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The Cowboy's Accidental Baby
Marin Thomas
FROM PLAYBOY COWBOY TO…DADDY?Bronc rider Gunner Hardell never plans past the next stop on the rodeo. When he’s home in Stampede, Texas, he’s part-time manager of the run-down Moonlight Motel, to get his crotchety grandpa off his back. Then he meets interior designer, Lydia Canter—hired to renovate the motel—and suddenly the gig gets a whole lot more appealing…Lydia is looking for love, but there’s nothing wrong with some Mr. Right Now, while she waits for Mr. Right. But one steamy night with Gunner has unexpected consequences. And she would rather raise their baby alone than give the good-time cowboy a chance to break her heart. When Gunner learns he’s going to be a daddy, he’s determined to prove to Lydia he really is her Mr. Right!


FROM PLAYBOY COWBOY TO...DADDY?
Bronc rider Gunner Hardell never plans past the next stop on the rodeo. When he’s home in Stampede, Texas, he’s part-time manager of the run-down Moonlight Motel, to get his crotchety grandpa off his back. Then he meets interior designer Lydia Canter—hired to renovate the motel—and suddenly the gig gets a whole lot more appealing...
Lydia is looking for love, but there’s nothing wrong with some Mr. Right Now while she waits for Mr. Right. But one steamy night with Gunner has unexpected consequences. And she would rather raise their baby alone than give the good-time cowboy a chance to break her heart. When Gunner learns he’s going to be a daddy, he’s determined to prove to Lydia he really is her Mr. Right!
“The right man for you isn’t on a dating site.”
“How do you know?” Lydia retorted.
“I know because...” The tender expression in Gunner’s eyes rocked her back on her heels. “You’re a special lady in a category all by herself.”
After all the teasing and mocking, Lydia wasn’t sure she believed him.
“And,” he continued, “if you open yourself up to new experiences, you might discover that what you thought you wanted in a man isn’t what you want after all.”
“What kinds of new experiences are you talking about?”
“Ever had a fling?”
She sucked in a quick breath. “No.”
The air sizzled between them. Gunner Hardell wasn’t her type—wasn’t even close to the guys she’d been paired with on savvymatch.com—but there was no denying they were attracted to each other.
His gaze warmed and he tilted his head to the side so the brim of his cowboy hat didn’t bump her in the face.
“This isn’t a good idea,” she said, hoping like crazy that he hadn’t heard her.
Dear Reader (#u0044a212-21fe-5699-a566-69fceba8b93a),
I’ve never tried an online dating site but I have friends and relatives who’ve joined them and found their perfect match. Those who didn’t... Well, their dating stories would make great fodder for a book! As humans, we are always searching for perfection, for that one person who possesses characteristics and qualities we believe are a perfect match for us.
Needless to say, Gunner Hardell doesn’t come close to the perfect match Lydia Canter is looking for in a husband. And Lydia’s not the kind of woman laid-back cowboy Gunner is looking to have a long-term relationship with. Lydia and Gunner have their lives all mapped out until a night of fun leaves them grappling with an unplanned pregnancy.
I hope you enjoy watching Lydia and Gunner struggle to do what they believe is in the best interests of their child, only to discover that what they think they want isn’t what they really need.
For more information on me and my books, I invite you to visit marinthomas.com (http://www.marinthomas.com). You can keep up-to-date on my current releases and promotional giveaways by signing up for my newsletter at bit.ly/marinthomasupdates (http://www.marinthomas.com/sign-up-for-updates).
Happy reading,
Marin
The Cowboy’s Accidental Baby
Marin Thomas


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
MARIN THOMAS grew up in the Midwest, then attended college at the U of A in Tucson, Arizona, where she earned a BA in radio-TV and played basketball for the Lady Wildcats. Following graduation, she married her college sweetheart in the historic Little Chapel of the West in Las Vegas, Nevada. Recent empty-nesters Marin and her husband now live in Texas, where cattle is king, cowboys are plentiful and pickups rule the road. Visit her on the web at marinthomas.com (http://www.marinthomas.com).
To all of my readers *waves* who can’t get enough of my cowboy stories, which is a good thing since I really like writing them.
#Stampede #Texas #CowboysofStampedeTexas #LongLiveCowboys #Cowgirl #Cowboy #Boots #CountryMusic #Rodeo #BroncBusting #BullRiding #Romance #HappyEverAfter
Contents
Cover (#u52dd2a5a-0294-5123-bca0-c6acae560595)
Back Cover Text (#u362386f0-0aea-515b-8dc4-7d553a41f767)
Introduction (#u6b44a67a-8dab-565e-99a8-19f57eae34b4)
Dear Reader (#ue42e7ad3-c2d8-5d2e-8b67-330ea48930ce)
Title Page (#ufa512f35-464c-54f9-b5b8-67bbb65d2fde)
About the Author (#ubbf0c7a1-8c48-51ef-ab2f-36de8449e8c9)
Dedication (#ua75e8f38-81e6-5309-a8a6-c0d8a4e0d9b2)
Chapter One (#ubdae621e-d3cc-5137-bceb-7036f76cf864)
Chapter Two (#u44f5d203-e4c2-50bd-9436-f897aadbffc7)
Chapter Three (#uf7655e41-1a5b-54b2-a167-91ed85ea5145)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#u0044a212-21fe-5699-a566-69fceba8b93a)
“You ever seen a cowboy ride a bull, sweetheart?” Gunner Hardell winked at the sassy redhead he was flirting with Saturday afternoon in the Gold Buckle Bar—the best cowboy saloon in Mesquite, Texas.
“No.” Eyes as big as the Lone Star State and brown as the muddy Rio Grande blinked at Gunner.
“Well, Pa...” Dang, what was her name? Patricia... Patsy... Pamela? “You’re in for a real treat because—”
“Hardell, I got ten bucks that says you won’t make it to eight.”
The redhead forgotten, Gunner spun and grinned at the cowboy striding his way. “Watch and weep, Johnson.” He crossed the squishy mat and made a big production of circling Diablo, the infamous bucking machine. The bar had purchased the mechanical bull a while ago, but Gunner had yet to test it out.
“Be careful!” Redhead whatever-her-name-was called out.
