Page 5 of Shift of Destiny
3
“More pumpkin bread, dearie?” asked Tinsel. She held out the basket of still-warm slices.
Tinsel’s house in the daylight was no less astonishing than it had been the night before. Eclectic ethnic decor from many cultures blended together to create a wonderland of a home. The open-space architecture saved it from feeling cluttered.
Moira shook her head. “No, I’m stuffed.” It was the first full meal she’d had in days. She’d been the only guest for the night, and she felt guilty eating enough for three, but Tinsel was a phenomenal cook. Moira decided that Tinsel was one of the world’s cheerful people, which was a delightful change from surly gas station attendants and suspicious convenience store clerks. And overnight, someone had thoughtfully dropped off her suitcase from her disabled car, so she’d had her whole wardrobe to choose from—four clean blouses and two pairs of jeans—to dress for job hunting.
Moira carefully folded the real linen napkin and placed it on the table. She’d been afraid to actually use it, so she’d surreptitiously wiped her fingers on her jeans. “Since you won’t let me pay you for a night in the Lost Princess room, could I at least wash the dishes or something?”
Tinsel patted her hand. “No need, dearie. The low-country elves come in and do for me every day.”
Moira smiled. “That’s a great name for a house-cleaning service.”
“No, they’re, er... yes, it is.” Tinsel turned and headed to a Victorian-style breakfront desk, where she riffled through one of the cubbyholes. “Here’s that map you asked for.”
“Thanks.” Moira stood and crossed to take it, rather than make the woman walk any more than was necessary. “I don’t know why my phone’s map only shows the one street on the edge of town.”
Tinsel waved plump fingers dismissively. “The town likes it that we’re not worth bothering with. I’ll be back in a minute.” She waddled off through the kitchen toward a door that Moira assumed led to her private space. A blast of cooler air blew in when the door opened and closed. She’d have thought living in a high mountain town would have made air-conditioning unnecessary, but maybe rich guests expected it.
Moira returned to the dining table and spread the map out. For a moment, the words and lines seemed to waver, but then settled down. She was probably still tired from three long days of traveling, having to baby her balky car along mountain roads, getting lost once, and shivering in the back of the wagon each night while trying to rest. Not to mention, last night’s vividly erotic dreams about the deliciously attractive handyman, Chance McKennie, in his faded black jeans and grass-green T-shirt that lovingly outlined every fascinating chest, shoulder, and arm muscle. He pushed buttons she hadn’t known she had.
She’d seen dozens of well-built, handsome men in the nude when she’d wrangled props and kittens at a photo shoot for a "Real Men With Cats" charity calendar four years ago. She wouldn’t have minded sexy-times with some of them, but they were candles in the wind compared to the blazing hot bonfire that was Chance.
She’d never felt anything like it, and certainly not within twenty seconds of laying eyes on a man. She wanted to run her fingers through his wavy red hair to see if she could feel the heat. She wanted to trace his proud cheekbones and chiseled jaw with butterfly kisses, and feel his short beard on her skin. She wanted to taste him, and memorize his biceps and thighs, and grab handfuls of his nude-sculpture-worthy ass. She wanted to explore all the sensuous, sensitive parts of him with her lips and tongue, and she wanted him to do the same to her. It had been all she could do to carry on light conversation with him during the walk from the diner, and not babble like she was tipsy or rub herself on him like a cat claiming ownership.
It would have been easier to ignore her out-of-control hormones if he hadn’t been such a down-to-earth man. He clearly had no idea that he could have as many lovers as he wanted, and probably wait-listed a few more for emergencies. Which put him completely out of her league. She was toned but fleshy, her face was more lively than pretty, and grand romantic gestures made her laugh. Men never lined up atherdoor, unless she counted Witzer’s minions. Even if she were the type to have an exciting erotic affair with a near stranger who would probably soon be leaving, she might have to leave even sooner, or he’d become collateral damage in Witzer’s crazy quest to gain command of her "magic.”
It was just as well that Chance had taken off immediately after delivering her to Tinsel’s doorstep, or she might have been tempted to ask him for a date, or if he wanted to practice water conservation and shower with her that evening. Which reminded her of last night’s embarrassing discovery that she’d been wearing engine grease on her face like it was camouflage paint, her hair was filthy, and her clothes smelled like gasoline and stale hay. No wonder the man had run away.
She shook her head and refocused on the map, tracing the route from the diner to Tinsel’s, and from Tinsel’s to the job-lead address that Aurelio had given her last night. Knight’s Garage, where Shepherd had promised to take her car, was only two blocks to the north. The town felt bigger than it looked on the map, but she hadn’t seen much before Frankie’s engine had exploded so dramatically. It was a small miracle that no one had taken it for a gunshot and returned fire.
She pulled her cellphone out of her pocket and took a quick photo of the area of the map she needed. The camera’s flash made the map seem to sparkle for a moment. Well, it was a promotional-style map, so it’d be in keeping with the town’s theme to add a little micro glitter to the printing ink. She refolded the map and left it on the table. The town’s marketing committee deserved a national award for attention to detail.
Moira pulled on her hoodie against the morning chill, checked that she had her phone charger, then zipped up her backpack.
“Oh good, you haven’t left yet.” Tinsel waddled over to Moira and handed her two cards. “This one is for the front door’s card reader. Just like the rooms at the casino.”
Moira handed it back. “Thank you, but to be perfectly frank, I saw your rate card on the door this morning, and I can’t afford to stay here even one night.” She’d enjoyed most of her odd jobs, even some of the underground ones she’d had while on the run, but none of them paid anything close to what it would take to stay in Tinsel’s bed and breakfast.
“Hush, dearie.” Tinsel put the card back in Moira’s hand. “That’s just the rate I charge the tourists and the gamblers so they think they’re special.” She patted Moira’s hand. “I’ll take whatever you can pay.”
Moira didn’t want to be ungracious, so she gave up the fight, but vowed to find some way to pay or trade for what the room was worth. She looked at the other card. “Er, this is a get-out-of-jail free card, signed by ‘Sheriff Stands On Rock.’"
Tinsel laughed. “Isn’t it great? The town sheriff gave them out as Christmas gifts last year. I ran out of business cards, and it’s all I could find to write my phone number in case you need it. I also gave you Chance McKennie’s cell number.” Tinsel waggled her silvery eyebrows suggestively. “In case you need a man who’s good with his hands.”
Moira chuckled and fought off a blush. “Thanks, but I don’t think he’s interested.”
Tinsel laughed again. “He’s a little slow on the uptake sometimes, but he’ll come around.” She lowered her voice conspiratorially. “You might need to civilize him a little.”
Moira smiled, thinking that was the last thing she’d want to do to him. He struck her as someone who could use the freedom that a little wildness brought. She slid both cards in her shirt pocket and patted it. “Thank you for these. I’m off to seek my fortune. Well, minimum wage, at any rate. Wish me luck.”
Tinsel put her finger alongside her nose. “May you find your magic and luck when you need them most.” An errant breeze animated Tinsel’s hair, and then Moira’s.
She smiled at the sentiment, and accepted the wish in the spirit it was given. Maybe everyone in the town of Kotoyeesinay was a little nuts.
* * *
She stopped abruptly in the middle of the sidewalk when she saw the name of the business Aurelio had sent her to, Turn of the Cards. Moira didn’t believe in signs and portents, but considering that turning tarot cards put her on the runaway train that was her life, it gave her pause.
