Chapter 2 Dahlia #2
The low rumble of an engine pulled Dahlia from her thoughts. A tow truck rolled into the spot where their vehicles had collided. She opened the door and stepped out, loose stones shifting under her boots.
The driver unfolded himself from the cab. He was taller than Lucas, burly, brown-skinned, wearing a weathered Stetson and work boots that had seen years of dust. Dahlia had to tip her chin up to meet his gaze. There was kindness in it, enough to put her at ease before he said a word.
“Evenin’, ma’am,” he greeted in a cheery drawl. “Name’s Beau.”
“Dahlia,” she returned, nodding toward Lucas. “He called you?”
“Sure did.” Beau’s gaze went to Lucas, then back to her. “Gonna talk to him for a sec, then I’ll get you squared away.”
He and Lucas huddled near the Silverado’s tailgate, low words passing between them. Beau bobbed his head, clapped Lucas on the shoulder, and returned with a half-smile that took the edge off her nerves.
“Okay, Miss Dahlia, our mechanic’s closed till Monday,” he said, glancing at the car before meeting her eyes again. “You mind if I go on and hook her up for tow? I’ll take her to my buddy’s lot and make sure she’s safe for the weekend. We’ll leave the key in the drop box.”
Dahlia gave a small nod, resigned. “Go ahead.”
Beau tipped his hat and moved to the front of the car. Chains rattled, a hook caught, and her rental lifted onto the wheel mount.
Dahlia sighed through her nose. “Well, this is just perfect. Catching an Uber was not on the itinerary. There goes my plan for sightseeing.”
Beau chuckled, not unkind. “Calling for a car service out here on a weekend? Next to nil. We’re too far from the city for that kinda luck. But if you need to get around, I can take you myself. Just say when.”
A sliver of caution flickered. She was miles from anywhere familiar, but Teylor and her family had her location pinned. If anything went sideways, somebody would come swinging. Her frustration softened into something closer to gratitude.
“You sure?”
“Wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t,” he said, with a genuine smile. “I’ll give you my number when we get to the shop. After that, I can drop you at your hotel or wherever you’re stayin’.”
“Thank you,” she said, meaning it. “And he’s paying for this. Every bit,” she added for the night air, not entirely sure whether she wanted him to hear.
Beau fastened the last chain with a solid tug. “He will.”
Lucas stood a few yards away, arms folded, brim low. The neon light spilled across him, catching the edge of his hat and tracing pink and blue over the black of his shirt, turning his irises pale again for a fleeting second.
After Beau opened the door, he helped Dahlia climb into the passenger side of the tow truck. She kept the window cracked, one last look at the man who had knocked an entire evening off the rails with one careless reverse.
“Good night, Lucas Stanley,” she said, dryly.
“Night,” he answered, the single syllable delivered without so much as a glance in her direction.
The music from inside The Hen House faded to a dull bass throb as Beau eased them out of the lot. Dahlia watched Lucas Stanley shrink in the side mirror until he disappeared, then shifted her gaze to Beau.
“So. That man, Lucas Stanley—you called him Luc. Who is he to you?”
“My best friend,” Beau said, keeping his eyes on the road. “We met here about five years back. I didn’t have family. He became it.”
She nodded slowly, attention drifting to the dark strip of highway stretching ahead. “So he called you, ‘cause I’m Black.”
Beau chuckled, the sound rumbling from his chest. “No ma’am. Luc just don’t do confrontation. He’d rather call me than turn a small mess into a bigger one.”
“Don’t do confrontation?” She said half amused, half annoyed. “Nah, he called his big Black friend, probably his only Black friend in this white ass town, so he didn’t have to deal with the angry Black woman. Coward.”
“Not at all,” Beau laughed softly, shaking his head. “Luc just ain’t good with this kind of stuff.”
Dahlia stared out the window at the passing neighborhood and huffed, “Yeah, it’s ‘cause I’m Black.”
Beau didn’t respond, just let her comment hang before steering the conversation toward the town, pointing out landmarks and sharing bits of Ironhaven’s small-town lore.
Dahlia listened, side-eyeing most of it but curious all the same, already deciding the first spot she’d hit was the diner he claimed made the best smothered pork chops in the Dakotas—though she’d bet her Granny’s still had every plate beat.
A few minutes later, Beau swung into a small auto yard, dropped the rental behind a locked gate, and slipped the keys into a metal drop box.
