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CHAPTER ONE
Alexandros Bacchus surveyed the sweeping expanse of sky and mountains in the distance. If not for the cattle dotting the surrounding grasslands, he’d think he was on his way to Mount Olympus. Unfortunately, thanks to mortals and their thoughtless disregard of the earth’s resources, his homeland was in ruin with little hope of repair.
Which meant that he and the other gods and goddesses of Olympus were destined to make their way on this planet until their final days. And there was no better way for Dionysus, the fun loving son of Zeus and god of wine and good times, to live than as Alexandros Bacchus, a Los Angeles television entrepreneur and owner of a Napa, California, winery.
“Alexandros.”
The petulant female voice, ripe with raw sexuality, grated on his nerves, as it had for the last six days of this three week trek. “Yes.”
“I’m bored. When are we returning to LA?”
He glanced at the mountains in the distance, graced with towering pine trees and snowy peaks. The woman was an idiot. Couldn’t she see the beauty lying before them? Or smell the crisp clean air, free of the smog that plundered Los Angeles much as it now did Olympus?
“Visiting Best, Montana, is my final stop on this tour, Bianca. We’ll be in LA within the week.”
His Brazilian-born traveling companion raised her arms and arched her serpentine back, stretching her abundant bosom under her silk Versace shirt. “You’re sure we’ll be home in time to make the photo shoot?”
“I’m planning on it. Besides, the television commercial is for my winery. If we’re late, production can wait.”
Turning onto a paved road with a sign stating Best was a mere two miles away, he stepped on the gas in order to propel his performance car up the mountain. Suddenly, the Saleen’s purring engine, which had emitted a comforting hum of power throughout their journey, began to sputter. Refusing to be concerned, he pressed harder on the pedal, but instead of cooperating, the automobile bucked and jerked, shooting up the roadway in a series of fits and starts.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” asked Bianca, her voice trembling as her hands clutched together in her lap.
“I have no idea,” Alex answered, refusing to allow her whine to upset him. This car, the finest ever made and, thanks to his personal auto mechanic, in perfect condition, had never given him one minute’s trouble. “Once we get to the city I’ll find a garage and we’ll phone Wiley. He’ll tell us what to do.”
Instead of feeding the engine gas, he eased up on the pedal, hoping to tease the 750 horses housed under the hood into submission. But it was no use. Within ten minutes he and Bianca arrived in Best as if on a four-wheeled Brahma bull. Peering through the dust cloud surrounding the car, he spotted a service station, turned into the drive, and steered toward one of the two garage doors raised in welcome. As he stepped on the brake, the car shuddered to a stop, gave a huge rattling wheeze, and heaved into a pile of rubber and metal.
“Ack, ack, ack,” Bianca coughed beside him. Waving a hand, she opened the door and stumbled onto the pavement. Bent at the waist, she continued coughing as her expertly streaked, waist length fall of chestnut hair billowed around her.
Sliding from his seat, he whipped open his mobile phone. After several failed attempts at securing a dial tone he headed for the interior of the garage. Modern technology was fine, when it worked, but he’d had trouble finding a cell signal throughout this trip. Next time, he would carry several of the cursed devices so at least one would work when he needed it.
Inside the garage, his gaze settled on a figure hunched over the front fender of a rusted pick-up truck.
“Hello,” he called, eyeing the interesting display of rounded hips encased in grease-streaked overalls. Either the man inside was a candidate for body sculpting or...
“You need something?” asked a decidedly female voice from under the hood.
Ah, America, Alex thought. The land where girls grew to be women who could do anything they wanted, and boys grew to be bigger boys, letting those women control their lives and take over all the fun jobs, maybe even president.
Before he could answer, the mechanic stood and turned, one eyebrow raised. “I asked if you needed anything. If not, use your credit card, pump your own gas, and thank you for your business.”
With grease-stained cheeks and a dirty rag covering her hair, it was hard telling the age of the woman, but after traveling with Bianca and her ever-present whine, this female’s no-nonsense voice was refreshing.
“I’m not here for gas,” he told her, ramping up the charm. “I need to use a phone.”
The woman wiped her hands on the rag hanging from her pocket and stepped closer. “Haven’t you heard? The cell industry’s made pay phones obsolete.”
“I do have a mobile phone,” he answered, reading the name Eddie embroidered on the coveralls. “Problem is, I can’t get a signal in these mountains.”
The rag left a smudge of grease as she swiped at her pert nose while taking in his Armani jacket, designer jeans, and hand-tooled leather loafers. “Guess you’re not from around here, or you’d be using BSTS.”
“BSTS?”
“Big Sky Telephone Service. All the locals have it.”
“Ah, sorry, only AT&T for me. I find it works in most populated areas.” Hence the reason Montana, one of the least-populated states in the US, was a problem. “I should have been better prepared for this trip.”
The mechanic spun on her heels, marched to what he assumed was an office and cocked a finger. When he followed her inside, she nodded toward an old-fashioned rotary dial phone on the paper strewn desk. “Afraid that’s the best we can offer. Eddie doesn’t believe in anything more modern.”
He inclined his head toward the name on her overalls, noting the slight swell of breasts underneath. “Then you’re not Eddie?”