Johnson mimicked the buckle bunny and male chuckles erupted, but Gunner paid no mind. His competition was just jealous that the prettiest, sexiest girls gravitated toward him. While his buddies practiced their macho swaggering walks and sulky expressions, Gunner smiled and treated the barflies like ladies, endearing himself to the opposite sex. The young women competed to be Gunner’s one and only, but none had convinced him to trade in his bachelorhood for a pair of matching wedding bands.
Gunner eyed the bucking machine. After he’d entered the bar earlier, he’d hidden in the shadows and watched the big shots take turns on the ride. The bull was a far cry from a real one, but it snorted smoke and challenged the most athletic cowboys with three riding levels—easy, medium and insane. The GoPro camera that came with the machine displayed each ride on the high-definition video screens throughout the bar and Gunner couldn’t wait to see how good he looked on TV.
“What’ll it be, Hardell? Easy or insane?”
“You have to ask, Tex?”
The machine operator spoke into the microphone. “Gather round, folks, ’cause Gunner Hardell picked insane!”
The onlookers chanted, “Insane! Insane! Insane!”
Cowboys—the real ones and the wannabes—circled the mat and money exchanged hands.
Gunner swung his leg over the cowhide-covered machine. Bull riding wasn’t his specialty. His almost-six-foot frame preferred broncs. He slid on a riding glove, then wrapped the rope around his hand before sliding forward and finding his center of gravity. He glanced at the redhead, whose hands were clasped together, and she seemed to be praying as if she were in church and not a cowboy honky-tonk.
Deep breath. Take another. Gunner closed his eyes and imagined the ride. As soon as he raised his hand and signaled that he was ready, Tex would flip the switch to Insane and the bull would do three things in rapid succession: rise up, pitch forward at a ninety-degree angle and swing left. The motion would then repeat in the opposite direction and launch its victim into the air.
If he had his way, Gunner would be the first that afternoon to go the distance.
He took one last deep breath and then raised his left hand. A moment later the machine jerked, and his stomach muscles tightened as he blocked out the noise of the crowd. The echo of his harsh breathing and the angry, high-pitched snorts from the machine were the only sounds reaching his ears.
He kept his seat during the first rotation and ticked off the seconds in his head. He reached five when Diablo pitched forward instead of spinning left like he’d anticipated. Gunner had no time to react as he suddenly flew forward and did a face-plant in the mat. Grinning, he got to his feet, picked up his hat and bowed to the ladies, who, bless their hearts, were cheering as if he’d won a gold buckle.
“You owe me ten bucks, Hardell,” Johnson said.
“Yeah, yeah.” When Gunner stepped off the mat, a waitress handed him a bottle of beer with a piece of paper shoved inside the neck.
“Compliments of Mac.” Mac managed the bar. “The note’s from your grandfather.”
This couldn’t be good. He fished out the folded paper. Get your blasted backside home. We got trouble.
Now what? Grandpa Emmett was always bellyaching about something. Gunner looked longingly at the beer before setting the bottle on the table. He turned to leave, but the redhead blocked his path. Her mouth puckered in a sexy pout. “You’re not leaving, are you?”
“Sorry, sweet thing. Duty calls.”
“Duty?”
He leaned in and whispered, “Grandpa Hardell is having one of his fits and he needs me.”
Her eyes grew misty. “It’s so sweet that you take care of your grandfather.”
“Us Hardells are like that. Family comes first.” In reality Gunner gave his eldest brother and grandfather a wide berth because both men were always in a bad mood. “Take care of yourself, sugar.” He kissed the redhead’s cheek because women went nuts when he did that. Ninety-nine percent of the time, a kiss on the cheek won him an invitation to accompany the lady home. Thanks to Gramps, he was flying solo today.
He stepped outside and squinted against the bright sunlight. It was the end of May and the temps were already inching toward ninety—another long, hot summer in South Texas.
Gunner climbed into his Chevy pickup and cranked the air-conditioning. The last time he’d checked in with his grandfather had been a week ago and the old man had been his usual grumpy self. Maybe Logan had done something to piss him off, which was a long shot, because Gunner’s sainted older brother never did anything wrong.
He headed north on I-35. After fifteen miles the gas indicator light popped on. He took the next exit off the highway and pulled into a Valero gas station. A blue Honda Civic with Wisconsin plates sat parked at the pump in front of him. He felt bad for all the cheeseheads who had to suffer through the notoriously frigid dairyland winters.
He slid his credit card into the reader, then stuck the nozzle into the neck of the gas tank. While he waited, a pretty blonde stepped out of the convenience mart. A gust of wind blew her long hair in her face and she swatted the strands from her eyes. She was a few inches shorter than his six-foot frame, but her strides ate up the pavement—the lady was in a hurry to get to somewhere.
As she strolled past his pickup—without glancing his way—a sense of déjà vu hit him, but he couldn’t recall where he might have met her. The gray slacks and silky blouse buttoned to her collarbone insisted she was all work and no play. Not his usual type.
She got into her car and drove off. As he watched the Civic head south, he contemplated following her—just to see if he could coax a smile from her. With his luck, Miss Badger State would have mace in her car and spray his face with it.
His phone beeped with a text message from Logan.
Grandpa’s birthday’s tomorrow. Buy him something from us.
K. Why does he want me to come home?
IDK He’s been pissy since Amelia Rinehart stopped by.
The old woman was poking her nose into his grandfather’s business again.
Be home soon.
Gunner stuffed the phone into his pants pocket and returned the gas nozzle to the holder, then went into the store and examined the souvenirs on display by the drink machine.
The options for birthday gifts were limited to bags of pecans, a faux-leather wallet with an image of the Texas state flag stamped on it, an Alamo snow globe, a wooden rattlesnake and an armadillo key chain. The rattler won—it fit his grandfather’s personality.
“Eight dollars and sixty-six cents,” the clerk said after Gunner set the snake and his fountain drink on the counter.
“Throw a pack of Marlboro on there.” Gramps had quit smoking years ago but lit up on special occasions. Maybe the lung darts would settle the old man down.
Back in the pickup, he flipped on the radio and Johnny Cash’s voice came through the speakers. The town of Stampede was only ten minutes up the highway. Three songs later he moved over to the shoulder, then turned onto the dirt road that led to Paradise Ranch, a.k.a. Ornery Acres. Gunner and his siblings had nicknamed the homestead after their grandfather’s sunny disposition.
