A Match Made in Texas (11 page)

“I don’t care what the reverend says,” she sobbed. “I’ll try to stop gossipin’, but servitude is for the birds!” She jerked off her stained apron and tossed it to the counter before racing past Dusty and out the door.

Everyone started speaking at once, not about why Cindy Lynn was working at Josephine’s, but about the poor service and cold food. Dusty listened to their complaints for a few moments before he held up a hand.

“Would someone please tell me why Rachel Dean quit?”

The crowd quieted as Darla answered the question. “So she could discover the cure for cancer.”

Thinking that he was so distracted by her hands knitting with no needles that he hadn’t heard her correctly, Dusty leaned closer. “Excuse me?”

“She quit so she could discover the cure for cancer.” Rye Pickett set his coffee cup down on the counter none-too-gently. The thick stuff inside barely even rippled. “And I’ve got to tell you, after drinkin’ this sludge, I might just need it.”

The crowd started to get riled again, but Dusty jumped in before they could get out of hand. “So you’re telling me that Rachel Dean thinks she can cure cancer? Where did she come up with that crazy idea?”

Everyone spoke at once, but this time they said the exact same thing.

“Reverend Josiah Jessup.”

It only took a moment for things to fall into place. Dusty’s muscles tightened in his neck.

“Is this the same reverend who looks like Elvis and drives a big red Cadillac?”

Rye nodded. “That’s the one. I ain’t never been much of a religious man myself, but Reverend Jessup has changed all that. The man is like one of them one-eight-hundred fortunetellers—except he don’t charge you five dollars per minute. The saintly man gives all his fortunes for free.” He hooked his thumbs into the tool belt strapped around his waist. “He took one look at me and told me I was in the wrong bid-ness. Said I had carpenter hands just like Jesus and needed to build things.”

He lifted the most pathetic-looking birdhouse Dusty had ever seen off the stool next to him and set it on the counter. “So I quit my job at Dalton Oil and started buildin’. I figured I needed to start small before I moved on to a big project. I worked straight through the night and, after only fourteen hours, ended up with this beaut.” He tapped the very peak of the birdhouse, and with a creak and a clatter, it folded like a house of cards. Rye stared at the pile of wood in confusion. “I guess I needed to use more Elmer’s.”

“Try hot glue,” Darla said as she knitted with the imaginary needles and yarn. “It works like a charm.” Her expression turned sad. “In fact, you can just have my glue gun and cases of glue since I won’t be needin’ them now that the reverend has made me see how frivolous my craft hobbies were.”

Dusty’s shoulders tightened even more. He had always thought that Darla’s creations were a little over the top. Especially the “Guns and Roses” float she had made one year for the homecoming parade. But the woman reminded Dusty of his mama, who also liked to knit, and the thought of some evangelistic minister showing up and talking her out of doing something she got so much pleasure out of really pissed him off.

Not to mention the fact that Rye was now out of a job.

Or that Dusty really could’ve used a cup of Rachel Dean’s coffee.

“Where is this reverend?” he asked.

“I’m not sure where he is right now,” Darla said. “He was stayin’ with Sheriff Winslow and Myra until Sam shot off his pinkie toe and they had to head to the hospital.”

Without another word, Dusty turned for the door as Rye yelled out.

“But ain’t you gonna do something about my coffee?”

“Sorry, Rye,” he called back over his shoulder. “I’m a sheriff, not a restaurant manager.”

Dusty was almost to his squad car when he made the mistake of glancing down the street. He stopped dead in his tracks, and his jaw dropped. Doc Mathers had been right. The entire town of Bramble had gone stark-raving crazy. And the cherry on the top of that craziness was heading straight toward him.

“Hold up there, Sheriff!” Mayor Sutter called as he pedaled toward Dusty.

At least, Dusty thought it was Mayor Sutter. The voice and handlebar mustache were the same. What was different was the clothing. Instead of western wear and cowboy boots, the mayor wore tight biker shorts that revealed a pair of skinny, white-as-death legs and a black nylon shirt with a vibrant orange stripe.

