Trouble in Texas (27 page)

“I realize the news about the cancer coming back shocked you, Beau. And I understand
that anyone would need some time alone to adjust to that. I even understand why you
wanted to ride that damned bull. But with the cancer back, we don’t have time to waste.
We need to get you into treatment now.”

Beau dropped the ice bag and looked at him. “Doc Thornton told you I had cancer?”

Brant shook his head. “He refused to tell me anything, even after I threatened him
with bodily harm and C-Corp taking back the money for the new wing.”

The laughter that came out of Beau’s mouth worried Brant. Obviously, his brother was
closer to the edge than he had first thought. Of course, he had to be pretty damned
upset in order to climb on the back of a Brahma bull.

Brant motioned for the bartender and ordered two double shots of whiskey. When they
arrived, he downed one before handing the other to his brother.

Beau stopped laughing long enough to toss the drink back, but was still chuckling
when he set his glass on the bar. “I’m sorry, but the thought of you threatening a
little bald-headed doctor is pretty funny, and so is Doc refusing to give in to my
big bad brother. I never really cared for the man, but now I think he’s growing on
me. So who told you I had cancer?”

“Starlet overheard your phone conversation and called me. Of course, she didn’t quite
understand what she had overheard until I mentioned cancer. Then she started sobbing
so loudly she almost broke my eardrum.”

Beau’s smile faded. “She was crying?”

“Wailing would be a better description,” Brant said. “She’s a dramatic little thing.”

“And a bad eavesdropper,” Beau said as he finished off his beer.

“What do you mean?”

“Doc Thornton said that the test results weren’t conclusive. He saw what looked like
a suspicious spot on one of my lungs, but he wanted to run more tests to be sure.”

To say Brant was relieved would be putting it mildly. It felt as if the weight of
the world had lifted off his shoulders, and he hugged his brother close, uncaring
of the narrow-eyed looks he received from the rough cowboys that filled the Austin
bar.

“That’s great news, Beau.” He pulled back and reached for his hat. “Which is even
more reason to get back to the hospital.”

Beau stopped him. “I’m not going to a hospital, Brant.”

“I don’t understand. There’s a chance that it could be anything. A shadow. A mistake
of the radiologist. Or something that’s completely benign.”

“Or it could be cancer,” Beau stated.

“But you won’t know until they run more tests.”

Beau released his breath. “I know this is hard for you to understand. You haven’t
spent a year of your life being poked and prodded, undergoing all kinds of tests and
treatment. I went through all of it, Brant. The radiation. The chemo. The sickness.
The hair loss.”

He paused as if remembering the horrors. “Don’t get me wrong. I appreciated you, Billy,
and Beckett—and even crazy Brianne—shaving your heads so I wouldn’t feel like a freak.
But shaving your head isn’t the same as having no hair on your entire body, including
your testicles.

“But I survived it. I did everything any doctor asked me to do with a smile on my
face. I did it because I didn’t want to die, but also, because I didn’t want to hurt
you, Brant. Because I didn’t want you to go through the pain you went through when
you lost Mandy and B.J.”

He placed a hand on Brant’s shoulder. “I’m not telling you this to make you feel guilty.
I’m telling you this so you’ll understand why I can’t go through it again—why I won’t
go through it again. If the cancer has metastasized to my lungs, we both know that
my days are numbered. So it makes no difference if I go back for more tests or not.
And if I only have a few days left, I want them filled with something other than pain.
I want to experience life to the fullest. Try things I’ve always wanted to do, but
might never get a chance to.”

“Like riding a Brahma bull.” Brant spoke around the
wall of pain in his chest. Beau flashed his grin. A grin Brant wasn’t sure he could
live without.

“Yeah,” Beau said. “That and a whole lot of other things that would make you crazy
if I told you. Did you tell Mama and Daddy about the cancer?” When Brant shook his
head, Beau squeezed his shoulder. “I’m counting on you to continue to keep it a secret.
Not only from our parents, but from the rest of the family. It will only make them
worry.”

“And if it is cancer?” Brant couldn’t keep the quiver from his voice. “If there’s
a chance I could’ve saved you and didn’t, how will I live with myself then?”

