The Starlight Motel

Chapter Five

Leaving the trio outside her home, Kada set out on a brisk walk through the motel gardens and opened the kitchen’s back door. Clattering, stainless steel pots and wafting steam hovered above the electric range. Randi and Stephanie passed tickets like a well-oiled machine, and Chef Benito churned out dishes in short order. He could handle twenty guests with ease, but the rushed date order almost sent him over the edge.

Opening the refrigerator door, she pulled out a bag of long carrots and a few apples. “Do you need these things tonight?”

Benito shook his head, jiggled onion sizzling in a frying pan, and slapped Stephanie’s hand away from a plate of fresh French fries. “That’s my dinner!”

She wrinkled her nose. “I only wanted one!”

He presented his cheek.

Kada wondered whether Stephanie would slap his cheek or kiss it.

Leaning in, she pressed her lips against his clean-shaven cheek. “I’ll pay you back later.”

Benito returned the affection with a hip-check and laughed. “I know you will.”

“Huh.” Kada took an apple bite. The tangy-sweet juice coated her tongue. When did I miss that development? Shrugging off her employee’s good fortune, she turned toward the door, thought about her expedition, and turned back to the familiar faces. “Benito, I’m taking Pops’ truck to check the back roads. I thought I saw a flare or someone flashing their headlights in distress. Dane Palmer’s coming with me.”

Benito emptied the onions into a prep bowl and nodded. “Good man.”

She looked up from the apple. “You know him?”

He sliced jalapenos without looking at his knife. “I was his confirmation sponsor.”

Four hundred thousand permanent residents lived in the Coachella Valley. The odds of Dane and Benito bonding over catechism lessons seemed as unlikely as the odds of her becoming a billionaire. She could suspend belief, but when life came too easily, she had suspicions. “Really?”

Pausing the knife, he made eye contact. “Really. I wouldn’t let you wander off with anyone. Hall would haunt me.” He crossed himself, stuck two fingers in his mouth, and whistled. “Order’s up!”

She turned away.

“His family’s been part of this valley for generations,” Benito said. “You can trust him.”

She looked over a shoulder. “Or I can trust he wants this land.”

Benito wiped his sweaty forehead on his white sleeve. “If he wanted to buy this motel, he would make you an honest offer. He doesn’t have time to play games.”

She understood rationing time and weighed her choices.

Benito had been with Pops for nearly a decade. He made corn tortillas from masa and an old Mexican process. Nixtamalization unlocked nutrition and made the corn lighter and sweeter. When guests pressed him for his secrets, he shifted the praise to the landrace corn his brother grew. The grain had a tangy bite, and his brother maintained an online store. Would the guest like a card?

When exhaustion hit her, she craved a strange and wonderful mushroom barbacoa he made but refused to divulge the recipe. With a little more time in the desert, she might figure out why the dish captivated her, but tonight, she feared she had little time to dawdle. If Benito trusted Dane, then she would, too. She gave a brief nod. “I’ll be back in an hour or so.”

“No problem.”

From the main floor, Stephanie dropped a plate on the Saltillo tiles.

Ceramic shards flew. Chairs scraped back, and the mother from the aluminum recreational vehicle swooped her young son into her arms.

Benito winked. “Like I said, no problem.”

Gaze wide, she left through the back door before someone handed her a broom. Most nights, she would happily clean up the mess, but she had a feeling someone in the hills needed more than a quick cleanup on aisle two. Stepping outside, she waved to Dane and brought him the snacks for Smoky.

He took them from her hands and handed them to Chris. “He’s all yours.”

She jerked her head over her shoulder and urged Dane to come to the parking lot.

“I’m right behind you,” he said.

She nearly skipped down the path. The Starlight Motel filled her days with joy, but she yearned for a bigger impact, and she missed the teens she worked with in Los Angeles. If she could help whoever signaled from the hills, the holiday season would be off to a grand start.

