Beauty & the Biker (3 page)

Fingers flying, she typed “Children’s Storybook Publisher” into the search engine then hit enter. Maybe she’d find hope and inspiration in a new list of viable publishers. There was also the matter of strengthening her already existing manuscripts, so maybe a critique service was in order. In addition, she couldn’t shake the feeling that her stories would benefit from breathtaking illustrations. Yes, she’d been advised to submit her tales without artwork, but that guideline wasn’t written in stone. And besides, she’d already taken the conventional route.

“Time to shake things up.”

Thoughts flew from her brain to her fingers as she exhausted several deep desires.

Dream Editor

Dream Illustrator

Dream Publisher

The words blurred as she scrolled search results.

“Talk about overwhelming.”

Miracles happen every day
.

“Right. Thanks, mom.”

Bella focused on the screen, spirits lifting as she spied a fanciful company and its promising tagline.

ImpossibleDream.com

“Making magic since 1956”

Serendipity
?

Bella clicked on the home page, devouring the information relayed on the sparse but visually appealing website. Impossible Dream was a matchmaking service. Not the kind that paired you with a possible life partner, although surely that was an option, but a boutique company that specialized in providing applicants with viable opportunities to achieve the seemingly impossible.

Yearning for the dream job? Dream vacation? Dream home? Our data analysts and researchers pride themselves on working magic.

Her skin tingled with giddy anticipation. And something else. Déjà vu. She’d never been to this site. Never heard of this site. Yet something about the concept struck a familiar chord. Although, duh, the whimsy factor resonated with Bella’s very essence and upbringing.

She eyed the wand logo with a grin. “So what are you, ID-dot-com? Some sort of techno fairy godmother?”

Shaking her head, she scrolled the particulars. “Too good to be true.” Then again, there were charitable foundations that granted spectacular wishes to ailing children. And Internet services that offered everything under the sun. Given today’s technological resources it probably was possible to make impossible dreams come true.

She read the terms of use, the testimonials. She told herself this was a scam. But what if it wasn’t?

Because she was desperate, and hopeful, and determined to make magic, Bella registered with ID.com then opened the extensive data form. She toyed with applying for a six-figure contract with a Big Apple publisher, but what good was a contract without a spectacular product? Why not stack the odds? Or at least, buck convention and color outside the lines? The thought of partnering with an illustrator had her by the throat. A long term relationship. An exciting journey where every road led to a happily-ever-after.

Which ignited thoughts of Prince Charming.

If she was shooting for the impossible why not shoot for the stars? Partnering with an illustrator who also possessed the qualities of her ideal lover.
What the heck
? she thought as she typed a spontaneous wish list.

Sense of humor, generous heart, optimist, hard worker, kid friendly, magical kisser…

The more she mused, the greater her tunnel vision.

On a whim and with a wink to the heavens, Bella waved a mental wand and typed: Dream Partner.

Chapter Two

Once upon a Thursday…

Bella hit the snooze alarm twice before forcing herself upright. She’d been dreaming about her soul mate. A hero who whisked her off her feet and carried her away. She couldn’t remember where. Not that it mattered. The overall fantasy had been exhilarating.

Reality sucked.

In reality, she was twenty-nine and living at home with her depressed dad. He’d rolled in after midnight, drunk as a skunk and jolting her out of a restless sleep with his bombastic arrival. Worried he’d hurt himself, she rushed downstairs only to find him righting the end table he stumbled into and sent flying.

“
Are you okay, Daddy
?”

“
Fine
.”

“
You didn’t drive, right
?”

“
Nope
.”

“
So the truck’s parked
…
Where
?
Coyote’s
?”

“
Desi’s
.” Shoulders slumped, head dipped, he avoided her gaze as he plodded toward the stairs. “
But I’ll get it back
.
Promise
.”

They’d been through this before and Bella was always the one who collected the classic pickup the next morning while he slept off a hangover. She always retrieved Big Red. Always. He wasn’t thinking straight. At least he hadn’t risked his life or anyone else’s by climbing behind the wheel.

Speaking of… Bella shook off the morning cobwebs reminding herself she was carless on a day when she couldn’t count on Angel—who lived just down the road—for a lift into work.

She squinted at the bedside clock. “Oh, no.”

Maybe she’d hit the snooze more than twice. Or maybe she’d set the alarm wrong. Whatever the case, she’d overslept big time.

Frazzled, Bella swung out of bed and nabbed her cell. She called for a taxi only the sole cabby in Nowhere was booked until nine. “Thank you, but, never mind,” she told the man then sucked it up and imposed on Georgie.

“Sure I can give you a lift,” she said. “It’s not like I have to be anywhere on time. Unemployed and all that.”

“We’ll have to swing by Desi’s,” Bella said. “Dad left the truck in the lot and—”

“Say no more.”

Georgie knew about Archie Mooney’s depression. Everyone knew. Though most were too kind to remark on his intensifying battle with the bottle. They figured it was a phase, part and parcel of mourning the loss of his wife and job. They figured it would pass. So did Bella, although she was beginning to lose patience. Along with her Uncle Roger, her dad’s younger brother. A man who’d already intervened with unfavorable results.

“Don’t forget I’ll be in costume,” Bella said as an afterthought. “Brace for lots of poof.”

“Oh, right. It’s Thursday. I’ll be chauffeuring a princess,” Georgie said with a smile in her voice. “Awesome.”

Every Thursday, Bella worked a split shift. Mornings she promoted reading at the local elementary under the guise of Princess Bella, ruler of La-La land. Wanting to perpetuate the illusion, she always walked through the school doors in full costume.

“See you in a half hour,” Georgie said.

