Hidden Summit (Virgin River #17)(51)

“You’re welcome to spread the word, as long as we don’t attract gangs,” Jack said.

“I don’t belong to a gang and I don’t hang with ’em.”

“Some of the riding clubs can get a little wild, can’t they?”

The man shrugged. “Maybe. What’s wild?”

“Get drunk, start fights, tear up the town,” Jack speculated.

“That sounds awful,” he said. “I wouldn’t hang with a group like that. That sounds like jail time and a big fine, not to mention a bill for property damage.”

Jack grinned. “We don’t look much alike, but it turns out we think a lot alike.”

“Looks like you just got out of the service. Seven years up here, you say?”

“I guess it’s always going to look that way,” Jack said, running a hand over his head. “Twenty in the Marine Corps. You get used to combing your hair with a washcloth and it’s hard to change. You do any military service?”

“I did not,” he said. “And I thank you for yours.” He put out his hand.

“My pleasure to serve,” Jack said, shaking his hand. “I’m Jack.”

“Walt.” Preacher came out of the kitchen with a steaming bowl and basket of bread on a tray. Walt actually rubbed his hands together. “I’m really looking forward to this.”

That brought a slight smile from Preacher. “I’ve only made this once before, but it was a hit.”

“No menu, huh?”

“I can’t keep this kitchen on budget if I cater to the town. I do try to keep in mind what the hunters and fishermen like, but that’s so easy it’s almost embarrassing. It’s wet and cold—they have favorite stews, soups, chili, and of course, they want something like their kill or catch—venison stew or chili, salmon or stuffed trout.”

While Preacher talked, Walt dipped his spoon into the bouillabaisse. The first sip of the creamy broth had him rolling his eyes back in his head and humming with approval. “When’s hunting season?” he asked. “I don’t hunt, but I eat like a champ.”

“You cook?” Preacher asked.

“Not at all. The two best things about riding are the views and finding the best places to eat. There are hidden gems like this place all over California—the back roads. My wife won’t even ride with me more than once every couple of weeks anymore—she loves to eat as much as me, but says I’m making her fat.” He shook his head. “Women are funny that way.”

“I have a wife and four sisters,” Jack said. “There’s a lot of talk about butts and thighs.”

“I hear a lot about that, too,” Walt said, dipping into that bouillabaisse again. “I don’t know what she’s worrying about, but whatever makes her happy. Look at me? Am I Tom Cruise or something?” He fished out a scallop and popped it in his mouth.

“Happy wife, happy life,” Preacher said.

“Preacher, this is inspired. You have a gift.”

Jack and Preacher both watched as Walt fished a lobster tail out of the stew and halved it with his spoon.

“There’s this little hole in the wall in Paradise owned by this Hungarian guy. He and his son do all the cooking. It’s amazing—one of my favorite places. Pull up to it and you think it’s a shack, a lean-to. Inside? Crystal and white tablecloths and the best food I’ve ever eaten. Then there’s a really small restaurant in Napa I love. I think they only seat about a dozen patrons, but it’s fantastic. Fancy and pricey, but they earned it.” He chewed, swallowed. “That’s pretty much my hobby—road trips and restaurants.”

“I could get into that,” Preacher said.

Walt grinned. “Get a little more hair on you, you’d be a natural.”

“I don’t want to interrupt your meal,” Jack said. “But I’d sure like to hear about your bike club.”

“Well,” he said, chewing, swallowing. “Well, I’m associated with a few bike clubs through the shop. This group I’m scouting for—they’re a little rough around the edges—these are not IBM sales reps out for a weekend ride. They take their bikes and rides pretty seriously, and they’re safe as babies, but I think they’ll appreciate it if you act a little scared when they show up.” Then he grinned and went after the stew again.

“Might have to practice that,” Preacher said, and Walt chuckled through his mouthful. Preacher gave him a half smile. “Give him a discount, Jack. The man shows the proper reverence for my work.” Then he went back to the kitchen.

“There should be four to six of them in this group,” Walt went on. “We’ll be back about a month from now. We can camp, but if there’s lodging around here that would make for a good base, point me to it, will you? These guys are not as into the restaurant part of the trip as I am. I’m planning on spending some quality time with Preacher.”

The door to the bar opened, and Conner came in, dragging off his hat as he entered.

“There are some cabins along the river, owned by a friend of mine. I have no idea how booked he is. Conner here stays in one. Conner, meet Walt. Walt here is a front man for a group of riders, checking out the area for a road trip.”

“Hey,” Conner said, putting out his hand. “Where are you from?”