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CHAPTER 1
Shawn Matthews glanced at the kitchen clock every few minutes while he worked, watching the long hand tick down the final two hours of his first season as sous chef of the Tango Saloon, a grim reaper inching closer and closer to Shawn's doom. Okay, so maybe doom was melodramatic, but today was the saloon's last day open for over two months, and Shawn had nowhere to go for the upcoming holidays.
"Eighty-sixing the buffalo burger," his boss, Miles Arlington, said from his position at the sizzling flattop. Their server, Annabelle, had just come back to fetch two slices of Vinegar pie, and she repeated what he'd said.
"I'll hard-sell the chili and Hangtown Fry," Annabelle said as she left the kitchen through the swinging double doors with her pie order.
Normally, eighty-sixing a dish from the menu this early, especially a dish as popular as Miles's buffalo burger, would have annoyed them all on a Sunday afternoon. But they'd underordered supplies this weekend so they wouldn't have too many leftovers when the saloon shut down for winter break. As it was, Shawn was down to one whole Vinegar pie, only a dozen biscuits, and three final slices of Mock Apple pie.
"Are you sure you're okay coming in tomorrow for a few hours to clean?" Miles asked after checking the temperature of his final burger. "I don't want to interrupt your plans, but I figured it would be easier than scrubbing the place down tonight after we've both cooked all day."
"Don't mind at all," Shawn replied, and he really didn't. It gave him somewhere to be for part of his day. The rest of the ten-ish weeks that the saloon would be closed? No idea, and he wasn't looking forward to living in his car all that time. "It'll be weird being up here without guests, though."
"Very true." Miles shot him a thoughtful smile. "It'll be weird not seeing you every day, too. You'll have to visit one weekend or something."
That was Miles's very unobtrusive way of inquiring about Shawn's plans while Bentley Ghost Town was shut down to tourists, so the actors and other folks who worked there could spend the upcoming holidays with their families. Mack Garrett, the owner of Bentley, had decided to close up starting the Monday before Thanksgiving, and then open again the final week in January. The break coincided with the closure of the nearby dude ranch Mack's grandfather owned, and where Miles's boyfriend — nope, fiancé now — worked as head cowboy. Miles was excited to have lots of time with his guy.
Shawn just saw a great, gaping maw of empty time waiting for him. Maybe he could drive into San Jose and pick up some temporary kitchen work to keep himself busy. God knew he'd need the money. Despite Mack offering a competitive salary, Shawn had meds to pay for, no insurance plan, and he had to send a good chunk of every paycheck home to help keep Granddad afloat.
Shawn didn't have the luxury of two months camping with a lover, riding horses, and being lazy. Not that Miles hadn't earned the break from real life, especially after the last few months of dealing with an abusive ex.
"We should definitely get together for lunch or something," Shawn hedged, uninterested in revealing to his boss that he'd been homeless for the better part of two years now. "It's not like we can't text or chat on the phone."
"Yeah. You can come up for movie night or something." Miles slid the burger onto its waiting bun. "Movies, popcorn, and drinks at Mack and Wes's place. We usually do it a few times a week so we can all catch up, and you're free to join us."
Shawn swallowed an irritated grunt, unsettled by the timing of these offers of friendship outside the saloon. Why had Miles waited until now? Pity? Shawn could entertain himself just fine, thank you. But Miles wasn't being overbearing or trying to pressure Shawn into anything. He was ... being a friend.
"I appreciate it." The printer spit out a new ticket, and Shawn fetched the small slip of paper. "Two Hangtown Fries, hold the oysters in one, and a side of corn fritters."
Miles repeated the order and hit the small bell so Annabelle knew the burger order was ready. Then he reached for the eggs he needed for the Fry, while Shawn got to work on the fritters. In the eight months since the ghost town and saloon opened, their crew had created an easy, balanced work relationship, and they rarely had issues with getting food out. Okay, so maybe once Shawn accidentally made a batch of pies with salt in place of the sugar, but those mistakes were rare.
And funny, with the distance of time. In the moment, Shawn had been terrified he'd be fired on the spot, and he needed this job. He loved this job. He even loved the tiny bit of acting he got to do during the noon holdup in the saloon, where he had to pretend to be scared of the "thieves." The cast and crew who kept the ghost town going had become a kind of family all their own, and he was so grateful to have that in his life again. It had been five years since he'd truly felt accepted anywhere.
By four thirty, the last of Shawn's pies and biscuits were gone, so he helped Miles with side dishes for the final hour that tourists could order food. Most of the prepared hot line was empty when the last ticket of the season came over the printer. Miles blinked hard as he plated another Hangtown Fry with a side of fritters, as if grieving the end of their first work season here in the Tango Saloon.
Shawn's own chest tightened. He wouldn't be coming in tomorrow to cook, he'd be coming in to clean and shut things down. They looked through the last of the food on hand, fried up the end of the fritter batter, scrambled the leftover eggs, and Shawn used the last of the flour and butter to toss together a simple batch of cheddar biscuits.
