Trouble in Texas (34 page)

Elizabeth stopped in her tracks.

Tar.

Feathers.

Low-down rotten scoundrels.

“Kenny!” she yelled as she raced to catch up with him. “What low-down, rotten scoundrel?”

“The one the sheriff arrested for drunk drivin’.” His strides lengthened. “The same
scoundrel who wanted to close down Dalton Oil and make Bramble a ghost town.” He paused
as if waiting for a drum roll. “Branston Cates.”

Elizabeth stumbled on a crack in the sidewalk, but Kenny didn’t notice and kept right
on walking and talking.

“But we’re going to show him. Once he’s honeyed and hen feathered and rode out of
town on a rail—or the back of Lowell’s tractor since we couldn’t find a rail either—he’ll
realize that you can’t mess with Bramble.” He turned suddenly and headed across the
street, leaving Elizabeth standing on the curb in shock.

As much as she’d fantasized about Brant being miserable without her, she couldn’t
stand the thought of him actually being hurt. And while honey and feathers might not
physically hurt him, to a man like Brant, the loss of his dignity would be almost
as painful as being dipped in hot tar. She started to race after Kenny, but then realized
that when the town got something in their heads there was no reasoning with them.
There were only a few people who could get the town’s attention.

Elizabeth reached into her tote for her cell phone, but then remembered that she’d
left it with the hens in case Minnie took a turn for the worse and needed to call
the doctor. She hurried across the street to the pharmacy to use their phone, but
it was locked up tight. As were all the businesses up and down Main Street. And it
only took one glance down the street at the crowd forming in front of the jail to
understand why.

For a clumsy girl who had failed physical education three years running, Elizabeth
made it home in record time. The gate stuck, and she was forced to climb over it,
snagging her hose in the process and landing on one knee in the middle of her garden.

“What in tarnation is goin’ on?”

Elizabeth looked up to find Minnie sitting on the porch in her wheelchair wearing
Elizabeth’s tattered chenille bathrobe.

Ignoring the mud clinging to her shoes and knee, Elizabeth hobbled up the steps. “Where’s
the phone?”

“Now I realize you’re a little crazed over Branston, Lizzie. But you need to pull
yourself together and start—”

“The phone, Minnie!”

Minnie’s eyes narrowed, but she pulled the phone from the side tote bag that hung
on her wheelchair and handed it over. As the librarian, Elizabeth had every person’s
number in town programmed into her phone so it didn’t take long to pull up Shirlene’s.
Unfortunately, Brody answered and didn’t seem to be in any hurry to hand the phone
to an adult. It took Elizabeth using her sternest voice to get him to finally yell
for his father. Of course, Billy didn’t act much better than his three-year-old son.
When she told him what was happening, he laughed so hard and so long she was forced
to hang up on him. She tried calling Hope and then Faith, but neither were home.

With no one else to call, Elizabeth turned back to Minnie. “Where’s your gun?” She
expected to get an argument, but instead, Minnie pulled out the small derringer she
had insisted on taking with her the night of the fire and slapped it in Elizabeth’s
palm.

“Be careful what you aim at. You’ll only have two shots to hit it.”

Two shots seemed like more than enough. Especially since Elizabeth had no intention
of shooting anyone. She
just needed to scare them long enough to listen to reason. She handed the phone back
to Minnie and headed down the steps. As she climbed back over the fence, she heard
Minnie call out.

“Come on, you hens! Lizzie’s packin’.”

By the time Elizabeth reached the corner of Main Street, she glanced behind her to
see the hens following. Since they had escaped the fire with only the pajamas on their
backs, they all wore something of Elizabeth’s—a collection of frumpy suits that would
make even a Puritan head for a shopping mall. She barely noticed as her gaze quickly
returned to the growing crowd in front of the jail.

Elizabeth had never been the type to be rude, but she had never been this upset before.
She elbowed and pushed her way through the crowd like a kid at a carnival freak show.
It wasn’t easy. People didn’t seem to want to give up their spot until they noticed
who it was doing the pushing.

“Why, Ms. Murphy,” Rachel Dean said. “I didn’t think you was into spectatin’ sports.”

“I need to get through, Rachel,” she said. Rachel must’ve detected the desperation
in her voice because she lifted her large hand and thumped Rye Pickett on the back.

“Let Ms. Murphy through, Rye. She’s got a hankerin’ to see that ornery scoundrel get
his just deserts.”

