Trouble in Texas (31 page)

Her mother released her thumb from the lighter. “I think you’re intelligent enough
to figure that out.”

It only took a second for the pieces to fall into place. Still, Elizabeth couldn’t
quite bring herself to believe it. “You were going to burn down Miss Hattie’s?”

Her mother moved over to the bar, but this time she poured herself a brandy and downed
it in one swallow. Elizabeth had never seen her mother drink. Of course, she’d never
seen her dressed in solid black either. Her mother preferred the less dramatic colors
of gray and beige. And Elizabeth had to admit that the black turtleneck looked good
with her mother’s champagne-colored hair and amber eyes.

“This,” her mother waved the empty glass around, “should never have happened. The
henhouse shouldn’t reopen. In fact, it should’ve closed long before it did.”

“So you were going to close it permanently by committing arson?”

“If I have to,” she stated without the least bit of remorse. “What other options do
I have? I probably could’ve ignored things if the hens hadn’t tried to suck you into
their craziness.” Her gaze drifted over the red satin robe. “Just look at you standing
there in Miss Hattie’s dressing gown as if you belong here. Didn’t I teach you anything?”

“Yes.” Elizabeth walked over to the bar. “You taught me a lot of things, Mother. You
taught me how to read, and how to tie my shoelaces so they wouldn’t come undone. And
you taught me how important it is to be prompt and logical. And burning down Miss
Hattie’s isn’t logical. It’s crazy.”

When her mother didn’t say anything, Elizabeth continued. “I know you’re worried about
me, but no one has sucked me into doing anything I didn’t want to do. Not Sunshine.
Or Baby. Or Minnie.” She paused as a realization hit her. “Or even Brant.”

Her mother shook her head. “I suppose that this Brant is the man you’ve been shacking
up with?”

“Yes,” Elizabeth said without hesitation.

“And am I to assume by the dreamy look on your face that wedding bells are in the
future?”

There was a time when Elizabeth would’ve laughed at the mere idea of marriage, but
she wasn’t laughing now. After realizing her love for Brant, she had started to dream
about a wedding similar to all the ones she’d attended. With one small exception.
At this wedding, she was the one walking down the aisle toward the man she loved.

Except the man she loved didn’t love her in return.

“No,” she said. “There won’t be a wedding.”

Her mother snorted. “I tried to warn you. Women would be a lot less hurt and disappointed
without men.”

“Is that why you never dated, Mother?” Elizabeth asked. “You were afraid of being
hurt and disappointed?”

Her mother looked away. “I didn’t date because I didn’t want some man controlling
my life.” She looked at Elizabeth. “Your life. It was safer for both of us if I remained
single.”

“But life shouldn’t be safe, Mother. It should be thrilling and fun.” She thought
of her shattered wedding dreams. “And sometimes sad and disappointing.” She covered
her mother’s hand that rested on the bar. “Minnie told me about what happened to you,
and I’m sorry. But Miss Hattie’s isn’t to blame for the actions of a monster.”

Tears welled up in her mother’s eyes. It was the first time Elizabeth had ever seen
her cry, and rather than feel upset by the tears, she only felt relief. Relief that
her mother was human after all.

“But Dwayne was right,” her mother said as she wiped at her eyes. “ ‘If you look and
act like a whore, then you are one.’ I did wear a tight, short skirt that night. And
I did brush up against him every chance I got. And I did live in a whorehouse.”

“But that didn’t give him the right to rape you,” Elizabeth said. “He was the one
who was wrong, Mother. Not you.”

Her mother sat down on the bar stool and rested her head on her arms. “You’re right;
it wasn’t my fault. But it
was
my mother’s. It wouldn’t have happened if she’d just put me up for adoption like
all the other hens did with their children. Instead, she made me the sexual joke of
every kid in town.”

“It was a mistake.”

Between her mother’s sobs and her own thumping heart, Elizabeth hadn’t heard the elevator.
So she was surprised to turn and find Minnie sitting there in her wheelchair. But
no more surprised than she was by the tears that trickled down Minnie’s wrinkled face.

“I’m sorry, Harry,” she said. “Sorry I was too selfish to let you go.”