“I’m glad I caught you,” the mayor said as he rolled to a stop. With his biking shoes clipped to the pedals, the bike started to topple like Rye’s birdhouse. Fortunately, Dusty caught it before the mayor hit the ground. While Dusty held on to the bike, Harley worked to get his feet free. When he finally succeeded, he took back the handlebars and stood on his tiptoes, his big belly protruding out like a nine-month-pregnant woman’s.

And that wasn’t the only thing protruding out of the tight nylon. Dusty cringed and looked away.

“Thank you, son,” Harley said. “This exercise stuff is going to take some getting used to, but no one becomes the next governor of Texas by sitting on their butt.” Before Dusty could get over the governor thing, the mayor continued. “So I guess you heard about Sam Winslow.”

“Exactly what happened?”

“I’m not real sure. Sam was already drugged up by the time I reached the doc’s office, and Myra was too upset to get much out of.”

“I’m sure it’s upsetting for your husband to get shot.”

The mayor shook his head. “Sam will be fine. I think she was more upset about the accident moving the ladies’ luncheon from her house to Wilma Tate’s. The reverend is the guest speaker. And let me tell you somethin’, that man can sure talk. If the ladies’ club didn’t have a strict rule about no men, I’d head on over to Wilma’s myself.” He glanced down at the bike, and his mustache drooped. “ ’Course, I’m a little too busy to hang out at a luncheon. I need to shed a few pounds before the campaign pictures. And figure out a snappy slogan. What do you think of ‘Listen to Your Mutter, Vote for Harley Sutter’?”

Dusty couldn’t bring himself to reply to that question. “I’m assuming that the Reverend Jessup is the one behind your desire to become the next governor of Texas.”

Harley nodded. “I have to admit that I hadn’t even thought about it until the reverend brought it up. I had planned on retiring and letting Hope Lomax take over. But the reverend made me realize that a man can’t just give up his political duties and spend his days fishin’. He has a responsibility to the people. And if I can help the folks of Texas, I’m more than willin’ to jump into the race.”

Dusty could only imagine what would happen to the state of Texas if Harley Sutter became governor. Damned good parades and total chaos. Of course, the mayor would never get that far. And Dusty wasn’t about to let the man suffer that kind of embarrassment.

“So was this Reverend Jessup there when Sam was shot?” he asked.

“I would imagine so. He was at Sam and Myra’s when it happened. And speakin’ of Sam, that’s why I stopped you.” He adjusted the strap on his bike helmet. “I wanted to talk with you about helpin’ out while Sam is laid up. The doc said it would be at least a month.”

“I don’t have a problem helping out until Sam can get back on his feet,” Dusty said. “So when is this luncheon at Wilma’s?”

“This afternoon.” Harley reached out and thumped him on the back. “I knew I could count on you, son. And it won’t be like you’ll have it all on your shoulders. I swore in a deputy just this morning.”

As if on cue, a siren blasted and a patrol car came barreling down the street with lights flashing. Dusty had only a moment to close his eyes in exasperation before the car swung into the parking lot of the diner.

The siren had barely cut off before Kenny’s head poked out the open window. “Lookee at me, Sheriff. I got me a si-reen and everything!”

Chapter Eleven

B
Y THE TIME
B
RI FINISHED CLEANING
Dusty’s house, she needed a shower in a bad way. As she stripped off her clothes and stepped into the tiny stall, she couldn’t help feeling a deep sense of accomplishment. A feeling she hadn’t felt since college.

While the rest of her family worked—her parents still ran the farm equipment business in Dogwood; Brant, Billy, and Beckett worked at C-Corp; and Beau had the Henhouse and Jenna’s new nonprofit organization—Bri didn’t have anything to do.

She would like to blame her sedentary lifestyle on her overprotective family who seemed happiest when she was doing nothing more than planning a party or getting her nails done, but the truth was she was still looking for her true calling. Thinking she would work at C-Corp, she had decided to major in business. After failing statistics, she dropped that major and went into architecture. When those classes bored her, she moved on to web design. Then interior design. Then engineering. Six majors later, she finally graduated with a degree in university studies. Which qualified her to do absolutely nothing.

But today, she hadn’t done nothing. She’d done something. And she had a clean house to prove it.

