Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
T he place with the best tacos in Texas was a Cantina called Manuel’s. Harrison knew that because it was painted on a big wooden sign atop the brown adobe building. CANTINA MANUEL, it said in green lettering outlined in black.
They entered through batwing doors. The place wasn’t busy in the middle of a Saturday afternoon, but it was open. The inside was painted with green, white, and red, the familiar colors of the Mexican flag. A lone man sat at a table with a nearly empty bottle and a half-full glass in front of him. He was white, his bushy beard was blond, and he wore a sombrero and a woven poncho. He sat so low in his chair, Harrison wondered if he was going to slide onto the floor. He looked as if he was melting in extreme slow motion.
A middle-aged Mexican couple sat at another table eating quesadillas. Regulars, he’d bet. They were dressed down, comfortable, making themselves at home. The happiness between them was palpable in the way they smiled into each other’s eyes. Harrison watched them for a moment. Maybe that was what he wanted.
For some reason he looked at Maria then shook his head. Not here, and not her, but that kind of thing, like that couple had, and his mom and dad.
The fellow behind the counter had to be Manuel. “Hey, there, Maria Michele,” he said, not with the accent Harrison had expected. “I thought you were gettin’ hitched today.”
“Didn’t go to plan, Manny. Didn’t go to plan.” Maria leaned over the bar, her cowboy boots on tiptoe, accentuating the curve of her backside, and said, “What I need to heal my broken heart are your amazing tacos for two.” She glanced over her shoulder at Harrison and winked.
He flinched as if the wink had struck him physically. What did that mean? That wink? Did she think he’d been looking at her backside? He had been, but did she think it?
“Grab us a table,” she said. “I need the restroom.”
“Okay, sure.”
He found them a table and waited for her to come out of the restroom, feeling like a real jerk, because he was thinking about leaving her there. He wouldn’t ditch her without a word, of course, not after what she’d been through. He would just tell her flat-out that he had to continue this journey on his own. She could call someone to come and get her, or book a room for the night in the motel across the street. She’d be okay. She certainly seemed okay.
Actually, he kept wondering why she seemed so okay. Surely, most women who’d found out on their wedding day that their intended was a violent waste of oxygen would be devastated. Wouldn’t they?
He thought the question toward his mother and waited for his brain to process the data and spit out an answer. Instead, he heard her soft laughter. And then she said, In your experience, sweetheart… how long was I sick?
“About nine weeks,” he said under his breath. He knew precisely the amount of time from when his mother had taken to her bed, unable to get up, to when she’d passed.
Eighteen months floated through his mind. You only knew I was sick for those final nine weeks, when I couldn’t hide it anymore. Some of us don’t share our suffering.
“They say sharing it lightens the load.”
And I was going to lighten my load by shifting some of it onto my kids? Come on, Harrison. You know me better.
Manuel delivered a huge platter of tacos surrounded by sour cream and three bowls of salsa; green, yellow, and red. He set down a second platter full of celery, carrot sticks, and cherry tomatoes. “She okay?” he asked with a nod toward the restroom.
“Fine.” The answer was automatic, but the question made him wonder, and he looked that way, too. “Then again, I’ve only known her for an hour or so. You know her better. Do you think she’s okay?”
Manny shrugged. “She locked the door. There are four stalls. I’m thinkin’ she might not be okay.”
Hell. The concerned proprietor walked away. Harrison glanced toward the couple at the corner table, and the woman was looking his way. By the bend of her brows, he thought she was also concerned about the beautiful redhead in the restroom.
Okay, okay. He got up and went to the door, tapped gently. “Maria? Are you all right in there?”
“Why the heck wouldn’t I be?” The response came immediately, and he thought her voice was about an octave lower than the last time she’d spoken to him. He heard water running, and then she unlocked and opened the door. “Impatient much?” She didn’t meet his eyes. That didn’t stop him from noticing that they were red, puffy, and makeup-free.
Hell, she’d been in there crying, hadn’t she? She wasn’t fine at all.
Of course she’s not. This was supposed to be her wedding day.
His stomach growled. Maria sent him an amused look, and he wondered how she could be amused after probably sobbing her heart out alone for the last twenty minutes.
