The Cowboy's Accidental Baby. Marin Thomas

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СКАЧАТЬ 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 СКАЧАТЬ