A Match Made in Texas (17 page)

Bri could’ve called her out on the lie, especially with the broken phone on the floor, but if anyone understood the need to keep secrets, it was Bri.

“Fine, just don’t let him bully you,” she said.

It was only when she was standing outside the library door that Bri realized she had no business giving Starlet advice when she had been letting Jared bully her for the last three months. Of course, Starlet’s boyfriend probably didn’t have naked pictures of her.

As soon as she left the library, Bri headed to the front door. She could’ve lied to herself and continued to pretend like she just needed a breath of fresh air. But in reality, what she wanted now was a breath of spicy soap and manly sheriff.

Unfortunately, when she got to the porch, his car was gone. She glanced back at the library window and could clearly see Starlet sitting at Minnie’s desk trying to put the phone back together. Which made Bri wonder if the sheriff hadn’t hot-tailed it out of there after seeing her in the window.

Darn ornery man.

If he was playing hard to get, he was doing a good job of it. Bri walked over to the porch post and stared out at the road. Of course, a man could only run for so long. She might’ve giggled if a hand hadn’t clamped over her mouth. A hand that smelled like fried chicken and wet cat.

“Don’t scream, Little Missy. It’s just ol’ Olive.”

Once Olive removed her hand, Bri turned and hissed at her. “Geez, Olive, you scared the crap out of me.”

She sent Bri a stern look much like Bri’s mother’s. “You should have the crap scared out of you. After what happened tonight, you have no business outside in the dark. What are you doin’ out here, anyway?”

“I could ask you the same question.”

Olive shrugged. “I never have slept good. And with a criminal runnin’ around, I figured I might as well keep an eye on things. Even with the sheriff parked out back.” It was impossible for Bri to keep her reaction to the news from Olive’s sharp eyes. “Ahh, that’s what you’re doin’ out here, ain’t it? You were hopin’ to get a little cuddlin’ in with the sheriff.” She shook her head. “Well, I can’t say as I blame you. That is one fine-lookin’ man. Twice as good lookin’ as that stalker boyfriend of yours.”

In the excitement of the evening, Bri had almost forgotten about Jared. Now she seized on the topic and fired off questions. “So what did Jared say? What did Minnie tell him? How did she get him to leave?”

“Whoa there.” Olive held up a hand. “I’m not gonna answer any questions until you get your butt back in bed where you belong. Good-lookin’ sheriff or no good-lookin’ sheriff, you shouldn’t be galivantin’ around after what you went through tonight.”

Bri started to argue, but then realized that the events of the evening had finally caught up with her. The adrenaline drained out of her, and it was all she could do to walk back to her bedroom. Once Olive tucked her in bed, her eyes drooped closed.

“That’s it, Little Missy.” Olive sat down on the edge of the bed and smoothed back her hair. “Just close your eyes and go to sleep. I’ll answer all your questions tomorrow. But for now, there’s nothin’ to worry about. The sheriff is right outside protecting you from ornery criminals. And ol’ Olive is right here with you, protecting you from no-account boyfriends who just need a little physical persuasion to send them on their way.”

Bri might’ve questioned what Olive meant if Jiggers hadn’t jumped up on the bed and cuddled against her feet and if Starlet hadn’t come in and slipped under the covers on the other side.

For a girl who had slept alone all her life, Bri had never felt so safe and content.

Chapter Seventeen

J
OSIAH PULLED UP TO THE GAS PUMPS
and cut the engine, then glanced into his rearview mirror to see if the sheriff would pull in behind him. He didn’t. Instead, he drove right by Jones’s gas station, offering nothing but a tip of his hat. Obviously, Sheriff Hicks wasn’t quite as blatant about his harassment as Bramble’s deputy. In the last twenty-four hours, the idiot had pulled Josiah over at least ten times, issuing him tickets for anything from failure to signal to parking too close to a driveway. If Josiah hadn’t owed a good five hundred in fines, it would be almost laughable.

But Josiah was no longer in a laughing mood. Glaring after the sheriff, he opened the door and started to climb out when a skinny kid in a John Deere hat came jogging toward him.

