Designer Genes Page 5

  “Thanks,” she said. “I’m interested in the clothing business myself.”

  When the front door banged shut, she braced for yet another uninvited guest. Instead, Carter marched into the kitchen. In his presence, Zeppa and Finella seemed to shrink. So did the kitchen, but it sparkled, too, as if trying to please him.

  He didn’t say anything. He simply folded his arms and glared at the two newcomers.

  “I brought your guest some of my Spring Salad,” Finella said defensively. “There’s no harm in that.” She cleared her throat as if to say more, then thought better of it and scurried out.

  Mazeppa carted her empty dishes to the sink and rinsed them. “I guess you’re kicking me out. Well, I’ll be back, Carter. I don’t mind the broken roof while the good weather holds. If it isn’t fixed before the next rainstorm, I’ll move into your bedroom.”

  “You’re not staying on the porch,” he said. “You can use the tornado shelter.”

  “Tornado shelter?” Buffy asked.

  “It’s in the back. Underground,” Carter said. “Nice and cool and the roof never leaks.” When Zeppa’s mouth opened to protest, he cut her off. “If you don’t like it, you can park your shopping cart on somebody else’s property.”

  She snapped her mouth shut and stalked out. “Is Zeppa renting from you?” Buffy inquired. It seemed an odd arrangement.

  Instead of answering, he responded with a question. “How’d you get her permission to call her by a nickname?”

  “It was her idea.”

  “She must like you.” He watched the screen door as if afraid the woman might storm back in. “As for renting, she’s homeless. She’s related to someone in town, so we take turns putting up with her. Were she and Finella driving you crazy?”

  “They were entertaining me.” And distracting me, she added silently. Buffy hated to admit it, but without the visitors, Carter’s presence was having even more of an impact than last night.

  No longer tired and hungry, her body teased her with stirrings of a dangerous sort. It had been a year and a half since she and Roger made love, and his lovemaking had always been too self-centered to be very satisfying.

  Now, with Carter... No, not with Carter!

  Why was she thinking sexy, shivery thoughts about a guy who couldn’t be more wrong for her? So what if they had something urgent in common? That didn’t mean Buffy had to take leave of her senses.

  The sooner she got out of Dodge City, or Nowhere Junction, the better. “What’s the status of my car?” she asked.

  He took off his baseball cap, let his cowlick come up for air and then put the hat back on. His hands, she noticed, were etched with dark stains.

  “Come out in the garage and I’ll show you,” he said.

  Buffy balanced Allie on her hip as she accompanied him. She didn’t know the underside of a hood from the dark side of the moon, but if it made Carter feel better, she would pretend to understand.

  The little sports car sat agape on the cement floor. Even after so many hours, it gave off a faint charbroiled scent.

  “Let me show you the work sheet.” Carter picked up a wide form covered with computer printing. “We have to replace the entire...”

  He began speaking in white noise. The only word that made sense was the one he’d used last night. “Fried.” When he reached the bottom of the sheet, he said, “Did you get all that?”

  “Toast,” she said.

  “Exactly.”

  “How long is this going to take?” she asked.

  “Like I said, it depends on how soon I can get the parts,” he told her. “A week, possibly two.”

  Too long and too risky for her emotional health. “I don’t suppose there’s someplace around here I can rent a car?”

  “No, but somebody in town might be persuaded to loan or sell you one,” he answered with a puzzled expression. What had she done wrong? Buffy wondered. Surely even in Nowhere Junction, people rented cars.

  “Did I say something stupid?” she asked.

  Carter let out a long breath. “It’s just that most people would be concerned about how much this is going to cost.”

  “Oh, that.” She waved her free hand airily. “Okay, how much is it?”

  “With parts and labor, $4,527.53,” he said.

  She repeated the amount to make sure she had it right. “Do you take credit cards?”

  “Sure.”

  She fished in her pocket where she’d tucked her wallet. Buffy had abandoned her purse for a diaper bag since setting off on this trip.

  Carter accepted the card and crossed to his office. When she followed, she was surprised to see an up-to-date computer. “Your business is a lot more current than your kitchen.”

