by Linda Warren
“This way.”
He followed her behind the building then stopped dead in his tracks when he noticed the vehicle. Holy cow—the thing was a monster and in pristine condition. He watched Destiny climbed into the cab, admiring her athleticism as she hopped onto the running plate, took hold of the bar behind the driver’s seat and hoisted herself into the cab.
He got in on the passenger side and shut the door. “What year is this?”
“It’s a 2007 freightliner with a 12,000 pound integrated wheel lift, two 15,000 pound planetary winches and a Mercedes 250 HP engine.” She quirked an eyebrow. “Any more questions?”
“This machine won’t have a problem towing my Ford.”
Like a pro, Destiny fired up the wrecker, shifted gear and drove onto Gulch Road.
“What’s the deal with only three people buried in the cemetery?” he asked when the truck passed the burial ground.
“Melba says—”
“Who’s Melba again?”
“She owns the Flamingo.” Destiny waved at a man standing outside his mobile home next to the motel. “Back before Melba was born and her parents managed the property, there was a woman in town named Maisy Richards and she was engaged to a Victor Candor. Before the wedding took place, a stranger named Antonio Torres showed up in town and fell hard for Maisy.”
“A love triangle,” Buck said.
“Victor caught Antonio stealing a kiss from Maisy and threatened to kill him.”
“Did Antonio go to the police?”
“No. Antonio waited for Victor to show up at his motel room and when he did, Antonio drew his gun and they shot each other dead.”
“What happened to Maisy?”
“She hung herself from the tree that stands in the cemetery. Witnesses say she wanders through town after midnight calling for her lovers.”
Buck laughed out loud. “That sounds made up.”
Destiny shrugged.
“Have you heard Maisy call her beaus?”
“No, but there’s rumors that people who stayed at the motel after the murders complained about hearing gunshots in the middle of the night.”
“Interesting.”
Destiny slowed the wrecker as she navigated a bend in the road.
Buck was amazed a woman her size handled the truck with such confidence. He’d never met a female quite like Destiny—she was a puzzle he wouldn’t mind solving.
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing,” he said. “Just thinking.”
“Has anyone ever told you that you look mad when you think?”
He relaxed his facial muscles. “I don’t get how you can go from being left at the altar to towing my truck without missing a beat. Most girls would be bawling their eyes out and inconsolable.”
“I’m not most girls.”
That was for damn sure.
“I’ve had my share of disappointments and it began early in my life.” Her fingers clenched the steering wheel. “Guess I’ve developed a thick skin.” She slowed the wrecker when she passed the Ford then checked her mirrors and made a U-turn before merging onto the shoulder of the road in front of his truck. “This will only take a minute.”
No way was he waiting in the cab. He had to see the pint-sized mechanic in action. “Can I help?”
“Sure.”
“Tell me what to do.”
“Stay out of my way.” She lowered the boom arm in the back of the wrecker then attached the wire cable from the tow winch to the front end of his pickup. In less than ten minutes she had his vehicle secured on the flatbed and ready to haul.
“I’m impressed.” And he meant it. “Where did you learn to drive a wrecker?”
“Simon Carter. He showed up one night to tow an abandoned car beneath an overpass in Phoenix and found me sleeping inside.”
“How old were you?”
“Thirteen.”
Holy smokes. “Why were you hiding in an abandoned car?”
Destiny started the engine, and after she pulled onto the road, she said, “I don’t like to talk about my childhood.”
“That makes two of us.” His comment drew a sharp look from her, but she didn’t prod him for details.
“Back to my original question, how—”
She glared at him.
“You don’t have to tell me about your childhood. I just want to know how you ended up in a broken-down car beneath an overpass.”
“I hitched a ride into Phoenix with a trucker and he dropped me off there. When Simon found me, he offered to call the police, but I refused, so he took me home with him and fed me.”
“How old was Simon?”
“Sixty. Sylvia, his wife, is a sweet lady. She insisted I sleep in their guest bedroom. The next morning I expected social services to pick me up, but Simon and Sylvia said I could live with them until I figured out what my next move was.”
“Generous people.”
“Sylvia offered to homeschool me, and when I had free time I went out on calls with Simon in the wrecker.” She shrugged. “After a few months they asked if they could adopt me and I said yes.”
“How long did you live with the couple?” Buck asked.
“I was nineteen when Simon died of a heart attack.”
Even though Destiny showed little emotion, he got the feeling Simon’s death had affected her deeply. “I’m sorry.”
“Sylvia sold the house and moved to Florida to live with her sister. She gave me Simon’s truck, his tools and a little money. I advertised on Craigslist and made enough cash towing to pay for an apartment and keep gas in the truck.”
