Marin Thomas - The Cowboy's Destiny

One more mile and the bike slowed to a crawl then veered onto a dirt road badly in need of grading. It wasn’t until the bike crested a small mesa that he spotted the handful of buildings in the middle of the desert. Twin palm trees stood a hundred feet in the air above the buildings and looked out of place in the dusty barren landscape.

His escort coasted into town—if the place even qualified as a town. He counted six structures. The towering palms guarded the entrance to the Flamingo Inn Resort—a seen-better-days motel that had been converted into a trailer park. A gas station with one repair bay and one pump sat at the end of—he read the street sign—Gulch Road. Carter Towing and Repair had been painted in red block lettering across the front of the whitewashed brick.

The Florence Pastry Shoppe, a two-story Victorian-style home, faced the motel on the opposite side of the street. A giant-sized croissant twirled atop a pole mounted to the roof. Three white rockers sat on the front porch.

Instead of driving to the garage, Destiny parked outside Lucille’s Smokehouse Grill and Saloon, which sat next to Dino-Land, a nine-hole miniature golf course whose entrance was guarded by giant plaster dinosaurs, their green paint faded and cracked.

She cut the bike engine and Buck heard the faint sounds of piano music. “What’s going on?”

“My wedding reception.”

Uh-oh. Even though Destiny didn’t act upset, he doubted the jilted bride looked forward to informing her wedding guests there was nothing to celebrate. He caught her arm when she stepped past him. “If you want, I’ll tell them the wedding was called off.”

For the first time since they’d met, she removed her sunglasses. Buck sucked in a quiet breath as he felt himself being dragged into the undertow of Caribbean blue waters. The eyes staring up at him were perfectly round and easily the largest feature on her freckled face. “Thanks, but it’s not a big deal.”

Not a big deal? What kind of man had she been engaged to? She climbed the steps to the saloon and he couldn’t help but notice that the white leather pants fit her firm little fanny like a glove. The groom had a screw loose if he let a woman like this get away.

“You’re welcome to come inside for food and drinks,” she said.

The other businesses appeared deserted. The entire population of Lizard Gulch, including the mechanic, Buck guessed, waited inside the bar.

“What’s it gonna be?” She tapped her boot heel against the wooden boardwalk. He took the steps two at a time then held the door open for her. As soon as she entered, the piano music switched to “Here Comes the Bride.” A group of geriatrics stared—mouths hanging open, their gazes swinging back and forth between Destiny and Buck.

A barrel-chested man who wore his long gray hair in a ponytail eyed Buck suspiciously before speaking to Destiny. “I thought you were marrying Daryl? Where’d you find this guy?”

“He’s a whole lot better-looking than Daryl.” A skinny man with gray sideburns and a receding hairline patted his chest beneath his cobalt-blue silk shirt.

“This is...” Destiny sent Buck a blank look.

Holy cow. She’d forgotten his name—that had never happened to him before. Not only was his moniker memorable, but most ladies thought his face was, too. “Buck Owens Cash.”

“Buck Owens? Why Buck is one of my favorite country-and-western singers.” A blonde lady wearing a strapless rhinestone dress that pushed her wrinkled bosom up to her chin batted her eyelashes.

“Heel, Sonja.”

“Go soak your head in a bucket, Ralph,” Sonja said.

“Whoever thought to name their kid Buck Owens Cash must have been a dimwit.” A man closer in age to Buck moved to the front of the group. Dressed in a gray suit and red tie, he assessed Buck. “Is Cash your real surname or one you made up to go with your Vegas stage name?”

Stage name? “All three names are for real, and I doubt my deceased mother would appreciate you calling her a dimwit,” Buck said.

“Knock it off, Mark. Buck’s pickup broke down near the chapel and I gave him a lift into town,” Destiny explained.

“You look very...hot.” Sonja handed him a bottled water.

“Thank you, ma’am.” Buck guzzled the drink.

“Where’s Daryl?”

“What happened?”

“How come you’re late?”

Questions were fired at Destiny from all directions, and she raised her hands in surrender. “Daryl was a no-show.”

An elderly man with grizzled cheeks dressed in polyester slacks and a plaid dress shirt appeared at Destiny’s side. He tapped his finger against what appeared to be a toy sheriff’s badge pinned to his shirt. “Want me to bring him in?”

Was this guy for real?

“Thank you for your concern, everyone, but I’d rather Daryl have changed his mind about marrying me now than after we tied the knot.”

The redhead didn’t act the least bit heartbroken, which Buck found hard to accept. Then again a woman who sported a lizard tattoo and biceps muscles was probably as tough on the inside as she appeared on the outside.

“Violet.” Destiny removed her veil and handed it to a lady with blue hair. “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to break the curse.”

What curse?

“Never mind, dear,” Violet said. “I shouldn’t have loaned it out. I probably passed my bad luck on to you.”

“Good Lord, Violet.” A woman standing by the piano spoke. “That wedding veil has made a dozen trips down the aisle and not one of those marriages lasted more than a few years.”

“Eleven, and none of the divorces were my fault.” Violet winked at Buck. “Can’t help it if I’m attracted to bad boys.”

Buck felt his face heat up.

Destiny came to his rescue. “No need to let all this food and drink go to waste.”

“We never celebrated Destiny’s mayoral win,” the sheriff said. “We should turn this into a victory party.”

The biker chick was the mayor of Lizard Gulch?

“Three cheers for Destiny!”

Hoots and hollers echoed through the bar then folks crowded the buffet table, loading their Chinet plates with every kind of casserole known to mankind.

Someone pushed him toward the food line. “Go eat.”

He did as he was told, then stood in the corner and watched Destiny make the rounds, chatting with her constituents and listening to their complaints and concerns as if she really cared.

“Is this your first time in Lizard Gulch?” Mr. Suit-and-Tie held out his hand. “Mark Mitchell.”

After he shook Mitchell’s hand, Buck said, “Until a few minutes ago I wasn’t aware the town existed.”

“Lizard Gulch used to be a lively place in its day.”

“And when was that?” A century ago?

“Five decades of prosperity before the Interstate took all the traffic north of the town. Lizard Gulch was a popular overnight stop on the old Route 66.” He pointed to a lady a few feet away, whose shoulder-length black bob looked like a wig. “Melba’s parents ran the Flamingo Resort. Travelers stopped here on their way to California, because the motel had an outdoor pool and slide for kids.” Mitchell wiped his brow with a napkin. “Once they finished construction of the Interstate, people drove straight through to California.”

“I’m surprised the town wasn’t abandoned.” How did anyone make a living? Then again, the average age in the saloon had to be sixtysomething. Maybe they were all retired.

“The town sat vacant for years. When Melba’s husband died, she quit her job as a bank teller in Kingman, then took his insurance money and renovated the Flamingo. Turned the parking lot into a mobile home park and invited friends to visit. Her friends told their friends and before you knew it the place filled up with old farts.”