Time to Ride

Series Prequel

Time to Ride Series

Book 1

Lynn Donovan

Copyright

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are all products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, organizations, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.

The book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. All rights are reserved with the exceptions of quotes used in reviews. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage system without express written permission from the author.

This book was written by a human and not Artificial Intelligence (A.I.).

This book can not be used to train Artificial Intelligence (A.I.).

Time to Ride Series ©2022 Lynn Donovan

Cover Design by Erin Dameron-Hill

Grammar Edit by Cyndi Rule

BETA and Continuity Edit by Amy Petrowich

Table of Contents

Copyright

Appreciation

Dedication

Introduction

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

A NOTE TO THE READERS

About the Author

Humble Request

Appreciation

Thank you to everybody in my life who has contributed in one way or another to the writing of this book. My husband, my children, my children-in-law, and my grandchildren. You all are my unconditional fans. My BETA readers, writers’ group, readers’ group, and grammar guru who make me look gooder than I am. [Bad grammar intended.] My fellow author friends who chat with me daily to exchange ideas, encourage, maintain sanity, and keep me from being a total recluse/hermit.

Mostly, I thank God for the talent he has given me. I hope to hear you say, “Well done, my good and faithful servant,” when I cross the Jordan and run into your arms—Many, many years from now.

God bless you all!

Dedication

To Anya, Jackie Lynn, Ashley, Tricia (Nicole), Parker, and Christine, my real-life friends who inspired these characters.

Introduction

Hoping to avoid all the trappings of romance, love, and marriage that seem so expected on Valentine’s Day, five women decide to take a motorcycle ride through the Rocky Mountains instead of celebrating the dreaded holiday. Through circumstances beyond their control, they find themselves trapped in a different time.

Can they find a way home or are they stuck living without the modern conveniences they are accustomed to? At first the simplicity of the time seems attractive, and love seems possible for once. When the new adventure wears off will they be driven to find a way back to their own time? Will they change their perspective on finding true love? Is it a time acclimate to a slower way of life or will the lack of their normal ways of decorum convince them that it's A TIME TO RIDE?

Chapter One

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.

Few men cared for unending talk about digging up artifacts to learn everything possible about ancient indigenous peoples’ culinary habits. It was all Ash talked about when she spoke at all, which, Anya and Nicole had agreed, would drive most men off in as little as ten minutes. Ash’s skills in the kitchen as a Cordon Bleu graduate chef should off-set her dull conversations since, as Anya’s mother used to say, “Füttere einen mann und du nährst sein herz.”

It really lost its meaning in translation from German to English, “Feed a man and you’ll feed his heart,” but Anya understood that men fell in love when a gal fed them good food. Probably one of the reasons Anya also had been unlucky at love. She could hardly boil water without burning it. Take-out and leftovers were her daily staple.

Nicole and Jackie Lynn rolled into the station, Nikki leading the way on her Harley Road King. It was a lot of bike for her 145 pound frame, but she handled it like a pro. Jackie couldn’t afford a real motorcycle and had opted for a Honda Cobra Speedster. It was a pretty, chrome-enhanced bike and Anya had to admit it had the throaty rumble of a Harley, but still… it was a Honda. Happy to see three out of the four expected to go today had showed up, Anya sat back on her bike to watch them fill up with gas. Glancing at the convenience store’s front doors, she considered one more time getting a biscuit wrapped sausage from the roller grill and scarfing it down while waiting.

Another gust of wind whipped the loosened wisps of hair into Anya’s face and tickled her nose. She put her hands on her helmet to lift it onto her head and stop her ponytail from being a face-tickling nuisance, but she heard something odd.

A buzzing noise.

She turned on her bike and looked behind her, up the access road toward the winery at The Holy Cross Abbey. The bee-like buzz came from a little scooter. It was coming toward the gas station, but—

The scooter driver leaned, causing it to swerve into the lot of the convenience store, and pulled right up next to Anya. She glared at the audacious rider, not believing her eyes. The woman reached up and unsnapped her chin strap to a ridiculously decorated Hawaiian-flowered, helmet, with a half-face, yellow visor. The helmet popped off like a cork from a bottle of champagne while short, black braids sprang to life without the restraints of the protective gear.

