Authors: Carolyn Brown
“It’s dead and buried,” she told Georgiana. “You can get off the bed now.”
Georgiana scanned the whole room before she stepped off the bed. “I’m just not comfortable in these little motels. I like a big old chain hotel like a Motel Six or a Holiday Inn or preferably a Hyatt.”
“But they are all out of electricity, right?” Pearl said.
“That’s the only reason I’m here. Spiders are like dogs. They know I’m scared of them so they follow me,” she whined.
“Well, it’s a dead bug now.”
A team of wild, longhorn bulls wouldn’t make Pearl admit to a customer that what she’d killed was deadlier than a common house spider. Next week she’d call the exterminator. It wouldn’t stop the problem but it would slow it down. Scorpions were as native to Texas as sexy cowboys and rodeos, and when it got cold they went looking for a warm place to hole up. The woman trying to walk six inches above the floor wasn’t a native of Texas or she’d know the difference between a spider and a scorpion.
“Thank you.” Georgiana’s voice didn’t match her size. She could be a Dial-Up-Sex woman with that sweet little girl voice. “I’m sorry I said that about your motel. God, I can’t wait to get home to Buffalo, New York.”
Pearl had her hand on the doorknob but stopped in her tracks. “What in the hell are you doing in Texas on Christmas?”
“I was maid of honor for that married couple. She was my roommate in college and he’s my second cousin. I introduced them. I flew into Dallas and I’m flying out tomorrow. I’ll be back home by late tomorrow night, and it won’t be a minute too soon,” Georgiana said.
“Well, the bug is dead. Sleep well and be careful on the trip to Dallas. Roads might be slippery.” Pearl eased out the door.
The door to room one opened when she reached that side of the motel. Jesus, Mary, Joseph, and all the wise men, did she have to run into him every damn time she went on a room service call? Digger pranced at the end of a bright red leash and Wil had enough sense to put on his jacket.
She pointed toward the road. “There’s a doggy section over there.”
He nodded. “That’s where we’re headed.”
She was about to open the lobby door when she caught a movement in her peripheral vision. The texting granddaughter had slipped out of room five and was headed straight for Wil. She wore high-heeled boots, a denim miniskirt, and a bright red halter top that didn’t have enough fabric in it to sag a clothesline much less keep her from frostbite if she stayed outside very long. When she walked under the porch light of Wil’s room, Pearl could see too much makeup and shoulder-length blond hair that had had a recent session with a curling iron.
Wil didn’t even know that trouble was headed his way in the form of cute little jailbait. He was watching Digger sniff every frozen blade of grass in the small area.
Pearl sighed. She should let Wil take care of himself. He was a big boy and could most likely set that little bit of fluff straight with a stern look and a few words. She didn’t owe him protection with the $49.95 room rate. But she couldn’t let her motel get a bad reputation. It might be old and antiquated, but it did have a reputation for being clean, cheap, and quiet.
“Hey, Wil, darlin’, you think you could get that dog to hurry up?” she yelled.
He jumped like he’d been shot and turned so quick that he almost dropped the leash. “What did you say?”
“I asked if you could get that dog to do his business any faster. It’s cold out here and there’s a warm bed waiting,” she said.
Wil looked back and waved at Pearl. “I’ll be right there,” he yelled. “Soon as Digger does his business. Open up a beer for me.”
The room five girl popped her hands on her hips and almost fell when she spun around. When she passed Pearl she gave her a look that would have turned the devil’s pitchfork blue.
Digger melted the sleet on a section of grass and then pulled at Wil to take him back to a warmer place. Pearl waited until the girl was in the room and the door shut before she reached for the lobby door. The wind continued to blow hard enough to slap the sleet against the windows with little pinging noises like a whole army of terrorists attacking the Longhorn Inn with BB guns.
Wil reached the door at the same time Pearl did and he reached out and opened it for her. He wiggled a dark eyebrow. “You serious about that warm bed?”
