed and said.

"It's a warm night and a lot of the girls who ride in and out of here are wearing a lot less that you are."

An image of herself riding behind Garrison naked under the moonlight flashed through her mind and suddenly her legs felt slightly weak. She felt herself getting restless, like she was back in high school about to trade hickeys.

Gary interrupted her thoughts by saying, "Let's go somewhere where we can talk without being interrupted by Sheriff Andy and Deputy Fife."

He held out his hand and she rushed over to take it and follow him out the door. As they left, she double-checked that she had set the lock. "I'd better make sure it's locked," she explained with a grin, "Or Barney will have the national guard waiting for us when we return to Mayberry."

Gary laughed and said, "I accidently called Deputy Tomlinson 'Barney' once when he stopped me for speeding. Luckily he doesn't watch old black and white TV shows or I would probably still be in jail."

He got on his bike and scooted forward slightly to make sure that she had room on the back of the seat. Her skirt rode up quite a bit as she spread her legs on either side of Gary's waist, and Sarah felt slightly self-conscious of how much leg she was showing. Then she remembered Gary's words about many of the girls showing a lot more and she relaxed. As the bike started to move, she tucked the skirt slightly under her legs so it wouldn't blow open too badly and pulled herself tightly against Gary's back.

As they headed out into the darkness Sarah suddenly realized that she had no idea where they were going and no one knew where she was. The sudden rush of fear should have turned her body cold, but instead heat flowed through her body as she thought of the possible danger. A sudden chill between her legs as the wind of riding blew across her now damp panties told her that her attempt to tuck in her skirt had not been successful.

Why was she so wet? Was that what was so attractive about Gary? Was it just that he was dangerous? Or, was there something else?

A lot of very dangerous men came into her bar every week. It wasn't danger, itself, that had attracted her to him last night. She didn't call out to him when he turned to leave because of the tats or the leather or the reputation. No, she suddenly realized, it was his softness. His soft eyes... his soft voice... his courtesy and sincere apology when she had called him on wearing colors into the bar were what had drawn her to the "safe danger" that was Garrison Sloane.

Was such a thing possible? Safe danger? Was Gary just a living roller coaster ride that was enticing her to experience fear by taking things to the edge of safety? "People sometimes get hurt on roller coasters," she said quietly to herself and then pressed her face firmly into his back.

Gary turned off the highway onto a narrow lane that led back into the Lake Range of peaks alongside Pyramid Lake. After they had gone a short ways, they reached a gated entrance that said, "Park Closes at Dusk."

"There's a really nice overlook at the top of this road," he said. "We can sit under the stars and talk."

"But the road's closed."

"That's only to keep the honest people honest," laughed Gary "... especially if they are on four wheels." With that, he slowly wheeled his bike through a narrow opening alongside the gate.

"But won't the rangers hear your engine and come up to investigate?"

"Ah," he answered. "I almost forgot." He reached down and turned a lever on each side of the engine. Suddenly the noisy bike was as quiet as the average car. Gary smiled. "Cut outs," he explained. "Everybody knows I drive the noisiest bike in town, so if I flip the levers, the cops have no idea that it is me as I glide past them."

A few minutes later they stopped in a small loop at the end of the road. Several concrete picnic tables dotted the little park at the top of the bluff. Gary opened his saddlebag and pulled out a thick blanket.

"I thought you said 'talk,'" Sarah said somewhat brusquely.

"It's for the bench," he replied. "But if you want to sit on a bunch of old bird p.o.o.p, fine, I'll put it back."

Sarah felt that she should apologize for mistaking his intentions, but he gave her no opportunity. Instead he walked quickly over to a table at the very edge of the bluff and threw the blanket over the table and both benches. "Your choice," he said. "We can sit facing the lake with the water in it or the lake with nothing but sand. Which do you prefer?"

"I think lakes should have water in them," she answered and sat down facing out over the bluff toward the lake. Gary sat beside her and leaned back against the table. She snuggled into his arm and he held her loosely as they talked.

He asked her a lot of questions about her family and where she grew up, but she found herself turning the conversation back to him. At first he was reluctant to say much, but after a while he was telling her of various funny incidents from his childhood. Despite some probing questions, however, he steered away from saying anything about his rise to power in the Red Skulls.

All the time he was speaking, Gary was unconsciously stroking Sarah's arm and shoulder. Occasionally, his hand slid over her shoulder to gently rub her back through the thin blouse. His hand on her back felt so good and somehowshe couldn't remember exactly how or when she had done itsomehow she ended up lying face down on the bench across his lap so that he could more easily stroke her back.

They continued to talk with her lying p.r.o.ne on his lap and, again without her remembering for sure how or when, her blouse was on the ground at Gary's feet and he was running his fingertips up and down her back. It was as if she were drifting in pure bliss as his hands wandered up and down her body.

She felt him fumble slightly with the belt to her skirt, and she found herself turning over onto her back to give him better access. Soon the skirt joined her blouse on the ground. She remained face up as Gary's wonderful hands continued their light touch while they went skating across her body.

Then her bra joined the other clothing on the ground. She knew absolutely and exactly when and how that had happened. Gary had paused his fingertips as they pa.s.sed over the peaks of her breast and she nearly screamed out from the desire for him to touch her nipples, but the bra was in the way.

"Wait," she said as she raised her upper body slightly off of Gary's lap and reached behind herself to undo the clasp. Then she tossed the bra onto the ground. Or did she throw it over the bluff? All she could remember for sure was that her body wanted that bra as far away from her as possible so that Gary's tattooed arms and calloused hands could continue their oh, so gentle dance across all of her body.

"All means all," she heard herself say deep within her mind, and she raised her hips slightly and slid her panties down toward her knees. She raised her legs so that she could push them the rest of the way past her feet, but that was not needed. As soon as that black fabric reached her knees, Gary brought one hand between her legs and pushed them the rest of the way off. Then his hand slid back upward along the inside of her leg until it reached the entrance to her s.e.x. His fingers slid easily through her outer lips and brushed across her c.l.i.t as they continued moving upward toward her b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

"Why am I so attracted to you?" she moaned out as Gary's hands continued to stir the fires within her. "Why am I doing this?"

"Do you want me to stop?" asked Gary in a voice that was even softer than normal.

Could he really stop at this point? Could she?

"No, don't stop," she groaned back. Then she sat up and turned on the bench so that she was kneeling over Gary's lap, straddling his legs. She pressed her lips tightly against his and drove her tongue deeply into his mouth, all the while fumbling to pull the black T-shirt up over his head.

Once the shirt was out of the way, she ground her b.r.e.a.s.t.s into his naked chest. Surprisingly, his chest, itself, was almost totally devoid of hair and sported no ink whatsoever. Sarah pulled herself back slightly so that just the tips of her nipples slid across the ripples of Gary's muscles. As she did so, she felt his hand go between her legs and two of his fingers slide inside her.

Her body drove itself down on his hand and began moving against it. Lifting slightly with that hand and guiding her shoulders with the other, Gary moved her up onto the table itself. Then, standing alongside the table like a ma.s.seuse giving a ma.s.sage, he began to stroke and knead her flesh.

Sarah had reached that point where you cannot think, you cannot act, all you can do is experience. And Gary's hands gave her much to experience. Somewhere within the fog of pa.s.sion which flooded her mind, she realized that her body was bucking and arching up toward the sky. Then Gary was between her legs.