The Cowboy's Destiny

“Fifty dollars a night,” Destiny said.

This was becoming one hell of an expensive breakdown. “I guess I’m staying.”

“I’ll order the part now.” Destiny went into the office and shut the door.

Buck dropped onto the creeper and rolled himself beneath the truck. Sure enough. The damn axel hung crooked. He couldn’t remember hitting anything on the road. He examined the break.

Well...well...well... The axel wasn’t broken, it had been loosened.

Destiny had stranded Buck in Lizard Gulch on purpose.

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 (http://www.vintagelooks.com/detail.asp?product_id=hw-9315) 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?”