Grandpa Emmett had always been cantankerous, but he’d grown crabbier after Grandma Sara had passed away from cancer and then five years later Gunner’s father had been struck by a car and killed while changing a flat tire on the side of the road. From that day on, Gramps had become almost impossible to live with.
Since Gunner and his brothers didn’t have a mother—they had one, but she’d taken off before Grandma Sara had died—their father and then grandfather had been saddled with riding herd over three rowdy boys and Gramps had never been good at herding.
After he parked in front of the sprawling one-story wood-and-stone ranch house, he entered through the back door and stepped into the kitchen. Shuffling sounds came from the hallway and he quickly stuffed the bag with the cigarettes and wooden snake in it beneath the kitchen sink. Seconds later his grandfather walked into the room.
“The last time you looked that angry, I broke the handle on the upstairs toilet,” Gunner said.
Gramps hitched his pants. “That woman’s determined to shove me off the wagon.”
Grandpa Emmett was an alcoholic—Gunner’s father had been one, too. So far he and his brothers hadn’t followed in the family tradition and Gunner planned on keeping it that way. Hoping to cajole his grandfather out of his bad mood, he said, “You want to eat out tomorrow for your birthday?”
“I’m too damned old to celebrate birthdays.”
“Eighty-five is hardly old,” Gunner teased. “You’re practically a spring chicken.”
“My private parts ain’t sprung in years, boy.”
“They’ve got little blue pills for that, Gramps. I can call Doc Jones and have him write you a prescription.” His suggestion earned him another glare.
“What has Amelia Rinehart done this time to get your dander up?” The old woman had been best friends with Gunner’s grandmother, but she rubbed Gramps the wrong way and no one knew why.
“That wackadoodle gets an idea in her head and she can’t let it go.”
“What idea?”
“She says the town needs a makeover.”
“What kind of makeover?”
“She wants to spruce up the Moonlight Motel—” the old man’s pointer finger wagged in front of Gunner’s face “—because you’ve let it fall into disrepair.”
“It doesn’t make sense to give it a face-lift.” Tourists had quit visiting Stampede years ago, instead bypassing the town and spending their money in nearby Mesquite and Rocky Point.
“If you ran the motel better, Amelia wouldn’t be sticking her nose into our affairs.”
Gunner admitted that his management skills could use a little work, but flirting with buckle bunnies, singing karaoke and riding Diablo were a heck of a lot more fun than babysitting a dumpy motel while waiting for a wayward traveler to rent a room. “Amelia can think it needs fixing up all she wants, but you own the property, so you can tell her to bug off and pester someone else.”
“No, I can’t.”
Gunner started at the serious tone in the old man’s voice. “Why not?”
“I never paid back the money I borrowed from Amelia to buy the motel for your grandmother.”
“I thought the bank loaned you the money.”
“The bank wouldn’t give me a second loan.”
“Second loan? What was the first?”
Gramps waved his hand in the air. “Never mind that. I owe Amelia $130,000 for the motel and I don’t have the money to pay her. She says she’ll forgive the loan if I let her fix it up.”
“Who’s footing the bill for the improvements?”
“She is.”
“A waste of cash if you ask me,” Gunner said.
“There’s nothing I can do to stop her.” His grandfather narrowed his eyes. “And you’re going to help her.”
“Help Amelia how?”
“Not Amelia. You’re helping her niece renovate the motel. The sooner you get it fixed up, the sooner that old woman quits pestering me.”
“What about my rodeo schedule?”
“You can chase the girls after you finish with the motel.”
Gunner raised his hands in the air. “Why does everyone think I rodeo for the buckle bunnies and not for the broncs?”
“Maybe because you don’t make any money at it.”
He ignored his grandfather’s quip and asked, “Which niece am I helping?” Amelia Rinehart had three nieces close to Gunner and his brothers’ ages.
“Lydia Canter.”
His memory recalled the unfriendly blonde at the gas station with Wisconsin plates on her car. No wonder he’d felt a sense of déjà vu at the Valero. He’d seen Lydia in church at her uncle’s funeral years ago. She couldn’t have been more than fifteen, but her hair had been the same pale blond and just as long.
Suddenly Gunner was thinking that the Moonlight Motel might need a face-lift after all.
* * *
“I CAN’T BELIEVE it’s been nine years since I last visited Stampede.” Lydia sat on the front porch of her great-aunt’s brick Victorian. The home looked out of place in a town comprised mostly of single-story brick homes.
“A funeral is hardly considered a visit, dear.”
Lydia’s smile dimmed as she studied her grandmother’s eldest sister. “Are you lonely, Aunt Amelia?”
“Sometimes, but Robert and I had fifty-two years together. More than many couples get these days.”
“Mom sends her love,” Lydia said.
“How is your mother?”
“Busy with work.” Lydia’s mother was always busy. Her career came first before family. Every once in a while Lydia suspected her mother was disappointed that her only child hadn’t followed in her footsteps and become a lawyer, instead choosing a career in interior design.
Aunt Amelia was the eldest of the four Westin daughters and the only one living. Her three sisters had passed away in their seventies, each leaving behind an only child—a daughter. Lydia and her cousins, Scarlett and Sadie, had been named after their grandmothers. Aunt Amelia had never had children and Lydia thought it was sad that her great-aunt didn’t have a granddaughter named after her.
Lydia reached inside her purse for a tissue and her aunt asked, “Are you feeling any better?”
“A little.” When her aunt had phoned to summon Lydia to Texas, Lydia had just gotten home from a doctor’s appointment, where she’d been diagnosed with an ear and sinus infection. The last thing she’d wanted to do was board a plane all stuffed up, but she hadn’t had the heart to turn down her aunt’s request—not after the generous check Amelia had sent Lydia for her college graduation. The money had paid off more than half her student-loan debt. Rather than risk her head exploding on the airplane, Lydia had driven from Wisconsin to Texas.
“The doctor put me on an antibiotic.” She’d been prescribed two weeks’ worth of heavy-duty meds, and although Lydia was feeling much better, she’d been told to take all of the pills until they were gone.
“Did you ever get rid of those antique school desks?” Lydia remembered playing with her cousins in the attic when their families visited Stampede together in the summers.
“I have them. I wish Sadie would bring her boys to visit. They’d love playing on the third floor.”
“Being a single parent is tough. Sadie spends most of her free time shuffling Tommy and Tyler to and from their activities.”
“How often do you get together with your cousins?”
