LITMIR.BIZ

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to offer her benefits. “You got punched in the face because of me. I’ll take care of the bill.” It was the least he could do.

      Once inside, Isi filled out the paperwork then waited almost an hour before a nurse took her to get an X-ray. Conway spoke to a billing representative and made arrangements to pay for Isi’s E.R. visit. By the time Isi returned to the waiting room, the bruising beneath her eyes had worsened.

      “A clean fracture,” the nurse announced. She handed Conway a bottle of pain pills. “No driving while she’s taking this prescription.”

      Conway shoved the container into his jean pocket, thanked the nurse and escorted Isi to his truck. “Do you have a concussion?”

      “No.”

      “Want to take a pain pill right now? I’ll go back inside and buy you a bottle of water from the vending machine.”

      “No, thanks. I’ll take a pill after I drive myself home.”

      “You’re not driving anywhere tonight.”

      “I can’t leave my car at Red’s.”

      Conway didn’t want to pick a fight with Isi when she was hurting. He drove her to the bar and parked next to her 1996 white Toyota Camry. “I’ll follow you to your place.”

      “That’s not necessary.”

      “Maybe, but I’ll feel better knowing you got home safe.”

      She grabbed her backpack then hopped out and slammed the truck door. Conway drove behind her as she pulled out of the lot. He knew she lived in a trailer park nearby but had forgotten which one.

      Isi headed southwest a mile then entered the Desert Valley Mobile Home Park. The neighborhood was well kept—mostly single wides. She pulled beneath a carport in front of a white trailer with faded turquoise trim. Instead of the traditional rock and cactus landscape, the yard consisted of dead grass and dirt. He parked behind Isi and followed her to the door.

      “Thank you for taking care of the hospital bill,” she said.

      “I’ll pay for any follow-up doctor visits.”

      “As long as your girlfriends stay away from the bar, I won’t need to see any more doctors.”

      “I’m really sorry. I didn’t think Bridget would follow me after I left the rodeo.”

      “You might have to compromise if you want to find the perfect woman, Conway.”

      He didn’t want to discuss his love life. “Do you have a friend who will stay with you tonight?”

      “I’ll be fine.”

      When Isi opened the door, he heard a female talking. “Who’s that?”

      “The sitter. She’s always on her cell phone.”

      Conway followed Isi inside.

      “Oh, my God, what happened?” The teen’s eyes widened in horror.

      “I’m fine, Nicole.” Isi sent Conway a silent message. “I ran into the kitchen door at the bar.”

      So she didn’t want the sitter to know the truth—fine by him, because the truth made him look like an idiot.

      “Conway, this is Nicole. She watches the boys when I’m at the bar. Nicole, this is Conway. He’s a friend.”

      “Nice to meet you,” Nicole said.

      While Isi asked the sitter how the boys had behaved, Conway studied the furnishings. Sparse was the first word that came to mind. The furniture appeared second-hand—TV, love seat, chair and coffee table. Kids’ artwork decorated the walls and colorful plastic bins filled with toys had been stacked in the living room corner.

      “What time did the boys go to bed?” Isi asked.

      “Fifteen minutes ago.”

      “I’m sorry to have to cut the night short.” Isi faced Conway. “Where are those pain pills?”

      He handed her the bottle and she went into the kitchen and got a drink of water. “I won’t be working at the bar this weekend, so I’ll see you on Monday, Nicole.” Isi disappeared down the hallway then a moment later he heard a door open and close.

      “Do you need a ride home, Nicole?” Conway asked.

      “No, I live here in the trailer park with my aunt.” She walked to the door. “I left a note on the kitchen table for Isi. Will you make sure she reads it in the morning?”

      “Sure.”

      After Nicole left, Conway stood in living room uncertain what to do. Was it okay to leave Isi and her kids alone after she’d taken a pain pill? What if a burglar tried to break into the trailer or the water heater caught on fire? Isi was in no shape to handle a crisis.

      The least he could do after she’d taken a blow meant for him was stay the night and make sure she and her sons remained safe. As soon as she woke in the morning, he’d hightail it back to the farm.

      * * *

      A SIXTH SENSE told Conway he was being watched. He opened his eyes beneath the cowboy hat covering his face. Two pairs of miniature athletic shoes stood side by side next to the sofa. He played possum—not an easy task when his legs were numb from dangling over the end of the love seat all night.

      “Is he dead?”

      The question went unanswered.

      “I bet he’s dead.” The same voice spoke again.

      “Poke him and see.” A second voice, slightly higher in pitch than the first, whispered.

      Conway grinned, glad the hat hid his face.

      “Get Mom.”

      “She’s sleeping.”

      The sound of a food wrapper crinkling reached Conway’s ears.

      “Shh.”

      “I’m hungry.” Crunching followed the statement.

      Conway shifted on the couch and groaned.

      “He’s alive.”

      “Maybe he’s sick.”

      “Look under his hat.”

      “You look.”

      “Chicken.”

      “Am not.”

      Conway’s chest shook with laughter as he waited for his assailants’ next move. Small fingers lifted the brim of his hat and Cheerio breath puffed against in his face.

      On the count of three. One...two...three. Conway opened his eyes and his gaze clashed with the boys’. The kids shrieked and jumped back, bumping into each other. The Cheerio box sailed through the air, the contents spilling onto Conway’s chest. He studied the mess then turned his attention to the daring duo.

      “Sorry, mister.” The brothers scooped oat rings off of Conway’s shirt and stuffed them back into the box. Conway swung his legs to the floor and sat up. The twins were identical. They wore their hair cut in a traditional little-boy style with a side part and both had their mother’s almond-shaped brown eyes.

      He pointed to the kid holding the cereal box. “What’s your name?”

      “Javier.”

      Conway moved his finger to the other boy.

      “I’m Miguel. Who are you?”

      So Miguel was the outgoing one and Javier the shy one. “Conway Twitty Cash.”

      “That’s a long name,” Miguel said.

      “You can call me Conway.” It wasn’t enough that his mother had slept with every Tom, Dick and Harry across southern Arizona, but she’d also possessed a strange

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