Читать книгу The Sheriff - Jan Hudson, Jan Hudson - Страница 8

It didn’t have a bathtub.

The restaurant did have electricity and a roof. There were bathrooms, labeled Señors and Señoritas, one of which was reasonably sanitary, Mary Beth decided after she’d checked them out. There was even a pay phone on the wall by the door. She picked up the receiver. It still had a dial tone. If she was lucky, maybe the previous tenants had left behind some food in their haste to skip out on their bills.

In any case the Tico Taco was now home.

“We won’t be going to Ouida’s,” she’d told Mr. Murdock. “We’ll be staying here. Could you help bring in our bags, please?”

“Here? But—but—but—” he’d sputtered like a rusty motor boat. “You can’t stay here!”

“Don’t I own it?”

“Well, of course.”

She smiled brightly. “Then I can stay here if I choose.”

“But it’s a restaurant. There are no beds.”

“I noticed that, too. But we can improvise, can’t we, Katy?”

“What’s improvise, Mommy?”

“It’s making do with what we have. We’ll pretend we’re camping and have lots of fun,” she said with a forced gaiety. “Those red booths look like they might do for beds. Pick out a soft one that you like,” she told her daughter.

“Okay.” Katy skipped away with her flop-eared dog.

Mary Beth turned to the elderly lawyer, who looked alarmed. “We’ll be just fine here, Mr. Murdock.”

“But, Mrs. Parker, it simply isn’t suitable for a woman and a child alone, especially with your injury. You’ll be much more comfortable at Ouida’s.”

“Perhaps so, but the plain truth is, sir, that I can’t afford to stay at the bed-and-breakfast. This will have to do.”

“Perhaps you could stay with friends, or I could advance you a small sum—”

She lifted her chin and stiffened her spine. “Thank you, Mr. Murdock, but no. The Tico Taco is perfectly adequate for the time being.” She pasted a big grin on her face. “Why, it’s the next best thing to a vacation in Mexico. We’ll have a grand time here. And it’s free.”

He hadn’t wanted to leave them alone, but she finally convinced him to go. After their bags were unloaded—Mr. Murdock muttering something about the modern generation of young ladies all the while—the man left. Mary Beth gripped the handles of her crutches tightly and resisted the urge to hobble after him, yelling for him to wait.

While Katy was still exploring, Mary Beth stood alone in the middle of the dining room and looked around at her new home.

Smells of corn tortillas, spices and old grease hung in the air. A coating of dust covered everything from the faded paper piñatas hanging from the ceiling to the scarred wood floor. It was a far cry from the lovely two-story home with the pillars that she’d lived in when Brad was embezzling money from the savings-and-loan company where he was vice president.

She ached to sit down in one of those old chairs, lay her head on the table and bawl like a baby.

But she didn’t. She’d learned early on that crying didn’t help her situation. It only made her face blotchy and alarmed Katy.

She was sick of playing the victim role. It was time for her to take charge of her life. A dozen times a day she told herself that. But that wasn’t as simple as it sounded, and she often overreacted in one extreme or the other. She was new to this business of being independent; it wasn’t her nature. There had always been a strong man around to handle things and it had been easy to acquiesce. Her father had been authoritarian and overly protective, and Brad had been mega-domineering. Come to think of it, J.J. had been that type as well—not as bad as Brad perhaps, but inclined in that direction. He was definitely a take-charge kind of guy. Was he still?

In a way, she supposed, this whole experience with Brad’s arrest and the mess she found herself in might be a good thing. “Things happen for a reason,” her mother had always said. Maybe one day she’d look back on this time and think of it as character-building, but it was hard for her to be philosophical when she was tired and scared and broke. She was beginning to think that character-building was vastly overrated. Maybe being an independent woman was overrated, too. She felt like a tangle of contradictions: determined to stand on her own two feet on one hand while wanting to yell for someone to save her on the other.

Sometimes life was a bitch.

Mary Beth knew that she couldn’t depend on a white knight riding in to save her—although it had been tempting to simply melt into J.J.’s arms and never let go. When he’d hugged her at the bus station, it had seemed so right. He’d seemed like a knight in a cowboy hat, and Naconiche had seemed like Camelot.

“Things always work out for the best” had been another of her mother’s sayings. That had become Mary Beth’s mantra. Somehow, some way, things were going to work out. She was determined to believe that.

And, dammit, she was going to become an independent woman or die trying.

Mary Beth turned on the ceiling fans and opened a couple of windows to air out the place, then she made her way to the kitchen. First things first. She and Katy had to eat.

