A Match Made in Texas (22 page)

Brant looked away. “Of course not. It’s just…” After a few seconds, he sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Fine. You can stay.” He sent Bri a pointed look. “You go pack your bags.”

“No.” The word popped out of her mouth. She didn’t know who was more shocked—her or Brant. She cleared her throat. “What I meant is, that if Beckett is going to stay, I’d like to stay as well. With Beckett being so busy with the company, we haven’t gotten to see a lot of each other and I’ve missed him.” She glanced over at Beckett, who seemed to find something amusing before she turned back to Brant with a pleading look. “Please, Brant.”

It took him only a second of deliberation before he nodded. “Okay, but I don’t want you leaving Miss Hattie’s. Agreed?”

She smiled sweetly. “Of course. Where else would I go?”

Not more than two hours later, Bri was on the highway to Bramble after getting a phone call from Twyla. Twyla had given up all thoughts of breaking it off with Kenny Gene and was now at the hospital in Lubbock nursing him back to health. Which left the people of Bramble without a beautician. And Bri wasn’t about to let Twyla lose business. Especially when she couldn’t resist having the salon all to herself. Even if that meant breaking a promise to her big brother. Something her youngest brother had no problem pointing out.

“You do realize that you’re skating on thin ice, don’t you, Sis?” Beckett tried to adjust his long legs, which were crammed against the dashboard of the Smart Car. “If Brant finds out that you ignored his orders, he’ll have Mama and Daddy lock you in your room and throw away the key.”

“And what will he do to you if he finds out that you allowed me to leave?”

“I didn’t allow you,” he corrected her. “I tried to get you to rethink leaving the Henhouse, and when you refused to listen, I had no choice but to come with you.”

“You had a choice. You could’ve stayed there.”

“No, thanks. The hens creep me out. Especially Starlet. I mean, what kind of psycho wears prom dresses every day? I’m surprised she hasn’t killed us all in our sleep.”

Bri laughed. “Starlet wouldn’t hurt a fly. You just don’t like her because she thinks you’re a geek.”

He reached down and tried to adjust the seat. “And I wonder where she got that? Our brothers have always thought I was a geek.”

“Well, it was kinda hard not to, Beck. Especially when you carried a briefcase to school.”

He stopped adjusting his seat and stared at her with confusion. “What else was I supposed to carry my laptop in? A backpack?”

Bri bit back her smile. “Of course not. What was I thinking?”

They drove in silence for a few minutes before Beckett spoke. “I could protect you, you know. Just because I’m smart doesn’t mean I can’t take care of myself and the people I love.”

She glanced over. His expression was serious and almost hurt. She bumped his shoulder, surprised by how hard it felt. “I know that, Beck. But I have three overprotective brothers. Can’t you just be my friend?”

He went back to adjusting the seat. “If that’s the case, tell me about what’s going on between you and the sheriff.”

“What do you mean?”

Beckett rolled his eyes at her. “I’m not Brant and Billy, who believe everything you tell them, Bri. I know the guy wasn’t in the closet because he was lost.”

It didn’t surprise her. Beckett had always been less gullible than her other brothers. He might not know about her thrill seeking and Jared stalking her, but he knew she wasn’t the saint she tried so hard to portray.

“Okay,” she said. “So I’m having a fling with the local sheriff—”

Beckett held up his hand. “Never mind. I suddenly realized that I’m not as immune to big brother syndrome as I thought.” He squinted out the windshield. “Is that a fire?”

Bri scanned the horizon until her gaze landed on the billows of purple smoke that drifted up from the east side of Bramble. “What is that?”

“I don’t know,” Beckett said, “but it doesn’t look good.”

She followed the smoke to a small house that was on the outskirts of town. Beckett didn’t even wait for her to come to a full stop before he jumped out and raced toward the house, covering his nose and mouth before entering. Seconds later, he returned with Rachel Dean in his arms.

Bri got out of the car and hurried over to them. “What happened? Do I need to call nine-one-one?”