“Well, that explains why you’re so impatient,” she said. “You’re as hungry as I am. You get us a table?”
“Food’s already on it.” He led her to the table where the food waited, pulled her chair out for her, and wondered why he’d done that. He didn’t make a habit of pulling out chairs for women. It wasn’t common practice anymore.
Maria bent her eyebrows a little bit, but she sat down, and then he did. And then they started loading tacos onto their individual wooden plates. Some of her filling dropped into her lap. His gaze followed naturally, but he shifted it to her face again. Her eyes were red.
He couldn’t stand to see a woman cry.
Now he noticed that her hair was tamed down and braided all around on one side. It hung down across her shoulder, and copper curls were already springing free here and there. He reached for the yellow salsa bowl. She reached for the red one. “Red’s hotter than yella,” she said. “Yella’s hotter than green.”
Her accent made him smile. He liked listening to her talk. It was musical, the rhythm of her voice, the softening of tone that came with her subtle twang.
“You never told me why you’re running away. Seems like a big, supportive family back there, no? Or are they pressuring you to marry that guy?”
“Oh, heck no. None of ’em wanted me to marry that guy,” she said. “But I feel awful. They spent a buttload of money and time helpin’ me plan a weddin’, even though they all thought it was a mistake. They let me decide. And I just…” She shook her head slow. “I’m embarrassed, I guess. Ashamed.”
“I think you should be proud. It took a lot of courage to walk away like that.”
“That’s kind of you to say.”
“Why do you think…” He wanted to flat out ask her if she’d been in love with the jerk, but didn’t know how to ask without making it sound like he was interested for personal reasons— which he was not.
“Why was I so determined to marry Billy Bob?” She finished his question for him. “I been askin’ myself the same thing. I just… I had a plan. I had a plan, and nothing was gon’ stop me once I got it underway. I was fixin’ to become a vet, work in my mom’s clinic, gradually take it over, buy that cute little house on Bluebonnet Lane, get married, have a couple of kids, and step into my place in the Brand family dynasty, fully integrated into the community of Quinn as the town veterinarian.”
“It’s a perfectly valid plan,” he said when she paused as if awaiting a reaction.
She shrugged. “I was so focused on the first part, getting my degree, I didn’t think much about the second. I didn’t date, like other gals. I worked my tail off to get through school, and all of a sudden, I was at the end, and I realized I hadn’t finished the plan. And time was short. The house I wanted came onto the market. But the husband part didn’t come so easily.”
“They don’t just appear out of nowhere, do they?” he asked.
“Not generally, no. But I was home from school, and Billy Bob was here to sell off his parents’ place when they passed. We’d gone to high school together, so I knew him. He was easy, interested, and comfortable. He seemed like the most efficient way to move ahead with the plan.”
“Not exactly a sweeping love story.”
She shrugged. “My family is full of sweepin’ love stories. But I don’t think they happen for everybody. I’m not sure I’m even capable of feelin’ that way for someone, and if I were, I’m not sure I’d want to.”
“I’ve thought that before, too. My parents had that great big kind of love. And then my mom died and left Dad just… bereft.”
She nodded. “I noticed her photo in the car. She looks like an angel.”
“Thank you.”
She slathered salsa onto her taco, topped it with a liberal squirt of hot sauce, picked it up, and took a huge bite, her eyes widening in direct proportion to her mouth. He’d taken a bite, too, tried not to laugh, and choked.
She dropped her taco onto her plate and came around the table behind him to pound his back three times, way harder than he expected. “You okay?”
“I’m good, ow, I’m good.” He wiped his mouth then sipped his water for good measure.
“Good?”
“I’m good.” He cleared his throat. “Thanks.”
“That’ll teach you to laugh at the way I eat.”
“You saw that?”
“I saw that.”
“It wasn’t ridicule. I thought it was cute.”
“That might be worse,” she said, returning to her seat. She dug into her food. After a few bites, she wiped her lips, took a drink of water, and said, “How about you? Now that you’re probably about to become rich off your invention, what’s next for you?”
