Without looking at a menu, he said to the waitress, “Sausage, over-easy eggs, and hash browns.”
He shoveled in a bite of runny eggs and was ready for a mouthful of hash browns when a voice interfered. A kid, neither tall nor short, somewhere past his teen years, ragged but clear-eyed, stood looking at him.
“I didn't hear you,” Bryan said, taking the forkful of hash browns away from his mouth and holding them ready.
“I asked if you're driving the Jeep with the U-haul.”
Bryan studied him. “Yep.”
“Going far?”
“You hitching?” Bryan looked him over again. “I plan on putting serious miles on the tires between here and dark. Be glad for some company.”
“I'll wait outside.”
Noting the kid’s quick glance at the half-eaten plate of food, Bryan asked, “You hungry?”
“I'm okay.”
“We need another plate of the same,” Bryan called to the waitress and then indicated for the boy to sit. “What do I call you?”
“TJ.” He dumped his backpack into the corner of the booth and slid in.
Bryan guessed the TJ might stand for Tommy John or Teddy Joe. He’d be damn glad to return north where babies were christened with one strong name. He stuffed the forkful of cold potatoes into his mouth and swallowed. “Heard on the news this morning we're in for another scorcher.”
TJ slumped into the comfortable curl of a young back. “You don't have to make conversation.”
Again, Bryan studied TJ. Dark shadows and hollows. He needed sleep and food. Bryan had found plenty of stray dogs and cats, fed them and then taken them to shelter. He might just as well do so for a lost looking kid. Beside Ronda Rae would easily turn her back on any one in need.
The waitress slapped a platter of sausage, eggs and potatoes in front of TJ, splashed full a glass of water, then asked Bryan, “Is that all?” Her tone indicated she really didn't care and not to bother her again.
“Refill on the coffee?” Bryan controlled a sharp answer lurking near the surface. One thing he didn't need was any more hassles with know-it-all women.
The waitress swished to the next booth.
Bryan half-expected TJ to wolf down the food, but he ate with manners almost refined. His hands, small and tapered, belied the breadth of his chest. TJ was a mixture of small and large; sizable eyes set in a narrow face, topped by a shock of chestnut hair, long on top, shaved close around big ears.
Bryan cleaned his plate, drained his water glass, wiped his damp mouth with the side of his hand, and stood. “Take your time, TJ.” He paid at the register, and while waiting, read ads tacked to a bulletin board. One ad read persimmon-headed golf clubs for sale; another advertised baby furniture. Again, he acknowledged relief that his sterile marriage hadn’t produced children. He scanned all the bits of paper. A German rifle was for sale and the price only a hundred bucks. He almost heard the ex yelling about wasting money on his stupid collection. She hated guns even more than she hated his job. He yanked the scrap from under the thumbtack and searched for a pay phone outside.
He dropped change into the slot, and after four rings, he heard a receiver lift.
“I'm calling about the rifle you have for sale.”
“Yes,” replied a feminine voice.
“Still have it?”
“Nobody's called.”
Puzzled by the lack of salesmanship, Bryan asked, “What kind is it?”
“Mauser.”
“What model?”
“Kar 98 Carbine.”
Bryan's adrenaline pumped up a notch. A rare Mauser. “You still want to sell it?”
“The ad wouldn't be on the bulletin board if I didn't. Cripes, I’ve got them on every cork board all over town.”
“Lady, you can't sell it if you don't tell me where I can see it.”
“Not at my house.”
This was becoming a lot like pulling off a wet sock. “Tell me where.”
“I don't know.”
“I'm at the Exxon station at the I-135 junction. I'm driving a white Jeep Cherokee and pulling a U-haul.”
I don't know what a Cherokee is, but I know a U-haul. I suppose the whole place is full of them.”
“Mine is the only one.” Bryan drew out the one.
“Are there any scummy-looking people hanging around the truck stop?”
“The mob here consists of me and one kid.”
“I need cash.” She sounded desperate.
Bryan didn't have the slightest idea why, but he reassured the voice that he could pay.
“Give me twenty minutes,” she said.
By now, Bryan would wait an hour just to see someone this dumb. “I'll be in the restaurant.”
