Hunk for the Holidays (34 page)

“Hello, Atticus. Did you miss me?” she asked as she leaned down to stroke the cat’s soft, orange fur.

Atticus allowed her fawning for only a few seconds before he headed for the kitchen cupboard where she kept the cat food. At a good six pounds overweight, he had always been more interested in Meow Mix than her affection.

After feeding the cat and refilling his water dish, Elizabeth walked back in to the living room to get her tote bag. The wedding was hours away. She’d have plenty of time to get in a little reading before she had to get ready. Unfortunately, after deciding on a book, she made the mistake of checking her cell phone messages. There was only one. One breathy message that completely obliterated her plans.

“Lizzie? You need to get out here. And quick.”

The drive that normally took her close to an hour took only forty-five minutes, during which Elizabeth envisioned all kinds of catastrophes. Which explained why she was so surprised when she walked into the kitchen of Miss Hattie’s Henhouse and found three women calmly going about
their business. Minnie was sitting in her wheelchair playing solitaire at the table. Sunshine was sitting on the floor contorted in some kind of weird yoga pose. And Baby was standing at the stove, stirring something in a saucepan and staring up at the ceiling.

“What’s the emergency?” Elizabeth asked as she looked around for signs of fire, flooding, or robbery.

“The Realtor came by on Tuesday,” Minnie said nonchalantly.

Elizabeth released her breath and dropped her tote bag to the floor. “That’s it? The reason you had me drive all the way out here was to tell me that the Realtor came by?” She glanced over at Baby, but Baby quickly looked back up at the ceiling.

“That is an emergency.” Minnie took another drag of her cigarette, her eyes squinting through the smoke. “I told you we weren’t leaving.” She gave Elizabeth the once-over. “Where in the hell do you get those ugly suits?”

Elizabeth wasn’t the kind of person who lost her patience, but the last six months of dealing with Minnie was more than anyone should have to endure. Still, she took a deep breath and tried to remain calm.

“We can’t hold on to this house, Minnie. Your social security checks put together won’t even cover the gas bills for the winter.” She waved a hand around. “Just look at this place. It’s falling down around your ears, and it would take more money than any of us have to fix it. So, yes, I’m selling it.”

The wheelchair zipped away from the table and straight toward her. But Minnie had pulled the stunt before, and Elizabeth wasn’t falling for it. She stood her ground, even
when the wheels of the chair came within inches of the toes of her conservative brown lace-ups.

“Let me tell you something, girlie.” Minnie shook a gnarled finger at her. “You might’ve inherited the house, but your ancestors would be rollin’ over in their graves if they knew you were plannin’ on throwin’ out their sister hens!”

Hens. Elizabeth cringed. She had come to hate the word. So much so that she’d sworn off chicken, eggs, and feather pillows.

“So what do you expect me to do?” she said. “You want me to just let you live here until they turn off the utilities? Until you’re forced to eat cat food—again?”

“That happened only once,” Minnie said. “And only because Sunshine mistook it for a can of tuna.”

Sunshine giggled. “Cathouse. Cat food.”

“So are you telling me that you weren’t almost starving by the time the lawyer finally located me?” Elizabeth asked.

“No.” Minnie rolled back over to the table and snuffed out her cigarette. “I’ll admit that we were pretty close to eating the mice that have taken over the attic. But the hens and I would’ve been just fine if you hadn’t showed up. In fact, we just came up with a new plan.”

“A plan?” Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “Is this plan similar to the one about starting your own line of lingerie?”

“That one would’ve worked,” Minnie said, “if I hadn’t let Baby come up with the slogan. ‘Nighties that will entice your man to take his choo-choo on a ride in your tunnel.’ What the hell does that mean?”

“Speaking of choo-choos…” Sunshine stretched a leg up over her head, something Elizabeth was quite certain
she couldn’t do now, let alone when she turned seventy. “Can I go upstairs now, Min? You said I could do it later. It’s later. Right?”

