Jo Leigh - Doctor, Darling

Sure enough, the bakery woman was staring at him while she talked into a cellular phone. At least she had the decency to turn when he caught her.

It didn’t matter, though. There was the Eat ’N Greet. Maybe he’d have some chicken-fried steak. It was an indulgence he rarely gave in to, but tonight, he felt like walking on the wild side.

There was his Land Rover. He’d drive it to the motel after dinner and park it in the small lot out back, which was better than leaving it on the main drag.

He reached the entrance of the diner and saw two signs, one that told him he’d better be wearing a shirt and shoes if he wanted service, and the other advertising free kittens, call Pop Burns for details. When was the last time he’d seen free kittens advertised on a restaurant door?

He pushed on through but stopped immediately. The place was packed. Every table, except one, was occupied by at least two people. All the booths were filled, and even the long counter had no vacancies. His gaze went back to the empty table. It was right in the middle of the diner. Where everyone could get a nice eyeful if they wanted. And given the fact that every person in the place was staring at him, he’d wager they did.

A woman, he wasn’t sure who, cleared her throat. As if on cue, everyone turned away at the same time. Two seconds later, they started talking. Five seconds later, both waitresses picked up plates of food from the kitchen and headed toward the booths.

Weird. Very weird. He didn’t think anyone was going to seat him, so he made his way to the empty table. As soon as he sat down, one of the waitresses—Juanita, according to the name embroidered on the pink uniform—gave him a menu and the first really welcoming smile he’d seen in Miller’s Landing. He smiled back, deciding right then to leave an obscenely large tip.

“How y’all doing?” Juanita asked, her Texas twang pronounced.

“Fine, thanks.”

“We’ve got some meat loaf on special tonight. And some fried chicken.”

“How about chicken-fried steak?”

“You got it.”

“And a beer?”

She nodded. “We got Miller on tap.”

“Perfect.”

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.

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.