A Match Made in Texas (7 page)

Minnie nodded. “Family is important. But sometimes a woman needs to put herself first.”

Before Bri could figure out how being thrown in jail was putting yourself first, the sheriff pulled her toward the door. Suddenly, all thoughts about keeping her identity a secret fled.

“I’m Brianne Cates,” she said. “My brothers own C-Corp, and when they hear about this—”

Sheriff Hicks came to a satisfying halt. “You’re a sister to the Cates brothers?”

Bri straightened her shoulders and sent him a haughty look. “Baby sister.”

A look came over the sheriff’s face—annoyance mixed with a whole lot of hate.

“Then I’m sure you’ll have plenty of money to post bail.”

Chapter Six

J
OSIAH DID NOT BELIEVE
in forgiving and forgetting. He did believe in an eye for an eye. It was the golden rule that he’d lived by his entire life. When those high school boys had taken his Halloween candy, he’d retaliated by slitting their tires and keying their car doors. When his father had overreacted and spanked Josiah for stealing the action figure from the drugstore, he’d laced his daddy’s bottle of Jack Daniel’s with pure rubbing alcohol that had sent him to the hospital for a week. And when his last wife had revealed his misappropriation of funds, he’d paid a very unsavory character to dish out punishment. Although a little physical intimidation wasn’t even close to the hell his ex had put him through.

And now he had another score to settle.

How dare the flamboyant hussy in the wheelchair ignore his congenial efforts at friendship and call him a blustering windbag. He was a man of God. A man of God who refused to be spoken down to by a two-bit hooker who should be spending her last days on earth repenting instead of enjoying her life in a mansion twice the size of his.

It was wrong.

And Josiah would not rest until he had corrected the error.

He pulled his cell phone from his jacket pocket and dialed through his contacts until he found the number he was looking for. As he waited for the television producer to answer, he steered the Cadillac with his knees and tried to repair his toupee in the rearview mirror. It was impossible. The expensive hairpiece was beyond repair. Just something else to hold against the whores at Miss Hattie’s.

Instead of a friendly hello, the phone was answered with exasperation.

“I told you, Reverend, I can’t get you another time slot,” Mike Fowler said. “Your ratings dropped lower than that Cadillac you like to tool around in, and I’m still dealing with lawsuits. And speaking of lawsuits, if you don’t stop hassling me, I’m going to slap a restraining—”

“I would never dream of hassling you, my son.” He gave up on trying to fix the toupee and hooked a hand over the steering wheel. “Not when I’ve finally realized that you are absolutely one hundred and ten percent correct. My television show had run its course. Like Carol Burnett, Lawrence Welk, and soap operas, evangelistic television is going the way of the dinosaurs. People today want to watch something more than Bible preaching and choir singing.”

“You got that right,” Mike said. “They want shows with plenty of action and—”

“Scandal?” Josiah finished for him.

“I was going to say realism, but scandal is definitely in the top ten. I’m sorry, Reverend. It looks like you’ll be forced to do most of your preaching from the pulpit. Now I need to—”

“What if I could promise you scandal and realism?”

There was a long pause. “What are we talking about here? Because if this has anything to do with coming clean about the money you used for that house in Malibu, I suggest you keep your mouth shut. Not only for your sake, but for the network’s.”

Josiah pushed back a strand of his toupee that kept flapping in his face. “I have nothing to come clean about, Mike. I built that house as a home for the elderly who would otherwise be tossed out on the streets. I thought everyone knew that.”

Mike snorted. “Yeah right. So what are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about a television show like no one has ever seen before. One that would give people the action, scandal, and realism they crave and, at the same time, the righteousness that they need.”

There was a pause before Mike spoke. “Go on.”

“I would still preach the word, but I’d be preaching to the people who really needed it—the deprived, retched souls who had lost their way in the bowels of wickedness.”

“Are you saying you want to take the cameras on location?”

Josiah could hear the excitement in Mike’s voice, and he smiled. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. Every week, I’d go to another den of iniquity and bring a ray of light to their otherwise dark world.”

“And just what dens are we talking about?”

“You name it. Crack houses, strip clubs… whorehouses.”

Mike laughed. “You know of a lot of those, do you?”

Josiah bristled. “Are you making fun of me?”

“Actually, no. I think you could be onto something here. Of course, I’ll need to run it by the higher-ups. But before I do, we need a teaser—thirty minutes of film should do. Do you have any ideas on where you want to start your crusade against evil?”

Josiah smiled. “The infamous Miss Hattie’s Henhouse.”

“I thought that place had closed down.”

“An obvious lie to keep the wickedness going.” He glanced in his rearview mirror, surprised to see the flashing red lights. He looked down at the speedometer, but since he was going under the speed limit, he figured the officer was after someone else and pulled over out of the way. “But I’ll need to do some more investigation and get back to you.”

“I’ll look forward to it,” Mike said.

The producer’s about-face had Josiah smiling even broader. The smile died when the sheriff’s car pulled up behind him. Not because he was worried about getting a ticket but because the sight brought back the memory of the woman who had been pulled over earlier. The same woman who had witnessed his humiliation at the Henhouse.

He’d recognized her as soon as she’d stepped out of the door of Miss Hattie’s. Not her face as much as her shapely hips that had been so nicely displayed when the sheriff had her bent over the trunk of his car. And Josiah rarely forgot a nice ass. Which was another thing that pissed him off. He might’ve succeeded in getting a little piece of it if the crippled hag hadn’t pulled out the gun. And who knew, maybe he still would. There was something very familiar about the woman’s face. He had seen her before, and not just today.

The sound of crunching gravel beneath boots brought him out of his thoughts and back to the present. He glanced in his side mirror, half expecting to see the sheriff who had arrested the woman. Instead, it was a much older man.

