Chapter 1

Cañon City, Colorado, February 14, 2022

“Where the hades are they?” Anya Burrows chewed on the tender flesh just inside her lips. Anger roiled in her gut. “If they don’t show up, I’m gonna kill ‘em?” She glared east then west down Highway 50, the fairway that ran through her hometown, Cañon City, while carefully holding the gas nozzle to fill her tank as full as possible and yet not spill over the sides. She hated the smell of gas on her bike and in her leather skull-clad riding gloves, not to mention it would eventually strip the clear coat that protected the shiny black paint on her gas tank.

Finished, she shoved the handle into its slot next to an enthusiastic graphics-window not unlike an alluring gambling machine screen. The brightly backlit display mesmerized her for a moment. Colorful memes flashed from one tantalizing scheme to another, publicizing the advantages of getting an Alta Gas Company credit card, buying delicious food from the hot-roller-grill inside, and buying a refreshing, ice cold soft drink from the fountain.

The influential marketing made her stomach growl, even though she knew the true quality of that roller-grill food. Gut grenades, that was all they were. Besides, she was saving her calories for the lunch in Silverthorne where they planned to turn around and come back tonight. This would be an all-day trip, as planned, to keep their minds off the stupid, red-laced hearts and diapered baby cherubs shooting people with love-inducing arrows.

Falling in love was easy, being loved back was the problem. Whoever thought this holiday up was a warped sadist with mother issues ... or baby issues ... or something just as narcissistic. She sniffed. Anya had grown up in a wealthy German family that went bankrupt and was forced to come to America for a second chance. She missed having anything she wanted whenever she wanted it, but had adjusted to their new American middle-class life. She had married a local boy, Gary Hornsby, and attended college with him. He received a law degree, and she obtained a master’s degree in physical therapy.

They began their careers five years ago. The care center where she started had promoted her quickly, and now she was head of Physical Therapy and loved what she did. He was successful as a local lawyer and soon had the proverbial corner office. They were happy, or so she thought. Two weeks before their fifth anniversary, she asked him what he wanted to do to celebrate, thinking he would name the French restaurant, Le Petit Chablis, and suggest they spend the weekend at a local B and B.

However, he told her he wanted out. He left her that very night. Took his secretary to the Bed and Breakfast for the weekend. When he came back for his things, he announced he had never been happy with Anya. It was a shock, but she quietly let him file for the divorce. Completely blind-sided by his declaration of absolute misery, she vowed to never, ever give her heart to anyone again.

Staring at the delicious looking fountain drink, Anya snapped out of her reverie. An ice-cold soda would be enjoyable. She loved the crushed ice their fountain dispensed. Alas, she didn’t have a cup holder on her bike. The water bottles she stored in her saddle bags would have to do for her thirst when they stopped to let Nicole smoke or Chris and Jackie Lynn go pee. Not to mention all five of them needing to gas up again before they go over the Continental Divide, just to be safe.

Stowed rain gear would keep the bottles from bouncing around and protect her in case the weather became unpredictably unpleasant. In February, you never knew.

Snapping her attention back to the guy anxiously waiting behind her, she swung her leg over the black leather saddle and fired up her Harley engine. Easing it out of the way, she parked by the air and water machine and checked the three directions her friends could be coming from.

Where were they? If they had changed their minds without letting her know, she swore, not for the first time, she was going to kill them. Gritting her teeth, she glanced at her cell phone. No messages. They better get here soon or she was taking off without them. Seven o’clock in the morning meant seven o’clock, not seven fifteen, or seven thirty! She closed her eyes and tried to calm her tempestuous Germanic temper.

Phooey on them if they didn’t want to go. She would happily do this without them. It had mostly been her idea anyway. Hers and Nicole’s. They both hated Valentine’s Day and the hurtful memories of husbands who had fallen short of ideal ... or even tolerable.

She glared at the guy using the pump she had just vacated. A gust of wind whipped into her face, yanking loose strands of golden hair out of the temporarily tamed ponytail she had meticulously brushed into submission this morning. Why motorcycles were considered such a nuisance was beyond her. She had just as much right to be on the road on a two-wheeler as cars and trucks ... or to add gas to her tank. The guy glared at her as if she’d held him up far too long from getting his tank filled. Why didn’t he go inside and buy a soft drink or a hot-off-the-roller-grill sausage dog to soothe his impatience? He was probably just jealous that he wasn’t going for a motorcycle ride today.

She chuckled to herself and looked for Nikki or Jackie Lynn to come wheeling into the station. Those two, she could count on, but where were they? Christine Parker, she fully expected to renege. A flighty artist, she had only agreed to go for what she called everything she did: fodder for a story. But Nikki and Jackie, she knew were serious about making this trip. Ashley Winters was a definite maybe, but Anya would be happy to do this with just her two best friends.

Just then, to her utter surprise, Ash pulled in. On a trike! It was metallic green like a shiny head of broccoli with a trunk between the back two wheels. Anya shook her head. Ash would be the one among them to get a three-wheeler.

“When’d you get this?” Anya smiled while admiring the vehicle.

“My brother.” Ashley stated defensively. “I asked Adam to help me buy one and he suggested I take his and see how or if I liked it, then he’d help me pick one out for myself.”

Anya grinned as she bobbed her head. “Sounds reasonable.”

Being a professional culinary archeologist and chef, Ash had a tendency to be overly cautious. She washed her hands before and after touching anything edible. She wore vinyl gloves while preparing food whether it be in her own kitchen or anyone else’s. She only wore sensible shoes, never heels, for fear she’d turn an ankle, and, of course, she was decked out in thick leather from neck to foot including her hands and a green, full-face helmet in case she fell. How in the dickens did she think she could fall on a trike? But Ash would dress for the fall not the ride, wouldn’t she?

However, knowing her, if anything should happen, God forbid, and she get hurt on this ride, she’d go to work in a cast or wheelchair, regardless. She loved her work more than life itself. That was probably why she’d been so unlucky at love.