The Chauffeur

They say there are skills one never forgets, such as riding a bike or swimming. For Evie Lansing, the one thing she could never forget was how to drive. Not the picking up your groceries kind of driving. Evie liked to drive fast.

Staring out at the dusky Nevada sky, Evie sighed. She knew even a master painter couldn’t capture such beauty. Azure hues blended with indigo dominated the skyline, which faded into midnight. Streaking clouds appeared gold, kissed by the summer sun’s final rays of light. As if nature had to find a way to ruin a dusky sunset, craggy hills made of rock jutted from the earth, marring the celestial sight.

At the wave of a flag, Evie’s small Japanese-made car accelerated down the lone paved highway, stirring up a smokescreen of dust. Though she was not alone in this race, her quick start ensured she was well beyond her competition. Evie maintained her speed as she approached a bend in the road, shifting gears with her right hand as if it were second nature. Just before she rounded the corner, Evie pressed her brakes and flicked the steering wheel as far as it could go to the left. She smiled as her car drifted around the corner.

Evie pressed the throttle, maintaining her drift. As the next bend came up, Evie flicked the steering wheel right, let off the gas, and released the steering wheel. Once the car had rotated to the correct position, she grabbed the wheel and accelerated, drifting around the next corner.

After her car swung around the final bend, Evie released the throttle some and allowed her rear to straighten out. Racing straight down the road a few miles, Evie was the first to reach the impromptu finish line. Another four laps around that handmade desert circuit saw Evie the victor of the race.

Once she had slowed down enough, she pulled off the road where the onlookers had gathered. Evie climbed out of her seat and perched on the open window of her car door. Evie grinned at the cheers of the small crowd and blew them a kiss.

The organizer of the illegal desert race rushed to Evie’s side, full of congratulatory praise.

“Money, please,” Evie held out her hand, cutting off the man’s words.

“What?” Dirk, the man in charge, asked.

“The money I have won. I would like it, please,” Evie shook her empty hand towards him.”

“You aren’t gonna stay or celebrate?” Dirk furrowed his brows as he pulled a wad of cash from his jeans pocket.

“Nah,” Evie shook her head, her lips pursed. “I’m already late for work. So, money, please.” Evie accepted the stack of cash Dirk handed her and slid back into the driver’s seat. “Oh, and don’t tell Colt I was here.”

Dirk winked, “I won’t stay quiet for free.”

Scoffing, Evie tossed him a few bills from her newfound small fortune. “Now, move your toes before I run ’em over.” When Dirk stepped back, Evie sped off, leaving him in a cloud of dust.

***

Apart of the Great Basin Desert and considered to be the capital of Nevada’s gold belt sat Elko. A town as small as its name, otherwise known as Evie’s dreaded hometown. Evie’s car barreled it’s way from the darkened cliffsides towards the twinkling lights providing the only light in the desert.

As she rounded the bend into town, she watched her speedometer. She had to be sure she was not going even a mile over the thirty-five mile-per-hour limit. If she did, it would be a matter of minutes before Officer Brooks would be on her tail. He was like a perpetual bloodhound with a specific attraction to her scent.

Begrudgingly under the speed limit, Evie turned down Idaho Street. She rolled past the rows of false-fronted buildings, a homage to the town’s Western spirit. Cowboys and outlaws used to rule this land before casinos and motels did.

And for some reason, the entire town seemed to thrive on that frontier spirit rather than lean into corporate greed. But to Evie, the entire town seemed covered in a fine layer of dust and desert scrub, visible even in the moonlight.

Evie parked her car outside the Hopalong Hotel, in the same spot she had every night for the last five years. Since she was already late, Evie took her time gathering her purse, lunch bag, cell phone, and water bottle. Her leather heels clicked against the pavement as she climbed from her car.

Evie sauntered through the hotel lobby with her hands full, trying not to roll her eyes at the garish rustic interior. The Hopalong was yet another establishment in town determined to be a relic of the past.

“You’re late,” Irma, one of the front desk staff scowled.

“And let’s hope you’re not,” Evie smiled. She spared the woman a glance as she passed the front desk and headed towards the back office. Evie chuckled to herself as she recalled Irma’s confused expression. That joke would probably go right over Irma’s head.

Evie set her belongings down on a small table. The back office was a pallid room and covered in security monitors. So she could see what was happening in the hotel if she felt the need to. The room was her workspace during her graveyard shifts. A colorless cocoon, where she transformed into a grumpy bitch instead of a beautiful butterfly.

She glanced through the one-way glass in front of her work desk out to the front area, where Irma stood, her brows still furrowed.

Evie exited to the front desk and clocked into one of the computers. “How was your night, Irma?”

Irma leaned over the desk towards Evie’s side her voice a whisper, “It was wonderful.”

Evie raised a brow, wondering why Irma was being weird. “What’s up, Irm?”

“There is the most beautiful…” Irma’s words trailed off as her eyes rolled to the back of her head. “Man. I have ever seen. I checked him in earlier. Evie, you gotta see this guy.”

Evie nodded, holding back a grimace. She knew that Irma’s standard of beauty was… Unique. “What room number?”

“2204.”

Evie tapped a few keys on the keyboard before her and pulled up information on room 2204. “Wyatt Zane? I have to admit that does sound like a hot guy's name. Or the leader of a cult who forces his acolytes to become chemically castrated.”

Irma blinked, “You say the oddest things. Anyway, guess what?”

Evie shrugged, “What?”

“He’s at the bar right now. Look. Also, you aren’t wearing your uniform.”

