Delores Fossen - No Getting Over A Cowboy

Those were his only sexual experiences in the place, but he was betting Lawson and his brother, Roman, had committed some serious debauchery here.

Judging from the manly grunt Lawson made, Garrett was right about that.

“I’ll try to find someone who knows what’s going on,” Lawson grumbled. “One who can speak in more than two syllables.” And he headed back out the front.

Garrett wished him luck, and the little girl and he kept walking. They finally made their way to the kitchen where Garrett saw yet another woman, this one in the process of mopping the floor. She wasn’t the little girl’s mother, though, since this woman was easily in her seventies or even eighties. Sugar-white hair and skin as pale as paper, she didn’t eye him the way the others out front had. In fact, she smiled. And she spoke. More than two syllables, too.

“You’re one of Belle Granger’s boys, aren’t you?” the woman asked but didn’t wait for him to answer. “Let me guess which one. Garrett or Roman? Hmm.” Tapping her fingers on her chin, she looked him over from head to toe, but her gaze lingered in his crotch area. “I used to diaper both of you boys.”

Garrett hoped like the devil that she didn’t want to do a boxers check to see if she recognized his equipment. “Who are you?”

“Loretta Cunningham.” She smiled again, the way one would for a social visit. Which this wasn’t. Come to think of it, crazy people probably smiled that way, too.

Garrett made a mental note to call the county mental hospital to see if they’d had any escapees.

“Look, if you’re one of those ghost hunters—” Garrett started. But he didn’t get far with that comment because Loretta interrupted him.

“Lordy, no.” She pressed her hand to her chest. “Those shows scare the livin’ daylights out of me.” She stopped, glanced around. “You don’t think there are actual ghosts here, do you?”

“Yeah, I do,” Garrett lied since it seemed like something to get her moving out of there.

But Loretta didn’t budge, and she smiled again. “You’re pulling my leg, aren’t you, boy?” And she just kept on talking. “Your grandma and I went to school together back in the day, but I moved to Beaumont when you and your siblings were just little bitty things. You’re Roman, aren’t you? Even when you were her age—” she bobbed her head to the little girl “—you always looked ready to pick a fight. And from what I’ve heard, you’ve done your share of fighting.”

“I’m Garrett,” he corrected.

“Oh.”

That one little word said it all. Loretta Cunningham knew about the divorce. But she probably knew a lot more than that. Maybe about the baby they’d lost. But more likely her suddenly red cheeks were because she’d heard about his ex-wife’s blow job in the VW. Had perhaps even seen the video. Apparently, she’d also seen the fight-picking expression on his face and had mistaken it for Roman’s.

The little girl let go of him again and took off running 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?”