Hungry Heart: Konigsburg, Texas, Book 8 (20 page)

And when was the last time you checked on job openings yourself?
When she’d first started at the Rose, she’d kept her eye out for anything coming up. She wasn’t sure when she’d stopped doing that.
You need to check around.
Chef de cuisine
jobs don’t just drop into your lap.

Right. She’d do that. She ignored the slight tightening in her shoulders.

Darcy wasn’t sure which group had ordered up the barbecue tonight, but they didn’t look like they were all that comfortable in western clothes. She’d never seen so many starched pairs of jeans in her life. A few women wore broomstick skirts and lacy tops, but even they looked like the whole concept of western wear wasn’t entirely welcome. She had a feeling they’d all have been much happier in Giorgio Armani.

“So who are these guys?” she asked Joe when he came down to check on things.

He squinted at the crowd. “Lawyers. I don’t remember what the group’s called exactly, but they’re some kind of Hill Country lawyer association.”

Darcy grimaced. “You’d think if they were Hill Country lawyers, they’d at least be used to wearing jeans, for Christ’s sake.”

Joe shrugged. “Don’t know. Maybe they weren’t sure how formal they were supposed to be. My guess is you don’t get any points for downhome authenticity around this group.”

“Right.” By six she had the steam trays set up with corn and beans, along with coolers for the potato salad and coleslaw. She’d also fielded two requests for vegetarian barbecue that she’d referred to the Rose kitchen. Let Joe figure out what the hell that meant.

The King’s truck pulled in at the side of the event center, and she sent one of the waiters to help him unload. The lawyers were currently filling up on beer and nachos but she figured they’d be ready for dinner sooner rather than later.

The King himself appeared a few minutes later, lugging one of his picnic coolers. The waiter staggered along behind him with a covered hotel pan.

He gave her an easy grin. “Where do you want the meat, sweetheart?”

Darcy decided to keep it professional. “I’ve got a carving station set up for you over there. Chicken can go beside it.”

He nodded, turning toward the table. Tonight he wore one of his more formal get-ups—a western shirt with embroidered horseshoes along with his usual black hat. The peacock feather tucked in the front of his hatband gave it a particularly jaunty touch. Darcy noticed some of the women lawyers watching him with narrowed eyes and calculating smiles.

Well, crap.
Still, it wasn’t her job to police the Barbecue King and his subjects.

People started moving through the line as soon as the King began slicing brisket. Darcy figured good ’cue must send out some kind of subliminal signal, given the way the lawyers began crowding around. She kept moving along the serving line, making sure they were dishing up the sweet corn and beans at a good clip. The salads were already plated and ready to go, although she’d need to keep an eye on the supply and send a runner back to the kitchen if they began to run low.

She cautioned one of the servers about the amount of melted butter he was sloshing on the ears of corn. They needed to keep it within reasonable bounds no matter how many lawyers asked for more, a statement that earned her a fisheye from one of the men in line. She sighed and loaded up the guy with green beans instead.

The King performed his carving duties with élan, smiling flirtatiously at the women and meeting the men’s demands for larger servings. Apparently, the lawyers’ competitiveness extended to the amount of protein they could consume at a single sitting. Although if they ate as much butter and beef as they said they wanted, she’d probably be calling an ambulance for a couple of them.

They were almost finished serving the first round, which meant calls for seconds would be arriving within minutes. Darcy turned back toward the salads, doing a quick count of dishes to see if she’d have to send for more.

“Harris?”

The man’s voice wasn’t particularly loud, but it was penetrating. Something about the tone made Darcy turn around.

Another one of the ersatz cowboys stood next to the King’s carving station. At least his jeans were broken in, but his dress shirt looked sort of like something you’d wear to an office rather than a barbecue. His thick, blond hair was short but well-cut—at least he wasn’t wearing some pretend cowboy hat like some of the others. His boots, on the other hand, were a thing of beauty—coal black, with toes so pointed they made Darcy’s arches ache.

“Harris, is that you?” he said again, stepping closer to the carving station.

The King looked up at him, unsmiling. After a moment, he laid down his carving knife and sighed. “Hi, Gray, how’s it going?”

The cowboy lawyer set his plate down abruptly on the edge of the counter. “What the hell are you doing here?”

The King shrugged. “At the moment, I’m carving brisket. You want some? There’s chicken, too, if you’d prefer.”

Cowboy lawyer glanced around the serving line, pausing to stare at the brightly painted banner on the side of the King’s truck. “The Barbecue King?”

The King shrugged again. “At your service.”

“What the hell…”

“Hey, Temple,” somebody called, “move it. You’re not the only one in line here.”

The lawyer, Temple, turned to glare at the line, then glanced back at the King. “We’ll talk later.”

“It’s possible.” The King watched him walk away, his expression blank, until the next man pushed his way up to the station.

“How about some more of that brisket? Pretty good stuff.” He extended his plate toward the King.

“Yes sir, coming right up.” He turned back toward his carving station, deliberately dropping his gaze, but Darcy watched Temple walk back toward his table. He turned once, scowling at the King, then slid onto a bench beside a couple of his colleagues.

It was another thirty minutes before they had a brief break while the busboys cleared the tables and a couple of waiters carried down the desserts from the restaurant.

Darcy folded her arms across her chest. “So what was that all about?”

“Old…acquaintance.” The King gave her a smile that didn’t seem to extend to his eyes.

“So your name is Harris?”

The smile curdled. “That’s another life. You can just call me King, sweetheart. That’s what I answer to.”

She sighed, resting her hip against the carving station. “You’re not going to tell me, are you? Is it some kind of dangerous secret or something?”

