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  A Wedding at the Blue Moon Cafe

  Copyright © 2014 by Cate Masters

  ISBN: 978-1-61333-646-5

  Cover art by Mina Carter

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work, in whole or in part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Decadent Publishing Company, LLC

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  www.decadentpublishing.com

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  Also by Cate Masters

  Dead to Rights

  Death is a Bitch

  Betting it All

  Tonight You Belong to Me

  A Hard Day’s Knight

  Homecoming

  Cinderella Dreams

  Sweet Revenge

  Cursed

  Charmed

  Claimed

  Blue Moon Over Bliss Lake

  The Ex Factor

  A Wedding at the Blue Moon Cafe

  Blue Moon Series, Book 2

  By

  Cate Masters

  ~DEDICATION~

  For Gary, always

  Chapter One

  “A yurt? Seriously?” Dylan Wall tried to make it sound like a joke. He sure as hell hoped it was. The thought of staying in one was as surreal as the Chihuahuan Desert, patches of dried-up weeds interspersed with sparse greenery, and clouds floating in a ridiculously wide sky as if painted by Rousseau himself. Dylan wished he’d already reached the other side of the desert. Or could even see the other side.

  “A yurt. Y-U-R-T.” The cell rendered Jeff Smiley’s voice more crystal than if he sat in the convertible’s passenger seat.

  He chuckled. “I know how to spell it, wise ass.” Even if he couldn’t conjure an image of one. Or maybe his subconscious wouldn’t let him. Shit, he missed his condo already. The rearview showed no vehicles behind him. None ahead either. He might as well be the sole survivor of the apocalypse.

  “They have a few tents. I thought you’d get a kick out of the yurt, though.” Jeff’s voice reminded him civilization awaited. “Unless you prefer an RV?”

  Or something like civilization. “Uh, sure. A yurt sounds good.”

  Jeff’s laugh burst from the cell. “I knew you’d love it. Cool. So what’s your ETA?”

  Dylan checked the GPS. “According to my sexy Aussie navigator, nineteen minutes. You know, barring any natural disasters.” Or unnatural. The landscape had a downright alien appearance. If a UFO hovered over his rental car, it wouldn’t surprise him. Much.

  “Fantastic. I can’t wait for you to meet Amy.”

  “Yeah, yeah. She looks great.” The photos Jeff had posted on Facebook made Dylan a bit envious. Or possibly disturbed. Their smiles a little too wide, the lovey-dovey glow a bit unnatural. Maybe living forty-eight hundred feet above sea level for a couple of years had affected their brain function. Did anyone fall that deeply in love?

  “You’ll love Clarissa, too.”

  “Right, Amy’s best friend.” The one with the sketchy past. No Facebook account, no Twitter, no blog. E-mail but no computer according to Jeff, who didn’t explain, saying Dylan should get to know her first. Must be a real winner.

  “Hey.” Jeff’s voice dove into a canyon of sympathy. “Sorry to hear about you and Deb.”

  “Yep, I’m solo this trip.” Probably better off that way anyway. Girlfriends got caught up in wedding fever. No way was he prepared to deal with the marriage hysteria, bridezillas, or anything remotely related.

  “But hey.” Jeff brightened. “Maybe you’ll find your soul mate in Marfa like I did.”

  He tried not to choke. “You never know.” In a miniscule town in the middle of the West Texas high plains? Oh yeah, he could just see himself falling for an artist, actress, maybe a Border Patrol agent? “Well, better get moving if I’m going to make it in time for your shindig tonight. And once I do, I’ll expect you to hand over a list of local hot spots. I’m gonna throw you one hell of a bachelor party, my friend. Your little town will be talking about it for years to come.” If no hot spots existed before, he’d heat one up.

  “Oh. Well….” If he was still the same old Jeff, his stumbling tone hid an apology.

  “What?” Dammit. Dylan knew it. He’d looked forward to letting loose, forgetting about his troubles, but Amy had talked Jeff into some coed thing, not in a good way. No exotic dancers, no lap dances. No dancing of any kind, probably. Not that Dylan normally indulged in such things. An escape. That’s all he needed, a freaking escape for two weeks.

  Jeff had sighed over the phone. “It’s just…. Amy and I have other ideas. We’ll talk when you get here.”

  Other ideas? He didn’t like the sound of that. “’Kay. See you soon.” He disconnected and tossed his cell onto the passenger seat. Yeah, let’s have a chitchat in my yurt. Holy hell. Two weeks, and he’d waste it having zero fun. Almost two days shot already on the road, and now the desert sun burned. The cute clerk at the auto rental had warned him against a convertible, but Dylan insisted and yeah, maybe tried to impress her a little. He’d looked forward to the wind in his hair, the sun on his face, the sweet mountain air.

  More like dust in his hair. Instead of sun-kissed bronze, his skin glowed neon red. Rather than mountain-fresh air, he breathed in hot dryness that parched his throat. When he hit the button to raise the roof, a crunch sounded, then a grinding whirr, then nothing. Maybe he should have taken it as a bad omen.

  The GPS ordered, “Turn right in one mile.”

