Call It Destiny

right hand and the bike growled in response. The fluttery dresses and handsome suits standing in the way parted instantly, creating a path for the black beast Heather rode. She roared down the path toward the main entrance to the lodge and then she was free, heading down the road toward Tucson.
    Behind her, stunned silence hung thickly in the air as the assembled guests turned to stare at the groom where he stood with the bride’s parents.
    Jake watched impassively as Heather disappeared into the distance, and then he spoke calmly to the man who had just missed becoming his father-in-law.
    „Didn’t you ever tell Heather to wear a helmet when she went motorcycle riding?“
    Paul Strand nearly choked on his answer. „More often than I can remember.“
    „Well, this time I’ll have to see that she gets the message.“ Jake strode down the steps and the crowd at the bottom parted for him in the same way they had parted for the woman on the motorcycle.
    Perhaps they sensed a similar potential for raw violence in man and machine.

5

    The ride into Tucson provided everything Heather needed at that moment. The instant responses of the motorcycle, so much faster and more accurate than an automobile, required her full attention. The sensation of speed fed her need for physical excitement. And the adrenaline pounding through her blood consumed the element of danger that flowed through the air around her. She was at one with the big machine, and for the length of time it took to reach the main part of town, Heather knew a violent sense of satisfaction.
    The satisfaction began to fade when she was forced to slow for the first stoplight. Reality slowly settled, extending its long coils to imprison her.
    Heather realized she had no clear-cut idea of what she intended to do next. The logical step was to hop the next flight back to California. She could hardly take Jim Connors’s beautiful motorcycle all the way to San Francisco.
    At least this time she would be leaving town with more than a few dollars to her name, Heather thought wryly as she pulled into a gas station and halted the bike beside a phone booth. Tucked away in the small built-in carrier of the motorcycle was her checkbook and stuffed into her calfskin wallet were several credit cards. She wouldn’t have to find work in a fast-food restaurant in order to survive. The checking account and the credit cards were all her own. There was not a dime of her father’s money involved.
    „Hey, lady, quite a bike. Want to give me a ride?“
    The grinning face of the gas-station attendant caught Heather’s attention.
    „Not today.“
    Stuffing the keys into her front pocket Heather stepped into the phone booth and started calling airlines. The next flight to San Francisco wasn’t until later that evening. Yes, there was one seat left. Heather took it.
    The gas-station attendant and some of his buddies were hovering around the bike when she emerged.
    „Kind of a big bike for a little lady like you,“ one volunteered with an experimental leer.
    „I manage.“ She tossed her hair back and boldly stepped toward the bike, daring any of the curious young men to get in her way.
    They moved aside, just as the wedding guests had done. Everyone, it seemed, knew better than to get in her way today, Heather reflected bitterly.
    She had several hours to kill before leaving for the airport. It was getting far too hot to spend them outside. The thought of killing time in one of the huge indoor shopping malls appealed briefly before she discarded it. The last thing she wanted was to be surrounded by people. She needed some time to think. Everything had happened so fast since her discovery last night.
    Someplace cool and quiet. A motel room.
    Slowly Heather began to cruise toward the airport, seeking one of the new motels that had been built near it. Some time later a frankly suspicious desk clerk handed her the key to Room 235.
    „Complimentary coffee and rolls in the morning,“ he volunteered.
    „Fine.“ She saw no reason to inform him she’d be gone by then.
    In the anonymous room on the second floor she sat down on the bed and picked up the telephone. Jim Connors was going to be frantic about his beloved bike. Refusing to identify herself, she waited impatiently until the young busboy could be found and brought to the front-desk phone.
    „Jim? It’s Heather.“
    „Geez! Am I glad to hear from you. Is the bike okay?“
    „Of course. I’m calling to tell you where you