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expected to see. Since those roaming visitors were her and Mama’s bread and butter, Marisa would climb aboard a bucking bronc before she would disappoint them. She even laughed at their lame jokes about her being “Pecos Belle.”
    When she returned to the kitchen, Mama had finished eating and, thank God, forgotten about walking. Marisa seated her in front of TV, then consumed another cup of coffee and slid all of the bread and toast slices into a Ziploc bag.
    She reminded her mother that she would be back soon, then headed for Pecos Belle’s, carrying the toast slices with her. When life hands you lemons, make lemonade, she told herself. Only today, she would use the toast to make bread pudding. Waste not, want not.
    As she made a tour through the flea market turning on lights, straightening displays, brushing away a speck of dust here and there, unlocking the front door, the sunrise began to brighten the large room. Early morning was the most peaceful part of her day. She enjoyed being alone in the café with its silence and its mix of spices and good food smells left over from the day before.
    She put two flavors of coffee on to brew in the Bunn on the back counter across from the lunch counter, drew a large empty pickle jar full water, added two giant teabags and set it just outside the front door to steep.
    Ready to begin work, she turned on the radio to keep her company and heard a new tune with a good dancing beat. She loved dancing--in that way, she was like Mama—but how long had it been since she had dressed up and hit a honky-tonk?
    In the tiny café kitchen, she turned on the flame under the griddle, then set about measuring ingredients for bread pudding. Back when she’d had a job as a professional cook, her recipe for bread pudding had always been a favorite. She usually used sourdough bread she baked herself, but today, toasted store-bought white bread would have to do.
    Soon, the delicious aroma of the baking pudding surrounded her. Savoring the smells of butter and vanilla, she hummed along with the radio as she cleaned and straightened the back counter. A car engine sounded out front, then died. She glanced across the flea market, out the display windows that took up the whole front of the building, at a state trooper’s black-and-white. She smiled inside.
    Two minutes later the front door chimed and the best part of her life strolled in. Keith Wood, or just Woody to his friends. He had probably come for breakfast.In his taupe-colored uniform and gray Stetson, he looked good enough to be breakfast. She had a weakness for a man in uniform, especially one who was lean and tanned, with mysterious dark eyes and a slow, come-hither smile. She and Woody had been an item for about a year and he still came by several times a week. The good-looking sonofagun had touched every one of her secret places and she usually couldn’t wait for him to do it again.
    “Hiya, copper,” she said, eager to tell him about the sale of Agua Dulce. Just a few weeks ago they had laughed about the widow posting the town for sale and the odds against someone ever being dumb enough to buy something like a town on eBay.
    He took a seat on one of the round stools that fronted the lunch counter and she leaned across to kiss her favorite Texas DPS trooper. He kissed back, but without the usual enthusiasm. “Uh-oh,” she said, deferring her own news to listen to what could be bothering him. “Don’t tell me. You’ve had a run-in with some real bad guys.”
    He shook his head and looked up at her with serious eyes.
    She braced herself on her forearms just inches from his delicious lips. “Tell you what,” she said softly. “I could lock the front door for a while. There’s clean sheets on the bed and I know all sorts of remedies to take your mind off your troubles.”
    Growing up, she and her mother had lived in the two-bedroom   apartment in the back of the building. Mama hadn’t bought the singlewide mobile home until after