“We try to have a girls’ night out once a month. And Scarlett and I trade off attending the twins’ extracurricular activities.”
“I’m glad you three are close. I have fond memories of growing up with my sisters.” Amelia smiled. “We caused our fair share of trouble.”
“Grandma said you were the ringleader.”
Amelia laughed. “Sometimes, but not always. Your grandmother hogged the bathroom every morning and made us late for school most days.”
“I’m glad you kept this house after Uncle Robert passed away.”
“I’ll never forget the first time I met him,” Amelia said. “I was sweaty, dusty, and my hair windblown after chasing our hound dog all the way into town. Barney was an escape artist and Father threatened to get rid of him if we couldn’t keep him in the yard.” Amelia poked Lydia’s shoulder. “Your grandmother was supposed to watch him that day, but she’d snuck off with a girlfriend. Thank goodness I happened to step outside right when Barney chewed through his leash and ran off.”
Lydia had heard this story before from her grandmother but kept quiet so her great-aunt could spin her tale. “I looked like a rag doll by the time I found Robert sharing an ice-cream cone with Barney in front of the Woolworth building. I was about to call out for the dog when Robert glanced up and our gazes connected.”
“What did you think when you first saw Uncle Robert?”
“I’d never seen a more handsome, well-dressed man in my entire life.”
Lydia’s mother had told her that Uncle Robert had been an up-and-coming executive for Shell Oil when he’d passed through Stampede and had swept eighteen-year-old Amelia off her feet.
“I thanked him for entertaining Barney and went on my way. It wasn’t until later that I heard about an oilman checking out the area and learned that man was the one who’d caught Barney.” Amelia stared into space as if reliving the past, then blinked and smiled at Lydia. “I’m sorry things didn’t work out with your boyfriend, Ryan.”
It had been over a year since the relationship had ended and Lydia was ready to move on. “I joined an online dating service.” She’d paid for the subscription a week before her aunt requested her help. Lydia had only had time to create her profile before packing her suitcase and driving south.
“The internet isn’t safe. A young girl as pretty as you should be able to find a man without the help of a computer.”
Lydia’s fingers curled into her palms. “It’s difficult to socialize and meet people when you’re on a tight budget and trying to get a business off the ground.”
“I don’t understand why you left the company you were working for. What was the name of that place? Design...”
“Design Logistics. I quit because I wanted control over my work.” What she’d really wanted was credit for her designs. Lydia’s boss, Ellen, hadn’t allowed her to meet with clients. It was by accident that she’d discovered Ellen had been taking credit for Lydia’s ideas. When she requested a raise and was turned down, she’d struck out on her own and learned the hard way that it wasn’t easy winning new clients when you had no references.
“What about meeting eligible bachelors through Sadie’s and Scarlett’s friends?” her aunt asked.
“It’s not easy finding someone you’re compatible with.”
“All this talk about compatibility is ridiculous. Your uncle and I were raised very differently, but we made it work.”
“I work out of my apartment, which makes it even more challenging to meet new people.” And to add salt to the wound, Lydia’s friends from college were all married and starting families. She was the odd woman out, resulting in awkward get-togethers when talk turned to babies, mortgages and the cost of day care.
“What kind of man interests you?”
“Aunt Amelia, I’d rather not talk about my dismal dating life.” She flashed a halfhearted smile. “Can we discuss why I’m here?” What she really needed to be doing was focusing her time and energy on building her client base.
Amelia pointed to the MacBook Air sitting on Lydia’s lap. “I have a business proposition for you.”
“You want to be one of my clients?”
Her aunt nodded.
Lydia glanced around the porch. “Are you thinking of updating the house?”
“No, I’d like you to renovate the old motel on the outskirts of town.”
“The Moonlight Motel?” The janky dump had seen its best years five decades ago. “I thought that place had shut down.”
“It’s still open...when the manager feels like flipping on the vacancy sign.” Amelia snorted. “Stampede is falling apart right before my eyes.”
Lydia’s grandmother had always wished her sister would leave “that godforsaken dusty hideaway for die-hard wranglers and has-been cowboys.”
“Stampede is losing tourist dollars to our neighbors in Rocky Point and Mesquite all because our mayor isn’t willing to put a little money and elbow grease into sprucing up the town.”
“Why the motel?”
“It’s the only place people can stay when they visit Stampede.”
“What shape is the building in?”
“The rooms haven’t been updated since the ’70s.”
“Do you have the approval of the owner to fix it up?”
“I do. And Emmett Hardell’s grandson will be helping you.”
“Which grandson?”
“Gunner manages the motel when he’s not off pretending he’s a rodeo cowboy.”
Lydia recalled the hot look Gunner had sent her in church during her uncle’s funeral. Later that day she’d overheard her mother and Aunt Amelia chatting about the Hardell boys. Her aunt had blamed their wild ways on the lack of a female influence in their lives. The boys’ mother had abandoned the family, and then a few years later their grandmother had passed away, leaving their “tomcatting” father and “irritable” grandfather—Aunt Amelia’s words—to raise the boys.
“How old is Gunner?”
“A year older than you, I believe.”
“As far as renovating the motel,” Lydia said, “you’re just looking to freshen up the paint colors and change the furniture and decor?”
“That’s right. And I’ll pay you for your work.”
“You don’t have to do that, Aunt Amelia.”
“Of course I do.”
Lydia breathed a sigh of relief, happy she wouldn’t have to dig into her dismal savings to cover the bills next month. “I should be able to handle the task.”
“I wouldn’t have asked you to take on this project if I didn’t believe you had the talent and skill to pull it off.”
“Let’s visit the motel in the morning and come up with a design plan.”
“You’ll have to go by yourself, dear. I have choir practice after church services.”
Lydia had forgotten that tomorrow was Sunday.
“As far as decorating ideas, I’m leaving that in your capable hands.”
“What’s my budget?”
“There is no budget. Do what needs to be done to turn the motel into a place people will drive out of their way to spend the night.”
“Are you covering the entire bill for this renovation?”
Her aunt nodded. “I’ve got more money than I know what to do with, Lydia.”
That was the truth. Everyone in the family knew that Uncle Robert had left Aunt Amelia millions of dollars in stocks and oil investments. “I don’t have many years left on this earth, and before I meet my Maker, I want Stampede to return to its glory days.”
Her aunt would have better odds buying lottery tickets because there was no guarantee that all the beautification in the world would bring tourists back to this hidey-hole-in-the-wall.
