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enough. Mattie stared at the quarters as if concentration might make them multiply.
    Jamie flashed through her mind—Jamie Andersen, her foster brother, the one and only person who’d taken even a passing interest in her at any of the series of foster homes in which she lived from the time of her parents’ deaths when she was six until she found her own place when she was sixteen.
    Jamie. She chewed the inside of her lip. He’d learned every hustle there was in reform schools and in the streets of Kansas City. Some of them he taught to Mattie in order to keep her safe, so she’d never fall prey to the dark-hearted men of the world.
    Wryly, Mattie wondered if Jamie would have seen through Brian. Probably.
    To give Mattie something she could always use, anywhere, anytime, Jamie gave her a survival skill of her own. In the smoky dark rooms of riverfront pool halls, Jamie taught Mattie the secrets of the stick. “You never know,” he’d told her, a cigarette dangling from his lips, “when your back will be against the wall. Stay in practice and you’ll never be sorry.”
    Her back was against the wall.
    “You were right, big brother,” she said aloud, wondering if his spirit could hear her. “I’m not sorry.” She scooped the money into her bag and slung the weight over her shoulder. There were a few things she had to do, the first being a ride to Flagstaff. Maybe Roxanne would take her.
    * * *
     
    That night, Southern rock and roll filled the steamy kitchen, blasting from the jukebox at Bronco’s. Flipping hamburgers, Zeke sang along with the Allman Brothers. With an artful twist, he tossed a patty into the air, caught it deftly on a big metal spatula and chuckled. Cooking wasn’t something he’d choose for his life’s work, but it could be kind of a kick at times.
    Onions sizzled in the grease, sending their fragrance richly into the air. He slapped cheese on three hamburgers, rescued the buns from their toasting on the other side of the grill and arranged them on a plate.
    “Hey, Ed,” he called to the owner, who sat in a narrow office not far from the stove, “I’m hungry. You gonna let me go home sometime tonight, or have you just decided to keep me here forever?”
    Ed looked at his watch in surprise. “Sorry, man. Didn’t realize it was getting so late. Finish up that order and I’ll take over.”
    The cheese was perfectly melted, and Zeke lovingly stacked the burgers onto the waiting buns. French fries from a basket filled the plates, and Zeke slipped the single onto the pass-out bar along with the ticket.
    “This one’s mine,” he said to Ed, lifting the double burger. He took off his apron. “I had a feeling it was time.”
    He carried the overflowing plate out into the dimly lit bar, taking a place at the counter to eat.
    Over the jukebox, he heard the thin, fussy cry of a baby. “Give me a beer, Sue,” he said to the bartender.
    At her glare, he grinned. “Please.”
    Sue fished a brown bottle from the cooler, and twisted off the top with a quick flick of her wrist. As she settled the beer on a napkin before him, she looked toward the line of tall booths against the far wall. “That poor mother. She’s exhausted. Look at her.”
    Zeke looked over his shoulder. A trio of tourists sat miserably in the booth. Mom and Dad and baby. The couple was young, no more than twenty-five. The mother’s face was glazed as she stared at her husband eating the hamburger Zeke had just made. The dad, too, looked frazzled. His hair was uncombed and a smear of black grease stained his forearm. He ate as though he was starving.
    The baby, about six months old, just fussed in its mother’s arms.
    Zeke grabbed a french fry from his plate. “What’s their story?”
    “Broke down just outside of town. The car’s in the shop—Jerry’s working on it, but the motel is full. I don’t think they were thrilled to have to come into a bar, but there isn’t anyplace else open.” She smiled wryly. “Poor