Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

She exited the interstate just before entering Nevada, and once she had crossed the Nevada state line the road she’d chosen angled north/northwest. She followed the directions she’d written down from the navigation app — the phone had promptly lost service as soon as she left the interstate — and drove and drove. The landscape was colorful and majestic in places, stark in others, and mostly empty though at first there would be the occasional passing car. The cars became farther and farther apart, and a sense of isolation grew.

She wasn’t exactly comfortable with being so alone, but neither was she anxious. The roads weren’t complicated, the turns were few, and barring a mechanical breakdown she was right on schedule.

Two hours later, she was no longer so certain of that. The roads didn’t match her written directions. Roads changed, of course, and navigation apps weren’t exactly the most trustworthy. Nova found a place to pull over where the shoulder looked stable, rocky instead of sandy, and pulled an actual, physical map from the glove box. She’d studied it the night before and compared it to her notes and everything had seemed to match, but obviously she’d either missed something or while she was driving had looked to the side at exactly the wrong moment to spot her next turn. No plan could account for human error, and she was definitely human. Careful, yes; perfect, no.

She wasn’t certain how long she’d been traveling on the wrong road. She calculated how long it had been since she crossed into Nevada, her average speed, and did some quick math. She’d filled up at the last gas station she’d passed and wasn’t worried about running out of gas, but she didn’t want to go all the way back to that station to fill up again and ask where she’d gone wrong. Still, that was an option, and the most sensible one if she couldn’t pinpoint the turn she’d missed.

There. The screen shot of her nav app showed a right turn on a road that, according to the faint line on the physical nap, might be a farm road, or even just parallel ruts in the desert. The ruts had to be her missed turn, and by her calculation it was at least an hour of backtracking.

“Shit.” Normally she tried not to swear in public, but she was alone in the car and the single word didn’t adequately express how annoyed she was at herself. She let a few more choice words fly as she turned around on the otherwise deserted road. This time she pressed her speed as much as she dared, to make up for lost time. Some parts of the desert were flat enough and the road straight enough that she could really push the SUV, but other sections for no logical reason went through rocky formations instead of around them.

The one thing she didn’t want was to still be driving when night fell — and they were close to the winter solstice, the shortest day of the year. She also didn’t want to inadvertently wander onto restricted government lands, though surely those would be fenced off, right? She hoped so but wouldn’t bet her life on it. A testing range was somewhere in the area and she sure as hell didn’t want to wander there .

Her phone beeped with a text and she took a quick glance at it to see two bars of service had miraculously appeared. Supposedly most of the nation had cell service now, but “most” didn’t mean “all.” While driving she often hit spots with no service. While those two bars were still on her phone, she pulled over to re-check her position and see what her navigation app said about the missed turn so she could better calculate her time. She also checked the sunset time, to verify what she’d observed the day before when her attention had been mostly on Anders Patwin and how she could best handle his merchandise.

Sunset was right at five p.m., which meant she needed to get her butt in gear, pedal to the metal, and all other euphemisms for hauling ass.

She hauled ass, watching her speed, the time, the mileage so she didn’t overshoot her turn again. She didn’t have the time to keep backtracking.

Being in a hurry was annoying. Nova didn’t like hurrying, it indicated poor planning, which indicated irresponsibility. She was the epitome of “responsible,” and she was beginning to be damn tired of it all. She was even tired of being annoyed at herself whenever she fell short of her self-imposed standards.

“I need a break from myself,” she muttered.

She lost cell service again not long before she estimated reaching the missed turn, which explained why the app hadn’t signaled her. She slowed, watching for what she expected to be two ruts heading across the desert. The only turn she saw had no road sign, but the map and time said this had to be the road she wanted. At least it was actually a road and not the expected ruts — not the best road in the world, being nothing more than a rough strip of asphalt laid on the desert floor, with no shoulders, but at least it had painted stripes down the center even if the edges of the asphalt were crumbling.

The cantankerous cell service kicked in again after a few miles, the app telling her that she was indeed on the correct road. Wonderful. Too bad the dead spot had been exactly located to let her overshoot her turn.

The sun was getting alarmingly low when she saw the lights of a service station on the darkening eastern horizon. She glanced at her fuel indicator; she had half a tank, but she wasn’t about to pass up this opportunity to top up the tank, because there might not be another one between here and where she’d booked a motel for the night.