“It was the only way I could keep that little hussy from knocking on your door later tonight. Don’t read anything into it, cowboy.” Yep, he was definitely a bad boy. Damn fine looking but a bad boy and everyone knew that even though Pearl loved to date and was the life of most parties, she did not have time for bad boys.
“Thanks. I didn’t even know she was there until you hollered.”
“You are welcome. I’m just glad she didn’t slip on the ice. Her grandmother would’ve sued me and owned my motel by sundown tomorrow night.” She slipped past him, her bare hand brushing his on the way, and smoldering heat shot through her lower gut for the second time. It had been too damn long since she’d had a date, been to a movie, or even talked to a guy other than to check him in and out of her motel.
She melted into one of the recliners to catch her breath, but the phone rang again. She hopped up, grabbed it on the fourth ring, and looked at the clock. One in the morning. “Merry damn Christmas to me,” she grouched as she picked up the receiver.
“Longhorn Inn. Front desk,” she said as cheerfully as she could.
“This is Albert Blass in six. Those kids next door still have the television turned up to the last notch, and they’re listenin’ to that music that sounds like a truckload of wild hogs got hit by another truck carryin’ crystal dishes. It’s a hell of a noise. Me and Momma ain’t slept a wink yet and we got to drive all the way to Sherman in the mornin’ for our grandkids’ Christmas party.”
“I’ll take care of it, Mister Blass.”
“Thank you. We ain’t ones to complain. We wouldn’t even be here but our generator plumb played out and I ain’t bought a new one. Word has it that our kids are goin’ to give us money towards one for Christmas. Okay, okay, Momma, I don’t know that for sure, but Bubba Joe said his daddy was talkin’ about it,” he fussed with his wife and talked to Pearl at the same time.
“I’ll take care of your problem, Mister Blass.” She hung up and dialed room three and waited through four rings before someone picked up.
“Hello,” a groggy voice said.
“This is the front desk. Your grandchildren in room five have the television turned up so loud that the elderly couple next door to them can’t sleep. Would you like to take care of that or should I?” Pearl said.
“Henry, wake up and go take care of those boys. I told you to sleep down there with them. You go on and stay down there and next year when you get a wild-ass notion to take them all six on a trip you remember tonight. God, what a mess. We’ll take care of them kids. Don’t you be worryin’ none about it.”
“Thank you.” Pearl hung up the phone and rolled her green eyes toward the ceiling. “Lord, what was I thinkin’? Entrepreneur, my ass.”
She slumped down into the sofa, leaned her head back, and fell asleep. Fifteen minutes later she sat up with a start. It was two o’clock when she finally crawled between the sheets, only to be awakened at three by Digger’s howls and Wil’s sleepy voice threatening to throw him out into the cold if he didn’t hush. She slammed a pillow over her head and went back to sleep until four minutes past four when Digger must’ve held it as long as he could and Wil’s tone said he wasn’t real happy about having to put on his boots and take the dog outside.
“Thank God I don’t have a dog. I’d kill it,” she declared.
At five thirty her alarm went off. She stumbled into the kitchen, made coffee, and jerked on a pair of jeans and a red sweatshirt screen-printed with Rudolph on the front. It was a far cry from the suits and spike heeled shoes she used to wear to work during the holidays or the cute little green velvet dress she would have worn to Christmas dinner in Savannah. She poured a cup of coffee before it finished perking and took a sip. If she’d have had the energy she would have shuddered at the bitterness, but she didn’t have that much spunk and the second sip didn’t taste half bad. Lord, even a night of partying until daylight had never knocked the energy out of her like running a full motel.
The lobby door opened at six o’clock. The grandmother handed Pearl a handful of keys and asked where the nearest place to get breakfast might be.
“This is Christmas so I really don’t know what might be open,” Pearl answered.
The grandmother sighed. “Six half-grown, half-awake kids who are starving and one idiot husband and no place to feed them. Next time my husband comes up with a harebrained idea like this I’m going to have him committed.”
Pearl smiled.
