Читать книгу The Cowboy's Destiny - Marin Thomas - Страница 11

Chapter Three

“What are you doing under there?” Destiny’s voice echoed through the garage.

Buck used his feet to move the creeper out from beneath his truck. “I wanted to see the damage.” He studied her face, but her nonchalant expression gave nothing away. She didn’t come across as the kind of girl who’d swindle others, but maybe she was in a bind and needed money.

“I ordered a new axel. It should get here in three to five days,” she said.

Kingman was an hour west of Lizard Gulch. She could drive into town tomorrow, buy the part and install it by noon, then he’d be on his way. Buck considered calling her bluff—mostly because he didn’t want her to believe he was a dunce she could easily dupe—but he held his tongue. He wanted to find out what her game was.

The jilted biker bride with tattoos was a tough cookie, yet whenever she made eye contact with him the vulnerability in her blue gaze tugged at his heart, which confused the hell out of him because she wasn’t his type. He was attracted to the girl-next-door, who in his experience had always been reliable, dedicated and loyal—the exact opposite of his mother, who’d abandoned her children on and off through the years while she chased after her next true love.

“Not much to do in town while I wait for the truck to get fixed.” He scrambled to his feet.

“The Lizard Gulch annual pool party at the Flamingo is tomorrow.” She scuffed the toe of her work boot against the cement floor.

Buck decided to give her one more chance to come clean with him. “Are you sure the axel isn’t just loose?”

“You’re a cowboy not a mechanic.” Her chin jutted. “I know what I’m doing.”

He didn’t doubt that for a minute. “I’ll head over to the motel and see about renting a room.” Neither of them moved, and he swore tiny heat waves wiggled in the air between them. His cell phone beeped with a text message, breaking the spell. “See you tomorrow.” He’d look forward to viewing Destiny in a bikini and discovering if she had more tattoos on her sexy little body.

“Good night.” She went into her office and shut the door behind her.

Buck left the garage and walked down the street. When he passed Lucille’s Smokehouse, the self-appointed sheriff of Lizard Gulch stepped outside.

“Hey, Bernie,” Buck said.

“You get your truck repaired?”

Buck stopped. Destiny’s Harley still sat parked in front of the bar. “Broken axel.”

“Sounds expensive.”

“Destiny had to order a new axel, so I’ll be in town for a few days.” He motioned to the Flamingo. “I was on my way to see about renting a room.”

“Melba’s in the bar. Wait here.” Bernie disappeared inside then a minute later the motel owner appeared.

“Bernie said you need a place to stay while your truck’s being fixed.”

“Destiny said you might have a room to rent.”

“C’mon.” Melba sashayed across the road, the strands of her black wig swinging back and forth across her face. She entered the lobby, and Buck swore he’d stepped into the late 1950s.

“Most people get that look on their face when they come in here,” she said. “My mother put her heart and soul into decorating this place, and I haven’t changed a thing since I took over.”

Green carpet with tiny pink flamingos woven into the design covered the floor. A pair of white bubble chairs sat in a corner next to a modern olive-colored sofa and rectangle coffee table with stick legs on which a large chrome pelican ashtray rested. And there was a no smoking sign above the couch next to a mirror made of overlapping circles.

A vintage solid-state radio took up half the space on the pink laminate check-in counter. A starburst chrome clock that had stopped ticking at three-fifteen who knows how many years ago was mounted to the wall next to the desk. And above his head a large chrome Sputnik chandelier hung from the ceiling. Buck opened the guest register and perused the names and dates of past motel guests, noting George and Mildred Hunter from Saint Louis, Missouri, had been the motel’s first customers and had stayed the night of September 5, 1953. The last guest to sign the book had been Howard Nicholson June 12, 2013. Melba held out a pink flamingo-shaped pen. Buck scribbled his name and the date.

“Mr. Nicholson was a reporter for a travel magazine called Out West,” Melba said. “He wanted to include the Flamingo in a feature story covering Route 66 motels.” She reached beneath the counter and selected a pink bath towel, washcloth, bar of soap in the shape of a flamingo and small bottle of shampoo. “If you need anything else, let me know.”