“Chris?” Anya blurted out before she had a chance to get a grip on her shock. “What are you—”

“Isn’t it great?” Christine Parker grinned from ear to ear. “I just bought it yesterday!”

“But…” Anya stared at the moped. “We-we are going on the highway—”

“Oh, this can do highways. It’s street legal and can go 60 miles per hour.” She waved Anya’s concern away. “I’ll be fine.”

Anya glanced at Nikki for help with this situation. She was so much better at talking to crazy people than Anya. Unless the crazy one happened to be her patient, she had no tolerance. Nikki had finished at the pump and eased her bike up beside Anya. She, too, stared at Chris’s idea of a highway-worthy two-wheeler in utter silence.

“Ladies!” Chris grinned like a used car salesman about to make the deal of the day. “This is a Vespa Spirit, it’s got 8.5 horsepower and a 4 stroke, 155 cc engine that can travel any highway or byway just like any ol’ four banger Hyundai Accent or Toyota Corolla. It’ll get better gas mileage than your Hogg,” she stated as if the Harley was a gas guzzler. “And I won’t be risking my life and limb on a great big motorcycle that I cannot handle.”

“But…” Anya tried again. “The highway speeds are 65-75 miles per hour. If your little put-put engine can only go 60, we’ll all have to—”

“It’ll be alright.” Nikki piped in.

Anya shot her a hateful look that only two best friends could give one another and not end up in therapy for the next five years. Nikki smiled one of her brilliant smiles, and Anya closed her mouth, but her teeth pressed down hard to keep it shut. She nodded in resolute agreement. At least they could get going at last.

“It won’t hurt nothing for all of us to go a little slower than the speed limit. We’re not in a big hurry anyway.” Nikki continued with a calmness Anya was not accustomed to. What was in her cigarettes that had her all mellowed out? She never knew Nikki to smoke the newly legalized greenery, but there could be a first time for everything. She glared at her long-time friend.

Chris’s grin widened, exposing the deep dimples in her cheeks that rivaled Ree Drummond of the Pioneer Woman fame. She tugged her goofy Bird-of-Paradise helmet back over her porcupine hairdo, while maintaining eye contact with Anya. Was she nervous about Anya’s disapproval? She’d never seemed to care what Anya thought before, why start now?

As a published author of over sixty fictional books, Chris had her own eccentricities, but she, too, had the important commonality that qualified her to be in this female motorcycle gang: unlucky in love and hated Valentine’s Day. They were a team even though they were vastly different from one another. As a team, they would ride today to avoid the trappings of this stupid holiday.

Anya sighed to shake off the annoyance. What would it hurt, really, to go sixty miles an hour instead of 70 or 75 once they got to Interstate 25 in Colorado Springs? Except they’d probably be in the way of normal traffic or get run over by the bigger trucks… sure not a problem at all.

Everyone finished gassing up and pulled to the tire airing machine.

“Are we ready!” Anya announced, more than asked, and glanced at her phone one last time to see that it was already 7:21. She sighed again and put the expensive iPhone in her leather jacket pocket and zipped it closed. Slipping her helmet on her head and closing the visor, she revved her Harley’s engine.

She loved the sound of a Harley! Motioning with a black gloved hand, she gestured for them to follow her. She pulled out to the access road, turned left at the stop sign, went through the round-about and headed to the stop light that gave them access to Highway 50. Soon they were on the road toward Penrose where they’d turn onto 115 and head north.

The road under her wheels eased her impatient nerves like a warm bubble bath, and she smiled to herself as the thrill of the ride began to fill her soul with joy. The only thing that could ruin her new peace of mind would be—

“Oh, no,” she muttered.

A state trooper came out of nowhere and punched his siren just enough to let them know he wanted them to pull over. His lights flashed an alternating, obnoxious pattern, like a psychedelic strobe light of red, white, and blue. He followed closely as all five women eased their bikes to the shoulder of 115. They had barely made it halfway to Colorado Springs. They certainly were not speeding. Thanks to Chris and her motorized bicycle. They were maintaining a speed that Chris could do comfortably. Nesting her between the four other bikes, she had been the pace setter.

What could this possibly be about?



Chapter Two

Lined up on the shoulder of the four-lane highway, three of the women swung their legs off their seats. Anya stood straddling her bike, prepared to dismount. She anticipated the state trooper to realize they were harmless women bikers and wave them on, recognizing his mistake. But before they had two legs on one side of their bikes, the trooper barked orders as if he were alarmed by their hostile movements.

