Vacation with the Scorpion Cowboy (Monsters and Margaritas #3)

Chapter 1

Hyacinth

The screaming last night gave me a migraine. While my sister has thrown open the drapes to let the hot Vegas sun drench our hotel room, I pull the blanket over my head to keep my eye sockets in the dark. “Can you shut that please? And get my medicine from my bag?”

Singing the chorus from “Dancing Queen” from last night’s show, she stomps around the hotel room getting my medicine and a glass of water for me. I don’t think Lily intends to be as loud as she is, but at the moment I wish I’d gone ahead and forked out money for my own hotel room.

But this is what she wanted. And Lily always gets what she wants. A weekend in Vegas with her sister—one last hurrah before her wedding. So here we are.

When she sits down on my side of the bed, I carefully peek out from under the blanket and let out a sigh of relief. She closed the curtains.

“I’ve already ordered us room service for breakfast since you aren’t feeling well. Then Patrick scheduled a wildlife tour for us, with a picnic lunch. We’ll have time to clean up and get dressed before the dinner magic show tonight.”

“As long as no one is screaming ABBA lyrics at the magic show, sounds good.”

“You love ABBA!” Lily playfully slaps my arm. I glare at her in response.

“At reasonable levels, I do. Last night was not reasonable. Moon people could have heard us.” Lily snorts, I lay my head back on the pillow and pray to the universe that the medicine kicks in quickly.

By the time breakfast arrives—French toast, bacon, eggs, fruit salad, and tea—and we’ve both showered and dressed, my head feels manageable. But I make sure I have my largest, blackest sunglasses as we head downstairs for the tour.

“So what wildlife are we seeing? Where is the tour exactly?” I ask as we wait in the tiled, air-conditioned lobby.

Being from Minnesota, the heat here in Las Vegas is otherworldly.

I’m not quite sure why this is the vacation destination of everyone’s dreams, I’m definitely a snow-woman melting in summer here.

Lily pops her bubblegum and starts listing verbatim what must be the brochure.

Things like, “The wilder side,” “nature at its finest,” and “pristine desert eco-system,” which sounds like great marketing.

So far, all I’ve seen in terms of wildlife as we rode from the airport to our hotel on the Strip is a black crow, a lizard on the stucco wall at the airport, and a few sparrows searching for crumbs from the messy adults indulging themselves.

I nod as she talks, trying not to catch the bright reflections off cars from the sun.

How is this place so bright? How is everyone not covering their heads to shade themselves as they strut along the infamous Strip, gambling and drinking from casino to casino?

I can see why Lily picked here. This is her jam.

Glitter, glam, shows, and everyone partying like it’s their job.

We may be sisters and best friends, but we are opposites.

This entire spectacle of a weekend, even of a city, is the opposite of my jam.

I want a quiet garden to get my hands dirty in.

A cozy chair with a good book and a cup of tea.

A sleek, black limo with dark windows pulls up, and a man in chauffeur’s outfit—complete with little black hat—comes around to ask us if we are Lily and Hyacinth, then opens the back of the limo for us.

“Wow,” I say as I slide into the cool back of the limo. The chauffer introduces himself as James, and hands us each a tumbler filled with an icy margarita, a wedge of lime on each one. A little early for alcohol, but when in Rome, I guess…

Lily squeals after her first sip. “This is divine!” Smiling, nodding, I take a sip. It is good. Refreshing after the short walk from the hotel entrance, which was shaded but still an inferno, to the limo.

The car rolls away from the hotel, and soon we’re on the highway watching hotel after hotel fly past us. As the landscape changes to something less ornate and fake-feeling, my excitement builds. This is going to be fun! We’re going to see things most tourists never see.

Lily refreshes our margarita cups and pulls out a nail polish kit that’s so fancy, I feel like I need an instruction manual.

I crack a window to let the fumes of polish out and a steady jet of furnace air in to swirl with the powerful air conditioning.

She insists on painting my nails aqua blue, even though she knows I hate nail polish. I gladly paint hers fire engine red.

Then we sit, hands stiffly holding our drinks to avoid touching our nails to anything. Just enjoying last moments of freedom with my sister. Chatting plans.

“Are you ready for marriage?” I ask, trying to stay focused on my sister…the reason we are here to begin with.

“Flowers are ordered. Cake is designed and ordered. Menu is set…” I stop listening as she lists off item after item for the wedding, which is not what I was asking about. Nodding along, I wait for her list to be exhausted—it’s a long list.