“I haven’t got a clue,” he said. “What do you do after you’ve finished your life’s work? That was supposed to be the topic of contemplation on my long, solitary road trip.”
“Sorry,” she said, with a twinkle in her eye that said she wasn’t.
“Not your fault. I was driving myself crazy worrying about it, to be honest.”
“Well, what are the options for a guy in your situation?”
He finished the last bite he thought he could hold, and used the damp towels on the table to wipe his mouth. “I could consult for whatever company buys the rights, or I could teach at a university. I imagine myself living in the complementary mansion of an ivy league department head.”
“Sounds borin’.”
“Exactly.”
“You need to keep inventin’ things, that’s all.”
“That’s very wise,” he said.
She shrugged. “I bet most inventors take a break in between projects. Maybe think of this summer as your break time. It’s not your decidin’-the-rest-of-your-life time. Maybe it’s more of a settlin’-into-yourself time. You aren’t the same person you were before you finished what you call your life’s work. Also, maybe you should start thinkin’ of it as your first project.”
He stared at her, and maybe his mouth wasn’t quite closed. For just an instant, he heard his mother’s soft voice in his mind, laughter in her words. I like this girl!
He shook his head to clear it then took a drink of water to cover his momentary shock. “That’s good advice. Maybe I’ll do that. Take a break and… settle into myself.”
They ate for a while, and then he paused, and said, “I’d like to go on to Silver City without you.”
She stopped with her third taco in front of her lips and locked her big brown eyes onto his.
“This is a good place for you to find another option,” he said. “There’s a motel across the street. You’re only thirty miles from home. And you have your phone, right?”
Her paralysis ended. She set her taco down with care, chewed, swallowed, and took a drink of water. “You’re ditching me?”
She was angry. Maybe a little bit hurt, too, but mostly ticked off.
“It’s nothing personal, I just— the whole reason I drove instead of flying was to give myself time to?—”
“I just got left at the altar, man.”
“Um, you did the leaving. But I need this time. Not the summer, just this week. I can’t stand being in limbo like this, not knowing, and then there’s my dad, and my sister Lily.” And my promise, he thought.
She frowned at him and tipped her head slowly to one side, and then, of all things, she reached across the table and covered his hand with hers. “Dang, Harry, you’re as messed up as I am, aren’t you?”
His smile was wide and involuntary, and he lowered his head to hide it. Nobody, he thought, was as messed up as she was. And then his smile died when a loud, male voice yelled.
“Hey! What the hail, Mister! Git yer hands off my woman!”
“Oh shoot,” Maria said, looking toward the entrance. “Billy Bob, what the hay are you doin’ here?
The guy, who was packing about thirty pounds of excess weight that might’ve all been muscle, strode across the room and Maria got up and faced him.
Harrison stood up, too, because the raging bull’s bloodshot eyes were focused on him. To his surprise, Maria stepped in front of him, right into Billy Bob’s path.
“Hey,” she said. “You leave him outta this. I hitched a ride with him, is all.”
“I’ll deal with you later,” he growled, and then he clasped her shoulder and shoved her sideways so hard she crashed into the table, tipped it over, and landed on the floor with the remaining tacos. The red salsa bowl broke in half. And for some, suicidal reason, Harrison grabbed the angry groom by the shirt and shoved him away from Maria. He was frankly surprised he’d managed to move the guy at all. Maybe he’d had one of those fight-or-flight adrenaline surges that enable mothers to lift cars off their babies.
In his peripheral, Harrison saw Manual leap the bar with a baseball bat in hand. Dead ahead, all he could see was Billy Bob’s fist.
Harry went down hard. Then Billy Bob straddled him, pulled him up by the front of his shirt, and punched him again. Maria scrambled to her feet, grabbed the big glass water pitcher from the table next to hers, and smashed her ex-intended right over the head with it.
Billy Bob howled and spun toward her, furious.
The unmistakable sounds of multiple gun-hammers went clickita-clickita-clack , and Billy Bob froze. So did Maria Michele, for that matter. Poor Harry was on his back on the floor, not moving, maybe unconscious. His face was a mess. Some of it was probably salsa. Lord, please let some of it be salsa.