Luck was with her. The pantry yielded a treasure trove, including several restaurant-sized cans of tomatoes, salsa, jalapeño peppers and beans. And more chili powder, cumin and other spices than she could use in fifty years. There was even part of a bag of rice and a ten-pound sack of onions that looked okay. The former tenants must have been in a powerful hurry not to have taken all the food along with them.

She found several blocks of cheese in the walk-in refrigerator, along with a few items past their prime, such as smelly milk, some rusty-looking lettuce and a couple of mushy bags of food she couldn’t identify. A shame about the milk. But she did find a box of individual cream cups, the kind used for coffee, two cartons of butter pats and five eggs that seemed okay.

In the big freezer, she discovered several packages of tortillas, an unopened box of chicken breasts that would feed Katy and her for weeks and another big box of ground beef.

She heaved a huge sigh and sent a prayer heavenward. At least they wouldn’t starve.

Making a quick tour of the rest of the kitchen, she found that the grill and the large stainless-steel gas stove were reasonably clean and in working order. She was grateful for her volunteer stint in the Junior League kitchens, since the stove was similar to one she’d learned to operate there. The grease in the deep fryer needed to be tossed and the fryer could stand a good scrubbing—but not now. Several big pots hung from an overhead rack, and there were enough smaller ones to do for Katy and her. There were two huge dishwashers and a triple stainless-steel sink.

“Mommy!”

“I’m here, honey.” She hobbled from the kitchen.

“Penelope and I have to go to the bathroom.”

“It’s right there,” Mary Beth said, pointing to the Señoritas door.

Katy frowned and glanced from the door to Mary Beth. “Would you go with us? Penelope is kind of…” The girl glanced at the door again.

Mary Beth smiled. “Uncomfortable in a new place?”

“Yes. I told her it was okay, but she’s uncomfortable.”

“No problem, sweetie.” She took Katy and her dog to the bathroom. And while she was there, she scoured the sink and other fixtures with an industrial-style cleanser she found in a cabinet.

The whole place needed cleaning, but she was too tired to tackle it all. She gave Katy a dust rag and instructions to wipe down the tables and booths while she tackled the kitchen and came up with dinner.

Other than a surface layer of greasy dust, the kitchen wasn’t too bad—apart from some things that looked suspiciously like mouse droppings. Rodents of all shapes and sizes gave her the willies. She convinced herself that the evidence was very old and that any self-respecting mouse would be long gone in search of better provisions.

Using a little ingenuity, including her defrosting skills, she put together a rather tasty meal of grilled chicken breasts along with rice topped with onion and tomatoes. She even managed to fix Katy some chocolate milk by mixing half a dozen coffee creamers with water and some chocolate syrup she’d located in the pantry.

“Mmm,” Katy said. “This is good, Mommy.” She wiped her mouth with a paper napkin from the table dispenser. “My tummy’s full.” She rubbed her belly and yawned.

“Tired, sweetie?”

“Just a little. Does this place have a TV?”

“Sorry, no. But let’s have our baths and I’ll read a story to you.”

“Is there a bathtub?”

“Not a regular one, but there’s a deep sink in the kitchen that’s just about your size.”

Katy was a little wary about taking a bath in the kitchen sink, but she was a trouper and the two of them were soon giggling as Mary Beth helped her bathe and shampoo her hair. She wrapped Katy in a tablecloth from a stack of clean ones she’d located in a cupboard and nuzzled her daughter’s soft, sweet-scented neck. “All clean and smelling like honeysuckle.”

“All clean,” Katy echoed. “Are you going to take a bath in the sink?”

Mary Beth laughed. “I don’t think my cast and I would fit. I’ll make do with a basin bath in the Señoritas.”

“Mommy, what’s a señorita?”

“That’s the word written on one of the bathroom doors. It’s Spanish for young lady or for an unmarried woman.” She began brushing Katy’s fine blond hair.

“But you’re married.”

“Well, technically, I’m not. Daddy and I are divorced, remember?”

“Oh, yeah. He’s in the pokey.”

“Where did you hear that word?”

“From Aunt Isabel. I heard you and her talking. Aunt Isabel said my daddy was a con and in the pokey.”

Isabel was Mary Beth’s best friend in Natchez. She had offered them her garage apartment to live in and the two of them had lived there comfortably, although Mary Beth had hated imposing on her friend. “Isabel shouldn’t have said that. That was very rude.”

“He isn’t in the pokey?”

