Trouble in Texas (13 page)

For a second, she wondered if she might have to give him the same slap she’d given
him when he’d been drugged. Fortunately, it didn’t come to that. He slipped her off
his lap and rolled to his feet. He moved to the edge of the porch in a stiff walk
that looked almost painful.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “but I don’t think this is a good idea.” She tried to smooth
her hair back into the braid she’d put it in, but it was a lost cause. “I mean, I
don’t even know you. And we don’t even…”

“Like each other,” he finished for her.

“I was going to say have a lot in common.”

He kept his back to her. “You don’t have to have a lot in common, Elizabeth, to have
sex. Nor do you have to like each other.” He ran a hand through his hair. “But you’re
right. Having sex with you
would
be a mistake.”

Since she had been the one to put a stop to things, she should be happy he was agreeing.
Instead, the words just made her feel annoyed. She leaned up and tried to refasten
the bra, but the ancient hooks refused to cooperate. Her struggles caused the chains
of the swing to rattle, drawing Brant’s attention. He walked back over and sat down.

“Turn around.” His warm fingers brushed her skin as he hooked the bra, sending gooseflesh
racing down her spine. He tugged down the sweater and cardigan, then stood and pulled
her to her feet. “Come on. Let’s go rescue my little brother from the hens.”

Except when Brant and Elizabeth got to the dining room, Beau wasn’t there and neither
were the hens. Nor were they in the kitchen, library, or upstairs in Miss Hattie’s
room.

Which left only one room.

When Brant pushed back the gate of the elevator, Elizabeth wasn’t sure what she would
find. But it wasn’t Beau on the dance floor dancing to the Bee Gees and waving around
two huge feather fans.

Fortunately, he was still fully clothed.

“Come on in and join the party,” he yelled, his words slurred enough to make Elizabeth
worried that the hens had drugged him.

Brant seemed to be of the same mind. He rounded the couch where all the hens sat and
pinned Minnie with a dark look. “Tell me you didn’t give him a Wild Rooster.”

“ ’Course not,” Minnie huffed. “He’s young enough to be my grandson. He just can’t
hold his liquor worth a damn, is all. I swear he only had two glasses of brandy.”

“And three glasses of wine at dinner,” Brant said as he sent an exasperated look at
his brother who was “Staying
Alive” with a bump and grind that had Elizabeth blushing as bright as Minnie’s fur
chair.

“Come on, ’Lizbeth.” Beau placed one fan up on his head and the other on his wiggling
butt. “Come dance wiff me.”

“I think it’s time to call it a night, Beau,” Brant said as he walked onto the dance
floor and tried to hook an arm around his brother. “We’ll get back to Dogwood well
after midnight as it is.”

But Beau wasn’t having any of it. He ducked under his brother’s arm, then brushed
the feather fan over Brant’s head until his dark hair stood straight up with static
electricity. Brant jerked the fan away, but not before the hens were crowing with
laughter. Even Elizabeth had trouble biting back a smile.

“Stop being such a party p-pooper, Big Bro,” Beau said. “And let’s celebrate.” He
waved the other fan around while he did a little jig. “After all those lectures you
gave me on becoming responsible, you should be overjoyed to hear that your kid brother
has just become a business owner.”

Brant stopped trying to grab his brother and went perfectly still. “What do you mean,
Beau? You’re already a business owner. You own a percentage of C-Corp.”

“That’s always been yours and Billy’s company. This one is going to be mine.” Beau
held the fan over the lower half of his face and wiggled his eyebrows at Brant before
twirling on a boot heel and almost falling on his butt. When Brant reached out and
steadied him, Beau dropped the fan and flashed him a drunken smile.

“Take a good look at the soon-to-be owner of Miss Hattie’s Henhouse.”

B
RANT PULLED BACK THE LACE CURTAINS
and stared out the water-spotted window. In the middle of the weeds and overgrown
lilac bushes, he could just make out the top of Miss Hattie’s headstone. Even from
that distance, it looked as if the hen statue was thumbing her beak at him.

A groan came from behind him, and he turned away from the window to the huge bed his
brother slept in. Except for the cowboy boots Brant had taken off last night, Beau
was still fully clothed, his head hidden beneath one of the black satin pillows.