As she pulled up to one of the two pumps, she paused a moment to look around. The parking area was larger than expected for a two-pump station, as was the building. An electric sign parked by the road read LONNIE’S BEER GAS FOOD , which she supposed was how Lonnie ranked the three in order of importance. Lonnie’s was likely more bar than gas station.

She could do without the beer, but her empty stomach said food would be welcome even if it ranked below gasoline, and by eating here she could leave her emergency stash untouched.

After filling up she pulled closer to the door. Two other vehicles were in the parking lot, both older model pickups, one Ford and one Chevy. There were no marked parking slots, just gravel and dirt. Just in the short time she’d been there the sun had dipped below the horizon and a red neon LONNIE’S blinked on above the door. A lone light at the gas pumps came on at the same time. That was the extent of Lonnie’s efforts to make his place noticeable, but in the middle of the desert he didn’t need a lot; there were no other lights in sight.

With the brief twilight the temperature had dropped from chilly to downright cold. She gathered her leather coat, her small crossbody bag, and her computer bag — not for safety, she didn’t expect her car to be broken into, but to get some work done while she was eating. She wanted to explore methods of expanding her internet presence, the better to sell her upcoming increase in merchandise. Maybe Lonnie offered WiFi for his patrons. If not, she’d use her phone’s hot spot. Wait — was that a Starlink sat on Lonnie’s roof? Yes! She was in business here, and the satellite dish reminded her that Starlink was making it increasingly possible for her to do online sales even if she was sitting in her car on the side of the road in a rural area. The possibilities spun in her head, Christmas wishes and dragon kisses all at once.

Dragon kisses?

Get a grip, she thought. Maybe she was a bit unhinged when it came to that dragon, but not once had it given her a kiss.

Opening the door and stepping into the bar was like stepping into a different age. The bar area was well lit, and the order window off to the left showed a brightly lit kitchen, but other than that light came from the neon Big Dog sign on the wall. Two men, the owners of the trucks outside, sat at the bar but with several empty stools between them. Eight four-tops sat in the middle of the room and booths lined two walls, four booths to a wall. That many seating possibilities seemed way too optimistic to her, she didn’t think there were that many people in a thirty-mile radius. On the other hand, as far as she could tell Lonnie had no immediate competition so the place might be filled later on.

There was no overhead lighting that she could see. Neither was there a jukebox, which was a black mark against Lonnie as far as she was concerned. A bar in the middle of nowhere needed a jukebox. That had to be in the book of bar rules somewhere. The floor was wood, blackened with age and warped in some places. The bar was made of tin, except for the top which was scarred Formica. A bartender — perhaps Lonnie himself, loitered behind the bar. He was watching her, not trying to disguise either his interest or a faint expression of alarm. The two men at the bar were watching her in the mirror behind Lonnie.

No doubt about it, she was out of place.

She deposited her coat and computer bag at a table close to the back, where a battered “Restroom” sign was nailed to the wall, as well as an “Exit” sign. Nova always located exit signs, because she planned things like that whether in a hotel, an airplane, or a rundown bar.

Her heels made authoritative little clicks on the wooden floor as she crossed to the bar. There was no sign of a menu but the sign outside said “Food” and she was counting on that.

“Hello,” she said pleasantly to the bartender. “I’ve never been here before —”

“I can tell,” the bartender interrupted, his tone dry.

She cast him a rueful smile, one that said she realized the obvious. “But I needed gas and food, so here I am.”

“Food and gas go hand-in-hand in this place,” said one of the men at the bar, without looking at them.

Nova didn’t acknowledge him, but her lips twitched as she fought a smile. “What do you have?” she asked the bartender.

He did a little head waggle as he consulted his brain. “I have a cook who’ll be here in about an hour, if you want to wait that long. I can throw together a grilled cheese, drop some tater tots in the fryer, but that and popcorn is about my limit. I have to keep an eye on these two or they’ll be reaching over the bar helping themselves to another beer.”

“Are you Lonnie?”

“Yes ma’am.” He gave a single nod of acknowledgement.

“Thank you, Lonnie. I’m starving. A grilled cheese sandwich sounds wonderful, and I’ll keep an eye on your untrustworthy customers for you.” As he talked he scribbled something on an order slip and slid it toward her. Glancing down, she recognized it as a WiFi password, and she thanked him with a smile.

The man closest to her swiveled on his barstool to give her a scowl. “That isn’t fair.”

“Fair is where you give a blue ribbon to a pig,” she replied, and all three men laughed.