Pops’ old blue truck sat in the lot’s sole covered spot. Over the years, the glacier-blue 1955 all-American pickup truck earned new paint and fresh wood bed-lining. Pops reupholstered the front seat in blue, perforated vinyl to match the truck’s blue dash, but the vehicle’s chrome bumpers, grille, trim, and badging were all original.

She opened the driver’s side door, pulled the keys from behind the sunshade, and started the engine. The engine’s steady rumble soothed her. Despite its age, the truck’s interior paint, kick panels, gauges, switches, and headliner looked brand new, and the upholstery smelled like Pops’ spicy aftershave.

Dane opened the passenger door and climbed inside the cab.

She turned and smiled. “You’re sure you’re up for this ride?”

“Chris is sitting on your front porch, and Smoky is nearly lying at his feet.” He buckled his seat belt. “They’re good.”

Doing the same, she pulled the truck out of the covered spot, stopped at the highway, and checked for cars.

The empty highway stretched for miles in either direction. Nautical Twilight came around six o’clock. This darker, heavy sky belonged to pure night. The deep-blue sky and bright, visible planets reminded her to breathe, because the Earth spun with or without her help.

Going right, she aimed for a limited-access road a mile past the Starlight Motel. If she had gone left, she would have ended up in Dane Palmer’s backyard. “I guess I could drop you off at your house. Smoky will be okay until you or Walter bring back the trailer.”

“I expect he’ll beat me back to the motel,” he said. “I don’t mind riding along. It’s a beautiful night.”

She slowed for the access road. “It is lovely.”

A gate impeded her progress.

He moved to jump out.

“What if it’s locked?” she asked.

Shaking his head, he climbed out of the cab. “This is the Coachella Valley. Nothing’s ever locked.”

Sure enough, the moment he pushed on the gate, it swung open.

She looked up toward the hills. If she couldn’t find the flash’s source in thirty minutes, she would admit defeat and retreat to the Starlight Motel.

He reclaimed his seat, rolled down the window, and rested his elbow on the jamb. “The weather’s just right for being outdoors. When summer days want to break me, I think of nights like this one.”

Air-conditioning buffered her summer days, but he and Smoky worked the land. Rubbing her arm to ward off the chill, she wondered why he left his jacket over the saddle. Surely, he knew better. She cranked up the truck’s heater. “The stars are so pretty out here.”

“And where you’re from?” he asked.

Bumping along the dirt road, she considered how to answer him. When Mom and Dad met in the 1970s, he was a seasonal caddy at a Palm Springs golf course, and she was a cocktail waitress, saving tips for college. They eloped and settled near his family in Laramie. For a decade, they occupied a space in the community and deeply loved each other. Then she came along.

All of a sudden, three was a magic number, and she never felt more loved, but as she grew up, she realized she had a rollicking case of Only Child Syndrome. In art school, she did a lot of self-reflecting on the role OCS played in her personality. Of course, she liked to believe she had all of the good parts of the condition like fierce independence, ingrained studiousness, and extreme loyalty, but she hoped none of the selfish, bratty bad parts stuck around. Who was she kidding? Her parents spoiled her and loved her. She had to actively fight the self-assured battiness they cultivated and remember how much she owed them.

College was the great equalizer. By the time she graduated from the University of Wyoming and received her B.F.A. in Studio Art, she knew she needed space to start her life on her terms. If she stayed in Laramie, she would always be Bobby and Larissa’s little girl.

“I grew up in Laramie, Wyoming, but I bounced around. Before Pops passed, I lived in Los Angeles. I’m a muralist.” She glanced over. “By training, I mean.” She had never described herself as a muralist before finishing her degree. What would her peers and their families say about her rambling drawings, art classes, and doodle-filled notebooks? Could she defend her career choice? More importantly, could she pay her bills? Something told her that success came easily to Dane, and she didn’t want to preach about the power of art to transform lives.

