Hungry Heart: Konigsburg, Texas, Book 8 (14 page)

He rested his hand on her wrist, and she felt the warmth of his skin all the way to her toes. “I was hoping you’d go with me next Sunday. You could be another judge. Not that you’d be biased in my favor or anything.”

His smile flashed again, and she cleared her throat. “Nope. No bias here.”

“Will you come?”

She licked her lips. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

“Good.” He lifted his hand, brushing the hair back from her temple with his fingertips.

Not a good idea. You shouldn’t get involved here.
But all of a sudden she couldn’t exactly remember why she shouldn’t.

He leaned forward slowly, maybe giving her a chance to run. A chance she wasn’t going to take. His lips brushed hers, lightly, as his hands cupped her face. He rubbed his thumbs across her cheekbones, dark eyes watching her carefully.

The flecks of green had deepened, making his eyes even darker now. She leaned forward, placing her hands on his shoulders, bringing her mouth against his more firmly. The contact seemed to send an arrow of heat through her body, making her nipples ache, her pulse warm again.

His mouth opened against hers and she let him inside, rubbing her tongue against his, feeling it rasp against her teeth. She sucked his lower lip for a moment, nipping him lightly, hearing the catch in his breath.

His hands dropped to her breasts, cupping, then rubbing them, his palms brushing her nipples to hard points. She felt cool air against her back as he pushed her shirt up, his fingers fumbling with the catch on her bra. His lips drifted down the side of her throat, leaving a trail of heat as he did.

She pushed his shirt up, running her fingers through the slight dusting of hair across his chest, then down along the ripple of muscle over his stomach.

His hands cupped her breasts, pushing the bra aside. He leaned down, taking one nipple into his mouth, sucking, his tongue laving the aching peak.

Somewhere behind them something beeped loudly. Porky came awake with a
woof.

“Shit.” His hands dropped to her hips, his forehead pressed against her breasts. “Shit. Fuck. Goddamn.”

“Timer’s beeping,” she muttered. “And Porky’s awake.”

He nodded, his forehead still resting on her collarbone.

“Fire’s ready. And you’re behind with the meat as it is.”

He raised his head to look at her. “I didn’t plan this.”

“I know.” She wasn’t entirely sure what he meant—the timing with the meat or the timing with the two of them. She brushed a hand across his cheek, pushing his hair back from his face.

“I don’t want to stop.”

“I don’t either.” She slid back a few inches, moving her hands to his shoulders. “But like you once said, barbecue waits for no man.”

“Shit,” he repeated. “Caught in my own trap.”

He pushed himself to his feet, pulling his shirt down. Judging from the bulge of his arousal, he was telling the truth when he said he didn’t want to stop.

Neither did she, but she’d been cooking long enough to know food wasn’t exactly forgiving. And the King’s livelihood was at stake, after all.

“Come on.” He nodded toward the lean-to. “You can help me put the meat on.”

She shook her head. “I can’t. I need to head back up that road while there’s still light.”

“Well, shit again.” He frowned back at her.

She shrugged. “I’ll be back again in a couple of days.”

“Not tomorrow?”

She shook her head. “Monday’s the day I do all the stuff I can’t do during the week, like laundry.”

He gave her a long look, unsmiling. “Was that the wrong move, Darcy? Because I could swear you were a willing participant. If you weren’t, if I went over the line, I apologize.”

She stepped beside him, reaching up to pull his mouth down to hers. Her pulse pounded in her ears again, her fingers spearing into his hair, tangling in the strands alongside his face. For a moment she let herself taste him, letting her own arousal build, then pulled back just before it would have been too late. “Does that feel like the wrong move to you?”

He shook his head, running his thumb along her swollen lower lip. “No, ma’am. It definitely doesn’t. What about you?”

“Willing participant, believe me. Only right now we’ve both got shit to do.”

He closed his eyes, his lips spreading in a rueful grin. “Goddamn. I never thought I’d say it, but fuck barbecue.”

She laughed, then turned quickly before either of them could think better of it. “See you later, chef.”

“Count on it.”

But as she headed down the path to her car, she swore she could feel his gaze, sizzling against her shoulder blades.

Chapter Ten

Chico set up his smoker in the backyard of the Faro around eight in the morning on Sunday, well before the restaurant opened at noon. Tom Ames had spent some time and money making the yard something other than the dump it had been when they first opened the Faro. Now it had a redwood fence on three sides along with a couple of king-size picnic tables and a shaded cement slab that served as a patio at one end. They booked occasional private parties for the yard, but they mostly used it for themselves. Chico figured they’d set up a playpen out here for Deirdre’s baby when the time came. Then everybody could take turns babysitting.

He could have done what the King was probably doing—started cooking at home and then brought the pork to the restaurant after it was mostly done. But he knew if he started the smoker in his backyard, he could count on three or four cousins showing up by midmorning, all of them wondering why they hadn’t been invited to dinner.

He wasn’t interested in explaining the whole thing to his family yet, particularly since they’d be offering him a bunch of barbecue suggestions he didn’t need or want, plus volunteering to be part of the team. Much as he loved them, he had no intention of cooking barbecue alongside them. Not if he wanted to maintain his sanity for the duration of the cook-off.

By eight-forty the coals were ready, the combination of wood and charcoal burned down to a sullen heat. He threw on a couple of handfuls of peach wood chunks that he’d been soaking for a while, allowing the first burst of smoke subside while he carried the pork butts from the Faro’s kitchen where he’d been letting them bask in the rub. He could put them on to smoke all day without worrying about it. In fact, the longer they sat, the better they’d taste. Assuming he could keep from messing with them—lifting the lid for a peek would screw up the cooking time. He probably needed to find something else to do so he wouldn’t.