A few at a time, cast members came through the kitchen like a small buffet and got food. Miles had suggested this to Mack last week, so they used up everything they could. Plus, free dinner as a thank-you for everyone's hard work.
Mack and his boyfriend, Wes Bentley, were among the last people to come through the line, and there wasn't much left. Wes was also Miles's best friend, and the pair hugged for a while, both men probably sad to see the attraction they'd helped build temporarily shut down. Shawn's own grief was less acute, tempered by simmering anxiety over his next paycheck. Shawn also hadn't been there at the start of the ghost town, only coming on as a cook about a week before they opened.
"You sure we can't help you guys clean up tonight?" Mack asked. "No one else has to drive up to do anything tomorrow, except me and some paperwork. Megan already closed up the general store for the winter."
"After Mack so generously bought the last of the consigned bread and canned goods to give away to the cast," Wes added with a lovestruck smile for his boyfriend. "Just when you think he can't get more generous."
Mack simply grinned.
Before Shawn could insist he didn't mind cleaning tomorrow, Miles shrugged and said, "I'm cool doing it tonight if you guys are volunteering. In terms of supplies, there's some flour, sugar, and baking powder folks are free to adopt, and I think some milk and half-and-half in the fridge. Forage away once we're done."
Shawn's stomach sank but he didn't contradict his boss. Instead, he started cleaning the line in a practiced, familiar way. Annabelle stuck around to help, and with five of them working, it didn't take long to scrub the place down, unplug equipment that wouldn't need to run, and scrounge up every last bit of stray food. Miles took a final trip out to the compost pile with the bus bin, which he then carefully washed and dried.
Annabelle hugged them all before she left, her eyes full of tears. "See you next year," she said as she walked out the kitchen's back door.
Their quartet left a few minutes later, slowly walking through the deserted town to the attraction's main entrance and gravel parking lot beyond. Shawn's feet grew heavier with each step toward his home for the next two months: a rusty hatchback that vibrated like crazy over fifty miles an hour and sometimes didn't have heat.
His entire life was in that car.
After a handshake from Mack and hugs from both Miles and Wes, Shawn slid into his car and sat there. Watched the trio of friends climb into Mack's pickup and trundle out of sight. Mack and Wes lived in a cabin off the road to the ghost town, and from there, Miles would drive an ATV back to the ranch where he lived with his own boyfriend. No one would care if Shawn stayed here for a while.
Not as if he had anywhere else to go, or anyone waiting for him to get there.
Except he couldn't linger long. Mack's cabin was out of sight of the road, but headlights and an engine too late at night might arouse suspicion, so Shawn turned his key in the ignition.
A gurgle and then nothing.
"Shit, not now." Shawn smacked the steering wheel and tried the key again. Nothing. Then he spotted the headlight knob — still pulled out from his morning ride through slightly foggy weather. He'd killed his own damned battery. "Goddamn it!"
Roadside service all the way out here would be expensive. Maybe he could call Mack and ask him to return for a jump start. Inconvenient, considering everyone's long day, but better than sitting up here all damned night. He palmed his cell — which was as dead as his car. The thing's battery wasn't holding its charge well anymore, and he'd forgotten to use the kitchen's charger today.
Anxiety rolled heavily through his chest and he fought against a rising tide of panic. With the car battery dead, his car charger wouldn't do him any good. Even if he could justify sneaking into the kitchen to use the charger, the doors were all locked in case anyone got big ideas about snooping around in the off-season.
He was well and truly screwed.
Shawn closed his eyes and took a few deep, centering breaths. He'd figure this out. He'd be fine. He'd been figuring his own shit out for years and was still standing, goddamn it. He'd figure this out, too.
Mack's house wasn't an unwalkable distance from the ghost town, but it was after eight at night, dark, with only a sliver of moonlight to guide him down the gravel road. Shawn wasn't afraid of the dark, but there were wild animals out here.
Flashlight. Do I have a working flashlight?
Granddad had given him an emergency roadside kit back when Shawn bought this car. He got out and opened the back hatch. Rummaged around his small collection of belongings until he found the kit. It had one of those battery-free flashlights, and after winding the crank a few dozen times, it finally shed dim light.
Better than nothing.
Shawn armed himself with his tire iron, not trusting the vast acreage of wild land all around him, and then set off toward the road. His feet already ached from a long day, and walking down heavy gravel wasn't helping his sore muscles or his roiling emotions. Anxiety over finding new work, plus anger at this unexpected expense, made his stomach hurt, and he had to pause once to work back the urge to vomit. He should have taken one of his meds before setting off on this hike, but he'd come too far to turn back now.
Except it seemed to take forever for the yellow reflectors marking the Garrett/Bentley driveway to finally flash in the distance. Shawn wanted to sob with relief, but he still had the long driveway to traverse. It dipped down and bent slightly, giving the house tree cover from the ghost town road.