“Rise and shine, little brother,” Brant said.

Another groan followed, and Beau’s muffled words came through the pillow. “What time
is it?”

“Almost seven-thirty.” He walked over and hit Beau’s stocking foot. “So get your ass
up. I want to get on the road.”

Beau waved a hand. “You go on. I’ll catch up with you back in Dogwood.”

Moving over to his suitcase, Brant stripped off the towel that he’d tied around his
waist after bathing in Miss
Hattie’s bathtub and pulled on a pair of boxer briefs. “I’m afraid not. I’m not leaving
you here after what happened last night.”

Beau pulled off the pillow and sat up. He blinked at the room for a few seconds before
his face turned a chalky white. Holding a hand over his mouth, he scrambled off the
bed and headed for the bathroom.

It was nothing to be concerned about. Brant had suffered a few hangovers himself in
his younger days. But as much as he tried to act like it wasn’t a big deal that his
brother was tossing his cookies, Brant couldn’t quite pull it off. The sound of Beau
throwing up brought back too many memories of the weeks his little brother had suffered
through chemotherapy. Within minutes, Brant was sitting on the edge of the bathtub
with a wet washcloth in his hand and a tight band of pain squeezing his chest.

“Holy shit,” Beau took the washcloth and pressed it to his face as he flopped back
against the vanity. “Remind me to never try to keep up with Minnie again. The woman
can hold her liquor better than Gramma Wilkes.” When Brant didn’t say anything, Beau
lowered the washcloth. “You can stop looking at me as if I’m going to drop dead at
any second. I’m okay. I just drank too much is all.”

“Nice to know,” Brant said before he thumped his brother upside the head.

“Oww!” Beau held a hand to his head and glared at him. “What the hell was that for?”

“For drinking more than you should’ve.” He thumped him again. “And that’s for getting
a bunch of old women’s hopes up.” While Beau continued to glare at him, Brant got
up and moved to the sink. “Those women actually believe you’re going to buy Miss Hattie’s
and reopen it,
and nothing I could say would change their minds.” He pulled out the shaving cream
from his travel kit. “So as soon as you get cleaned up, I expect you to go down there
and apologize to those women and set things right.”

With another groan, Beau got up from the floor and sat down on the vanity stool next
to the sink. His face was still as white as the marble tile behind him. With his silver
hair, he looked ghostly.

“Except there’s nothing to apologize for.”

Brant’s hand stopped in the process of lathering his face. “You’re going to apologize,
Beau, or I’m going to whup your ass into the middle of next Sunday.”

“As if,” Beau said with a slight grin. “But what I’m saying is I don’t need to apologize
because I still plan on buying The Henhouse.”

Brant whirled around, sending shaving cream flying. “Have you lost your mind?”

Beau shrugged. “I’m sure that more than a few people will think so. All I know is
that, while I was sitting there talking with the hens, things became crystal clear
to me. Everything just made perfect sense.” Brant started to argue, but Beau held
up a hand. “Don’t try to act like you don’t know what I’m talking about. You said
the same thing happens to you when you decide to buy land or a new company. Besides,
you were the one who said I didn’t have to join C-Corp if I didn’t want to—that you
would be behind me one hundred percent if I found something else I was interested
in.”

“I wasn’t talking about a whorehouse.”

Beau grinned. “Well, you should’ve been more specific.”

“Beau,” Brant growled.

Beau laughed. “Fine, so I’m not going to run a whorehouse. But all the attention the
hens showered on me got me to thinking. What man doesn’t like to be pampered?” He
stood up and started to pace with excitement. “I’m talking about the kind of pampering
Mom used to do, but without the chore of taking out the garbage. What man do you know
who isn’t sick of the itty bitty food they serve at restaurants or the frozen entrées
he gets at home? What man wouldn’t love to come to someplace for home-cooked, rib-sticking
meals that would be served anywhere they wanted them—bed, poker table, or in front
of a fifty-eight-inch flat screen? And after dinner, they could sit back and have
a smooth brandy brought to them, along with a Cuban cigar. I’m talking about a place
where men can be themselves without getting their ass chewed out for putting their
feet on the sofa or their dirty socks on the floor. It would be like a spa retreat
for men, except without the froufrou stuff.” He paused. “Although I think we should
offer massages and a steam room.”

