Skye reached down to see what the wheels had snagged on and pulled up a blonde weave. With a shudder, she tossed it onto the nightstand. “I ditched him to hang out with Remedy.”
Remedy, Tabby, and Skye made careful work positioning the trolley next to the nearest queen-sized bed. Maybe Kimberly could be roused enough to crawl up into it.
Her mom cringed. “That bad?”
Skye was spared from answering by a sudden retching sound. The next thing she knew, Kimberly had hurled tequila and God-knows-what-else all over her dress, the floor, and the duvet.
Remedy and Tabby sprinted for the hall, squealing and gagging in disgust, but Skye and her mom merely groaned at the idea of what a pain in the ass it would be to clean it all up. Decades working hotel housekeeping did wonders for a woman’s tolerance for coping with every manner of bodily fluid.
Gesturing to the mess, Skye shot her mom a wry look. “Still more fun than my blind date tonight.”
With a roll of her eyes, her mom got on her phone. “Hey, Annika? It’s Yessica. Would you bring your cleaning trolley and a new duvet to room 524 please?” To Remedy and Tabby, who stood in the hallway, eyes averted from the room, she called, “You two can get back to the wedding. We’ll take it from here.”
Some might not like working with their mothers, but Skye didn’t mind. Except for a brief stint as a waitress during high school, she’d worked for her mom all her life. And she was proud of it. She and her family were the backbone of Briscoe Ranch Resort for nearly four decades. Her father had run the maintenance department until his back forced him onto disability, while her mom was the head of housekeeping—a mantle she hinted at passing to Skye someday soon.
Skye made short work of helping Kimberly off the trolley and out of her dress, leaving her in Spanx and a bra, while her mom fetched wet wash cloths and towels.
“You’re too picky,” her mom told Skye as she toweled off Kimberly’s hair.
Yes, Skye was picky. She had to be. The next man she fell in love with had to be forever, no mistakes. “This is rural Texas. There are only so many men. All of the eligible bachelors who work at the resort or go to our church or live in town, I’ve either dated them or they’re not interested in me. There’s no one left, mama.”
She swabbed Kimberly’s face and arms with a wet washcloth, cooing to her as she worked. Skye had endured her fair share of drunken regret back in her early twenties, so she knew how awful the poor girl must be feeling.
Annika arrived pushing a housekeeping trolley. She assessed the situation with a frown and a shake of her head. “Every weekend, every wedding,” she grumbled as she walked to the bed.
Skye’s mom left Skye to attend to Kimberly while she and Annika stripped the soiled duvet from the bed and stuffed it into a laundry bag.
“I can help you with your man problem, mija,” her mom said as she pushed the voluminous skirt of Kimberly’s bridesmaid dress into a second laundry bag.
It was an offer her mom had made before. There was just one problem. “I don’t believe in old world magic, Mom.”
With Annika busy mopping, Skye’s mom watched with pursed, disapproving lips as Skye helped Kimberly crawl between the bed sheets. “It’s your generation. You don’t appreciate tradition. If there isn’t an app for it, it doesn’t exist.”
Skye had heard that argument before, but she knew better. If her mom’s old world magic actually worked, then her dad would be pain-free and back at work. If the old magic worked, then maybe Skye’s marriage would have, too, along with everything else that went wrong during those fleeting months. Her arms, working of their own accord, wrapped around her belly. “Mom, there’s no one.”
Her mom grabbed a water bottle from the trolley and set it on Kimberly’s nightstand. Then she squared up to Skye and took her hands. “Let me help you find someone to love.”
Annika mopped around their shoes. “Yessica helped me last year when Mitch wouldn’t commit. She gave me this magic coin that I stuffed in my bra and—bam—he proposed.”
Skye’s resolve started to crack. She took a long, hard look at Kimberly, slack-jawed and drooling, and going to bed alone—the perfect embodiment of Skye’s wild, rebellious, drama-addicted, terminally single past. Not a very pretty picture. Not at all. “Okay, Mom. I give up. Let’s do this your way.”
Even if it didn’t work—which it wouldn’t, she was certain—then at least her mom would stop needling her about trying such ridiculous, old-fashioned methods. Then she could get back to her equally ineffective, often ridiculous modern day methods of online dating and ill-advised blind dates arranged by eighty-year-old Bingo players. The thought nearly made her wince.