  “I don’t earn a living in my kitchen.” He scanned her card. “Besides, I nearly went broke accepting cards without verification.”

  “You mean people try to use stolen cards in a little town like this?”

  “Stolen, canceled, you name it.” As he waited for the results, he added, “Like I said before, we don’t see too many strangers lingering in Nowhere Junction, but the ones we do are usually here because of car trouble. Getting stiffed for labor is bad enough. The worst is when I don’t get reimbursed for those spare parts—they eat a hole in my pocket.”

  He frowned at the screen, then scanned her card again.

  Apparently he didn’t like the results this time, either. “Do you have another card?” he asked.

  “I’m afraid not.” An abyss formed at the bottom of Buffy’s stomach. What could the problem be? She was nowhere near her credit limit.

  “How about a checkbook?”

  “No.” She hardly recalled what a checkbook looked like. “Why?” She hoped desperately, against all reason, that he was about to reply that he’d made a mistake.

  Instead Carter handed back the piece of plastic with a sorrowful expression. “Because your card’s been canceled,” he said.

  Chapter Four

  It bothered him to see tears glimmer in Buffy’s big green eyes. This lady was rich as well as beautiful. Why should a minor misunderstanding over a credit card have such an impact?

  A man who diagnoses cars for a living, however, knows that you can’t hear the engine ping if you have the radio turned on full blast. So Carter quit listening to the incessant promptings of his libido and took a quiet look at his out-of-town guest and her situation.

  It was true that she drove an expensive car and wore big-city clothes. On the other hand, she clearly hadn’t paid for maintenance in a long time.

  As to her appearance, the striking hair and toned figure bespoke the cost of a beauty shop and a health spa. But that could be deceptive. Maybe she colored her own hair and exercised at home.

  As for jewelry, she wore enamel earrings and a bracelet with an ABC block motif. They were appropriate for a new mother. They were also inexpensive.

  He had jumped to the conclusion that she must be rich. Maybe she had been when she bought this car, but apparently her circumstances had changed.

  “Your ex-husband wouldn’t have anything to do with this, would he?” Carter asked.

  Glumly Buffy nodded. “The card’s in his name. But he’s still supposed to be paying my bills.”

  “He promised?” Carter didn’t put much store in the promises of a man who’d let his wife, ex- or otherwise, drive alone cross-country with a baby.

  “It was part of our agreement.” She seemed to wilt.

  “What about a debit card?”

  “No bank account for it to draw on.” If she shrank any further, tomorrow morning she’d be nose-to-nose with the other Buffy. Or, rather, with Toast.

  Surely she had options. Nobody expected to live on one credit card. “Don’t you have anything you could transfer to the bank here?”

  She shook her head, which made the ABC earrings swing. The baby grabbed one and popped it off. “Hey!” Carter pried it from those tiny fingers. “You could choke on that.”

  He
expected the baby to fuss. Instead she regarded him with a steady gaze. “Da?” she said.

  Buffy’s cheeks flushed. “Allie, hush!”

  “What does Da mean in baby talk?” Carter dropped the earring into the lady’s hand.

  “It means, uh, hello.”

  He chuckled. “Well, I hope nobody thinks it’s ‘Da’ as in Daddy.”

  The color intensified to bright red. “It’s just gibberish.”

  He hadn’t meant to embarrass her. “I know that,” Carter said. “I’m sorry. I guess this isn’t the best time to make a joke.”

  “My nerves are kind of... fried,” she conceded. “I’m sorry I’ve dragged you into my personal mess. Without that credit card. I’m on a financial par with Mazeppa. It isn’t your problem. I need to figure out what to do next.”

  “Call your lawyer.”

  “His receptionist keeps putting me on hold. One time she slipped up and I heard him call me that lady with the messy life.” Buffy heaved a sigh. “The sad part is, it’s true.”

  Carter experienced a sudden Galahadian urge to ride to her rescue. It went against his better judgment to act on impulse, however. The best course was to proceed in a steady, logical manner.