“How will I get into the motel rooms to take a look around?”
Her aunt reached into the pocket of her slacks and pulled out a key. “This will open the front office and the room keys are hanging on a pegboard behind the counter.”
The motel rooms still used keys? “I’ll have a better idea of the cost of the makeover once I see the place.”
“If the mayor shows up while you’re looking around, just ignore him.”
“Who’s the mayor?”
“I thought you knew.”
Lydia shook her head.
“Emmett Hardell is the mayor.”
“Grandma claimed you were sweet on Emmett when you were in high school. How come you two didn’t end up together?”
“Because the man’s dumb as a rock when it comes to women.” Amelia waved a hand before her face. “He married my best friend, Sara Pritchett. She was a sweet girl.”
Lydia wondered if the mayor had any idea what he was up against, taking on Aunt Amelia. If he didn’t, he was about to find out.
Chapter Two (#u0044a212-21fe-5699-a566-69fceba8b93a)
Sunday morning Lydia woke up and stared into her open suitcase. She wanted to make a good first impression with the Moonlight Motel manager—even if he was just a country boy. If she wanted Gunner Hardell to take her seriously, then she’d better dress as a professional. She picked out a black maxi skirt and a short-sleeved white poppy-print blouse, then headed for the shower.
A half hour later with her wet hair secured in a bun at the back of her head, she walked into an empty kitchen. Her aunt had left a note on the table. Good luck today. After washing her antibiotic down with a glass of orange juice, she took her bowl of bran flakes outside and ate breakfast on the front porch swing.
Her aunt’s home sat on the corner of Buckaroo Avenue and Vaquero Lane. A yellow butterfly vine in full bloom covered the wrought iron fence enclosing the front yard. A large magnolia tree shaded the porch and smaller crepe myrtle trees lined the driveway, their pink blooms scattered across the black asphalt. Boston ferns hung from ornate vintage hooks along the porch overhang and a pot of daisies sat on the table between a pair of white rockers at the end of the porch.
Aunt Amelia took pride in her home and Lydia wasn’t surprised that she wanted to tidy up the town. All of her neighbors kept their properties neatly landscaped—even the yard of the home with a for-sale sign out front had been mowed recently.
Lydia swallowed the last bite of cereal and returned inside to brush her teeth and put on lip gloss. With her computer in hand, she grabbed her purse and left the house. She drove through town at a snail’s pace—not much had changed since she’d last visited Stampede.
Three blocks of businesses formed Chuck Wagon Drive, the main thoroughfare. The brick buildings dated back to the late 1800s and early 1900s—the National Bank and Trust still remained a bank. The old Woolworth had closed its doors decades ago and now the building housed the Cattle Drive Café on the main floor, the town library in the basement and Statewide Insurance on the third level. The feedstore built circa the 1870s took up an entire block, the doors and windows boarded over. Years of baking in the hot sun had bleached the wood gray. For Sale had been spray-painted on the side of the building.
There were no stop signs in Stampede, just slow signs posted along the side streets. The third block along the main thoroughfare consisted of newer brick storefronts, but the Saddle Up Saloon’s window had a huge crack through it and the sign for the Crazy Curl Hair Salon hung crooked. An out-of-business poster had been taped to the window of the Buckets of Suds coin-operated laundry. Right next door a rocking chair and overturned milk can sat in the display window of Millie’s Antiques & Resale—Open Saturdays had been painted across the window.
The old Amoco filling station on the corner had been converted into a farmers’ market. Empty vegetable and fruit crates littered the back of the lot next to a dilapidated snow-cone stand. The Corner Market sat at the end of the block—Lydia remembered walking there as a kid and buying five-cent candy.
There was no landscaping in front of the businesses, no benches to sit on or flowerpots to admire—nothing but bare sidewalks with weeds growing through the cracks in the cement. No wonder Aunt Amelia was frustrated with the mayor’s lack of interest in beautifying the town. Stampede was aptly named—it looked as if a herd of renegade bovines had trampled the life out of it.
After the last block Lydia hit the gas. A half mile up the highway, the sign for Moonlight Motel came into view—a full moon sitting on top of a forty-foot pole. When the sign was turned on, the moon glowed white and spun in a slow circle. No Vacancy was spelled out across the moon, and depending on whether or not the motel was full, the letters in the Vacancy or No Vacancy glowed blue against the white backdrop of the moon.
She pulled into the parking lot of the six-room tan brick motel and parked by the office. Weeds and trash littered the empty lot. A person would have to be desperate for shelter to rent a room here, which played in Lydia’s favor. Anything she did to the place would be an improvement.
The motel was shaped like a capital L. The rooms were numbered sequentially—starting with 1 next to the office. The once-royal-blue trim and doors had faded to baby blue. There was no pool or recreation area for families to picnic or relax and the office with its peeling window tint gave the impression the place had closed down.
She locked the car door, then used the key her aunt had given her to let herself into the office. The dim interior smelled musty like a suitcase that hadn’t been opened in decades. A chair with an inch of dust coating the leather seat sat in the corner next to a table covered in old tourist brochures. She set the key on the counter, then glanced through the leaflets advertising cave tours and shopping outlets.
“If it isn’t the dairyland princess.”
Lydia spun and came face-to-face with Gunner Hardell.
He removed his cowboy hat. “We bumped into each other at the Valero yesterday.”
“We did?”
“You walked right past me without looking my way.”
Embarrassed she hadn’t noticed him, she said, “I’m sorry. I was in a hurry.”
“You grew up real nice, Lydia Canter.”
So had Gunner. His grin widened, drawing her eyes to his sexy mouth. Handsome wasn’t the right word to describe the dark-haired cowboy. H-O-T with a dozen exclamation points fit better. Too bad none of the men on the dating site she’d joined looked like Gunner.
Her attention shifted to his hands. He wasn’t wearing a wedding ring.
Gunner cleared his throat and she looked away, mortified that he’d caught her studying him. “I understand you’re the manager of the Moonlight Motel.”
“I mostly rodeo and do this—” he spread his arms wide “—on the side to keep Gramps happy.”
“So you know why I’m here.” She tore her gaze from his face and pretended to study her surroundings, irritated that he made her nervous. There weren’t any guys like Gunner on SavvyMatch.com. He was too confident and sure of himself to fit the profiles of the socially awkward men who’d been matched up with her.
