The Starlight Motel

Chapter Nine

The deep, rumbling intensity of Dane’s affirmation sent heat straight to Kada’s core. She thought washing Gustavo’s shirt might earn goodwill, but the pleasure reaped from her encounter with Dane more than made up for the gallons of wash water. She could trust Dane and the way he made her feel, but she needed more time to process his unexpected arrival. “I should check on Lucky.”

“Who’s this lucky?” Dad asked. “Do I need to scare off someone else?”

Mom swatted his arm. “Come on, you old fool. You need food, and I haven’t been here since Pops died. Let me soak up my childhood.”

“And sangria,” Dad said.

Tugging him into motion, Mom blazed a trail toward the main building.

Dane hung back. “I can come with you.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I can stay, or I can head home. Your call.”

“No, stay.” She appreciated his moment of indecision and hoped he had more going on upstairs than rugged masculinity and high-yield crop plans. Where did that come from? If he weren’t such a handsome package, his behavior would speak for itself. Shaking off her unfair assessment, she placed a hand on his arm to anchor him. “I mean, stay as long as you like. I know you have responsibilities, but if you don’t want to celebrate the holiday season at home, celebrate it with my family. We won’t bite. Hard.”

He laughed and dipped his head. “Okay, then.”

The laughter deepened the lines near his eyes, and she considered handing him a book and asking him to wear his glasses again. She never knew she had a thing for spectacles. Maybe the kiss distorted her memory. She hadn’t planned on expanding their new friendship, but she felt like two lives had collided, and she needed her bearings before she made her next move. Shaking off her uncertainty, she turned to her casita , walked through the gate, and looked for the sweet, tan-and-white dog.

From the duvet covering her bed, the animal snored.

Well, if Lucky can hop on the bed, she’s probably okay for a solo evening. Backing out to keep from waking her new pet, she collided with Dane’s chest. “Ompf.”

He wrapped an arm around her waist and tightened his grip. “Caught your balance?”

Blinking, she untangled her thoughts. She could lean into his weight, turn her head for a kiss, or forget her responsibilities and spend all night exploring him. Knowing she should skip each indulgence, she pulled free and brushed off her shirt, but the warmth of his touch lingered. She might have misread the entire situation. “Can you hang out here a minute? I want to change my shirt.”

“Need any help?”

Chewing her bottom lip, she enjoyed his heated gaze. “With my shirt?”

“Life can be challenging.” He stepped closer. “I know a few tricks.”

She doubted he bantered with the farm workers, and his teasing comments left her feeling closer than she felt when they were skin-to-skin in the laundry room. “Do you, now?”

He reached toward her.

She moved to meet him halfway.

A motel guest walked past and whistled.

The guest’s gesture hit her like a cold bucket of water. Straightening, she remembered her priorities. Responsibility and creativity were two halves of her personality. She wanted to make room for Dane, but she was maxed-out. Turning, she offered the guest a friendly wave, but instead of exploring Dane’s lips, she met his gaze. “Thanks for the offer, but I can handle it.”

He stepped onto the porch. “Any time.”

The look he gave her said he would much rather be inside the casita , but complications required time, and she had none to spare. Heartbeat pounding, she walked past Lucky, stroked the dog’s back, and headed for the closet. Priorities. Inside the small space, she had stacked jeans, serviceable work shirts, and a few cocktail dresses she refused to donate. The rest of her work clothes went to a Pacific charity. Who needed black dress pants and interview attire in the desert or in front of a half-finished mural? Fingering a fringed, white dress, she knew it would be too much, but she pondered Dane’s reaction. How would he look dressed for a date?

She poured her heart into the grant application. Winning thrilled her, but the grant meant she might have to sacrifice the taste of Dane’s lips. Pulling a sequined tank from the hanging rod, she slipped on a black cashmere sweater, swapped out her jeans for a clean pair, and told herself she wasn’t the kind of woman who sought out intimacy in a truck’s front seat. The washing machine was a fluke. Maybe she could be that woman. Pulling off her boots, she slipped on a pair of banded slides and hoped her parents accepted her attire as rustic chic. Whether Dane liked the outfit intrigued her, but wearing it made her feel good. Leaving on the lights, she walked out the open front door and scanned the porch.

