Page 5 of Kissing Kin
“Hopefully, the damages aren’t as bad you suspect.”
“Time will tell.”
Taking a deep breath, I searched for the positive. “I’d planned to spend a day or two here, anyway, researching…”
Smitty took his phone from its holster. “What’s a good contact?”
I gave him my cell number.
“Then you’re staying in town?”
My options were sparse.
“A hotel’s just down the street.” Luke pointed. “Near the library if you want to research while you’re here.”
“Good to know.” Once again indebted, I nodded my appreciation. “Thanks, cuz.”
“You’re related?” Smitty’s brow puckered as he looked from one to the other. “Not much family resemblance…”
“You might say we’re distant relations.” I caught Luke’s gaze.
“Third cousins.” His arms crossing over his broad chest, he winked. “Barely kissing kin.”
Smitty gave me another once over. “I’ll call when I know the damages.”
“Fair enough.”
“Can I drop you off at the hotel?” Luke straightened his spine. “Your bags are still in my truck.”
“Oh, sorry. I’m holding you up.” I winced. “You must’ve been on your way somewhere when you stopped…”
“No worries, but”—his lips curled in a leisurely smile—“I did promise to deliver the masa tonight. My aunt’s making tamales.”
“And I kept you.” I shrank into my vest. “Please give her my apologies, and just point me toward the hotel. If it’s down the street, I can manage my bags. Thanks, you’ve—”
“Trust me, five minutes won’t matter. I’ll drive. Besides, it’s starting to snow again, and sundown comes early in the mountains.”
I glanced at the surroundings. With the Lincoln Mountains as the backdrop, the sky had faded from brilliant blue to dusky twilight. Stars glimmered in the early evening’s velvet canopy, and—sure enough—fluffy snowflakes wafted through the crisp air.
This scene could be one of Grandma’s tales come to life. I breathed in the beauty.
“Ready?”
Luke’s voice roused me from my reverie. “I can’t help admiring the view.”
“No place like it.”
Watching the sun lose its grip behind the mountains, I shook my head. “No wonder our families settled here.”
His warmth radiated as he smiled, opened the truck door, and held out his hand. “Summer Swallows Hotel is at the other end of town.”
“Thanks.” Again, pushing off from his palm, I hopped into the front seat. “What’s the story behind its name?”
“The way northerners wintering in the south are called snowbirds, in the 1800s, people escaping the heat were called summer swallows. A mile high, Fort Lincoln has one of the balmiest summers in Texas.”
The passing storefronts’ façades grabbed my attention. “The buildings look like something from the old west. I feel we’re riding through a time warp into the 1880s.”
Signaling a left turn, Luke nodded as he waited at the courthouse’s intersection.