“If you ask me,” he said, “the motel doesn’t need a makeover.”
Seriously? Maybe a bull had kicked the cowboy in the head and scrambled his brains. “I’d like to peek inside one of the rooms. I assume the motel is empty.”
“Then you’d assume wrong.”
Her gaze shifted to the front window. “There aren’t any cars parked in the lot.”
“The couple in room 6 didn’t arrive by car.” Gunner waggled an eyebrow and a red flag rose inside Lydia’s head.
“Did an Uber driver drop them off?”
Gunner laughed, showing off a row of white teeth. She pressed a hand to her belly, thinking she must have swallowed a fly while eating her cereal outside—the winged insect wouldn’t stop fluttering inside her stomach.
“Maybelle and Hector rode in on horseback. Red’s hitched to the lean-to behind the motel.”
There was a lean-to on the property?
“Hector and Maybelle have a standing reservation at the end of every month.”
“That means the motel is always open on that weekend?”
“Not if I’m rodeoing,” he said. “I had an extra room key made for them.”
How trusting of him. “Are you away riding horses often?”
Dark eyebrows slanted toward his nose. “You mean broncs.”
“Same difference.”
The brows dipped lower. “Not really.”
“Have you won any buckles?” She’d learned a few things about rodeo from her trips to Texas to visit Aunt Amelia—only the really talented cowboys won buckles and money.
Gunner straightened his shoulders. “No.”
“If you’re not any good at rodeo, why do you keep competing at the sport?”
“Beats waiting for someone to rent a room.”
“Giving the motel a face-lift will improve your wait times.”
“What’s up with your aunt wanting to fix this place, anyway?”
“She’s hoping it will entice tourists to check out Stampede.” Lydia shrugged. “You have to admit the town is depressing.”
“I guess your aunt’s reasons don’t matter. The sooner the property passes her inspection, the sooner I get back to busting broncs.”
“And the sooner I can go home.” At least they were in agreement on that issue.
“So pick a color and I’ll slap a fresh coat of paint on the outside and we’ll call it good to go. Maybelle and Hector don’t care what the place looks like as long as the sheets are clean.”
Lydia would decide when the motel was “good to go.” “Will you show me around outside before I take a look at one of the rooms?” She turned on her laptop and opened the interior-design software program.
“What are you doing?”
She used her fingertip to draw on the screen. “Making notes.”
“What is it you do for a living that qualifies you for this project?”
“I’m an interior designer.”
“Did you go to college?” he asked.
“Yes. Didn’t you?”
He shook his head. “College is for people who can’t get a real job.”
“Well, you can’t ride Wisconsin cows—you can only milk them. So I guess it’s a good thing you live in Texas and I went to college.”
The corner of his mouth quivered, but he kept a straight face. “This way.” He grabbed a golf club leaning against the wall and walked through the doorway behind the checkout desk. She followed him down the short hallway and out the back door.
The lot behind the motel consisted of gravel, dirt, weeds and a small grassy field where Red stood in the shade beneath the lean-to. Lydia made a note on her laptop to ask her aunt if there was enough money in the budget to put in a patio and a children’s playground. A family-friendly motel might encourage Maybelle and Hector to find another place to rendezvous.
She eyed the Dumpster filled to the top with garbage, broken furniture and an old tire. “When do you have the trash picked up?”
“When it overflows.” He walked over to a patch of weeds and swung the club, taking the tops off the dandelions.
She clicked on a new tab and drew a space for an entertainment area. Absorbed in adding details to the sketch, she wasn’t aware that Gunner had inched closer until his breath hit the back of her neck. She inhaled sharply and his scent—a combination of woodsy cologne and pure cowboy—shot up her nose. She attempted to move away, but little suction cups had sprouted on the bottoms of her shoes, keeping her rooted in place.
“Hey, that’s pretty cool that you can draw like that. What about putting in a barbecue so guests can cook out.” He touched his finger against the corner of the screen. “Right here.”
“That’s a great idea.”
“Buy one of those grills with a built-in smoker.”
Of course he’d want that. If her aunt’s plan failed to bring tourists to Stampede, Gunner and his rodeo buddies would use the patio to barbecue and party.
His masculine finger moved to the opposite corner of the screen and whatever he said next failed to register with her because she was wondering how that calloused finger would feel trailing over her lips or across her cheek or along her... Never mind.
Shocked by the path her thoughts were taking, Lydia closed the laptop. “I’m ready to look at a room.”
She followed him back to the office, where he grabbed the key to room 3 from the pegboard behind the check-in desk. She held out her hand. “You don’t have to come with me.”
He stared into her eyes as if he could read her thoughts and knew he made her nervous. “You sure?”
“Very.” Key in hand, she left the office, sucking in a deep breath of dusty air, hoping the gritty particles would clear Gunner’s scent from her head. She didn’t condone his lackadaisical management style, but at least when he was off rodeoing, his sexy pheromones wouldn’t interfere with her work.
Good grief. Not in a millions years would she have thought she’d be attracted to a slacker.
* * *
A LOUD CHUGGING noise woke Gunner and he popped out of the chair in the motel office, where he’d fallen asleep after Lydia had gone off to explore room 3. He peered out the window. What the heck was his grandfather doing here?
He stepped outside and waited for the old 1970 Ford to pull into a parking spot. “I thought you were helping Logan feed the cattle this morning,” he said when the driver-side door opened.
“Too hot.” His grandfather took the pack of Marlboro from his shirt pocket and lit up. “Thanks for the birthday smokes.”
Gunner had left a happy-birthday note on the kitchen table along with the cigarettes and the snake, which he’d wrapped in newspaper. “You weren’t supposed to open your gifts until supper.”
“You wasted your money on that stupid snake. Should have bought another pack of cigarettes.”
“The snake was cheaper.”
His grandfather’s mouth twitched.
“Since it’s your birthday, you should go fishing at the lake.”
“I might later.” He tilted his head toward the office. “I wasn’t sure you’d show up today.”
“I got your message loud and clear. I’m at Lydia’s beck ’n’ call until this place sparkles and shines.”
His grandfather fussed with his belt, then smoothed a hand over his head. Gunner couldn’t remember the last time the old man had taken a comb to his hair, but this morning he’d slicked it down with enough Brylcreem to suffocate a beehive. “Is that a new shirt you’re wearing?”