“Harry?” Elizabeth stared at Minnie, then slowly lifted a finger to point at her mother.
“This is Harry? But I thought Harry was the love of your life.”

Minnie’s gaze never wavered from Elizabeth’s mother. “She is.”

“But then that would make you my…”

“Grandmother,” Minnie said as she rolled around the couch.

Elizabeth was stunned. “But why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I had promised your mother that I wouldn’t.”

Her mother looked up and wiped at her eyes. “But that didn’t stop you from contacting
her.”

“The henhouse is her heritage, Harriett. She had the right to accept it or decline
it.” Minnie smiled at Elizabeth. “I’m glad she’s accepted it.”

“Because you hens have brainwashed her,” her mother snapped. The tears were gone,
and Elizabeth didn’t think they’d be back. “Well, I won’t put up with it. I’m taking
her out of here even if I have to tie her up and drag her.”

Minnie shook her head. “Give it up, Harry. Elizabeth is happy here. And you’d be too
if you’d pull that corn cob out of your ass. You act just like your father—the Senator
had a stubborn streak a mile wide.”

Elizabeth flopped down on the bar stool next to her
mother. “You mean my grandfather was a Texas senator?” She glanced over at her mother.
“You told me you didn’t know who your father was.”

“Because I didn’t want you getting any false hope that his family would acknowledge
you. The one time I wrote the man, he answered with nothing more than a ten-thousand-dollar
check.”

“Which you promptly cashed,” Minnie said.

“Of course I cashed it, Mama! I was raising a daughter and trying to put myself through
school.”

“Fine.” Minnie held up her hands. “I’ll be the first to admit that your father was
an asshole. But your choice in men wasn’t any better.”

“At least I was smart enough to quit after two!” Elizabeth’s mother yelled back. “You
just kept on going. How many men have you been with, Mama? Thirty? Forty?” She hopped
up and glared at Minnie. “A hundred!”

“Twenty-six,” Minnie said. “And that’s only if you count oral sex.”

Harriett rolled her eyes before looking over at Elizabeth. “See? See what I had to
live with?”

“Stop being so dramatic, Harry.” Minnie fumbled around in the side pocket of her bag
until she found her pack of cigarettes. She pulled one out and stuck it in between
her lips. “You’re worse than Starlet.”

“Are you talking about that innocent young girl who sang tonight or the one you taught
to feather dance?”

Elizabeth turned away, hoping her mother hadn’t seen the blush that heated her cheeks.

Minnie’s eyebrows lifted. “So you were snooping around, Harry?”

“It didn’t take much snooping to realize that you
intend to reopen Miss Hattie’s exactly as it was.” She leaned down and pointed in
Minnie’s face. “And get this through your head, Mama. I’m not going to allow it. I
don’t care what I have to do.” She whirled and headed for the elevators.

“Mother, wait,” Elizabeth called out.

“Let her go, Lizzie,” Minnie said. “She’s as hardheaded as they come. It’s enough
to make a person go back to their bad habits.” She struck a match on the arm of her
chair. It took the flickering glow of the tiny flame for the severity of the situation
to hit Elizabeth.

“Minnie, no!” Elizabeth’s fingers closed around Minnie’s thin, wrinkled wrist. Unfortunately,
before Elizabeth could blow out the match, it dropped from Minnie’s fingers.

In slow motion, Elizabeth watched as it tumbled through the air and landed on the
fuzzy chair. Within seconds, the flaming orange really was flaming. But the burning
chair didn’t bother Elizabeth as much as the burning edge of Minnie’s negligee. The
flames ate their way up to Minnie’s knees before Elizabeth could rip the material
away from her body.

“Mama!” Elizabeth’s mother returned with a throw blanket and tossed it over Minnie’s
legs, smothering the last of the flames.

But that wasn’t the worst of it. When they turned, the entire room seemed to be ablaze.
The bar. The zebra couch. The Andy Warhol painting.

“Oh my God,” her mother breathed. “What have I done?”