“You wouldn’t happen to have a razor, would you?”

“I’ll check.” She left the lobby through a back door and reappeared a few minutes later with a lady’s pink disposable razor.

“Thanks,” he said.

She walked out from behind the counter and went to the lobby door.

“Don’t you want my credit card number?” he asked.

She waved him off. “We’ll settle the bill when you leave.”

Trusting woman. He followed Melba along the walkway to the last door. “This is the only room I rent to guests.”

“What about all the other doors we passed?” Buck had counted seven.

“I knocked down the walls between those rooms and made the space my private living quarters.”

“Wait a minute.” Buck blocked Melba’s hand before she slid the key into the lock. “Is this the room where Victor and Antonio died?”

“How’d you hear about that?”

“Destiny told me the story behind the people buried in the cemetery.”

“Don’t worry.” Melba opened the door. “The blood was cleaned up years ago and my parents replaced the carpet and repainted the walls.”

Buck entered, wondering if he was about to embark on a Caribbean adventure. The room had a floor lamp in the shape of a palm tree, flamingo bedspread and matching curtains, bamboo headboard and nightstand and the same green-and-pink flamingo carpet that was in the lobby. He peeked behind the bathroom door—a pink shell-shaped sink, pink toilet and tub with pink-and-white tile.

Melba turned on the air-conditioning unit beneath the window. “If you keep the room at eighty, I’ll give you a break on your bill when you check out.”

Eighty? “Sure,” he said.

“Lucille’s is the only place that serves food in town—unless you just want to eat pastries.” She went to the door. “The Lizard Gulch pool party and barbecue kicks off at four tomorrow.”

“Destiny mentioned the party. Where’s the pool?”

“Behind the motel.”

“I’ll be there.” He had nothing better to do while he waited to see what Destiny was up to.

After Melba left, Buck stared at the flamingo bedspread, wondering how many people had slept beneath the cover or if it had ever been dry-cleaned in the past two decades. His phone jingled, reminding him that he hadn’t answered the text his sister had sent earlier.

Guess what? Marsha’s teaching physics at the Yuma Junior College and Ryan got accepted into the accelerated program at the high school. Come home. We miss you.

Even though things had worked out between Will and Marsha, that didn’t mean his brother was ready to forgive Buck.

He texted back.

Thanks for the update. Hope little Nate is well.

Buck figured he had two brothers pissed at him now. Will, and Johnny after he’d missed the birth of Johnny’s daughter Addy in June. He left the room and headed back to the garage to fetch his rodeo gear and duffel bag.

One of these days he had to go home—whether he was ready or not.

* * *

DESTINY REMOVED HER dinner from the microwave and sat outside on the stoop to eat. From her vantage point above the garage she had a great view of the town and the Flamingo Motel at the opposite end of Gulch Road. Her gaze zeroed in on the room farthest from the main office, and she imagined Buck moving around inside. Was he taking a shower? Or resting on the bed watching TV?

What in the world had gotten into her—loosening the axel on Buck’s truck? Maybe Daryl ditching her at the altar bothered her more than she cared to admit. No. She honestly believed he’d done them both a favor by not showing up at the chapel. He’d yet to respond to any of her calls. He might not have his act together, but he wasn’t heartless and eventually he’d show up in town with an apology.

Daryl was the least of her worries. Without health insurance, finding care for her and the baby had been difficult. At least she’d located a women’s clinic in Kingman that had charged her next to nothing for her first prenatal appointment. Afterward, they’d sent her on her way with a free bottle of prenatal vitamins and several pamphlets on nutrition and the stages of the baby’s development, which she was instructed to read before her next appointment.

A movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention, and she squinted into the darkness. The door at the end of the motel opened and Buck emerged. When she’d come across his truck on the side of the road, she’d suddenly forgotten about Daryl, the baby she carried and the town’s problems. And then he’d smiled and her heart had stumbled.