“Meet me outside.” The woman’s voice pushed with do as I say.
“How do I know who?”
“Geez peez. I'll have the rifle. I'll bring the leftover bullets too. You sure you got cash?”
“I wouldn't have called if I didn't.”
“Tell me what you look like.”
“I’m just an average guy. 5'11" in my socks, brown hair and weigh a tad too much from desk sitting. Is that enough?” Bryan ground his molars together.
“Anything easy to spot? Like a beard or something?”
“Lady, I’m clean-shaven and wearing jeans. That’s it. You want to sell or not?”
“Be outside.”
He hung up, betting the lady was pure blonde. TJ walked out of the station with his pack slung over his shoulder. “Been a change of plans,” Bryan said. “I have to kill twenty minutes. Someone is coming to meet me.”
TJ shrugged and gazed around. He walked to the only shade by the east side of the station, leaned against the block building, and lit up a smoke.
For the briefest second, Bryan wondered if he should just hop in the Cherokee and leave. Instead, he glanced over at TJ, and not knowing where else to wait, also sought the shady side of the building. TJ's cigarette smoke curled near Bryan. Smelled good. Soothing nicotine. He missed it, probably always would. Tempted to ask for one, he could almost hear her calling him stupid. Misjudging that woman was the last asinine thing he planned on doing.
Twenty minutes stretched into thirty. Flies buzzed above a dull army-green garbage bin. Semis idled in the parking zone; faint smells of diesel fuel carried on a breeze drying moisture from everything except the sweat darkening Bryan's shirt. Cars and trucks whizzed by on the freeway. A Chevy sedan loaded with a hoard of children and a harried mother parked by a pump. Then a pickup with a couple of teenagers rolled down the exit.
TJ lit another cigarette.
Bryan was mentally kicking himself for offering a ride and calling about the gun when an old white Cadillac exited the freeway. Right kind of car for the blonde, he thought. He expected a long-legged ditz to climb out. He stopped in his tracks when a gray-haired woman planted both feet on the pavement and pulled herself upright by using the door. Chubby knees showed below walking shorts and her tank top stretched across a buxom chest and huge paunch. Heavy with cosmetics, her round face held bottle thick glasses set crooked on her nose.
Bryan turned away.
“Hey. Ain’t you the one?” The woman's voice matched the one on the phone. She peered at him and popped the trunk open. Two-handed, she lifted the rifle out and pointed it his way.
Bryan jumped aside. “Is it loaded?”
“How should I know?”
Bryan took it. “Is it stolen?”
“It belongs to my worthless son. He owes me so much rent money that I’m selling it.”
The safety was off so Bryan opened the bolt. It was loaded. He ejected the single cartridge, closed the bolt and set the safety. The wooden stock was velvet smooth, not a nick anywhere. The barrel gleamed from careful oiling. He sighted down it.
The woman looked where he pointed the barrel. “Nothing out there you can shoot with an unloaded rifle.”
Bryan lowered the weapon. “Know how old it is?”
&nb
sp; “My father took it off a Kraut in the Argonne forest. Should've been mine, but my old man skipped me and handed it to the bum who invented the X generation. So in fact, it's mine to sell. And I ain't haggling on price.”
Bryan controlled his eagerness, but the corners of his mouth twitched with pleasure at his luck.
“What'cha need it for?” The woman rubbed the toe of her dirty tennis shoe against the pavement.
“I'm heading to deer country.”
“That kid over there belong to you?”
“Just giving him a ride.”
“Put the rifle back in the trunk. I don't want no damn kid getting it.”
Bryan wanted to choke her for wasting his time, but instead replaced the Mauser in the trunk. “You know, this whole thing has been like hiking ten miles in the desert and finding an empty beer can.”
“Oh hell’s bells, give me the money and take it.” She held out her pudgy hand.
Bryan counted out seven twenties and a ten, handed them to her, and reached to retrieve the rifle. She shoved him hard, slammed the trunk lid and dashed for the open door. He stumbled, but caught his balance. He stuck his boot in the opening just before it slammed. He pulled. She tugged. He won and grabbed the hand still clutching the bills.