A
FTER GETTING HIS SUITCASE FROM THE TRUCK,
Brant headed to the library. He tossed his bag in a corner and then stripped down
to his boxer briefs. But instead of lying down on the leather couch in front of the
fireplace, he proceeded to pace between the door and the desk. Where had his Elizabeth
gone? What happened to the sweet librarian who thought so logically? The woman who
hadn’t expected anything from him except what he was willing to give? What happened
to the friend with benefits?

Okay, so maybe he hadn’t been that good of a friend. A friend wouldn’t have canceled
a date so abruptly, or not called for over a month. And a friend wouldn’t have gotten
pissed off at her for dancing provocatively for a room filled with horny men.

But she hadn’t exactly kept her end of the friends-with-benefits bargain either.

Friends did not use the l-word. Especially the way that Elizabeth had used it. She
had waited until his defenses were down. Waited until he was so mindless with desire
that he couldn’t shield his heart from the look in her eyes or the words coming from
her lips.

Of course, he didn’t believe that she loved him. He was just the first man she’d ever
been in bed with, the first man to give her an orgasm. And sex was a powerful motivator.
There was actually a moment when the l-word had almost slipped out of Brant’s own
mouth. Except it hadn’t been during sex when it had happened. It had been earlier,
when they had been lying on the bed together and talking about Beau. There had been
a moment when she had looked at him with those empathetic amber eyes when he’d wanted
to give up the battle he waged and just let go.

It had to be desire that motivated the feeling. What else could it be? He’d closed
himself off from love a long time ago. Even now, just the thought of Elizabeth standing
there completely naked had his penis standing at attention. He ignored it. His desire
for Elizabeth had already caused enough damage. If he’d learned anything tonight,
it was that sex without strings was an impossibility.

Realizing that sleep was out of the question, Brant padded over to the bookcase. The
collection still amazed him. He had just pulled down a copy of
The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn
when his gaze got snagged by the silver chests sitting side by side on the shelf
just above him.

Brant had gotten the other chest from his mother and sent it to Miss Hattie’s so he
could compare the two. After the news about Beau, he’d forgotten all about them. Now
he took the time to study the two together. It was obvious they’d been made by the
same man. The sizes and shapes were identical, as were the beautiful etchings that
covered the tops and sides.

He took Elizabeth’s chest down and looked at the inscription on the bottom, wondering
how it had come to be in Miss Hattie’s possession. The loud pop of the embers that
still burned in the fireplace startled him from his thoughts, and the chest slipped
from his fingers and hit the wooden floor with a tinny clank.

When he squatted down to pick up the chest, he noticed the wide crack that had opened
up along the seam at the bottom. Through it, he could see the folded edge of a paper.
He quickly carried it over to the desk and pulled out the high-backed leather chair.
Once he was seated, he turned on the lamp and closely examined the gap. It looked
as if there was another compartment attached to the bottom. After some searching,
he found the two small releases hidden in the intricate design and pressed them simultaneously.
The entire bottom swung open and a bundle of letters fell onto the top of the mahogany
desk.

Brant stared at the bundle for only a moment before reaching out to untie the red
ribbon that held them together. He took the first letter from the top and carefully
opened it. The penmanship was perfect and precise. And very similar to the faded signature
in Miss Hattie’s register.

Harriett,

The trip to Lubbock was uneventful. I ran into a little hail that got the horse skittish,
but I managed to find shelter before the worst of it hit. I know I said I wouldn’t
write, but I just wanted to let you know I got home safely.

William

It wasn’t much of a letter, but Brant wasn’t as interested in it as he was in the
date at the top—September 4, 1872. So William had stayed close to a month at Miss
Hattie’s.

Brant lifted the second letter. It didn’t reveal much more. His grandfather talked
about the weather and a silver inlaid saddle he was making for a wealthy rancher.
The rest of the letters continued along the same lines. But what intrigued Brant was
that each one was dated not more than a few days apart. And this was after his grandfather
had said he wasn’t going to write.

Had his grandfather had feelings for Miss Hattie? If he had, he’d been as bad at expressing
them as Brant was. In the next twenty letters, there were no mushy words, no plagiarized
poetry, not even a “Love, William.” His grandfather continued to talk about the weather
and his job ad nauseam, and Brant couldn’t figure out why Miss Hattie had kept them.

Then he stumbled upon the second to the last letter William had written: