Trouble in Texas (20 page)

She leaned up. “Because that’s stupid.”

Beau’s eyes widened before he started laughing so hard that he sloshed the beer out
of the bottle. But Elizabeth saw nothing funny about it.

“You can’t just stop going in for check-ups. Even if the cancer is back, I’ve heard
of people having cancer more
than once and surviving. Of course, they were fighters while you’re obviously a… weenie.”

“A weenie?” He sobered and sat up. “You try going through weeks of chemo and radiation,
and we’ll see who’s a weenie.”

“I realize it had to be hard, Beau,” she said. “But you can’t just give up. It’s not
just about you. It’s about Brant and Billy, and everyone who loves you.”

He released his breath and flopped back. “Maybe I don’t want to carry the burden of
my family like Brant does. Maybe I’m a selfish prick who just wants to think about
himself.”

“So think about yourself and go get a check-up. There’s a good chance that the grim
reaper might be staring at his watch for another sixty years.”

“Are you always so sure of yourself?” Beau asked.

It was laughable. Ever since waking up that morning with a man in her bed, Elizabeth
had been completely unsure of herself. Not only had she started to doubt her clothing
selection, but also her values and beliefs.

“It’s much easier to figure out what other people should do than it is to figure out
what you should do,” she answered truthfully.

“And what are you having trouble figuring out?” he asked.

Try as she might, Elizabeth couldn’t keep her face from heating up. And Beau didn’t
waste any time drawing the correct conclusions.

He flashed a smile. “So you and Brant do have a thing going. I was starting to have
my doubts. Especially since you don’t exactly act like you like each other.”

“I like your brother just fine,” she said. “But we don’t
have a thing going. We’re merely…” Her voice dropped off when she realized she didn’t
know how to finish the sentence.

“Friends?” Beau finished for her. When she didn’t reply, his gaze wandered over her
from the top of her head to the tips of her shoes. This time, his smile was less flashy
and more sincere. “Come to think of it, a friend might be exactly what my brother
needs most.”

E
LIZABETH LOOKED DIFFERENT
. Gone was the tightly buttoned Ms. Murphy in somber gray suits, and in her place
was a relaxed woman in a red sweater and a pair of faded Levi’s that showcased her
long legs and hugged her curvy hips. But it wasn’t her clothing that held Brant’s
attention. Her entire demeanor had changed. She sat in the shade of the monstrous
cottonwood tree, her bare feet tucked up on the hammock and her finger twisting a
strand of hair as she read one of Miss Hattie’s journals. It was a seductive pose.
At least, it looked damned seductive to Brant.

“You holdin’ up that hoe or is the hoe holdin’ you up?”

Minnie’s voice startled Brant out of his voyeurism, and the hoe he’d been leaning
on shifted beneath his weight. A slower man would’ve fallen flat on his face, but
Brant was quick enough to regain his balance. Just not before his cowboy hat went
tumbling to the ground.

Minnie cackled. “I guess that answers that.”

He picked up the hat and slapped it against his thigh. “You need to quit sneaking
up on people.”

“A chargin’ elephant could’ve snuck up on you,” she
said, and her gaze wandered over to Elizabeth. “Makes a person wonder just what held
your attention.”

He tugged his hat back on. “Daydreaming, is all. And I thought I asked you to quit
smoking.” He reached for the cigarette that hung from her mouth, but she swatted his
hand away.

“It ain’t even lit.”

“So why do you need it?”

“The same reason you need to keep that chirpin’ cell phone latched to your belt.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Although it looks like you’ve misplaced it.”

Brant hadn’t misplaced his phone. It was on the dresser in Miss Hattie’s room, no
doubt chirping as one e-mail after the other filled his inbox. Normally, he’d be chomping
at the bit to get back to it and his laptop, but for some reason, answering e-mails
and reading contracts no longer seemed that pressing. His gaze swept back over to
Elizabeth before he picked up the hoe and went back to chopping the waist-high weeds.

“You’re doin’ a fine job,” Minnie said. “It won’t be long before the garden will look
as pretty as it once did. Of course, the house still needs some work.”

“I’ve already contacted the contractors,” he said as he wrestled with a more stubborn
weed. “They’ll be out this week as soon as we close on the house.” He stopped and
shot her a warning look. “But I’m not signing anything until you give me your word
that you won’t be sending out any more invitations.”

