‘Your name. I can’t sign you in without one.’
‘Call me Jane. Jane Smith.’
He snorted. ‘That’s original. Mr and Mrs Smith. Bet they’ve never heard that one before.’
Dakota hesitated as the orange and purple lights of the Shangri-La Motel beckoned. The low 60s-style buildings looked original rather than retro and in desperate need of some tender loving care. He opened the cracked glass door into the main office and blundered his way through a dangling pink beaded curtain.
There was no one at the desk, so he rang the bell and resisted the impulse to put his sunglasses back on to lessen the glare of the colorful space. Whoever owned the motel was either blind or in desperate need of a TV makeover show intervention.
A large woman appeared, a smile on her homely face. She wore a grubby pink dressing gown, diamante slippers and a tiara in her big blond hair.
‘Hi, I’m Dorothy. You must be the cowboy with the broken truck. Mr Carter said you might be popping by.’
Dakota smiled back at her. ‘Yeah, that’s me.’ He gestured at his silent companion. ‘And this is Jane.’
Dorothy brought out the guest book and rummaged for a pen in a pink flamingo pot. ‘You want one room or two?’
‘One will be fine. Two beds.’
Dakota glanced over his shoulder as Jane spoke up. Her voice surprisingly firm.
‘She’s right. It’s cheaper that way and I reckon after they fix my truck I’ll need every cent I can get.’
He signed the register, added Jane’s name and handed her the pen. He frowned as he watched her write. Why were her hands so beat up? Had she fallen out of something or been pushed and used her hands to break her fall or protect her face?
‘Number fifteen is round the back. It’s quieter there and you can get a view of the creek.’
‘Thanks, Dorothy. We sure appreciate it.’
She handed him a key and a huge can of Bug Away. ‘Here you go. Remember, don’t spray this stuffin your face or breathe it in, it’s lethal.’
Dakota handed Jane the keys and kept the bug spray for himself. Outside, silence stretched like a thick warm blanket. He found himself yawning.
‘Jeez, I wonder how big the bugs are if she gives this out for free?’
Jane didn’t answer him, her attention fixed on the ground as she walked. He found number fifteen and waited while she unlocked the door and flicked on the light. Faded orange-striped wallpaper fought a losing battle with the blue and green circles on the carpet.
‘Hope you don’t get migraines, Jane.’ He put the bug spray on the table with the groceries and turned to survey his companion. ‘Will you be OK here if I go back to my truck and fetch a few things?’
She suddenly sat down on one of the twin beds as if her legs could no longer hold her up.
Dakota frowned. ‘Are you sure you’re OK?’
‘I’ll be fine.’
‘Can I get you anything before I leave? Water, a doctor?’
‘Water would be great.’
He took the bug spray into the bathroom with him. No need for her to know he was terrified of spiders. He got her a glass of water and put it on the bedside table closest to her. Like most cowboys, he wasn’t known as a great conversationalist, but she made him look like a real chatterbox.
‘Here you go. Take some painkillers and I’ll be back as soon as I can.’ He paused at the door, had a strange feeling that he might never see her again. ‘You will stay put, right?’
She looked up at him and he caught a gleam of a faint smile and a set of dark-brown eyes.
‘Of course I will. I still owe you.’
He relaxed against the door frame. ‘No you don’t. I was just kidding. Now take care of yourself, and I’ll be back before you know it.’
He shut the door behind him and headed toward the town center. If his brothers could see him now they’d be laughing their asses off. He’d allowed his soft heart to fall for another lame duck. How many strays had he collected over the years? Way too many to count and not all of them had been a success.
He frowned as the outline of his truck came into view behind the gas station. Yeah, he might try to remember that, sometimes scared and desperate creatures could turn on a man and make him sorry he’d ever lived.
Robyn Cooper let out a shuddering breath as the door closed behind the big cowboy. Had she done the right thing letting him help her like that? She couldn’t think what else to do and she would’ve hated sleeping in the street. He seemed like a nice genuine guy, but who knew? She’d just have to take care of herself and she’d been doing that quite competently since the age of twelve.
She stared at the lurid orange wallpaper. Part of her kept hoping it was a dream and that someone would leap out of the closet and tell her it was all a set-up and that she hadn’t really hit an all-time low in her already rocky life.
She got up and rummaged in the bag of groceries he’d left behind for the painkillers. God, her head hurt and her eyes were full of grit. The last guy to give her a lift had stunk of booze and kept putting his hand on her thigh while he drove. She’d spent fifty miles holding him off and finally bailed at the gas station, hurting her hands in the process of diving clear of his moving car.
To her relief, the bathroom was tiny but clean. She snapped on the light above the mirror and pushed back the hood of her coat. Oh my God. She looked like something from fright night on Halloween, her eyes reddened, her mascara all over her cheeks and her lipstick non-existent. At least her long black hair was safely secured in its braid. None of the guys who’d given her rides along the way had recognized her. Was she finally turning into someone invisible? Was that a good thing or a bad one?
She opened the painkillers and took six. The desire for a large glass of vodka to chase the pills down warred with her recently acquired conscience. Somehow she doubted the Shangri-La had booze or room service and she had no money to pay for it anyway.
With a sigh, she returned to the bedroom and took the bed furthest away from the door. The counterpane was thinning and deposited tufts of orange fuzz on her black coat. Would her cowboy come back? She pictured his brown hair, hazel eyes and provocative laughing mouth. He was tall too, easily outstripping her. She reckoned he was in his late twenties, about her age or perhaps a little more. What was he doing in such a godforsaken spot? He looked way too clean and wholesome to be staying in a dive like this.
