A Match Made in Texas (28 page)

“No. But from what I hear, it’s hens only.”

“Hens.” He snorted. “The word brings to mind calm, roosting birds. Those old women are the furthest things from calm or roosting. They’ve cooked up something for this weekend but refuse to tell me what. And maybe it’s best if I don’t know.” He gave her a serious look. “But I’m counting on you to call me if things get too out of hand.”

“I wish I could help you out with that, but I’m not going.”

“Because of Sheriff Hicks?” When she didn’t say anything, he came to his own conclusions. “So what was so different about this man? I guess he didn’t treat you like a fragile piece of glass.”

“Not hardly. He handcuffed me, tossed me in jail, and would’ve thrown away the key if Judge Seeley hadn’t showed up.” Before the dark cloud even settled on her brother’s face, she held up a hand. “I deserved it after almost running him off the road and then spraying him with the mace Billy gave me for Christmas.”

Beau tipped back his head and laughed. “This sounds like the type of story I need to hear from the beginning.”

It was funny how easily the words came. After spending the last week trying to forget Dusty, it felt good to finally get to talk about him. Unlike Billy and Brant, Beau was a great listener. The memories crowded in on one another, and she ended up telling much more than she had intended. She told him about being forced to become Dusty’s housekeeper, about Dusty hiding her from Jared, working at Twyla’s, and fixing up Emma’s room. Finally, she told him about Dusty’s last phone call.

When she was finished, Beau voiced her exact thoughts.

“But that doesn’t make any sense. Why would he call and break it off when it sounds like things were going pretty well between the two of you?”

“Exactly,” Bri said, relieved she wasn’t the only confused one. “It makes no sense.”

Beau squinted in thought. “The last time you talked, did you mention marriage? Babies’ names? Your last boyfriend’s sexual fetish?”

She sent him an exasperated look. “Of course not. I’ve listened to my brothers long enough to know those are no-no topics. It was something else that triggered his anger. What made you the angriest when you were dating Jenna?”

Beau didn’t hesitate to answer. “Her ex-boyfriend. After we were married, I found an old picture on her phone of the two of them together, and I thought I was going to implode.”

“Well, I don’t have any pictures of me—” Bri stopped and stared at Beau. “That’s it. He must’ve seen my picture on the Internet and assumed what everyone else has assumed—that I’m some partying socialite with no moral compass whatsoever.” Too excited to remain sitting, she jumped to her feet. “Which means that all I need to do is explain things to him.”

“Like why you didn’t tell him in the first place.”

“Of course I didn’t tell him.” she defended herself. “Why would I bring something like that up? Especially when he’s so concerned about keeping a squeaky-clean reputation so he can get custody of—” All the joy drained right out of her. “Emma. Of course, he had to break it off with me. He didn’t have a choice. Not when his daughter’s custody case is coming back up before a judge.”

Bri melted down to the floor. In the last week, she’d held on to a small spark of hope that Dusty would have second thoughts and come find her. Now she realized that he would never come looking for her. His first choice would always be Emma’s welfare. Which was exactly as it should be.

Seeing her expression, Beau reached out and took her hand. “That’s ridiculous. Certainly one picture of a girlfriend wouldn’t change a judge’s mind about custody.”

“It would if the judge was already on the wife’s side.”

“Then you need to give Dusty that choice, Bri. Tell him about what happened in Mexico. Tell him that you love him. And then let him make the decision.”

“But what if he does love me, Beau? And what if after all that he’s done to get his daughter back, it’s my picture that screws things up for him? How could he ever forgive me? How could I forgive myself? No, it’s better to let things end like this.”

“Better for who?”

“For Emma. Every daughter deserves to spend time with a great daddy, Beau.”

She expected him to argue, but instead he released his breath and laid back. With all her energy drained out of her, she joined him. And for a long while, they just lay there, staring up at the bare rafters.

It was Beau who broke the silence. “Why does life have to be so danged complicated?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “But I’m glad we have family to help us through it.”