Minnie held up a wrinkled hand. “Hen’s honor.” She shook her head. “It didn’t do much
good anyhow. Ten invitations and all we got was three girls.”

He turned to her. “Three?”

She shrugged. “There were the two before you got here. But I sent them on their way
quick enough. Much too full of themselves. One even had the audacity to ask if we
had a stripper pole she could audition on.” She shook her head. “What is the world
comin’ to?”

Brant couldn’t help but grin. Something that was happening much too frequently. “Did
you get a good look at the chest I left in the kitchen?” he asked. “Do you remember
it?”

“Of course I remember it,” she said. “It was once—” she stopped and took a deep puff
of her unlit cigarette, “Miss Hattie’s.”

Brant leaned on the hoe. “So it was Miss Hattie’s?”

“One of her most prized possessions. According to the stories, she even slept with
it on occasion.” She squinted at him. “But I didn’t realize your granddaddy had made
it. How did you figure it out?”

“My father gave one to my mother when they got married that’s almost identical,” he
said. “I recognized it immediately when I saw it in Elizabeth’s bedroom—” He cut off
quickly, but not quickly enough. Minnie latched on to his words like an alligator
on raw chicken.

“Well, I guess that proves two things,” she said almost gleefully. “Your grandfather
was here. And Elizabeth is no longer a virgin.”

Elizabeth was still a virgin, but barely. For a man who prided himself on control,
he’d lost most of it the night before. When he ignored the comment and went back to
chopping weeds, Minnie cackled.

“I’d say it’s about damned time.” She wheeled closer to him. “Unless you’re a slam-bam-thank-you-ma’am
kind of man.”

In the last year, Brant probably could’ve been described as a slam-bam-thank-you-ma’am
kind of man. On the rare occasions that he’d needed sex, he’d spent little time with
the woman after the act was over.

Which was why he should’ve been relieved to discover that Elizabeth wasn’t a clingy
type of woman. And he was relieved. He didn’t need, or want, a serious relationship.
His life was complicated enough. Still, there was a part of him that felt a little
annoyed by Elizabeth’s lack of interest after their night together. Maybe he wasn’t
annoyed as much as confused.

Shouldn’t a virgin be a little enamored of the man who had given her multiple orgasms?
The first time he’d had oral sex, he’d followed Melissa Coolidge around like an orphaned
baby duckling until her mother had reported him to the sheriff as a stalker.

Elizabeth, on the other hand, wasn’t the stalker type. He didn’t wake up to find her
staring dreamily at his face. She hadn’t ogled him in the shower. Hadn’t rushed to
fix him coffee or breakfast. She hadn’t melted against him when he’d kissed her. In
fact, she’d treated him the same way she’d always treated him: indifferent with a
slight measure of contempt.

He glanced over at her. There she sat, sipping the iced tea Baby had brought out to
her and reading one of Miss Hattie’s journals as if the man she’d just enjoyed a night
of sexual delights with wasn’t standing less than twenty feet away. It was enough
to really piss Brant off. Hoping to figure out what made Elizabeth different from
every other woman he’d been in bed with, he turned to Minnie.

“So tell me about her. I know she was an only child, but why didn’t her mother inherit
the henhouse?”

Moments ticked past, and he started to wonder if there was some hen code that stopped
Minnie from answering. But finally she relaxed back in her chair and spoke.

“Harriett never loved the henhouse the way a hen should,” Minnie said. “And I can’t
say as I blame her. She didn’t have it easy. Instead of havin’ her go live with relatives
like most hens did, her mama made the mistake of lettin’ her grow up here. It was
a bad decision. One her mother lived to regret.” She pulled the cigarette from her
mouth and stared at the unlit tip. “But no matter how much you want to, you can’t
go back and fix things. You just have to live with your mistakes.”

“You sound like you know a lot about the subject,” he said. “Do you have any children,
Minnie?”

Minnie flipped the cigarette out into the weeds. “Not a one that I deserve.”

Her gaze wandered over to Elizabeth. “Growin’ up with Harriett and all her hang-ups
about men has made Elizabeth more than a little distrustful.” She looked back at him.
“Which is where you come in. You need to prove to her that all men aren’t assholes.”

