Глава №6. От Арбата до Спиридоновки, или Прогулка по усадьбам московских миллионщиков. Андрей Монамс
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out of an alley in front of her and wheeled into the perfect angled parking space right at the door—the one she’d been planning to pull into.
She swore under her breath. The guy must be a transplanted Manhattan cab driver! At least it wasn’t the last spot in the city.
“Mommy, you’re not supposed to say bad words,” Melissa reminded her.
She glanced at her daughter in the rearview mirror. “You’re right, sweetheart. I’ll have to put another quarter in our piggy bank when we get back home.”
“We’re saving up to see The Nutcracker at Lincoln Center,” Melissa explained to Stevie.
“You wanna eat nuts?”
“No, silly. The Nutcracker’s a ballet.”
Tasha picked a parking spot two slots down from the Mazda and pulled in between a pickup and a Jeep.
“What’s a ballet?” Stevie asked as he followed Melissa out of the car.
Melissa did a pirouette on the sidewalk and pranced around on her tiptoes, showing off. Though, given she was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, the dance lacked a true classical flavor without the proper costuming. “Haven’t you ever seen a ballet?”
He jammed his hands in his pockets, hanging his head as if he’d missed something important in life. “Uh-uh.”
“Mommy, can we take Stevie to a ballet sometime?”
“I don’t think Reilly’s Gulch has those, honey.” A cultural hot spot, it wasn’t.
“Well, if it did, could we take him?” Melissa persisted.
“I suppose.” Cupping her daughter’s shoulder, she ushered her toward the grocery store and reached out for Stevie’s hand, too. “Come on, kids. We’ve got to get Stevie’s daddy something to eat for dinner.” And then she was going to have to iron, of all things. Hadn’t this place heard of dry cleaners? Or wash and wear?
An older gentleman wearing a sporty plaid beret and a frayed suit jacket met her at the grocery store entrance. He tipped his cap to her, revealing thinning white hair, and nodded toward her car.
“Mighty fine lookin’ Beamer,” he said.
“Thank you.” She considered skirting past him, but he was pretty well blocking the center of the double doors.
“That’s my Mazda.”
Vaguely recalling her sister had owned a Mazda convertible and sold it last winter, Tasha forced a smile. She resisted telling him what she thought of a man who’d steal a parking spot right out from under her nose.
“Red is nice,” she said noncomittally.
Aware of the dangers of talking to strangers, Melissa clung to her side.
Stevie charged forward. “Hi, Mr. O’Reilly.”
The older man shifted his wrinkles into a glad smile. “Hello, young Steven. Looks like you’re escorting two lovely ladies today.”
Stevie giggled. “These aren’t ladies. She’s our new housekeeper.” He pointed at Tasha, then indicated Melissa. “And she’s only a little girl, same as I’m a little boy.”
“You’re littler,” Melissa corrected. “I’m almost seven.”
Before an argument broke out, Tasha introduced herself to the gentleman, who she learned was Chester O’Reilly, descendant of the town founders, and the owner of the only franchised taxi service in Reilly’s Gulch. She thought the reason for only one such service in town was pretty obvious, but he seemed so proud of his community duties, Tasha didn’t see any reason to point out the probable lack of demand for cabs in this small town.
As she tried to excuse herself to get on with her shopping, he said, “If you decide to sell your Beamer, let me know. I’m thinking of expanding my taxi service.”
“You are?” That sounded like the height of optimism to Tasha.
“Yep. Billy Flynn turned over his ranch operations to his boys and he’s got some extra time on his hands. Figured I could keep him busy doing taxi work. Shoot, he’s only eighty-two, way too young to retire. And there’s lots of potential ’round here, you know. Only a question of time till I’m busier than flies on a fresh cow pie.”
“Yes, well…” She wrinkled her nose and mumbled something about keeping Chester in mind if she decided to sell her car while she was in town, then scooted herself and the children past him into the grocery store.
Reilly’s Gulch might lack for cultural amenities but the town certainly wasn’t short on characters. Tasha suspected Chester was only the tip of that particular iceberg.
She doubted the town was short of good-looking men, either. Unfortunately one in particular held a special attraction for her.
Clifford Swain.
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