“Hold it right there!” The barked. “Get back on your bikes!” The state trooper’s right hand hovered over his weapon at his hip. He crouched slightly with his free hand bowed out like a wing, ready to take flight should they prove to be dangerous.

What in God’s name did he think they had done? Anya watched carefully. Moving slowly to sit and then reach inside her jacket to retrieve her drivers’ license with two spatially-spread fingers. Since he wouldn’t let her off her bike, she couldn’t get her registration or insurance out of her saddle bags. But that was his fault, not hers.

The trooper walked straight up to Chris, in the middle of the bikes, all the while watching the other four as if they might jump him any minute. Chris popped out of her flowery helmet and shook her locks to life. Anya’s patience was running out. Why was he talking to Chris?

“What’s the matter, officer?” Anya called.

The trooper glanced at her with a frown. He eyed each of the women, as if he were making a decision about something. Turning back to Chris, he said something to her. She bobbed her head. Anya could not hear what they said for the wind whipping their words to the south. Perhaps Nikki and Ash heard what was being said since they were essentially down wind of Chris and the officer.

Chris smiled happily at the officer and he hesitantly returned to his sedan, turned off his seizure-inducing strobe lights and pulled away slowly, all the while glaring at Anya and Jackie Lynn who where parked in the lead.

Anya shoved her license back into her breast pocket and swung her leg off her bike. She stomped toward Chris, gravel crunching under her leather boots. Jackie Lynn and the others did the same, all converging on Chris in the middle.

“What was that about?” Anya asked angrily.

Chris laughed. “He thought you were kidnapping me.”

“What?” They all said as if cued.

“I’m serious.” Chris guffawed, obviously enjoying the annoying delay. “He asked if I was riding with you against my will. I told him no, we were riding to avoid Valentine’s Day and he acted like what I said was so bizarre that he had to believe it.”

“Well.” Anya sighed. “Can we get going then?”

“Sure.” Chris tugged her flowery helmet back on and revved her stupid scooter. It sounded like a bee on steroids. Anya gritted her teeth as she marched back to her bike and fired it up. Revving the gas a few more times than necessary to relieve her frustration, she turned to see if everyone was ready. They were.

She pulled back onto the highway and gave her Harley the gas, only to back off and allow Chris and her Vespa to set the pace from the middle. Thinking about the number of state police along this highway, Anya eased off her gas some more and gestured for Chris to take the lead. Maybe if four motorcycles followed the darn scooter, the law wouldn’t think they were kidnapping her. Anya’s eyes involuntarily rolled in their sockets before focusing on the long stretch of black top. Chris was likely loving that this had happened. Everything was fodder to her for a story.

She embraced bizarre situations and seemed thrilled when things went unusually awry. She flirted shamelessly with that cop but had convinced him she was alright. Rolling her eyes, Anya hoped Chris would get over herself soon. Ever since Chris’s divorce, she had become a strong, self-governing, successful woman who seemed fearless when it came to her career as an author. She had adapted the pen name Parker Longbody.

Christine had married young and tried for over ten years to be happy, but her husband disapproved of everything she loved the most, especially her “hobby” (in his opinion) of writing historical fiction. Among his list of criticisms: she read too much, her head was in the clouds thinking she could write a story that would be good enough to be published, let alone interesting enough for people to want to read it, she spent too much money on a ridiculously expensive computer, writing software, and God forbid she spend anything on superfluous things such as advertising or graphics and formatting apps!

He badgered her at every step of her attempts to be an author. He supported nothing she ever tried to do. Yet, he was a gamer who spent a fortune on accessories, software, and hardware.

She finally had enough and filed for a divorce. It was granted a year ago today. Since getting away from his oppressive negativity, she had become a USA Today best seller and was making a living from her royalties. She taught a creative writing course at the local community college as a way of paying-it-forward.

Entering the Springs, the five waited through streetlights and finally turned to merge onto I-25. At last, they were heading to Denver. The freedom of the road and the wind blowing against her visor was enjoyable for what felt like fifteen minutes. Then Nikki signaled she needed to pull over.

That was a preview of Time to Ride. To read the rest purchase the book.

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