Annika gave a quiet golf clap at Skye’s agreement, while Skye’s mom straightened up, an impish gleam in her eyes that reminded Skye of her fondest memories of her abuela, the two of them sneaking cookies in the kitchen for breakfast while her mother was in the bedroom ironing.
Without warning, she plucked a hair from Skye’s head.
“Ow!”
Impervious to Skye’s shock, her mom dropped the hair into a mug lifted from the coffee caddy near the television. “This is going to be great, mija. You’ll see.”
Skye rubbed the tender spot on her scalp and gathered around the coffee maker along with Annika to watch. With Kimberly’s snores as their soundtrack, Skye’s mom brewed a cup of coffee right into the same mug that contained Skye’s hair. Then, from the housekeeping trolley’s mini bar replenishment kit, she pulled a bottle of bourbon and poured it in while chanting under her breath in Spanish, the words said too low and quick for Skye to understand them. Then she pinched silver glitter from the bathroom counter and sprinkled it over the magic brew.
“Glitter?” Skye hissed, because Really? The bourbon and hair, she could see, but glitter? Oh, please.
With eyes closed, her mom waved the cross pendant on her necklace over the mug. “No questions.”
Skye darted a look at Annika, who only shrugged.
After another minute more of chanting, her mom’s eyes flew open. “The rest of the ingredients, we need from the day spa.”
All right. That sounded totally legit—not. Because what old world magic didn’t require volumizing shampoos and nail polish?
Still, she and Annika followed her mom from the room like eager students. After stowing the housekeeping trolley in a housekeeping closet near the ice machine, they descended in the elevator to the ground level. They’d only taken a few steps into the lobby when they were stopped in their tracks by none other than Granny June, five foot nothing and sitting astride her hot pink riding scooter, dressed in an emerald jogging suit and with a lowball glass of liquor in her hand.
Skye’s mom put her hand on her hip. “Aren’t you up a little late for an old woman?” The teasing line was said with a heavy dose of affection borne from forty years of familiarity.
Granny June hoisted her drink, the ice clinking merrily. “I can sleep when I’m dead. What are you kids up to? Skye, shouldn’t you be out with Pearl’s son right now?”
“Vince Biaggi is a dud. No more dating advice from you,” Skye said with a wag of her finger.
Granny June replied, “But his Facebook picture is so handsome!”
“She’s listening to me now, June. We’re doing this my way, and I have just the spell to help her find the perfect man. All we need a few final ingredients and we’re off to get those now.”
Granny June stood from her riding scooter with a spryness that belied her age and extricated a knobby wooden walking cane with a bejeweled handle from behind the scooter’s seat. “I’m in. Let’s go.”
What a motley crew they made, marching through the lobby, past wedding revelers and clusters of hotel guests, then down a flight of stairs to the basement level where the resort’s day spa was located. Skye’s mom waved her master key fob at the spa’s main door, then led the way into the darkened spa, flipping on lights as she blazed a trail through the hair salon room and into the corridor of private massage roo
ms.
In the first massage room, her mom went straight for the row of aromatherapy vials on the counter. “A drop of lavender. Two drops of cedar. And, finally, the secret ingredient…” She hunched away from the group, but Skye swore she saw her spit into the mug.
Gross. But Skye couldn’t find it in her heart to mind. She was having a blast connecting with this side of her mom that seldom made its appearance anymore.
Then her mom was facing them again. “Skye, get a coin from your purse.”
Skye dug through her purse and found a quarter loose in the bottom of it. She held the coin out, but her mom shook her head. “Kiss it first.”
Her mom held out the mug. “Drop it in.”
Skye said a quick prayer as she released the quarter from her fingers. Bring my true love to me.
“Hold the mug and tell the spell what you’re looking for.”
Skye knew the answer without thinking. She cradled the mug in her hands and stared down at the brown, oily liquid. “A man with a kind heart and a career. And I’m not going to move away from my family in Dulcet, so he has to be local.”
“And Mexican,” her mom added in a sage voice.
Skye gave her a side-eye. It would be nice to meet a man who shared her culture, but that wasn’t mandatory. “And Catholic.”
Now that was mandatory.
Granny June nudged her. “Think bigger. Sexier. You deserve it.”
She did. Funny how low Skye’s expectations had sank over the years. “Someone handsome and daring, with dark, soulful eyes, and who makes my toes curl every time he kisses me. Someone who will be all the adventure and thrill I need for the rest of my life and who loves me more than anything else in the world.”