“Damn it, Brant. Stop trying to save the world. You couldn’t stop Buckley from being
a teenager and attempting to outrun a train. You couldn’t stop a tornado from leveling
your house. And you can’t stop cancer from killing me. Call it fate or divine will,
shit happens, Big Bro, and there’s not one thing you can do to stop it.”

“So that’s it?” Brant glanced over at him. “I’m just supposed to let my little brother
walk off into the sunset and never worry about him again. Because that’s not going
to happen, Beau.”

Beau leaned closer. “I’m not walking off into the sunset. As long as I’m breathing,
I’ll still be family. I’ll still call my big brother for advice. And I’ll still stop
by Miss Hattie’s when I’m in the neighborhood. How’s the renovation coming, anyhow?”

Brant held the shot glass up to the bartender. “I stopped renovations when I heard
about you.”

Beau scowled at him. “Sometimes you can be such an asshole, Brant.”

“Because I’ve been more worried about you than a dilapidated old house?”

“No, because you’re more worried about me than your own happiness. Miss Hattie’s is
good for you. You smiled there more than you’ve smiled since Mandy and B.J. died.
You can’t tell me that you don’t love the history of the house, or hanging out in
that weed-infested garden, or talking with those crazy old hens.”

It was true. He had loved those things, but Beau’s illness had eclipsed everything.
Well, maybe not everything. It hadn’t eclipsed Elizabeth. Even when he was insane
with worry about his little brother, Elizabeth had slipped in. He went to sleep at
night with the scent of lilacs and amber eyes clinging to the edges of his mind. Woke
up with the strong desire to find her sleeping next to him. And in between, he dreamed
of her. Finding his only redemption in the warmth of her arms and the heat of her
body.

“So if you stopped renovations, I wonder how they pulled it off,” Beau said as he
accepted one of the shots the bartender had brought over. “Even with the money I left
them, it couldn’t have been easy for three old gals.”

Brant downed his shot and savored the wave of alcohol bliss. “What couldn’t be easy?”

“Reopening Miss Hattie’s,” Beau said as he turned on the stool and leaned back against
the bar. “Is it my imagination or are we being mad-dogged?”

“You must’ve misunderstood, Beau. There’s no way the hens could reopen Miss Hattie’s,”
Brant said as he swiveled around on his stool to see what his brother was talking
about. Beau was right. The entire bar did seem to be mad-dogging them.

“Then how do you explain the invitations that were sent out? It appears that the list
we made up of prospective
clients was used wisely. Miles Cooper called me the other day and couldn’t wait to
talk about the grand opening of Miss Hattie’s. He’s viewing his invitation like an
invitation to the Playboy mansion.”

Brant’s gaze moved away from the mean-looking crowd. “When?”

“This Saturday,” Beau said before the biggest cowboy Brant had ever seen walked up
to them and tipped back his Stetson.

“We don’t take kindly to your kind,” the man said around a mouthful of chew.

“And what kind would that be?” Beau asked.

Another man stepped up. “The type that goes around ignorin’ beautiful women and huggin’
on men. This here is a hetter-o-sexual bar. So we figure it’s time for you two sensitive
girlie guys to find another place to drink.”

Brant was still trying to absorb the fact the hens had sent out invitations for Miss
Hattie’s reopening so it took him a moment to react to the ludicrous assumption. A
moment that had Beau slipping his arm around Brant’s neck and tugging him closer.

“Well, I’m as sorry as I can be to hear that,” Beau said in an exaggerated effeminate
voice. “Because me and my partner aren’t finished with our drinks.” He turned to Brant.
“Are we, honey?”

Brant lifted an eyebrow. “So am I to assume that a bar fight is something else you’d
like to experience?”

Beau didn’t even finish flashing his smile before a fist plowed into his jaw.

E
LIZABETH WAS EXHAUSTED
. But it was a good tired, the kind that came after accomplishing a huge task. After
close to six weeks of constant work, the restorations on Miss Hattie’s were almost
complete. There were still a few workers around, touching up baseboards, setting up
the computer in the library, and hanging the chandelier in the foyer. But for the
most part, Miss Hattie’s was ready for the grand opening. The exterior boasted a brand-new
red metal roof and freshly painted wood siding, multi-paned windows, and pretty green
shutters. The sagging porch had been replaced, the weeds cleared from the front, and
Elizabeth had planted brightly colored mums in the flowerbed like the ones at her
house.

