Then once more at four forty-five that morning because trust did not eliminate responsibility.
Cole caught her kneeling beside it with a flashlight.
"You checked that yesterday."
"Yes."
"And the day before."
"Correct."
"You trust your own work?"
Emily stood. "Completely."
"Then what are you doing?"
"Being head mechanic."
Cole considered the answer.
"Fair."
The ride organizer gathered everyone for the route briefing just after sunrise. The plan covered fuel stops, regroup points, weather, road construction, and the rule that no one turned the ride into a race.
Emily listened carefully.
She had been on long rides before, years earlier, but this felt different.
She was not tagging along.
She was riding near the front.
That fact made her stomach tighten in a way she found embarrassing.
Cole noticed.
"You nervous?"
"No."
"Liar."
Emily looked at the line of motorcycles behind them. "There are a lot of people."
"There were a lot of people at Thunder Ridge yesterday too."
"They weren't all about to watch me ride."
"Nobody is watching you. They're watching the road, which is what you should be doing."
She gave him a look.
"That was almost useful."
Cole extended his gloved hand.
Emily took it.
"You ready?" he asked.
She looked toward the highway where the first sunlight had begun touching the red rock beyond Red Valley.
A year ago, she had stood behind a counter and listened to men discuss a failing engine as though she did not exist.
Now the same men waited behind her.
"I've been ready a long time," she said. "I just never thought anybody would let me ride up front."
Cole squeezed her hand once.
"Nobody is letting you. You earned the position."
Emily looked at him.
"You always have to make everything sound like a job assignment."
"Keeps it from getting sentimental."
"Too late."
He laughed.
They started their engines.