Dane sat in the rocking chair Chris had occupied. The tarp lay folded at his feet, and the beverage bucket sat stowed in a corner. The sight unnerved her as much as his alluring, sweat-tinged scent. She crossed her arms. “Why do you always take care of things?”

He stood and stepped forward. “Why do you always look good enough to eat?”

The man looked hungry, all right. Before he could pull her into a kiss, she laughed, walked to the gate, and rested a hand on a white, painted post. His compliment affirmed his interest and eased her nerves. She tilted her head. “Are you coming to dinner?”

He ambled toward her. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Pool lights cast flickering shadows on the palms. Content to linger in comfortable silence, she set an easy pace and considered stopping for a second kiss. Maybe she had her wires crossed.

He liked what he saw, but he also wanted to buy the motel and plant acres of vegetables in the space where her family’s legacy took root. “I think you’ll like my parents. My dad is a professor. My mom’s an artist.”

“The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

“No.” She stopped. “I replicate what I see. She builds amazing vases and bowls from scratch. The vessels lean and swell with a beautiful, hand-built symmetry. You like coffee? Try drinking from her coffee cups. Nobody builds a better mug.”

“It’s coffee.”

“Trust me, the mugs are works of art.” Quickening her pace, and uncomfortable with the idea of being on par with her mom, she steered toward the main building and the cantina where her parents waited. Drawing up at the front door, she looked at Dane. “Do you need to check on Smoky?”

“I’ll check with Walter first.”

She tilted her head. “You two are more than coworkers.”

He nodded. “If I’m the analytical worrier, then Walter’s the crushed earth intuit. He smells the weather, hears a pin drop, and can find a pest amid an acre of crops.”

“Why doesn’t he run his own farm?” she asked.

“He doesn’t want the stress. Once in a while, I push him too hard. Instead of talking back, he threatens to leave me stranded, throws his hat in the dirt, and peels out in a cloud of dust.”

“And if you defer too much?”

Rubbing his jaw, he shrugged. “Walter runs roughshod over me and plants varietals I never approved.”

“Is that so bad?” She admired his profile against the botanical lights. When he swiped his hair out of his eyes, he looked like a Hollywood heartthrob with too much on his mind.

“If Walter wants a community garden, he can buy a lot in town, rent a backhoe, and scrape off a few inches of topsoil. If he wants to make money, he needs to trust my analytics.”

She laughed. The glasses made a lot more sense. She ran the motel like a rambling country house. He ran his family farms like a well-oiled machine. No wonder he struggled to sleep at night. Opening the main door, she scanned the reception area and the cantina. The dining room’s rustic wooden beams and hanging chandeliers looked intact. Guests occupied wooden chairs, Randi and Stephanie ferried dishes, and candles flickered between patrons enjoying dinner conversations.

Mom and Dad sat at the table next to Walter.

Counting chairs, she debated table arrangements and the impact on the cantina staff. “Let’s push these tables together and share a meal.” She pulled back the nearest chairs. “That fine with you guys?”

Walter nodded. “I could use a bit of company.”

Dad shrugged.

Mom looked so lost in her memories she would have agreed to an alien invasion. Kada wondered what changes she noticed. Instead of worrying, she adopted a bright smile. “All right, let’s have a meal.”

Dane slid the second table toward Walter’s table, rounded the far corner, and took a seat next to his friend.

Stuck between her parents and her guests, she wanted to spend time with both parties, but she had no clue how long either intended to stay. Mom and Dad might try to make a quick holiday exit. Kada couldn’t hold hostage their car keys, but she could block their vehicle until she said her piece. The thought of a parking lot standoff made her fuss with the centerpiece to camouflage her smile.

