She wasn’t the kind of girl most boys took home to meet their mothers, and she wasn’t a saint—she’d spent a night or two in motel rooms with men she shouldn’t have—but Buck made her yearn to experience the teenage milestones she’d missed out on. Like a girl’s first crush—that moment when she saw the guy of her dreams and her breath froze in her lungs. And a girl’s first kiss—hers had been from a drunk who’d mistaken her for her mother in the truck stop restroom.
Men had come and gone from her life but never once had any of them, including Daryl, made her yearn for more than what was right in front of her.
She and Daryl had been friends who’d ended up in bed together one night. Even though Daryl had made her feel less alone in the world, hours would pass by when he wouldn’t cross her mind. Unlike Buck, who’d been in her every other thought since she’d first come upon him sprawled inside his truck.
You don’t even know if Buck has a girlfriend or if he’s married.
The cowboy wasn’t wearing a wedding band but that didn’t mean squat. This was all foolishness on her part. Whimsy. She’d be better off reading thrillers than filling her mind with fantasy.
Tomorrow she’d tighten the axel on Buck’s pickup and replace the hose then send him on his way—after the pool party.
Seeing the cowboy without a shirt on would provide her with a lasting memory after he left Lizard Gulch in the dust. To hell with Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley—when she went to sleep at night she’d conjure up an image of Buck and drift off to dreamland.
* * *
BUCK WASN’T SURE what to make of the pool party. An assortment of old women wearing flowered swim caps played in the water surrounded by floating toys and chairs, while the other guests drank margaritas in red Solo cups with tiny umbrellas and flamingo stir sticks. A table in the shade held the leftover casseroles from Destiny’s wedding/mayoral reception the night before, and bottles of beer and water sat on ice in a rusted-out horse trough.
“The cowboy’s here!” Bernie waved from his inflatable dolphin chair floating inside a circle of heads covered with bathing caps. He’d pinned his sheriff’s badge to the front of his John Deere cap and wore a camouflage T-shirt and matching swim trunks along with white tube socks—the old man must be worried about getting his feet sunburned.
Buck searched the AARP crowd but didn’t spot Destiny.
“She’ll be here soon.” Melba stopped at his side. The twinkle in her eye suggested that she was aware of Buck’s interest in the mayor. “I imagine she’s catching up on sleep after going on a call at 3:00 a.m.”
He didn’t like the idea of Destiny alone on a deserted road late at night. There were too many weirdos out during those hours.
“The highway patrol asked her to pick up an abandoned car,” Melba said.
“I didn’t hear the wrecker.” Buck should have heard the tow truck since the town dead-ended at the garage and the only road in and out sat twenty yards from his motel-room door.
“When you get to be my age, you don’t sleep much. I was reading my gossip magazine in the lobby when she drove past. I called her, and she told me where she was going.”
So Melba played the role of mother hen as well as motel manager. She stared at his body. “Don’t you own a pair of swim trunks?”
He chuckled. “I knew I’d forgotten something when I packed for the rodeo.”
“I can help.”
Inside the motel office Melba set a cardboard box filled with mismatched clothing on the counter. “This stuff was left behind by guests. Maybe there’s a swimsuit that’ll fit you.” She left, and Buck rummaged through the clothing, finding a pair of blue trunks with giant yellow pineapples on them. “These might work.” No sense changing in his room. He stepped behind the counter and removed his jeans then yanked on the trunks. The suit was a little snug but covered all the important parts. He’d left his sneakers on the floor of his truck so he searched for a pair of men’s sandals or flip-flops but came up empty-handed. The thermometer hanging in the shade outside the office window read one hundred and two degrees—the asphalt parking lot would fry the soles of his feet if he walked to the pool barefoot.
He pulled his socks and boots back on, then tipped his Stetson over his forehead to block the sun, helped himself to a pink towel from the storage closet and left.
Wolf whistles greeted him when he returned to the pool. “Now that’s a sexy look if I ever saw one.” Enrick circled Buck, leering at his body. “Your ghostly legs and chest could use a little sun.”
“Quit criticizing him,” Frank said. “At least he’s got a chest.”
Enrick gasped. “What’s wrong with my chest?”
The two lovers engaged in a spirited argument over their physiques with Bernie threatening to issue citations for disturbing the peace.
“I think the boots are sexy.” Sonja shoved a margarita into Buck’s hand. She wore sunglasses with lenses so big they made her look like a bug from outer space. “Tell me, Buck...is there a Mrs. Buck at home?”
“No, ma’am.”
She squeezed his arm. “That’s too bad, but I—”
“Sonja, leave the man alone.” Ralph grabbed his wife’s arm and escorted her to the other side of the pool, where a group of women sat in the shade.
“Eat,” Melba said, nodding to the buffet table.
“I’m good right now, thanks.” Buck had eaten a sandwich at Lucille’s earlier in the afternoon while he’d listened to Hank’s civil war stories. The bar owner’s great-great grandfather had fought in the Battle of Picacho Peak northwest of Tucson, and the way Hank told the story his grandfather had been the last man left defending the mountain.
“C’mon,” Melba said. “I’ll introduce you to everyone.”
Buck met the people who lived in the trailers next to the motel. Harriet and Bob Wilson from Bakersfield, California. Bob was a retired lineman, and Harriet had owned a beauty shop years ago. They didn’t have any children. Another retired couple—Bud and Dorothy West—lived next to the Wilsons. Bud had been a welder and his wife a bookkeeper for a clothing store. They had one child, three grandchildren and five great grandchildren. Next he met Edith and Guy Heinrich, originally from Milwaukee, Wisconsin. Guy had owned a gas station before he’d retired. When Edith fell on the ice ten years ago and broke her hip, they’d packed their bags and drove south to retire in warmer weather. They had one child and four grandchildren.
After a while, Buck lost track of who was who and where they came from—his mind on Destiny, wondering why she’d settled among such an old crowd.
“Thought you’d be long gone by now.” Mitchell appeared out of nowhere, wearing Bermuda shorts and a Tommy Bahama shirt. Melba excused herself to talk to one of her tenants about a problem with their septic.
“The axel on my truck was damaged. I’m stuck here longer than I planned,” Buck said.
“While you’re here maybe you can talk sense into Destiny.”
“Talk sense into me about what?” Destiny stopped at Buck’s side.
Wow. Buck’s mouth dropped open. Destiny wore a black bikini with little white skulls and crossbones printed on the fabric. She’d pinned her long red hair to her head in a sloppy knot that begged for a man to stick his fingers in it and mess it up some more. His gaze roamed over her body, pausing on her breasts, where part of a tattoo peeked out from beneath the swimsuit top. As he stared down at all that sexiness crammed into a tiny body, he couldn’t recall