Beckett shook his head as he set Rachel down on an old stump. “No. There’s no fire. Just this strange vapor coming from the boiling pots on the stove.” He fanned the air. “But, damn, it stinks.”

The air was filled with a pungent smell that was worse than any brotherly flatulence. Bri pinched her nose closed as she spoke to Rachel.

“Are you okay?”

Rachel sat for a few seconds as if she wasn’t sure what had happened. “I really thought I had it right this time.” She shook her head. “I guess the ammonia might’ve been a mistake.”

Bri tried to brush the purple from Rachel Dean’s hair, but it wasn’t coming out. “Are you still trying to come up with a remedy for dandruff?”

“Nope. I thought I’d try somethin’ a little more difficult.” She felt her purple scalp. “But somehow I don’t think my concoction will cure Male Pattern Baldness.”

Beckett’s eyes widened. “Male Pattern Baldness?”

In an attempt to keep her brother from saying something that might hurt Rachel’s feelings, Bri sent him a warning look. “Rachel comes from a long line of healers, Beckett.”

“It’s true,” Rachel said. “ ’Course, I never gave it much thought until Reverend Jessup showed up.” Tears filled her eyes. “I was always happy just working at Josephine’s. But I guess the reverend is right, a woman should do something more with her life than wait tables.”

Bri had held in her anger about the good reverend for as long as she could. Enough was enough. “And I think that Reverend Josiah Jessup is full of more crap than a dog pound Dumpster!” she blurted out, causing Rachel’s eyes to widen and Beckett to grin.

Bri was so wound up that she started pacing. “I mean, where does the man get off thinking that he can tell people what they should be doing? He’s not God. He’s just a con artist who gets his kicks out of screwing with people’s lives.” She stopped and pointed a finger at Rachel. “It doesn’t matter what the reverend or anyone else thinks. It only matters what you think. And if you want to work as a waitress or a circus clown… or even a beautician, then I think that’s exactly what you should do.”

Rachel Dean cocked her head. “Whelp, I did want to be a circus clown at one time in my life. Of course, I get to do that every town parade and that seems to be more than enough—that grease paint is as itchy as a wool sweater.” She tried to smooth down her frizzy purple hair. “As for being a beautician, I don’t have the knack for it like you do. ’Course, I don’t seem to have the knack for healin’, either.”

“I don’t know about that,” Bri said. “From what I hear, most folks counted on you to start their day out right with a smile and a cup of coffee. Isn’t that a form of healing?”

Rachel’s eyes narrowed in thought. But before she could answer, the entire town of Bramble converged on her house. First came an old fire truck with a crank siren blaring, then a line of American-made cars and trucks. The fire truck pulled up behind Bri’s Smart Car, and Harley Sutter hopped out. Bri was surprised to see that he wasn’t wearing his biker clothes. He was dressed in creased pants, pressed western shirt, and high-polished boots. He had on a beige Stetson, and his mustache was slicked and curled up on the ends.

He came chugging across the lawn and pulled Rachel right up against his big belly. “Mercy, woman. You pert near scared me to death.” He released her. “Tinker spotted the smoke and rang the fire bell. We got here as soon as we could. You okay?”

The rest of the townsfolk got out of their cars and came running over to surround Rachel with love and concern. Rossie Owens picked her up off her feet and gave her a kiss right on the mouth that had her blushing a bright red. Rachel was so flustered that it took her a while to find her voice.

“Well, I sure do appreciate y’all’s concern. But as you can see, I’m right as rain.” She tugged on a strand of hair and chuckled. “Purple rain.”

“What cure you workin’ on now, Rachel?” a big-bellied cowboy in the back hollered.

“Whelp, I’ve been thinkin’ about that,” she said. “And considering my missin’ eyebrows and purple hair, I’d say that there’s only one thing I’m good at curin’.”

“What’s that?” the mayor asked.

Rachel Dean scanned the crowd with glistening eyes. “Hunger. What say we call up Josephine and get her to reopen the diner? I’m ready to serve up some grub!”

