Trouble in Texas (35 page)

As Elizabeth turned on the bathtub faucet, she shot Minnie a skeptical look. “As if
you’ll pay any attention to Brant’s rules.”

Minnie cackled. “True. Henhouse Rule #50 clearly states: ‘There are no rules but hen
rules.’ ”

Unable to stop herself, Elizabeth walked over and gave Minnie a big kiss right on
the forehead.

It shocked the woman so much that the sucker fell out of her mouth onto the lap of
her negligee. “What was that for?”

Elizabeth laughed. “Just because, Grandma. Just because.”

After she dressed, Elizabeth went in search of Brant. The house was back to its former
glory. There had been extensive water damage on the first floor, along with smoke
damage to the second, but Branston had spared no expense at getting the henhouse back
in shape after the fire. Even The Jungle Room was completely restored to its endearing
garishness.

But today Brant wasn’t in The Jungle Room. Or in the front salon where Sunshine was
practicing her yoga. Or in the library where Starlet was plucking out another song—no
doubt about Beau. Nor was he in the kitchen where Baby was busy going over menus for
the guests that would start arriving as soon as Brant and Elizabeth returned from
their honeymoon. Not just male guests, but also couples. Adults who wanted to enjoy
the fun and sensuality of spending the night at the legendary Miss Hattie’s.

After searching all the rooms in the house, it finally dawned on Elizabeth where she
would find him. Miss Hattie’s lilac garden had become Brant’s refuge. When he wasn’t
working in it, he was lying in the hammock under the cottonwood or sitting on one
of the chaises enjoying a cigar.

The wedding had been held in the garden and attended by all of Brant’s relatives,
along with the entire town of Bramble, Texas. The only one who hadn’t shown up was
Beau. He was running with the bulls in Spain, but planned to meet Brant and Elizabeth
in Paris during the second week of their honeymoon.

Elizabeth found Brant in the far northeast corner of the garden, in the spot where
Miss Hattie had been laid to rest. But he wasn’t standing over the intricate carved
headstone with the hen perched on top. Instead, he was standing over the plain tombstone
that had just recently been discovered beneath the tangled branches of a lilac bush.

The headstone of one William Frances Cates.

Elizabeth moved up next to Brant, slipping a hand around his waist. Without taking
his gaze from the gray limestone marker, he curved an arm over her shoulders and pulled
her close. For a moment, they didn’t say a word. They just stood there side by side,
as close as their ancestors had been buried, thinking about love and death while they
breathed in the soft scent of blooming lilacs.

“Do you think they had something to do with us getting together?” Elizabeth asked
softly.

Brant glanced down at her and arched a brow. “This coming from a woman who lectured
me on fact and fiction.”

She tucked her head against his shoulder and smiled. “I know it’s silly. But it does
seem strange that out of all the people in the world, we ended up together.” She looked
up at him. “What did your family say when you showed them the letters and your great-grandmother’s
confession?”

Brant shrugged. “There isn’t much to say when you discover that your great-grandfather
had an affair with a famous madam, or that your great-grandmother followed him back
to Miss Hattie’s and shot him down in cold blood.” He shook his head. “But what I
can’t figure out is why your great-grandmother went to such great lengths to keep
it a secret. I don’t doubt for a second that she was the
only one with enough power to keep the truth from coming out. The one who convinced
the sheriff and mayor to go along with the false story about him being shot in Bramble.”

“Maybe she didn’t want anyone else to suffer,” Elizabeth said. “And turning your grandmother
in to the law would’ve left a little boy an orphan.”

He nodded. “Obviously, Miss Hattie knew what I’ve only recently learned.”

“And what’s that?” Elizabeth leaned up and kissed his cheek.

“Revenge is for those who live in the past.” Brant turned to her and gave her a deep
kiss that left her breathless. “What do you say, Mrs. Cates? Are you ready to leave
the past behind and start living in the present?”

Elizabeth hooked her arms around his neck and melted against the strong thump of his
heart. “This hen is all yours.”

Inside, the other hens gathered at the kitchen window.