Evie glanced down at her clothes. She, like Elko itself, was covered in a layer of dust. Cursing, Evie realized she hadn’t packed her uniform to change into. So, tonight she would work in a pair of worn, ripped jeans, leather pumps, and a loose-fitting blank tank. A preferable outfit to the flannel shirt and slacks combo the owner of the hotel thought was acceptable. Evie worked overnight shifts on her own anyway, so what she wore didn’t matter much.

“Oh well. Anyway, have a good night, Irma. Drive safely,” Evie smiled and waved Irma away from the desk.

Though Evie wasn’t interested in the man Irma mentioned, she decided to head towards the bar anyway. She passed through the lobby, which looked like an accumulation of spaghetti western memorabilia and rust. Though there had never, at least to Evie’s knowledge, been a horse in the lobby; the stink of horse and hay cloyed the air. Evie always wondered if the owner had some type of cologne called Cowboy Night Sweat or something that he used to douse every inch of the hotel.

Evie’s heels clicked against the wooden floor, announcing her presence to the bar patrons. However, she didn’t spy any new faces, only familiar ones. No man who was gorgeous enough to make her eyes roll back as Irma’s had.

She did spot one handsome man at the bar, however. Elias, her cousin, Evie stopped herself from calling out to him and quickly turned on her heel, but it was too late.

“Why are you covered in dust like this, Evie?” Elias asked as he caught her wrist.

“Uh, I don’t know. Because we live in a desert?” Evie’s voice was full of sarcasm.

Elias frowned, “How much did you win this time?”

“Win? What are you talking about?”

“Goddamn it, Evie. You promised you wouldn’t race anymore.”

“Shh,” Evie hissed as she ripped her wrist from his grasp and glanced around the bar. “You were always the loudest little shit as a child. I can’t say I’m happy to see that trait carry into adulthood.”

“You promised you would stop,” Elias’ voice was voice a whisper.

Evie sighed, “I know, Eli. But grandma-”

“Do you think grandma wants your money?”

“No. But she needs it,” Evie frowned.

“She needs you alive more than she needs money. Grandma can’t handle losing someone else, Evie.”

Evie’s jaw clenched. “Don’t lecture me, Elias. What about you? Aren’t you an aspiring boxer? Isn’t that just as dangerous?”

“Illegal desert races and boxing aren’t comparable, Evie. Don’t even try that argument with me.”

Evie’s shoulders sank, “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

Elias stared at her through narrowed eyes, then sighed. “Right, well… Just promise you won’t do it anymore?”

“I promise… That if I do it again, I won’t get caught,” Evie smirked, and Elias rolled his eyes. “Why are you even here, by the way?”

“Ah, yeah…” Elias smiled sheepishly. “I got booked for a fight in Vegas. I’m leaving in a few hours so… Take care of yourself and grandma.”

“That’s great. I’m happy for you,” Evie patted his shoulder. Though at the moment she was more jealous than happy. She wished she could drop everything and leave for weeks at a time like Elias did. But who would be there for Grandma?

“Evie, can you give me a hand?” The bartender, Susan, called out.

“Yeah, I’ll be right there,” Evie nodded to Susan. “I better go, and good luck,” Evie whispered to Elias before hugging him.

Elias smiled, “I don’t need luck.”

“Whatever. Drive safely, alright?” Evie waved goodbye and watched her cousin leave before rounding the counter towards Susan. “What’s up?”

“Can you go down to the cellar and bring up a crate of wine? I hurt my wrist this morning.” Susan held up her wrist, which was wrapped with a compression bandage.

“No problem,” Evie stooped and pulled open the trap door to the cellar. The steps creaked as she descended the steep flight of stairs. She always hated going down to the basement. Not only could one of these steps break, but she had an unnatural fear that something would grab her ankle and drag her into the darkness. Her face scrunched as she switched the light on at the base of the stairs.

“What wine, Susan?!”

“The Chateau Sonti, chardonnay.”

Evie approached the shelves where the wines were kept. She stroked her chin, trying to recall if chardonnay was white or red wine. She searched and peeked through each crate until she found the one. “So, it’s a white wine,” Evie nodded as she grabbed the crate.

Evie popped her head through the bar floor and looked around for Susan. When she didn’t spot the woman, Evie climbed from the cellar, unassisted, and grumbled to herself. She set the crate of wine on the bar with a huff and came face to face with a man.

Evie froze. She realized this must be the man Irma was talking about. Calling him beautiful was as useless as calling the sea wet.

He had a diamond-shaped face with a strong jaw and a squared chin. Black hair in the popular fringe-up style, which suited the white button-up he wore. His sleeves were rolled up, showcasing his forearms as he held a whisky. But his hooded, steely blue eyes called out to Evie, staring back at her with the same mouth-gaping expression.

“Thanks, Evie. Oh, Mr. Zane, you’re back,” Susan said.

Evie whirled her head towards Susan, her brows raised. For a moment, Evie had forgotten she was standing in a Western saloon replica in the middle of a hotel. “You’re welcome. Have a good night,” Evie glanced at the man a final time before walking back towards the front desk.

***

Wyatt turned his head, watching as the woman called Evie walked away. He couldn’t recall ever being speechless as he just was.

She had appeared from behind the bar like a siren rising from the sea. She was the loveliest thing he had ever seen. Sure, she was a brunette, while he typically preferred blondes. He liked curvaceous women; while she may have been shapely, she was lean, like the difference between the thick jiggle of a porn star and the soft curves of a fashion model.

Yet, despite his preferences, he wondered if a siren named Evie had just tried to run his ship aground. Finding such a rare woman in a shit town was so surprising Wyatt forgot all about the bartender who had been flirting with him.

Wyatt downed his whiskey and wandered from the bar toward the area where Evie had disappeared. Though he could hear the bartender’s flirtatious voice call out to him, he paid her no mind.