The Bad Luck Wedding Night, Bad Luck Wedding series #5 (Bad Luck Abroad trilogy) (48 page)

"About as well as I can picture your Christina taking tea with the Queen of England." After a moment's pause, he added, "That word makes me shudder."

"Queen?"

"No. The other one."

"England." Jake considered it a moment, then shrugged. "It'll be fine, Cole. You'll track down our missing Declaration. I have faith in you." Then Jake's mouth settled into a glum smile and he added, "Shoot, I think you have the better end of the stick. You get to travel to England and maybe see their queen. I have to stay here and deal with ours."

Cole nodded. Christina Elizabeth Delaney, Chili Queen of San Antonio, Texas. "It's enough to turn a man off beans, isn't it?"

* * *

Christina Delaney laughed as she whirled across the plaza to the tune of the Mexican street band.

Wearing a white peasant blouse and a flowing scarlet skirt, she flashed a smile at the handsome vaquero who was her partner and lifted her hands above her head to clap in time to the beat. She loved to dance. She loved to lose herself in music, to feel the rhythm of the song deep within her soul. When she danced, she felt free to be herself.

Chrissy especially loved that feeling.

The yen for freedom had been a part of her since childhood, and she suspected it had its roots in the innumerable times she had watched her brother and Cole go off on an adventure while she was made to stay behind in deference to her gender. For a long, long time she had hated being a girl. She'd tried to deny her femininity, to overcome the liability of being female. Then, in a series of experiences that began with a broken heart and ended with her first severed engagement, she learned the power of being a woman.

After that, Chrissy embraced her womanhood with enthusiasm.

As the song ended, she hugged her dance partner, accepted his kiss on the cheek, then took up with another man for the next dance as the music started anew. She knew she acted recklessly, knew she'd launch San Antonio society tongues wagging with the scandal, but she truly didn't care. The last battle with her mother had driven her to it.

For months she'd tried to conform to Elizabeth's wishes. She'd dressed respectably, acted properly, and tried to get along. She'd even joined the Garden Club despite the fact the flowers they surrounded themselves with invariably made her sneeze. She had felt trapped like a frisky filly in a small corral, but she'd given it her best effort.

Did her mother notice? Hardly. Did she praise Chrissy's efforts? Seldom. Did she ever tell her she loved her? Never. Not ever. Not once in Chrissy's recollection.

On the other hand, Elizabeth Delaney sure managed to notice and express her disapproval when Chrissy did something so objectionable as to attend the Garden Club meeting with her hair down. From her mother's reaction, you'd have thought she'd committed the crime of the century. Chrissy had reached the end of her rope. She quit trying to be what she was not. She might have been born to Society, but she fit better with those down here in the plaza.

Plaza de Las Armas, or Military Plaza, was an open-air bazaar for hucksters, nighthawks, and peddlers at whose stands might be purchased everything from a pair of spectacles to a serape. But the features which made Military Plaza different from other city squares in the South were the open-air restaurants serving chili con carne and other pungent Mexican dishes to customers seated on small benches around cloth-draped tables. Lanterns and smoldering mesquite fires provided the light. Raven-haired senoritas waited tables and sang out to the cooks:
"Un medio tamales y chili gravey, un plata frijoles, un enchilada y tassa cafe."

One stand, however, proved different from the rest. While most of the queens were of Spanish descent, Anglo-Saxon aggressiveness had asserted itself and, this very night, had earned for a certain red-haired, light-eyed woman the acknowledgment of queen of all queens. As announced by the official tabulator a short time ago, on account of her beauty, vivacity, aptitude of repartee, and of course, the superior quality of her chili, Miss Chrissy Delaney had been voted Queen of the Chili Queens of San Antonio, Texas.

Chrissy had started to cry. Acceptance. What a delicious dish.

Then, the band had struck up the music, vaqueros tossed down their sombreros, and Chrissy began to dance. Forty-five minutes later she was still dancing, barefoot now, her eyes alight, her face flushed, and her smile as wide as the West Texas plain. She swished her skirt, showed a little ankle, threw a few kisses, and glanced up to see her brother and his starched-shirt, disapproving, hypocritical sidekick, Cole I'm-perfect-and- you're-not Morgan.

