lawyer hurried out, and Mary Beth said her goodbyes to Miss Nonie. “I’d love to see Sheriff Wes. What is he doing now that he’s retired?”
Nonie laughed. “Trying to keep from sticking his nose into J.J.’s affairs. He has a clock-repair business in the back of the store. He’s usually around since we live upstairs now, but he drove over to Cherokee an hour or so ago.”
“You don’t live on the ranch anymore?”
She shook her head. “With all our brood grown, the two of us just rattled around in that big house, so we divided up the ranch and gave it to the kids. We have a nice apartment upstairs that suits us fine. Oh, there’s Dwight.” Nonie gave Mary Beth and Katy another hug and waved to them as they went outside to the aging red Cadillac parked at the curb.
After they retrieved their luggage from the feed store, Mr. Murdock drove out toward the edge of town—which was really only a quarter of a mile or so from the square.
“I took it upon myself to make reservations for you at Ouida’s Bed-and-Breakfast,” the lawyer said. “I think you’ll find the place quite cozy. After you’ve had a chance to look over the property, I’m sure you’ll be anxious to rest and refresh yourself from your long trip.”
Mary Beth frowned. Why were they pushing the B and B? “That’s very kind of you, but we were planning to stay at the motel.” She didn’t add that they couldn’t afford to stay at Ouida’s place.
“The motel? But—but you can’t do that!”
“Why not? I own it, don’t I?”
“Yes, of course, but it simply isn’t suitable.”
“Why not?”
He pulled to a stop in front of a row of ramshackle buildings. “See for yourself.”
Stunned by the sight, she couldn’t speak. What had once been a neat strip of rooms separated by individual carports, with flowers overflowing from window boxes, was now an uninhabitable mess. Most of the paint had peeled away and the little that was left was a grimy, unrecognizable color covered by layers of graffiti. Windows were broken out and boarded up. Weeds grew waist-high around the place. Even the For Sale sign in front looked dilapidated and forlorn.
A sick feeling coiled in the pit of her stomach. She wanted to weep, but she wouldn’t—not yet, not here. She ground her teeth and tried to control the panic threatening to erupt.
Katy hung over the back seat, gawking. “What’s that place, Mommy? Is it haunted?”
“No, sugarplum, it’s not haunted. Mr. Murdock, is the restaurant this bad?”
“Actually, no. It was in use until last week. A Mexican place. Quite good food, in fact. Unfortunately, the tenants skipped town owing two months rent and with six months left on their lease.”
“Let’s look at it,” she said, her shoulders sagging. She didn’t hold out much hope that it would have a bathtub.
Chapter Two
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
