Chapter Two
Joel Kingston despised wasted days, and that’s exactly what today had been. Not only had he not accomplished anything at the hotel, but the bank had rejected his latest request for an extension of credit. Without an injection of funds, the project would go bust, and all his work would be in vain. Who’d want to stay in a half-renovated motel?
Sitting at the restaurant table, nursing a now warm soda, he cringed. Not even half. He had eight rooms of the historical motor lodge completely restored and twenty-two more to go with no money to finish them. The cracked foundation had swallowed an enormous portion of his budget.
Why hadn’t he realized the inspector and previous hotel owner were in cahoots? But how could he have known? Several people he trusted had recommended the inspector, and he’d had no reason to suspect his dubious nature.
By the time he realized he’d made an investment that never should have been made, it was too late, and he’d officially purchased the newly renamed Route 66 Roadside Lodge. Once he realized he’d been fooled, he’d sought legal action against the inspector and previous owner for misrepresentation, but his attorney informed him that would be a long shot. They were legally covered by their business and would file bankruptcy to avoid paying any fines or restitution.
So much for the legal system serving justice. He swallowed the bitterness before it could take root again. Staying calm and trusting in God had been a constant battle the last two years. Since he’d gone on a road trip on old Route 66 with his grandparents as a young boy, he’d caught his grandparents’ dream of owning a hotel along the way one day.
He’d worked hard and saved every dime. When his grandfather had passed away five years ago, he’d left Joel a large sum of money to put toward his dream. Pop and Gran had always believed in him, and although Gran was in an assisted care facility now, Joel wouldn’t let her down.
One way or another, he’d finish the motel and open for business. And when he did, he’d bring Gran for a visit and show her their dream had been realized. That by itself was his greatest motivation to finish. How, he didn’t know, but he’d figure it out.
Discouraged but determined, Joel polished off his meatloaf sandwich. Nothing like a giant slab of beef between two slices of thickly sliced, toasted buttered bread to dull the stress from today. He didn’t have room in his stomach to eat the accompanying fries, for which his arteries thanked him—they’d been punished enough by his sandwich.
After he paid his tab, he strolled to his truck, in no hurry to return home empty-handed—no needed money, and none of the equipment he’d hoped to purchase today. The sale advertised at an auction house in Flagstaff hadn’t panned out. He’d hoped to acquire new furniture for some of the rooms at a discounted price, but he refused to sacrifice quality. The right pieces at the right price would come along in time.
He rolled his eyes as he stepped into the truck cab. At this rate, he wouldn’t even need the furniture.Don’t be so negative.“Listen to your conscience, Joel.”
Man, now he’d resorted to talking to himself. The day hadn’t been that horrendous, had it? He’d overcome obstacles before, and he’d mount this hurdle, too. Once he moved past the initial disappointment of today, he’d sit down and formulate a new plan, find a way to generate income while still renovating the motel.
On the way home to Seligman, he listened to his favorite Christian rock band with the windows rolled down. The dry Arizona air breezed through the truck, mussing his short brown locks. He didn’t care since his next stop was home—good thing since he’d dropped ketchup on his shirt back in the diner.
A full chortle escaped when he glanced down at the red spot on his shirt. It wasn’t all that funny, but after the day he’d had, all he could do was laugh. At least it happened after he’d gone to the bank. He didn’t spend an exorbitant amount of time getting ready in the mornings, but he believed in a professional appearance when the situation called for it and not leaving the house looking like a slob.
Blinking hazard lights far in the distance stole his attention. In the dark, on a stretch of road flatter than a pancake, he couldn’t tell exactly how far away the vehicle was. Probably a flat tire. He’d had his share of them over the years.
As he drove closer to the vehicle, he slowed down. He wasn’t in the habit of stopping for strangers, but this stretch of road rarely had cell service and saw it’s share of stranded motorists. Once close enough to see the vehicle in detail, he noted the North Carolina license plates but didn’t see anyone outside of the vehicle.
His conscience erupted into a full-blown battle to stop and help or continue home. Offering assistance won, and he pulled off onto the shoulder, shifted into reverse, and backed up to the other vehicle. He grabbed a flashlight from his console and walked the fifty feet to the SUV.
He knocked on the glass, waited for someone to open the door or lower the window. Inside, hushed words debated over opening the door for him. He picked out four, no five, individual voices. When he heard someone say, “What if he’s an escaped convict?” he couldn’t resist a bit of humor.
Grinning, he knocked on the window again. “I’m not an escaped convict, have never even seen the inside of a jail except on a high school field trip. You won’t even find a speeding ticket under my name.”
The window lowered four inches, and when he shined the flashlight in, he saw the prettiest girl he’d ever seen. Rich brown hair fell in loose waves below the woman’s shoulders and deep brown eyes, the shade of a rich soil not found in these parts, stared at him. She reminded him of that girl who married Prince William several years ago. Gran had insisted he watch the wedding with her. Whatwasher name? Kate something.
Breaking free from wandering thoughts, he reminded himself of his purpose for being there. “I saw you sitting with your four-ways on. Can I help you out in any way?”
The woman darted a glance at the others in the vehicle who all, presumably, gave permission to ask for help. “We ran into some car trouble, and can’t get a signal to call anyone.”
He nodded. “Service is still spotty out here, but it’s getting better.”
“Do you have a phone with a local carrier that might have reception?” She tensed her mouth, bit down on her lip.
“Afraid not. I’m in the same boat as you when it comes to cell service here.” He tipped his chin toward the front of the vehicle. “What kind of problems are you having?”
“An acrid smell came into the car, and then smoke plumed from under the hood.” The woman sighed. “We looked under the hood, couldn’t tell anything, then tried starting it again, hoping we could get to the next exit, but it won’t shift into gear.”
“Sounds like a transmission problem.” He didn’t tell her the symptoms screamed catastrophic failure. No sense causing panic when she already looked stressed. “You’ll have to get a tow.”
Her nose wrinkled, and he had a hunch she bit back a sharp retort. “That would be fine and dandy if we had a way to call.”
He craned his neck, attempting to number the women in the SUV for certain. “I’m headed to Seligman, which is the next exit. I can fit four more people in my truck, five if you don’t mind being squished. There’s a wrecker service there you can send out.”
“I, um…. can you give me a minute to discuss it with my friends?”
