Blackbird. Natália Gomes

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      She smiled again and headed off for the kitchen. Conner took the opportunity to open his book. But it was damn hard to read when he felt like the main attraction at a carnival. He kept having to reread whole passages. But he didn’t give up. Even when Juanita brought him his dinner, he kept on reading. He stopped briefly to cut up his food—the best chicken-fried steak he’d had in his life—but then went right back to Michael Crichton’s latest.

      Some kid bumped his table on his way out, and then Juanita told him they had homemade cherry cobbler, which he ordered. Other than that, things seemed to settle down. Maybe the novelty of a stranger in town was wearing off. He sure hoped so.

      By the time he’d finished his coffee and cobbler and paid the bill, he felt almost kindly toward Miller’s Landing. So what if people stared? His dinner had made up for that in spades. He’d come here again tomorrow. He wanted to try the peach cobbler.

      He left Juanita five bucks, then headed out. He heard the sound of chairs scraping, of bodies rising from the fake leather seats in the booths. Was everyone going to leave with him? Maybe walk him to his car? Then the woman cleared her throat again, and everyone paused. Conner hurried out the door.

      When he got outside, he saw a local sheriff talking to the woman from the bakery. They were at the far edge of the Eat ’N Greet, leaning against the window. On the other side of the building, also leaning against the window, was the woman in the denim dress. She was smoking a cigarette.

      He shook his head as he went to his car door. Just as he unlocked it, his gaze went to his windshield. To the hole in the middle of the glass. Perfectly round, the size of a BB, with a corona of broken glass around it. “Dammit to hell,” he said, cursing whoever had aimed the BB gun, the diner, the whole weird town. Where was he going to get that fixed out here?

      Just as he was getting into his wounded vehicle, he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned to find the sheriff standing next to his car. Good. Maybe he’d help find the cretinous little vandals.

      “Officer…” he began. But he didn’t go on. The look the cop was giving him wasn’t terribly benevolent.

      “Excuse me, sir, but what do you see over there?”

      Conner looked back at the diner, where the cop was pointing. Standing in the doorway were three kids and a woman in jeans and a T-shirt. Two girls and a boy, none of them over eight. “I see a family,” Conner answered, not at all sure what the hell was going on.

      “A family. That’s right. A woman and her children.”

      Conner frowned at the cop, wondering if he was being filmed in some practical joke. “Yeah?”

      “I don’t know what they let you get away with in Houston, but in this town, we don’t dishonor our women or expose our youngsters to things they oughtn’t to hear.”

      “Pardon me?”

      “In this town, it’s against the law to curse in front of women and children, sir. And I’m placing you under arrest.”

      Conner laughed. But the laughter died when he watched the sheriff, who looked suspiciously like Rod Steiger, pull out his handcuffs. “Are you kidding?”

      “I don’t kid when it comes to women and children. This is a decent town, and I intend to keep it that way.”

      “But I only said—”

      The cop stopped him with an upraised hand. “Don’t dig the well any deeper, son. Just come along with me.”

      Conner felt the sheriff lift his arm. He felt the cold steel of the handcuff snap around his wrist. He kept waiting to hear the Twilight Zone theme, but it didn’t come. Not on the drive down the street. Not when he was helped out of the patrol car. Not even when the sheriff locked him behind bars.

      When the sheriff had gone, leaving Conner completely alone in his cell, he remembered that he’d left his book in his Land Rover. Great. Just great.

      Chapter Two

      Gillian had forgotten to defrost the chicken. She sighed as she stared at the inside of her fridge, waiting for some wonderful delicacy to leap out from behind the carton of nonfat milk. Instead, the little light in the back decided to burn out. Poof. It was dark, the surprise treat failed to materialize, and she had nothing for dinner.

      She closed the fridge and leaned her head against the cool white door. A good mother would have remembered to take the chicken out. A good mother wouldn’t dream of taking her growing son out for fast food again. Even a halfway decent mother could probably find something in the pantry that was nutritious and tasty. But the truth was she wouldn’t be getting any awards for mothering tonight. Because it was going to be fast food or pizza. She’d love the convenience of having the pizza delivered, but Eli would want the golden arches. Who was she to argue?

      She pushed herself away from the fridge and picked up her purse. “Eli!”

      “What?” a little voice called from upstairs.

      “Come down here.”

      “Why?”

      “Because I said so.”

      “Okay.”

      “Now.”

      “Okay.”

      Did she have cash? She opened her purse and found her wallet. In it, she found two credit cards, three twenty-cent stamps, a coupon for bug spray and a very crumpled twenty-dollar bill. Thank goodness she wouldn’t have to go to the bank, too. All she wanted was a nice, long bath. Scented with lavender. Candles flickering on the sink and around the tub. Soft music, Debussy maybe, playing in the background. It wasn’t that much to ask for, was it?

      The sound of an elephant clomping down the stairs made her turn. How a four-and-a-half-year-old could make that much noise all by himself astounded her. She could see why he’d been upstairs—the call of his Game Boy had been too much for him. So, rather than just turn the electronic demon off, he’d brought it with him. She heard little pings and splats as he got to the bottom of the stairs.

      “Well,” she said, “if you’re not interested in going to McDonald’s…”

      His head jerked up, making his way-too-long hair fly wildly. “Really?”

      She nodded.

      He flung the expensive toy past her to the couch, where it ricocheted off the arm and landed on the carpet. But how could she scold him when he tackled her with a king-size hug. “Thanks, Mom.”

      He sounded as if she’d just pardoned him from five years hard labor instead of providing him with a Happy Meal. “You’re welcome, Eli.”

      She bent down and kissed his head, then he took her hand and pulled her to the front door and, after she’d locked up, to the car. The whole time he chanted the magic fast-food song. She wasn’t sure of all the words, but special sauce, lettuce, pickles and buns were all in there somewhere.

      They headed out of their little subdivision, which really only consisted of four houses, toward Main Street. She hadn’t finished her lesson plan for tomorrow. СКАЧАТЬ