She navigated around a scrubby tree and glanced over. Despite her jerky driving, he loosely drummed his fingers on the door. The prospect of discussing her work with someone so removed from the art world filled her with an odd sense of anticipation. She wanted to see his reaction and measure his words against his handsome facial expressions. Her selfish desire for approval smacked of the self-absorbed approach influencers took toward co-opting artistic works for social media posts, pouting their lips, and raking in thousands of likes. Where were the likes when she needed them to fund her last venture?

She swallowed her frustration and adjusted her grip on the steering wheel. Bitterness stifled creativity. As a lovingly-raised, well-educated woman, she had a leg up in the world, but she also had questions. She made friends wherever she went, but she also sought peers who appreciated her passion. Would Dane ask what drove her creativity or yawn through her descriptions? She smiled. Mariah probably drilled enough manners into him to ward off a yawn.

“I know you’re a muralist. Everyone who visits the motel sees your work.” Dane shifted.

The seat’s vintage springs creaked.

“Your murals are beautiful,” Dane said.

Her cheeks warmed. Most of the praise she received came from the press or students associated with her work. This time, the compliment came from within arm’s reach. “Thanks.”

“Why do you paint at night?”

Drawing back, she wondered how he knew her habits. “The air’s cooler at night. Fewer interruptions. I have time to think.”

He wiped a thumb along the dusty dash. Brushing the dust onto the jeans covering his thigh, he nodded. “From the house, I can see you working by floodlight. Sometimes, you’re up until three in the morning. Most people know when to call it a day.”

“I’m not most people.” Throwing his line back should amuse her, but she appreciated his patience, and she looked for a way to soften her retort. “Also, most people are asleep at three in the morning.”

He worked his jaw. “Fair enough. We’re all a little odd.”

“Yes, we are.” She tore away her gaze and wet her lips. Her high school suspension record proved she had a flair for truancy. Mom and Dad hated those years. Once she learned to funnel her questions into her art, the relationships improved, but lying dormant inside herself was the teenager who enjoyed colorful Holi festivals with her academic father, smashed clay pots with her artisanal mother, and ran through art supplies without considering the cost. She hoped Dane had an outlet, too.

“If you don’t slow down, you’ll blow a tire, and we’ll have all night to get to know each other.”

She slammed on the brakes.

The truck lurched.

He braced a palm against the dash. “Easy does it.”

Exhaling, she scanned the landscape. Tall bushes cast shadows, but the white sand shone beneath a field of stars. “I’m not sure I’m in the right place.”

“Well, I can think of worse ways to pass an evening.”

“Such as?” she asked.

“Singing Christmas carols.”

She turned. Even the over-scheduled, suburban moms staying at the motel sported a post-holiday glow. Nearly thigh-to-thigh in the old truck, she wanted to know more about Dane and his broad shoulders, but his attitude toward the holidays might be a deal breaker. “You don’t like Christmas?”

“It’s a fine idea, but it’s a lot of hoopla.”

Shaking her head, she eased off the brakes and chose a slower speed. “Like pink.”

He laughed. “Like pink. I’m not opposed to the holiday or the color. I think people behave badly most of the year, but they pull out their fake-friendly smiles for Christmas. The minute the trees come down and the hangovers wear off, they’re back to business. Trust me, I know when someone’s putting on a show.”

She glanced over and noted his tight jaw. “Who’s been mean to you?”

Shifting in the passenger seat, he looked out the window. “Nobody in particular, but I wonder if the valley would be better off without local agriculture. Sometimes, I feel like Sisyphus pushing his damn rock up the hill.”

“It’s a lot?” She turned on the wipers to clear dust from the windshield.

He sighed. “Yes, but the people we support would suffer without us. Farming is a balance. From time to time, I encounter people who don’t understand the trade-offs. They want my family to disappear. They also want bell peppers in December.”

“Trust me, I’m happy with the dates,” she said.

He cleared his throat. “Good.”

She slowed for a fork in the road.

“Go right,” he said. “The left branch ends at a cliff.”

