A Wedding at the Blue Moon Cafe
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
A Wedding at the Blue Moon Cafe
Copyright © 2014 by Cate Masters
ISBN: 978-1-61333-646-5
Cover art by Mina Carter
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work, in whole or in part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.
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Also by Cate Masters
Dead to Rights
Death is a Bitch
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Tonight You Belong to Me
A Hard Day’s Knight
Homecoming
Cinderella Dreams
Sweet Revenge
Cursed
Charmed
Claimed
Blue Moon Over Bliss Lake
The Ex Factor
A Wedding at the Blue Moon Cafe
Blue Moon Series, Book 2
By
Cate Masters
~DEDICATION~
For Gary, always
“A yurt? Seriously?” Dylan Wall tried to make it sound like a joke. He sure as hell hoped it was. The thought of staying in one was as surreal as the Chihuahuan Desert, patches of dried-up weeds interspersed with sparse greenery, and clouds floating in a ridiculously wide sky as if painted by Rousseau himself. Dylan wished he’d already reached the other side of the desert. Or could even see the other side.
“A yurt. Y-U-R-T.” The cell rendered Jeff Smiley’s voice more crystal than if he sat in the convertible’s passenger seat.
He chuckled. “I know how to spell it, wise ass.” Even if he couldn’t conjure an image of one. Or maybe his subconscious wouldn’t let him. Shit, he missed his condo already. The rearview showed no vehicles behind him. None ahead either. He might as well be the sole survivor of the apocalypse.
“They have a few tents. I thought you’d get a kick out of the yurt, though.” Jeff’s voice reminded him civilization awaited. “Unless you prefer an RV?”
Or something like civilization. “Uh, sure. A yurt sounds good.”
Jeff’s laugh burst from the cell. “I knew you’d love it. Cool. So what’s your ETA?”
Dylan checked the GPS. “According to my sexy Aussie navigator, nineteen minutes. You know, barring any natural disasters.” Or unnatural. The landscape had a downright alien appearance. If a UFO hovered over his rental car, it wouldn’t surprise him. Much.
“Fantastic. I can’t wait for you to meet Amy.”
“Yeah, yeah. She looks great.” The photos Jeff had posted on Facebook made Dylan a bit envious. Or possibly disturbed. Their smiles a little too wide, the lovey-dovey glow a bit unnatural. Maybe living forty-eight hundred feet above sea level for a couple of years had affected their brain function. Did anyone fall that deeply in love?
“You’ll love Clarissa, too.”
“Right, Amy’s best friend.” The one with the sketchy past. No Facebook account, no Twitter, no blog. E-mail but no computer according to Jeff, who didn’t explain, saying Dylan should get to know her first. Must be a real winner.
“Hey.” Jeff’s voice dove into a canyon of sympathy. “Sorry to hear about you and Deb.”
“Yep, I’m solo this trip.” Probably better off that way anyway. Girlfriends got caught up in wedding fever. No way was he prepared to deal with the marriage hysteria, bridezillas, or anything remotely related.
“But hey.” Jeff brightened. “Maybe you’ll find your soul mate in Marfa like I did.”
He tried not to choke. “You never know.” In a miniscule town in the middle of the West Texas high plains? Oh yeah, he could just see himself falling for an artist, actress, maybe a Border Patrol agent? “Well, better get moving if I’m going to make it in time for your shindig tonight. And once I do, I’ll expect you to hand over a list of local hot spots. I’m gonna throw you one hell of a bachelor party, my friend. Your little town will be talking about it for years to come.” If no hot spots existed before, he’d heat one up.
“Oh. Well….” If he was still the same old Jeff, his stumbling tone hid an apology.
“What?” Dammit. Dylan knew it. He’d looked forward to letting loose, forgetting about his troubles, but Amy had talked Jeff into some coed thing, not in a good way. No exotic dancers, no lap dances. No dancing of any kind, probably. Not that Dylan normally indulged in such things. An escape. That’s all he needed, a freaking escape for two weeks.
Jeff had sighed over the phone. “It’s just…. Amy and I have other ideas. We’ll talk when you get here.”
Other ideas? He didn’t like the sound of that. “’Kay. See you soon.” He disconnected and tossed his cell onto the passenger seat.
Yeah, let’s have a chitchat in my yurt
. Holy hell. Two weeks, and he’d waste it having zero fun. Almost two days shot already on the road, and now the desert sun burned. The cute clerk at the auto rental had warned him against a convertible, but Dylan insisted and yeah, maybe tried to impress her a little. He’d looked forward to the wind in his hair, the sun on his face, the sweet mountain air.
More like dust in his hair. Instead of sun-kissed bronze, his skin glowed neon red. Rather than mountain-fresh air, he breathed in hot dryness that parched his throat. When he hit the button to raise the roof, a crunch sounded, then a grinding whirr, then nothing. Maybe he should have taken it as a bad omen.
The GPS ordered, “Turn right in one mile.”
“Or what, you’ll spank me?” His chuckle morphed into a disgruntled growl as the sign loomed for El Cosmico.