  “I’ll start tracking down these parts,” he offered. “One way or another, you need a car. In the meantime, try that lawyer again. He has an obligation to help you.” Actually, Carter wasn’t sure about that, especially if the lawyer hadn’t been paid recently. However, the man ought to stand by his client.

  “Okay, I will. His name’s Boyd Fringo and mostly he’s a good lawyer.” She lifted her chin. “I want you to know, Mr. Murchison, that even if it takes a while, I intend to pay you for whatever work you do.”

  “I never doubted it.” He believed she’d do her best. While her life might be messy, she seemed honest.

  “I’ll go call that lawyer right now.”

  “Don’t let him put you off,” Carter advised.

  “I won’t.” Stiffly she turned and headed toward the house. As she went, her straight shoulders slumped and her proud stride slid into a skulk.

  She looked so vulnerable that Carter ached even more strongly to help her. He didn’t see how he could write off a thousand dollars in parts, but he could throw in his labor for free.

  The problem was, if he cut her too much slack, he’d be in big trouble once the gossips found out. Soon the townspeople would be demanding the same kind of treatment every time they got a little tight on funds. Before he knew it, he’d be out of business.

  With luck, her lawyer would come through with a court order or who knows what. Buffy lived in a different world, Carter reminded himself, a world in which money ebbed and flowed.

  He hoped a tsunami was just over the horizon.

  *

  Buffy hung up the kitchen phone with a sinking feeling. According to the lawyer, Roger claimed he was virtually penniless. He refused to pay for one more diaper, let alone a rebuilt engine.

  She supposed that, if she told Carter why she’d really come to town, it might spur him to do the work for free. He possessed an old-fashioned sense of chivalry.

  It went against the grain to take advantage of him. She wasn’t a deadbeat like her husband. And both he and Allie deserved better than for her to treat such important information as a bargaining chip for car repairs.

  The worst of it was, Roger had to be lying. That jerk didn’t act miserable and depressed enough to have lost all his money. The last time she’d spoken to him, he’d sounded annoyingly upbeat.

  If only she could prove he was lying. Impossible, from so far away and with so few resources. Besides, right now, she couldn’t even get out of Nowhere, a town so rustic that a few minutes ago her cell phone had stopped picking up a signal.

  Or was that no coincidence? Horrified, Buffy sank into a chair. Roger had cut off her phone. First her money, then her ability to communicate, not to mention ready access to the Internet. How low could a person stoop?

  Despair washed over her. For an L.A. woman, she had reached the doomsday scenario. No cell and no credit card.

  Also, her car didn’t work.

  She felt like Dorothy in reverse, blasted from bright-hued Oz to the sepia tones of Depression-era Kansas or, in this case, Texas. She would spend the rest of her days washing dishes by hand and eating Finella’s Spring Salad. And that lawyer had considered her life messy before this?

  Soon she, too, would wear a peasant skirt and vest. She would set up a table by the highway and stand there, barefoot, selling.. .what? Tumbleweed? The clothes off her back?

  Or, maybe, the clothes off Finella’s back. Now, there was an intriguing notion.

  Before Buffy could pursue this thought, the screen door opened. “The tornado shelter’s a wreck,” said Zeppa. “You can’t expect me to move into it while it’s in this condition.”

  “What’s wrong with it?”

  “Are you coming or not?”

  It seemed easier to comply than to try to convince this woman that she wasn’t the landlady. Besides, Buffy was curious to see the tornado shelter. “Sure.” She carried the baby and the blanket onto the rear porch.

  Unlike the front yard, which was rather sparse, the back resembled a discount builder’s warehouse. Tires, boards, garden equipment and car parts were arranged in tarp-covered piles along crisscrossed paths.

  The orderly effect was marred by a weedy patch beside the porch and by an open cement trap door set near the center of the yard. Also by a large mixed breed dog shambling along one of the paths.

  It regarded Buffy with mild curiosity, then flopped onto the weed patch as if it lacked the energy to come closer. After scratching one ear a couple of times, it yawned and dropped its head onto its paws.

