Even Cowboys Get The Blues

3. TONI

If Lady Luck is indeed the lady she says she is, then Fate is her sadistic step-sister—a fickle bitch with a bad sense of humor. 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, but didn't even slow down, let alone turn around.

So much for helping a lady in distress. Shit!

I glanced 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 and I'd forgotten about how humid the South was.

So much for Miss Rose and her wonderful plan. It was either accept her challenge or forfeit my inheritance—a pink, 1968 GTO convertible. Cash on wheels if I wanted. I could sell the car tomorrow for an easy twenty grand – or more— if I hadn't loved it so much.

Despite my protests that I had three years to go, three years until my baby turned eighteen, Rose's lawyer had 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 highway shimmered in the ungodly heat, and what little vegetation growing alongside the highway clung to its last shreds of green. A semi drove by, blowing his horn, his tailwind shoving a thick mass of hair in my face. Merde! I ducked my head and pulled my hair back knotting it with a flick of my wrist. I leaned against the hood of the car, trying to get the grit and sand out of my eyes. I didn't notice the SUV pulling in behind me until its tires crunched on gravel.

Through narrowed eyes I took in the woman who stepped from the shiny blue Ford. She was shorter than me and as blonde as I was dark. Probably in her late thirties, or early forties, and despite her blue jeans and high heels, she reeked of money. Like someone who'd never had to scrabble for a meal a day in their life.

Then again how much sense did she have, stopping to help a stranger?

"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 somewhere?"

"I can't leave my car." I shrugged. That car was all I had. That car was everything. My past, my future.

"I could call a tow truck for you. Any idea what's wrong with it?" She moved a little closer, her smile never wavering. I'd bet she knew jack about cars. Hell, hers was probably still under the manufacturer's warranty while mine was built before they needed warranties.

"The radiator or possibly, the water pump." Or maybe even both. And right in the middle of my favorite Bob Seger song, too. Another groan escaped me.

"Oh, that's not good."

Fingertips wedged in the pockets of my tight jeans, I watched as she pulled out a fancy cell 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. It's small, but we do have a motel. And a bed and breakfast."

"Tha's great. Thanks." While she talked, I did the math. The dollar signs added up at a nauseatingly fast 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. At this rate, I'd never make it back to Louisiana.

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

Decision made, I strolled closer, offering her my hand. "Toni duBois."