“Don’t worry, mister. I got it.” The kid flipped open the fuel cover and unscrewed the gas cap. “You want me to fill her up?”

“Yes,” he snapped, taking his anger out on the kid, “and don’t get any gas on the paint.”

The freckle-faced kid’s shoulders stiffened, and for a second, Josiah thought he was going to get some punk response. Instead, the kid pressed his lips together and looked like he was fighting an inner demon. When he had it under control, he flashed a bright smile.

“No, sir. I’ll sure be careful about that.” He placed the nozzle in and turned on the pump. Josiah got back in the car, thinking that was the end of their conversation. Unfortunately, just like the rest of the town, the kid continued to ramble.

“Pumpin’ gas ain’t really my specialty.” He grabbed some paper towels from the dispenser at the side of the pumps and pulled out the squeegee. “I’m more into sales, but”—he started cleaning the windshield—“makin’ money is makin’ money. And since the Texas Longhorns’ star quarterback worked here, I figure it couldn’t hurt my climb to the top. You know Austin Reeves? He used to live right here in Bramble until he moved to Austin to go to college.” The kid laughed. “Austin in Austin. Now that’s pretty darned funny.”

A few days ago, Josiah might’ve laughed along with the kid and asked some questions about the star quarterback who everyone knew was headed for a Heisman Trophy and a multi-million-dollar contract with a pro football team. But a few days ago, Josiah had a plan to prove that Miss Hattie’s Henhouse was a functioning whorehouse. And the people of Bramble were going to help him achieve that plan.

Now, he realized that the people of Bramble were nothing but a bunch of bumbling idiots who had only good things to say about Miss Hattie’s and the Cates brothers who owned it. In fact, the only one who thought differently was Wilma Tate. And after only a few hours with the woman, Josiah understood why her husband drank.

Wilma was a ranting lunatic who believed all her neighbors were having affairs, the coffee at Josephine’s Diner contained mind-altering drugs, and that aliens had once landed in her plastic flower garden. So there was no way in hell he could use Wilma as evidence that shady things were going on at Miss Hattie’s.

No, he needed someone—or something—more credible.

Just then, a brand-new silver BMW sports car pulled up on the other side of the pumps. Always one who liked to mingle with money, Josiah quickly got out.

“Why, thank you, son.” Josiah patted the kid on the back. “I certainly appreciate the extra dedication to your job.”

The kid shot him a confused look. “You must be one of them folks that have that bi-north-polar disease.”

Josiah laughed and glanced over at the man who climbed out of the car. A man who looked like he’d just lost a fistfight. “Kids,” he said as he held out a hand. “Reverend Josiah Jessup.”

The man ignored the hand and had just reached for the gas nozzle when the young kid raced over.

“I’ll get that, mister.”

The man relinquished it without a fight or thank-you. “Do you have ice?”

“Sure do, but you’ll have to buy a five-pound bag. It’s in the freezer in the garage.” Once the man was heading toward the open door of the garage, the kid ran a greasy-nailed hand over the top of the BMW. “Some day I’m gonna have me a car just like this.”

Josiah snorted. “Doubtful, kid. Haven’t you ever heard the saying, ‘The rich get richer, and the poor have babies’? I’d bet money that you’ll still be here in twenty years, pumping gas to feed your horde of kids.” Before the boy could do more than puff up like a banty rooster, Josiah turned and followed after the man. He found him standing in front of the ice freezer, holding a few chunks of ice on his jaw.

“That’s some fight you must’ve gotten into,” Josiah said as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a monogrammed handkerchief. “Here, use this.”

The man took it and put a few chunks of ice in it before placing it back on his jaw. “She said her name was Olive, but I find it hard to believe that the tattooed hulk who hit me was female.”

It was hard to hide the excitement his words brought, and Josiah was forced to walk to the soda machine and pretend to study the selection. “So it sounds like you’ve been out to the Henhouse. I had a run-in with the same woman a few days ago. Although I wasn’t beaten as much as shot at by the lunatic old woman in the wheelchair. So I assume you weren’t there to enjoy the bed-and-breakfast?”

“No. Not that it’s any of your business.”