“You’re the best,” Bella said, then sailed into the hall and into the bathroom. She showered and tackled her hair and makeup in record time, working quietly so as not to rouse her dad. Not that there was a severe chance of that since he was probably sleeping like the dead. Still, she’d been raised to respect her parents and the one parent she had left was suffering.

Bella pulled her yellow princess gown out of her closet. Fresh from the dry cleaner, the crinoline skirt sported extra poof. She smiled just thinking about cramming mountains of glittery netting into Georgie’s compact car.

After zipping herself into the gown, Bella stuffed her matching slippers into a backpack along with a wand and a tiara. She pulled on her red sneakers then rolled a pair of capris and a polo shirt into the backpack as well. Something to change into after joining her co-workers at the library.

Backpack and messenger bag slung over her shoulder, she tiptoed down the steps and into the kitchen. She snagged the extra set of truck keys hanging on the peg next to the fridge, turned and slammed into a human wall. “Dad!”

“Sorry,” he said, looking clammy and contrite. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Dressed in wrinkled jeans and a misbuttoned shirt, he’d obviously dressed in a hurry. “We need to talk,” he said in a croaky voice.

Bella registered his haggard appearance, swallowing hard as sympathy welled. “About mom?”

“About last night.” He dragged a hand through his longish grey hair. “About Big Red.”

“I know. You left him parked at Desi’s. That’s why I’m zipping out. Georgie’s picking me up and—”

“I lost the truck, Bella.”

She frowned. “No, you didn’t. You left it parked at Desperado’s Den. Remember? You told me so last night.”

“Might be gone by now. Even if it ain’t…” He looked away, scratched his slack, whiskered jaw. “I don’t own Red anymore, Peaches. Lost him in a game of poker.”

Coldcocked, Bella fell back against counter. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Afraid not.”

She dropped her backpack to the floor, caught her breath, tempered her pulse. “Since when do you play cards for those kinds of stakes?”

“Since last night, I guess. That is…” He cleared his throat. “I’ve been playing for a while now. Lose more than I win.”

“Is that why you’ve had trouble paying your bills?”

“It hasn’t helped matters. Maybe I shouldn’t play—”

“Maybe?”

“—and drink at the same time.”

Instead of drifting toward a silver lining, Bella stumbled closer to a sucking black hole. The keys to her dad’s prized antique Chevy bit into her palm as she held on for dear life. How could he gamble away his…their means of transportation? His beloved Big Red? Who in the world would stoop so low, taking advantage of an inebriated man’s poor judgment? “Who did you lose the truck to?” she gritted out.

“Joe Savage.”

“Our neighbor?” She couldn’t believe it! “Of all the low down—”

“I’ll get it back somehow.”

“He shouldn’t have taken it in the first place!”

Bella’s phone rang. And rang. Her heart hammered as she glared at her dad, searching for words. Any words. What had he done? After a brief pause, her phone rang again. “What?” she barked at the caller.

“I’m late. I know,” Georgie said. “Sorry. Flat tire. Can you believe this? Do I have a freaking L written on my forehead lately?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Bella said.

“Maybe Chrissy could—”

“I’m calling out.”

“You never call out.”

“I have a situation.”

“What kind of situation? What’s going on, Bella? You sound weird. Let me call Chrissy—”

“No. Don’t. I’m good. I’ll call you later.”

Bella signed off and—no longer able to hold her dad’s remorseful gaze—turned her back on the man. She called her contact at the school and then her boss at the library. She cited a family emergency, although she could have called out sick. God knew she wanted to puke. Not to mention it felt like someone had driven a railroad spike through her head. Her brain throbbed mercilessly while fretting over the future. If her dad’s behavior went unchecked, where would he be a month from now? When she turned to blast him, the words wouldn’t come. He looked so pathetic which only fanned her frustration. She wanted to grab him and shake.
Buck up
!

Instead she shoved her phone and the keys into her messenger bag then stalked out of the kitchen. She was furious! With her dad. With the world. With the insensitive beast who lived across the field. Bella’s insides bubbled and churned with an ugly mess of volatile emotions. She felt like a human pressure cooker with a thermometer eeking toward blow. Instead of avoiding confrontation, she found herself racing toward it.

“Where are you going?” her dad called as she marched out the front door.

“To confront a jerk!”

* * *

Coffee mug in hand, Joe Savage edged closer to the rickety railing of his sagging front porch and contemplated the absurd remoteness of his new home.

Situated on the outskirts of Tornado Alley and bordering the Twilight Zone, Nowhere, Nebraska lived up to its name.

Thirty-five miles to the next Podunk town.

Hundreds of miles from a major sports stadium.

Wide open spaces. Cattle. Silos. Old-fashioned people with weird-ass ways. Population—town and outskirts combined—one-freaking-thousand.

Breathing in the floral-scented air, he noted the rain soaked grounds and the endless land beyond his fenced-in acreage. The Cartwright’s Lavender Farm. The distant craggy peaks of Eagle Butte. The gravel road that led to a paved road that eventually led to town. The rural homes, farms, and ranches of his closest neighbors—a mile away in every direction. Then there was the silence. Sometimes it was downright deafening.

Every morning for the last month, Joe, a native of Chicago, Illinois—population close to three million—asked himself how he’d ended up in this Godforsaken place. Every morning the answer was the same. His Uncle Mike had willed him this property and since Joe had forsaken God and turned his back on his job, he supposed he belonged here.

For now.

Tomorrow was another story.

Tomorrow could bring…anything.

His stint in law enforcement had resulted in a lifetime of lessons. For one:
Expect anything. Anticipate the worst
.