He turned his head. “Me too, Bri, me too.” He glanced up, and his smile turned impish. “What say we see if my baby sister bounces much better than she used to?”

Chapter Twenty-nine

T
HINGS WERE LOOKING UP FOR
J
OSIAH.
The camera crew had arrived a day earlier and was camped out at a nearby hotel waiting for his call. And his great-aunt had fallen and hurt her hip, giving him the perfect excuse to move both the old coots out of his house in Malibu and back into the state-run care facility. Of course, he would have to fumigate his house before he moved back in. Old people had a smell about them that was hard to get rid of.

And speaking of smells…

The strong odor of onions and bacon grease hit him full in the face as soon as he stepped into Josephine’s Diner. And after a night of drinking, it wasn’t exactly a welcome scent. Still, he plastered on a broad smile and held out his hands to encompass the roomful of country bumpkins.

“Good morning, my God-loving brothers and sisters!”

The conversation stopped, and all eyes turned to him. Then just as quickly, they turned away and the conversation resumed. For a moment, his smile slipped as he was consumed by an overwhelming anger that such ignorant people would have the audacity to ignore him. But remembering his purpose for being there, he shoved down the anger and moved toward an empty stool at the counter. The gray-haired waitress—he’d forgotten her name—was standing behind the counter talking to the mayor.

“… Cora Lee said the sheriff is mopin’ around like he’s lost his best friend since she up and ran off. And I just think it’s a cryin’ shame.”

The mayor nodded. “I couldn’t agree more, Rachel. I shore wish she hadn’t left. She’s such a sweet little thing and gave me the best darned haircut I’ve ever—” He stopped and glanced over his shoulder at the woman sitting at the table behind him. “Besides you, of course, Twyla.”

Twyla flapped her hand. “No need to worry about hurtin’ my feelin’s, Harley. I might love men, but I haven’t ever liked workin’ on their hair. Hair clippers remind me of that drill at the dentist office.” She shivered and her breasts jiggled, causing Josiah to mentally kick himself for not making more of an effort to get the woman in bed.

“Well, I sure wish there was a way to get her back,” the waitress said. She glanced over at Josiah. He thought she would continue to ignore him, but as soon as he flipped over his cup, she was there with a pot of coffee. Not that he would ever consume the thick shit she poured into his cup.

“Thank you, sister,” he said. “Servitude is a true calling from God.”

Her eyes narrowed for a fraction of a second before she pulled the menu out from between the sugar container and the ketchup and slapped it down in front of him. “The special is eggs and pork chops, but we ran out of pork chops so Josephine is substitutin’ ground round.”

Josiah replaced the menu and winked at her. “I’m sure whatever culinary delights that come from Josephine’s kitchen would be worthy of a king.” He paused for dramatic effect. “Or a hen.” When she didn’t take the bait, he was forced to be more direct. “And speaking of hens, from what I hear from Wilma, Josephine is catering quite the party out at the Henhouse.” He nonchalantly reached for the cream. “What time exactly does the party start?”

Before the waitress could answer, the deputy who had given him all the tickets spoke up. “It won’t do you no good to know the time. The party is for hens only.”

Josiah paused in the middle of stirring cream into his coffee and felt his blood pressure shoot sky high. Hens only? How could he possibly get good footage for his teaser if there were only women at the Henhouse? He needed a bunch of horny men if he wanted to pull off his ruse. Which posed an entirely different problem. A few strippers who were willing to take off their clothes for money had been easy to come by, but men willing to take off their clothes would be much harder. Especially when he only had two days left to hire them. He had just started to panic when Sheriff Winslow joined in the conversation.

The sheriff was sitting on the other side of the mayor, looking no worse for wear after shooting off a toe. Although a pair of crutches rested against the counter next to him.

“Invitation or no invitation,” he said, “I imagine every young buck in the county will be headin’ out that way come eight o’clock on Saturday night to see if he can get a peek of hens partying. And poor Dusty will have his hands full corralin’ the craziness.”

