by Marin Thomas
“Aunt Amelia, you need to choose a design.” Lydia smiled even though she felt like throwing a temper tantrum. Three days had gone by since she’d toured the Moonlight Motel this past Sunday and had taken extensive notes on the property. She’d spent Monday creating two different designs for the makeover, and when her aunt wasn’t happy with either, she’d come up with a third idea. She didn’t have all summer to work on the motel, so today she was determined to move forward with the renovations.
“I’m not sure which one I like best,” Amelia said.
“Let’s go over them again.” For the hundredth time. Lydia joined her aunt at the kitchen table and opened the laptop. “This is the more expensive renovation, which includes a patio and playground behind the motel.”
“I like the idea of families being able to use the grill and children having a place to play.”
“A playground is cheaper to maintain than a pool and can be used all year round,” Lydia said.
Her aunt studied the first design. “It’s beautiful, tasteful, the colors are lovely, but...”
“What?”
“Maybe a little too cosmopolitan.”
Lydia clenched her hands beneath the table. “You said you wanted to bring this dusty cowboy town into the twenty-first century.”
“I do, but Emmett has a point. This is Hill Country. Tourists will want the Texas experience when they stay at the motel and this room looks like it belongs in Chicago or New York City.”
Until now Lydia had avoided discussing the strained conversation between her aunt and Emmett at the motel. “What’s going on between you and Gunner’s grandfather?”
Amelia’s eyes widened before she dropped her gaze and picked at a piece of lint on her slacks. “Nothing. Why?”
“You mentioned that you dated Emmett in high school, but he married your friend Sara.”
Her aunt’s eyes glazed over and she stared into space. “It’s probably difficult to imagine, but that man was such a tease back in the day.”
“You were partial to cowboys then?” Lydia asked.
Amelia nodded. “Weekends he worked alongside his father at the Triple D. They lived on the property and his mother cooked and cleaned for the Masterson family.”
“How’d Emmett end up owning his own ranch?”
“I was twenty-five when Baron Masterson passed away and his wife sold the ranch off in parcels. Emmett’s father was a frugal man and had saved enough money to buy one of the tracts.”
“What about your father? Why didn’t he purchase any land?”
“My father was ten years older than Emmett’s and he was ‘tired of chasing cows’—his words not mine.” Amelia smiled. “He hung up his spurs and Mother’s paycheck was enough to keep the two of them afloat. Robert and I helped them make ends meet when my mother eventually retired from the bank.”
“How many kids did Emmett and Sara have?”
“Just Gunner’s father, Donny. He died almost a year to the day after Robert’s funeral.”
“What happened?”
“Donny was changing a flat tire on the side of the road at night and was struck by a passing motorist. They never did find the person who hit him.”
“That’s awful.”
“It was hard on the three boys. Their mother had left the family years earlier and then they lost their grandmother after that. When Donny died, Emmett fell off the wagon and began drinking again.”
“I didn’t know he was an alcoholic.”
“Donny was a drinker, too.”
Lydia hoped Gunner hadn’t followed in his father’s footsteps. The last thing she needed was an inebriated handyman helping her renovate the motel.
“When Emmett’s drinking got out of hand, Logan quit rodeoing and came home. It wasn’t long after that Emmett gave up booze, but by then he’d lost interest in Paradise Ranch and had handed the reins over to Logan.”
“Sounds like Gunner had a challenging childhood.”
“Don’t feel too sorry for that young man. It’s time he grew up and ran that motel the right way.”
Lydia had a hundred more questions about Gunner but didn’t want to give her aunt the impression she was interested in him, which she wasn’t. Even if she were, according to SavvyMatch.com, he wasn’t a good pick for her. “We’re getting sidetracked. You said that you wanted to bring Stampede back to its glory days. What about Western-themed rooms? Cowboys, ranching and cattle.” Personally, Lydia thought that kind of decor was cheesy. But... “People staying at the motel would experience a taste of the old Wild West.”
