breakfast. Either that or they really tank up at lunch. You can’t walk down the street without seeing them by mid-afternoon.”
Erik pinched the bridge of his nose, thinking. Maybe Brody had a reason for putting two of his three cops on traffic patrol, but at least one of them should also have been picking up the staggerers and stowing them in a cell. He’d have to figure out some way to police both the traffic and the drunks.
Docia groaned. “That’s another thing—riding down Main. You can’t believe the amount of noise these guys make.”
“Because, of course, all of them have the biggest bikes they can buy.” Allie splashed more wine into her glass. “This wine is really good, Morgan. Did I forget to tell you that?”
“Like thunder,” Wonder muttered. “Chrome-plated thunder, that is.”
Pete looked slightly dazed. “The wine?”
“The noise. Chrome-plated thunder is right. If you look at one of those babies in the sunlight, you’re likely to go blind.” Docia took a final swallow of her 7UP.
“Three hundred bikers, according to Pittman.” Allie’s lips became a thin line. “All of them riding down Main, flat out. Day and night. No conversations for three days. And no driving the highways unless you want to become part of an obstacle course for some idiot going eighty on a 500-pound bike.”
“They do buy a lot of wine,” Morgan mused. “They come out to the tasting room and load up. But we get drunks too. Ciro has Esteban hang around the patio to keep them in line. They also complain. Constantly.”
“About what?” Erik watched her face. The spray of freckles across her nose. The way her lower lip protruded slightly. Unbelievably, he felt his groin tighten. Fantastic timing. Control, Toleffson, control.
Morgan shrugged. “In our case, they complain about the dirt road. They don’t like the bumps or the washboard. One guy told me he’d only come back if we graded the road to the tasting room.”
“They can’t handle dirt roads?” Erik pictured the bike riders in Lander, Iowa, sliding down the hillsides in clouds of dust. But those had been dirt bikes, not big, chrome-plated monsters. Still, what kind of biker complained about dirt roads?
“They also don’t like rain, mud or potholes. Nothing that might smudge the finish. Getting a feel for it now, Chief?” Wonder grinned.
Erik nodded. “Not The Wild Ones. ”
“Nope. Forget Brando.” Docia counted off on her fingers. “Forget Easy Rider . Forget Peter Fonda on any form of bike in any movie you can remember. Forget Dennis Hopper. Forget Steve McQueen. Forget any visions of big hunky males on king-sized hogs.” Her gaze darted to Cal for a moment, and she grinned. “Present company excepted, of course.”
Janie grinned too. Morgan suddenly became fascinated by the label on her wine bottle.
“Why the interest?” Cal tipped back his Dos Equis. “You gathering the troops?”
“Just trying to be prepared.” Erik took another sip of Dr. Pepper, willing his body to settle down. “Since I’ve only got three officers, I need to figure out how to spread them around to take care of three hundred bikers.” He ran through his mental checklist—drunks, noise, reckless driving on the highway.
Oh, a really fun weekend was coming up here.
Wonder frowned. “I guess Linklatter counts as a police officer. Personally, I’d deploy him as a speed bump.”
“Ham’s not so bad,” Allie said. “You just have to tell him exactly what you want him to do.”
“Sounds like you’ve got your work cut out for you, Chief.” Pete poured himself another glass of wine. “Any established policies to fall back on?”
Erik shrugged. “Olema never had to deal with them—he wasn’t here long enough. From what I hear, Brody didn’t have any problems. Or none he talked about.”
The table suddenly fell silent. Cal’s face was dark as he stretched his arm around Docia’s shoulders.
She put her hand on his knee, smiling gently.
Erik pinched the bridge of his nose, thinking. Maybe Brody had a reason for putting two of his three cops on traffic patrol, but at least one of them should also have been picking up the staggerers and stowing them in a cell. He’d have to figure out some way to police both the traffic and the drunks.
Docia groaned. “That’s another thing—riding down Main. You can’t believe the amount of noise these guys make.”
“Because, of course, all of them have the biggest bikes they can buy.” Allie splashed more wine into her glass. “This wine is really good, Morgan. Did I forget to tell you that?”
“Like thunder,” Wonder muttered. “Chrome-plated thunder, that is.”
Pete looked slightly dazed. “The wine?”
“The noise. Chrome-plated thunder is right. If you look at one of those babies in the sunlight, you’re likely to go blind.” Docia took a final swallow of her 7UP.
“Three hundred bikers, according to Pittman.” Allie’s lips became a thin line. “All of them riding down Main, flat out. Day and night. No conversations for three days. And no driving the highways unless you want to become part of an obstacle course for some idiot going eighty on a 500-pound bike.”
“They do buy a lot of wine,” Morgan mused. “They come out to the tasting room and load up. But we get drunks too. Ciro has Esteban hang around the patio to keep them in line. They also complain. Constantly.”
“About what?” Erik watched her face. The spray of freckles across her nose. The way her lower lip protruded slightly. Unbelievably, he felt his groin tighten. Fantastic timing. Control, Toleffson, control.
Morgan shrugged. “In our case, they complain about the dirt road. They don’t like the bumps or the washboard. One guy told me he’d only come back if we graded the road to the tasting room.”
“They can’t handle dirt roads?” Erik pictured the bike riders in Lander, Iowa, sliding down the hillsides in clouds of dust. But those had been dirt bikes, not big, chrome-plated monsters. Still, what kind of biker complained about dirt roads?
“They also don’t like rain, mud or potholes. Nothing that might smudge the finish. Getting a feel for it now, Chief?” Wonder grinned.
Erik nodded. “Not The Wild Ones. ”
“Nope. Forget Brando.” Docia counted off on her fingers. “Forget Easy Rider . Forget Peter Fonda on any form of bike in any movie you can remember. Forget Dennis Hopper. Forget Steve McQueen. Forget any visions of big hunky males on king-sized hogs.” Her gaze darted to Cal for a moment, and she grinned. “Present company excepted, of course.”
Janie grinned too. Morgan suddenly became fascinated by the label on her wine bottle.
“Why the interest?” Cal tipped back his Dos Equis. “You gathering the troops?”
“Just trying to be prepared.” Erik took another sip of Dr. Pepper, willing his body to settle down. “Since I’ve only got three officers, I need to figure out how to spread them around to take care of three hundred bikers.” He ran through his mental checklist—drunks, noise, reckless driving on the highway.
Oh, a really fun weekend was coming up here.
Wonder frowned. “I guess Linklatter counts as a police officer. Personally, I’d deploy him as a speed bump.”
“Ham’s not so bad,” Allie said. “You just have to tell him exactly what you want him to do.”
“Sounds like you’ve got your work cut out for you, Chief.” Pete poured himself another glass of wine. “Any established policies to fall back on?”
Erik shrugged. “Olema never had to deal with them—he wasn’t here long enough. From what I hear, Brody didn’t have any problems. Or none he talked about.”
The table suddenly fell silent. Cal’s face was dark as he stretched his arm around Docia’s shoulders.
She put her hand on his knee, smiling gently.
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