“I’m sorry, Sheriff,” Josiah said before the man had even reached him. “Was I speeding? Or is this about me talking on my cell?”

The sheriff hooked his thumbs in his loaded-down utility belt. “I wish it was one of those.” His eyes narrowed. “Nope, this has to do with my wife.”

Josiah’s smile froze as he mentally stumbled over the list of married women he’d screwed in the last year. It took a while. Married women seemed to love having sex with preachers as much as a dog loved chasing his tail. Up until this point, Josiah had suffered no bad effects from his little trysts.

But he figured that was about to change.

He looked down at the gun handle the sheriff toyed with and held up his hands. “I’m sure I can explain without things getting violent. Your wife probably misunderstood something I said… or did.”

The man looked confused before he followed Josiah’s gaze down to the gun on his hip. “Oh, you’re one of them city slickers that are a little fidgety around guns.” He rested his hand on the handle. “No need to worry. You’re not in trouble. The reason I stopped you is because my wife, Myra, never has let Wilma Tate get one up on her. And if I let you leave Texas without her gettin’ to meet a celebrity, I’ll be eatin’ TV dinners for the rest of my born days.”

At the news, Josiah relaxed. “Well, of course, I would love to meet the wife of such an esteemed officer of the law. I have always been appreciative of all our crime fighters in uniform—but especially sheriffs. To me, a sheriff is a heroic Wyatt Earp ridding our country of vile criminals with his blazing fast six-shooter.”

The sheriff squinted. “Blazin’ fast? I don’t know if I’d go that far.”

Josiah continued to lay the bullshit on thick. “Humility. I’d expect nothing less from a true hero. Although, someday, I hope to get a demonstration of your skill. But for now, lead the way, Sheriff.” He popped the Cadillac into drive. “Your good wife awaits.”

The confused look remained on the sheriff’s face as he turned and headed back to his squad car. In the side mirror, Josiah watched as he stopped and tried to do a quick draw. The gun had no more than cleared the leather when it slipped from the sheriff’s hand and bounced out into the street.

Josiah smiled.

Just like taking candy from a baby.

Chapter Seven

B
RIANNE
C
ATES.

Dusty glanced in the rearview mirror at the woman in the backseat and wanted to cuss a blue streak. It was just his luck to have arrested the only daughter of the most influential family in the state of Texas. This morning, he’d been worried about his headquarters moving to a bigger city. Now he was more worried about keeping his job.

Which didn’t explain why he hadn’t released the woman once he’d found out who she was. That would’ve been the smart thing to do. But Dusty had never made exceptions to the law, and he wasn’t about to start now. Especially for some snooty, rich socialite who reminded him way too much of his ex-wife.

Heather threw her name around as well. Of course, her real estate mogul father didn’t come close to having the power that the Cates brothers did. And maybe that was why Dusty hadn’t backed down and released Brianne. He was damned sick and tired of getting pushed around by money—and beautiful women.

There was no doubt that Brianne Cates was beautiful. He had been only too aware of her great body both times he’d handcuffed her, but he had no idea how creamy her skin was or how perfect her features were until now. The sunshine that shone through the side glass of the back window highlighted a high forehead, straight nose, and full lips. Even in profile, it was hard to pull his gaze away.

“It’s not too late to change your mind, you know.” She glanced up and caught him watching her in the rearview mirror. She smiled. Not a full smile, but just enough to show off dimpled cheeks. “I won’t say a word to my brothers if you return me to Miss Hattie’s.”

“I’m sure you wouldn’t,” he said drily as he returned his gaze to the highway. “But that’s not going to happen.”

“So you’re one of those people who live by the rules,” she said. “And believe it or not, so do I. I’m not sure what happened today. I guess I just sort of lost it.”

“Well, be sure to tell that to the judge when you see him.”

“You do realize that I probably won’t see the judge. My brothers will take care of the situation long before it gets to that point. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised to find them waiting for us when we get to the jail.”

Dusty wouldn’t be surprised, either. Not when the Cates boys had a helicopter and a jet at their disposal. He should just accept defeat and return her to Miss Hattie’s, but he couldn’t seem to do that. This spoiled, arrogant woman had completely disregarded the law, and he wanted her punished for it. Even if she only had to spend an hour behind bars, she was going to damn well do it.

The Cates brothers weren’t waiting for Dusty when he pulled in the parking space marked “Sheriff Hicks.” He glanced back at Brianne hoping to finally see a little fear, but, instead, she looked almost as relieved as he was. Her shoulders sagged as a smile curved her lips.

Confused by her reaction, it took him a while to get out and open the back door. Unlike Heather, Brianne was a little bit of a thing. She didn’t even come up to his chin. Which is probably why he felt so guilty when she cringed in pain as he helped her out of the car. Regardless of how much she deserved to be uncomfortable, he took off the handcuffs as soon as they stepped through the back door.

Taking her arm, he escorted her past his office and straight to Cora Lee’s desk. Cora was bent over the filing cabinet, her butt bouncing up and down on the yoga ball to a country tune that blasted from the radio.

“Five-one-five-oh,” she sang in an off-key voice, “somebody call the po-po. I’m going crazy—” She glanced up and stopped in midsentence. Her gaze drifted over Brianne from the top of her glossy black hair to the tips of her expensive heels. A wide smile spread over her face. “Well, it’s about damned time.” She bounced to her feet and held out a hand. “Cora Lee Simmons.”

Bri took her hand and smiled. It was twice as genuine as the smile she’d given Dusty. And he didn’t know why that pissed him off.

“Brianne Cates. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Simmons.”

Before the farce could continue, Dusty butted in. “Could you get all the paperwork filled out for Miz Brianne Cates, please, Cora. She’ll be staying with us until her family can arrange for bail.”