The door opened again and she expected to see the couple who would be either getting a generator or else a dose of disappointment that morning, but it was two uniformed policemen from Wichita Falls.
“What can I do for you?” she asked.
“You got a customer by the name of Wil Marshall?”
She nodded. “Unless he left real early this morning, he and his dog, Digger, are in room one right next door. What’s going on here?”
“Just stay in the lobby. We’ll take care of it,” the shorter, thinner one of the two answered.
They drew their guns and the bigger one was talking softly to the radio on his shoulder when they started toward the first room past the lobby. Pearl did not take to any man, not even one with a badge and a radio attached to his shirt collar, telling her what to do, so she stepped out and leaned against the wall. Short Man gave her a dirty look, but Big Man was busy pounding on the door and announcing he was Wichita Falls police.
Wil crammed a pillow over his head. He didn’t care if the newlyweds next door had robbed a bank or a jewelry store; he just wanted a couple of hours of uninterrupted sleep.
“Wil Marshall, open this door or we will kick it down,” a booming voice said.
He sat straight up, eyes wide open.
Digger let out a mournful howl.
“You kick that door down and you’ll be replacing it!” the red-haired motel owner said loudly. “I’ll unlock it, but don’t you dare kick it down. This ain’t the damned
NCIS
on television!”
Why would the police be threatening to kick down his door? Was he dreaming?
Digger howled again.
A key turned the lock and the door opened. Two policemen rushed in with guns as big as cannons, drawn and pointed at him. That’s when he decided he wasn’t dreaming and he was in trouble.
“Wil Marshall, you are under arrest for the murder of Starla Matthews. You have the right to remain silent. Anything…” The short man read him his rights as the taller one slapped cuffs on his wrists.
“Hey, man, I’m barefoot,” Wil said.
Short Man looked across the room at Big Man who shrugged and removed the cuffs. Wil stomped his feet down into his boots and grabbed his jacket.
“What about this dog?” Pearl asked.
“Call animal control,” Short Man said.
“Call Rye. He’ll take him to my ranch,” Wil said. “This is all a misunderstanding. I don’t know anyone named Starla.”
Digger bounded out of the room and started toward the car.
Wil yelled, “Stay! Sit.”
The dog stopped on the slick sidewalk and sat down. He didn’t move a muscle as the car backed out on the slippery sleet-covered concrete and drove away.
“Now what do I do?” Pearl asked.
Digger looked up at her.
She reached out cautiously and hooked her fingers around his collar. “If you bite me, I’ll call animal control, and believe me, they are not going to be happy about coming after you on Christmas morning.”
The dog obediently let her lead him back into the motel room, but when she shut the door behind him he set up a howl that made the hair on her neck stand straight up. She trotted back to the lobby and called Rye. It took him an hour to get there, by which time Delilah was matching Digger’s high-pitched yowls with deep-throated howls.
Rye grinned when he opened the lobby door. He was a dark-haired, green-eyed cowboy, built like Wil Marshall, only not nearly as sexy to Pearl’s way of thinking. He wore a denim jacket lined in red plaid flannel, a black Stetson, creased jeans, and dress boots. “Guess Digger ain’t none too happy.”
“Just take the dog and tell Austin I’m sorry I stole her husband on their first Christmas morning,” Pearl said.
Austin poked her head in the door and crossed the lobby in a few long strides. She hugged Pearl tightly and said, “Merry Christmas! Tell me what and who stole my husband.”
Austin was a tall brunette with blue eyes, several inches taller than Pearl, which meant she had to bend to hug her friend that morning. She’d inherited her grandmother’s watermelon farm the previous spring and had every intention of selling it until she fell in love with the cowboy that lived across the road.
On one hand Pearl was jealous as hell that her friend had found “the one” and was walking on the honeymoon clouds. But on the other, Pearl wasn’t ready to settle down with one man. To give up the dating scene and look at one man the rest of her life was downright scary. The one time she’d thought she might be ready to do that it had all gone south anyway, leaving another scar on her heart.