West Coast Smoker

I, hereby, leave my businesses Harrington Freight Corp and Harrington Motors to be owned and operated by my daughter, Logan Harrington and I appoint my wife, Lucille Harrington, as the executor of estate.

That was the one statement that Logan would remember from her father’s will for the rest of her life. When he died of esophageal cancer nearly five years ago, it turned Logan’s world upside down. She went from being the Paris Hilton of Harrington Motors to being the owner. Back then, she was still young and wanted to be free. She wasn’t sure if she could handle the pressure of properly handling her father’s business.

She still wasn’t sure if she could handle it at twenty-eight years old, which is why she left her father’s trusted colleagues to operate the business. The Corporate Officers and the Board of Directors made her job easy. Those were the people that had been working for her father for ten and twenty years, and she knew they could be trusted. She only stepped in as Owner when things hit the fan and she needed to make some decisions.

So, while everyone worked back at the headquarters and division offices, Logan sped down the highway in her favorite tractor-trailer. She slowed down as she approached a smaller car in front of her, not really feeling like causing an accident tonight. She changed lanes, following the blue sign that read Rest Stop ¾ Mile.

She often wondered if her father was turning in his grave. He’d left her to run his corporations, but instead she chose to work. Logan was never the type of person to boss people around. She didn’t have it in her to fire people or give direct orders. She couldn’t picture herself sitting on her ass at a desk, like everyone else. She liked to get down and dirty and work hands-on. She liked to be a leader, not a boss. What better way to lead but for the owner to do what her workers do a regular?

She glanced at the time glowing on the radio. It was 3:15am. She’d been driving for eight hours straight, trying to get the shipment to Chicago on time and early, if possible. She maneuvered the large truck into the gas station, pulling up next to a pump. Cutting off the noisy engine, she grabbed her cell phone and her wallet from the console before swinging open the driver side door. She hopped down from the seat onto the ground and slammed the door closed behind her.

She walked to the mini convenience store, the bell ringing when she opened the door. Her eyes instinctively squinted from the bright lights inside the store. She’d been driving for so long on the dark roads, the only light she saw was from other cars’ headlights.

Logan hummed to herself as she wandered over to the coffee machine. A good cup of coffee would allow her to keep driving for a couple more hours. She yawned as she poured herself a steaming hot cup of black coffee. She stirred in a few spoonfuls of sugar before putting a lid on the cup. She wandered around the store for a few minutes more, looking to replenish her stash of snacks and satisfy her growling stomach. Logan practically lived on gas station junk food.

When she had all of her needed snacks and candy, she walked up to the register. As the older man rang up her items, the bell over the doorbell rang again. Logan glanced towards the door, seeing three men walk in, chattering loudly and obnoxiously.

“Anything else?” The cashier asked.

“Uh, yeah,” Logan said, turning her head back to him. “Let me get a pack of Marlboro Golds.” She flashed the cashier her commercial driver’s license without him having to ask.

“Reds are better,” Someone said from beside her when the cashier turned to get her cigarettes.

“Tried them, way too heavy for me,” Logan responded. She turned her head, looking at one of the guys that had walked in a few minutes prior. He had deep brown eyes and a wild hairstyle, his black hair sticking up from obviously too much hairspray. Logan also noticed the words ‘Marl’ and ‘boro’ tattooed across his knuckles on both hands.

He chuckled, asking the cashier for his own pack of cigarettes. The cashier handed the cigarettes to both of them, telling Logan her total. After she paid the cashier and took her receipt, she pocketed her cigarettes, gathered her bags, and picked up her cup of coffee.

“Oh, nice truck, by the way,” The dark-haired man said, winking at her.

“Thanks…” Logan furrowed her eyebrows together.

“Looks like it came right out of a Barbie Dream House,” He laughed.

“Excuse me?” Logan asked, not sure if he was being sarcastic.

“That’s yours, isn’t it?” He pointed out the glass window to a bright pink Range Rover in the parking lot.

“No, it’s not,” She rolled her eyes. She pointed at her big, red and white tractor-trailer at the gas pump. “That’s mine.”

The man scoffed, “You’re kidding, right?”

“Why would I lie?” Logan left him, walking back outside before he could talk any further. She didn’t have time to converse with a stupid prick that thought all women liked pink and couldn’t drive big trucks.

After tossing her bag into the passenger’s seat of the truck and setting her coffee into the cup holder, Logan swiped her company fuel card. She held the gas pump and pushed the diesel button, letting the liquid flow into the truck. On the other side of the pump was a large tour bus, a bunch of guys messing around and being loud in the almost empty parking lot.

“I thought you were kidding.”

Logan rolled her eyes at the sound of the man’s voice. “Again, why would I lie? You never saw a woman drive a rig before?”

“Not really,” The man shrugged. “I just…I don’t know. I’m Brian.”

“Logan,” She nodded her head, not really interested in making conversation.

“What the hell is taking Zacky so long in there? I just asked for some more beer!” One man groaned.

“We’re never going to make it to Chicago if we keep stopping every hour,” Someone else said.

When she finished pumping the gas, Logan replaced the nozzle. She peered around the other side of the pump where the men were standing around talking, including Brian. “Not to be all in your business, but if you’re on a deadline, you better get there fast. Traffic’s gonna be crazy in a few hours. I’m hoping to be in Chicago within the next six hours.”

“No way you can do that,” Someone commented.

“I’m telling you, I can,” Logan smirked. “I’ve got ways, and I don’t stop every hour. This is my first stop in eight hours.”

The group of guys nearly gaped at her statement.

“You drive that, too?” Someone else asked.

Logan nodded her head. “Ever heard of Harrington Motors?”

“Yeah, who hasn’t?” One man said, catching Logan’s eye. He was tall and muscular, with two full sleeves of tattoos. His hazel eyes glinted in the light.

“Well, if you know a little bit about it, you’d know that my father passed and left the company to me,” Logan informed them. “I’m Logan Harrington.”

“Nuh uh,” A shorter guy said incredulously. “I thought Logan was his son.”

Logan laughed, “That’s what everyone thinks. I don’t have a brother, I’m an only child and Logan is a unisex name.”

“Well, shit,” The man that had caught Logan’s eye laughed.

Logan opened the door to her truck, stepping onto the step and settling in the driver’s seat. She pulled her seatbelt across her body and snapped it before looking down at them from the window.

“Good luck on your trip to Chicago. I’ll probably beat you there,” Logan grinned and laughed melodically again, starting the rumbling engine of her truck and driving away.