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Wyoming/South Dakota State line
Interstate 90
The trucker looked over at the girl he’d picked up at a truck stop on I-90 just outside of Seattle. She’d said she needed a ride to Sturgis. Against his better judgment and his trucking company rules, he’d grudgingly agreed to take her. Maybe it was the air of desperation about her. Or maybe it was the long legs revealed by the black leather shorts she wore. His eyes skated down the length of them now, stopping at the funky black high-heeled ankle boots before glancing back up at her face. She sure was a looker. Pretty face. Long dark hair hanging in tangled curls to the middle of her back. Luminous, pearly skin, big brown eyes that were only partially ruined by the heavy liner and mascara she wore. Maybe the excessive makeup was the style, but he couldn’t help but think it looked trashy. She was too skinny for his taste, too.
She glanced over at him, catching him studying her, and he jerked his eyes back to the road.
He needed to focus on his driving, damn it.
A road sign appeared on the right, drawing his attention with its artistic rendering of the faces on Mount Rushmore. The sign read, SOUTH DAKOTA, GREAT FACES, GREAT PLACES. It marked the state line as they rolled across from Wyoming.
He looked over at his passenger again as they passed another sign that proclaimed the mileage to the next three towns.
Spearfish 10
Sturgis 30
Rapid City 59
He cleared his throat. “Hey, look. I’m sorry I can’t take you all the way to Sturgis, but I gotta take the turn off in Spearfish heading north to Belle Fourche. Sturgis is another twenty miles out of my way, and I’m behind schedule as it is.”
“I understand,” she replied quietly, turning those big brown eyes on him.
“You gonna be able to find another ride in Spearfish?”
She forced a smile. “I’ll be fine, Joe. Thanks for taking me this far.”
Before he could respond, his attention was drawn by a roaring sound, and he glanced at his large side-view mirror.
Shit.
It was a large group of motorcycles coming up fast, easing over into the left lane to pass him. Pass him being an understatement. They blew by in an angry horde, barely giving him time enough to count them, but if he had to guess, he’d put the number somewhere between fifteen and twenty. He did manage to catch the three-piece patches on their backs. The top rocker that indicated the name of the motorcycle clu
b they all belonged to, read Death Heads. The bottom rockers all read Montana. It was August, so he knew they had to be headed to Sturgis for the annual rally.
He glanced over at his passenger again. Apparently, if she was headed to Sturgis, she was headed to the rally as well. His eyes skated down her again. Maybe the outfit and makeup made sense after all.
He noticed her eyes follow the bikers as they sped off ahead of them. She actually perked up in her seat for a moment. Then she slumped back.
A mile later, they passed a sign indicating they were coming up on a rest area, and she glanced over at him to ask, “You mind stopping for a minute, Joe? I need to pee.”
He grinned. “Sure.”
He took the exit, his eyes sweeping over the area with its main information building. Set back a dozen yards was an unusual statue made out of tall concrete pillars set to look like some abstract teepee. He was sure it was meant to be artistic, but to him it just came off looking like some weird monument to the KOA logo.
Pulling his eyes from it, he was halfway down the exit ramp before he noticed the line of bikes parked in front of the information building that contained the restrooms. Even from a distance he could see the black leather vests. Shit. It was the bunch that had passed them a couple miles back.
Taking the left split, he parked behind a tractor-trailer hauling logs. It was the only other rig in the lot. Bringing his own to a stop, he looked over at the girl.
“Maybe this isn’t such a good idea. We could probably find another exit further down. Find you a gas station or something.”
He glanced around, taking in the landscape, which consisted of flat grasslands, rolling hills and a steep flat-topped butte of red rock in the distance. They were in the middle of nowhere. He knew there might not be another exit until they neared Spearfish. He watched her eyes take in the men that were dismounted and standing next to their bikes, then she turned back to look at him.
“This is fine.”
“You sure?” He frowned, his eyes moving past her to the men.
She smiled. “Who knows, Joe, maybe I’ll find a ride into Sturgis right here.” Then before he could protest, she grabbed up her purse and yanked open her door, jumping to the ground.