The hot water felt wonderful, and she stood for a good five minutes under the showerhead. It was the perfect height for her, but she had to wonder how the sheriff managed it. He would have to scrunch clear down to get his head wet. The thought had her smiling. The smile faded when her imagination took a curve and she found herself knee-deep in a shower fantasy. She visualized the sheriff completely naked, imagining a body as tanned and muscled as the forearms displayed by his cuffed shirts. Once she had a good picture in her mind, she added her soapy hands skating over his hard flesh. Molding to the knots of his biceps. Sliding over the subtle ripples of his stomach. Cupping the smooth, hard muscles of his butt.

It was really too bad that the hot water ran out so quickly—the cold spray dousing the fantasy and her desire. Or maybe it was a good thing. She had no business fantasizing about Sheriff Hicks. Especially when he wasn’t the type of man who could have a little fun without setting down a lot of rules and regulations. And Bri wasn’t about to get into another serious relationship.

Especially when she hadn’t gotten rid of her last boyfriend.

Bri still felt badly about Jared. She’d had no idea that he had fallen in love with her. She thought he viewed their relationship the same way she did: two friends who enjoyed thrill-seeking adventures. Her guilt about not making her feelings clear from the beginning was probably why she hadn’t put her foot down as far as the stalking went. And why she had played dumb about how the picture had ended up on the Internet. That, and if her brothers ever talked with Jared, they’d find out about her death-defying acts. Which would piss them off twice as much as any naked picture.

Quickly finishing her shower, Bri turned off the water and reached for a towel. It was thin, thread-worn, and so small that, once tucked around her, it barely reached the tops of her thighs. She wrapped another around her wet hair turban-style before she left the steamy bathroom and headed into the sheriff’s room to see if she could find a shirt that would work with her pants.

The room looked much cleaner. She had changed the sheets and made the bed. Organized his three pairs of shoes in the closet: dress, running, and boots. And cleaned the windows and mopped the tile floor. The only thing she hadn’t touched was the top of the six-drawer dresser, mostly because it was covered with clutter: Chapstick, a pack of Dentyne gum, an extra sheriff’s badge, a photograph of Emma in a silver frame, nail chippers… and a pair of shiny handcuffs.

They were identical to the cuffs he’d used on her. And just the sight of them had a tingle of excitement coursing through Bri’s body, prompting her to reach out and pick them up.

The metal was cold, but it quickly heated in her palm. Her gaze drifted over to the bed as another fantasy took form in her mind. A fantasy that included her and a very naked sheriff, who was forcing her to do all kinds of naughty, naughty—

“What the hell are you doing?”

Bri’s heart jumped to her throat as she whirled around to the doorway. Just that quickly the fantasy was erased by the reality of a fully clothed sheriff with a very grumpy scowl. His mirrored sunglasses pinned her like a fly on a glob of honey.

She hid the cuffs behind her back. “Umm… I was just straightening up.”

His head dipped as he gave her the once-over. “In nothing but a towel?”

She tried to control her blush. “I thought you wouldn’t mind if I showered.”

He stepped closer, and without her heels, she felt like a naughty schoolgirl addressing the principal, which caused another fantasy to pop into her head. She blinked it away.

“Well, you’re wrong,” he said as he pulled off his sunglasses and tucked them in the open collar of his shirt. “I do mind. You’re supposed to be cleaning, not enjoying my shower. Or messing with my things.”

“Now why would I want to mess with your thing—things?” She pointed at the chest of drawers in an attempt to get his steely gaze off her. “I was just straightening your dresser. So is that your daughter? She’s a real cutie. How old is she? Three? Four? My nephew Bobby is just a little over two and getting into every—” She glanced back and realized that his eyes hadn’t wavered from her.

“What’s behind your back?”

She sent him her most innocent, wide-eyed look. “Behind my back? Why, nothing.” She laughed. “You’re certainly paranoid, Sheriff. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go get dressed so you can take me back to Miss Hattie’s.” She tried to step around him, but he caught her arm. The towel inched lower, and with one arm being held and the other hiding the handcuffs, there wasn’t one damned thing she could do about it.