Clem stepped out of the kitchen as he laid the meat on the grill. “You’re here early.”

He shrugged. “Got to give the ’cue enough time to get bodacious.”

“You done any thinking about sides?”

He straightened, closing the lid on the smoker. “I figure that’s up to you and Tom. He’s the one who set up this little picnic.”

She gave him a dry smile. “I’ll send Leon up to the Stop and Go. Have him pick up some potato salad from the cooler, assuming he can find some that hasn’t been sitting around for too many days.”

Chico narrowed his eyes.

“Okay, okay. I’ll whip up something for you. Maybe I’ll see if I can get Joe LeBlanc to bring something from the Rose, which probably means having Darcy Cunningham bring something since she’s his salad chef.”

His eyes stayed narrow. “Why would LeBlanc send anything?”

Clem smiled again. “Didn’t you hear? I invited Joe and MG to this shindig.”

He felt like groaning all of a sudden. “More chefs? Who else is coming?”

“Oh hell, who knows? Tom asked some people—probably Nando and Kit. Deirdre might have asked some of the Toleffsons. Tom told you to cook for twenty, right?”

“Yeah. I thought he meant people from the bar.”

Clem shook her head. “This is strictly a private party. Although the smell of barbecue will probably be driving people crazy all day long. You’re not seriously worried about this, are you?”

He shrugged. “Not about the food.” Andy Wells, on the other hand, he was definitely worried about.

Clem folded her arms across her chest, eyes narrowing. “So what’s with you and the schoolmarm?”

Right on schedule.
“She’s not a school teacher.”

“Nice deflection. How did you meet her?”

His jaw tightened. “I picked her up on the highway one night.”

Clem shook her head. “Not funny.”

“Not meant to be. How is this any of your business?”

She shrugged. “I figure I’m going to be fielding questions from all your many fans once they see the two of you together. If I knew more about her, I could help you out.” She paused, then gave him a slow smile. “I’m on your side, Chico. You know that. And I really can help you deflect all the people who are going to drive you nuts about this. Let’s face it. She is not the kind of woman they expect to see you with.”

Unfortunately, Clem was absolutely right. And his family would probably be leading the charge in terms of nosiness. “She’s a scientist—works for TCEQ. I came across her one night when her car had broken down out near Oltdorf. I gave her a ride into town. Enough?”

Clem frowned. “What’s TCEQ?”

“Texas Commission on Environmental Quality. She works with water and soil samples.”

Clem gave a low whistle. “Interesting. And now for something completely different.”

His shoulders tightened. “You think she’s out of my league?”

“Nope. And she doesn’t think so either or she wouldn’t be with you. But it’s going to be an interesting few days after people see you together for the first time.” She gave him another dry grin. “Especially people like Nando and the Toleffsons, who are likely to talk about it.”

Chico closed his eyes for a moment.
Well, crap.
He hadn’t really thought about all the ramifications of this barbecue.

“On the other hand…”

“On the other hand?”

Clem shrugged. “You’re a big boy, that’s a given. She strikes me as a big girl too. The two of you should be able to tell the citizens of Konigsburg to get a life without losing too much sleep over it.”

“We should at that.” He pulled out the bag of peach wood chunks from under a bench beside the smoker, dropping another handful into the stainless steel bowl full of water with a touch of peach brandy on one of the picnic tables.

“Okay, one last question.”

He turned back to look at her. At least her smile looked innocent. “What?”

“Potato salad or macaroni salad? I can rock either one.”

“Go for macaroni. And maybe LeBlanc could get Darcy Cunningham to do some salad with vinegar. I figure Tom can spring for dessert.”

Clem chuckled. “Oh, he’ll spring for more than that. The smell from that smoker is going to be pulling in customers all day. Hell, it’s probably already permeated the Lutheran church down the block from here—the whole congregation should be heading over in about an hour. Let’s just hope they don’t decide to storm the backyard once they figure out your ’cue isn’t on the menu.”

She turned and headed back into the kitchen.

Chico looked at the smoker again, resisting the urge to open it and check the meat.
Not yet.
He sighed. It looked to be a long day.

Harris hefted the cooler with the foil-wrapped briskets out of his truck. All he needed to do was set them on the grill and let them cook a bit more until they were ready to eat. The meat was already mostly done. He figured he’d have just enough time to set up the portable smoker in the yard at the Faro before he had to go pick up Darcy at the Rose.

He grimaced. Darcy had only been back to his place once since their very enjoyable encounter last Sunday. At least he’d thought it was enjoyable. Considering the way she seemed to be avoiding him, she might not share that opinion. Maybe he’d see if he could pin her down today, so to speak.

He headed around the side of the Faro, toward the gate to the backyard. Fortunately, he’d catered a couple of meals there in the past, so it wasn’t exactly unknown territory.

He pushed the gate open and almost ran into the solid wall of Chico Burnside’s chest.
Christ Jesus, he’s big!

“Oh,” he rumbled. “It’s you.”

“It’s me,” Harris agreed. “I need to get set up. Where can I put my smoker?”

“If you’re not choosy, you can use Tom’s. He’s got it heated up at the side there.”

Harris narrowed his eyes. Ames’s smoker was a regulation Texas hibachi—fifty-gallon barrel turned on its side and cut in two, with four legs welded on the bottom and a smokestack on the top. No firebox, but he wouldn’t be smoking the brisket anyway, just finishing it off.

“Okay. How long’s the fire been going?”

Chico shrugged. “Twenty minutes or so. I figured you’d be here about now. I pushed the coals to one end so you’ve got indirect heat.”

“Right.” Harris placed the cooler on the nearest picnic table, then lifted the lid on the smoker, extending his hand above the grill for a few seconds before closing the lid again. “Feels good.”

“Right.” Chico nodded toward the cooler. “That the meat?”