Nodding, she put on the blinker and turned right.

He laughed. “I’m glad you’re signaling to the kangaroo rats.”

Rolling her eyes, she kept the truck to a moderate pace and looked for a repeat flash.

For thousands of years, sand from the surrounding mountains washed into the Coachella Valley and formed a dune system. Behind the dunes, the rift mountains rose. Her painting buddy, the fat, fringe-toed lizard, belonged among the shifting plains.

Along the highway into town, placards marked other unique species like the Coachella round-tailed ground squirrel, the giant red velvet mite, the flat-tailed horned lizard, and the giant palm-boring beetle. She didn’t want to arbitrate between the lizard and the beetle, but she appreciated the local ecosystem and its diverse flora.

The road winding along the dune would take her into the foothills, but once the grade rose, the road would probably dead-end at a sheer cliff face. Whoever flashed the lights found themselves in over their head or took too big of a risk.

Dane knew the landscape, and despite his daily burden, she doubted he needed assistance in this type of terrain. If the person they sought lived locally, she would give them a tow back to town, wish them a happy New Year, and give everyone at the motel a free dessert.

The road curved around a palm oasis. The San Andreas Fault lines allowed water flowing underground to rise to the surface. In some places in the valley, endangered desert pupfish dwelled in year-round pools. Creosote bush, burrobush, smoke tree, and desert lavender made an alluring backdrop for tourists and performers documenting their stay in the valley. “Does this road connect to your land?”

“No. It cuts through a pass and connects with Sky Valley.”

Sure enough, she spied a canyon break in the mountains. The cliffs would shield anyone’s signal from the Starlight Motel, so if a person needed help, they had to be close or recovered and on their way.

Following the road, she wondered if it paralleled an old creek bed. The pathway twisted and turned beneath the stars. In five minutes, she would put the truck in Reverse and shake off her sillies.

Dane gripped her arm. “Stop!”

She slammed the brakes and followed his gaze.

A white car sat on the roadside. All four doors stood open.

Frowning, she scanned the vehicle and found it empty. Relief mixed with frustration, and she sighed. Whoever sent up the flare changed their mind, but she spent her evening riding to the rescue. If Dane hadn’t come along to pique her senses, she might have considered the outing a waste. “Someone will have to tow the car out of here. I’ll call the sheriff and ask what happens next.”

Dane reached for the door release. “Maybe their tires got stuck.”

“Maybe.” She put the truck in Park and opened the driver’s side door.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

She lowered one foot to the rocky sand. “Investigating.”

He exhaled and rubbed his temples. “Stay in the truck. I’ll do it.”

“Look, I didn’t ask you to come along. I didn’t ask for the date bread or the dates or”—she chose her words carefully—“the pleasant company, but I don’t need a chaperone. If you want to stay in the truck, stay in the truck!” The last bit came out too forcefully, and she swallowed. “Although I do appreciate your concern.”

“I’m sure.” He opened the passenger door.

If he pulled a revolver from his waistband and turned this outing into a horror show, then she would run for the hills. Instead, he followed her through the sparse vegetation and kept the night wind from ruining her vibe.

The white car looked abandoned. A few fast-food wrappers littered the dash, and if she peered into the footwells, she suspected she would find more trash. “Maybe they got lost.”

He kicked a tire. “Maybe they got spooked.”

Looking up, she considered the star-filled sky. “By what?”

“Searchlights? Immigration control? Drug Enforcement Administration?”

She scanned the mountainside. One hundred miles away, the Mexican border waited, but migrants made their way to the Coachella Valley. Agricultural jobs and tourism suggested cash-only jobs, but some migrants found themselves dumped onto downtown streets with little guidance on how to secure food, transportation, and shelter. She brushed her hair out of her eyes. Global issues deserved more than a rocky, backcountry road and two Good Samaritans who wanted to help. “Right. I’ll call for a tow in the morning.”

He cupped her elbow.