“Well, of course, Ms. Murphy.” Rye pushed two men out of the way to get her to the
front. She arrived just in time to see the glass door of the jail open and Brant step
out with his hands cuffed in front of him. He still wore the fireman’s t-shirt and
the green scrubs. But now there was blood on the scrubs and the collar of the t-shirt
was torn. He squinted in the bright afternoon light, his dark hair blowing in the
stiff wind. His face had been battered before, but now it looked
worse. There was a fresh bump on his chin. But the bump didn’t bother her as much
as the missing bootie. The sight of his long, bare foot exposed to the cold air made
Elizabeth madder than a wet hen. Sheriff Winslow had no more stepped out from behind
Brant than Elizabeth started in.

“I would like to have a word with you, Sheriff Winslow,” she said as she limped up
the pathway.

Brant’s eyes widened, and a look that could only be described as relief flooded his
face. It made Elizabeth all the madder, and she found herself stepping between him
and the sheriff, who looked more than a little baffled.

“Now, I realize I’m a little late gettin’ that book on taxidermy back, Ms. Murphy,
but I’m still workin’ on mountin’ that three-foot catfish I caught out at Sutter Springs.”

“More like three inches, I’d say, Sam.” Moses Tate stepped out of the door in the
red long johns he’d worn to the hospital. “ ’Course, you always were off on measurements.”

“Now don’t be buttin’ in again, Moses,” the sheriff said. “That’s what landed you
in jail in the first place.”

“What landed me in jail is a jackass.” Moses squinted at Kenny Gene, who stood on
the front lawn, emptying bottles of honey into a stainless steel tub. The handles
of the tub had a rope tied to them, and the rope was looped over a branch of the maple
tree. “But I figure you’re in good company. Just what in the blue blazes is goin’
on here, anyway?”

“Nothin’ that Branston Cates doesn’t deserve.” Mayor Sutter stepped away from the
crowd. “The man wanted to ruin Bramble. And from what I hear still wants to close
down Dalton Oil. Now, all of us are more than willin’ to forgive and forget a man
who owns up to his mistakes. But as far as I can tell, this man don’t feel the least
bit repentful.”

The crowd started grumbling in agreement, which set
Moses to hollering about “blame idiot townsfolk.” It took Elizabeth firing the gun
up into the air to get everyone to shut up.

“No one is touching this man,” Elizabeth stated. She stepped in front of Brant. “I
realize Brant has made some stupid mistakes. Not to mention his delusional belief
in a silly curse. But everything he’s done was to protect his family.” She waved the
gun around, and people in the front row ducked. “And we all know how important family
is.”

“If family is so important to him,” Rossie Owens yelled, “then why didn’t he show
up at his own brother’s weddin’?”

“Yeah.” Kenny Gene slowly raised up the tub of honey by pulling on the rope. “That’s
about as low as a man can get.”

Elizabeth swallowed hard. “Because he was—”

“Don’t, Elizabeth,” Brant said, but Elizabeth realized that the town finding out about
Miss Hattie’s didn’t matter anymore. All that mattered was saving this man from humiliation.

“Because I own Miss Hattie’s,” she said. “And when he showed up there looking for
answers about his grandfather’s death, I handcuffed him to Miss Hattie’s bed and wouldn’t
let him leave.”

The shocked, baffled looks on the faces of the townsfolk were almost comical. The
silence that followed would’ve done any librarian proud.

“No, she didn’t.” Minnie wheeled her way down the sidewalk in front of the jail. “I
did.”

“Don’t even think you’re going to get away with that lie, Mama,” Harriett Murphy said
as she followed behind Minnie. “As the direct heir to Miss Hattie’s, I did it.”

“No, it was me,” Baby cooed. Even in an ugly suit and slippers, the woman caught all
the men’s attention as she wiggled up the path.

Sunshine breezed after Baby. “But Baby, I was the one who snapped the handcuffs closed.”

“I did it! I did it!” Starlet yelled as she trudged up in an ugly gray suit that was
busting at the seams. “As the youngest hen, I take full responsibility.”

A buzz of confusion went through the crowd before Mayor Sutter hitched up his pants
and spoke. “So you’re sayin’ that y’all are hens from the henhouse? And that the reason
Branston Cates didn’t show up in town for his brother’s weddin’—and to apologize to
the townsfolk—was because he was handcuffed to Miss Hattie’s bed?”