“All right,” he said, climbing back into the cab. “Hotel’s about ten minutes out.”
It wasn’t quite ten minutes before they pulled into a driveway beneath the covered entrance of a hotel with white brick and tall arched windows. Dahlia hadn’t expected to find four-star accommodations, with that kind of luxury and comfort, sitting pretty in the middle of South Dakota’s backroads.
Beau rounded the front of the truck and helped her down. “Welcome to Ironhaven, Miss. Dahlia.” He tipped his hat with a big, friendly smile. “See you later.”
She stepped aside, returning his with a wider one. “Just Dahlia or DeeDee is fine, Beau. And I’ll be sure to give you a call when I’m ready to get out and see what Ironhaven’s all about.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” he tipped his head, closing the passenger door before backing away toward the driver’s side.
Upstairs, Dahlia entered the room as she’d left earlier, suitcase still open on the bench, clothes draped over the sides in disarray.
Near the window sat her travel altar: a small pouch of sage essentials, crystals lined like sentinels, and the cleansing spray she’d mixed herself—distilled water, witch hazel, lemon, rosemary, and a few drops of frankincense.
Since she couldn’t smudge in a hotel, she uncapped the bottle and misted the air, watching the shimmer drift through the lamplight until the space felt lighter, more hers.
She exhaled, letting the tension drain. Then she dropped her purse onto the armchair, fished for her cell, and called Teylor as promised.
“You had about five minutes before I was calling your ass back. So, what’d the police say,” Teylor jumped right in.
“He wrote up the report and gave us both a copy,” Dahlia answered, kicking off her boots and settling in the armchair by the window.
“Gave him a citation for failure to yield, and I’ve got Lucas Stanley’s insurance information.
I’ll be calling on Monday since it looks like I’m stuck here without a car.
Then again, Beau did say he could take me wherever I need to go since they don’t get Ubers out here often. ”
“Wait—who’s Beau? And where’s he taking you?”
“Anywhere I wanna go. But he’s Lucas’s best friend who drives a tow. He dropped the rental off at the shop,” Dahlia explained with a grin. “Girl, why did his white ass call in backup with Beau—like he couldn’t handle all this Black girl magic?”
Teylor cackled. “He can’t, that’s why he called that Black man for you. So, you gonna holla at Beau, right?”
“I highly doubt that,” Dahlia laughed. “He’s a big ol’ gentle giant though. Reminds me of John Coffey.”
“Who?”
Dahlia burst out laughing. “Girl, you know—the man in The Green Mile. But Beau’s finer.
Huge smile, calm energy, hands that look like they could pick up a house.
He called me Miss and ma’am without it sounding country-old.
I think I’m gonna take him up on his offer so I can check out this little town. ”
“That’s what I’m talkin’ about,” Teylor clapped. “You met somebody to kick it with, and he sound like a sweetheart. I approve.”
Dahlia hesitated, thinking of Lucas’s strong jawline, that cleft chin, those gray eyes that wouldn’t stay one shade, and the way his unbothered attitude was like a challenge. Would he drop that calm-like-he-don’t-care act long enough to hang out with her? Probably not.
“No, ma’am, it’s not like that with Beau,” she said finally, tamping the thought of Lucas down. “Ain’t nobody trying to start nothing with nobody out here in Hicksville, USA.”
“Mmhmm. Why it take you so long to answer, then?” Teylor pressed with a muffled chuckle.
“Did not. I answered you point-ten seconds.”
“Alright, whatever, my Spiritual Baddie. But don’t sleep on them big boys—especially if he from the country,” Teylor warned playfully.
“You know some of them were raised right and know how to treat a lady. Hang out with Beau tomorrow and see what Hicksville’s got goin’ on.
Handle your car Monday, and when I get there next week, we’ll do the rodeo, line dancing, and all that good stuff. How’s that?”
“Sounds good to me. Can’t wait to see you, Tey. Call you tomorrow.”
They traded quick good-nights, and when the line clicked off, Dahlia opened a video call to her cousins.
Shayla’s square came in first, her head wrap tied high, and as always, her lip gloss was popping despite it being after two a.m. on the East Coast.
“About time. Lennie texted me a little while ago asking if I heard from you. We checked where your wild tail is ‘cause Granny said you’re not with Teylor. The hell you at, girl?” Shayla demanded, pointing at the screen.