Buck walked across the street to Lucille’s—he probably needed a drink. The first thing she’d learned when she’d moved to this town was that there was never a shortage of alcohol. According to the residents, whiskey cured hundreds of old-age ailments.

Destiny finished her dinner then showered before settling into bed and reading Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen. Melba had loaned her the book, insisting Austen was a highly acclaimed author. Destiny didn’t understand the book at all or any of the behaviors of the Bennett sisters. If it had been left up to her, she’d have told both Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley to kiss her ass then she’d have left town and struck out on her own.

A banging sound in the garage below the apartment interrupted her reading, and she bolted to the window. Buck left the repair bay, his duffel bag in one hand and his saddle propped on his shoulder. She watched him make his way back to the motel, wishing she could go with him.

She wasn’t the kind of girl most boys took home to meet their mothers, and she wasn’t a saint—she’d spent a night or two in motel rooms with men she shouldn’t have—but Buck made her yearn to experience the teenage milestones she’d missed out on. Like a girl’s first crush—that moment when she saw the guy of her dreams and her breath froze in her lungs. And a girl’s first kiss—hers had been from a drunk who’d mistaken her for her mother in the truck stop restroom.

Men had come and gone from her life but never once had any of them, including Daryl, made her yearn for more than what was right in front of her.

She and Daryl had been friends who’d ended up in bed together one night. Even though Daryl had made her feel less alone in the world, hours would pass by when he wouldn’t cross her mind. Unlike Buck, who’d been in her every other thought since she’d first come upon him sprawled inside his truck.

You don’t even know if Buck has a girlfriend or if he’s married.

The cowboy wasn’t wearing a wedding band but that didn’t mean squat. This was all foolishness on her part. Whimsy. She’d be better off reading thrillers than filling her mind with fantasy.

Tomorrow she’d tighten the axel on Buck’s pickup and replace the hose then send him on his way—after the pool party.

Seeing the cowboy without a shirt on would provide her with a lasting memory after he left Lizard Gulch in the dust. To hell with Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley—when she went to sleep at night she’d conjure up an image of Buck and drift off to dreamland.

* * *

BUCK WASN’T SURE what to make of the pool party. An assortment of old women wearing flowered swim caps played in the water surrounded by floating toys and chairs, while the other guests drank margaritas in red Solo cups with tiny umbrellas and flamingo stir sticks. A table in the shade held the leftover casseroles from Destiny’s wedding/mayoral reception the night before, and bottles of beer and water sat on ice in a rusted-out horse trough.

“The cowboy’s here!” Bernie waved from his inflatable dolphin chair floating inside a circle of heads covered with bathing caps. He’d pinned his sheriff’s badge to the front of his John Deere cap and wore a camouflage T-shirt and matching swim trunks along with white tube socks—the old man must be worried about getting his feet sunburned.

Buck searched the AARP crowd but didn’t spot Destiny.

“She’ll be here soon.” Melba stopped at his side. The twinkle in her eye suggested that she was aware of Buck’s interest in the mayor. “I imagine she’s catching up on sleep after going on a call at 3:00 a.m.”

He didn’t like the idea of Destiny alone on a deserted road late at night. There were too many weirdos out during those hours.

“The highway patrol asked her to pick up an abandoned car,” Melba said.

“I didn’t hear the wrecker.” Buck should have heard the tow truck since the town dead-ended at the garage and the only road in and out sat twenty yards from his motel-room door.

“When you get to be my age, you don’t sleep much. I was reading my gossip magazine in the lobby when she drove past. I called her, and she told me where she was going.”

So Melba played the role of mother hen as well as motel manager. She stared at his body. “Don’t you own a pair of swim trunks?”

He chuckled. “I knew I’d forgotten something when I packed for the rodeo.”

“I can help.”