Leaning toward Walter, Dane spoke softly.

She gave the men their privacy and focused on her parents. “I wish I’d known you were coming a day early. I would have prepped.”

“The motel looks great, Kada.” Mom smiled. “I can’t believe how good it feels to be home.”

“Home’s in Wyoming.” Dad cleared his throat. “This is a vacation.”

Mom patted his hand. “I know.”

Tenure was such a lure. Dad fell in love in the desert, but his livelihood depended on publications and research. The fact that Mom followed him always comforted her. A woman who gave up the things she loved found someone she loved more than her comfort.

Randi walked up, set out glasses, and poured water from a pitcher. “I know you two.”

Dad slung an arm around Kada’s shoulder. “I’m her father. Give me the best steak in the house. Medium-rare.”

“Oh, you’re a year too late.” Randi winked. “Hall took it to his grave.”

Laughing, Dad dropped his arm and picked up a menu. “Fine. I’ll have a hamburger.”

Her stomach rumbled, and she wondered how much time she could spend with her parents before the motel’s guests called her back to action.

Stephanie set down Walter’s and Dane’s meals.

True to his word, Dane ordered a salad topped with the three B’s: blackened steak, black beans, and blue cheese. Spiced garlic bread sat on the side of his plate. Walter ordered a hamburger and a side of fries. She wondered what the pair would think of Benito’s more creative menu offerings.

“You guys need anything else?”

Both men shook their heads, but their hands remained in their laps.

“Oh, go on and eat.” Mom waved them on.

The men exchanged glances. Nodding, they dug into their food.

The clock chimed eight o’clock.

Kada caught Stephanie’s eye. “Does Benito have any more mushroom barbacoa ?”

“He made you a fresh batch.”

Her stomach went into overdrive. “Thanks. I would love a bowl and a side salad.”

“Make that three and cancel the burger,” Dad said. “I’ve had enough patties in my life.”

Her father lived on a diet of meat and French fries. If he wanted a comforting soup, he ordered French onion soup. Narrowing her gaze, she wondered if her parents’ visit had a new urgency. If Dad had cancer, then she needed to know the details, and she needed to find him the best doctor on the West Coast. Her leg jumped. She chewed her thumbnail. When had he ever turned down a hamburger?

Dane laid a hand on her thigh and leaned close. “What’s wrong? You itching to dance?”

“Hardly.” She stilled her leg and glanced at his hand. “You’re handling things.”

He removed his hand, but he leaned closer. “I’m good at it.”

Rolling her eyes, she reached for her water glass and downed the liquid. Adjusting her seat, she acknowledged her professional career had signaled the end of her dad’s helpful calls and friendly cash donations, but she valued their relationship. What really brought Mom and Dad down here? The question lodged in her throat. She glanced at Dane and wondered if he and his parents danced around issues. Given Mariah’s decades in the schools, she probably taught Dane to speak his mind.

Dane replaced the hand on Kada’s thigh and squeezed.

She appreciated his steady heat.

Randi bent to retrieve an errant napkin, caught her gaze, and raised her eyebrows.

She met the woman’s appraising stare, but she looked away and checked the guests. Inés and Chris still sat by the fire. Families used dessert to lure their children into finishing their dinner, and the lovestruck couple held hands. She exhaled and squeezed Dane’s hand on her thigh. “I’m starving.”

He moved his chair closer and lifted a forkful to his mouth.

“So, Dane” Dad said. “You run Palmer Farms. Seems to me I’ve heard that name. Didn’t you try to buy out Pops?”

Choking on a sip of water, she waved her hand. “Not tonight, Dad.”

He shrugged. “Why not talk shop? He runs the largest-scale farming operation in the valley. He has zero room for mistakes.”

She scanned the cantina, caught Stephanie’s gaze, and pantomimed something stronger than water. “He’s here to relax. If you want to talk about farming practices, then I’m sure he would give you a tour.” She dropped her chin. “Tomorrow.”