Cautiously, she turned her head to look behind her. The sleepy sombrero-wearing gringo was pointing a long-barreled black revolver. The husband and wife held a pair of shiny silver .38s with pearl handles— a matched set, which was kinda cute, when you thought about it.
Manuel had a baseball bat, and was the only one still moving. He strode, right up to Billy Bob, bat raised. “You git on outta here. G’on, git!”
Billy Bob raised his hands and backed away.
“Wait,” Maria said. “First tell me what you’re even doin’ here?”
“You walked out on our weddin’. You didn’t think I’d come after you?” Billy Bob seemed genuinely perplexed.
“I saw what you did to the dancer at your bachelor party last night. I didn’t know you were violent, Billy Bob. I want no part of a man who’d hit a woman.”
On the floor, Harry moaned. He needed help, but she needed answers.
“I was drunk! You cain’t blame a man for what happens at his stag party, anyway.”
“Yeah, is the party still goin’? You drunk right now?” She glanced down at Harry. His eyes were too messed up to tell whether they were open. “Look what you did to him, and you knocked me for a loop, too. I don’t think I know you at all.”
“When a man takes your woman?—”
“I ain’t your woman, and you’d better thank your lucky stars for that, Billy Bob, because if I’d married you and you’d ever put a hand on me, they’d never find your body.”
He met her eyes defiantly.
“You know me,” she said. “You know I don’t lie. And you know my kin.”
Manuel snort-laughed. He knew ’em, too. Everyone in this place likely knew her family.
“That girl you hit was a friend of mine, workin’ her way through college dancin’ for pigs like you. And you put your hands on her. You hit her.”
She took a step sideways, toward Manuel, reaching out her hand, taking the baseball bat from his.
“Hey!” Billy Bob took a step backward. “What do you think you’re?—”
“How’d you find me, anyway?” she asked.
“I just drove. I?—”
“Bull.” She swung the bat hard, taking Billy Bob right across the kneecap. He howled, hopping on one foot, holding his knee in both hands. “Gimme your phone right now, Billy Bob, or I’ll crack your other knee. And I’ll bust this one!”
“Awright, awight!” He wrestled his phone from his jeans pocket, handed it to her. She swiped then held it toward his face to unlock. Then she tapped to the “Find my device” app, and sure as all get out, her phone was listed on there.
“You tracked my phone! How’d you do this?”
He lowered his eyes. “Shared location from your phone to mine when you weren’t lookin’.”
Rolling her eyes, Maria said, “I wouldn’t have thought you were smart enough.” She deleted her phone from his finder, then her info from his contacts, then threw the phone back at him. “Git your sorry, phone-spyin’, woman-beatin’, beer-swillin’ carcass outta here, Billy Bob. I never want to see you again.” She raised the bat and advanced as she spoke, and he hobbled toward the exit. He made it through and tumbled down the three front stairs to land on the small parking strip in front.
She stopped in the doorway. “If I were you, I’d never set foot back in Quinn. There’s nothin’ for you here. You been warned.”
He scrambled backward, and she backed inside and closed the door. And then finally, she turned to poor Harry.
He was sitting up. Manuel was crouching nearby, holding an ice pack out in offering.
“I had no idea he would do that,” she said, and she took the ice pack herself, crushed it to activate, and pressed it to the worst-looking side of Harry’s face.
“Ow.” He took the ice pack from her. Then he started to say something more, and winced. “Hurts to talk.” He let her help him stand. There was salsa dripping down his face and onto his shirt.
The couple from the corner table had put away their weapons. The husband went to the counter to pay up, and Manuel joined him there to take his cash. The Gringo in the corner had put his gun away, drained his glass, and resumed his nap.
Manuel set a first aid kit the size of a toolbox onto the bar. She said, “Jeeze, Manny, you do surgery on the side or what?”
“Saturday nights get rough.”
“Thanks. I’ll tend to the worst here, and then take him back home for the rest.” She got busy with disinfectant wipes.
“We’re going back to Quinn?” Harry asked. He was looking around, confused as hell. One eye was swollen, but once she’d cleaned off the salsa, his face wasn’t as bad as it had looked.