Inside the motel office Melba set a cardboard box filled with mismatched clothing on the counter. “This stuff was left behind by guests. Maybe there’s a swimsuit that’ll fit you.” She left, and Buck rummaged through the clothing, finding a pair of blue trunks with giant yellow pineapples on them. “These might work.” No sense changing in his room. He stepped behind the counter and removed his jeans then yanked on the trunks. The suit was a little snug but covered all the important parts. He’d left his sneakers on the floor of his truck so he searched for a pair of men’s sandals or flip-flops but came up empty-handed. The thermometer hanging in the shade outside the office window read one hundred and two degrees—the asphalt parking lot would fry the soles of his feet if he walked to the pool barefoot.

He pulled his socks and boots back on, then tipped his Stetson over his forehead to block the sun, helped himself to a pink towel from the storage closet and left.

Wolf whistles greeted him when he returned to the pool. “Now that’s a sexy look if I ever saw one.” Enrick circled Buck, leering at his body. “Your ghostly legs and chest could use a little sun.”

“Quit criticizing him,” Frank said. “At least he’s got a chest.”

Enrick gasped. “What’s wrong with my chest?”

The two lovers engaged in a spirited argument over their physiques with Bernie threatening to issue citations for disturbing the peace.

“I think the boots are sexy.” Sonja shoved a margarita into Buck’s hand. She wore sunglasses with lenses so big they made her look like a bug from outer space. “Tell me, Buck...is there a Mrs. Buck at home?”

“No, ma’am.”

She squeezed his arm. “That’s too bad, but I—”

“Sonja, leave the man alone.” Ralph grabbed his wife’s arm and escorted her to the other side of the pool, where a group of women sat in the shade.

“Eat,” Melba said, nodding to the buffet table.

“I’m good right now, thanks.” Buck had eaten a sandwich at Lucille’s earlier in the afternoon while he’d listened to Hank’s civil war stories. The bar owner’s great-great grandfather had fought in the Battle of Picacho Peak northwest of Tucson, and the way Hank told the story his grandfather had been the last man left defending the mountain.

“C’mon,” Melba said. “I’ll introduce you to everyone.”

Buck met the people who lived in the trailers next to the motel. Harriet and Bob Wilson from Bakersfield, California. Bob was a retired lineman, and Harriet had owned a beauty shop years ago. They didn’t have any children. Another retired couple—Bud and Dorothy West—lived next to the Wilsons. Bud had been a welder and his wife a bookkeeper for a clothing store. They had one child, three grandchildren and five great grandchildren. Next he met Edith and Guy Heinrich, originally from Milwaukee, Wisconsin. Guy had owned a gas station before he’d retired. When Edith fell on the ice ten years ago and broke her hip, they’d packed their bags and drove south to retire in warmer weather. They had one child and four grandchildren.

After a while, Buck lost track of who was who and where they came from—his mind on Destiny, wondering why she’d settled among such an old crowd.

“Thought you’d be long gone by now.” Mitchell appeared out of nowhere, wearing Bermuda shorts and a Tommy Bahama shirt. Melba excused herself to talk to one of her tenants about a problem with their septic.

“The axel on my truck was damaged. I’m stuck here longer than I planned,” Buck said.

“While you’re here maybe you can talk sense into Destiny.”

“Talk sense into me about what?” Destiny stopped at Buck’s side.

Wow. Buck’s mouth dropped open. Destiny wore a black bikini with little white skulls and crossbones printed on the fabric. She’d pinned her long red hair to her head in a sloppy knot that begged for a man to stick his fingers in it and mess it up some more. His gaze roamed over her body, pausing on her breasts, where part of a tattoo peeked out from beneath the swimsuit top. As he stared down at all that sexiness crammed into a tiny body, he couldn’t recall why he preferred taller women.

“Ms. Mayor,” Mitchell said. Buck noticed the lawyer appeared oblivious to Destiny’s hotness. Idiot. “Why don’t you ask Buck to weigh in on the town’s situation? A stranger’s perspective might be helpful.”

“Or better yet,” Destiny said, “Maybe Buck can convince the recalled mayor to get the heck out of town and stay out?” Then she turned to Buck and said, “Take off your boots. You look ridiculous.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Buck sat in a lawn chair and removed his Ariats and socks then stood. When he noticed Destiny ogling his legs, he suddenly wished his trunks weren’t so snug.

