EVEN COWBOYS GET THE BLUES

Fate is a fickle bitch with a bad sense of humor. If Lady Luck is indeed the lady she says she is, then Fate is her sadistic step-sister. I finally decide to return to Louisiana, only to end up broken down in the middle of nowhere south Texas. A highway patrolman drove by on the westbound side, not even bothering to turn around.

So much for helping a lady in distress. Maudit!

I looked down at myself, taking in my damp jeans and grease smudged t-shirt. Not much of a lady-ehh? With a grunt of disgust, I slammed the car’s hood and looked around. T’was fucking hot! Fifteen years in the Nevada desert doesn’t prepare you for the damned humidity.

And so much for Miss Rose and her wonderful plan. In the letter I’d been given after her death, she’d insisted it was time for me to wrestle my demons, to find closure with my father and find my daughter, Nicholette. Wrestle my demons, indeed! But it was either take the challenge or forfeit my inheritance--a pink, 1968 GTO convertible. Cash on wheels. I could sell it tomorrow for an easy twenty grand, if I didn’t love it so much.

Despite my protests that I had three years to go, three years until my baby turned eighteen, Rose’s lawyer insisted. According to her I needed to make myself “findable” in case I couldn’t find her.

Fate apparently had other ideas.

Shading my eyes with my hand, I looked around, wondering how far I’d have to walk for help. The black tarmac shimmered in the heat and what grass grew along side the highway clung to the last shreds of green. A semi drove by, blowing his horn, his tailwind shoving a mass of dark hair in my face. Merde! I ducked my head and rubbed my eyes, trying to get the grit out, and didn’t notice the SUV pull up behind me until it’s tires crunched on gravel.

The woman who climbed out was shorter than me and blonde, late thirties, early forties, and she smelled like money. Like someone who’d never had to scrabble for a meal. But how much sense did she have, stopping to help a strange woman?

“Are you alright, honey?” she asked, a smile on her face.

I eyed her and pushed my sunglasses further up my nose. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Would you like a ride?”

“I can’t leave my car.” I shrugged. That car was all I had.

“I could call a tow truck. Any idea what’s wrong with it?” She moved a little closer, her smile never wavering though

I doubt she knew jack about cars. Hers was probably still under the manufacturer’s warranty while mine was built before they needed warranties.

“The radiator and water pump.” And right in the middle of my favorite Bob Seger song, too. Another groan escaped me.

“Oh, that’s not good.”

Fingers wedged in the pockets of my tight jeans, I watched as she dialed a tiny phone and called for a wrecker to tow my car in. “Where are we going?”

“My friend, Petey James, has a wrecker service and a small garage in Bluebonnet. The town’s only about fifteen minutes up the road, on the outskirts of San Antonio.”

“Tha’s great. Thanks.” While she talked, I did the math. The dollar signs added up at a nauseating rate. A hotel bill could quickly wipe out what cash I did have. Small garages usually meant big bucks--especially if you had tits.

And I did.

“We could sit and wait in the air conditioning until Petey gets here.” She smiled and tilted her unruffled little head toward her shiny green Explorer. As if she sensed my hesitation, she held out her hand and added, “You’re perfectly safe with me, honey. I’ve lived in Bluebonnet all my life. I’m Susie Boudreaux.”