“No.” His grandfather’s gaze slid sideways.
The creases from the package were still visible. And was that Hai Karate cologne he smelled?
“Did Amelia come with Lydia?”
Before Gunner answered the question, the self-appointed matriarch of Stampede drove her white 1958 Thunderbird convertible into the parking lot. For an instant he envisioned Lydia behind the wheel of the sexy piece of machinery, her blond hair flying in the wind.
His grandfather dropped his cigarette on the ground and stomped it out with his boot heel—a boot that had been spit-shined and polished. Well, well, well. That explained the Brylcreem and the cologne. Why his grandfather wanted to impress Amelia Rinehart was a mystery when all they ever did was spar with each other.
Amelia parked next to Emmett’s pickup and Gunner rushed over to open the door and help her out of the front seat. “’Morning, Ms. Amelia.”
“Hello, Gunner.” She peeked around his shoulder. “Emmett.”
“Amelia.”
Gunner shut the door, his gaze shifting between the older couple. “Happy birthday,” Amelia said.
“I don’t much care for birthdays anymore.”
She smiled. “Who does at our age?”
His grandfather’s gaze rolled over Amelia like a teenage boy and Gunner looked away, embarrassed by his grandfather’s gawking.
“Where’s Lydia?” Amelia asked.
“Inspecting room 3,” Gunner said.
His grandfather elbowed him in the ribs. “You should be showing her around in case she has questions.”
“Why would she have any questions? Everything in the rooms has to go.”
Oh, man. The old lady was going to pick a fight with his grandfather.
“Vintage is all the rage,” she said. “But those brown bedspreads weren’t brown when they were first put on the beds.”
“Nothing wrong with covers that hide dirt,” Emmett said.
“Dirt and the infestation of every imaginable bug.”
The door to room 6 opened and Hector and Maybelle waltzed outside—Maybelle still buttoning her blouse. The couple froze when they noticed their audience.
Gunner waved. “Safe travels!”
“Who’s that?” Amelia asked.
“Hector Montoya. He works at the Los Lobos Ranch.” The spread butted up to the Hardell ranch and they raised cattle and alpaca—not wolves like the name implied. “Maybelle’s the ranch maid.”
“For Pete’s sake,” Amelia said, “Why don’t they get married instead of sneaking around?” The couple disappeared behind the motel.
“Marriage isn’t for everyone,” Emmett grumbled.
Gunner agreed. His grandfather still grieved the passing of his wife. Emmett might be a grumpy old man, but he showed his love for others in unique ways—like buying the Moonlight Motel for Sara after she’d been diagnosed with cancer. Gunner’s grandmother had dreamed of running the motel and Gunner figured his grandfather had hoped the place would lift her spirits and encourage her to fight the disease, but Emmett’s plan hadn’t worked out like he’d intended.
“What are you charging for a room these days, Gunner?” Amelia asked.
“It varies,” he said.
“You don’t have a set rate?”
“I charge whatever the person can afford to pay me.”
Amelia’s gaze swung to Emmett. “No wonder you’ve never been able to pay back—”
“I’m done jawing about this place.” Emmett walked over to the truck. “Gunner.”
“Yes, sir?”
“You stick to the plan, you hear?”
“I will.”
“Hold up.” Amelia thrust out her arm, preventing Emmett from closing the truck door.
Gunner held his breath, worried his grandfather would say something he couldn’t take back, which was how he ended most arguments.
“What’s this about a plan? You’re not interfering with—”
“I told Gunner to keep an eye on your niece to make sure she doesn’t ruin the place.”
“What utter nonsense. Lydia doesn’t need a babysitter.” Amelia looked at Gunner. “No offense, young man, but my niece has a degree in interior design. In fact, she has her own design company. She’s more than capable of handling a motel makeover.”
“Just the same,” Emmett said, “Gunner’s keeping an eye on things so the place doesn’t get turned into a pink palace.”
“A pink palace would be better—” Amelia spread her arms wide “—than a motel that looks like it belongs in an Alfred Hitchcock movie.”
“Keep the place rustic. This is cowboy country and there aren’t any fancy-pants oilmen living around these parts anymore.”
Amelia’s eyes flashed with anger. “You never did approve of Robert and he had nothing but nice things to say about you.”
Why had his grandfather brought up Amelia’s deceased husband? Gunner had better intervene before the conversation went too far south. “Time-out, folks.”
They ignored him, their eyes locked in a death stare. The door to room 3 opened and Lydia stepped into view. “There’s the designer,” Gunner said, hoping her presence would calm the bickering duo.
“What’s going on?” Lydia’s worried gaze took in the scene. “I thought you had choir practice after church, Aunt Amelia.”
“We ended early,” Amelia said.
Gunner scowled at his grandfather, warning him to keep his mouth shut.
Lydia tugged on Gunner’s shirtsleeve. “What did I miss?”
“They were discussing the renovations,” Gunner said.
“I took enough notes to begin designing,” Lydia said.
“How long will it take to get the job done?” Gunner asked.
“Once I line up the contractors, only a few weeks.”
“There’s your contractor.” Emmett pointed to Gunner.
“Besides rodeoing, you work in the trades, too?” Lydia asked.
“My grandson doesn’t work at much of anything, but he’s agreed to sit out a few rodeos and help you.” Emmett returned Gunner’s evil-eyed glare.
“It’s best to hire professionals—”
“I’ve snaked my share of pipes,” Gunner interrupted Lydia. “And it doesn’t take much talent to roll paint on a wall.”
“Gunner’s in charge of the place,” Emmett said, climbing into his truck. “He’s got the final say on how things get done.”
Amelia scoffed. “Being mayor has gone to your head.”
“I know what’s best for this town.”
“If we don’t do something drastic to turn things around, Stampede will only be home to you and a handful of ghosts.”
His grandfather closed the door and leaned his head out the open window. “I’d rather this place become a ghost town than have a bunch of strangers and hooligans roaming the streets.”
“There’s only one street and your grandsons were the last bunch of ruffians to run wild around here. There’s been no vandalism since—” Amelia nodded to Gunner “—he spray-painted images of bare-breasted women on the back of the Woolworth building.”
Lydia smiled. “Maybe Gunner would like to paint a mural on the wall outside the motel office.”
Gunner dragged a hand over his face. He’d never live down that bad decision. The two geriatrics continued bickering like kids fighting in a sandbox and he worried one of them might suffer a stroke.
