Page 30 of Desert King

8

Amber

Seven hours earlier…

The visor on my ball cap is pulled low over my eyes. Screw Tarak. I’ve battled worse and won. Armed with a to-go coffee and a few housing apps, I navigate the streets looking for a new place to land.

I slow in front of the third run-down housing complex. “Nope.” The balance in my checking account has triple zeros. The thought of spending all that money on rent just doesn’t sit right with me. I could afford the luxury, gated community in downtown Santa Fe, but doubt the sleek expensive cars would like this old truck parked next to them.

Sighing, I ditch the rentals and pull up a new search for homes instead. Scrolling past the first few pictures, I save a few that look decent and re-route my nav app.

The drive takes me further away from town and deeper into the shadows cast by the mountains.

I slow, passing by the first house for rent. It had dirt for a yard, a rusted mailbox, and piles of broken lawn furniture stacked by the garage.

“Florida is looking pretty good right now.” My jeans are stuck to my sweaty butt, but I don’t dare open the window out of fear of the desert dust. The truck has AC but barely any cool air blows out.

I drive aimlessly for a while, basically just exploring and blasting old country songs. I drive further northwest, intrigued by the black shadows of the mountain range. A for sale sign sits at the end of a dirt drive. “Fuck it,” I turn down and follow the windy, dusty road.

“Whoa.”

I put the truck in park. Who knew I’d find paradise here? A few trees grow taller than the roof. There’s brush, greenery, a rock wall. There’s peace.

It’s a home made of wood instead of the stucco that’s so popular. It’s a wood cabin of sorts but has two levels. The wood is a rich, red brown. I grab a handkerchief and tie it around my nose and mouth before stepping out of the truck.

I spin in a circle. There are mountains everywhere. Behind me, in front of me—to the side. The range behind the house is in the distance, nothing but desert brush and sloping hills in-between. There’s no neighbors. No houses in view, just open land, and sky. I cautiously walk around back. There is a hot tub, an outdoor fireplace with a few chairs and nothing but view for miles. It’ a flat view of the ends of the Earth with nothing but desert and sky for company.

I tentatively step up to the porch that wraps around the house, press my nose to the glass window and look inside. The wide-plank floors are inviting, the kitchen has stainless steel and granite counters.

Taking out my phone, I Google the address and find the listing. It’s $325,00. I have no job I can show on paper and no way to qualify for a mortgage that large. But what I do have is $250,000. Everything my father left me for college. I never touched it. Thought using that for a piece of paper with words on it seemed like a waste.

Biting my lip, I tap the number for the realtor on the listing. It’s about time this mouse grew some balls.

“Hello?”

“Hi, I’m at your listing at 2 Camino Tres…”

“Yes?”

“I’d like to make a cash offer.”

“Is this a prank?”

I laugh softly. “Not quite. But my best and final is $250k. No inspection. Cash. Close on Monday.”

“Well, hells bells, sweetheart. You are a real ball-buster,” he replies in a heavy Texan type accent.

I grin. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“I’ll dial the inheritor. The previous owner moved on. Died in a nursing home in Florida a few years back. The property’s been maintained by the son who comes by a few times a year. The roof is solid. The structure sound. I can’t vouch for much more than that. It’s low but I’ll see what I can do. I’ll need proof of funds.”

“Not a problem. I’ll screenshot my bank balance. You’ll see it’s every penny I have.”

He whistles low.

“I just fell in love. What can I say? When you know. You know.”

“Amen to that. I’ll ring you back, doll.”

---