“That’s exactly what we’re sayin’, Mayor Sutter,” Minnie said. “Now why don’t you
have the sheriff take those handcuffs off Brant before I start remembering a night
that a young man with a handlebar mustache came knockin’ on my door?”

The mayor’s eyes widened before he quickly turned to Sheriff Winslow. “I think we’ve
heard enough, Sam. Take the handcuffs off.”

Sheriff Winslow didn’t look too happy about it, but he did it. Once Branston was free,
Elizabeth leaned in and whispered to him. “While their attention is still on the hens,
you need to get out of here as quickly as possible.”

“But what if I don’t want to get out of here?”

For the first time, she looked at his face. It was battered, but smiling. Not with
a slight smile, but a huge smile that showed off perfect white teeth and one dimple.

“This isn’t funny, Brant,” she said. “These people can turn on a moment’s notice.
And if you think you feel humiliated now, it will be nothing compared to how you’ll
feel honeyed and feathered.”

“I don’t know about that,” he said. “Feathers looked
pretty good on you.” Before she could stop him, he reached up and grabbed the edge
of the tub Kenny had just finished hoisting above his head and dumped the entire contents
down over him. Honey dripped from his hair and oozed over his shoulders in huge golden
globs.

“What is the matter with you?” she said as she stepped back to avoid the sticky puddle
pooling around his feet. “Sheriff Winslow is right. You are drunk.”

“On love.” He grabbed the bag of feathers on the ground and ripped them open. They
attached to the honey like moths to a light and soon he looked like an overgrown chicken.
But Brant didn’t seem to care. Solemn, stern Brant wasn’t the least bit worried about
how ridiculous he looked. He just stood there with feathers floating around him, smiling
like a simpleton.

“I don’t care about being humiliated in front of an entire town. And I don’t care
about what happened to my grandfather or about a stupid curse.” The smile faded as
he reached out to smooth the hair away from her face, streaking honey all over her
forehead. The eyes that peeked through the feathers held a look that made Elizabeth’s
breath hitch. “All I care about is you, Beth. And I’m sorry I didn’t figure it out
sooner. Sorry I was more worried about what I might lose instead of enjoying what
I had. But I want to change that. Marry me, Beth.”

Elizabeth might’ve thought it was all a dream if Brant hadn’t pulled her into his
arms and kissed her.

The kiss tasted of honey.

Hens.

And love.

E
LIZABETH WOKE TO A PAIR OF FAMILIAR AMBER EYES.

The painting of Miss Hattie looked different in the bright sunshine that flooded in
through the windows. Or maybe it was Elizabeth who was different. She no longer looked
at her ancestor as a skeleton in the closet. She now looked at her as someone to be
proud of. And that pride had her acknowledging the physical traits they shared. Not
just the eyes, but the high cheekbones, the stubborn chin, the tilt of the smile.
Elizabeth smiled back.

“You look as satisfied as an overweight Texan at a barbeque cook-off.”

Since it wasn’t exactly the voice Elizabeth had planned on hearing the morning after
her wedding night, she quickly sat up and looked over at Minnie sitting in her new
battery-operated wheelchair. Minnie searched through the canvas pouch that hung from
the side of the chair and pulled out a cherry sucker that she quickly unwrapped and
popped in her mouth. Her nose wrinkled.

“Regardless of what that good-lookin’ husband of yours says, they ain’t even close
to being as satisfying as
my Camels. And speakin’ of smokes, on your way back from Europe, you need to stop
by Cuba and get some cigars.”

Just the mention of her honeymoon trip had Elizabeth glancing at the clock on the
mantel. Her eyes widened as she sprang out of bed. “Why did you let me sleep so late?”
She hurried to the bathroom, sidestepping the feather fans she’d used just the night
before. Except instead of dancing for a room filled with men, she’d danced for just
one. Just one smiling cowboy who showed his appreciation in a way that had Elizabeth
blushing to the roots of her hair.

“No need to get all flustered, Lizzie,” Minnie said as she followed her into the bathroom.
“Branston has been up for the last three hours doing what he does best—takin’ over.
He sent off that huge family of his, has the helicopter waitin’, luggage loaded, and
has given us hens a stern lecture about what we can and cannot do while you two are
gallivantin’ around Europe.” She pulled out the lollipop. “It makes me wonder if handcuffin’
him to the bed was such a good idea, after all. The man has more rules than Miss Hattie.”