Chrissy stumbled a step as the night's magic evaporated and frustration took its place. She'd known they'd learn of her chili stand eventually. In fact, she'd planned on it.

But she hadn't planned on it being tonight. Her strategy involved sitting down with facts and figures in hand to help her present an unassailable argument why she should be allowed to continue the chili stand. The boys showing up in the midst of a barefooted hat dance wasn't on her agenda anywhere.

Just my luck.
Why did it have to be tonight? Couldn't she have had just this one evening of fun and freedom?

"Apparently not."

"What did you say, sweetheart?" asked the monte dealer with whom she was dancing.

Ignoring the card sharp, she glanced back toward her brother. He had that avenging angel look about him again. The words she'd heard all her life from him and from her parents echoed through her mind.
You're a Delaney, Christina, and Delaneys have a reputation to uphold.

She turned back to her dance partner, smiled, and said, "I must think of my reputation." Then she grabbed him by the flashy satin lapels, yanked him toward her, and planted a kiss right on his lips.

The sound she heard behind her could have been a volcano blowing its top, but since San Antonio didn't have any volcanoes, she thought it might be her brother. Or maybe Cole.

She ended the scandalous public kiss with a flourish and flashed a saucy smile around the catcalling crowd. Then, adopting a regal mein in keeping with her newly crowned status, she glided over to her chili stand and took up her scepter, otherwise known as a ladle, and prepared to meet the enemy.

* * *

She kissed that rogue. In public.

Cole was shocked. Jake was obviously in a similar state because when they reached the chili stand, he simply stood there, his mouth working like a fish out of water. Cole had to take control.

Any tolerance he'd had concerning this situation had evaporated the moment Christina locked her lips on the gambler. He wanted to yell, but thought it best to avoid adding fuel to the gossip fire so he clipped out his words in a low, threatening tone. "What do you think you are doing?"

"Serving up chili con carne, of course," Chrissy replied, accompanying her words with a casual wave of her hand. The one holding the ladle.

A dark, orange-red chili stain blossomed on Cole's favorite white shirt. He rolled his tongue around his mouth to keep from saying something ugly and calmly removed his handkerchief from his jacket pocket, then wiped the spot.

Chrissy picked up a plate, lifted her chin, and said, "Chili, beans, with a tortilla on the side costs a dime. You can pay me later."

"I don't want your chili."

"Then don't stand in my line."

Jake found his voice. "Chrissy, you are supposed to be at the San Antonio Young Ladies' Sewing Circle. This is... this is... awful."

Anger snapped in her eyes as she looked at her brother. "How can you judge what you haven't tasted? My chili is the best on the plaza. My customers voted it so." She ladled a spoonful of the thick, aromatic mixture onto a plate, added a fork and shoved it at Jake. "Here, see for yourself."

"We've seen all we need to see." Cole swept her with a raking gaze. She looked like a strumpet in her Mexican skirt and blouse, her hair loose and flowing and mussed from the dance.

A disturbing thought struck. Surely it was mussed from only the dance. Surely she hadn't taken to serving up more than her chili in Military Plaza.

A sick feeling rolled through his gut at the idea.

Almost against his will, he took a second look, only this time he removed the brotherly blinders he made it his habit to wear and allowed his eyes to feast on the sight of her—the waterfall of burnished copper hair, sparkling green eyes, full red lips. His gaze skimmed her long, graceful neck and the hint of bare shoulder that teased from the edge of her blouse and beckoned a man's kiss. Full breasts, tiny waist, slim, flaring hips draped tonight in scarlet made a man ache to touch.

Cole's mouth went dry. His loins stirred. He snapped the blinders back into place, but not before recognizing that every man in the plaza had undoubtedly made a run at her. "How could you do this to your mother?"

The small gasp betrayed her. He'd struck a blow.

He waited for her to strike back.

