Hungry Heart: Konigsburg, Texas, Book 8 (6 page)

All of a sudden she heard her ex-husband’s voice in her memory.
Oh yeah, my wife, great little scientist.
Her shoulders tensed again. “Yeah, I’m a chemist. Only now I do most of my work on a computer.”

He looked at her again for another long moment, then the grin was back. “Cool. I liked chemistry back in school.”

“Lots of boys do.” She shrugged. “Blowing things up, I guess.”

His grin widened. “There is that. What did you like about it?”

She leaned back in her chair, considering. “I like the way you can take things apart into their basic pieces. And then predict what will happen when you put them back together. Plus with environmental science you’re always dealing with the question of what’s going on and why.” She let herself grin again. “And sometimes I get to blow things up.”

“Very cool.” He watched her for a long moment, his eyes dark in the twilight of the beer garden.

Andy felt that flutter around her midsection again. Maybe it was time for a strategic retreat. “I guess I’d better head home. I’ve got to drive to Austin tomorrow.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Did you drive here?”

She shook her head. “I walked. It’s a nice night.”

His eyes stayed narrow. “This may be Konigsburg, but it’s still not a great place for a woman to go walking around by herself at night.”

She shifted her shoulders, feeling a slight pinch of uneasiness. “I’ve been walking around Konigsburg for a long time. Ever since I could walk, in fact. I’ll be fine.”

“Can you wait fifteen minutes?”

“I guess so.” She arched an eyebrow. “Why?”

“In fifteen minutes MG will be into her next set and I can get Tom to keep an eye on things for a while. I’ll walk you home.”

Her shoulders tensed again. “You don’t need to do that.”

“Probably not. I want to, though.” He gave her another of those slow grins that seemed to transform his expression from daunting to sort of, well, less daunting.

“Okay.” Andy hoped her voice didn’t sound as breathy as she was afraid it did. Chico Burnside was formidable in a whole lot of ways.

Chico wondered if he should take Andy’s hand. The street was dark, but not that dark, given that there were streetlights at either end. The sidewalk was in good shape. He didn’t see any obstacles he’d have to help her around. If he took her hand, he wouldn’t have any convenient excuse to explain it—other than the fact that he wanted to touch her. He wasn’t sure how she’d feel about that.

You won’t know until you try.
True. But if he tried too soon, he might screw things up for the future.

He gritted his teeth, knowing it was at least dark enough to keep her from seeing his jaw go rigid. He wasn’t exactly a Don Juan, but he’d never had much trouble with women before. He wasn’t sure why he was having so much trouble now.

Except, of course, that she was Andy Wells, chemist. And he was Chico Burnside, bouncer and sometime music promoter. If it weren’t dark and the streets weren’t deserted, they’d probably be drawing an audience on every front porch between the Faro and Andy’s house.

A porch light gleamed at the house he remembered was hers. Maybe five minutes more and they’d be there. And he couldn’t think of a blessed thing to say.

“Is that your family house?” he asked a little desperately.

She glanced at him, smiling. “Sort of. It’s my gram’s house. She left it to me when she died.”

“You still have family here?”

“A brother and sister-in-law. He’s a dentist. Eddie Wells.”

He nodded. “I’ve heard of him.” Three more minutes. He could see her porch steps now. “So you live here and work in Austin?”

“There’s a regional office in Spicewood. That’s where I work.”

“Better than the city, I guess.”

“Definitely. I only hope they don’t decide to close it to save money.”

Two minutes, tops. Maybe one.

Andy’s steps slowed and she started to turn up the walk toward her house. “Well…”

“Would you like to go out sometime?” he blurted. “With me?”

With you? Who else would you be asking for?
Jesus, he sounded like a first class dork.

She paused for a moment, and he knew with absolute certainty that she was going to say no. Her eyes would get that sympathetic look that women got when they were trying to let you down easy. He hated that look. Jesus, he hated that look.

“Sure.”

He almost checked to make sure she was actually talking to him.
Sure.
That meant yes, right? He breathed out a long sigh. “I work Fridays and Saturdays, but Thursday’s usually a slow night. Would that be okay for you?”

She nodded a little jerkily. “Sure. Thursday’s fine. What time?”

What time?
He hadn’t even figured out what they were going to do yet. “Seven?”

“Okay. I’ll see you then, I guess.”

“Right.” He blew out a breath. Time to go. Definitely time to go.

Andy stared at him for a long moment, then leaned forward quickly and took his hand. Warm lips brushed across his cheek. She smiled up at him, a brief flash in the darkened street. “’Night, Chico.” She turned and trotted up the steps to her front porch.

He watched until she was inside the house, then turned back down the street toward the Faro, letting his lips slide into an idiot grin.
Well, all right then.

Chapter Five

Cautiously, Darcy guided her SUV down the slope toward the river. She’d gotten the King’s address from Joe, but he hadn’t told her just how far back in the hills she’d have to travel to find the place. Maybe he didn’t know himself. Given that the King seemed to live on the backside of beyond, maybe his location was supposed to be as mysterious and special as his brisket.

Darcy grimaced. She wasn’t even working with him yet and already she was making sarcastic cracks. Maybe this wasn’t such a hot idea after all.

Willows and cypresses arched gracefully over the banks of the river as she reached the crossing. The King’s barbecue truck was parked beside the road—maybe because he couldn’t get it across the bridge.

The road curved over a low wooden structure without side rails that looked barely wide enough for a Model-T. She took a deep breath and guided her SUV across the center, her tires bumping on the planks.

Ahead of her, the ground widened out into an open meadow with a couple of buildings. A battered house trailer was perched on the rise at the side, but she couldn’t see anybody around the trailer or in the meadow beyond.

“Destination ahead on the left,” her GPS chirped.