“Are you…” how do I put this? “Are you nervous about living with Patrick? With combining your lives?” I still don’t love Patrick as my future brother-in-law, but I suppose I don’t have to.

I’m not marrying him. But he’s a bit stodgy, bit set in his ways at the ripe age of thirty-three.

And I can’t really understand what my gregarious sister sees in him.

If she is glitter and glam, he is smarm and boring.

Lily flips her head around like I just gave her whiplash.

Her ponytail hits me in the face—she doesn’t seem to notice.

“Of course! I mean, he’s scheduled this for us.

How cool is this?” She spreads her hands wide at the limo, then points outside to actual desert landscape, devoid of any buildings.

“Look! I mean, not only does he take care with me, but he knew you would love this! He’s such a sweetie pie. ”

And with that, I down my drink.

We saw a tiny museum that had sun-faded cards describing the Native American artifacts and taxidermized animals.

“I don’t think that place has been updated in decades,” I say as James refills our margaritas.

He mumbles something about grant funding, but quickly turns, shifts into drive, and pulls out of the parking lot.

I don’t get more of an answer. Lily waves me off again.

I should collect a dollar chip from the casino from her every time she does that—it’s annoying.

“Come on, Hyacinth. Isn’t this fun? How do I get you to relax with me?” Now she’s pouting. Ugh. I hate this part of our song-and-dance-relationship.

“A bookstore. With a fluffy cat, a comfy chair, and a hot tea.” I close my eyes to envision my town’s bookstore back home. Is it weird to miss a bookstore? Obviously it isn’t, but I do keep my missing to myself.

“Hot tea? Girrrrllll,” Lily says, stretching out the word and she tugs at the straps of her skimpy tank-top.

“Okay, if the bookstore were here in Vegas, I’d say iced tea.

Anywhere else in the world, definitely hot.

” I sip my margarita, enjoying the salty-sour-sweet blend and look out the window.

We aren’t in Vegas anymore. That’s for sure.

From towering hotel-casinos, to miles of clustered subdivision homes, to now—a flat rocky desert expanse, dotted with small bushes that may have been green at one time.

And in the background, towering brown mountains devoid of any green, carved with the memories of once upon a time water flowing down them.

It’s a little intimidating. Stretching my neck to look in front of us, the black pavement is a mostly straight line, heading in the same direction as far as I can see. Out the back window, the same.

There are no other vehicles nearby. No other roads. No buildings. Where is this tour taking us?

The limo slows. I turn to face Lily, eyebrow arched in question, but she is in her own little world, playing some game on her phone. “Lil,” I whisper at her. She looks at me with the same bubbly look she always has.

“More margarita?” Phone down, she picks up the carafe out of the ice bucket and tops off my cup. I’m so thirsty.

“Why are we slowing down? Can I get some water?” Lily looks confused at my questions, then takes a minute to look out the window.

“I guess this is our next stop. We’re supposed to see a coyote sanctuary. I don’t see any water bottles. I’ll ask James.”

Before she can say anything else, the limo has stopped.

On the side of the road—half the wheels in the desert dust. Huh.

James is at our door in a flash, opening it with a flourish and a very wide smile.

Obediently, we get out. It feels good to stretch after sitting for so long in the car. “Where are we?” I ask.

“We are headed to the coyote sanctuary. But first we need to make a pit-stop.” He shuts the door and steps away from us. Pit stop? Here? There isn’t a building as far as I can see, let alone a gas station.

“Are we out of gas?” Now I’m concerned.

Lily shakes her head in an of course everything is fine way that she’s done as long as I can remember. Reaching for the door, she says, “Let me see if we have signal. We can look up the nearest gas station.”

“That won’t be necessary,” our driver is now standing beside his door. He opens it, jumps in, shifts into gear, and guns the gas pedal, spraying us in a shower of pebbles and dust as the rear tire attempts to get traction before all four tires make it onto the jet black asphalt of the highway.

And there it goes, our sleek black limousine, driving into the distance.

I look at Lily, who is staring after the limo, expectantly waiting much like a dog waits for its master at the front door, knowing at some point relief will come. Except, the brake lights never flash red.

We’re both wearing skimpy tank-tops, hers with glittery letters that spell ‘brIDE.’ Mine with glittery letters that say, ‘THE OTHER ONE,’ which sums up everything you need to know about our relationship.

I’m wearing linen shorts, she has on a really tiny ruffly skirt.

Both of us are wearing flip-flops and holding our margarita tumblers.

No water. No hat. No phones. At least I have my sunglasses to protect me from the blazing sun.