“And what makes you think I’m not?” he asked.

Minnie snorted as she backed up the wheelchair. “I’ve been around men all my life.
And believe me, I know an asshole when I see one.”

After Minnie went back inside, Brant continued to chop weeds and think about what
she’d said about Elizabeth’s childhood. A mother that hated men explained a lot. Elizabeth’s
virginity. Her frumpy clothes. Her old maid lifestyle. And he agreed with Minnie that
Elizabeth needed a man in her life. Brant just wasn’t that man.

Which didn’t explain why Brant remained outside with
Elizabeth, even when he started to suffer from heatstroke. Or maybe heatstroke was
only the excuse he used for what happened next. With one eye pinned on Elizabeth,
he stripped off his shirt, something he rarely did, and proceeded to perform feats
of strength. He moved large rocks for no good reason, grunting as if he were leg-pressing
a good five hundred pounds. He welded the hedge clippers like Edward Scissorhands.
And hoed like a lumberjack bent on clearing half the Sierras.

It was heatstroke. It had to be. There was no other way to explain a thirty-eight-year-old
man flexing and posing for a woman like some goddamned body builder in a competition.

And the worst part about it was she didn’t pay him the slightest bit of attention.
Not when he almost threw out his back lifting a cement stepping-stone, and not when
he doused himself with the hose and shook off like a naked blonde in some sex video.
She just sat there completely oblivious to his humiliation.

Unfortunately, his little brother wasn’t so oblivious.

“What are you doin’, Big Bro?”

Brant dropped the hose and turned to find Beau standing at the back door, an overly
bright smile on his face.

“Just cooling off,” Brant said as he grabbed up his shirt. “I was hot.”

Beau glanced over at Elizabeth, and his smile got even brighter. “I bet you are.”

“Hi, Beau!” Elizabeth lifted her hand in greeting.

Brant scowled. Here he had worked his ass off for the last half hour trying to get
her attention and all his little brother had to do was walk out the door?

As if reading his thoughts, Beau shrugged before
turning back to Elizabeth. “Well, don’t you look all cool and comfortable,” he said
as he waltzed right over and flopped down on the hammock with her. And if Beau’s familiarity
with Elizabeth didn’t piss Brant off, her reaction certainly did. She closed the diary
and had the audacity to give Beau her full attention.

Brant should’ve gone inside. He didn’t need this kind of aggravation. Unfortunately,
his feet didn’t seem to listen to his common sense.

“What are you two talking about?” he asked as he strolled over. It annoyed the hell
out of him that he sounded exactly like a kid who had been left out of the playground
basketball game.

“I was just telling Elizabeth how pretty she looks in jeans.” Beau threw Elizabeth
a wink, and she blushed brightly. “Hey, would you watch it, Brant?” He tried to shove
Brant back with his boot. “You’re dripping all over.”

Brant didn’t apologize, nor did he move. It was only after Elizabeth’s jeans had numerous
damp dark spots that she looked up at him. She obviously didn’t need her glasses for
reading because they were hooked in the front of her sweater, leaving her pretty hazel
eyes exposed. Along with the direct and annoyingly indifferent look in them. “You
might want to put on some sunscreen.” She pointed to his chest. “It looks like you’re
getting a burn.”

“She’s right,” Beau said. “You do look a little pink, brother.”

Ignoring the comments, Brant nodded at the notebook. “So did you discover anything
interesting?”

She opened the book back up. “Not really. Although given that none of the entries
have dates, it’s a little confusing.”

Beau leaned way too close to Elizabeth, and it took everything Brant had not to wrestle
his brother to the ground. Something of what he felt must’ve shown on his face because
Beau sent him an innocent look before leaning even closer. “Have you found my grandfather’s
name?”

She flipped through the pages. “No, but I found Buddy Holly. Which doesn’t make any
sense considering the fact that my great-grandmother would’ve been long gone by the
time he was popular.”

“Maybe it’s a different Buddy Holly,” Beau said, before taking a deep breath. “What
perfume do you use, Elizabeth? You smell good enough to eat.”

“Watch it, Beau,” Brant growled.

“Watch what, big brother? I was just making a comment.”

“One that was out of line.”