Trouble in Texas (28 page)

“It’s okay,” Starlet said as she awkwardly thumped her on the back. “I guess it finally
sank in. Miss Minnie said it would. She said that sometimes women don’t figure out
that they love a man until he’s gone.”

Elizabeth wanted to deny Starlet’s words, but realized she couldn’t. Minnie was right.
It took Brant leaving to figure out that she loved him, that she had loved him from
the moment he tumbled into her bed.

Once the realization hit her, there was no holding back the tears.

“I don’t know how it happened,” she sobbed. “I had it all planned out. We were just
going to be friends.”

“That’s the worst kind.” Starlet’s voice quivered. “It’s those friends that will get
you every time.”

“But I’m not even his type,” Elizabeth continued. “I’m a frumpy old librarian who
doesn’t know how to dress or curl my eyelashes.”

“M-Me neither,” Starlet started sobbing. “And I look like a big fat cow in a prom
dress, which is probably why Beau only gave me a quick kiss good-bye. Who wants to
kiss a big fat cow in a prom dress?”

The thought of Beau leaving had both of them crying even harder. They stood there
clinging to one another and sobbing out their heartache.

“You’re not fat, Starlet,” Elizabeth said. “You’re what men would call curvaceous.”

“And you’re not frumpy,” Starlet said. “You’re what men would call skinny.”

It wasn’t exactly a compliment, but Elizabeth decided it wasn’t the time to point
that out.

“Would you look at us?” she sniffed and pulled back. “If the hens could see us, they’d
be getting out the ice cream all over again.”

Starlet’s watery eyes lit up. “Maybe that’s not a bad idea.”

Elizabeth laughed. “Maybe not.” She looked over at the guitar on the floor. “I didn’t
know you could play.”

Starlet walked over and picked it up. “I’m not very good. You should hear my cousin
play. Now she’s got talent.”

Elizabeth hadn’t had much time to talk with Starlet since the night she had showed
up on her porch with the hens. She had been too busy with the restorations. But she
had heard Minnie and the hens discussing the young woman, trying to come up with ideas
that would build her self-esteem. Maybe Elizabeth had stumbled onto it.

“I think you’ve got talent,” she said. “That was one of the most touching songs I’ve
ever heard. What’s the name of it?”

Starlet shrugged. “I was thinking about calling it ‘The Good-bye Kiss.’ Does that
sound too stupid?”

Elizabeth stared at her in disbelief. “You wrote that?”

She blushed and nodded. “I wrote it for Beau after he…” Her voice trailed off. “It
doesn’t matter. He’ll never get to hear it.”

“You don’t know that for a fact, Starlet,” Elizabeth said. “He could come back. But
even if he doesn’t, other people should get to hear that song. In fact, Baby plans
on singing at the grand opening. I don’t know why you couldn’t sing as well.”

Starlet shook her head. “I wouldn’t be comfortable singing something I wrote. I’m
much better at performing show tunes.”

The thought of Starlet bellowing out a show tune at the grand opening had Elizabeth
clearing her throat. “Yes, well, sometimes a person needs to step out of their comfort
zone and try something different. Stretch their wings, so to speak.”

“Is that why you decided to help reopen the henhouse? You wanted to stretch your wings?”

Elizabeth hadn’t really thought about it like that, but now that she did, she realized
that Starlet was right. Reopening the henhouse had been a step out of her comfort
zone. And so was loving Brant. She was surprised to discover that she regretted neither
one.

“Yes.” She leaned closer and whispered, “But don’t tell Minnie that I’ve loved every
second of it.”

“Oh, she already knows,” Starlet said. “She figures it will only be a matter of time
before you quit your job in Bramble and move back in with us.”

It seemed very unlikely. Elizabeth had enjoyed being
part of bringing Miss Hattie’s back to life, but it was hard to imagine herself living
here. She glanced down at the journal that was still in her hand.

“Where is Minnie?”

“She’s in the kitchen with Baby, making Sunshine some chicken noodle soup for her
cold,” Starlet said. “Minnie’s worried sick that Sunshine won’t be able to perform
the night of the grand opening.”

As Elizabeth turned to the elevator, she wondered if that wasn’t for the best. It
was one thing to have Baby and Starlet sing and another to have a woman perform a
strip-tease.