“It won’t be the same without them,” Baby cooed.

Sunshine looked confused. “But I thought they were only going to be gone for a month.”

“That’s their plan,” Minnie said. “But as much as Elizabeth thinks she’s too old,
I’m bettin’ it won’t take more than a week for her to be nestin’. And once she’s pregnant,
I figure they’ll spend most of their time in Dogwood.” She pulled out another lollipop.
“And that’s how it should be. Miss Hattie’s is no place to raise a child.”

“I don’t know about that, Mama,” Harriett said from behind her. “I think Miss Hattie’s
has evolved into the perfect place to raise a child.”

Minnie smiled before she popped the grape sucker in her mouth. “Well, we’ll have nine
months to figure it all out. Until then, we’ve got plenty of other things to worry
about.” She glanced over at Starlet, who had just sat down at the table with the new
laptop Brant had gotten her for her birthday. “Did you locate the hen I’ve been looking
for?”

Starlet shook her head. “Adoption agencies don’t give out that kind of information.
Luckily, my uncle works for the state and knows how to get around these things.” She
hit a button and turned the screen to the hens. “I don’t know where this chick is
living now, but I know where she grew up.”

Minnie read the name of the small town and cackled. “Right in our own backyard.”

“E
XCUSE ME,
but aren’t you supposed to be naked?”

Beauregard Cates pushed up his Stetson and squinted at the middle-aged woman who stood
in the pool of light from the street lamp. She wore one of those touristy t-shirts
that vendors hawked on every corner and a bright orange visor that would work real
well on an elk hunt. She did seem to be hunting for something. Beau just wasn’t quite
sure for what. He’d been propositioned before—more times than he could count—just
not when the woman’s husband stood right next to her. A husband who looked as interested
in the answer to the question as his wife seemed to be.

“Maybe you have to pay him to take his clothes off.” The man held up his digital camera
and clicked off a few pictures, the flash momentarily blinding Beau. “Hell, we’ve
had to pay for everything else in this friggin’ town.”

The woman shot her husband an annoyed look before holding out her hand. “Give me a
twenty, Marty. Joan got a picture with The Naked Cowboy, and I’m not leaving New York
City until I get one.”

It looked as if Marty might argue, but then he stuffed the camera into the bag hooked
over his shoulder and pulled his wallet from the back pocket of his high-waisted,
khaki shorts. “I swear, Laurie,” he grumbled. “You’d buy a dog turd if that crazy
neighbor of ours brought one back from vacation.”

Not denying it, his wife snatched the twenty out of his hand and waved it at Beau.
“And could you hurry? We want to get to the Empire State Building before it closes.”

Beau had done a lot of crazy things in his life, and regretted very few, but somehow
he couldn’t bring himself to stand in his underwear in the middle of Central Park
while a tourist snapped pictures that would no doubt end up on Facebook. And after
the incident in New Zealand, Beau’s mama had threatened to yank a knot in his tail
if he ever ended up naked on the internet again. But before he could decline the offer,
the woman that he had been following came out of the bathroom.

Except she didn’t look like the same woman who’d gone in. The ponytailed blond hair
had been tucked beneath a sleek black wig, and her waitressing outfit had been exchanged
for a tiny white top and a skirt that showed off a good ninety percent of her mile-long
legs. Not that Beau was a leg man. He was breast fed and proud of it. Still, he couldn’t
help but enjoy the toned calves and smooth thighs. But it wasn’t her legs that gave
the woman’s disguise away. It was the determined tilt of her chin—and the “Think-Green”
tote bag slung over her shoulder.

He tried to remember the name he’d been given.
Janine? Jennifer?

A thump pulled his attention away from his thoughts,
and he turned in time to see Marty rubbing his chest above the thick black strap of
his camera bag.

“What?” He glared at his wife. “You’re going to get a picture with some naked guy,
and I can’t even sneak a peek at a street walker.”

“She’s not The Naked Cowboy,” Laurie huffed.