Dane rubbed his thumb along her thigh.

The rhythmic pressure distracted her from her anxiety.

“Why talk about tomorrow when you have today?” Dad tapped the table. “Successful agriculture takes luck and strategy. I cannot imagine a better scenario for a lifecycle analysis. Let’s talk shop.”

She groaned.

Laughing, Dane retrieved his hand, lifted his fork, and paused. “I’m all ears. What do you want to know?”

His warm, seasoned voice soothed her as much as his kiss excited her. If he wanted to go head to head with her father, then she would sit back and watch the show.

Stephanie returned with a cup of hot coffee.

Well, the server had her charms. Lifting the warm mug to her lips, she sipped the strong, dark coffee and hoped caffeine carried her through the night. She wanted to paint, but she had to make it through dinner first.

Randi set down three dishes of vegetarian barbacoa stew.

Kada wet her lips in anticipation. Benito had browned mushrooms in a skillet with chipotle and spices to create a smoky, meaty sauce. He layered the stew over rice and pinto beans, added fresh herbs, and drizzled crema over the beautiful, hearty dish. Every time she took a bite, her shoulder muscles loosened.

“How can you justify your crops in the desert?” Dad asked.

She squeezed shut her eyes and suppressed another groan. Maybe her dinner companions would attribute her reaction to hunger.

“Valley farmland is one of the largest crop-growing regions in California.” Dane put down his fork and rolled his shoulders. He sipped his water and met Dad’s gaze. “The location baffles some people, but think of the nearby population centers. Most of the valley’s irrigation water comes from the Colorado River and the Coachella Canal.”

“So, you’re stealing it.” Dad took a bite.

“Dad!” Kada let her utensil clatter to her plate. The Coachella Valley Water District relied on groundwater, recycled water, imported water, and the Coachella Canal. Unpacking two hundred years of water policy could unleash a torrent of politics and inequities. “You might as well ask him to defend Westward Expansion, too!”

“Is that an option?” Dad stroked his chin.

She glared. “Not over dinner!”

Dane laughed. “I can handle the water rights. Every year, the Coachella Valley Water District delivers three-hundred-thousand acre-feet of imported water. The irrigation system is an engineering marvel. I guarantee you I pay for every drop of canal water I use.”

“The canal’s an artifact of poor decision making.” Dad shook his head. “The All-American Canal should never have been built.”

Cocking his head, Dane adjusted the salt and pepper shakers in the center of the table.

She imagined him arranging the pieces of an argument in his mind. He needed her protectiveness like she needed him to run the motel. Having made her initial protest, she waited to see where he would take the debate and wondered if he would continue it after-hours, naked, over a bottle of wine.

He looked up from the condiments.

Caught staring, she felt her cheeks warm.

He winked and turned toward Dad. “More than sixty percent of area farms use drip or other micro-irrigation. Palmer Farms is no different. The delivery system reduces water use, allows me to add pesticides and herbicides directly into irrigation lines, and contributes to increased crop yields.”

Looking toward Walter, she made eye contact and waited for him to chime in and support Dane.

He chewed a bite, set down his hamburger, and sighed like a man who wanted to enjoy his meal.

She knew the feeling.

“Palmer Farms is one of the most efficient agricultural water users in the state.” Walter picked up his burger and raised his eyebrows.

Dad pursed his lips and squared off against Dane. “Tell me how irrigating the desert is efficient.”

Dane worked his jaw.

She understood their discussion, but she wanted to stir a leftover candy cane into her coffee, take pictures in front of the tinsel tree, and peruse the box of worn picture books celebrating the holidays. Having her family in town meant the world, but having Dad badger her future date could turn any woman into a recluse.

Couldn’t he camp out on the casita porch and clean his shotgun like a normal dad? The thought brought a grin to her face. Dad knew more about computers than shotguns, but he never shied away from an opportunity to learn.

