The Pastor's Wife Wears Biker Boots Read Free Page B

things.
    “Did you go to the bank?” Reba nudged me with her elbow when we met her in the parking lot.
    “Yup. But I feel guilty.”
    “Don’t you dare.” Reba glared at me and planted her hands on her hips. “Your Aunt Mary gave you that money to do with what you will. Besides, didn’t you tell me she was a free spirit like me and rode a motorcycle back when only bad girls rode motorcycles?”
    I nodded. My great-aunt Mary not only rode motorcycles, she raced them.
    “She’d prefer I buy an Indian, though.” I glanced at Reba sideways and she snorted.
    “Well, there aren’t any Indian dealerships closer than a hundred miles, so you’re stuck with a Harley.” She hooked her arm into mine, and we marched toward the front door of the dealership.
    “Or a Honda.” Lily smiled. She loved her old purple Magnum.
    Reba grunted. “Honda. Right.” According to Reba, a motorcycle wasn’t a motorcycle unless it was a Harley. She gave Trace a hard time about his Goldwing. “I’m just teasin’.” She pushed at Lily playfully. They were distant cousins and had grown up together like sisters.
    “You’re sure quiet, Opal.” Lily plunked her arm around her old pal and gave her a squeeze.
    “I’m having second thoughts,” she said. “I think I’m getting too old.”
    “To be ridin’?”
    “No, Lily, to get married. Of course to be ridin’.” Opal glared and Lily laughed.
    “You never know what you’ll find on the back of a motorcycle, Opal.” Reba raised her eyebrows up and down and wiggled her glasses like Groucho Marx. “You’ve spent way too much time behind a desk. Time to live a little.”
    “I didn’t retire from being a school secretary to get killed. I just came along to give Kirstie moral support. It’s my duty as the volunteer church secretary. I’m just doing my job.” Opal sniffed, put her nose in the air and clip-clopped to the door in her sensible shoes.
    The four of us entered through the front door of the Harley shop and onto the showroom floor. The bell jangled as the door closed, and I flinched.
    “Gracious, you’re jumpy. What gives?” Reba rolled her eyes and shook her head.
    We proceeded to look at the gleaming bikes, but every time the bell on the door clanged, I’d jump and look to see who it was. I didn’t want to have to explain my dream to church folks. Not yet.
    “Good grief, woman, you’re not in a liquor store or porn shop. You’re gonna make me nervous enough to need a smoke.” Reba smacked me on the back of the head playfully.
    “Ouch! I know that. But some people might wonder how I got the money to buy a motorcycle.” I rubbed the back of my head.
    “It’s none of their business.” Lily grabbed my arm. “You’ve got to stop worrying so much about what other people think.”
    “That’s not a luxury I have, Lily, and you know it.” I removed my arm from her grip. “Everything I do affects my husband’s job and our family’s future. I have to be careful.”
    “Well, I sure couldn’t do it.” Reba rocked back on her Harley boots with her hands in her pockets. “I wouldn’t do it. Living in a fishbowl would be too confining for me. I’d drown.”
    “Who says it’s not too confining for me? Why do you think I’m here?”
    “Thatta girl. Now, let’s get to lookin’…”
    “May I help you ladies?” A middle-aged man with graying shoulder-length hair and neatly trimmed beard reached his hand out to Reba, who smiled and gave him a big bear hug. “Reba! Man, it’s been a long time since I’ve seen you. Where you been?”
    Opal and I looked at each other.
    “Same place. I haven’t moved.”
    Reba and the salesman caught up on old times and Lily, Opal, and I walked through row after row of lustrous motorcycles. Their radiant colors and chrome were delicious eye-candy for my hungry-for-adventure soul. I thought I could see my heart racing through my T-shirt in its reflection on the gas tanks.
    “Find one you like?”
    The voice made me