The Comforts of Home Page 3

  Martha Q walked in on him with his secretary, and they didn’t look to be accounting for anything including all 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 all 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 still 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 ill, 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 all in one way or the other. Bobby Earl used to tell 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 tell 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 still 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 all 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 well as hair appointments all 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 yelled 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 called,” 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 smelly.

  Maybe the long-haired kid hadn’t reached his full growth, even though he looked eighteen. She couldn’t tell 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 call 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’s-his-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 kill 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. “Well, maybe if you got to work you’d earn that twenty dollars 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 still calling 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?”

  “Well, ma’am, you always sit on the porch till 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 well die if all I can think of to do is sit on the porch and eat between sleeping.”

  Lori wasn’t hired for her cleaning skills, 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 well blow all 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 hallway, but the place still 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 sell 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 hallway. She’d worn her good shoes and now she’d have to go all 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.

&n
bsp; 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 all 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 intelligent 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, really looked. He was tall, but not too tall. Maybe a touch over six feet. She wouldn’t call 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’ll 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. Hopefully 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 hall. 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 will be Learys, not Mathesons.”

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

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

  “Good.” She linked her arm in his. “I’ll buy you lunch and you’ll 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’ll make a good lawyer, boy, and call me Martha Q. I’ve learned never to get too attached to last names.”

  Chapter 4

  TYLER WRIGHT DROVE HOME FROM THE AIRPORT WITH HIS Kate silent beside him. He had the feeling she was holding herself together with army starch and willpower. In all the time he’d known her, he’d never seen her like this. Sometimes he saw the major in her, sometimes the strong woman who’d made it alone in the world all her adult life, but never this.

  He went straight to the funeral home and led her through the side entrance. They took the elevator up to his rooms above the business without anyone seeing them. The warm apartment was bigger than most homes in town. A blending of ancient furnishings with modern updating of carpets and tapestries, it seemed to welcome them in like an old friend in a new dress. He left her to freshen up while he went down to ask Willamina, his housekeeper, to fix a light lunch for two.

  Instinct told him Kate wouldn’t want to see anyone.

  The old housekeeper acted like she didn’t hear when he made his request. He should have known by now that her hearing never returned until after The Bold and the Beautiful was over. Tyler went into the kitchen and warmed up a can of soup while he made two ham sandwiches. He had no idea if Kate would eat them, but food had always been comforting in his life.

  When he returned to his apartment, he expected to find her in his large living room, or maybe on the tiny back balcony he loved in winter because it was sheltered on three sides from the wind but still caught the morning sun. When she’d visited a few times she’d said she liked both the areas. She’d even suggested he have real plants around. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that he worked with flowers all day and really preferred not to see them at night.

  He set the tray down on the coffee table, but Kate wasn’t anywhere to be seen. He walked through the apartment that had once been big enough to house a family. The guest bathroom door was open, but she wasn’t there or in the tiny kitchen area he’d never used. Finally, he wandered down to his bedroom, guessing that she’d left. From his front door she could walk anywhere in town within minutes. Maybe she’d been embarrassed at letting him see her near tears and she’d decided to walk over to the inn alone.

  Tyler thought he might as well get dressed in his business suit and go downstairs to work. Kate would call him later, or he’d drop by the inn to see if she wanted to go to dinner. If she needed space, he would give her that.

  When he reached his bedroom door, he froze.

  The lights were off in his room, the curtains drawn, but he saw her on the bed. She’d removed her coat and shoes. She lay curled up around one of his pillows almost like a child. The border collie he called Little Lady rested at her feet. Both looked sound asleep.

  “Kate?” he whispered.

  She didn’t answer.

  He had no idea what to do. After watching her for a few minutes, he knew he had to do something, but he’d never had a woman crawl into his bed. His entire experience with women, other than casual dating, consisted of three short-lived romances in college involving lots of petting with none ending in bed and one one-night stand with a woman he met at a party. That ended in bed, leaving only regrets at dawn.

  Only this wasn’t a fling. This was Kate. His Kate. The woman he’d been friends with for years. The only woman who’d ever truly mattered to him. Here she was, broken by something she couldn’t or wouldn’t talk about. He wanted to know all about what had happened. He wanted to make it better for her. But she hadn’t told him. Hadn’t even talked to him.

  Tyler frowned, then realized what she had done. She’d come home to him. Broken or hurt or sad didn’t matter. She’d come home to him.

  He walked back through the apartment to the door that led to a small corridor that held the stairs and the elevator. The door between his apartment and the corridor hadn’t been closed in years. Hinges creaked as he pushed it across the carpet. He closed it, then shoved the bolt. No one from below could now reach the apartment.

  By the time he’d backtracked to his bedroom, he’d removed his jacket. He slipped off his shoes and lifted the throw from one of the chairs by the windows. Without a sound, he climbed into bed beside Kate, pulled her back gently against his heart, and slowed his breathing to match hers.

  He was surprised how small she seemed in his arms . . . and how right she felt.

  Tyler held h
er for over an hour before he heard the low chime in the living area telling him someone had just entered the front door downstairs. Everyone who worked for him came in the side or the back. When the front door opened, sending a chime to all the nonpublic areas of the building, they knew it was business. This was Wednesday, a workday, and Tyler never missed work.

  As carefully as he could, he slipped from her side. Pulling the blanket over her shoulders, he leaned and kissed her cheek. Then, silently, he pulled on his suit jacket and looped a tie around his neck. The dog waited for him at the door. Little Lady always responded to the chime. The dog must think of herself as the official greeter.

  “I’m hurrying,” he said as he opened the door and stepped into the corridor. By the time they reached the first floor, Tyler had tied his tie and looked respectable and sober. Just as a funeral director should look.

  But inside, he couldn’t stop smiling.

  He went through all the motions of visiting with the children of Ida Louise Hudson. Yes, they wanted their mother’s body moved from a nursing home in California to Harmony to be buried. No, they couldn’t stay for a graveside, but would he have a small service just in case someone came? After all, she’d been born and married in Harmony. Someone might remember her. Yes, a simple spray of flowers and could he take care of having her death recorded on the headstone beside their father and would he mail a copy of the death certificate, along with the bill, to each?

  In less than an hour all the plans were made and Tyler walked Ida Louise’s children, all in their fifties he guessed, to the front steps. They each walked to their individual cars without hugging or a single tear falling and drove off. He had a feeling that Ida’s family had just shattered. The Hudson children would never get together again.

  When he walked back in, Calvin, one of two embalmers who worked mostly in the basement, was waiting for him.

  Tyler sighed. “You guessed right about this one,” he said. “When they called, I thought they might stay at least the night. One came in from Dallas, you know, another from Arkansas. Both long drives to make twice in one day. But they only want us to take care of it.”