  “This—” Zeppa led the way toward the concrete slab “—is the entrance to my home.” She rattled a shopping cart mounded with clothing, books, papers and knickknacks. “It’s dusty, musty and rusty. No decent human being would expect me to live there. Make me another offer.”

  Carter would be furious if Buffy allowed Zeppa into the main house. Still, even from above, she could smell the staleness of the air. “It does need freshening,” she conceded.

  “I’m too old for this sort of thing,” the woman declared. “I draw the line at heavy cleaning.”

  So did Buffy, usually. But she was already presuming on Carter’s hospitality by staying here. She could hardly interrupt his work and demand that he tend to another uninvited guest. “I’ll figure something out. Listen, Zeppa, is there a dress shop in Nowhere?”

  “They sell something that passes for clothes at Popsworthy’s,” scoffed the older lady. “Mostly jeans, one-size-fits-all denim overalls and gingham housedresses. People go to San Antonio or Austin to shop.”

  “That seems inconvenient.”

  “Not much choice, unless you sew,” Zeppa said. “Some of the women do that.”

  This sounded promising. “Does anyone sell what they make?”

  “There’s a few that try,” the woman said. “But their stuff is so plug-ugly, who’d wear it? Too frilly and flowery. Baggy, as well.”

  “They’d do better if someone supervised the selection of patterns and fabrics.” Like Buffy herself. “Your dress is rather nice,” she added. “Did you make it?”

  “Who, me?” scoffed the woman. “I bought this at Neiman Marcus, back in my la-la days. Never mind about that. You hand over that little baby and set to work. She and I’ll start on her education. Has she learned her ABCs yet?”

  “She’s barely babbling.”

  “Never too early.” Without waiting for a response, she snatched Allie from Buffy’s hip and carried her toward the porch. “Move it, Rover,” she growled, and the dog shifted a few inches out of the way.

  Buffy sighed. There had to be a mop, a broom and some air freshener around. Perhaps too, if she were lucky, a pair of those one-size-fits-all denim overalls.

  *

  In the middle of the afternoon, Carter couldn�
��t find Buffy in the house. He went onto the back porch and nearly tripped over Mazeppa, who had stretched out her legs from the willow rocker. He had to grab the door frame for support.

  Instead of apologizing, she said, “I reserve the right to relax on this here porch, since you’ve exiled me to the backyard. I suppose you plan to complain about that, too.”

  She was holding the baby in the crook of her arm, he saw as he weighed his response. Allie sure did have bright eyes. She reminded Carter of someone, but he couldn’t think who.

  “You’re not exiled to anywhere. You have reasonable use of the kitchen and the hall bathroom,” he said. Thank goodness he’d installed a second, more private bathroom several years ago. “Where’s Buffy?”

  The older woman jerked her head in the direction of the yard. Turning, Carter spotted a cloud of dust wafting upward through the open door of the tornado shelter.

  “I figured her for a Miss Fancy Pants, but she’s a regular person,” said Mazeppa. “Pitched right in to clean up for me. If you own any sense, Carter, you won’t hurry about repairing that car. Encourage her to stick around.”

  “I don’t recall writing to Miss Lonelyhearts for advice,” he grumbled, irritated that she’d touched on his own inclination.

  Carter strode across the yard until he could see down the concrete staircase into the shelter’s front room. Buffy must have replaced the bulbs, because the place was lit up. “I have to go out shopping,” he called. “Fix yourself dinner if I’m not back in time.”

  “Oh, good, there you are!” A cheerful face wreathed in a silk scarf appeared below. “You know, Carter, the bed down here’s nearly shot. What would you say to buying a tatami mat?”

  He wasn’t sure what that was. “I don’t think they carry them at Popsworthy’s.”

  “You could order on-line. They do ship to Nowhere, don’t they?”

  “Costs extra.” He wasn’t keen on spending money for Mazeppa. On the other hand, a sore back wouldn’t improve her bad temper.

  Whipping off the scarf, Buffy hauled a mop up the stairs. “Where are you shopping, by the way? Is there a regional mall?”