The Comforts of Home (4 page)

WINTER’S INN BED-AND-BREAKFAST

MARTHA Q PATTERSON SAT ON HER FRONT

PORCH AT WINTER’S Inn Bed-and-Breakfast and decided she was bored. In al the fifty-five years of her life, she’d never been bored. From her late teens through her thirties, when she was wild, she was always out partying every night and sleeping late every morning. In fact, Martha didn’t even remember ever being awake in the A.M. until her fortieth birthday.

On that particular birthday, she had awakened early to have time to dress for a day of shopping. Her sixth husband, Oliver Hannon, never bought her presents, so she was more than happy to surprise him with the bil for a nice gift every holiday along with surprise gifts for no reason scattered through the year. He had enough money to afford expensive gifts, and she figured just having a wife twenty years younger should keep him happy.

That morning she was feeling old and decided to drop by Oliver’s work at the accounting firm he’d founded with his two bean-counting brothers. When the Hannons had been young men, they’d al three worked hard, but now in their sixties, they mostly just supervised and played golf. As an accountant, Oliver rarely had anyone in his office until March when folks started worrying about taxes, so he was usual y free to take her to lunch on the very rare occasion she managed to get there before one.

Martha Q walked in on him with his secretary, and they didn’t look to be accounting for anything including al their clothes. Oliver just stood there with one sock on and his shirt unbuttoned, asking where she wanted to go to lunch. It wouldn’t have been so devastating, but the secretary was in her fifties and flat-chested. Martha was humiliated.

She’d divorced Oliver within months, taking half his money and al his socks when she left. With nowhere to go, she decided to drop by Harmony for a visit with husband number two.

Bobby Earl Patterson was the only one in the line of men who’d slept on the left side of her whom she stil talked to, mostly because he fixed her car for free whenever she asked. He’d also been the only one without money. Which explained their separation. Martha Q was a woman used to being taken care of, and changing the oil from time to time just wasn’t enough.

When she found Bobby Earl il , Martha Q told herself her big heart wouldn’t let him die alone, so she married him again. In truth, she loved him, but then she’d loved them al in one way or the other. Bobby Earl used to tel folks he was her twenty-seventh husband since he was both her second and her seventh.

She drove him to doctors and hospitals as cancer slowly ate away at him. They laughed about her driving and watched old movies together at night while she gained weight and he lost it. She helped him with his tire and lube business, finding she had a knack for numbers. As he seemed to grow older before her eyes, he never failed to tel her how beautiful she was, and that helped pass the time.

When Bobby Earl died, Martha Q decided to give up men and open a bed-and-breakfast. She had a good head for business and had spent a great deal of her life in bed, but knew nothing about breakfast. So she’d opened Winter’s Inn and hired Mrs. Biggs, the best cook in Harmony.

Everything had been wonderful in Martha Q’s world until Mrs. Biggs’s two big strapping grandsons came to stay with her a few years ago. One was eighteen at the time, so he got a job in construction, but the other was stil in high school and, judging from the amount of effort he was putting out, Border Biggs might be in high school for decades.

Since Martha Q didn’t want Mrs. Biggs to leave, and no one in town in their right mind would rent a place to an eighteen-year-old thug and his pre-prison little brother, Martha Q decided to buy a duplex down the street from the inn. The thugs were out of her hair and her kitchen, Mrs.

Biggs had somewhere to go besides the cemetery during her afternoons off, and Martha Q could take her naps in peace.

To her surprise, the other half of the duplex rented right away to a man in his thirties who’d been in a bad skiing accident. He was grouchy and altogether unpleasant, but he paid his rent on time and that was al that Martha Q

cared about. To her shock, he seemed to get along with the Biggs boys. At least she thought he did. He hadn’t complained.

Which was good, but left Martha Q bored. Everything in her life was running too smoothly. She’d lived in the chaos of juggling lovers and husbands as wel as hair appointments al her life. Only now, she hadn’t been named in a court document in years. Something just didn’t feel right.