Mitchell stuck his fingers in his mouth and whistled. “I need everyone’s attention.” Once the Geritol crowd settled down, he said, “Jack Custer has put forth a new offer.”

Destiny ground her back teeth together to keep from pushing Mitchell into the pool. Damn him for using the party—an event intended to bring the town together—as a means to divide the residents.

“How much is he willing to pay us this time?” Frank shouted above the rumblings.

“Wyndell Resorts is prepared to pay each resident of Lizard Gulch $80,000 for their property.”

Destiny scoffed. “That’s only $5,000 more than the previous offer.”

“Eighty thousand dollars is a lot of money,” a woman in a swim cap covered in daisies said. “I could use the cash to move my home down south to my daughter’s property, and I’d have plenty left over to buy a new car.”

“That’s right,” Mitchell said. “The money would improve everyone’s standard of living.”

“There ain’t nothing wrong with my standard of living.” Bernie paddled his dolphin across the water and clung to the edge of the pool next to where Mitchell stood.

“What’s going on?” Buck asked.

Destiny had hoped he wouldn’t stick his nose into their business. The last thing she needed was a stranger swaying the town to take the developer’s side. “A group of wealthy investors wants to buy Lizard Gulch, bulldoze the town and build a resort in its place.”

“Lizard Gulch is in the middle of nowhere.” Buck frowned at Mitchell.

“Ever see the movie Field of Dreams?” Mitchell asked.

“Build it and they will come?” Buck said. “That’s what you’re banking on?”

“Route 66 properties draw thousands of vacationers each year. Jack Custer studied this area and it’s close enough to California that people will view an all-inclusive resort as a great weekend getaway.”

“There wouldn’t be much for resort guests to do if they don’t play golf,” Buck said.

Mitchell ignored Buck’s comment and spoke to the group. “You’ve got one month to decide whether or not to take the new offer.”

“What happens if we can’t agree to sell or not?” Melba asked.

“You know that I consider you my friends,” Mitchell said.

Destiny choked on her spit.

“When I was mayor I had to comply with state guidelines and submit answers to a questionnaire.”

“What kind of questionnaire?” Destiny asked.

“I had to inform state officials that you haven’t had the water well tested in fifteen years,” Mitchell said.

“I’ve been drinking tap water for twenty years and I haven’t gotten sick or died.” Bernie cupped his hands in the water and directed a wave of it at Mitchell, who was forced to jump back to avoid getting his shorts wet.

“I also had to disclose to the state that none of you pay property taxes.”

“Are you crazy?” Destiny spread her arms wide. “We don’t pay taxes, because we don’t use any fire or police services.”

“And you have no place for children to go to school,” Mitchell said.

The lawyer was grasping at straws. “Do you see any residents of child-bearing age?”

“Just you.”

Destiny sucked in a quiet gasp. Had Daryl leaked that she was pregnant?

Mitchell raised his margarita glass. “A toast to becoming $80,000 richer.”

“Destiny?”

Someone spoke her name then an arm curled around her waist, and the next thing she knew she was seated in a chair with Buck squatting in front of her. “You okay? You looked like you were about to faint.”

“I’m a little thirsty.”

Melba handed her a margarita.

“I’d rather have water, please.”

Buck handed her a bottled water and filled a plate with chunks of watermelon and pineapple.

“Buck.”

“Destiny.”

They spoke at the same time. “You go first,” she said.

“Is there anything I could do to help you at the garage while I wait on the new axel?”

“About that broken axel. There’s something I need to tell you.” She stopped short when Buck leaned forward, the golden glow in his brown eyes sending her pulse pounding through her veins.

“I could work on that car sitting in the back lot.” He shrugged. “I don’t know much about engines, but I could hand you tools.”

His gaze dropped to her mouth, and all of a sudden Destiny forgot about being truthful with Buck. What could it hurt to wait another day before fixing the axel? “Have you ever changed the oil in your truck?”

“No, but I’m a fast learner.”

The smile he flashed convinced Destiny that he was fast at a lot of things, the least of which was an oil change.