Minnie shook her head. “In a little while, Sunshine. Right now we need to make sure Lizzie is in.”

Elizabeth heaved a sigh and sat down in a chair. As much as she wanted to sell the house and completely forget her connection to Miss Hattie’s, she also couldn’t stand the thought of kicking the three women out of a home they loved.

“So what’s this great plan, Minnie?”

Numerous cards were played and another cigarette lit before the ornery old woman finally spoke. “We’re reopening the henhouse.”

“Excuse me?” Elizabeth leaned closer, figuring she’d misunderstood. “Reopening as in selling sex?”

Minnie’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t know what that crazy mama of yours told you, but the hens never sold sex in their lives—that’s what prostitutes and whores do. The henhouse was a place where men could come to be pampered and loved.” She shrugged. “And if they wanted to show their appreciation with money and gifts, that was their decision. Miss Hattie never spoke of money. And neither did any of the hens.”

“Which might explain why you don’t have any now,” Elizabeth couldn’t help adding.

Taking another drag of her cigarette, Minnie flipped a queen of diamonds down on the king of spades. “Did you realize that, unlike the Chicken Ranch, the henhouse was never closed down? We remained open until the last rooster flew the coop. Age is what screwed us up. Nobody
wants an old hen when they can have a spring chicken.” She tapped a crooked nail on the table. “ ’Course, the spring chickens can’t just be anyone. Hen blood is either in you, or it ain’t.” Her eyes narrowed on Elizabeth. “And I’m havin’ my doubts about you, Lizzie.”

Exasperated, Elizabeth got up from the chair. “I’m selling the house, Minnie. But I give you my word that I’ll help you and the hens find a good place to live.”

“You’re not leaving.” Baby turned from the stove with a desperate look on her face. “You can’t go yet.” Her gaze wandered up to the ceiling.

“Let her go.” Minnie reshuffled the cards, the cigarette drooping from her lip. “We should’ve never contacted her in the first place.”

Elizabeth wished they hadn’t either. Unfortunately, there was no going back. Ignoring the hens would be like leaving three blind mice in a burning building. Someone had to watch out for the insane women. Elizabeth just wished it wasn’t her.

“The Realtor will be back next week,” she said as she headed to the side kitchen door. “And stop smoking, Minnie. If you don’t kill yourself, your secondhand smoke is going to kill Sunshine and Baby.”

“It will take more than a little smoke to kill us hens,” Minnie huffed.

She probably had a point. The three would no doubt outlive most of the population of Texas.

The sun had just started to slip beneath the horizon as Elizabeth made her way around the front of the house to her car. Sunsets in west Texas were spectacular, but she didn’t take the time to enjoy the vibrant splashes of color.
If she hurried, she would have just enough time to change and get to the First Baptist Church before the wedding started. She’d just as soon skip the festivities and go home and read. But if she didn’t attend, questions would arise. And all she needed was the townsfolk finding out about her connection to Miss Hattie’s.

Unfortunately, before she even got to her car, a thought struck her. Why would Sunshine want to go upstairs when the only things upstairs were mice and empty rooms? Elizabeth might’ve attributed the desire to a brain that had been fried by too many drugs in the sixties if Minnie hadn’t acted like she knew exactly what Sunshine was talking about.

And if Baby hadn’t acted so strange, constantly looking up at the ceiling.

An uneasy feeling settled in the pit of her stomach as Elizabeth glanced up at the second story. A part of her brain told her to ignore the feeling and get out of there. But the logical part of her brain reminded her that her name was on the deed, which meant she was liable for whatever craziness the hens had come up with. Not wanting to get in another argument with Minnie, Elizabeth decided to slip in the front door and tiptoe up the long staircase.

She had never been upstairs before, partly because the hens lived downstairs and partly because of Minnie’s mice stories. It was a creepy place, filled with dark shadows and creaking floorboards. She didn’t find any mice, but she did find numerous rooms—all of which were empty.

All except for the corner room.