While she loitered in the store, she thought she’d heard something about a truck. Perhaps he was waiting for it to be fixed. Whatever his reasons for being there, he was her ticket out of this town and she intended to ride him as far as she could. By habit, she checked her cell phone, even though she’d been cut off. Who would she call anyway? Her sisters were too fucked up to help her and as for her mom . . .
She stuffed the cell back in her pocket and stared at the door. Here she was, dependent on a stranger to help her out of the hole she’d fallen into. What could she offer him to get his cooperation? Angrily she wiped away a tear. She had almost no formal education, a dysfunctional family and no idea how normal people ran their lives.
He didn’t look like the kind of guy who was desperate for money or fame – not that she could offer him those things anymore. What else could she give him? She swallowed hard, remembered his first comment to her about wanting her body. Could she do that? Could she offer him sex?
Hell, why not? She’d come close to letting the whole world see her naked and, according to the tabloids, she’d had over a hundred lovers before she reached twenty. What difference would one more make?
Chapter Two
Before he locked up the live-in trailer, Dakota checked the time and reluctantly decided he might as well call his half-brother Jay. He had a feeling his news wasn’t going to go down well.
‘Yeah?’
‘Jay, it’s Dakota. I’ve got a problem.’
‘Don’t tell me you’re in jail, cuz I sure as hell ain’t coming to bail out your sorry ass.’
‘Good to know, but not necessary.’ Dakota jammed the phone between his ear and his shoulder and sorted through his keys. ‘Something’s up with my truck and I’m waiting to get it fixed.’
Silence hummed through the connection as Dakota found the right key and shut the trailer door firmly behind him.
‘Where the hell are you and how long are you going to be?’
Dakota sometimes wondered how Jay had avoided a heart attack. Perhaps that’s why he was currently shacked up with a doctor. Mind, Dakota had seen Jay and Helen ‘communicating’ and that was usually a big shouting match too. Perhaps they enjoyed it.
Dakota tried to avoid confrontation if he could. There was no reason to get all riled up about everything. Life was too short.
‘I’m in New Mexico, about two days away from you.’
‘Two days?’
‘It’s not a problem. The shoot doesn’t start for almost a week. I’ll be there in plenty of time.’
‘You’d better be.’
Dakota sighed. ‘Jay, I’ll do my best. If there’s even the slightest possibility I won’t make it, I’ll call you.’
‘Better call Grayson. Maybe he can pick you up in one of those fancy helicopters he insists he needs on his ranch.’
Dakota smiled at the mention of their big brother. ‘I’ll do that.’
‘You concentrate on getting your ass to Los Angeles, do you hear me? Prairie Dawg Boots is depending on you.’
Dakota grimaced as he turned off his phone. Yeah, that was just what he needed, a guilt trip about his responsibilities to his new family. Dakota had agreed to help Jay out with the ads for his boot company after the original guy crashed out of bull riding for good. At the time, he’d been glad for the money.
Now, it seemed he’d become the face of Prairie Dawg Boots, whatever the hell that meant, and the advertising company had built the rest of the campaign around him. He was due to star in his first commercial at the end of the week and he wasn’t looking forward to it.
Acting wasn’t his thing, but it had been impossible to say no to his brother without creating the kind of commotion that split families apart. The kind of wrangle he’d spent his whole life trying to avoid. So here he was again, about to do something he had no interest in, just to keep the peace.
He checked his white Ford truck, made sure it was secure and headed back to the motel. He was a cowboy, not an actor, dammit. And if he aspired to anything, it wasn’t fame and fortune, but a secure job in a field he loved.
A dog barked somewhere in the distance and a lone pickup truck crawled past him. He kept walking, the dust kicked up by his boots shimmered in the orange glow of the street lights. If he missed the shoot, what would Jay do? Kick his ass all the way to Africa probably, and lose a lot of money in the process. He couldn’t do that to his half-brother.
He quickened his pace as the motel came into view around the corner, an oasis of glaring light in the stifling darkness. Would Jane still be there or would she have dis appeared with her painkillers and the free toiletries from the bathroom?
Sometimes it was hard having Grayson and Jay Turner for half-brothers. Grayson had their father’s magic touch with money and combined running a horse stud with his business interests. Jay was so damned stubborn and competitive that he’d reinvented himself from washed-up rodeo star to boot maker in a little over a year.
At least Dakota had been able to avoid contact with his real father. His mother had been the one to end her marriage with Beau Turner and walk away with their young son. She’d remarried and given Dakota a stable home, a new surname and a stepfather who adored him. He’d never faced the uncertainties his brothers had. Maybe that’s why he felt he owed them something and why he was prepared to make sacrifices to keep them happy.
He walked past the main office, added a bucket of ice from the machine at the corner to his load, and knocked gently on the door of number fifteen. There was no answer so he fished out his key and quietly opened the door.
Jane lay on her side, facing away from him on the farthest bed. She still had her coat on and her knees were drawn up to her chest. He let out his breath, glad that she’d trusted him enough to stay put. He pulled off his boots, hoped his welded-on spurs didn’t jingle too much and left them and his Stetson by the door.
A crack of light showed under the bathroom door and he crept toward it. He really needed a shower and something to eat but he hated the thought of waking her.
‘It’s OK, I’m not asleep.’
He paused, his palm flat on the door. ‘Are you sure about that? You look sleepy to me.’
‘That’s the painkillers. I’m OK, really I feel much better.’
He nodded at the grocery bag on the table. ‘Give me a minute to wash up and then we’ll eat some of this junk before we turn in, OK?’
She sat up and watched him until he closed the door behind him. The small cramped space reminded him of his horse trailer, which he hated sleeping in unless he had to. He stretched out his arms and touched both walls. Yeah, it was just as claustrophobic as he’d imagined.