Rawlins makes no sense to outsiders. Beautiful homes sit next to dumps. Our Main Street includes many empty businesses while ending at the gold-domed city hall building.

The mishmash is caused by the planning committee consisting of our lazy mayor, his dippy receptionist, and a wealthy man with poor eyesight. My mother, Tana Savo, wants to be on the committee, but we aren’t the right kind of townsfolk. Though I considered making threats to get her the spot, Mom wouldn’t appreciate the effort.

“If I’m not good enough for them, then they’re beneath me,” she said when I hinted at making a few calls.

Our tiny, yellow rental house sits miles outside of town. The country residence allows us privacy, but we lack nearby neighbors. I moved out here to give my kids a big yard and lots of land to play on. These days, they’re more interested in hanging out with friends than each other.

I still like the small house even if the kids share a room, Mom sleeps in what’s meant to be a sunroom, and I can’t stretch out completely in bed without knocking my knuckles or feet against the walls.

Despite the sometimes painfully small size, I can’t leave the home where my kids were babies. I’m a sentimental pussy that way.

Parking under the carport, I leave the Harley and walk past a dozen stray cats that live on the property. Mom sits on the front porch with two of the larger ones. Years ago, when a local vet was offering half-priced neutering and spaying, we got them all fixed. Yet somehow, we end up with new kittens every few months. One of the nip-tucks clearly didn’t take.

After greeting my mother, I walk inside where I start dinner. The front screen door shuts, and I glance back to see Mom approaching. She still looks like the island beauty I imagine wowed my father years ago. Her black and gray hair reaches her waist, and she rarely wears shoes even in the winter.

“Have a good day?” she asks and looks out the window at the cats roaming the yard.

“I met the infamous Ginger Snaps,” I say while giving the top of her head a kiss. “Foxiest woman I’ve ever seen.”

“This is the killer you’re drooling over?” Mom asks.

I open the fridge to retrieve meat for dinner. Mom pokes me when I don’t answer her question.

“She is a badass, yes. That doesn’t change how foxy she is. I expected the first part, not the second.”

“Women like that make bad mothers.”

“I’m not looking for a mother,” I say and smile. “I already have the best one.”

Mom playfully slaps my arm. “Your dick gets you into trouble.”

“My dick gave you two grandchildren.”

“With horrible mothers.”

No denying she’s right, I say instead, “The kids are happy.”

“You should be careful with this one.”

“I won’t screw her unless I’m armed.”

“I meant you should use a condom. She’s not the kind of woman who will dump her child for you to raise. She’ll take the baby away. Women like that don’t need or trust men. You should remember that.”

“I will. Ginger’s got a mouth on her. She reminds me of you and Alani.”

“Then you really need to watch yourself. You’re already whipped by your daughter. You don’t need a woman adding another leash around your neck.”

“I hope Alani grows up to be a badass like you or even Ginger. I don’t want men taking advantage of her.”

“Men like you?”

“No, bad men. I’m a fucking teddy bear.”

Mom throws her head back and laughs. I smile at her amusement, admiring how beautiful she remains even after a long, hard life. Because of my mother, I believe the sexiest women have been beaten down but never broken by life.

“I wonder if Ginger can cook,” I say while browning the ground beef. “I suspect she can’t.”

Mom sits at the kitchen table. “Well, that’s the deal breaker. Not her violent personality but an inability to make your food.”

“Quit your bitching. I haven’t brought home a stray in a long while.”

“I know, but the TV’s been out all morning. Boredom makes me bitchy.”

“Did you call the cable company?”

“They said they’re working on it.”

“It’s bullshit. We pay for a service, not to have them working on it.”

“If we lived closer to downtown Rawlins, we’d have better service,” she says, giving me that look of hers.

“So you keep telling me. I often wonder if you’re the one who keeps jacking our cable, just so I’ll move closer to town.”

Mom’s lips tighten into a thin line. Is she angry at the accusation or because I caught onto her bullshit? Either way, she pretends the subject never came up.

“Kids will be arriving soon,” she says and kneels to feed the indoor cats. “They’re the last kids to get off the bus.”

“That’s because we live so far away from town.”

“Is it?” she asks innocently.

Laughing, I flick water from the faucet at her. “With the money coming from the Little Memphis club, we ought to be in a better situation soon. Ginger and her people are doing renovations on the property they bought. With the infusion of cash, we can look at getting something closer to downtown.”

“That’s my boy,” Mom says, hugging me. “It’ll be better for me now that I can’t drive so much. I’ll walk around and make friends. It’ll be good for the kids too.”

“What about all the cats you feed outside?”

“Oh, they’ll do fine. They’re more feral than not, and I don’t think they’ll miss us.”

Mom kneels to play with our indoor cats and whispers how they’ll have a new home soon.

With dinner nearly ready, I cover the pan and head outside to meet the kids at the end of our long driveway. Crime isn’t too bad around Rawlins, but I don’t trust anyone. My kids are always supervised, and I plan to drive them nuts long into adulthood.