A Match Made in Texas (2 page)

What was she thinking? This wasn’t some thrill-seeking adventure. She was going to jail. And she couldn’t go to jail. If the picture being spread around the Internet wouldn’t tarnish her family’s name, a stint in a west Texas jail certainly would. He grabbed her other wrist, and she quickly backpedaled.

“Okay! I was lying. There’s nothing wrong with my car besides a really sluggish engine. I was in the other lane because Elvis wouldn’t let me pass. If anyone is responsible for what happened, it’s him.”

Warm fingers paused at her pulse point. “Elvis?”

“Well, not Elvis, exactly. Just a man who looks like him. Didn’t you see him? He was the lunatic in the red convertible Cadillac.”

His fingers tightened. “I must’ve been so busy trying to avoid a head-on collision that I missed Elvis. Was he singing ‘Love Me Tender’? That’s one of my favorites. Or maybe the one about the hound dog. Now there’s an oldie but goodie.”

“I’m not kidding. This man was being a complete jerk. He would go thirty until I wanted to pass, and then he would pick up speed.”

“Maybe he was just having car problems. A faulty accelerator.” He started to cuff her other wrist but stopped suddenly. She didn’t understand why until a stiff breeze blew over her, carrying with it the faint sound of music. The music grew louder. And since they had just been talking about the man, it only took Bri a second to recognize the song.

It wasn’t “Love Me Tender.” Or “Hound Dog.”

It was much more annoying.

“… rock, everybody, let’s rock. Everybody in the whole cell block was dancin’ to the jailhouse rock…”

Just that quickly, Bri was released. She straightened in time to see the Cadillac pull around them with stereo blasting. She couldn’t see Elvis’s eyes behind the gold-rimmed sunglasses, but she didn’t need to. His smirk and two-fingered salute said it all.

Every bad word her brothers had taught her pushed at the back of Bri’s throat. But a lifetime of restraint had her using one of her nephew’s favorite words instead.

“Poopyhead!” As soon as the word was out, she cringed. She turned to find the officer watching her. Clearing her throat, she tried to regain some kind of decorum. “Pardon me, but he really deserved that.”

The mirrored lens remained trained on her for only a second before they returned to the highway. The Cadillac disappeared on the horizon, the bright October sun reflecting off the chrome bumper and license plate that Bri would never forget.

King 1.

“Well, I’ll be damned.”

The officer’s words had her glancing over to see one corner of his mouth cocked up in a crooked smile. Relieved that he was no longer scowling, she relaxed.

“I know what you mean. If I hadn’t seen it with my own two eyes, I never would’ve believed it.” She held up her hand and jangled the handcuffs that were still attached to her wrist. “I think you owe me an apology.”

The smile faded as he turned to her. “And what exactly would I be apologizing for? Your reckless driving? Your blatant disregard for the law? Or how about almost getting both of us killed?”

Since he had some very valid points, she nodded. “Okay, so I’m the one who should be apologizing. But as I explained earlier, I was trying to pass a lunatic who was speeding up and then slowing down just to tick me off. I had to go fast to get by him. But you’re right, I should’ve pulled over and explained things instead of ignoring you.” She held out her hand with the cuff. “Now can you take these—”

Bri was cut off by a hissing sound. They both turned to find steam pouring out from under the hood of the officer’s car. There was a sputter, and then the engine died. She glanced back in time to see his jaw tighten.

“Of course, I’ll pay for that,” she said.

“You’re damned right you will.” He pointed a finger at her. “I’ll need to see your driver’s license and registration.”

“You’re not going to give me a ticket, are you? Not when it wasn’t my fault.”

“And just whose fault is it? You were the one on the wrong side of the highway, not Elvis.” He unhooked the radio from his belt and pushed the button on the side. “You there, Cora Lee?”

“I know that it was my fault,” Bri continued, “but surely we can get this worked out without a bunch of legal red tape.”

His hat dipped as he gave her the once-over. “Really? And just what are we talking about?”

She cleared her throat, surprised at how just a look from the man could make her feel all warm and trembly. “You can give me your address, and I’ll pay you in full for any damages to your car. You can just tell your boss that you had a little accident with a cow.”

He studied her for a long, uncomfortable moment until a loud female voice caused Bri to jump.

“What’s up, Sheriff?”

Sheriff?

Every muscle in Bri’s body tensed as he lifted the black receiver up to his mouth. “I need you to call Ralph and have him drive out to mile marker one oh nine. I need a tow.” He hesitated. “And get the jail ready. I’m bringing in a prisoner.”

While Bri was digesting the information that he was planning on taking her to jail, the woman continued.

“Will do. And could you do me a favor? Please get yourself hitched before I gain a good hundred pounds. Today Ronda Sue brought in homemade sticky buns. That makes the fifth baked goods this week that some desperate woman has brought in to bribe you to the altar. And just how do you expect me to stay on those paltry Weight Watcher meals with that kind of temptation around? Besides, if you got married you wouldn’t have to look for another housekeeper now that Loretta up and quit due to your surly personality.”

Bri watched his brow knot above the bridge of his sunglasses. “Who wouldn’t be surly after what she did to my laundry?”

A burst of laughter came out of the receiver. “Just the thought of gruff Sheriff Dusty Hicks in pink undies tickles my funny bone. You got a license or plate number that you want me to run on that prisoner?”

The question seemed to make the sheriff even surlier. “I’ll have to get back to you on that.” He released the side button and hooked the radio back on to his belt before taking Bri’s arm and escorting her to the Smart Car.

She stumbled along next to him, her hat flopping and her brain working overtime, trying to figure a way out of this mess. She couldn’t go to jail. Not when Brant was already trying to cover up her last mistake. When they reached the still idling Smart Car, he released her.

“License and registration.”