He closed his eyes for a moment, then shook his head. “You didn’t think Barbecue King was on my birth certificate, did you, Darcy? Because if you did, I’d be seriously worried about you.”

She folded her arms again. “So what
is
on your birth certificate?”

“Harris Temple. But professionally the Barbecue King sounds a lot better.” He narrowed his eyes. “You’re not going to make a big thing about this, are you?”

“Not necessarily.” She glanced out at the milling crowd of lawyers. The cowboy wasn’t in sight. “That cowboy lawyer who called you Harris—his last name is Temple too. At least that’s what the guy in line behind him said. Are you related?”

“Jesus, Darcy.” The King—Harris—pulled off his hat, rubbing his hand across his forehead, then setting it back in place. “Yeah, okay, he’s my brother. My big brother Grayson.”

“And the two of you lost track of each other?”

“Sort of.” He sighed. “Look, I’d really rather not give you my life story right now. But I promise I will later if it matters to you. Okay?”

She nodded slowly. “Okay.”

He managed another smile, smaller but more real than the last one. “It’s nothing bad, Darcy, I promise.”

She nodded again, wondering what else she could say. “Want to come home with me tonight?”

He shook his head, and her chest felt tight again.

“Tonight you’re coming home with me,” he said slowly. “If you want to, that is.”

“I want to.” For the first time since this morning, she felt as if the night had possibilities. Of course, those possibilities might include some serious confessions.

On the whole, she decided, she’d rather go with sex.

Chapter Fourteen

Andy checked the kitchen clock for perhaps the third time in the last thirty minutes. She’d gotten home later than she’d planned because there’d been an emergency meeting to attend at the last minute. Then she’d grabbed a sandwich from the deli down the street from the Austin office so that she wouldn’t have to fix dinner once she got back to Konigsburg.

All of which had put her an hour or so behind. She kept having the wholly unreasonable fear that Chico had cancelled when he didn’t find her at the house, even though he hadn’t called to say so. Maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe he’d just not show up.

Maybe that would be best.

She closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose. No, that would
not
be best. Not at all. She wasn’t sure when she’d turned into such a wimp. She took another bite of her ham sandwich, wishing she’d gone for the turkey instead. She was having some problems finishing her dinner, now that she’d finally sat down at her kitchen table. Her appetite seemed to have fled.

She sighed, thinking back to the last time she’d seen Chico. She hadn’t done herself any favors when she’d had her little meltdown the other night—all because of a few stares from people who apparently didn’t have anything better to do with their time. She was doubly annoyed by the fact that people seemed to think her love life was any business of theirs. And by the fact that they’d been able to upset her just by looking at her.

And whose fault is that, Andy?

She sighed again. Her own, of course. Other people only had the power she gave them, and she thought she’d stopped giving them any power when she’d passed thirty. For some reason she was still behaving as if she were a dewy-eyed teenager with a reputation to protect. Just because she’d always been one of the blameless good girls, that didn’t mean she couldn’t stir things up a little bit at this point in her life.

Having sex with Chico Burnside would be a great way to do that. Assuming she could get herself to calm down enough for it to happen. Since her heartbeat seemed to speed up uncontrollably whenever she thought about going to bed with him, she wasn’t sure how calm she could be.

She picked up her dishes from the table and headed for the dishwasher, pausing when she heard another car head down the street. She’d already heard two or three before this. Was this one turning into her driveway? Her heart sped up again.
Stop it. You’ll be a basket case by the time he gets here at this rate.

This time a truck really did turn into her driveway. She paused, pressing her hand to her chest. If he parked in her driveway, the neighbors might see. Particularly if his truck was still there in the morning.

Why should you care what the neighbors think? No more blameless good girl, right?

She closed her eyes again, clenching her hands at her sides. She didn’t care. Not really. And even if she did, she shouldn’t. She was ready not to.

Okay, Andy, time to be a grown-up.
Yes it was, it really was. She took a deep, cleansing breath and unclenched her hands as she heard the knock on her front door.

Chico stood just outside her threshold, under the porch light, as if he wanted to make sure she recognized him. Given how few massive men dropped by her house as a rule, that was pretty much a no-brainer.

“Come in.” She gave him what she hoped was a warm smile, although it felt more nervous than warm.

Chico narrowed his eyes, but followed her into the living room.

“Would you like something to drink? I just got done with dinner. I was late getting away from Austin today.”
Babbling, Andy. Stop babbling.

He shrugged. “Whatever you’re having is fine.”

What was she having anyway? Her brain suddenly drew a blank. She darted into the kitchen where her bottle of Shiner still sat on the table.
Okay. Point of reference.

She opened the refrigerator and pulled out another bottle, handing it to him. “I’ve got Lone Star too, if you’d rather have that.”

“This is fine.” He took the bottle from her, pulling off the cap.

“Well…” She started to pick up her beer, then paused. Should they go into the living room? Stay in the kitchen? Head down the hall to the bedroom? She hadn’t a clue.

She bit her lip, trying to slow down her galloping heartbeat.

Chico stepped forward, resting a hand on her shoulder. “Andy, it’s okay. Relax. Don’t be a hostess. Just be yourself. It’s you I’m here to see.”

She shook her head, blowing out a breath. “I’m not sure I know how to do this anymore. It’s been a long time since I’ve…been with anyone.” Not since Lew, in fact. And Lew had never been all that impressive as a lover.

But then Lew hadn’t put nearly as much time into being a lover as he had into being a barbecue whiz. Being with Lew probably didn’t prepare her for being with Chico.

Chico’s hand moved from her shoulder to the side of her face, his thumb skimming gently across her cheekbone. “It’s not a race, Andy. I’m not here to score points. We can take this at whatever speed feels good.”