Elizabeth didn’t find Minnie in the kitchen. She found her in the lilac garden, puffing
away on a cigarette. When she saw Elizabeth, she quickly tossed it into the weeds.

“You know you could burn down the entire house with your negligence,” Elizabeth said
as she walked out to her.

“Nothing has burned up yet,” she said. “And I’ve been doin’ it now for going on fifty-seven
years.”

“I’m sure that was when the weeds weren’t almost past your head.” Elizabeth pushed
back the tall weed and made sure the cigarette was out. “I don’t know why you refused
to let the lawn company finish the garden.”

“Because this garden is Branston’s project. And he needs to finish it.”

Elizabeth sat down in the lawn chair next to her. “He’s not coming back, Minnie. And
it’s time we both face it.”

“He’ll be back.”

“Because of this?” Elizabeth lifted the diary. “This isn’t Miss Hattie’s, is it.”

Minnie studied the book for only a second before
she cackled. “It took you long enough to figure that out, Lizzie. What gave it away?
Buddy Holly or did I mention my infatuation with Clint Eastwood?”

“The designer from Dallas,” Elizabeth said.

“Darn fool.” Minnie shook her head. “Good dancers have always made me forget myself.”

Elizabeth handed the book back to her. “So you lied to keep Brant and Beau here so
they would save Miss Hattie’s.”

“The house had nothin’ to do with it. Beau wantin’ to buy the house was as big a shock
to me as it was to you. The diary was all about getting you in touch with your hen-ness.”

Elizabeth relaxed back in the chair. She should be mad at Minnie for her manipulation
and for wasting her time looking for something that wasn’t there. But surprisingly,
she wasn’t. Elizabeth had enjoyed reading the diaries of an outspoken woman who refused
to hide from anything. Not the people who criticized her for her profession. Or the
bill collectors who barked at her door like wolves. Or a prudish librarian who was
convinced her mother had been right.

Minnie’s diaries had helped Elizabeth understand the woman behind the layer of makeup
and sharp comments. Helped her to realize that Minnie wasn’t a crazy old prostitute
who needed to be locked away in a retirement home. She was a woman to be admired.
A woman who believed in women’s rights. In donating to charities. And volunteering
with veterans. A good woman who loved to dance to Buddy Holly. Enjoyed a strong drink
and a good smoke. And who cared about the men who came to visit her—especially a man
named Harry.

“I’m sorry, Minnie,” Elizabeth said. When Minnie glanced over at her, she continued.
“I’m sorry I tried to get you to move. I’m sorry I didn’t take the time to listen
to you and understand that Miss Hattie’s was so much more than just a…” She left the
sentence incomplete.

A smile bloomed on Minnie’s face. It was the first time Elizabeth had seen her smile
like that. It wasn’t a sly grin or a smirk. This smile completely consumed her withered
face and lit her eyes with happiness and tears.

“Is,” she stated in her no-nonsense voice. “Miss Hattie’s
is
more than just a whorehouse. And it always will be.”

M
ISS
H
ATTIE’S
H
ENHOUSE
had come back to life. From the newly bricked circular drive to the peak of the weathervane
that spun in the stiff west Texas breeze, the house was the exact replica of what
it had looked like in the eighteen hundreds. Except no dull sepia picture could convey
the majestic allure of the mansion Brant Cates stood in front of.

He felt like he had stepped out of a time machine. Or possibly onto a movie set. Everything,
including the full harvest moon that hung low in the sky, seemed surreal and almost…
magical. It was as if the house had a life of its own. As if it beckoned all weary
men to come inside and find peace. The stone fountain in front trickled and splashed
its soothing symphony. Each window glowed with a welcoming warmth. And even the wind
carried the calming scent of lilacs.

But Brant wasn’t calm. He was angry. Angry that he had been so hungover and battered
from his bar fight with Beau that he hadn’t been able to get there in time to thwart
whatever craziness the hens had thought up.

Hopefully, they weren’t planning on doing what he
thought they were planning on doing—reopening Miss Hattie’s with all the services
offered in the eighteen hundreds. Although it seemed possible, given that the only
people climbing out of the trucks and SUVs parked in front were men. Of course, that
had been Beau’s plan as well. But Brant couldn’t see the hens being happy with just
serving food and drinks. Whatever was going to take place tonight wasn’t going to
be good. And what made it even worse was that Brant’s name was still on the deed.