Josiah glanced over and smiled. “True. Very true. I was just curious as to why you haven’t yet gone to the sheriff and brought the woman up on assault charges.” He pulled out his cell phone. “I’d be more than happy to call him for you. The sheriff and I have become close personal friends.”

For the first time, the man looked uneasy. “That won’t be necessary. It was just a misunderstanding. I stopped by to see a friend of mine, and the woman got me confused with someone else.”

Josiah pulled a few coins from his pocket and put them into the machine. “Don’t you just hate it when that happens? So who is this friend? One of the hens?” When the man didn’t answer, Josiah continued. “Of course not. A man like yourself wouldn’t be calling on a bunch of old women… which means that you must’ve been calling on the younger woman. What did the one woman call her? Brianne?”

The man’s battered face lit up. “So Brianne Cates is there?”

Having researched the Henhouse extensively, Josiah knew the name and was surprised that he hadn’t put two and two together before. More than likely because of the car she’d been driving and the grandma hat disguise. And the fact that the sheriff hadn’t been the least bit intimidated about handcuffing a Cates.

Unless he didn’t know who he was handcuffing.

And why would Miss Cates keep her identity a secret from the law?

“Hmm, it doesn’t make sense that a close friend of Brianne Cates would get beat up just for trying to visit her brother’s bed-and-breakfast?” He paused for dramatic effect. “Unless he wasn’t there just for a visit. Unless he was there to cause trouble.”

The young man’s eyes narrowed. “Who in the hell are you?”

Josiah smiled. “Your salvation, young man. Your salvation.”

Chapter Eighteen

D
USTY SHOULD’VE TURNED AROUND
and returned to Jones’s Garage so he could hassle Reverend Jessup some more, but his heart just wasn’t in it. Or maybe not his heart as much as his mind. He was still having trouble forgetting the image of Brianne standing in the foyer of Miss Hattie’s. The shaft of fear that lanced through him when he noticed the blood dripping from her cheek had almost sent him to his knees. And Dusty didn’t like being scared. He didn’t like it at all.

He grabbed his radio and dialed to another frequency before pushing the button. “Kenny Gene.”

“Yes sir, Sheriff,” came the reply.

“Everything okay out at the Henhouse?”

“Yep. Right as rain. Miss Baby just brought me out some coffee and cinnamon rolls. And since Josephine’s was locked up tight this mornin’, they were sure appreciated.”

Dusty had just passed Josephine’s, and he quickly looked in his side mirror. Sure enough the parking lot was empty, and a Closed sign was hanging in the door.

“Okay then,” he said. “I’ll be out to relieve you in a couple hours.” He started to replace the radio, then pulled it back to his mouth. “No heroics, Kenny. Anything suspicious, you call me.”

“Roger that, boss.”

Once Dusty finished talking with Kenny, he radioed in to Cora Lee to see if she’d heard anything from the feds. She hadn’t, and he was pissed that they weren’t taking what happened the night before more seriously. Agent Riley was convinced that the man wasn’t Alejandro and was just some thug who got freaked when he noticed Dusty’s uniform. And maybe he was right. Maybe Dusty had been staring at the wanted poster for so long that he’d conjured up Alejandro. Usually, he trusted his gut feeling, but there was no doubt he’d been distracted lately. And it was past time for him to stop thinking about Brianne Cates and start doing his job.

Dusty found Mayor Sutter bent over the drawer of his desk. When he tapped on the open door, the mayor almost jumped out of his biker shorts. The Little Debbie Swiss Roll he’d been eating slipped from his fingers and dropped to the floor. He tried to hide it by covering it with his cycling shoe, smashing the snack cake into the carpet.

“Well, good mornin’, Sheriff Hicks,” he said over a mouthful of chocolate and cream. He swallowed hard and then cleared his throat. “I was just enjoyin’ a little whole grain muffin.”

It was hard for Dusty to keep his eyes off the chocolate icing crumbs that clung to the curls of the mayor’s handlebar mustache. “I assume you’re stuck eating in your office because Josephine’s is closed.” He took off his hat and sat down in the chair. “What happened, Harley?”