Cole saw her eye the plate in her hand, and he prepared to duck. But Miss Christina Elizabeth Delaney wouldn't do anything that predictable. No, this woman was much more subtle.

She smiled sweetly. "I don't know about you, but all this dancing has made me hungry. Y'all sit down and have some chili. I'll join you in a moment and we can talk."

"We don't need to talk," Jake interjected. "We need for you to leave the plaza without making a bigger scene than you already have. I'd like to tan your hide right about now, sister. What were you thinking? You're a Delaney, for heaven's sake. Delaneys have—"

"A reputation to uphold, I know," she snapped, bristling with defensiveness. "Let's compromise. Sit down with me and as we eat, I'll explain why I joined the Chili Queens rather than the Sewing Circle. I'll answer all your questions." She held out the plate expectantly until her brother took it, then she dished up a second one for Cole.

"Miss Chrissy?" a young man's voice asked. "Would you like me to give them one of your special pickled peppers to go along with their meal?"

For the first time Cole noticed the pair of youngsters standing behind Christina. The girl looked to be around six; the boy two or three years older. Obviously sister and brother, they watched Cole and Jake closely, the girl's face glowing with interest, the boy's blue eyes narrowed in suspicion as he folded his arms and positioned himself at Chrissy's side.

Another conquest,
Cole thought. Poor kid didn't know that she didn't need a man's protection. Shoot, Chrissy Delaney used a whetstone to file her nails. She could hold her own against just about anyone.

"Yes, Michael," Chrissy answered after a moment's thought. "To get the full culinary experience, they should have one of my pickled peppers."

"I'll get it," said the girl. She speared an apricot-colored pepper Cole couldn't identify with a fork and added it to his plate before repeating the process with Jake's. Chrissy carried the jar along with a plate of her own to a small, cloth-draped wooden table set to one side of her chili stand. As she took her seat, Jake reached across and yanked her blouse back up over her shoulder. "For crying out loud, Chrissy. Can't you at least keep your clothes on?"

The boy and girl took up a position on either side of Chrissy as she gestured for the men to start eating. Warily, Cole tasted the chili. A delicious blend of spices danced across his tongue, and flavor exploded in his mouth. "This is good. Really good. Who made it?"

The boy snorted with disgust. "Miss Chrissy made it, you fool."

Cole set down his fork abruptly. "And just who are you?"

He straightened his spine, squared his shoulders, and lifted his chin proudly. "Michael Christian Frederick Hans Kleberg." He dipped his head in a brief bow. "This is my sister, Sophia Hannah Mary Gertrude Kleberg. We are Miss Chrissy's friends. And you are...?"

"Mr. Morgan to you."

Young Michael wrinkled his nose while the girl beamed and said, "You can call me Sophie. I know who you are. Miss Chrissy talks to my mama about you. You're the lawyer Cole Morgan who only has two flaws."

Jake and Cole shared a quizzical glance. Chrissy looked down at her lap trying unsuccessfully to hide a smile.

"Everything you say," the girl continued.

"And everything you do," her brother finished. "You don't have to boss around Miss Chrissy anymore, Morgan. She can take care of herself."

Sophie Kleberg nodded. "She's a queen, now. The Queen of the Chili Queens. Mama put her name up for the vote and she won. This very night, she won."

Michael added, "She was proclaimed Queen of the Chili Queens because of us." He laid a hand on Chrissy's shoulder. "We will take care of Miss Chrissy."

His fork full of chili extended halfway to his mouth, Jake gawked in shocked surprise over this exchange. Cole pinned Christina with a look. "So, you are giving up the life of a cosseted society daughter to stand over a hot kettle and flirt with blackguards and rogues?"

She bristled. "Flirt?"

Jake glanced from Cole to his sister, then finally tasted the chili. "This
is
good. How did you learn to make it?"

"A blackguard taught me," Chrissy drawled in answer, her angry gaze never leaving Cole. "A rogue gave me the recipe for the pickled peppers. Try one. My chili is delicious, but my peppers are divine." She reached across the table, lifted one of the orange walnut-sized peppers by its stem and leaned forward, holding it out to Cole.