“You might be onto something,” Amelia said. “The motel has to be special to convince people to drive out of their way to spend a night.”
Lydia tapped her finger against the tabletop, her mind racing through the images she’d committed to memory from the gazillion decorating magazines she’d subscribed to. Bingo! “What if each room showcased a Western movie from a different decade?”
Her aunt clapped her hands. “Emmett would love the idea and Rocky Point and Mesquite don’t have any motels like that.”
“I’ll see what I can come up with.” Lydia slid the laptop into her leather messenger bag.
“Where are you going?” Amelia asked.
“To the library to do research.”
“In an hour I’m meeting with the Stampede Chamber of Commerce to discuss other ideas for the town.”
Lydia hoped her design skills weren’t needed for those plans or she’d be stuck in Stampede forever. “I’ll see you later.” She drove over to the old Woolworth building and parked in the lot. She studied the back of the structure but couldn’t find any trace of Gunner’s graffiti drawing from years ago. The smell of fried eggs and sausage from the Cattle Drive Café followed her down the flight of stairs to the basement.
The librarian’s desk sat empty when Lydia walked into the room, so she wandered around, searching for books, magazines or journals that would inspire decorating ideas. After striking out, she connected the laptop to the free Wi-Fi and began Googling. Two hours later and suffering from information overload, she took a break to check her email.
Lydia was in between projects after finishing a redesign of a loft apartment for a newlywed couple in downtown Madison. She’d submitted ideas for a bedroom makeover to Mrs. Higginson two weeks ago but hadn’t heard back. She sent the woman a follow-up email asking if she had any questions or concerns about the ideas, then logged in to SavvyMatch.com—a dating site “for practical people looking for the perfect match.”
While the site loaded, she thought of Gunner. Her gut insisted there wasn’t an ounce of practical in his DNA. Men like Gunner were so far off her radar they might as well live on the moon. Lydia was searching for a guy who wanted the same things she did. A home in the suburbs, a minivan and at least two kids—because she’d hated being an only child.
Her profile popped up with three heart icons next to her photo. She clicked on the first heart and Jonathan001 appeared on the screen. He was thirty-four. A construction engineer—his profession complemented hers more than a bronc-busting cowboy’s did. Jonathan had never been married. He lived in Middleton—a suburb of Madison. His hobbies included bicycling, hiking and golf. So far the man was batting a hundred. She pictured Gunner wearing spandex biking shorts and a cowboy hat, and then her imagination switched out the shorts for a pair of salmon-colored golf pants—no way would Gunner be caught dead wearing the outfits.
Jonathan had a nice smile, but she wished he’d taken off the riding helmet he wore in his picture so she could see if he was hiding a receding hairline. Gunner had a thick head of shaggy hair in need of a trim. Lydia’s gaze zeroed in on the front of Jonathan’s spandex shorts—Mother Nature hadn’t left him well endowed. Gunner probably had more than he knew what to do with.
Before she opened
the second heart icon on her profile page, her stomach gurgled with hunger. She sniffed the air and caught the smell of grilled hamburgers and frying bacon. She checked the time on her phone and was surprised she’d been at the library almost three hours. She collected her things and returned upstairs to the café.
“Seat yourself, honey!” the waitress called out.
Lydia slid into a booth and perused the laminated menu.
“Name’s Dolly. You passing through town or here visiting someone?” The redhead placed a glass of water on the table.
“Visiting. I’m Lydia Canter.” She offered her hand. “Amelia Rinehart is my great-aunt.”
“Well, I’ll be. Welcome to Stampede.”
“Thank you.”
“Bart’s in the kitchen today and he can’t cook a decent hamburger if his life depended on it. If I were you, I’d order a grilled cheese.”
“That sounds good, thanks.”
“Can I get you anything else to drink?”
“Water is fine.”
“Be back in a jiffy.”