Dane sipped his water. “More than a century ago, farmers came to the valley for cheap land, a warm climate that facilitated winter production, and a seemingly endless abundance of water. Artesian wells brought water to the surface, but agricultural growth led to a dramatic drop in the groundwater tables.”

“Should have been a sign to go home.” Dad mixed his rice, beans, and barbacoa . “You’re depleting the aquifer.”

“Me?” Dane held his hand to his chest. “I get water from the canal.”

Didn’t Dad know keeping the flavors separated highlighted the best bites? If he hadn’t whisked Mom away to Wyoming, then the three of them might have grown up in the valley, Pops could have retired and handed over the reins to Mom, and she wouldn’t be debating politics two days before her grant deadline.

Then again, maybe she would. If her alternate reality played out, she might have missed Wyoming’s hard, beautiful winters, attended a different university, and planted roots so deep in the Coachella Valley that leaving would feel like a betrayal.

Letting go of the implications, she focused on the future and wondered if she could free Smoky and send the gelding stampeding through the cantina. The motel’s books could deal with the lost revenue, and she could close down the main building and regroup. If the people at her table wanted to debate agricultural practices, they could sip cocktails by the pink firepit like civilized guests.

“Fine, your industry,” Dad said.

Dane pushed his half-eaten salad toward the middle of the table. “You’re right, Mr. Ritchie. If the CVWD hadn’t imported Colorado River water to the valley, the farmers would have overdrawn the local aquifer and stalled the valley’s residential growth. But where would Southern Californians get their bell peppers in December? If you study lifecycle analysis, you know the alternative means shipping produce over long distances.”

“Transportation is going electric.” Dad jammed his pointer into the table. “Wait for it!”

“When?” Dane scratched his chin. “In the meantime, transportation means diesel emissions. Did you know gravity sends water down the canal? The irrigation system requires none of the electricity costs normally associated with pumping.”

“Humph.” Dad took a bite and chewed. “Agrarian civilizations have perished because of inadequate farmland drainage and accumulated salt in the soil. The problem will solve itself.”

Dane leaned back in his chair. “We have an underground tile drainage system that carries used irrigation water to the Salton Sea. We’re meeting market demands.”

Staring at him, Kada marveled that she asked him to help her fix her washing machine. “I didn’t appreciate the system’s complexity.”

Exhaling, Dane nodded. “After World War II, large grocery chain stores appeared in big cities. My great-grandfather was one of the first people to realize the growth in chain stores would eliminate wholesale terminal markets. If he could grow and package the food, he could cut out the middleman and sell directly to large stores.”

Mom sipped her tea. Her jaw twitched.

Kada doubted Mom worked a piece of ice. She followed the conversation but kept her opinions to herself. Letting people talk out their differences was a skill she taught Kada from an early age. Sometimes, Kada had to count to ten to keep from smoothing over a conversation’s rough edges.

“At the same time, the distribution system for Colorado River water supplied gravity-fed water to Coachella Valley farms. My great-grandfather bought as much land as he could afford, and he helped turn the valley into a hotspot for winter vegetable production.”

She heard the pride in his voice, but their families had shared a fence line for four generations. Despite their ancestry, they had to look forward. “He offered to buy this land, too.”

Dane worked his jaw. “Your great-grandfather beat him to the punch.”

“Maybe we should have purchased more land.” She scanned the cantina. Biting off more than she could chew seemed to be her modus operandi , but humor could diffuse the tension building between Dane and Dad. She swept a palm to take in the dining room. “I could preside over a resort.”

He grinned. “You’d be good at it.”

Mom laughed. “Granddaddy didn’t have the cash.”

Having eaten half his stew, Dad shook his head and pushed away the dish. “It all comes down to cash.”

She loved her father, but he lived in a land of orderly spreadsheets and scientific debates. As far as she knew, he’d never risked his savings for a commercial venture or put his self-worth on the line and sold a work of art.