Elizabeth pushed open the double doors, and her breath
caught. While the rest of the house had minimal furniture, this room was filled to the rafters. She didn’t know a lot about antiques, but the items in the room looked like they would send the appraisers on
Antiques Roadshow
into conniption fits. No wonder Sunshine had wanted to come upstairs. The room was like stepping back in time. There were beautiful Oriental rugs, museum-quality paintings, heavy brass lamps with stained-glass shades, and beautiful dressers and chests that gleamed in the last rays of the setting sun.

But nothing compared to the huge four-poster bed that covered one entire wall. The exquisitely carved headboard was made of dark walnut, as were the thick posts that came within inches of the high ceiling. Red and gold brocade curtains draped from the canopy, partially concealing a mattress that had to be a good three feet from the floor.

Regardless of all the horror stories her mother had told her over the years, Elizabeth found herself completely and utterly enthralled by the massive piece of furniture. And as much as she tried to convince her brain that it was just a bed, something inside of Elizabeth knew differently. This wasn’t just a bed. This was
the
bed. The same bed where the most famous prostitute in Texas history had slept—or not slept. A bed that had entertained outlaws and politicians alike. A bed that some museum curators would give their eyeteeth to have. And there Elizabeth stood not more than ten feet away from it.

Make that seven feet.

Four.

One.

She slid a hand down the brocade curtains and stared
in at the rumpled black satin sheets. What kind of wickedness had transpired there? What kind of depravity? What kind of fun?

Before Elizabeth knew it, she had pushed back the curtain and slipped inside the shadowy cocoon. The mattress was not too soft or too hard, the sheets cool to the touch. She eased down to the pillows and breathed deeply. The smell of lilacs wasn’t surprising. Being Miss Hattie’s signature scent, it had been worn by all hens, past and present. But the other scent baffled her. It was an earthy scent that she couldn’t quite place.

Attached to the canopy was a huge mirror. A mirror painted with a mural of a beautiful woman in a seductive red dressing gown. The painting completely obscured the dowdy old maid in the ugly gray suit, leaving only the other side of the bed visible. It wasn’t hard to imagine the shape of a man’s body beneath the rumpled satin sheets. Or hear his deep, steady breathing. Was he a filthy-rich oil man? A lonely cowboy fresh off the trail? Or possibly a handsome hero straight from the pages of a historical romance?

As she gave her imagination full rein, a dark head separated from the black satin of the pillow and a deep voice rumbled next to her ear.

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

THE DISH

Where authors give you the inside scoop!

From the desk of R.C. Ryan

Dear Reader,

When my daughter-in-law Patty came home from her first hike of the Grand Canyon, she was high on the beauty and majesty of the mountains for months. Since then, it has become her annual pilgrimage—one that fuels her dreams, and feeds my writer’s imagination. I’ve wanted to create a character with the same passion for the mountains that Patty has for a long time, someone who experiences the same awe, freedom, and peace that she does just by being in eyesight of them. And with JOSH, I think I finally have.

Josh Conway, the hero of the second book in my Wyoming Sky series, is truly a hero in every sense of the word. He’s a man who rescues people who’ve lost their way on the mountain he loves in all kinds of weather. There’s just something about a guy who would risk his own safety, his very life, to help others, that is so appealing to me. To add to Josh’s appeal, he’s a hard-working rancher and a sexy cowboy—an irresistible combination. Not to mention that he loves a challenge.

Enter Sierra Moore. Sierra is a photographer who comes to the Grand Tetons in Wyoming to shoot photographs of a storm. At least that’s what she’ll admit to. But there’s a mystery behind that beautiful smile. She’s come to the mountains to disappear for a while, and being
rescued—even if it is by a ruggedly handsome cowboy—is the last thing she needs or wants.

But when danger rears its ugly head, and Sierra’s life is threatened, she and Josh must call on every bit of strength and courage they possess in order to survive. Yet an even greater test of their strength will be the courage to commit to a lifetime together.