up the back stairs. Good. Because Garrett was about to get blunt with Loretta, and it was best if the little ears weren’t around for that.
“Who owns the pink tow truck and the SUV?” Garrett asked.
Loretta gave him a “what tow truck and SUV?” look before she snapped her fingers. “Oh, those. It’s Mrs. Marlow’s SUV. Cancer,” she added in a whisper. “And the pink truck belongs to Lady Romero. Drug overdose,” she added in another whisper. “That’s not Lady’s real name, hair color or bosom, by the way, but I don’t make judgments about such things.”
She also didn’t make sense. Why had she added cancer and drug overdose in there as if it were necessary to this very confusing conversation? Apparently, questions weren’t getting what he needed from her ramblings so Garrett tried a different approach.
“I’m sorry, but you have to leave,” Garrett came right out and told her. “This is pasture land, Granger land,” he added, “and tomorrow there’ll be a work crew all around this place. It won’t be safe for you or the little girl.”
Loretta made another “oh.” Then, paused. “Didn’t your mother tell you?”
That was not a good start to an explanation. Any explanation. His mother, Belle, had some good qualities, if he graded on a curve and added bonus points for her giving birth to him, but good communication wasn’t one of Belle’s better skills.
“Tell me what?” Garrett demanded.
“Oh, dear.” Loretta did another hand press to her heart. “Your mother said we could stay here.”
“It’s not her place to do that.” Actually, it wasn’t Garrett’s, either. Not legally anyway, since Roman owned the ranch. But since Roman had no interest in anything to do with this ranch or the family, he left decisions like that to Garrett. Besides, Roman had his own business to run.
Garrett took out his phone to try to call his mother again and then cursed when he saw he was in another of those dead zones. “How long did my mother say you could stay here?”
“I’m not sure,” Loretta answered. “Maybe you can speak to Mrs. Marlow about that. She’s the one who talked to your mother. She’s upstairs.”
Maybe she was the cobweb duster. One with perhaps cancer. And Garrett would deal with her soon enough, but he held out hope that Loretta could give him some real information just in case this Mrs. Marlow turned out to be a tight-lipped scurrier like the women outside.
Garrett went with his next questions. “Who are you people anyway? Why would my mother have said you could stay here? And why the heck would you want to be here of all places?”
Loretta’s mouth moved, repeating those three questions, and she held up her fingers one by one as she went through them. “We’re friends. Because Belle’s doing us a favor. And because it was big enough for all of us.”
Well, they were answers. Sort of. But not the answers he wanted.
“Are you sure you’re not Roman?” Loretta continued. “Because you look like you’re ready to pick a fight again.”
“I am ready to do that,” he snarled. Then, he huffed and silently cursed. Being a badass was his brother’s specialty. He was actually a nice guy. Most days anyway, but this didn’t feel like most days.
“Look, Loretta, there’s been a misunderstanding,” he said. “One that I’m certain we can all work out. But trust me when I say that you can’t stay here. The work crew will have some big equipment, including a bulldozer. It’s not safe,” he repeated.
“You’re sure?” Loretta called out to him as he started for the stairs.
“Positive,” he assured her and kept on walking. Then, paused. “Is this Mrs. Marlow well enough to talk? I mean, she’s not bedridden, is she?”
“Lordy, no. Why would she be bedridden?” Loretta patted her chest again. “You think she’s sick?”
Yeah, he had thought that. After all, Loretta had mentioned cancer, but perhaps she’d been talking about Mrs. Marlow’s astrological sign.
The second floor was right out of a class project for a horror movie. A long, dark hall with a creaky floor, complete with burned-out wall lights and old paintings that were tilted and bowed enough to send OCD folks into a panic attack. He followed the hall to the room where he’d seen the woman in the window earlier.
Not there.
“Mrs. Marlow?” he called out.
Nothing. Well, not a voice anyway, but his phone rang, and he saw his sister’s name on the screen.
“Sorry, I was out riding, and I just now got your voice mail,” Sophie said the moment Garrett answered. “Are there really squatters at Z.T.’s house?”
“I’m not sure who they are, but one of them said Mom gave her permission to be here. You know anything about that?”
“No. Why would she do that? And why would anyone want to stay at that place anyway?”
“I asked first. Where’s Mom?”
“In the family room.” It wasn’t the best of connections, and there was plenty of static on the line. “I’m pretty sure she’s eating lunch and watching her soap.”
Which meant she had turned off her phone or else had the TV volume cranked so high that she hadn’t heard it ring. Of course, the third possibility was that she was avoiding him because she knew he’d be pissed about this.
“Can you go to her right now and ask her what the hell is going on?” He added some profanity to that.
“I will, but I’ll leave out all the language that’ll make her lecture you at her earliest convenience. Hold on. I’m heading to the family room now.” At least he thought that’s what Sophie had said through the static.
“Do you remember Mom ever mentioning a woman named Loretta Cunningham or a Mrs. Marlow?” Garrett asked, and he got moving, too, past the rows of bedrooms on each side of the hall.
“Not that I can recall. Wait... I do remember Mom mentioning a Loretta. She used to babysit us, I think.”
And apparently diaper them.
“Well, she’s here,” Garrett added. “She’s the one who claims Mom said she could stay.”
“Maybe Mom meant they could stay for the day or something. You know, for, like, a picnic.” More static, more noise, too, and he thought some of that noise was coming from a TV. Since the static was hurting his ears, Garrett put the call on speaker and kept searching for the elusive Mrs. Marlow.
“Garrett?” he finally heard his mother say. “You’ve had three calls on your office phone. All from women. I don’t think they’re calling about business, either. Now that you’re divorced, I think they want to get in your pants.”
Garrett groaned. That was the last thing he wanted to talk to his mother about.
“It’s not right,” his mother went on. “Those