“The desert’s still sinking,” Walter said.

Every person at the table turned and stared.

Walter dabbed his napkin to his mouth. “As residential growth exploded, golf courses and homeowner associations used the Colorado River water for landscape irrigation. Palmer Farms grows peppers, but those fools grow grass.”

She thought of Pop’s putting green lawn and felt her cheeks warm, but she kept her mouth shut.

Walter pushed back from the table. His wooden chair clattered over the glazed tile. “Folks say the canal water helps conserve the valley’s potable groundwater, but the ground’s sinking. Anybody who spends time outdoors can see the signs. It’s gotten so bad they’re pumping canal water into two groundwater replenishment facilities. If you flush a toilet in Wyoming, the treated water might make its way into our aquifer. If the farms have to go, the suburbs have to go, too.”

Dishes wobbled.

Eavesdropping guests shook their heads.

Shutting down the conversation might be akin to censorship. Trusting the audience, she covered her mouth and waited.

Dane raised his eyebrows. “Walter makes a good point.”

Dad burst into laughter. “I like him. Do you give speeches?”

Walter winked. “Only during happy hour.”

Exhaling, Kada scanned the room. She appreciated Dad’s scientific mind, but she preferred to keep his debates confined to his lecture rooms or office hours. “Dessert?”

All three men shook their heads.

“Cocktails?”

Dane squeezed her thigh and laughed.

She covered his hand and squeezed back. Knowing he could defend himself made exposing him to her family’s eccentricities much easier. He kissed her cheek in front of her parents. If anything, he opened himself to the challenge.

Mom leaned close. “Don’t pay Dad any mind. He’s testing Dane because he loves you. When I first met Bobby, I knew I’d found a man with passion. Maybe he and Dane share different interests, but they’re passionate about what they do. We’re the artists, Kada, my love. We create. They analyze. Without each other, we’re all lost.”

She recognized her mother’s intent, but a year of suppressed frustration bubbled in her throat and stole her words. Her family loved her so much they poured their hearts into their work and her life, but after failing in her career, she wondered if she deserved their love.

“What about you, Cicada? Where do you stand on water rights?” Dad angled his chair.

Swallowing, she looked around the dining room. Without fresh water, life in the desert valley couldn’t exist, but she could take a cue from Palmer Farms and modernize Pops’ operations. Infrastructure from the 1950s served her family, but she could find ways to modernize the arrangement. Caught off guard, she settled on an observation. “I can’t criticize too many people, Dad. The Starlight Motel has a pool, and I keep it full.”

Dad nodded.

“Well, Smoky certainly appreciates the feature,” Dane said.

“Stubborn horse.” Walter crossed his arms over his chest. “Gets it from Dane.”

Raising his water glass, Dane saluted Walter and sipped.

Walking up to the table, Sue frowned and shuffled her feet.

Her lipstick looked fresh, and Kada wondered if she and her family planned to drive into town for dinner. She stood and smiled. “Can I help you?”

“We need more linens. The shower’s trickling, and we’re using washcloths. I burnt dinner.” She hiccupped and squared her shoulders. “That last bit doesn’t matter. Just, can I have a few more washcloths?”

Hearing the desperation in the guest’s voice, Kada rounded the table and wrapped an arm around Sue’s shoulders. “No problem. Tell me what you need.”

“Kada?” Dane asked.

She turned.

“I can get the linens, and you stay with your family.” He set his napkin on the table. “Where do I find them?”

Shaking her head, she led Sue toward the lobby, but she looked over her shoulder and met his gaze. She had taken on responsibility for the motel, and she would stick with her commitment, but she appreciated his offer. Thanks , she mouthed. Amid the cantina’s bustling dinner service, he wouldn’t hear a word she said, but she hoped he understood her appreciative smile.

When she returned to the table, if she found Dad and Dane on speaking terms, she would take their camaraderie as a sign for the coming year. The thought lightened her step.