She felt the pull toward the truck and acquiesced. Tilting her head, she listened to the wind shift the sand and whistle through the mountains. Below the soft symphony, she heard a growl. “Wait!”

Stopping in his tracks, he tightened his grip.

The low, protective growl came again from the car.

Pulling free, she walked toward the car and peered past the driver’s seat. A tan-and-white dog lay on the backseat. Her distended abdomen filled the bench. She barred her teeth, but her glossy coat marked her as a treasured pet. “What the…”

The pregnant dog growled once more and closed her eyes like the long day had been more than she expected.

A bowl of water sat on the floorboard. The dingy, white plastic bore gnaw marks and looked like it saw better days, but it held water. Someone left the vessel next to their pet and hoped for a positive outcome. Kada leaned forward. “It’s okay, sweetie. We’re going to help.”

The dog sighed.

Dane gripped her elbow. “Be careful.”

She drew a deep breath, pulled free, and stepped back from the car. Walking circles beneath the starlit sky, she considered her options. Animals tugged at her heartstrings, and when she imagined herself in the dog’s place, she felt fear. If she dwelled too long on the dog owner’s painful choice, she would definitely cry. She looked over her shoulder and saw Dane bracing an arm against the doorframe. “Dane! Why aren’t you being careful?”

He jerked his head toward the dog. “I’m making sure she doesn’t bolt.”

“I’m sure you could catch a heavily pregnant dog.” She mirrored his stance on the other side of the door and wondered if the dog would trust them.

The wind shifted.

It lifted her hair and amplified Dane’s warm, leathery smell. Spending time with him interested her in ways she didn’t fully understand, but her attraction did nothing for the tan-and-white mutt. Lifting her chin, she crossed to his side and gave the animal an escape route.

The dog opened her eyes and halfway bared her teeth.

“Right.” She spotted black fur ringing the animal’s doe-brown eyes. She had seen more fearsome expressions from festival goers confronted with a No Vacancy sign. Knowing the effort might earn her a rabies shot and a stern reprimand from everyone who loved her, she ran a hand along the car’s backseat and stopped near the dog’s head. “Hey, sweet girl. It’s okay.”

Lifting her head, the dog scented the air.

If Smoky’s scent gave her a stamp of approval, she would find the gelding a bucket of apples and hand-feed him every tangy morsel. Taking a deep breath, she skimmed her fingers down the seat’s back support, stopped short of the dog’s face, and waited. “I have a nice, soft bed waiting. Does that sound good?”

A second sniff.

Closing her eyes, she lowered the hand a few inches and waited. A heartbeat later, she felt the dog’s soft whiskers, and she froze. A hesitant nuzzle. Releasing her breath, she opened her eyes and grinned. “You’re going to be okay.”

The dog lowered her head and huffed.

She visually checked for a collar. What do I call her?

Feeling brave, she edged her weight onto the backseat, shifted closer, and scratched the dog’s ear. She had the smoothest, silkiest fur. If fine desert dust made it soft, she might need to go into the skincare business. “I’m guessing you feel lost. I’ve felt that way, too. I’ll take care of you.”

The dog nudged against her palm.

“What’s your name?”

Closing her eyes, the animal breathed deeply.

“All right,” Dane said. “Let me get her.”

“I can pick up her.” She scratched the dog’s chin. She might have a nose for Dane’s warm cologne, but the dog needed help. In the confined space, the dog’s soft, musky scent reminded her of a neighbor’s dog she had almost forgotten. “Plus, what if she doesn’t like you?”

“All animals like me,” he said.

Looking up, she wished the moon shone brighter and she could make out his shadowed expression. “Is that so?”

He crossed his arms. “No, but if the mutt’s going to bite someone, it might as well bite me.”

Part of her wanted to sit outside on a beautiful night, exchange stories, and let the animal relax, but she had too much to do to indulge in late-night confessions. “I keep beef jerky in the truck.”

The dog lifted her head.

