The Last Ranch by Michael McGarrity

before returning to the hotel, where they parted company.
    In his room, Matt examined the clothes he’d packed and found them sorely wanting for a classy night on the town with a pretty woman. And a careful look in the mirror made him realize that more than his wardrobe was lacking. He left the hotel on foot and returned an hour later sporting a fresh haircut, wearing polishedboots, and carrying a package containing a new white cowboy shirt and Levi’s dress jeans. He laid everything out on the bed and gave his cowboy hat a brushing. Fortunately, he’d worn his good, go-to-town hat.
    On his way back, to make sure he had enough money to pay for a night on the town, Matt had cashed a check at Sam Miller’s Grocery Store, now owned by Sam’s son, Steve. The store hadn’t changed all that much over the years and it brought back memories of shopping for his ma, when she was sick in bed, and hurrying home with the provisions to their little adobe casa nestled in an old Mexican neighborhood a few blocks behind Main Street.
    He counted out his money and tried not to gulp at how much he would spend if he emptied his wallet at the Castle Restaurant. Although Raine had proposed in her letter to pay for his dinner, as a gentleman he couldn’t let her do that. He hoped she didn’t turn out to be a heavy bettor in the backroom gambling parlor.
    From a housekeeper, he borrowed a broom and a rag and cleaned out the inside of his truck. The outside was dust-coated and had a dented fender, but it would have to do. Instead of returning to his room, he had a drink in the hotel bar, eyeing a snuggling couple in a back booth who had to be Raine’s friend Susie and her married lover. The realization hit him that he was acting like a smitten teenager. What made him think Lieutenant Hartman had any interest in a one-eyed ex-sergeant other than using him as an alternative to an otherwise boring Saturday night alone in a hotel room? He should have stayed home at the ranch where he belonged.
    As the sun lingered on the horizon, he spruced up in his new duds, checked his appearance in the bathroom mirror, and parked himself in a lobby easy chair with a clear view of the staircase. Raine appeared at the head of the stairs right on time,dressed in a simple, sleeveless cotton dress gathered at the waist by a thick black rope belt tied at the hip. All thoughts of foolishness about coming to Las Cruces flew out of Matt’s head. There was absolutely nothing wrong with a night out on the town with a stunningly good-looking young woman, no matter her reasons.
    ***
    T he Castle was named for the owner and had no resemblance to a royal palace or an ancient fortified stronghold. Housed in a rambling old adobe a few blocks from the Loretto Academy, a Catholic girls’ school, the restaurant and gambling parlor had a décor reminiscent of the Casa Blanca, the best, most expensive whorehouse and nightclub in Juárez. A front gate in the street-side adobe wall opened onto a lovely flagstone courtyard filled with tables and chairs for dining under the heavy branches of old trees. Open doors and windows spilled light from chandeliers onto the patio. From the saloon that boasted a long walnut bar, laughter and conversation mixed together with the music of a jazz trio playing softly on a small bandstand.
    At a small table within earshot of the musicians, Matt bought Raine a drink, his thoughts wandering to the night he’d taken Beth Merton to the Casa Blanca.
    â€œYou seem far away,” Raine said.
    â€œJust listening to the music,” Matt replied. “Are you hungry?”
    â€œAre you eager to be done with me and deposit me safely back at the hotel?” Raine teased.
    Matt looked into her light-green eyes and saw a fleeting hint of uncertainty. “Not at all; let’s have another.”
    â€œGoody.”
    They talked for half an hour, mostly about Raine growing upin San Diego, raised by a