“You don’t know when to leave well enough alone, Amelia.” Emmett turned the key in the ignition. When the engine backfired, the two women jumped inside their skin.
Amelia shook her fist in Emmett’s face. “You used to be fun. Now you’re just a grumpy old man.”
When had his grandfather ever been fun?
Emmett put the truck in Reverse and Amelia stomped back to her car. She started to back out of her spot but slammed on the brakes when Emmett cut her off. She laid on the horn. Emmett waved her to go first. She waved back at him. After two false starts and stops, Amelia headed for the highway, Emmett’s pickup inches from her bumper. Then she slammed on her brakes at the entrance and Emmett swerved in order to miss hitting her car.
He stuck his head out the window and shouted, “It’s Sunday! What are you waiting for? Monday?”
Amelia turned left onto the highway and headed toward town. Emmett turned right and headed away from town. After the vehicles disappeared from sight, Gunner said, “What the hell just happened?”
“I have no idea.”
He opened his mouth to ask about the plans Lydia had drawn on her computer when Hector and Maybelle rode into view on Red. Hector stopped the horse in front of Gunner and held out a twenty-dollar bill, then turned Red east and rode off.
“Gunner?”
“What?”
“I appreciate the offer, but I won’t be needing your help with the renovations.”
“I know.”
“So you’ll stay out of the way and let me do my job?”
Lydia looked so hopeful that he almost caved in. “Sorry. You’re stuck with me.”
“I was afraid you’d say that.”
“When do we start?” he asked.
“As soon as I come up with a design my aunt likes.” She walked to her car and retrieved her cell phone from her purse. “Give me your number.”
He recited the digits and she entered them into her phone. “Are all of the rooms set up the same as number 3?”
“Yep.”
“I’ll be in touch shortly.” She got into her car and drove off.
Gunner stood in the empty parking lot long after the Civic disappeared. The dairyland princess wasn’t his usual type, but her presence around the motel was bound to liven things up.
Chapter Three (#u0044a212-21fe-5699-a566-69fceba8b93a)
“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.
“Wanna bet he’ll be last, Maisy?” The brunette spoke to her friend.
“Has Gunner asked you out yet?” Maisy asked.
Lydia’s ears perked when she heard the motel manager’s name.
“No, but he will.”
“That cowboy will never let a woman rein him in, Chantilly.”
Chantilly?
“Gunner says he’s a confirmed bachelor, but I’ll change his mind.”
Oh, brother. The women made Gunner sound like some kind of cowboy god. Then again, Lydia conceded the man was better looking than any of the guys who’d pinged her profile on the dating site.
“Ladies and gents, welcome to the fifteenth annual Rocky Point Rodeo.” Announcer Bob cleared his throat, then continued in a monotone voice better suited for a PBS broadcast. “Up first is the saddle-bronc competition.” The handful of spectators in the stands applauded.
Lydia turned her attention to the bucking chute, searching for Gunner among the milling cowboys. The men were dressed the same—jeans, dark shirts and hats pulled low over their faces. She couldn’t tell them apart.
“There he is.” Maisy pointed to a lone cowboy. “Gunner’s putting on his spurs.”
Lydia’s gaze latched onto him.
“We’ve got five cowboys ready to tame broncs today, so let’s get on with the show.” The applause died down. “First out of the chute on Storm Chaser is John Pennington. This cowboy hails from New Mexico and he’s new to the circuit. Let’s see if he can make it to the buzzer.”
Lydia had been to a rodeo as a kid but hadn’t paid attention to the events. She’d been more interested in the clowns who jumped in and out of the barrels. There were no clowns at this rodeo, only cowboys who stood inside the arena near the chute ready to help if needed.
The gate opened and Storm Chaser bolted into the dirt circle. Cowboy John lasted one buck before sliding off the back end of the horse and landing on the ground.
“Looks like Pennington is gonna need a little more practice before he makes it to eight.”
Three more rides followed—resulting in the same outcome. The fans grew restless and the applause disappeared until Gunner stepped up to the chute.
“Our final contestant late this morning lives down the road in Stampede. Gunner Hardell doesn’t have any wins on his résumé. Let’s see if he shows Spin Demon a thing or two. This bronc is from the Shady Acres Ranch outside of Midland.”
Lydia leaned forward, her gaze glued to the chute as Spin Demon sprang into action. Gunner gripped the rope with his left hand, keeping his right arm high in the air next to his head. After the third buck his hat flew off and his dark hair whipped around his head.
Spin Demon did everything in his power to toss his rider and Lydia marveled at Gunner’s pure athleticism as he hung on. Go, Gunner, go. When the buzzer sounded, she stuck two fingers into her mouth and let loose a shrill whistle.
Chantilly and Maisy spun on their bench, but Lydia ignored their stares and watched Gunner’s dismount—more of a fall than a leap to the ground. The bronc trotted out of the circle and Gunner swiped his hat off the dirt, then waved it at the stands. His smile froze when he spotted Lydia.
“Looks like Gunner Hardell finally made it to eight. How about another round of applause for the cowboy.”
Instead of returning to the chute area, Gunner walked across the dirt and stopped in front of the bleachers. “Lydia!” he shouted and then flung his hat. She snatched it as it sailed between Chantilly and Maisy’s heads.
“Nice catch.” He winked, then walked back to the chutes, where the other cowboys congratulated him with backslapping and fist pumping.
“Who are you?” Chantilly asked.
“Lydia Canter.” She beamed, proud of herself for catching Gunner’s hat—not that she cared about impressing the women.
“We’ve never seen you at a rodeo before,” Maisy said.
“I’m visiting from Wisconsin.”
“Wisconsin?” Chantilly grimaced. “How do you know Gunner?”
“He works for me.”
“Doing what?” Maisy asked.
“Anything I ask him to.” She pressed her lips together to keep from laughing when their mouths dropped open. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to have a chat with my employee.”
Lydia pulled up short when a tall, brawny man stepped into her path.
“Ma’am, you ain’t allowed behind the chutes.”
“She’s with me, Rawlins.” Gunner strolled toward Lydia, wearing his usual grin. It was impossible to stay mad at a man who smiled all the time.
“Congratulations.” She handed him the Stetson.
He plopped it on his head. “Thanks.” He removed his spurs, then stuffed them into the duffel bag along with his rope and bronc saddle. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

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