  “Or what, you’ll spank me?” His chuckle morphed into a disgruntled growl as the sign loomed for El Cosmico. And my yurt. Could the setup be a sign from the cosmos? The finger of fate pointing him to his destiny? It definitely made him rethink his plan to sell his marketing firm. A move like that could nosedive his career and he might end up in a trailer park like this. For good.

  He steered the car through the entrance and followed the road to the hut marked Office. Inside, he nodded to the man behind the counter. Lean, like he worked hard. Gray streaked his shoulder-length black hair.

  “Hey. I’m Dylan Wall. You should have a reservation in my name.”

  The guy checked his laptop. “Yes indeedy.
Just follow the road to your left and you’ll find the yurts.” The man handed him a crude map of the place. “Yours is here.”

  He flipped over the sheet. “No key? Or security code?”

  The guy looked at him as if he’d grown antennae. “Nope. Not needed.”

  Dylan bit his lip to keep from wincing. “I see.” I see my things getting stolen. “And it has the usual amenities?” He’d hoped to clean up before arriving at the Blue Moon Café and meeting everyone.

  A sloped smile crossed the guy’s face. “Some might consider them unusual.”

  Jesus. He hated to ask, but… “No shower?”

  “Of course. The communal bath facilities aren’t far from your yurt.”

  “Communal.” Oh, he’d get Jeff back good, booking him a stay at a trailer park. Which gave him an idea. “Listen, if any trailers are available…” He stopped talking when the guy shook his head.

  “All booked. Most of Marfa’s booked now because of the Marfa Lights Festival. Thousands come every year for it.”

  “Kind of strange to celebrate the Mystery Lights, isn’t it? If no one knows what they are?”

  The man flashed a tight smile. “It’s kind of the point.”

  Or maybe it had more to do with illegal substances. “Right.”

  “First time in Marfa? Look, if you’re worried about your things, don’t. Our crime rate’s so low we haven’t even had a police department since 2010.”

  “Yeah, great.” Now I feel soooo much better. And great time to plan a wedding, Jeff. “Thanks for your help.”

  “Enjoy your stay.”

  Not happening. He shoved the sunglasses back on his face and lurched outside. What a freaking nightmare.

  He slammed the car door. Dust flew behind as he pressed the gas pedal a little too hard. Get to the yurt, take a shower, and go find Jeff. And throttle him.

  The map led him to an area filled with tent-like structures. His bag stayed in the backseat as he strode up, lifted the flap and peered inside. A bed, or what passed for one here, occupied most of the space. He let the flap fall back in place and checked the map. Yep, there they were. Communal bath facilities, open to the sky. No thanks. He climbed back into the car and sped back toward the highway.

  “Turn right,” the GPS said.

  Out of habit, he flipped the blinker though no other cars were in sight, and headed down Highway 67 toward town. With only one traffic light, should be a cinch to find the café. Down a bit from The Marfa Book Co., the round, blue sign for the Blue Moon Café came into view. He parked, grabbed his bag and locked it in the trunk, then caught his reflection in a shop window. Hair blown back like a bad imitation of Mad Max, clothes rumpled.

  Screw it. He’d freshen up in the restaurant restroom. He raked his hand through his hair, then jogged across the street. He reached for the door at the moment someone inside flipped the sign in the door’s window to Closed.

  A click, and the door eased open, revealing a gangly guy lip-locking a tall, thin girl with short, layered brown hair. Oh shit. It’s Jeff.

  The second Jeff’s lips broke away from the girl’s, he smiled. “Hurry back soon.”

  She’s leaving? Hope froze Dylan. Hopefully it meant what he thought it meant. Strippers. Lap dances. A chance to cut loose, like they used to in college. He waited for them to notice him.

  “I’ll miss you.” She pecked Jeff again, this smooch louder.

  Jeff glanced over—finally. A quick frown, then a tentative smile. “Dylan?”

  “Hey dude.” He took Jeff’s extended hand, but stiffened when Jeff pulled him into a bear hug.

  Jeff released him and curled an arm around the girl’s waist. “Amy Conrad, meet Dylan Wall.”

  “The famous Dylan Wall. Great to meet you at long last.” She surprised him by breaking away from Jeff to kiss his cheek.

  He surprised himself by blushing. “Here, but not famous. Congratulations to you both.”

  She beamed up at him. “I’ll leave you two to catch up.” She kissed Jeff again.

  Talk about long good-byes. She flashed Dylan another smile as she stepped out.

  Jeff gestured him inside. “Come in. How about a drink?”

  “Exactly what I need.” Or three.

  Jeff pulled two bottles of beer from the tin tub and handed Dylan one.

  “Perfect.” For starters. He took a swig and glanced around the café. “Nice place.”

  “It’s been a challenge. More exciting than I’d thought.”

  “Exciting.” Dylan couldn’t help the sarcasm. In a town of two thousand? With occasional tourist crowds bumping up the population by what, a dozen or so a week?

  “Yep. Every aspect of launching a new business. I never guessed how gratifying hard work could be.”