“Pokey is a rude word. Daddy is in a correctional institution. He’s being punished for doing a bad thing.”

“Like when I get a time-out for spitting on Eric.”

“Yes, except that grown-up punishment is more serious. I think it might be best if we not mention where Daddy is to anybody. Okay?”

“Okay. What’s written on the other door?”

“Which door?”

“The other bathroom.”

“Oh. That one says Señors.”

“Is it for married ladies?”

Mary Beth chuckled. “No. That one is for men.”

“Then where do the married ladies go?”

“All the ladies and girls, unmarried or not, use Señoritas. You’re a pill, know that?” She kissed Katy’s forehead, then tickled her tummy until she giggled.

By the time Katy’s hair was dried and she was dressed in her pink-checked nightgown, Mary Beth was exhausted and her foot was aching. She would have loved to soak in a warm bubble bath, but if wishes were dollars, she’d be rich. Instead, she cleaned up as best she could in the ladies’ room and pulled on an old nightshirt.

She spread tablecloths over the benches of the booth Katy had selected. Thankfully, she’d brought along Katy’s favorite little quilt and pillow, so her daughter was snuggled securely with Penelope in her makeshift bed. On the table she had placed a small lamp that she’d found in a back closet.

Mary Beth shook the dust from a serape she took from the wall and rolled it into a pillow for herself. She wrapped it with a clean tablecloth and set aside a couple of the other cloths for her covers. After turning off the overhead lights, she picked up the book Katy had chosen and began to read by the glow of the table lamp.

Her daughter was so droopy-eyed that she fell asleep before Mary Beth got to page three of the storybook. Exhausted from the trip, she thought that she would fall asleep quickly, too, and twisted and turned until she was reasonably comfortable, given that the bench was a foot shorter than she was.

Sleep didn’t come.

Her foot throbbed like crazy. It needed some support.

Carefully she scooted from the booth, trying not to disturb her bedding. Naturally, the tablecloth and the serape followed her and fell on the floor. She shook them out and repositioned them.

Using only one crutch, she limped to a chair at a nearby table and quietly dragged it toward the booth.

It screeched.

She froze and glanced toward Katy. Her daughter was still.

Trying again, she wrestled the chair into position with minimal racket. Using another serape from the wall for padding, she covered the seat and climbed back into her makeshift bed. By that time, she’d broken into a clammy sweat and lay back exhausted.

The extension made things better. Not great, but better.

Events of the day replayed in her brain—especially her time with J.J. His masculine scent haunted her, the smell of his fresh-starched collar and the faint citrus of his shaving lotion. It stirred old memories of playing in his truck, of his warm embraces, of his kisses, of the feel of his hand on her skin. A shiver ran over her. Funny how evocative smells were, as if they were attached to memories with strong threads. There had always been a special magic between them that made her knees go weak and her brain shut down. One look from him, one simple touch, and she knew that the magic was still there.

She thought of him over the years, wondering how his life had gone. Strange that he’d never married—not that she planned to get involved with him again. He was the type who would march in and take over, and that was the very worst kind of man for her. Magic or not, this wasn’t the time to get involved with another man. She’d be smart to avoid him. Yet his eyes…

Stop thinking about him! She had to get some rest.

She was tired, so tired.

But her body buzzed like a high-wire and her brain felt as if hummingbirds were having a convention inside her head. She tried every relaxation technique she’d ever heard of. Nothing worked.

In the middle of her second set of deep-breathing exercises, she heard it. Little scurrying noises.

Her eyes popped wide-open. She would never get to sleep now.

J.J. COULDN’T SLEEP. Every time he closed his eyes, he could see Mary Beth’s face. By thinking about her and not paying attention to his business, he’d damn near been run over by a semi when he was herding Cletus’s cows off the highway. Even a couple of beers at the Rusty Bucket and a little flirting with Tami who’d served them hadn’t taken the edge off his preoccupation with Mary Beth—with remembering old times.

He turned over, punched his pillow and tried again.

It was no use.

Finally he gave it up, pulled on a pair of jeans and strolled out onto the second-floor balcony of his fourplex. He leaned against the railing and stared down at the full moon reflected in the swimming pool.

The image reminded him of Mary Beth’s shimmering hair. Even after all these years, he could remember the way her hair smelled. Like honeysuckle. And he could remember the taste of her lips and the softness of her skin.

He thought he’d gotten over her long ago. Obviously he hadn’t. One glance at her and all the fires sprang to life again. Guess people always remembered their first loves with tenderness. He certainly remembered his—he’d thought of Mary Beth often over the year. But seeing her get off that bus, he remembered why they weren’t together. She’d broken his heart.