She helped him to his feet, but he was none too steady. “You think you can make it to a chair?”
He nodded, took a step in the wrong direction, sagged.
“Shoot!” Maria snapped an arm around his waist and helped him stay upright as he shuffled determinedly toward the batwing doors, saying, “I can make it to the car,” while trying to use his ice pack to wipe the salsa off his shirt. She didn’t think his head was working right. “You might have to drive.”
He stepped into the parking lot, and then stopped and looked left and right, seeming even more confused. But this time, so was she. Because Harry’s little blue Volvo was no longer there.
Then Harry passed out cold at her feet.
“Well, shoot,” Maria said. “This day just keeps gettin’ better.”
The couple had left while she’d been tending to Harry, but Sombrero remained. Maybe he lived there. Manuel picked Harry right up off the ground, carried him over to the bar, and laid him there. Then he returned to the door and put up the closed sign. He grabbed the first aid kit, placed it near Harry’s head, and opened it up. “I’ll get water,” he said, heading into his kitchen.
“You look rough, Harry,” Maria said softly. “I’m real sorry you got dragged into my mess. You’re prolly gonna be mad as a hornet at me when you wake up. I am sorry, though.” She unbuttoned his shirt, spread it open. The blood from his nose had soaked through onto his chest, the poor guy. Nice chest, though, bare and lean, defined but not in a bulgy, braggy way. Just right for running one’s hands over or resting one’s cheek upon.
What strange thoughts to be running through her mind at a time like this.
She pushed his shirt sleeve down one arm, and had to move him around quite a bit to do it. Manuel came back with the water as she got the shirt completely off, and she took her phone out of her pocket, tapped it, and told it to call Bubba. Then she set the phone nearby on speaker, took the wet, soapy cloth from the water basin, and started washing the blood and salsa off Harry’s chest.
Bubba answered on the first ring. “Maria Michele? Where the hell are you, cuz? You okay?”
“I’m fine, but I need your help. You still have a truckful of my cousins?”
“He does,” Willow said. Apparently, Bubba’s phone was on speaker, too.
“I’m at Manny’s.” One of the cuts on Harry’s brow line was still bleeding. She used saline in a hypodermic to clean it more thoroughly, and he moaned through his stupor. Good thing he was out.
To Bubba and Willow, she explained, “I hitched a ride with a stranger and Billy Bob tracked my phone here, beat the tar outta the poor guy, and stole his car to boot. So we’re stranded and he’s hurt. Hand me the Neosporin, Manny.”
“We’re on our way,” Bubba said.
“From where?” She was pinching the eyebrow cut together, deciding whether to apply butterfly bandages in tight formation or stitch it up. She’d have killed for a stitch-stapler but decided to make do with the butterflies.
“We were headed back to the ranch. The uh… reception is happenin’.”
“There was no point in wastin’ all the food,” Drew called.
“We’ll be there in thirty minutes,” Willow said. “Are you safe? Do you think Billy Bob will come back?”
“If he does, he won’t be walkin’ outta here upright, I’ll tell you what,” she said. “Thanks, you guys.” She disconnected, pocketed her phone so she wouldn’t forget it, and moved on to the next cut, this one high on Harry’s cheekbone, opposite side from the eyebrow. His left eye was swollen and a little bit purple. The right one seemed okay. She laid a cold pack over the eye then ran her thumb and forefinger down the side of his nose. He moaned, but the nose didn’t feel broken. She noticed the tiny cut on his nose and the strong, straight shape of it. She liked his nose, and even more, the prominent line of his jaw. He had a strong jawline, softened somewhat by his blue eyes, when they were open. She used a warm cloth to clean more of the salsa from his hair. It was soft beneath her fingers, his hair.
Manuel handed her a T-shirt. She had no idea where he’d got it. Lost and found maybe? She took it, and maneuvered it over Harry’s head then wrangled his arms through and pulled it down over his chest, where her fingers brushed skin, when she straightened the shirt fully. It had a longhorn bull on the front, with words above and below it.
Some of y’all weren’t raised in Texas…
And it shows!