“One grilled cheese, coming up,” Lonnie said. “Cheddar okay? I’m fresh out of gouda.”

“You ain’t never had gouda,” the other man spoke up.

“I did once.” Lonnie disappeared through the kitchen door.

Nova returned to her chosen table, took out her laptop and opened it, and sat where she could easily see the two men at the bar. Maybe a minute had passed when she saw, in her peripheral vision, the man sitting farthest from her slowly reached over the side of the bar and she made a librarian throat-clearing sound. The man jerked his arm back as if she’d slapped his hand. Nova kept tapping keys and didn’t look up, most of her attention on her inventory and what had sold best this season. Retail was a guessing game, a gamble.

The man tried again, this time angling his body so most of his arm movement was hidden.

“Don’t make me stop this car,” she warned, realizing it had become a game to them.

Lonnie came through the door carrying a paper plate and a bottle of water, as both men burst out laughing. He glanced at them. “Tried it, didn’t you?”

“You dared us.”

“No, I warned you.” Rounding the end of the bar counter, Lonnie set the plate and water on her table, and slipped the order tab under the plate. “Smart people would know the difference.”

“Thank you,” Nova told Lonnie. She used the lone paper napkin to hold the sandwich and neatly tear it in half, then fastidiously wiped her fingers, opened the water bottle, and took a bite of the sandwich while she used her free hand to scroll down a page. The hot melted cheese and butter-soaked bread hit her tastebuds and she signed in contentment. “That’s wonderful,” she said to Lonnie, who had returned to his station behind the bar.

She got lost in her computer analysis, making notes as she thought of things. The gamble was that clothing items had to be ordered so far ahead of time that if she chose items that didn’t click with her customers, she was in trouble. She wanted unique but not bizarre, classic but not stodgy, fashionable but something that would be flattering and worn for more than one season.

She loved this part of the business. She didn’t have the creativeness to design or sew, but she had the talent to put together what was visually pleasing. Presenting that talent on a website was a new venture for her, but with Anders’ clothing and Jolaine’s jewelry opening up possibilities — it would work. She knew in her bones she could make it work.

Absently she ate and sipped, and at some point Lonnie brought her another bottle of water, and took away her empty plate. A small TV behind the bar was turned on but she didn’t notice.

Nevertheless, the passage of time began to gnaw at her senses, and she glanced at the time. She had been here over two hours and sunset was long past. This wasn’t in her plans, she’d expected to be on the move again at least an hour ago.

She looked at the screen, at her notes. She had plenty to do. She’d give it another half hour.

While she’d been working she’d been aware of the original two customers leaving, though at different times, and occasionally a few other customers had come and gone. Counting herself there were now six customers, three at the bar, the other two sitting alone in booths. The cook must have come in because Lonnie served food to the two booth-sitters, without having to go into the kitchen area himself.

Headlights flashed against the windows, signaling the arrival of more customers. Guiltily Nova realized she’d been occupying table space for the last hour and a half without ordering anything. That hadn’t mattered while the place was mostly empty, but perhaps she needed to move on even if she did want to work another half hour.

She could get a cup of coffee to go, as a sop to her conscience.

The door opened and seven men entered, bringing with them a rush of cold air and an almost palpable force-field of testosterone. Nova went still and swiftly looked down, keeping her gaze locked on the computer screen. She had been comfortable here, but this new group made her feel like a mouse crouching to hide from a hawk flying overhead. Her heart began a slow, heavy pound and despite her efforts to stay relaxed she could feel her muscles tensing. Fight or flight . Her brain tried to tell her, “Oh, this is okay, nothing to worry about here,” but her instincts ignored civilization and focused on survival.

She took a deep breath, reached for calm. Her work was in front of her and she forced her attention to return to the screen.

They noticed her. She felt the exact instant, the fall of quiet that spread across the barroom, the stillness. She heard one of them say, “Well, that’s different,” followed by a softly growled, “Shut up.” Without raising her head she could tell the other customers were looking at the new group, then back at her.

Lonnie said, “Stop blocking the door and grab some chairs,” and the group moved farther inside. They shoved two four-tops closer together but not aligned, then chair legs scraped across the floor as they too were shoved haphazardly around the tables. Most of the men were still standing when Lonnie came out from behind the bar and approached them. “What’ll it be, guys?”