“Yeah, right.” She pulled in beside the trailer, following a road that wasn’t much more than a suggestion. The King was probably smart to leave his truck on the other side. She wished she’d done the same.

“Destination,” her GPS confirmed.

“Oh shut up,” Darcy muttered, opening the door. She grabbed the plastic container off the seat beside her and stepped outside.

The hillside at the edge of the meadow was covered with oak trees and cedar brush. She still didn’t see anyone, but now that she was out of the car, she could definitely smell something. Wood smoke, mostly, with maybe a touch of spice.

She slammed her car door hard and stood waiting. Anybody within a hundred yards of the place should hear the noise and come running. Hopefully, they’d come running without a shotgun.

She heard a sound from the trees behind the trailer—a rustling, then a crackling, like an animal getting ready to burst out. Darcy tensed. She had no idea what kind of critters lived back here—at least a rattlesnake wouldn’t make that much noise, which was the only plus she could think of.

A moment later, a dog came tumbling through the brush. It seemed to be having problems getting itself upright. Possibly because its paws were bigger than its body. On closer inspection, it was more puppy than dog. Eventually it made it all the way around to its feet again and galumped toward her. Darcy was pretty sure she’d never used the word
galump
before, but she couldn’t think of anything more appropriate.

It came to a stop a few feet away, managing not to step on its long, liver-colored ears as it did. Pale green eyes stared up at her as the dog gave a melancholy
woof
in her direction.

She heard footsteps, and the Barbecue King appeared beside the trailer. He looked pretty much the way he did when he cooked at the Rose, only now he wore a black T-shirt with the arms hacked off that emphasized his nicely rounded biceps, one with an iron band tattoo. He pushed his black hat back from his forehead, wiping the sweat near his hairline with a bandana from his pocket and grinning.

“I see you met ol’ Porky.”

“Porky?” She raised an eyebrow.

“Hound loves sausage. You can’t leave him anywhere within a couple of feet of one. Well, Ms. Darcy, however did you manage to find your way to my humble abode? And to what do I owe the pleasure?”

He was still smokin’ hot, and she still found that fact faintly annoying. It was usually a lot easier to blow somebody off if she didn’t find that somebody attractive. Hell, she did it all the time. She hefted the plastic container in his direction. “Potato salad.”

“Ah, the challenge.” His grin widened, and he nodded toward the trailer. “Didn’t expect you to come up with something so soon. Come on inside where it’s cool.”

She thought about refusing, but that seemed a little prissy. What did she think he was going to do—jump her while she dished up lunch?

And would that be such a problem, Darcy?

Porky stared back and forth between them. His ears seemed to perk up when he saw the potato salad container.

The King shook his head. “Forget it, dog. You need to learn to appreciate the joys of kibble.”

She followed him into the trailer, listening to the whir of a hidden air conditioner. It was a lot cooler inside. An overstuffed sofa and chair rested in the corner, the backs covered with a couple of embroidered gypsy shawls. The low coffee table looked like an old workbench that had been worn smooth by generations of hands, with a red-and-blue rag rug underneath. The lamp in the corner was art deco, with bronze lilies curving up to support a stained glass shade.

Damn.
She hated having to revise her opinion of a guy like the King. On the other hand, ignoring the fact that he didn’t seem to be total dick was just pure stubbornness shading off into stupidity. She might be stubborn, but she wasn’t stupid.

The King took off his hat and hung it on an iron coat hook next to the front door. His dark brown hair carried the imprint of the hat band until he ran his fingers through it, tossing a couple of locks down onto his forehead. She felt a slight tickle of heat somewhere below her diaphragm, but suppressed it ruthlessly.
Business. Strictly business.

“Over here.” He gestured toward the tiny kitchen at the side. The stove wasn’t much more than a hot plate with a postage-stamp-sized counter. A dark wood drop-leaf table with a couple of cane-back chairs was tucked under a window.

He opened a cabinet door over the minuscule sink and produced a pair of white china plates along with two mismatched forks and a serving spoon. “Let’s see what you’ve got there.”

She opened the container and lifted her salad bowl from its nest of blue ice packs.

He gave it an appraising look. “Keeping it cool?”

“Tastes better that way.” Not to mention keeping it cool lessened the chances of food poisoning since the mayonnaise was homemade. She might be willing to use commercial mustard, but there were certain adaptations she wasn’t willing to make, at least not until she’d won the bet.

As she popped off the lid, Darcy regarded the salad with a critical eye. She’d prepared three different versions with slight variations on mayonnaise and other ingredients since her mom had emailed her the recipe. This was the best of the lot in her opinion, but she was willing to keep on fiddling if the King made any demands. Of course, that assumed he accepted the basic mixture going in.

She was fairly sure he would. She was also fairly sure he’d make some demands, this being something in the way of a negotiation, after all.

She served up a healthy-sized portion on one of the plates, then handed it to him, along with one of the forks. Presentation wasn’t bad overall. She could see flecks of egg and green bits of dill pickle, along with a few grains of paprika for color. The golden cubes of potato were enrobed in the mustard-tinged mayonnaise, like pebbles in the snow.

He cocked an eyebrow. “You’re not having any?”

“It’s your party.”

His lips edged into a dry smile. “I guess you could say that.”

He slid the fork into the salad. Darcy’s shoulders felt tight all of a sudden. She was an accomplished chef, a culinary school grad, a future
chef de cuisine
in her own right. It was purely embarrassing to care this much about what the Barbecue King thought of her potato salad. Correction: her mother’s potato salad.

He chewed contemplatively, his eyes narrowed in thought. “Nice balance on the seasonings. Potatoes done right. Dressing is prime.”

She flexed her hands at her sides to keep from balling them into fists. “But?”