The desert was a stark and beautiful place if you weren't born there, didn't live there, and had no means to escape. Being nineteen, pregnant, and caring for a dying aunt offered little in the way of hope for Alison Newberry. Even her one, true talent of painting lay squandered and buried beneath an endless string of sign painting, finger painting with children, and repainting furniture. Then one dusty, summer day while hiking along the backroads outside of Flatrock, Alison found the gleaming Harly Davidson emblem of a motorcycle, exposed in the wash from a recent storm. With one small effort, Alison's life abruptly changed.
A strange, exciting young woman meets her as she walks back into town, riding a harley oddly enough, and there is an instant connection. There is also instant trouble. The woman seems to be noticed by some, and not by others. Her mother and aunt completely freak when she tells them of this interesting new friend. Alison discovers that she has met this woman by no good fortune of her own, but in fact was sought out. The woman had been to Flatrock before, some forty years earlier and had died there as well. Alison's grandmother had come back and wanted her to unearth the long buried secret of her disappearance that had ruined a family and divided the town. Maybe living in Flatrock wasn't such a boring thing after all.
This isn't a hook. It's the premise of your novel.
Start over. Get your XYZ ducks in a row then rev your engine and roll.