Surprisingly, the inside hadn’t taken as much work. The banister and hardwood floors
had had to be sanded, stained, and sealed, but the rest of the work had been cosmetic—a
fresh coat of paint, new linoleum in the kitchen, and the elevator oiled and refitted
with new hardware and two shiny metal doors.

The biggest chore had been pulling all the things out
of the barn and attic, cleaning off the cobwebs and mouse feces, and sending them
to be refinished or reupholstered. It was a daunting task. Elizabeth didn’t know how
much furniture the hens had sold before she got there, but it appeared that they had
twice as much stored. Fortunately, they’d retained the older antiques. Antiques from
Hattie’s time. Huge armoires, four-poster beds, loveseats, lavishly carved sideboards,
and a dining room table and chairs that could’ve easily been at King Arthur’s court.
There were Tiffany stained-glass lamps similar to the ones in Miss Hattie’s room,
Persian rugs and velvet drapes, and lead-crystal wineglasses and fine English china.

Along with more books than there were in Bramble’s library.

The antiques were so plentiful that Minnie could’ve easily sold some of them and made
enough to buy out the Cateses. Of course, when Elizabeth had suggested doing just
that, the older hen had refused to even consider it. Not only did she refuse to part
with anything that had belonged to the head hens, but she had some crazy belief that
the Cates brothers would be back.

“They need Miss Hattie’s as much as us hens,” she’d said. “They’ll be back. You mark
my words.”

Elizabeth hadn’t argued. Not only because she’d yet to win an argument with Minnie,
but because she had a secret hope Minnie was right. She wanted Brant to come back.
She wanted to see his face one more time. To hear his voice. And yes, to feel his
arms. And when she wasn’t working on the house, she was reading the journals, searching
for any tidbit of information about Brant’s grandfather in hopes that she could use
it as an excuse to call Brant.

She didn’t find anything. The diaries didn’t mention a William Cates once. It mentioned
every other man. Including a man named Harry, who popped up about three years in and
was mentioned in almost every entry thereafter.

Harry smiled at me for the first time today, and my world became about seven shades
brighter. When Harry cuddles next to me, I feel like I could just float away on happiness.
I wish I could keep Harry with me forever, but the hens don’t agree.

It went on and on until Elizabeth actually grew sick of Harry. Even today, as she
stretched out on Miss Hattie’s bed reading one of the notebooks, she couldn’t help
but skip over the entries that had Harry’s name in them. What she didn’t skip over
was an entry about The Jungle Room.

The new designer came out today to redo The Jungle Room. He sleeps on the wrong side
of the bed, but, boy, can that man dance. We stayed up most of the night cutting a
rug—

Elizabeth’s hand slipped off the edge of the book. It fell closed as her mind struggled
to fit the pieces together. It didn’t take long. Especially when she knew how devious
Minnie could be. She should’ve been mad that Minnie had tricked her. Instead, she
was mildly amused by the woman’s audacity.

Taking the diary with her, Elizabeth walked into Miss Hattie’s closet and pushed back
the long, formal dresses to reveal the door that led down to The Jungle Room. Unfortunately,
when she reached the bottom of the stairs, she didn’t find Minnie. Instead there was
only Starlet, sitting on the couch strumming a guitar.

Elizabeth hadn’t realized Starlet owned a guitar, or that she could play so well.
Her fingers ran over the strings
without thought as she started to sing. Elizabeth braced herself for the booming off-key
voice. Instead, the sound that came out of Starlet’s mouth was soft and sweet, with
just enough country twang to bring forth images of small towns and home.

The song was about a kiss, a good-bye kiss that started a love affair and, at the
same time, ended it. Starlet’s softer voice wasn’t perfect. It didn’t hit all the
right notes with all the right pitches, but it was that imperfection that made it
so captivating. The quiver of youth and raw emotion struck a chord inside of Elizabeth
that had tears trickling down her cheeks.

A sob escaped, causing Starlet to glance up and stop singing mid-chorus. Setting the
guitar down, she hurried over to Elizabeth and pulled her into her arms.