“About that picture,” Beau said as he uncrossed his boots and rolled up from the park
bench, “I’m afraid I’m going to have to give you a rain check.” His gaze returned
to the woman in the black wig who appeared to be having a hard time walking in her
sky-high heels. As she headed down the path toward Central Park South, she wobbled
more than Beau’s one-year-old nephew, Bobby.

“A rain check?” Laurie sounded thoroughly disappointed. “But we’re only here until
Monday.”

Beau turned to her and pinned on his most brilliant smile. A smile that had gotten
him out of more bad situations than he could count. “I’ll tell you what. Since you’re
going to be here this weekend, what about if I leave you a couple tickets for the
bull-riding competition at the ticket window of Madison Square Garden?” He glanced
over at Marty. “Then you can take dozens of pictures of different cowboys—a few who
won’t mind at all getting naked for you.”

“You ride bulls?” Marty asked.

“Yep.”

Marty perked up. “No kiddin’? I didn’t figure you for a real cowboy. I just figured
that you ran around naked in a hat and boots for the money.”

“All part of the illusion that’s New York City.” Beau tipped his hat at them. “Y’all
enjoy your vacation now.”

It didn’t take him long to catch up with the woman.
She moved a lot slower in the heels than she had in the black running shoes she’d
worn when she came out of the restaurant. More than a few times, she stopped to catch
her balance and adjust the straps of the shoes. Pointy-heeled shoes that made her
legs look twice as long.

As he slowed his pace to keep a few yards behind her, Beau had to admit he was a little
confused. Why would a waitress walk to Central Park and change clothes in the bathroom?
If she was meeting friends after work, why hadn’t she changed at the restaurant? Or
why hadn’t she just gone home like any normal person would’ve done after working all
day on their feet? It would’ve made Beau’s job a lot simpler. If she had gone home,
he would now have her address and would be on his way back to his hotel to cuddle
up with the sweet little event coordinator he’d met that afternoon. An event coordinator
who filled out her western shirt to mouthwatering proportions.

The thought of Peggy Sue and her abundant twins had Beau tiring of his detective work.
He hadn’t minded sitting in the bar across the street from the restaurant, shooting
the shit with the bartender and eating a double cheeseburger, while he waited for
“a tall, skinny gal with blond hair down to her butt” to get off work. But he wasn’t
about to spend the rest of the night playing Dick Tracy when he had a better offer
waiting for him back at the hotel. He had promised that he would get the woman’s address,
and he would, just not at the expense of his sex life. Especially when his sex life
wasn’t exactly going as well as he would like.

Of course, it was nothing to worry about. Just a little hitch in his giddy-up. A hitch
Peggy Sue just might be able to help him with.

On that thought, Beau started to turn around when the waitress suddenly veered off
the main path and headed into the thicker foliage.

Well, damn
. He didn’t know a lot about Central Park, but he didn’t think that any park was safe
for a lone woman to be wandering around at night. So he mentally said good-bye to
Peggy Sue and headed into the trees. The trail was narrow and much darker than the
paved path. In fact, he couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of him. The waitress
was nowhere in sight. He started to get concerned when a tree branch popped out and
struck him in the chest. He stumbled back just as something hit him in the calves,
knocking his feet out from under him and sending him to the ground. His shoulder hit
first. The same shoulder he’d dislocated a few months earlier while kite surfing in
Belize. It didn’t dislocate again, but it hurt like hell. Gritting his teeth against
the pain, he rolled to his back and glared up at the woman who stood over him. From
this position, her legs looked like they extended all the way up to the quarter moon
that hung in the dark sky.

“Why are you followin’ me?” she asked, her Texas twang twice as thick as the stick
she poked in his chest. No doubt, the same stick that had his calves throbbing. “Did
Alejandro send you to scare me? Well, it’s not going to work.” She pointed the stick
at his nose. “Now you listen and listen carefully, you go back to your boss and tell
him that I’m not going to be intimidated. Especially not by some old, gray-haired
cowboy who can’t even fend off a girl.”

Tossing the stick away, she adjusted her tote bag and wobbled back down the trail.

Beau lay there for a few minutes, staring up at the stars.

Old, gray-haired cowboy?