Josiah smiled at just the thought of all those underage boys being sucked into the evilness of Miss Hattie’s. He lifted his cup in a toast to himself and took a sip, not realizing his mistake until he swallowed the foul-tasting sludge. Words spilled from his mouth before he could stop them.

“What the hell?”

Every eye turned to him, and he was forced to do some quick thinking.

“What hell destroys, heaven will resurrect,” he improvised.

The waitress’s eyes zeroed in on him. “And you sure caused a lot of hell, Reverend.”

“She’s right.” A woman got up out of her booth. “It was pure hell tryin’ to keep from gossipin’. And I have the hives to prove it.” She pointed to the red rash on her cheeks. “And what harm was I doin’ by spreadin’ a little news?”

Another woman got to her feet, her knitting needles clacking. “Or spending my time craftin’?”

A large, mean-looking cowboy got up from the other side of the booth. “Or makin’ money at Dalton Oil, rather than buildin’ stupid birdhouses that no one wants?”

The mayor stood up. “Just what are you still doin’ in Bramble, Reverend?”

Since the ignorant hicks had served their purpose, Josiah rose with every intention of spouting a few words of wisdom before heading for the door. Unfortunately, the mean-looking cowboy stepped in front of it, blocking his only exit and forcing Josiah to address the mayor and the question.

“Why, my brother, I’m here for exactly the reason I told you… to spread the word of God to my flock.”

“A flock?” the woman with the teased hair and great tits said. “You got a herd of sheep, Reverend?”

Before Josiah could answer, the old man sitting on the stool behind him spoke. And since Josiah had thought he was asleep, the old guy’s loud, gruff voice caused him to jump.

“I think he’s referrin’ to us, Twyla.”

Josiah turned and found himself staring into a pair of piercing blue eyes. Eyes that held a wisdom that made Josiah instantly nervous. Or maybe what made him nervous were the people closing in on him. All the occupants of the diner had gotten out of their seats and moved closer.

“Of course, I wasn’t literally referring to sheep,” Josiah said. “Sheep are just a symbol that demonstrates how important a group of followers are to a man of God. A flock is a shepherd’s most prized possession.” Trying to calm the crowd, he reverted to the Bible. “ ‘The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures—’ ”

“ ‘He leadeth me beside still waters.’ ” The old man’s eyes never wavered. “ ‘He restoreth my soul.’ ” He looked around at the people in the diner. “How many here have felt like the reverend has restored their soul?”

Not a person raised their hand.

The old man looked back at him. “You ain’t a shepherd, and we sure as heck ain’t your flock. You’re just some outta luck con artist who happened on our little town. And I think you’ve worn out your welcome, Reverend.” He nodded at the mean-looking cowboy. “Rye, why don’t you show Elvis here to the door.”

“Now wait one minute,” Josiah said as the cowboy clamped his meat-hook hands on his shoulders. “Just who do you think you are?”

The old man pulled out a squashed Solo cup and spit into it. “The name’s Moses.” He winked. “And I think I’ve bested you before.”

Chapter Thirty

“Y
OU ARE
P
RINCE
E
RIC.”
Emmie arranged the bent tiara on his head. “And I are Princess Ariel. Except I don’t has flippers.” She wiggled her bare toes at him. The tiny nails were painted blue. Not an electric blue like Brianne’s, more of a baby blue. Still, the color caused his smile to slip, and before he could get it back, Emmie cradled his cheeks in her small hands.

“It’s not sad that I don’t has my flippers, Pa. ’Cause now we can dance. But ’cause I traded them to the sea witch for legs, I can’t talk. Which Mommy says is sometimes a blessin’.”

Unable to resist, Dusty leaned in and kissed her on the nose. “I can’t imagine why.”

Emmie returned the favor, kissing his cheek so hard that it caused his tiara to slip. He made a grab for it as his daughter marched over to the white wicker clothes hamper.