He hadn’t done that with the other customers, instead raising his voice as they entered and asking for their orders. Nova wondered uncomfortably if he was using the break in routine to quietly warn the newcomers away from her. She also thought she might tell Lonnie she loved him; he’d been far above what she’d been expecting when she walked into his bar.

The men jockeyed around, choosing chairs, throwing their beer orders at Lonnie so fast she wondered how he’d remember them or keep them straight, considering he didn’t have an order pad with him. Nova really, really wanted to look at them to match voices with faces, but self-preservation kept her gaze on the computer screen. She scribbled a nonsense note on the pad beside her, to reinforce the fiction of work in progress. Since the moment that group had entered she hadn’t been able to focus on a single on-screen item.

Lonnie went behind the bar and began loading the drink orders on a tray. The mid-level chaos of getting seated, preliminary round of insults delivered, the group made themselves comfortable and their conversation quietened. Nova took a sip of water and forced her attention to the screen and sales data. A text from Granita came in and she answered it, smiling a little because Granita’s texts were always entertaining. As if Granita’s text had opened the communication floodgates, in quick succession she received one from her mom and three from her employees. None were emergencies, they were all more of updates. The home front was as calm as could be expected, and that was just what she needed to enter her mental work bubble again.

Lonnie took the beers to the men and there was some quiet conversation. If he had issued a warning earlier, he was being taken seriously.

The half-hour of additional work time she’d mentally allowed herself had come and gone, disrupted by the arrival of the Testosterone Team. She should go now, and she’d trust Lonnie to make certain she made a safe exit.

She looked over at Lonnie behind the bar and asked, “Lonnie, do you have coffee?”

“Sure do. I was just about to make some.”

She wasn’t sure of that, but it was possible he kept coffee made to make sure the drunks leaving the bar were at least wide awake. “A cup to go would be great.”

“Coming right up. How do you take it?”

“Cream and sugar, one of each.” She wouldn’t sleep good tonight, but neither would she fall asleep on the drive to the motel she’d booked.

While the coffee was making she sent a couple of emails, checked her phone for texts and ignored the same ones she’d ignored the night before. She turned to remove her crossbody bag from the back of the chair were she’d hung it by its strap, and when she turned back around there was a man standing in front of her table.

Her heart leaped. She hadn’t heard him approach, which alarmed her in and of itself. Moreover, Lonnie hadn’t said anything, but when she darted a glance at the bar she saw that Lonnie was either in the kitchen or was taking a pee break.

Adrenaline burned in her veins, setting her on edge. She wasn’t scared, just startled. So far she still had the situation under control and she meant to keep it that way.

“Don’t bother,” she said without looking up at the man. “I’m not interested in a stranger-danger hookup, so don’t waste your time introducing yourself. As you can tell, I’m working.” She kept her tone cool and impersonal as she slipped her cell phone into a pocket of her bag.

There was a long moment of silence. Lonnie didn’t return to the barroom. The outside door opened and three older women accompanied by one older man entered, creating a distraction as they debated which booth they wanted. Nova looked at them and make a quick assessment that the man was married to one of the women and was the designated male escort and driver for her and her two widowed/divorced friends. They all had the lean, dried-up look of desert-dwellers, and she pegged them as locals.

“I don’t do hookups,” the man standing at her table finally said, and the deep growl of his voice almost made her jump. He was the man who had told the others to shut up — and they had obeyed.

For the first time she allowed herself to look up at him, just a quick assessment before she began packing up her laptop and notepad. Immediately she wished she had stood first, because she had had to look farther up than she liked from her seated position, and his height was imposing. He looked rough. He needed to shave, about three days ago. His cargo pants and shirt looked as if he’d had them a few years, and worn them often. His dark hair was on the verge of being long enough to curl at his neck, and his gaze was narrowed and hostile.

Hostile?

Okay. Hostile was good. She thought it was good, anyway. Right? Maybe not.

Lonnie came through the kitchen door, noticed his new customers in the booth, and raised his voice. “What’ll it be tonight? Drinks or food, or both?”

There was a flurry of back-and-forth, and all the time the man stood silent and unmoving in front of Nova’s table. Lonnie glanced at them but evidently didn’t see any need to come to her rescue . . . assuming she needed rescuing. She hadn’t yet made up her own mind about that.

The coffee should have finished brewing by now. Why hadn’t Lonnie brought her cup? She wanted to get to her motel —

“You’re way out of place here,” the man said, his voice so low no one else in the place would hear him.