Brant turned back to the mirror and finished applying shaving cream. “So you would
expect men to pay good money to come to Miss Hattie’s just to be pampered with food
and drink?”

“You’re right.” Beau pointed a finger at his reflection. “We need to come up with
some other forms of entertainment.” He started to pace again. “What if we set up a
shooting range and offer hunting guides for quail and dove? And we could put a bar
in The Jungle Room with a lot of televisions for all the major sporting events.”

Brant stopped shaving and looked at his brother. “You’re really excited about this,
aren’t you?”

Beau stopped pacing. “I think it could work, Brant.
And if it doesn’t work for a men’s retreat, I can always turn it into a bed and breakfast.
Men and women alike are intrigued by what went on at Miss Hattie’s.”

Since Brant had spent the last month dreaming about the brothel, he couldn’t argue
the point. Of course, he didn’t need to. There were a lot of other points to argue.

“I don’t like the thought of C-Corp being connected to a house of ill repute,” he
said.

“I don’t plan on involving C-Corp. Thanks to my big brother’s business sense, I’ve
got enough investments to get things started. People will just look at me as the renegade
brother who doesn’t have any sense.”

“You’re still a Cates, and those investments you’re talking about should remain where
they are.”

The smile fell from Beau’s face. “For what, big brother? For a rainy day? If I’ve
learned anything in the last year, it’s that life is short. I’m not waiting for a
rainy day, Brant. I’m going to enjoy every penny and every second I have left.”

There was a part of Brant that held tight to the belief that the cancer would stay
in remission and Beau would live to be an old man. But the other part, the part that
held the clear picture of the faces of his wife and son at the morgue, knew that tragedy
could strike at any time. And if he tried to talk his brother out of this now, it
might be just one more thing he regretted later.

“How much more money do you think you’ll need?” he asked.

Beau flashed a bright grin. “I’m not sure. I was hoping my business advisor would
be able to figure that out. Especially since he knows all about history and antiques.”

It was a mistake. Brant could feel it in his bones. Still
he nodded as he tipped his chin up and shaved his neck, wondering if he’d just cut
off his nose to spite his face.

Minnie didn’t waste any time bulldozing Beau’s offer through. The real estate agent
was sitting at the table when Brant and Beau came downstairs. Baby was cooking at
the stove, while Sunshine was sitting on the floor in some pretzel shape that looked
like it hurt. Elizabeth stood in one corner with her arms crossed. She had gone home
the night before and was wearing an ugly pantsuit and a look that said she was fit
to be tied. Of course, the woman always looked fit to be tied. Brant’s gaze settled
on her upside-down lips.

Well, maybe not always.

“I’ve tried to get it through Minnie’s head that Beau isn’t going to buy the house,”
Elizabeth said. “But she refuses to listen. So I’m hoping you can explain things to
Ms. Connors?”

Brant pulled his eyes away from Elizabeth’s lips and over to Ms. Connors, who had
just gotten up from her chair. She was an attractive woman with long, dark hair and
a body that filled out her yellow business suit quite nicely.

She held out a hand. “Elena Connors.”

He took her hand in a brief shake. “Brant Cates. And this is my brother, Beau.”

Beau flashed a smile as he took her hand. “Pleasure, ma’am.”

A dazed look entered her eyes, but she shook it off and returned her gaze to Brant.
Which told him exactly what Ms. Connors was most interested in.

“I read the article they did about you in
Fortune
magazine,” she breathed. “It’s amazing how you and your brother, Billy, achieved so
much after starting out with just a small farm equipment company. I mean, how did
you know that the land you bought would have such a big pocket of natural gas beneath
it?”

Elizabeth cleared her throat. “I’m sure Mr. Cates doesn’t want to waste your time
with that story. Especially when we’ve already wasted your time enough.” She looked
at Beau. “Tell her that you aren’t really interested in buying the house.”

“Well, actually, Elizabeth—” Beau started, but Brant cut him off.

“We are going to buy the house.” Brant wasn’t sure why he’d attached the “we.” Maybe
he just liked ruffling Elizabeth’s feathers. Or maybe he wanted to get back at her
for filling his mind so full of hot kisses and sweet, wet centers that he wasn’t even
tempted by Ms. Connors.