He’d dated more women than he could keep up with after she’d dumped him and moved away. None of them could hold a candle to her. He rarely saw anyone for long. Just didn’t seem to find that spark with anybody. His mother had worried about him, and his brothers had called him a lovesick fool. Then a few years ago, he’d met somebody when he was visiting friends in Dallas. Tess had looked a little like Mary Beth, only taller. Smelled like her, too. They’d carried on hot and heavy for two years—even talked about getting married, but things hadn’t worked out. Tess wasn’t about to move to Naconiche and he hated the notion of living in Dallas. Tess found someone who loved city life, and she’d given him his walking papers.

He hadn’t been as broken up about it as he should have been.

Figuring that he ought to set his sights closer to home, J.J. had tried keeping company with a first-grade teacher at the local elementary school. Pretty young woman. Sweet natured. Crazy about Naconiche. His mama had loved Carol Ann. He’d dated her for over a year.

But the chemistry just wasn’t there. Maybe it was because she didn’t smell right. Anyhow, as gently as he could, he ended their relationship. She married the associate pastor of the Baptist church the following year, and they had moved to the Valley when he got a church of his own there a few months ago. Carol Ann was better off with the preacher.

Now Mary Beth was back. The spark was still there. And she still smelled like honeysuckle.

Damn.

One whiff, and he was like a bull after a cow at mating time.

Fool.

He wasn’t about to get mixed up with her again. He planned to give her a wide berth. She’d waltzed back into town, thinking she’d inherited a tidy sum. No way would she hang around when she discovered the truth. She’d be on the next bus out of town.

That little Katy was cute as a button. She should have been his.

But she wasn’t.

Hell, he had to get some sleep. He strode back inside, shucking his jeans on the way to bed. He had to get his mind off Mary Beth. Anything between them was over and done with a long time ago. His plan was to totally steer clear of her and do no more than tip his hat if they met on the street. No need to go asking for trouble.

THE NEXT MORNING, J.J. was on his third cup of coffee at the City Grill when Dwight Murdock took the stool beside him.

“Good morning,” the lawyer said.

J.J. merely grunted. He didn’t see a damned thing good about it. He hadn’t slept more than a couple of hours and he’d cut himself twice while he was shaving.

“I was hoping to find you here,” Dwight said. “I’m concerned about Mary Beth Parker and her little girl.”

“How so?”

“Well, their sleeping accommodations for one thing.”

“Coffee, Dwight?” Vera Whitehouse said, pouring a cup for him even as she asked.

Vera, who wouldn’t weigh ninety pounds dripping wet, had been the morning waitress at the Grill for as long as J.J. could remember. He’d heard once that she’d arrived on the bus forty-some odd years ago, saw a sign in the window advertising for help and stayed on. She knew everybody in town by their first name—and most of their business.

She warmed up J.J.’s cup. “You ready to order yet, J.J.?”

“In a minute. What do you mean about their sleeping accommodations, Dwight? Ouida’s is a nice place, isn’t it?”

“From what I understand,” the lawyer said.

“Top-notch,” Vera chimed in. “Why, you could eat your dinner off Ouida Tankard’s floors.”

“Problem is, they’re not staying at Ouida’s.”

“Then where are they staying?”

“At the restaurant.”

Puzzled by the answer, J.J. asked, “What restaurant?”

“The Tico Taco. The people who were leasing it moved out last week, left in the middle of the night owing two months rent. I tried to talk her out of staying there, but she was determined.”

J.J.’s boots hit the floor, and he swung around on his stool. “Do you mean to tell me that you went off and left them at that Mexican joint on the old highway?”

“She insisted. Reminded me that she owned it.”

Vera rolled her eyes and muttered, “Men! Leaving Mary Beth on crutches and with that baby to tend to. Why, I’d bet my bottom dollar the sorry bunch that ran the place didn’t even leave a scrap of food in the place.”

“Hell’s bells, Dwight!” J.J. slapped a couple of bills on the counter and stalked off, grabbing his hat from the rack on his way out the door.

“Wait! Wait, J.J.,” Vera yelled. She came running after him with three small cartons of milk cradled in one arm and a bag in the other. “Here’s some milk and doughnuts. You bring them to town for a decent meal. I’ll bet that poor lamb is starving.”

J.J. cursed Dwight Murdock all the way to the Tico Taco. For a smart lawyer, sometimes that old man didn’t have the brains God gave a billy goat.