As he made his way up the porch steps, he couldn’t help but notice the new solid oak
pillars, the glazed cement floor, and the freshly painted railing. And maybe that
was another reason Brant was angry.

The hens had restored Miss Hattie’s without him.

Beau had been right. Working on Miss Hattie’s had been good for Brant. It had taken
his mind off the tragedies of the past and had given him something to look forward
to in the future. He’d started to believe that if there was a chance an old dilapidated
house could be brought back to life, there was a chance that he could, too.

“It ain’t quite right.”

Startled out of his thoughts, Brant turned to find an ancient old man sitting in one
of the new wicker rockers that sat on the porch.

“The roof’s a little brighter,” the old man continued. “And the color of the sidin’
is off a couple shades.” He switched the lump of tobacco in his mouth to the other
side, revealing a set of toothless gums in the porch light. “But when the roof and
paint weathers a bit it should be close enough.”

Brant took off his cowboy hat. “You were here when it was still open?”

The man pulled out a bent plastic cup from his shirt pocket and spit a stream of tobacco
into it. “More than a few times.” He wiped off his mouth with the back of his hand
and squinted up at Brant. “You get one of them fancy invites?”

That was something else that pissed off Brant. He was partial owner, and he didn’t
even get an invitation?

“Surprised the hell out of me when I opened that dadgum mailbox and found mine.” The
old guy shook his head. “I didn’t exactly leave Miss Hattie’s on the best of terms.”

Brant probably should’ve gone inside and put a stop to whatever the hens were up to.
Instead, he couldn’t help but sit down next to the man. As he eased back in the chair,
he released a groan.

“Looks like you got in a tangle yourself,” the old man said.

“That’s an understatement.” Brant stared out at the road and the sign that had been
repainted. The words T
RESPASSERS
W
ILL
B
E
P
ROSTITUTED
were now the same green as the shutters. “So tell me about Miss Hattie’s,” he said.
“What was it like?”

The man shook his head. “I can’t tell you about the early days. I wasn’t here during
Miss Hattie’s reign, but by the time I was old enough to get in, it was still like
nothing you could ever imagine.” He grinned his toothless grin at the memory. “It
was like a beautiful oasis smack dab in the middle of a dry, unforgivin’ land. There
was music and laughter and the finest food, drink, and smokes a man could ask for
without havin’ to spend a fortune. In fact, money was never an issue at Hattie’s.
If you had some, you gave it. If you didn’t, you gave extra when you did.
’Course, the rich fellers didn’t seem to mind carryin’ the load for us poor folks.
When you walked through the door of Miss Hattie’s, all men were created equal.”

He paused to spit. “Dirt poor farmers mingled with wealthy oil men. And I figure there
were more than a few criminals mixed in to boot. ’Course if Miss Millicent found out
you were the unsavory sort, you got tossed out on your ear. That woman didn’t put
up with any tomfoolery.”

“And were you one of the ones to get kicked out?” Brant asked.

There was a long silence, and Brant wondered if the old guy had gone to sleep, but
then his voice came out soft and heartfelt.

“I guess you could call it tomfoolery. I fell in love with her and asked her to marry
me.”

“And she tossed you out for that?”

He looked back at Brant. “She tossed me out for expecting her to leave Miss Hattie’s.”
He shook his head. “And she was right. It was a foolish notion.”

“But how could she expect you to marry her and still allow her to be a—”

“Watch it, son,” the older man said. “Or I’ll add a black eye to the one you already
got. Miss Millicent is the finest woman you’d ever want to meet.”

Brant had to admire the old guy for sticking up for his woman after all these years.
It was too bad that Miss Millicent was long gone. He got to his feet. “What do you
say we go inside and see if the brandy and cigars are still as good?”

The old guy nodded. “Might as well.”

Even if Brant had only been involved in the planning stages, he couldn’t help feeling
a twinge of pride when he
stepped through the front door. The inside of Miss Hattie’s was more amazing than
the outside. A soft Persian rug cushioned his feet, a huge crystal chandelier glittered
overhead, and the grand staircase gleamed in rich, high-polished mahogany. The doors
of all the rooms were thrown open, and men of all ages lounged in overstuffed chairs
and couches with glasses in one hand and cigars in the other.