“Lemme go!” she screeched, thrashing her fat legs.
He pried at her fingers.
Clenching tighter, she spewed blue filth, reviling him with every conceivable curse word. She tried to twist away, spat at him.
He jerked from her saliva and managed to pull the bills from her fist.
“Dammit,” she shrieked. “I need that money. Give it back and I'll let you take the rifle.”
Bryan shook the cash at her. “No way.”
“But you said you'd buy it.”
“You ding bat. You just tried to rob me. I should call the cops.”
Her eyes watered. “I got scared about what Billy Bob would do when he found it gone.” Her double chin trembled, mascara ran under her eyes.
“You're scared of your own son?”
She blinked and snuffed. “I’m the one who raised him.”
Bryan laughed. “I see what you mean. Okay, I'll give you two choices. One, take the rifle out of the trunk. Two, hand it to me.”
“No way. Then you'll have the money and the rifle.”
“I'll stick the money under the tire.” Stupid idea, he told himself, but figured he could win a tussle with the woman if necessary. “You give me the rifle and I'll leave the money.”
She nodded.
Bryan tucked the bills as far under the rear tire as he could.
The woman heaved out like a walrus. She brought the key and worked herself between Bryan and the money before unlocking the trunk. “All right, get it out,” she said.
“You’re kidding. Hand it to me.”
She scowled, but did like he said and also handed over a box of cartridges. “Don't shoot yourself with it.” She reached for the money.
He jammed his foot against it and the tire. “You don't get the money until I have a paper saying you sold me the rifle.”
Her massive chest vibrated outrage. “I don't have a stupid receipt book!”
Keeping his foot tight against the money and tire, Bryan retrieved his checkbook from his hip pocket and tore out a deposit slip. “Write on the back.” He handed her a pen from his shirt pocket.
She slammed the trunk closed and laid the slip on it. She pressed the paper smooth and wrote. I sold this Kar 98 Carbine to. She raised her eyes. “Who the hell are you?”
“It says Bryan Winslow on the other side.”
She turned it over, squinted, then wrote his name, dated it and signed, Elsa Hatton.
Bryan removed his foot from the money.
Elsa snatched the bills, stuffed them down her cleavage and scrambled into the car with amazing agility for someone who struggled to get out.
“You treat your mother like this?” she asked, holding the door open.
“Every time she tries to steal my money.”
Elsa slammed the door, gunned the accelerator, and dropped the gearshift into drive. She wiggled her fingers goodbye and drove away.
Bryan turned to TJ, who’d watched from the shade. “You coming?”
TJ moseyed over and threw his pack in the back seat. “Old broad was kinda hard on ya, wasn’t she?” He opened the passenger door. “Thought she’d win.”
Bryan exhaled loudly. Life should be easier without his ex, but if this was easy, he just might shoot himself. He placed the Mauser on the rear seat beside TJ’s bag.
Chapter 6
Through the fog of a contented drowse, Teagan became aware. Her eyes opened enough to see a plump, handsome nurse framed in the light of the doorway. Florene Johnson carried a baby wrapped tightly in a receiving blanket. “This is Charles O’Riley. Any relation to you?” She pushed a button to raise the bed into a sitting position and laid Charlie into Teagan’s outstretched arms.
Teagan drew him close, breathing in the precious scents of baby oil and newness. His wrinkled, slippery birth image was forever marked in her memory. This first picture of him swaddled in a soft blanket and a knit cap would last as long.
Florene busied herself by straightening the bedside table. Gentle pleasure encompassed her wholesome face.
“You’re looking mighty pleased,” Teagan said. “Doretta had her baby.”
A grin spread. “Ten pounds of lusty boy.”
Teagan knew that particular expression. “I can’t get over how much Doretta looks like you.”
“She’s my baby girl, but the mischief dancing in those eyes belongs to her daddy.” Florene placed her right hand on her hip. “Does my new grandbaby’s daddy have sparkin’ eyes?”
“You fox. Doretta hasn’t told me either.”
Florene deflated like a fresh hospital sheet settling on a bed. “Well, I tried. Are you ready to feed this hungry boy?”
