Cyndi sidled up to the vintage motorbike, keeping an eye peeled for the owner. He'd sounded downright grouchy when he'd snarled at Peppie for waddling over to admire the bike. Dressed completely in dark leathers, with a scowl that would wilt the toughest salesman, he'd looked like the kind of guy she usually steered well clear of. Unfortunately, she just couldn't resist the temptation. She had this thing for vintage bikes, and to have one roar up to the Barkus Saloon was unbelievable. The intoxicating aroma of real leather filled her senses with a feeling akin to lust. She just had to touch it.
The machine was in mint condition, and her regard for the owner went up a few notches. It took dedication and a lot of elbow grease to keep one of these babies from becoming a run-down pile of metal.
She ran her hand lovingly over the chromed sissy bar, and walked in a slow circle around the machine, checking out the immaculately sparkling exhaust and shiny wheel spokes. Someone had certainly given them a good rubbing recently.
She fingered the braided leather that outlined the front flap of the saddlebags. The workmanship intrigued her. She'd never seen anything quite this intricate. She examined the bags carefully, looking for the craftsman's stamp, but couldn't find an identifying mark.
After taking a look around to ascertain no one was watching, she unbuckled the flap to take a quick peek inside. Sometimes leather workers stamped their initials on the inside of a piece so as not to mar the beauty of their creations. She peered inside the left bag, but couldn't see any markings. Grumbling, she refastened the buckles and went back around to check the bag on the other side. She'd just gotten the flap lifted, and her head down to look inside, when she heard the door of the bar creak open.
"Thanks, Bucky. I'll make sure Santa's good to you this Christmas."
Cyndi recognized the deep voice as belonging to the owner of this lovely machine. Damn! He must have gulped his drink down in record time.
Panicking, she sucked in a deep breath and willed a shift. Seconds later, her small, furry prairie dawg body tumbled to the bottom of the saddlebag. The flap slapped closed above her and she let out a sigh of relief. The dark, rich smell of leather surrounded her and she sat still, letting her eyes adjust to the darkness. She heard a creak of leather and the saddlebags dropped an inch closer to the ground as the biker's weight settled into the seat.
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