Red-Hot Texas Nights

 

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This book is dedicated to my beautiful daughter, Brenna Evelyn Groff.

It seems like just yesterday you were crawling out of your playpen and now you're in high school. Where has the time gone?

You've turned into a kind, thoughtful young woman and I couldn't be more proud!

I am truly blessed.

 

CHAPTER 1

It was the moment of truth.

Brandy Louise Tucker switched off the neon-pink
OPEN
sign that hummed in the window of her bakery, Sweet Somethings. Pulling down the hot-pink scalloped shades that spanned the storefront windows, she blocked out the rapidly setting sun and a small town full of prying eyes.

The last thing she needed was an audience.

Throwing the dead bolt on the front door, she double-checked to make sure the ruffled curtains were pulled, too, and then walked behind the main display case filled with what was left of today's freshly made cakes and breads.

Her heart beating ninety-to-nothing, she leaned down behind the cash register and pulled out a small pint-sized Mason jar filled with a pale gold liquid.

It wasn't even close to her specialty—chocolate nirvana cake with marshmallow fluff frosting and rich ganache drizzle—but it was just as addictive.

More so if the rumors floating around Rebel, Texas, were even close to the truth.

She could only pray that they were.

Shaking the jar, she watched the bubbles swirl into a telltale funnel that, as her late granddaddy used to say, was the sign of a damn powerful mix. Judging by the speed of the popping and whirling, the alcohol was well over 160 proof.

But potency was just the half the magic when it came to good moonshine.

Not that Brandy knew all the ins and outs of the stuff. Sure, she was a direct descendant of
the
Archibald Tucker, half of the legendary duo responsible for the infamous Texas Thunder—the best bootleg ever made in the Lone Star State. But Brandy made her living baking cakes and pies. Her claim to fame? Mixing up a light and fluffy buttercream, not stirring together a batch of mash.

Until now.

Her finely tuned taste buds had paid off and she'd done it. She'd supposedly mixed up something better than the original she'd been trying so hard to duplicate. Forget Texas Thunder. This stuff was pure lightning in a jar. A raging tornado.

Texas Tornado.

Her heart pounded at the thought and she drew a deep breath. She was getting way ahead of herself. Yes, she'd tweaked the original recipe, but who knew if it was that much better than Archibald's claim to fame? All she had was the word of a few local bootleggers who'd taken her mash and turned it into an actual brew.

She had no idea if they'd added something to it or altered it during the process. There was no way to be sure that it was 100 percent hers without seeing the process through—from start to finish.

Which was why she needed to come up with another batch of mash and get it to a professional. Someone who could run the mix in a safe, controlled,
legal
environment. Someone who could tell her if she had, indeed, found her own version of liquid gold.

But first she had to taste this jar and see if it truly was all that.

“Don't you think you're going overboard?” Ellie, her baking assistant, asked as she emerged from the storage area and noted the tightly drawn curtains. The woman was in her early twenties, tall and thin, with her long red hair pulled back into a ponytail. She wore a
SWEET SOMETHINGS
pink apron tied around her narrow waist and a matching T-shirt that read
GO ON
 
… WHISPER SWEET SOMETHINGS TO ME
. “It's not like
we
did anything wrong,” she added. “I just handed the mash to a friend who handed it to a friend who handed it to another friend who just so happened to have a hidden still.”

“We've still got a jar of illegal moonshine in our possession.”

“True, but that's also the case for half the people in this town. I'm talking about the processing.
We
didn't brew anything.”

“No, but we might as well have.” Brandy paced the length of the counter and fought down a wave of worry. “What if Sheriff DeMassi knocks on that door right now?”

“Sheriff DeMassi is up in Austin at a law enforcement convention for the next two days. There's just Deputy Marty on duty and I've gotten to know that man really well since I rolled into this town”—she winked—“if you know what I mean. And he's gotten to know me. And, well, he's still hooked even though I made it perfectly clear that one night together doesn't make us a thing. He wouldn't bother us even if he had the time, which he doesn't. He's got his hands full with the Ladies Rotary Bunko Night going on over at the senior center. You know how those women get when the stakes are high.”

Since Ellie had moved to Rebel only a few short years ago, she'd not only slept with most of the available men but had become
the
source for local gossip.