Lydia opened her laptop, pulled up the dating site again and studied Jonathan’s image. She considered the men her college girlfriends had married and none of them were sex gods. They were good, decent, caring guys and Lydia needed to keep that in mind when she perused the profiles. She wanted to be attracted to the man she married, but more important, she wanted him to stick by her side through good times and bad.
“If I’d known you were into spandex, I’d have worn tights today.”
Lydia glanced over her shoulder, her head almost bumping into Gunner’s nose. How long had he been peeking over her shoulder?
He sat across from her in the booth. “Is that the type of guy who turns you on?”
“If you mean educated and mature, then yes.”
“You can do better.”
“Really?” She clicked on the second heart icon and spun the computer toward him. “What about this one?”
Gunner studied the photo, then shook his head. “Nope.”
“I thought for sure he’d pass inspection because he’s wearing jeans.”
“You need—”
“I’m not interested in your dating advice.”
“You should be. I have a lot of experience in picking out top-of-the-line models.”
“By top-of-the-line I’m sure you mean brainless.”
“The ladies I court don’t need brains. They have other assets that endear them to me.”
Lydia scoffed. “You’re afraid of intelligent, independent women, aren’t you?”
“I’d love to date a beauty with brains, but those women are too demanding.”
“And you’re Mr. Laid-Back?”
“Life’s too short to be serious all the time.” He pointed at her. “Take you for example. You have workaholic written all over you.”
“I own a business. I have to work hard to stay afloat.”
“I thought your parents were wealthy. Aren’t they lawyers or judges or something?”
“Lawyers, and just because they make a comfortable living, doesn’t mean they want to support their grown daughter forever.”
“Since you’re busy with your—” he nodded to the laptop “—dating business right now—” he flashed a grin “—let’s hold off on the renovations. There’s a rodeo I’d like to enter this weekend.”
“There’s plenty to do around the property to prepare for the remodel.”
“Like what?”
“Empty the Dumpster in the back and arrange to donate the furniture in the rooms to a charity.”
“That’s a couple of phone calls. Consider that done today.” He waved his hand. “What else?”
His boyish smile messed with her train of thought and she couldn’t recall what else was on her to-do list, so she changed the subject. “I doubt you’re interested, but we’ve got a theme for the motel.”
“A theme?”
“Each room will represent a Western movie.”
“That sounds stupid.”
“I was hoping you’d say that.”
“You were?”
She smiled. “If you think it’s ridiculous, then I know it’s a great idea.”
* * *
“WELL?” LYDIA WRUNG her hands as she waited for her aunt’s opinion Saturday morning. After she’d run into Gunner at the café in town on Wednesday, she’d spent the rest of the week tweaking her designs.
“Movie-themed rooms.” Amelia adjusted her glasses and peered at the laptop screen on the kitchen table. “I like that you chose old Westerns.”
Lydia had selected six movies from different decades and each with a different leading male actor. “Do you think Gunner’s grandfather will approve?”
“Emmett’s a big John Wayne fan. He’ll love the Stagecoach room.”
Lydia stopped pacing. “Good.”
“How will people know what movie the room represents?” Amelia asked.
“Instead of numbers on the room doors, we’ll use placards with the movie title. Number 6 will be called the Stagecoach Room.”
Amelia nodded. “And the others will be the San Antonio with Errol Flynn, High Noon with Gary Cooper, Once Upon a Time in the West with Henry Fonda, McCabe and Mrs. Miller with Warren Beatty and Unforgiven with Clint Eastwood.”
Lydia tapped the laptop screen and another design folder opened. “There’s a business that creates custom wallpapers. I’ll pick a famous scene with the main actor from each movie and put that wallpaper behind the beds.”
“I love it.”
“I’ll head over to the motel to take measurements and put the finishing touches on these designs.” Lydia packed up her laptop.