And my yurt
. Could the setup be a sign from the cosmos? The finger of fate pointing him to his destiny? It definitely made him rethink his plan to sell his marketing firm. A move like that could nosedive his career and he might end up in a trailer park like this. For good.
He steered the car through the entrance and followed the road to the hut marked Office. Inside, he nodded to the man behind the counter. Lean, like he worked hard. Gray streaked his shoulder-length black hair.
“Hey. I’m Dylan Wall. You should have a reservation in my name.”
The guy checked his laptop. “Yes indeedy. Just follow the road to your left and you’ll find the yurts.” The man handed him a crude map of the place. “Yours is here.”
He flipped over the sheet. “No key? Or security code?”
The guy looked at him as if he’d grown antennae. “Nope. Not needed.”
Dylan bit his lip to keep from wincing. “I see.”
I see my things getting stolen
. “And it has the usual amenities?” He’d hoped to clean up before arriving at the Blue Moon Café and meeting everyone.
A sloped smile crossed the guy’s face. “Some might consider them
un
usual.”
Jesus. He hated to ask, but… “No shower?”
“Of course. The communal bath facilities aren’t far from your yurt.”
“Communal.” Oh, he’d get Jeff back good, booking him a stay at a trailer park. Which gave him an idea. “Listen, if any trailers are available…” He stopped talking when the guy shook his head.
“All booked. Most of Marfa’s booked now because of the Marfa Lights Festival. Thousands come every year for it.”
“Kind of strange to celebrate the Mystery Lights, isn’t it? If no one knows what they are?”
The man flashed a tight smile. “It’s kind of the point.”
Or maybe it had more to do with illegal substances. “Right.”
“First time in Marfa? Look, if you’re worried about your things, don’t. Our crime rate’s so low we haven’t even had a police department since 2010.”
“Yeah, great.”
Now I feel soooo much better. And great time to plan a wedding, Jeff
. “Thanks for your help.”
“Enjoy your stay.”
Not happening. He shoved the sunglasses back on his face and lurched outside. What a freaking nightmare.
He slammed the car door. Dust flew behind as he pressed the gas pedal a little too hard.
Get to the yurt, take a shower, and go find Jeff. And throttle him
.
The map led him to an area filled with tent-like structures. His bag stayed in the backseat as he strode up, lifted the flap and peered inside. A bed, or what passed for one here, occupied most of the space. He let the flap fall back in place and checked the map. Yep, there they were. Communal bath facilities, open to the sky. No thanks. He climbed back into the car and sped back toward the highway.
“Turn right,” the GPS said.
Out of habit, he flipped the blinker though no other cars were in sight, and headed down Highway 67 toward town. With only one traffic light, should be a cinch to find the café. Down a bit from The Marfa Book Co., the round, blue sign for the Blue Moon Café came into view. He parked, grabbed his bag and locked it in the trunk, then caught his reflection in a shop window. Hair blown back like a bad imitation of Mad Max, clothes rumpled.
Screw it. He’d freshen up in the restaurant restroom. He raked his hand through his hair, then jogged across the street. He reached for the door at the moment someone inside flipped the sign in the door’s window to Closed.
A
click
, and the door eased open, revealing a gangly guy lip-locking a tall, thin girl with short, layered brown hair.
Oh shit. It’s Jeff
.
The second Jeff’s lips broke away from the girl’s, he smiled. “Hurry back soon.”
She’s leaving?
Hope froze Dylan. Hopefully it meant what he thought it meant. Strippers. Lap dances. A chance to cut loose, like they used to in college. He waited for them to notice him.
“I’ll miss you.” She pecked Jeff again, this smooch louder.
Jeff glanced over—finally. A quick frown, then a tentative smile. “Dylan?”
“Hey dude.” He took Jeff’s extended hand, but stiffened when Jeff pulled him into a bear hug.
Jeff released him and curled an arm around the girl’s waist. “Amy Conrad, meet Dylan Wall.”
“The famous Dylan Wall. Great to meet you at long last.” She surprised him by breaking away from Jeff to kiss his cheek.
He surprised himself by blushing. “Here, but not famous. Congratulations to you both.”
She beamed up at him. “I’ll leave you two to catch up.” She kissed Jeff again.
Talk about long good-byes. She flashed Dylan another smile as she stepped out.
Jeff gestured him inside. “Come in. How about a drink?”
“Exactly what I need.” Or three.
Jeff pulled two bottles of beer from the tin tub and handed Dylan one.
“Perfect.” For starters. He took a swig and glanced around the café. “Nice place.”
“It’s been a challenge. More exciting than I’d thought.”
“Exciting.” Dylan couldn’t help the sarcasm. In a town of two thousand? With occasional tourist crowds bumping up the population by what, a dozen or so a week?
“Yep. Every aspect of launching a new business. I never guessed how gratifying hard work could be.”
“Not that your engineering career wasn’t hard work.” Not to mention better pay. Way better.
Jeff gave a noncommittal shrug. “In a different way. I love the hands-on part of it all. Creating new dishes, growing my own food.”