Tumbleweeds & Tequila – Chapter 1
I pushed open the glass door of the Desert Rose Diner, and a jingle of bells announced my arrival. A blast of cool air hit my face, a welcome relief from the dry heat that clung to my skin like a second layer.
“Seat yourself, hon!” a cheerful voice called from somewhere behind the counter.
I slid into a vinyl booth by the window, its red upholstery cracked and worn but surprisingly comfortable. The tabletops were adorned with faded sunflowers trapped beneath a layer of glossy resin—a touch of whimsy that made me smile. I set my battered leather satchel beside me, the weight of my laptop and notebooks a constant reminder of the work I was supposed to be doing.
A waitress appeared at my table, her silver hair pulled back into a neat bun, and a turquoise necklace glinting against her uniform. “What can I get ya?”
“Just coffee, please,” I replied, returning her warm smile. “And maybe a slice of that pecan pie I saw on the chalkboard?”
“Excellent choice,” she winked. “Best in the county. Name’s Ruby if you need anything else.”
“Thanks, Ruby.”
As Ruby departed, I pulled out my worn notebook, its pages smudged with ink and crowded with half-finished thoughts. The sequel to my last book hovered just out of reach, like a mirage in the desert heat. Maybe driving across three states was less about seeking inspiration and more about escaping the fallout with Andrew.
My phone buzzed, skittering across the table. Lisa’s name flashed on the screen. I contemplated ignoring it but knew she’d just keep calling. Sighing, I accepted the call.
“Hey, Lisa.”
“Savannah! Finally,” she exhaled dramatically. “I’ve been trying to reach you for days. Where are you?”
“Arizona,” I said, tracing a sun-faded sunflower trapped beneath the table’s resin. “Small town off Highway 87.”
“Still chasing sunsets and cacti?” Her tone was a mix of amusement and exasperation. “Please tell me you’ve made some progress.”
“Depends on your definition of progress.” I glanced out the window at the vast expanse of desert, stretching out like a blank page. “I’ve got leads.”
“Leads are good. Publishers are breathing down my neck, you know. They’re eager for the next ‘Savannah Brooks’ bestseller.”
“I just need a little more time,” I said, trying to keep the frustration out of my voice. “There’s something out here… I can feel it.”
There was a pause on the other end. “Look, I believe in you. But if you don’t have something for me ASAP, the editor is threatening to cancel your contract and demand the $300,000 advance back.”
Fuck. I didn’t have most of the money anymore. Thanks in big part to Andrew. I had to finish this damn sequel.
I rubbed my temple. Why do the men I love ruin my life? “I understand, and I’m close. Please trust me.”
“I always do,” she said gently. “So what’s the sequel’s name? If He Still Sucks, Get Away More?”
“Eh . . .something like that. It’s not crystallized yet.”
“Okay. Well get me the draft by the end of the month. Even if you don’t have a title.”
“I will.” I hung up just as Ruby returned with my coffee and pie.
“Everything okay, dear?” she asked, setting the dishes down with practiced ease.
“Yeah, just work stuff.” I forced a smile. “Never really goes away, does it?”
She chuckled. “Ain’t that the truth. So, what brings you to our little corner of the world?”
“Actually, I’m a writer. Working on my second book.”
Ruby’s eyes lit up. “A writer! Well, isn’t that exciting. Planning to make us famous?”
“Maybe,” I laughed. “I heard there’s a place around here—an old trail that leads to some incredible views. Thought it might be worth exploring.”
Her smile faltered just a touch. “You’re not talking about the Soltero Canyon, are you?”
“Maybe? I didn’t catch the name. Just heard it was… transformative.”
She glanced around before leaning in slightly. “Between you and me, folks around here don’t take kindly to strangers poking around that area.”
“Why’s that?” I took a sip of the coffee—strong, just the way I liked it.
“Lots of tales, legends, you know how small towns are. But some say it’s dangerous. Unpredictable terrain, sudden storms. People have gotten lost.”
“I’m pretty seasoned when it comes to travel,” I assured her. “But I appreciate the warning.”
She studied me for a moment. “Well, if you’re set on going, at least talk to old Miguel at the gas station down the road. He knows those parts better than anyone.”
“I might just do that. Thanks, Ruby.”
She patted my hand before moving to another table, but not before I caught the concern lingering in her eyes.