Granny June gave a sage nod. “That’s more like it.”
Skye’s mom smiled. “Good. That sounds like a man I’d want for you. Now find the coin. Don’t dry it. Just stick it in your bra, left cup, as near to your heart as you can.”
Skye dipped her hands into the now-cooled liquid and did as she was told, though the coffee was sure to leave a permanent stain on her white lace bra. The wet coin was cold against her breast, but other than that, she felt nothing new. No magic zings ripple through her. No swirls of glittery magic surrounded her like Cinderella’s fairy godmother had accomplished with her wand before the ball. Instead, she felt like the same old Skye.
“What’s supposed to happen next?” Granny June said.
“We wait,” Skye’s mom said. “Your perfect man will come. You’ll see.”
Another silent moment passed, waiting … waiting. And then the door knob turned. The door opened wide.
Skye and her mom whirled towards it, using their bodies to block the view of the spell ingredients scattered on the counter, while Annika pretended to fluff the donut-shaped pillow at the head of the massage table.
“We’re with housekeeping!” Skye called with a manic tone. “Just finishing up.” The last word died on her tongue as she took in the interloper.
A tall, broad-shouldered man filled the doorway, all muscle and tawny skin and smoldering hotness.
“Oh! Didn’t expect to see anyone. I, uh…” He scratched his head, tousling his inky-black hair in the most adorably sexy way. “I’m Enrique. I’m new at the resort and I have my first massage client scheduled for the morning, so I wanted to get set up.” His attention slid to Skye. There was no mistaking the heat in his eyes as his gaze swept over her. Then his lips curved into a hint of a lopsided smile, just enough to reveal a dimple on his right cheek. “I think I’m going to like this place.”
Skye’s mom nudged her in the ribs with a whispered, “It’s working.”
That was fast.
Like the addict she was, Skye’s body lit up with the all-consuming thrum of adventure and drama—her own personal call of the wild. Except this time, there wouldn’t be any negative consequences or shame brought onto her and her family, no repentance needed. This thrill was mother-approved. Skye was going to find a sweet, sexy local man to settle down with and then she wouldn’t ever be tempted again to run off in search of trouble. She’d have everything she needed right there in Dulcet—in her home and in her bed, forever.
She reached out her hand to Enrique, dizzy and breathless with the realization that tonight’s little spell was the first step in making all her dreams come true.
Coming soon …
Don’t miss the e-novella in the sizzling One and Only Texas series
IF SANTA WERE A COWBOY
Available in October 2016 from St. Martin’s Press
Also by Melissa Cutler
One Hot Summer
Praise for Melissa Cutler
“A hilarious, sexy, and entertaining read filled with light-hearted banter and exuberant and distinctive characters. The passionate and heated chemistry between them will have readers instantly falling in love.”
—RT Book Reviews (Top Pick, 4½ stars) on One Hot Summer
“Melissa Cutler is a bright new voice in contemporary romance.”
—New York Times bestselling author Lori Wilde
“Sizzling.”
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“A fun contemporary Western romance. Cutler brings Texas ambiance and color to this delightful and sexy tale.”
—Booklist on One Hot Summer
“A red hot romance with a sexy cowboy and a great story!”
—Fresh Fiction on The Mistletoe Effect
About the Author
Melissa Cutler has the best job in the world writing sexy contemporary romances and romantic suspense. She was struck at an early age by an unrelenting travel bug and is probably planning her next vacation as you read this. When she’s not globetrotting, she’s enjoying Southern California’s flip-flop wearing weather and wrangling two rambunctious kids. You can sign up for email updates here.
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Epilogue
One Wild Night Teaser
Also by Melissa Cutler
Praise for Melissa Cutler
About the Author
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
ONE MORE TASTE
Copyright © 2016 by Melissa Cutler.
Excerpt from One Wild Night Copyright © 2017 by Melissa Cutler.
Jacket Photographs: Couple © Stephen Carroll/Arcangel; Hat © Kotomiti Okuma/Shutterstock; Lake Background © Shutterstock
Author Photo © Tessa Desharnais
All rights reserved.
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eISBN: 978
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St. Martin’s Paperbacks edition / October 2016
St. Martin’s Paperbacks are published by St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.
One More Taste Page 32