With no other choice, she leaned in and grabbed her purse. She dug around in the huge satchel, but before she found the smooth leather of her Prada wallet, her fingers brushed hard, cold aluminum.

As with all her bad decisions, Bri didn’t know exactly how it happened. One second, she was standing next to the sheriff with her hand in her purse, and the next, she was spraying him in the face with the pepper spray her brother Billy had given her as a stocking stuffer. She only planned to give the sheriff a short squirt. Just enough to momentarily incapacitate him. But it took a full five-second spray to get his hands off her throat.

Once he released her and bent over coughing, she hopped into the minicar and floored it. She zipped around the sheriff’s car, barely missing an oncoming tractor before she pulled back in the right lane. With her heart racing a marathon, she watched in the rearview mirror until the flashing lights disappeared from sight.

Her smile came out of nowhere.

Brianne Cates was on the lam.

Chapter Two

I
T WAS A PATHETIC LITTLE TOWN.
The main street couldn’t have been more than a block long. The gas station had only two pumps. The grocery store was the size of a convenience store. And the thing they called a diner was a hideous collision of pink train caboose and ramshackle shed. Still, the diner appeared to be a crowd gatherer. And Reverend Josiah Jessup had never passed up a crowd.

He pulled his Cadillac into the dirt lot of the diner and parked in the handicap space right in front. Not wanting to have another close call with the law, he reached into the glove box and pulled out his bogus handicap permit and hooked it on the rearview mirror. He took a moment to check his hair, smoothing back one stray strand that had come loose when he’d been teaching that young woman a lesson in patience.

Josiah smiled. Only noon, and he had already used his power for good.

After tucking his silk scarf into the lapels of his jacket, he climbed out of the Cadillac and headed toward the door. For a weekday, the diner looked to be full. Through the glass, he could see that all the booths and tables were taken, and only a few bar stools at the counter were empty. Clearing his throat, he stepped inside. A bell jingled on the door, and conversation ceased as all eyes turned to him.

Having been the center of attention to millions of people, a few country bumpkins didn’t faze him. He held out his arms and spoke in a commanding voice that was loud enough to be heard halfway to heaven.

“The Lord has truly blessed His humble servant on this fine autumn day. After a long and wary journey, He has directed me to this oasis of friendly faces and succulent aromas.”

The folks of the diner looked at one another before staring back at him in confusion. Although it didn’t take long for someone to speak up.

“Are you one of them Elvis impersonators from Sin City?” The woman sitting at the counter swiveled around on the stool, displaying a tower of teased hair and a wealth of cleavage. She pointed a sharp-looking orange fingernail at him. “My cousin went there a few years back and said it was just like seein’ the King himself. Could you sing that song about the wise men? I just love that song. I ruin my mascara every time I hear it.”

Josiah pulled his gaze from the plump temptation of her breasts and smiled. “I’m afraid that I’m not much of a singer, but I’d be happy to tell you the story of three wise men who followed a star.”

The woman looked thoroughly disappointed.

“Well, I’ll be.” A middle-aged waitress moved out from behind the counter. “You’re that Reverend Josiah Jessup who had that television show.”

The word
had
annoyed Josiah much more than he let on. “A woman of knowledge, I see.” He walked farther into the diner, stopping to shake hands with people as he went. “But I have left my television ministry behind to travel the country and meet my brethren face to face—and heart to heart.”

The waitress’s gaze pinned Josiah with a mean look. “Or swindle folks into givin’ you their lifesavin’s so you can build a big ol’ mansion in Caribou.”

Josiah wasn’t surprised by the accusation. It was the reason he was here in this Podunk town. The media had had a field day with the story on his misuse of donations, and this was the price he had to pay if he wanted to return to his million-dollar television ministry: mingling with the common folk.

He pulled on his mask of repentant sinner. “You are absolutely correct, Miss…”

“Dean,” she said with narrowed eyes. “Rachel Dean.”

“Nice to meet you, Miss Dean. And I completely agree with you. I never should’ve built a house in Malibu for senior citizens without first consulting the kind people who generously gave.”

Rachel Dean’s eyes squinted even more until he could hardly see them. “You built that house for old folks?”

“There are two lovely, elderly ladies living there as we speak.” Josiah tried not to grit his teeth at the thought of his demented grandmother and great aunt enjoying his spa and media room while he was stuck in Texas. Especially when the two old coots didn’t seem to know the difference between his grand mansion and the tacky retirement home he’d jerked them out of when the scandal hit.

“Well, that shore doesn’t sound like a misappropriation of funds to me.” A big-bellied man with an impressive handlebar mustache got up from his bar stool and held out a hand. “Harley Sutter. I’m the mayor of this fine town.”

Josiah smiled brightly. He had always believed in starting at the top and working his way down. He had learned early on that if you could knock down the kingpin, the others would follow.

He hurried over and shook the mayor’s hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. I must tell you that I was quite impressed with what I learned from your town’s website. In this time of economic hardship, Bramble seems to be thriving. Which can only be the direct result of strong leadership.”

Before the mayor could even absorb Josiah’s praise, the hussy with the delicious cleavage spoke up. “Oh, Harley ain’t responsible for the website or the jobs. Hope Lomax is the one who makes sure Bramble stays put. Her and them Cates brothers who run Dalton Oil. Harley just organizes the parades.”

The mayor nodded. “I do love a parade.”

Josiah stared at the imbecile for only a second before he regrouped. “And what would this country be without parades, I ask? There is nothing like good, wholesome family entertainment to bring folks together.” He waited for the mumbles of agreement before he continued brown-nosing the mayor. “Besides, great leaders shouldn’t be expected to deal with the little details of running a government. Their job is to see the entire picture and find the right man—or woman—for the job. And it looks as if you, Mayor Sutter, have done just that.”