He'd never actually been to the house before, despite a handful of invitations to dinner from Mack. Two stories, the exterior was very rustic-log-cabin, the beauty only slightly marred by the more modern deck furniture on the front porch. The pickup and another car were parked by the house, and lights blazed downstairs.
I might be inconveniencing them, but at least I'm not waking anyone up.
Shawn put his tire iron down, not wanting to appear threatening, and took a deep breath to steel himself before he knocked on the screen door. The interior door swung open a moment later, and Mack stared at him a beat. "Shawn? Everything okay?"
"No, and I'm sorry to bother you this late."
"It's no bother." Mack pushed open the screen door. "Come on in. Didn't hear you drive up."
"I walked." Shawn entered the house, a little surprised by the mix of boho chic décor and more rustic elements that was a perfect blend of the two occupants. A real home. "My car battery died, and then so did my phone battery, and I really hate to put you guys out because I couldn't remember to charge my phone, but I didn't know where else to go."
"Shit, that's a run of bad luck."
"Mack, who's —?" Wes appeared from above, where an open staircase led up to a loft area. "Hey, Shawn, what's wrong?"
"Dead car and phone batteries," Mack replied. To Shawn, he said, "You want a jump?"
"I know it's super late to ask, but I'd really appreciate it," Shawn said.
Wes trotted down the stairs, already out of his period costume and wearing only a pair of tight workout shorts. "Dude, it's after nine. Why don't you just crash here and Mack can jump you in the morning. Unless you've got cats at home that need to be fed or something."
Shawn nearly said he did, just so he could get out of this strange space and back to his familiar car, but he also didn't want to lie to their faces. "No cats or anything, but I don't want to be a bother."
"Don't even sweat it. We've got two guest rooms that barely get any use, unless Avery and Colt stay over together. You have got to be exhausted after today, and the last thing we need is for you to fall asleep at the wheel and crash."
"I agree with Wes," Mack said with a friendly smile. "It's really no bother. I was gonna drive back up to the site in the morning anyway, just to finish up a few things in the office, so you're on the way."
Shawn couldn't think of a good reason to turn down the offer, especially when all he wanted to do was lie down and sleep for a week. At least he'd have one night in a comfortable bed, instead of stretched across his two front seats, where he had no room to move. Sure, he'd gotten used to it over the last two years, but a bed? For one night?
"Okay, you have no idea how much I appreciate this," Shawn replied. No. Idea. And it wasn't as if Shawn had asked to stay; Wes had freely offered the room.
Wes showed him around the cabin, which only took about a minute. The great room was a cozy combination of a living and dining area. Beneath the loft was the kitchen, and tucked behind it were the downstairs bathroom and two small guest rooms. "This one's got the freshest sheets," Wes said about the room decorated in deep shades of burgundy, purple, and gold that reminded Shawn of Bollywood films. "There are toiletries in the bathroom, so help yourself to a toothbrush and a shower. Tonight or in the morning. Can I get you something to drink?"
"Water would be amazing, thank you."
Wes left and returned with a chilled bottle. "So that's some shitty luck, huh? Dead car and phone? Do you want to use my charger?"
Shawn held up his flip phone. "You got a universal charger?" "Yup. I'll get it."
"Thank you." Shawn gazed around the room, a little stunned at how generous Wes and Mack were being. He was just an employee, but they were treating him like, well, family. Part of the Bentley Ghost Town family, and he didn't have the words to express his gratitude. He'd fallen down, and for the first time in years, someone was there to help him stand up so he didn't have to do it all on his own.
A fresh wave of tears strangled his throat and stung his eyes. Tears of gratitude for the support, but also of frustration for having to rely on other people's charity at all.
"Shawn?" Wes approached with the charger in one hand and a pair of boxers in his other, his blue eyes wide. "Are you okay? You are perfectly safe here, I promise."
"I know." Shawn blinked hard against those damned tears, not afraid of his hosts in the least. "I'm just ... not used to having people around who'll have my back in a crisis. It's a little overwhelming."
"Oh, honey." Wes slung an arm around his shoulders. "You ever need anything, you can come to me or Mack. Definitely to Miles."
"Thanks." He carefully extricated himself from beneath Wes's arm, not much of a casual toucher. "I won't keep you from your, uh, evening. Thank you again, Wes. I mean it."
Wes's eyebrows furrowed briefly. "You're welcome.
Sleep tight."
"You, too."
Shawn didn't realize until after Wes left the room how his actions could have been interpreted by Wes: a half-naked gay man side-hugging Shawn, and Shawn not wanting to be hugged. Crap. He hadn't meant to insult his host, but Shawn had never come out to anyone at the ghost town. Despite so many other queer people working there, it was no one's business. He was also too tired to try and explain himself tonight.
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "Lucky Break"
by .
Copyright © 2019 A.M. Arthur.
Excerpted by permission of Harlequin Enterprises Limited.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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