She watched as Border Biggs, the younger of Mrs.

Biggs’s grandsons, and one of his worthless, long-haired friends climbed out of a pickup and began raking the last of the dead leaves.

“Morning,” the dark-haired friend waved. “I’m Beau Yates.”

“I don’t care who you are. It’s about time you two got over here,” Martha Q yel ed back. “If you’d waited any longer, winter would be over and the grass would be fighting its way through the dead leaves.”

“It’s only been a week since you cal ed,” the long-haired smart aleck said with a smile. He was shorter and maybe a little younger than Border, but then everyone was shorter than the Biggs boys.

Martha Q considered how men were often built like cars. Some long and lean like sports cars, some strong and hardworking like pickups, and some, like the Biggs brothers, reminded her of diesel trucks—big, loud, and smel y.

Maybe the long-haired kid hadn’t reached his ful growth, even though he looked eighteen. She couldn’t tel what he’d become. Maybe a trailer park heartbreaker.

Maybe a cop. He had that kind of stance that said he thought he was somebody important even if he hadn’t grown into his own ego yet.

“Don’t talk to her, Beau,” Border whispered under his breath. “Every male who ever did is dead.”

“I heard that,” Martha Q snapped. “It’s comments like that that make me like you slightly less than I do dogs, and I hate dogs.”

The long-haired one went to work, but Border leaned against his rake. “You know, Mrs. Q, you’re starting to grow on me.”

“I am not. And don’t cal me Mrs. Q. Martha Q is my first name, not my last initial.”

Border thought about it a few seconds and asked,

“What’s your middle name? Period?”

“None of your business,” she said.

Border grinned. “Must take a long time to write Mrs.

Martha Q None-of-your-business. If you married old-what’shis-name, your name wouldn’t fit on any driver’s license.” Martha Q stood, then cursed as the porch swing hit her just behind her chubby knees. She made it halfway to the door before she added, “You think you’re funny, but your jokes aren’t any better than your playing on that guitar.

Maybe you’d be wise to stay off every stage you pass.

Some crowd might try to kil you between sets.”

“What’s wrong with my playing?” Border was no longer smiling.

“Nothing a few lessons wouldn’t help.”

“I can’t afford lessons.” Border frowned.

Martha Q had enough of being nice. “Wel , maybe if you got to work you’d earn that twenty dol ars waiting for you when the leaves are gone and then you could take one lesson. You’re at that magic spot where any practicing you do would have to help.”

Border got the point. He went to work with no more than a growl in response.

Martha Q waddled to her room and changed out of her purple jogging suit into her best business clothes. She had to think of something to do besides arguing with idiots. She was too old to go dancing, too young for bingo, but somewhere she believed adventure was stil cal ing her name.

“What’s the matter, Mrs. Patterson? Something wrong?” the young housekeeper asked as Martha Q came down the stairs.

“What makes you think something is wrong, Lori?”

“Wel , ma’am, you always sit on the porch til noon. Then you eat the lunch Mrs. Biggs sets out for you, then you take a nap.” The housekeeper had the nerve to look proud of herself.

“I have to go out.” Martha Q straightened as she reached for her coat. “In fact, unless I find something interesting to pass the time, I’m going over to the Wright Funeral Home and plan my funeral. I might as wel die if al I can think of to do is sit on the porch and eat between sleeping.”

Lori wasn’t hired for her cleaning skil s, but more accurately because she never argued. “Yes, Mrs.

Patterson, that sounds like a plan.”

Martha Q didn’t bother to turn around. She decided she’d stop off and eat lunch with her lawyer, then have her fortune told at the bookstore. If her lifeline was up, she might as wel blow al she could on a casket.

Twenty minutes later when she got to the office of Elizabeth Matheson Leary, Attorney-at-Law, the door was locked. Liz had redecorated her office and carpeted the hal way, but the place stil needed something.