“It’s in the glove box,” she said. “I’ll go get it. Maybe I can lure her out of the car.”

He nodded.

Sliding out of the car and leaving the pair to get acquainted, she walked toward the truck and popped open the box. The half-eaten bag sat right where she left it. Feeling good about her instincts, she turned and peered through the car’s front seats.

Wedging his large body into the car’s backseat, Dane slid an arm under the dog and pulled her weight toward his frame. Bent at the waist, he eased the animal out of the backseat, straightened his legs, and lifted her against his chest.

Apparently, I didn’t need the jerky. She wanted to be annoyed he ignored her plan, but sometimes, the most thoughtful plans backfired. If her slow approach had warmed up the dog’s demeanor, she and the dog agreed on one thing; Dane Palmer was a good man. Pocketing the jerky, she opened the truck’s tailgate and stepped aside.

Dane lowered the animal to the wooden bed.

The dog whimpered and laid down her head.

“Shh.” Climbing onto the tailgate, she settled beside the animal and offered reassuring comfort. Looking up, she found Dane staring. “We’re helping her, right?”

“Helping her have a litter of puppies?” He worked his jaw and closed the tailgate. “Yeah, she’ll be fine. We’ll be fine. Puppies are a dime a dozen.” Shaking his head, he walked toward the driver’s seat, paused with a hand on the door handle, and looked back. “I can drive, right?”

She nodded and wondered if displaced muralists were a dime a dozen, too.

“Hold on tight.”

Repeating the phrase, she settled a hand on the dog’s smooth back and a hand on the truck’s cold wall. She wondered what kind of American Pit Bull Terrier Mix she and Dane had rescued. Really, the dog’s breed didn’t matter. The animal needed a safe, warm home, and an abandoned car would never do. Plus, whoever flashed the car’s headlights and made sure the sweet animal had the help she needed had surely loved her. She would make some family a great pet. “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine. It’s a beautiful night. What else could go wrong?”

The dog nudged her pocket.

Pulling out the jerky, she broke off a piece and offered it. “Good call.”

The dog took the piece and delicately chewed it. Lowering her head, she closed her eyes like she knew exactly how she landed in this mess, but she questioned how it ended.

Dane started the engine.

Meeting his gaze in the rearview mirror, she smiled encouragingly.

He frowned, shook his head, opened the driver’s door, and climbed out of the cab. Leaning on the truck’s side, he rubbed his face and dropped a hand with a sigh. “I can’t have such pretty ladies bouncing around the truck bed. On these rocky roads, it’s not safe. Do you think she’ll sit between us?”

Ignoring the pretty lady jibe and comparisons with her silky, canine friend, she peered into the cab. If Pops lived, he might object to tan-and-white dog fur littering the perforated vinyl, but she possessed the title and half ownership in the Starlight Motel. She stood, hopped over the bed wall, and opened the tailgate. “Just go slow, okay?”

“It’ll feel like crawling.”

She laughed and hefted the dog into her arms. The animal looked smaller than it felt, but she could do this. How had Dane carried her so easily? Taking small steps, she reminded herself asking for help might be the smart course of action. Making eye contact with Dane, she adjusted her hold, but the dog must weigh seventy pounds. “So, I have no clue what I’m doing”—she swallowed the whispered confession—“but I’m doing my best.”

The dog licked her cheek.

The wind slipped past the wet spot and left a cooling sensation. Rubbing her chin against the dog’s fur, she staggered toward the truck. “Hang on, sweetie. We have you. You’re lucky we found you.”

“Kada…” Dane stepped forward.

She shook her head and thought of an ex-boyfriend’s tattoo. Not all those who wander are lost . In the desert, the dude’s tech-bro credentials were useless, but Dane was a different breed. No matter how much she appreciated his capabilities, the grant deadline loomed. She wasn’t lost, and his graceful strength couldn’t be more than a late-night anecdote. She shifted her hold on the dog. “Don’t worry. I’ve got her.”