Jan Hudson - The Sheriff

“Good morning,” the lawyer said.

J.J. merely grunted. He didn’t see a damned thing good about it. He hadn’t slept more than a couple of hours and he’d cut himself twice while he was shaving.

“I was hoping to find you here,” Dwight said. “I’m concerned about Mary Beth Parker and her little girl.”

“How so?”

“Well, their sleeping accommodations for one thing.”

“Coffee, Dwight?” Vera Whitehouse said, pouring a cup for him even as she asked.

Vera, who wouldn’t weigh ninety pounds dripping wet, had been the morning waitress at the Grill for as long as J.J. could remember. He’d heard once that she’d arrived on the bus forty-some odd years ago, saw a sign in the window advertising for help and stayed on. She knew everybody in town by their first name—and most of their business.

She warmed up J.J.’s cup. “You ready to order yet, J.J.?”

“In a minute. What do you mean about their sleeping accommodations, Dwight? Ouida’s is a nice place, isn’t it?”

“From what I understand,” the lawyer said.

“Top-notch,” Vera chimed in. “Why, you could eat your dinner off Ouida Tankard’s floors.”

“Problem is, they’re not staying at Ouida’s.”

“Then where are they staying?”

“At the restaurant.”

Puzzled by the answer, J.J. asked, “What restaurant?”

“The Tico Taco. The people who were leasing it moved out last week, left in the middle of the night owing two months rent. I tried to talk her out of staying there, but she was determined.”

J.J.’s boots hit the floor, and he swung around on his stool. “Do you mean to tell me that you went off and left them at that Mexican joint on the old highway?”

“She insisted. Reminded me that she owned it.”

Vera rolled her eyes and muttered, “Men! Leaving Mary Beth on crutches and with that baby to tend to. Why, I’d bet my bottom dollar the sorry bunch that ran the place didn’t even leave a scrap of food in the place.”

“Hell’s bells, Dwight!” J.J. slapped a couple of bills on the counter and stalked off, grabbing his hat from the rack on his way out the door.

“Wait! Wait, J.J.,” Vera yelled. She came running after him with three small cartons of milk cradled in one arm and a bag in the other. “Here’s some milk and doughnuts. You bring them to town for a decent meal. I’ll bet that poor lamb is starving.”

J.J. cursed Dwight Murdock all the way to the Tico Taco. For a smart lawyer, sometimes that old man didn’t have the brains God gave a billy goat.

“Mommy, Mommy, are you awake?” Katy asked as she shook her.

Mary Beth opened one eye. “I am now.”

“I have to go to the Señoritas, and somebody is knocking on the front door.”

Groaning, Mary Beth struggled from the position she’d slept in. Her knee was stiff and her neck had a terrible crick in it. The banging on the door would wake the dead. How could she have slept through it? “I’m coming! I’m coming!”

Katy began dancing from one foot to the other. “Mommy, I’ve gotta go. Now.”

Since Katy’s need seemed more critical, she took her to the washroom, splashing cold water on her own face while they were there. The racket was still going on when they came out.

Not taking time to locate a robe, she grabbed one of the tablecloths and wrapped it around her, sarong style. But the blasted thing fell off before she got to the door, tangling around one of her crutches as she darned near went sprawling.

“Hold your horses!” she yelled. “I’m coming as fast as I can.” She unlocked the shaded front door and opened it a crack. There stood J. J. Outlaw breathing fire.

“Dammit, have you lost your cotton-pickin’ mind?” he shouted.

She felt as if he’d smacked her in the face with a bucket of slop. “I don’t think so,” she said in a tone that would have frozen a rump roast. “I’ve lost just about everything else, but my mind seems intact, thank you very much.” She slammed the door and turned the dead bolt.

He started knocking again. “Mary Beth, let me in.”

“Eat dirt.”

“Mommy, who’s that outside?”

“That’s Sheriff J.J., sweetie.”

“Aren’t you going to let him in?”

“No. He said a rude word. Besides, I’m still in my nightshirt. How about we get dressed and I’ll fix breakfast.”

“He’s making an awful lot of noise.”

“I know. Just ignore him, and he’ll go away. Would you like an omelette?”

“With cheese?”

“Absolutely.”

“And orange juice?”

“We don’t have any orange juice, honey, but I can make you some more chocolate milk. Will that be okay?”

Katy nodded, then glanced anxiously at the front door. “I think we should let Sheriff J.J. in. He sounds mad. He might put us in the pokey.”

“Not likely. And don’t say pokey. Tell you what, let me get my clothes and go to the washroom, then you can let him in. Okay?”

Katy looked relieved. “Okay.”

Mary Beth grabbed a few things and hobbled away. She hurriedly brushed her hair and her teeth and dressed in a blue T-shirt dress and one sneaker. She even took time to dab on a bit of blush and some lipstick—though she couldn’t imagine why. It wasn’t as if she cared how J.J. saw her.

She glared at her reflection. You are the worst liar in seven states. Her heart was practically doing a tap dance at the notion of seeing J.J.

When Mary Beth came out, Katy was sitting on the bar that ran along the wall separating the dining area from the kitchen. J.J. stood beside her, one boot heel hooked over the bar rail. Katy was eating a doughnut, and J.J. was grinning at the little scamp.

“Hi, Mommy. Sheriff J.J. brought us some doughnuts. They’re good. Want one?”

“I thought we were going to have a cheese omelette.”

Katy looked sheepish. “I forgot.”

“Just one doughnut, young lady. No more. You shouldn’t have too many sweets.”

“Sorry about that,” J.J. said. “Vera from down at the City Grill sent them. And some milk. She was afraid you didn’t have anything to eat. Tell the truth, so was I.”

“The former tenants must have decided that they didn’t have room to take both booze and food when they hit the road. Luckily, they cleaned out the bar, except for a few liqueurs, and left the food. The menu might be a bit limited, but we have plenty to eat.”

“What’s booze?” Katy asked.

“Grown-up drinks,” Mary Beth said.

“Like coffee?”

“No, stronger than coffee. Speaking of coffee, J.J., do you know how to work that coffee machine? I’d love a cup. I was too tired to figure it out last night. Have you had breakfast?”

“No. I thought I’d take you to the City Grill for a bite.”

“Thanks, but I’ll fix that omelette I was planning.” She turned and headed for the kitchen.

“Still think your mommy is upset with me?” J.J. asked.

Mary Beth heard Katy whisper, “I don’t know, but you should ’pologize for saying a rude word. I always have to ’pologize.”

In the kitchen, she fired up the monster of a stove and laid out eggs, cream and cheese. In no time, she cooked a perfect large cheese omelette and divided it among three plates, giving a small portion to Katy.

“Need some help?” J.J. asked behind her.

“Yes, thanks. Carrying things is a problem with crutches.” She put the plates and forks on a tray, along with mugs for coffee, and he carried it to a table.

He glanced at the remnants of their bedding. “That where you slept last night?”

“Yes. It was quite comfortable.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I’ll bet.” He got a booster seat for Katy from a spot near the cash register and lifted her into her place at the table. He brought over a steaming pot of coffee and poured mugs for Mary Beth and himself. He also brought a small carton of milk and a straw for Katy.