She smiled, thinking a lawyer in a law office would be a nice touch. Two years ago she’d been Elizabeth’s first client and the office furniture wouldn’t sel in a yard sale, but Liz had been so excited about being a lawyer that no one who dropped by noticed the furniture.

Martha Q swore as she stomped down the hal way.

She’d worn her good shoes and now she’d have to go al the way down the stairs without having a chance to rest. Liz had promised she was going to work until her baby came.

“Must be one of her doctor’s visits or something,” Martha Q

mumbled as she headed down the stairs.

Having never had children, she didn’t see much of a need for them. Kids were everywhere in abundance. Just go in Walmart day or night and you could hear a half dozen screaming, but lawyers, good ones like Elizabeth Matheson Leary, were hard to find. Next thing Martha Q expected was for Elizabeth to quit and start living out there in the canyon with that crazy husband of hers who wrote graphic novels.

He always looked at Martha Q as if he half expected her to turn into a bug or something. He might be one hunk of a man, but the ink stains on his hands bothered her more than the scar along his jawline. Every woman in town thought he was a complicated man, but Martha Q

considered that an oxymoron.

“What kind of way is that to make a living?” Martha Q

said to herself as she reached the bottom of the stairs. “A grown man drawing superheroes and monsters al day.”

“Excuse me, ma’am, were you talking to me?” a young man in a suit asked as he started up the stairs. He was slim, with light brown hair and dimples. The suit fit him as if it were tailor made.

Martha Q had always been a sucker for dimples, but today she was working on a bad mood and didn’t want to be interrupted.

“No,” she snapped, “I was talking to myself for lack of any other intel igent conversation. It should be a crime for a lawyer to post business hours and then not be there.” The young man smiled. “I agree. When a person needs a lawyer, they need a lawyer. That’s why I became one.” She looked at him then, real y looked. He was tal , but not too tal . Maybe a touch over six feet. She wouldn’t cal him handsome, but he did have a way about him when he smiled. He was the kind of man who wasn’t overly worried about his appearance; his hair was windblown and the sleeves of his wrinkled dress shirt were a bit too long for his suit jacket. He wasn’t afraid to face people straight on, and he had nice hands, tanned and strong as they gripped an old leather briefcase.

She knew, from her vast experience, that he had the marks of a good lover.

Too bad she was twice his age and probably double his weight. Otherwise she would have taken him on as a project and moved him from good to great in the lover category.

He offered his hand. “Name’s Rick Matheson. I’m Liz’s cousin. I haven’t taken the bar yet, but I’ve finished my classwork. If you just need advice on something, Mrs.

Patterson, I’l do what I can. No fee involved, of course.”

“So you’re an almost-lawyer?” She wasn’t surprised he knew who she was. She considered herself a legend in this town.

He smiled that warm smile again. “Yeah. Hopeful y by the time Liz and Gabe’s babies come I can take over for her for a while. I’m renting the office across the hal . I hope to intern for a year, and who knows, maybe one day be her partner.”

“Babies?”

“Yes, ma’am. They’re having twins. Figured everyone in town had heard by now.”

Martha Q frowned. “Like there aren’t enough Mathesons in this town already.”

Rick laughed. “Right. My mother always says that if the other two founding families had reproduced as fast as the Mathesons, Harmony would have double the population by now. Only I guess the babies wil be Learys, not Mathesons.”

Martha Q stared at him. She liked him wel enough and she was hungry, so she said, “What’s your hourly rate?”

“I can’t real y charge until I pass the bar.”

“Good.” She linked her arm in his. “I’l buy you lunch and you’l give me your not-so-professional advice. Does that sound fair? What do you want for lunch?”

“Fair enough, Mrs. Patterson, and I like steak.” She grinned. “You’l make a good lawyer, boy, and cal me Martha Q. I’ve learned never to get too attached to last names.”