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“Let’s head to that tree over there. It won’t provide much shade, but it should be enough. And then, we’ll keep our fingers crossed that someone stops by who can give us a ride. Otherwise, we’ll be walking all night.”

My stomach drops at his prediction. “Walking all night, I can do. Even without water, I think.”

“We still won’t be to the ranch house by then. But if we’re lucky, we’ll happen upon a cow along the way.”

“And we can drink its milk, maybe? Or follow it to a watering hole?”

“More like drink its blood, Esmeralda. But let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. For as beautiful as Nevada can be, it’s also merciless and unforgiving.”

I shiver at his words.

After reaching the tree, we sink down beneath it, Reese pulling me loosely into his arms so we stay close but don’t overheat. “We’re going to get through this together, Esmeralda. There’s no way the Universe put you in my path only to turn around and take you away. But we could use a little more of your luck. In the meantime, let’s try to get some rest until things cool back off.”

“Maybe the ghost hunters will return when we wake up.”

“A high probability. They love combing through this place, especially at night.”

“You hear that?” Reese asks, raising his head from the ground where we lie together, soaking up our thin patch of shade.

“That booming?”

“Yeah,” he says, biting his bottom lip. “Almost like polka music.”

Chills run up and down the length of my body as my ears strain to the sound, catching snippets of it on the wind. The faintness has a ghostly quality that puts goosebumps on my arms despite the heat.

“It’s getting closer,” Reese says, excitement in his voice. He sits up, and I join him, eyeing the dirt-covered, tanned cowboy. He’s got his shirt back on, but I can see the muscles straining against the fabric.

“Yes, it is getting closer,” I agree, clapping my hands together.

“Let’s head down to High Water,” he says, pointing towards the mounds of debris and glass where this day started. “Hopefully, they’re visitors and are planning on staying awhile. But just in case they’re neighboring ranchers or some other locals, we better be ready to flag them down. Nevadans travel these dirt roads at wicked speeds.”

Jumping to our feet, gifted with a second wave of energy, we race toward the ghost town, moving as fast as we can so that we don’t miss whoever’s blaring music. As we draw closer, a gaudy caravan of vans arrives painted with bright murals.

My eyes make out the words Mariachi Sol as tears flood my eyes. Thank you, Universe, for another round of fortune! Reese waves his hands in the air, screaming as men in extravagant costumes pile out of their rides.

“Thank heavens!” he hollers, not stopping until he gets their attention. I follow close behind, only realizing how hot and red I must look when I stand next to Reese, doubled over and fighting to catch my breath.

“Where in the hell did you two come from?” a large, jovial, mustached man with a thick Hispanic accent asks.

“It’s a long story.” Reese chuckles. “Mind if we get a lift from you?”

“Of course. But you’ll have to eat lunch and drink beer with us first.”

“That sounds amazing. A godsend,” the cowboy says.

Chapter Seventeen

REESE

As some of the mariachi musicians tour the ghost town site while others work on beer and food, I straggle out a way to send a couple of texts. It occurs to me that my lovely bride has yet to enjoy a reception, cake, dancing, or any of the usual nuptial norms.

Enlisting everyone in town that I can think of, from the baker to the UFO hunters, ghost hunters, and my few remaining ranch hands, I come up with an action plan that should align perfectly with our arrival back on the ranch after lunch and whatever the bandmates would like to do in High Water.

As the vans open and more men pile out in their flashy costumes, they work quickly to put up a couple of shade tents before pulling out foldable chairs and turning up the booming music.

“Please have a seat,” the jovial man offers, gesturing to Esmeralda.

“Thank you, Manuel.”