number one priority—even more so now that a child would be depending on her in seven months.
Truck keys in hand, she paused in front of the mirror to check her reflection—she’d never really cared what she looked like before. Why now? Maybe because Buck was unlike any guy she’d dated in the past.
For a girl who was supposed to get married today you’ve moved on pretty quick.
Destiny had no experience with boy-next-door types—they normally passed her over. But when Buck turned those warm brown eyes on her, she could almost believe that he saw something in her worth his time.
You’re pregnant.
She cursed the voice in her head. She didn’t need her subconscious to remind her that she was carrying another man’s baby and that any guy in his right mind would steer clear of her. So be it, but she was entitled to her dreams, and it had been longer than she remembered since she’d fantasized about any man including Daryl.
She left the apartment and walked to the front of the building where Buck sat on the bench outside the office door. If only there was more than a broken hose wrong with his truck. She couldn’t think of a better-looking distraction than the cowboy hanging around town for a few days.
As soon as he noticed her, he flashed his sexy white grin. Then his gaze roamed over her outfit and the smile vanished. “I thought you were celebrating your mayoral win?”
She shoved her fingers into the front pockets of her jeans. “They’re celebrating without me.”
“Do you know where—” he glanced at the side of the garage “—Mr. Carter is?”
“There is no Mr. Carter.”
He removed his Stetson and ran his fingers through his shaggy hair. “I thought you said—”
“Simon Carter is deceased. I named the business after him.”
“You named the business?”
Destiny spread her arms wide. “I run the garage.”
His eyebrows arched.
“What?”
“You’re the tow truck driver?”
“I’m also a decent mechanic.”
Buck stared at Destiny, his mind trying to reconcile the redheaded biker bride with the tomboy standing before him in ragged jeans, a faded T-shirt and men’s boots. In all the years he’d worked in Troy Winters’s garage, not once had he run into a woman who knew car engines. Go figure the one time his truck breaks down a woman mechanic comes to his rescue.
“You don’t believe me, do you?” she said.
“I’ve never met a lady mechanic before.”
Her baby blues narrowed, as if she expected him to sling insults at her.
“How did you become interested in fixing cars?” he asked.
Tiny wrinkles formed across her tanned forehead. “Would you rather stand here and chat or do you want me to tow your truck?”
“Where do you plan to tow it?”
“Wherever you want. Kingman or...here.”
He heard the hitch in her voice when she said the word here. Kingman was a safe bet—but maybe it was time he rolled the dice.
“If you’ve got replacement hoses in stock, it would be quicker to fix the truck here,” he said.
Destiny paced a few feet away, leaving a trail of scented perfume in her wake. “It’ll be a hundred dollars for the tow and a hundred for parts and labor.”
The sassy little mechanic wanted to rip him off. “That’s highway robbery.” Troy charged his customers twenty bucks for a new hose and fifty for labor, but he doubted Destiny got many customers this far out in the desert. He couldn’t blame her for making the most of the opportunities that came her way.
“Have you ever had the hoses in your truck changed before?” She crossed her arms over her chest—she was cute when she got all feisty.
“No.” He wanted to see how much she actually knew about engines. “This is the first time I’ve had a leaky hose.” His gut tightened at the lie, but he kept a straight face. “Where’s your wrecker?”
“This way.”
He followed her behind the building then stopped dead in his tracks when he noticed the vehicle. Holy cow—the thing was a monster and in pristine condition. He watched Destiny climbed into the cab, admiring her athleticism as she hopped onto the running plate, took hold of the bar behind the driver’s seat and hoisted herself into the cab.
He got in on the passenger side and shut the door. “What year is this?”
“It’s a 2007 freightliner with a 12,000 pound integrated wheel lift, two 15,000 pound planetary winches and a Mercedes 250 HP engine.” She quirked an eyebrow. “Any more questions?”
“This machine won’t have a problem towing my Ford.”
Like a pro, Destiny fired up the wrecker, shifted gear and drove onto Gulch Road.
“What’s the deal with only three people buried in the cemetery?” he asked when the truck passed the burial ground.
“Melba says—”
“Who’s Melba again?”
“She owns the Flamingo.” Destiny waved at a man standing outside his mobile home next to the motel. “Back before Melba was born and her parents managed the property, there was a woman in town named Maisy Richards and she was engaged to a Victor Candor. Before the wedding took place, a stranger named Antonio Torres showed up in town and fell hard for Maisy.”
“A love triangle,” Buck said.
“Victor caught Antonio stealing a kiss from Maisy and threatened to kill him.”
“Did Antonio go to the police?”
“No. Antonio waited for Victor to show up at his motel room and when he did, Antonio drew his gun and they shot each other dead.”
“What happened to Maisy?”
“She hung herself from the tree that stands in the cemetery. Witnesses say she wanders through town after midnight calling for her lovers.”
Buck laughed out loud. “That sounds made up.”
Destiny shrugged.
“Have you heard Maisy call her beaus?”
“No, but there’s rumors that people who stayed at the motel after the murders complained about hearing gunshots in the middle of the night.”
“Interesting.”
Destiny slowed the wrecker as she navigated