Suckling on his fist, he ignored Teagan as she tried to guide him to her breast. He needed to eat and that was that.
“It’s easy, girl. Just hold his mouth close to your nipple and he’ll do the rest.”
Teagan couldn’t believe the sensation. Smarting tugs, and then in the midst of the hurtful pulling, a different kind of maternal love grew and deepened with each drawing of her nourishment. She gladly bore the pain for Charlie, but mumbled, “Holding a bottle wouldn’t hurt like this does.”
“Lordy, don’t we know. But mother’s milk is best and your nipples will toughen.”
Under Florene’s gentle encouragement, Teagan nursed Charlie on both sides, then carefully moved him to her shoulder and patted his back. She slipped her pinkie finger under Charlie’s curled ones. He grasped and held on. She gently rubbed the back of his tiny hand with her thumb. He was so fragile and dependent. His fingers uncurled, and she stroked his wrinkled forehead and feathered her fingertips across the soft spot on the top of his head. Instantly, she trembled with a surge of protectiveness. As Florene lifted Charlie from her arms, she promised, “Little boy, I’ll guard you well.”
“He’s going to be fine. I’ll be right back and take you on your first walk. Fun trip is down the hall to see all the babies.” Florene bustled out the door, carrying Charlie away.
Teagan’s breath caught and she pressed her palms against her heart. Charlie was too far away. She sat up too fast. The room spun. She clutched the mattress with both hands, keeping balanced, waiting for the dizziness to pass. She needed to be more careful. What if she fell and broke a leg? The thought came as a surprise. She never considered her safety before.
She eased from the bed, slipped on her robe and walked down the hallway as quickly as her sore body allowed. Her skin grew clammy and knees weakened. She stopped and placed a hand on the wall for support. A woman stood at the observation window to the nursery, staring at the newborns. Her short blonde hair gleamed under the florescent lighting. A black tailored maternity suit covered her lanky body. She seemed lost as she gazed a
t the babies.
Teagan drew near, knowing she hadn’t been heard. “Erica,” she said quietly, not wanting to startle her.
Erica jumped and spun around.
A chill chased down Teagan’s neck. Pai had been right. Too blue described the glint in Erica’s eyes. Was it fever? Was it possessive?
Erica smiled. “What great names you’ve all picked. Doretta’s Levi could be nothing but strength. Look at Ji Min’s wide brow. It clearly predicts an unusual intelligence. And Charles, what a survivor he’ll be.”
“Such strange observations.” Teagan caught something in the stiffness of Erica’s spine, in the hardness of thin lips, in the unreadable depths of her pupils. Apprehension nudged again. This time, Teagan didn’t ignore it. “I’m sorry, Erica, but between Charlie and my shop, I’ll be too busy for weekly get-togethers at your place.” There, she said it firmly, leaving no doubt she meant what she said.
Erica held her fists tightly to her sides, shoulders back, chin high. “Why spoil our plans? There are ways to free up time. I’ll bet that after a few days at home alone, you’ll need us, like we need you.” She seemed to expect obedience.
Teagan reached out. “I’ve upset you, and don’t mean to.”
Erica turned back to the observation window. “They’re really something,” she said in a tone so distant, it was like no one was expected to hear her.
She is alone too much, too, Teagan thought. “Your baby will be amazing.”
“I’m in early stage labor now.”
Dismayed at the lack of concern, Teagan asked, “Should I call a nurse?”
“No, there’s time.” She continued to gaze at the babies.
Teagan could think of nothing more to say. She stepped to one side to see Charlie in his bassinet.
Erica turned even more, blocking Teagan’s view. Her glacial eyes slid away from the babies. “You look worn out,” she stated flatly.
“I am, but I want to check on Charlie and see Doretta’s baby.”
“Go get some rest. I’ll keep watch over them.”
“How much longer do you plan to stay?”
“I’m not in any hurry.”
Well, that did it. Teagan did not feel right about leaving Erica to stare at her son. No one should do that. She motioned at the nurse’s aide and explained Charlie would stay with her and was sure Doretta wanted the same. The aide agreed to bring him as soon as she could.
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