Before she could answer, Lennie’s box appeared. She was holding a glass of wine and swatting at her boyfriend, who popped into view with the biggest smirk, his locs brushing his shoulders.
“‘Sup Shayla. DeeDee. How y’all doin’?”
“Umm, no.” Lennie snatched her phone and moved to another room, grumbling, “Dang, you see I’m trying to talk my cousins. So aggy.”
Jace trailed right behind her smoothly plucking the glass from her hand with a grin. “And I’m tryna talk to them too. Ain’t seen them in days.”
“Boy, bye. They didn’t call you—call them on your own time.” She playfully mushed him out the room and closed the door.
Dahlia giggled at the display. Lennie had been secretly dating the drummer from Love in Minor Keyz—the same band where Shayla was the lead vocalist. They’d tried to deny it for months, but it was obvious they were more than they were letting on.
Once Lennie got settled, her questions came flying.
“DeeDee, girl, why are you in Westbubbafuck without Tey? And where the hell is that?”
“I just asked her that before you and Jace so rudely interrupted,” Shayla said teasingly.
Lennie scrunched up her face. “Girl, hush, I was the one that told you what Granny said.” She flippantly waved her hand with a smirk. “You didn’t even know DeeDee was out of town ‘cause you was busy boo-lovin’ with Jamin. Now quit trying to make this about me—let the girl answer. DeeDee?”
Shayla gave her the middle finger, and Dahlia fought the tug at the corner of her mouth before she spoke. “I’m in South Dakota, in this town called Ironhaven. Teylor would’ve been here, but I kinda messed up. I got my ticket for this week instead of next week.”
There was a long pause before both cousins burst into laughter.
Lennie wheezed, “Only you would end up in a cornfield somewhere gettin’ lost in white folks’ country.”
“Right! Next thing we know, she gonna be behind some bar serving up beers and line dancing for tips,’” Shayla cackled.
Dahlia rolled her eyes, still chuckling. “Y’all done? Because your cousin here got into an accident with some white cowboy at little while ago.”
“Wait—what?” they both shouted.
She threw up her hands. “I’m fine, promise you. It was just a fender bender.”
“See? Only you,” Lennie said, shaking her head. “You would be the one to get into a fender bender in Westbubbafuck, South Dakota.”
“And survived to tell it?” Shayla added, shrugging.
Dahlia could still picture him standing there, jaw tight, those gray-green eyes flickering from calm to cold in a heartbeat, like he was one word away from growling.
She pushed through the shudder. “Anyway, this big ol’ cowboy—mean as a junkyard dog—hit me, but he got a ticket and he’s gonna pay for it. ”
“As he should. But ma’am, a mean junkyard dog?” Shayla said, tilting her head with a look of mock disbelief. “And you didn’t smudge him?”
“I was already thinking I’m gon’ sneak-spray him if I run into him again,” Dahlia promised, lifting a finger. “Real quick—psst, psst—before he even know what’s happening.”
Her cousins hollered.
When their laughter finally died down, Dahlia sighed and rubbed a hand over her face. “Alright, y’all, I’m about to hop in the shower and wash off all this road dust and bad juju from the night. I’ll call you tomorrow, promise.”
“Nah-uhn, not before we sang, girl,” Shayla said, snapping her fingers and started the familiar humming.
Since they were little, the Childs girls had been singing wherever life took them.
Shayla and Lennie had grown up obsessed with Mariah Carey, always belting out “Always Be My Baby” like it was their anthem.
Some things never changed. Every time the three got together, music followed.
For them, it was more than a song; it was their way of keeping close.
Dahlia grinned and joined in. Once Lennie came through with the hook, the three of them harmonized a few lines of their favorite song, “We Are Family” by Sister Sledge before hanging up.
When the screen went dark, Dahlia set the phone on the nightstand and headed for the shower. Steam and lavender soap chased away the night’s grit, leaving her skin cleaner and her mind a little clearer.
Half an hour later, she emerged somewhat refreshed. She peeled back the coverlet and slipped beneath the cool sheets.
Dahlia stared at the ceiling for a long breath, the evening replaying: the sting of metal, the tilt of a white hat under neon, eyes shifting with every passing light.
She had come to Ironhaven for music and rodeo. Instead, her first night ended with a collision and a man whose gaze refused to settle.
Some start to a simple getaway.