The Cowboy's Accidental Baby. Marin Thomas

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СКАЧАТЬ 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 СКАЧАТЬ