Her gray eyes darkened to storm clouds. “Definitely not Eddie, and when you’re through I suggest you—-”
The main door flew inward and Bianca entered holding her left hand with her right. “I need a manicure salon,” she said imperiously. “One that does Solar Nails.”
Not-Eddie gazed at Bianca for a scant second. “You might try the Best Wash and Curl, across the street and down a block. Edna probably has some of those plastic nails she’ll slap on you for a couple of bucks.”
“Plastic nails?” The Brazilian party girl sneered. “I never wear plastic anything.” Gazing around the office, she heaved a sigh of impatience. “How about Evian? You do carry Evian, don’t you?”
“Sorry, no, too rich for my brother’s blood. But you can have a Fresh and Frosty from the cooler for a dollar.”
“A fresh and what?”
“Frosty,” said not-Eddie. “It’s a local root beer made from spring water that trickles down from the mountains. Pretty good, if you ask me.”
“Diet?” was Bianca’s next question.
“Sorry, no,” said the woman, grinning. “Then again, you need to gain a little weight, not lose it.”
The two continued to chat while Alex followed their conversation. It wasn’t often a woman took the time to speak with Bianca, one of the world’s most beautiful models, as a friend. Which made the mechanic even more interesting. What, he wondered, gave her the confidence to regard Bianca as her equal? What was the color of her hair? Her brows were dark brown, but that didn’t mean anything, especially since she had those striking gray eyes.
“Excuse me, but I’m making that call,” he said, picking up the phone. Ten minutes later, he cursed as he set down the receiver and gave a report. “Wiley says he has to come here to take a look unless...do you happen to know anything about exotic automobiles?”
“Maybe,” said not-Eddie. “What’re you driving?”
“A Saleen,” Alex answered, positive she’d have no idea what type of car that was.
Her eyes narrowed. “Really? You must be worth billions.”
“No kidding,” said Bianca, after sipping her Fresh and Frosty. ”He’s a virtual empire.”
The mechanic shrugged. “Money doesn’t always buy happiness or...” she headed out the door “a truly reliable mode of transportation.”
Alex bristled. The Saleen was more an art form than a mode of transpiration. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he followed the woman outside, where he found her already peering under the jet black car’s hood.
“Be careful, if you please. I don’t usually have just anyone touching my automobile.”
She stood and crossed her arms under her barely-there breasts. “I might only be a replacement mechanic and I know enough to—-”
“Where’s your brother, the real mechanic?” he asked, unsure he wanted a novice fondling his baby.
“In Kalispell picking up a supply order. He goes once a month and if I’m free I give him a hand.” She rested a hip on the fender and Alex flinched. “And you can bet your last million he’s never seen this car before.”
“And you have?” he persisted.
“Actually, yes. My ex owned one.”
“Ex, as in...”
“Ex-husband, the bum. Now, do you want me to take a look or not?”
He frowned as he gazed around the almost deserted town. A small bank sat across the street, nestled between a hardware store and what looked to be a fabric shop. Further up the road was a store advertising ‘feed, saddles, and everything for the rider’ followed by a business that announced it carried a variety of cell phones as well as the local favorite--BSTS. After that were two shuttered buildings, and across the street from them Roxi’s Mountain Oyster Café, the restaurant he was here to visit.
Facing not-Eddie again, he found her so far under the hood her sneakers were a foot off the ground. A moment passed before she slid out. “I’d say there’s something wrong with the computer, but we don’t have that diagnostic tool here. Not much cause for one when most of the vehicles Eddie services are older pickups. Owners usually bring their new truck to the dealer in Kalispell when they need work done.”
“So you’re saying I should call Wiley and have him bring whatever he needs?”
“That’s what I’d do if I were you,” she responded in a superior tone. “Then again, I don’t have a private jet or a half million dollars to spend on a car, either.”
Her cocky attitude annoyed and amused him at the same time. “I take it this town has a lodge or an inn, someplace to spend the night?”
She dropped the hood and smiled at him. “There’s a B&B straight ahead on the left, the Best Nest. Tell Edwina I sent you. Oh, and Roxi’s serves a decent meal all day. Tonight’s special is one of her most popular, and she only makes it a few times a year.”
Bianca, who had joined them, thrust out her lower lip. “Overnight? Here!”
Alex opened the trunk and began pulling out bags. “I don’t see any other choice. Once we check into the inn, you can see about getting that fingernail repaired while I phone Wiley. Then we can go to the café and try the special.” He piled the luggage in a heap. “Now give me a hand with the suitcases unless...does this Best Nest have a bellman?”
“A bellman?” Not-Eddie chortled. “Ask Edwina that question when you arrive. It’s sure to put her in a good mood.”
He hoisted a carryall over his shoulder while Bianca picked up a small roller bag and raised the handle. “This is going to ruin every one of my nails,” she simpered. “After all this work I’ll need a full body massage as well as a manicure. And an appletini, too.”
“I’m sure the Beernut, that’s the town bar next to the café, can make something close to it,” said the mechanic. “Just pull the Saleen next to the side of the building, and don’t worry about it. No one in town would dare steal a vehicle that useless.”
Ticked at her last remark, Alex opened the driver’s door, intent on a snappy comeback. But when he raised his gaze, not-Eddie was already inside the garage, ignoring him and his high performance automobile as well as his problem.
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