“I’m going to Boerne with Margaret for her granddaughter’s baby shower.” Amelia placed an extra house key on the table. “We’re staying overnight at the William Hotel, then having breakfast with Margaret’s granddaughter in the morning before we do a little shopping.”
“Sounds nice.” Lydia dropped the key into her purse. “Who’s driving?”
Her aunt arched an eyebrow. “Are you worried I can’t navigate the roads anymore?”
“I didn’t mean to offend you, Aunt Amelia.”
“You didn’t, dear. Margaret’s driving, and before you ask, she’s fifty-six.”
“Don’t forget your cell phone in case I need to get in touch with you about the motel.” Lydia kissed her aunt’s cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow night.” She paused at the back door. “If you find any John Wayne souvenirs, buy them for the Stagecoach Room.” It was eight thirty when Lydia left her aunt’s home and the only business open at that hour in Stampede was the café. Hopefully Gunner was awake and already at work.
When she pulled into the motel, she caught a glimpse of the empty Dumpster at the back of the property. Gunner had followed through on his promise to have the trash hauled away. Maybe he was the kind of guy who just needed to be told what to do. Lydia got out of the car, but her steps slowed as she approached the office, where a note had been taped to the door. Got a ride in Rocky Point. Her handyman had ditched her. Lydia dug around inside her purse, searching for the motel office key her aunt had given her when she’d first arrived in town. When her fingers came up empty, she remembered she’d placed the key on the counter inside the office when she’d toured the motel this past Sunday.
Frustrated, she called Gunner’s cell. No answer. Next she tested the knob on each room door, thinking he might have left one of them open. They were all locked.
Lydia was aware that Gunner and his grandfather weren’t keen on the motel makeover, but they weren’t calling the shots—her aunt was. She hopped into the Civic and turned on her GPS app, then spoke into the phone.
“Directions to Rocky Point, Texas.”
Twenty-eight minutes later, Lydia reached the outskirts of the town. She followed the signs to the fairgrounds, which were hardly impressive. The area looked as if a field of scrub brush had been plowed under and a fence thrown up around a dirt circle. A pair of aluminum bleachers sat outside the makeshift arena. There was no concession stand—just his and her porta-potties located next to the livestock pens.
She parked between a Ford and a Dodge pickup, then grabbed her purse and headed for the entrance, where a bowlegged cowboy wearing a money belt stood guard. “Ten dollars, missy.”
“You’re charging to watch the rodeo?”
“How else are the boys gonna get paid?” He rubbed a gray-whiskered cheek. “You ain’t from around here, are ya?”
“No, sir.” She handed him two five-dollar bills. “Where are the cowboys?”
He nodded to the single bucking chute, where a group of men had gathered. As if the geezer read her mind, he said, “Spectators ain’t allowed over there.”
“How long does the rodeo last?”
“Couple of hours. Give or take.”
Sitting on bleachers in the hot sun for two hours watching grown men tussle with crazed livestock hadn’t been on Lydia’s to-do list today. At least the makeup she wore had sunscreen in it. “Do you have a program?”
He shook his head. “Bob’s on the mike today. He’ll tell ya a bit about the boys before they ride.”
Lydia climbed the bleachers and sat behind a pair of buckle bunnies. The women flashed their bold painted lips at her and she returned their smiles. The brunette’s gaze caught on Lydia’s navy linen slacks, reminding her that she looked out of place among all the denim and cowboy boots.
A cowboy walked in front of the stands and the dark-haired woman waved her arms wildly, her hat falling onto Lydia’s lap.
“Sorry,” the cowgirl said, snatching it back. The white Stetson matched the woman’s white shirt covered with pink rhinestones. The platinum blonde next to her wore a black shirt covered in silver rhinestones and Lydia suspected the cowgirls owned a BeDazzler machine.
Small-town girls in Wisconsin joined their local 4-H and dressed for wrangling milking cows and sheep, not rodeo cowboys.