“How did you end up in Lizard Gulch?”
“I’d been searching for a place to set down roots,” she said.
“And when you ran across Lizard Gulch, the town shouted Home Sweet Home?”
“It’s not such a bad place.”
Buck had a hunch Destiny was looking for another Simon to replace the one she’d lost, and there were plenty of geezers in the desert hideaway to fill the role. “How do you get enough tows in this area to stay in business?”
“I answer calls for car accidents between here, Kingman and Flagstaff. I average about three tows per month.”
“How many car repair jobs come along?”
“I’m lucky if I get one every sixty days and those usually come from referrals.”
Destiny’s towing business could bring in a lot more money in Tucson, Yuma or Phoenix. It didn’t make sense for her to live in Lizard Gulch.
“Where are you from?” she asked.
“Ever heard of Stagecoach? It’s southeast of Yuma.”
“Sounds like another little town.”
“It is. My six siblings and I grew up on my grandfather’s pecan farm.”
“You have six siblings?”
“Five brothers and one sister.”
“Wow. You kept your mother busy.”
“Not really. Our grandparents raised us.” He guessed he and Destiny had that in common—depending on old people.
“So you chose rodeo instead of farming?”
“My brother Conway manages the pecan orchard. He and his wife and their twin sons moved into our grandparents’ house. My eldest brother, Johnny, recently married and had a daughter.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Kidding about what?” he asked.
“Your brother...Johnny Cash?”
Buck grinned. “My mother named my brothers and me after country-and-western legends.”
Destiny grinned. “Tell me the names.”
“I’m glad we amuse you.”
“C’mon...”
“In order of birth,” he said. “Johnny Cash, Willie Nelson Cash, me, Merle Haggard Cash, Conway Twitty Cash and Porter Wagoner Cash.”
“Wow. You guys must have taken a beating on the playground with those names.”
“I’ve had plenty experience defending my moniker.” He smiled grimly. “Johnny and his wife live on his father-in-law’s ranch, wher
e he’s the foreman. Earlier this summer Will married the woman he got pregnant in high school and met his fourteen-year-old son for the first time.”
“She kept their baby a secret from your brother?” Destiny’s shock appeared genuine. “That’s not nice. Your brother had a right to know he was a father.”
Destiny’s statement made Buck feel all the more guilty that he hadn’t told Will right away about Ryan when he’d found out the truth.
“But I guess he forgave her and they worked things out if they got married,” Destiny said.
“They did. I didn’t go to the wedding.”
“Why not?”
“It’s complicated,” he said.
“You said you have a sister?”
“Dixie. She’s married and had a baby boy named Nathan. She’s a businesswoman like yourself. Runs a gift shop in Yuma and sells soap.”
“What kind of soap?”
“Fancy girl stuff. My grandmother’s relatives were soap makers in France, and Dixie uses the family recipes for her homemade suds.”
“Cool.”
Buck felt bad talking about his family when Destiny didn’t have one of her own. “Do you keep in touch with Sylvia?”
“We call each other once in a while and she sends me a keepsake of Simon’s every now and then. This past Christmas she gave me his military flag.”
“They never had any children of their own?” he asked.
“No. Are you real close to all your brothers?”
“I guess.” Then he’d gone and screwed things up with Will, and now they weren’t talking.
When they arrived in Lizard Gulch, Buck noticed the lights were on in the saloon. “The reception hasn’t died down.”
“Old people never sleep. They’ll party until they run out of liquor.”
She backed his Ford into the repair bay like a pro then hopped out and released the lift. While Buck waited inside the garage for her to park the wrecker behind the building, he examined the collection of auto parts stored on a utility shelf. She had three boxes of hoses and it took thirty minutes to swap out a hose. He’d be back on the road in an hour.
“There’s a chair in the office if you want to wait in there. The TV remote is on the counter.”
He’d rather watch Destiny change his hose. He went into the office and switched on the TV. After fifteen minutes he lost interest in the home improvement show and returned to the bay. Destiny lay on a creeper beneath his truck. “Almost finished?”
The clanking sounds stopped, and she rolled into the open then got to her feet. She avoided making eye contact with him. “You’ve got a bigger problem than a ruptured hose.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You must have driven over some debris, because the axel is broken.”
“What?”
Destiny wiped her hands on a rag. “I don’t have a spare axel. I’ll have to order one.”
“How long will that take?”
“A few days. Maybe a week.”
“I’m stuck here until my truck is fixed?”
She nodded.
“Where am I supposed to stay? The Flamingo isn’t even a motel.”
“Melba has one room she rents to guests.”
“How much does she charge?”
“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 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, 2
013. 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.”
