No Perfect Hero(3)

I glance around quickly, then notice the sign on the far wall with the little male and female symbols and an arrow. “There, sweetie,” I urge, pointing. “Down the hall. Go.”

Tara takes off at a crab-legged trot. I watch her for a moment, then lean over the front desk, peeking in tentatively. “Um, hello? Sir? Are you okay?”

A rheumy-eyed older man pushes himself up off the burgundy-carpeted floor, using the toppled wing chair to haul himself upright before grunting and flipping it over to stand properly again.

He spikes his short-cropped silvering hair with one hand, leaning on the chair with the other, eyeballing me as if he's not quite sure what to make of me before grunting and offering a reluctant smile.

“I’m fine, ma'am. Takes more than a tumble to kill this old ticker.” He thumps his narrow, reedy chest. “Something I can help you with?”

“I hope so.” I flash a smile. “My niece needed to use your restroom, sorry. But we’re in a little trouble. Our car broke down right outside your inn, and I'm afraid we're stuck.”

“Well, now...”

He rubs his stubbled chin. He’s very jowly for such a thin, willowy man, like his face is melting. I know that look and try not to let my own frown show. He’s a heavy drinker, and it’s aging him fast.

I'll never forget that look for anything after Dad...

I don’t know if it makes me feel softer toward the old man. Or just more bitter toward the first man who taught me people would always find a way to destroy themselves, and usually they don't have to look real hard to find it.

Dad grabbed the first opportunity when life went sour, one bottle at a time.

But the stranger smiles again, disarming and almost self-deprecating, as if he knows the picture he presents and how people judge. He shrugs. “We’ve got a mechanic here in town. Good ‘un, too. It’s late in the day, and you might get a tow, but you’re not getting a fix to get out of here by sundown. We’re all booked up on short stay rooms...but we’ve got a half-duplex available in one of the extended stay vacation rentals. It’s even got a mountain view.”

I frown. As nice as it sounds, I know it means money.

I’m operating on a limited budget since I basically tossed most of what I own and took off on my last paycheck, plus what I could sell back from the wedding that never happened and ate my entire savings.

I’ll have to pay for the car repair, too. I’m crunching numbers in my head, and it doesn’t look good. “I don’t know if I can afford something like that.”

“It’s all I’ve got, and we’re the only hotel in town.” He folds his arms on the counter and leans toward me. I catch a faint whiff of rum, but not enough to drive me back. “Listen. I’m not about to let a lady in distress and a little girl sleep in their dang car in a strange town. I’ll give you a discounted rate. Only charge you what I would for a single room. How’s that sound?”

I twist my lips. “Name your rate.”

“Sixty-five per night. How's that sound?”

I whistle softly. That’s really not bad at all.

Back in Seattle, sixty-five dollars a night wouldn’t even get you one of those cheap motels with the anonymously painted prints. More like the kind of place where people pay to live there by the week and police are in the parking lot every night. A place like this – half an entire duplex?

Yeah. I’d say we just lucked out when it comes to places to break down.

I look out the window, pretending to mull it over a little longer.

What do I have to lose?

The scenery’s nice, the atmosphere’s pretty, the lodgings are cheap...and I could use a little downtime somewhere quiet and relaxing to get past my Bitter Betty stage and move on with life.

Maybe it's meant to be.

I nod, imagining the next week. We’ll stay until the Mustang’s fixed, then onward to Billings.

“All right. Sold,” I say, digging in my purse for my wallet and my credit card. “Who’s in the other side of the duplex, by the way? Just so I won’t bother them.”

“Oh—him.” The way he says it is a half snort. Almost ominous, but he waves it off with a shake of his head. “Don’t worry, miss. He’ll keep to himself. He’s just a harmless grouch. Minds his own business 'cause that's all he ever minds. You probably won’t even see him.”

I arch a brow but pass my credit card across with a shrug.

Everybody’s got their own way of doing things, and I’m not one to judge. I’ll likely want to be left alone myself, minus the always entertaining company of my pint-sized sidekick.

“Is it too late to call the mechanic to at least get a quote?” I ask, watching him punch in my information on the keyboard behind the desk.

“Nah. I’ll ring him up for you while y'all get settled. I need your number anyway for the register.”

“Thanks.” I rattle off my number quickly, along with my old home address and billing zip code.

Technically, I guess right now I’m homeless. I wasted no time walking the hell out and breaking our lease after Eddy's two-timing escapades, but the old Seattle digits will do for now.

While my trusty attendant hums to himself, I turn around, taking in the room around me.

This place has a soft touch to it, little vases full of fresh-cut pink peonies everywhere, gauzy white curtains draped over the windows so the sunlight makes them glow as it streams in. The light gives the room a sort of quiet, muted radiance.