  “Not that your engineering career wasn’t hard work.” Not to mention better pay. Way better.

  Jeff gave a noncommittal shrug. “In a different way. I love the hands-on part of it all. Creating new dishes, growing my own food.”

  “Mopping the floors…” Dylan teased. At least, he hoped Jeff didn’t mop the floors. With his wrinkled shirt and dark hair to his collar, someone might mistake Jeff for the janitor.

  Jeff’s nod had a Zen-like quality. “Even mopping the floors.”

  Dylan drank to keep himself from responding. From their Facebook pages, Jeff and Amy did everything together—lived, worked, ran a business, errands, went gliding, hiking, to local events. Their ever-present smiles suggested they were in some sort of daze. Too much wedding planning? Too much sex? Holy hell, Jeff’s expression suggested a frontal lobotomy, no clue about anything except Amy, Amy, Amy. During their online communications, Dylan had tired of hearing about how perfect she was. No woman was worth giving up a $100 grand engineering career to move to Bumfuck, USA and flip burgers, designer or not.

  Jeff gestured with the bottle. “How’s life treating you? If your online profile’s any indication, you’re doing pretty well.”

  Is that how it appeared? “Not bad.” He struggled to think of something he could share with Jeff, some party where he’d had the best time, or some girl who’d screwed his brains out. Work, nights, weekends all blurred together.

  Dylan swung his head toward the entrance as the door flew open. In walked five-feet-eight inches of tattooed glory. Layered blond hair catching the light, cotton top so sheer it revealed every curve not hidden by her bra and short olive skirt, which didn’t hide much. And red leather cowgirl boots. Hell yeah.

  Laughing, Dylan turned to Jeff. “You dog. I knew it.”

  Jeff blanked. “What.”

  “‘Hurry back soon, Amy.’ So freaking perfect.” But who was the tall guy shadowing the blonde? Her manager? Pimp? Kind of old for that line of work. Personal cowboy? Fit as he was, one toss from the horse would break the old man’s hip for sure.

  Jeff shook his head. “Perfect? What are you talking about?”

  He clasped Jeff’s shoulder. “You really had me going. Can I have the first lap dance?” Even if it made his instant hard-on more unbearable. The way the girl swished her hips, he might cream his tighty whiteys any second now.

  “Oh.” Jeff’s entire face flinched. “No, you don’t—”

  Dylan punched his friend’s shoulder. “All right, all right. I get it, you’re the groom.” It killed him to say it. “You go first. But man, save some for me.” He grabbed the beer bottle tighter just thinking about it.

  She sauntered up and stood beside them like some biker-chick angel, hot and wild, with an air of innocence about her. Such a knockout, she literally stunned him into silence.

  Clear, blue-green eyes studied him, then bounced to Jeff. “First for what?”

  Oh, killer voice, too. Gravelly, down and dirty, like a hard drinker. With her flawless skin and eyes wide enough to drown in, he’d never have guessed. Dylan whipped a twenty out of his pocket. “Don’t take too long with him. I don’t care if he is the doomed groom. This’ll be waiting.”

  “Do you need
me to make a beer run?” She reached for the bill.

  Dylan snatched it away and held it high. “You make beer runs, too?”

  Jeff muttered, “Dylan, wait.”

  Man, he couldn’t tear his gaze away from her. “No way, I’m not the one who’s getting shackled.”

  The girl jerked her head back as if he’d slapped her. “Shackled.”

  Did she think he meant handcuffs? Oh shit yeah, a wild one. “Married, whatever. I have no one to answer to about a lap dance, or a stripper gone wild.” He leaned closer. “If you know what I mean.”

  The warmth left her face. Her eyes narrowed and her mouth pinched. “Stripper?” Her tone and volume increased as she drew up her height to eye level with him. No wonder her legs seemed to go on forever. This girl was one tall drink of thousand-proof whiskey, and he couldn’t wait for the burn going down. But why the attitude?

  He glanced at Jeff, who sadly shook his head. “I swear, Clarissa, I—”

  The name stole Dylan’s leering smile. “Clarissa? You’re not Amy’s Clarissa?”

  Her lip curled. “He isn’t. Tell me he isn’t,” she implored Jeff.

  A sigh, and Jeff gestured. “Dylan Wall, meet Clarissa Hartman.”

  Dylan smiled. “Hi.”

  “Sonofabitchfratboybastard.” She drew back her arm, then slammed her fist into his jaw. A yelp, and she curled back and shook her limp hand in the air. “Ow. Oh shit, I hope that hurt you more.”

  Hard to say until his vision cleared and his brain returned to its balance inside his skull. She’d rung his bell, all right, though not in the way he’d hoped. “Jesus. Nice to meet you, too.”

  Nostrils flared, and she pressed those sweet lips into a determined line. “You asshole.” She crooked her arm back again.

  The old man stole behind her and grasped it. “Whoa, darlin’.”

  Dylan recovered from his defensive flail. “See? Even your father knows I didn’t deserve it.”

  Her jaw dropped. “My what?” She turned to the old man and jerked her head toward Dylan. “I’ll let you have the next shot.”