“
Better to get ahead of it
,” she'd told Brandy more than once. “
I know people are gonna talk about me and mine, so I make sure I do the talking first
.”

“Hear tell,” she went on, “Laverne Shipley donated a full spa day at the Hair Saloon as a grand prize. I'll bet those old busybodies are practically pulling each other's hair out by now. You know Sally Goodwin lost her weave during the last poker tournament they hosted, don't you?”

“Seriously?”

Ellie nodded. “Cara Donnelly pulled it out in one handful after Sally laid down a flush. It wasn't pretty.” Ellie's gaze went to the jar sitting on the counter. “Not nearly as pretty as this.” Her eyes twinkled. “I'm telling you, this right here is the golden goose.”

Brandy could only hope.

While the original Texas Thunder recipe had finally been found, Brandy had no clue if her older sister Callie and Callie's fiancé Brett were still in the market to sell it. The two had solved most of their own financial problems for the interim, which meant they weren't in any hurry to make a deal.

Perhaps they'd hold on to the recipe. Or auction it off. Hell, maybe they'd frame it and keep it for sentimental reasons. Brandy didn't know, and she certainly wasn't asking.

Callie Tucker had given up a scholarship to the University of Texas School of Journalism and forfeited her dreams to stay right here in Rebel and raise her two younger siblings when their parents had passed away. Ten years later, she was finally making her own dreams come true with a job at the local newspaper. Even more, she'd found her own happily-ever-after with the love of her life and once-upon-a-time enemy, Brett Sawyer.

The Sawyers and the Tuckers had been feuding harder and longer than any Hatfield and McCoy, but Callie and Brett were doing their damndest to mend the riff. They were getting married next month, much to the shock and dismay of an entire town still divided, but neither cared about public opinion.

They were in love. Happy.

Brandy certainly wasn't going to fudge that up by dumping a load of problems at Callie's feet.

Big problems.

Namely, Brandy needed to get out from under the loan she'd taken out a few months back to help pay the overdue property taxes left behind after her grandfather's death.

She'd been more than eager to put up her equipment for the secure note to help Callie, who'd been under pressure to save the Tucker family home. But Brandy hadn't counted on the new doughnut shop that moved in down the street from her bakery just a few weeks after she'd signed on the dotted line.

A mom-and-pop endeavor, like most places in Rebel, that had taken a bite out of Brandy's early-morning rush. Sure, she was still the only spot for cakes and pies and other custom-baked goods, but her morning muffin rush had brought in a healthy dime, too. With a fledgling business barely six months old, she had to put every available penny back into her bakery if she wanted it to grow. Chop off a chunk for lost income courtesy of Susie Mae's habanero-jelly-filled doughnuts—the new
it
breakfast in Rebel—and the substantial loan repayment, and she'd barely broken even this past month. Forget growing and nurturing Sweet Somethings into the go-to destination for all things sugar in Rebel and the surrounding counties. Particularly among the special-occasion crowd.

At her current size, she could barely produce one wedding cake per week in addition to her regular offerings. To really make a name for herself and get her bakery featured on the go-to website for Hill Country weddings—www.HeartofTexasHappilyEverAfters.com—she needed to crank out at least three to four custom orders. That meant hiring another cake decorator and bringing in a massive second oven.

And that meant she needed more cash.

She reached for the jar. Drawing a deep breath, she willed her hands to steady. Her fingertips caught the edge of the metal and she unscrewed the lid.

A soft
poppp!
sounded as the pressure released. In that next instant, the scent of warm strawberries and something much more potent filled the air and teased her nostrils.

“Go on,” Ellie said when Brandy hesitated. “Do it.”

“I will. Just keep your apron on.” She tamped down on her reservations, summoned her courage, and touched her lips to the thick rim of the glass.

A quick tilt and the first drop hit her tongue. Sizzled its way down her throat. Burned a path between her breastbone and …
Shazam!

Heat rolled through her and firebombed in the pit of her stomach. The floor trembled. The walls blurred. A ringing echoed in her ears.

Holy guacamole.
The taste packed more of a punch than she'd expected. While she'd never been much of a drinker and she had no intention of turning into one, suddenly she could at least understand why, even in this day and age, there were still men willing to risk life and livelihood to take to the woods and brew up their own hooch.

There was nothing like it.