I pulled out a pen and started jotting down notes. Mysteries, local legends—it was exactly the kind of thing that could anchor my next book. A journey of self-discovery set against the backdrop of the enigmatic desert.
“Mind if I sit?”
I looked up to find a man standing at my table, his straw hat casting a shadow over his lined face. He looked to be in his sixties, with sun-weathered skin and eyes the color of denim.
“Be my guest,” I said, gesturing to the seat across from me.
He settled in, setting a worn leather pouch on the table. “Name’s Bill. Heard you’re asking about the canyon.”
“Word travels fast,” I noted.
He chuckled. “Small town. News is scarce. Why’s a young woman like you interested in a place like that?”
“I’m a writer,” I explained. “And my next book is way, way overdue.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “What was your first one about?”
I started to chuckle and then stopped. While my debut book sold almost a million copies, I doubted that Bill here read my treatise on divorcing a lowlife cheater and running off to Europe.
“Did you hear about that book by the woman who emptied her savings account and camped in the Alps?”
Bill looked thoughtful for a moment. “She the one who got her arm stuck and had to cut it off?” he asked, looking at my two very normal looking arms.
“Err.. no. That was a different woman.”
“No, can’t say that I have.”
“Well, that was my story. So what about you? What story can you tell me about the canyon?”
Bill glanced out the window, his gaze distant. “They say the canyon shows you things. Things you want to see, and things you don’t.”
“Sounds intriguing.”
“Or dangerous,” he countered. “Not all truths are meant to be found.”
I leaned forward. “Have you been there?”
“Once, a long time ago.” He tapped the pouch with a finger. “Found this there.”
He opened it carefully, revealing a small, intricately carved stone. Symbols swirled across its surface, patterns that seemed almost to move in the light.
“May I?” I asked.
He hesitated before passing it to me. The stone was cool to the touch, heavier than it looked. “It’s beautiful. What do the symbols mean?”
“No one knows. Some say it’s from the people who lived here long before any of us. Others think it’s just the wind playing tricks with the rocks.”
I handed it back to him. “Now I really have to see this place for myself.”
He sighed. “Stubborn, just like me. If you’re determined to go, at least take a guide.”
“A guide? I can read a map. And straight in and straight out, stick to the trail.”
He scratched his chin. “There’s a man named Angelo Ramirez. Runs an agave farm near the canyon’s edge. Knows the land better than most.”
“Thanks, Bill. I appreciate it. I’ll go ask Angelo about the canyon, but I’m really on a deadline.”
He stood up slowly. “Just remember, some paths aren’t meant to be walked alone.”
As he shuffled away, I felt a mix of excitement and apprehension. There was definitely a story here—one that people were cautious to share. Exactly the kind of challenge I couldn’t resist.
I paid my bill and left a generous tip for Ruby. “Take care now,” she called after me, her expression a blend of worry and kindness.
Stepping outside, the heat wrapped around me like a blanket. I slipped on my sunglasses and pulled my hair into a ponytail. The sky was an endless expanse of blue, taunting me with possibilities.
I headed to my Jeep, tossing my bag onto the passenger seat. Before starting the engine, I unfolded a map of the area, tracing the route to the agave farm Bill had mentioned. It wasn’t far—maybe an hour’s drive deeper into the desert. No where on the map was there a Soltero Canyon, Soltero Road, or anything hinting at where I needed to go.
Miguel at the gas station or that agave dude?
You have been reading Tumbleweeds & Tequila...
I’m lost, sunburned, and trapped on a remote ranch with a stoic ex-SEAL whose scowl could scare off a mountain lion—and whose touch makes me forget every reason I ever had to go it alone.
Angelo Ramirez rescued me from the Arizona desert, then made it clear he has no patience for lost city girls, or messy complications.
But my body’s still weak, the roads are gone, and I can’t remember the last time I wanted to trust someone this badly.
He’s gruff, maddeningly steady, impossible to read. Each day in his orbit, my defenses crumble. Each brush of his hands makes me ache for something I swore I’d outgrown.
The press is hunting me. Deadlines are closing in. The life I built back in New York waits, cold, relentless, and safe.
But out here, the real danger isn’t the desert.
It’s the way Angelo looks at me like I’m the only thing worth saving.
And the hardest part isn’t surviving him.
It’s walking away.