Chapter Twenty-three

T
HE HOTEL WAS A DIVE.
There was a ring in the toilet, spots all over the puke green carpet, and something that looked a lot like blood spattered on the wall behind the headboard. The double mattress was lumpy, and the sheets were thin and smelled of mildew.

Still, it had good porn.

Josiah watched the two women on the small television as they kissed and gyrated against each other.
Stupid whores
. He rubbed a hand over his crotch.
Stupid, stupid whores.

Of course, all women were whores. From his mother, who had left him and his father when he was only twelve, right down to the Cates bitch, who had laughed when Olive doused him with water. He smiled. Brianne Cates might’ve thought it was funny that he’d been doused with water, but she wouldn’t be laughing for long. Not when he was in possession of Jared Avery’s pictures.

Josiah had found out about the naked picture of Brianne after he’d convinced Jared to stop for a drink on his way back to Austin. Most arrogant, rich people couldn’t hold their booze, and Jared was one of them. After the fourth drink, he’d been more than happy to spill his story to Josiah. The rest had been simple, especially when the arrogant bastard carried his pictures around on his phone. After Josiah got him thoroughly soused, it was easy to slip his phone from his pocket and take it to the bathroom, where Josiah e-mailed them to his own cell phone.

Not that the pictures were all that raunchy. Besides a couple of topless ones, the others were merely of Brianne skiing, skydiving, and drinking at some nightclub. Still, they were probably bad enough to get money out of the Cateses. Blackmail had always been beneath Josiah, but if his reality show didn’t work out, it might be his only choice for survival.

And Josiah would always survive. No matter what it took.

A breathy moan pulled his attention back to the women on the television. He had started to reach inside his boxers, when his cell phone rang. He thought about ignoring it and calling whomever it was back, but then he glanced down at the number and the California area code had him turning down the volume to the TV and reaching for the phone.

“God be with you,” he said.

“Well, he sure must be with you, Reverend,” the producer’s voice came through the receiver, “because I ran your idea by the big dogs and they love it.”

A thrill ran through Josiah, making him even harder. He adjusted himself before asking, “So when do we get to start?”

“They want to get it on the air as soon as possible. But first they want to see the footage of this whorehouse that you were telling me about. You’ve been working on it, right?”

Some of the thrill and desire leaked out of him, and Josiah reached for the bottle of whiskey he’d brought back to the room and took a deep swallow.

“I’ve been thinking,” he hedged, “maybe we shouldn’t start with the Henhouse. Maybe we should start with something smaller. I discovered some pretty damaging pictures of Brianne Cates. She’s the sister of the owners of C-Corp, one of the biggest gas and fuel companies in the country. So I’m thinking we could start with exposing her for the hussy she is. Then move on to bigger fish.”

There was only a second’s pause before Mike came back on. “No. We’re not interested in the exploits of some socialite. Paris Hilton and the Kardashians are old news. The bosses are interested in Miss Hattie’s. That’s the premiere episode that’s going to hook the viewers”—he laughed—“pardon the pun.”

Josiah forced his own laugh, even though he didn’t feel much like laughing. “I couldn’t agree more. It’s just that it might be harder to expose the evils going on out at the Henhouse than I first thought. The women that run the place are a wily lot who have the bed-and-breakfast cover down to an art form.”

“Are you saying that you can’t pull this off, Reverend?” Mike asked. “Because if that’s what you’re saying, then this conversation is over.”

Josiah’s shoulders stiffened, but he kept the anger out of his voice. “That’s not what I’m saying at all. I’m just saying that I might need a little more time.”

“Well, you don’t have much. You know how this business works. A good idea today is a piece of garbage tomorrow. I’d say you’ve got a couple weeks tops. I’ll have a camera crew waiting. All you need to do is let me know when you’re ready.”

The phone clicked.

Josiah set the phone back down on the nightstand and reached for the bottle. He downed the rest of it, then pulled back his arm and sent the bottle sailing at the door. Glass shattered and rained down on the carpet and the scarred table that sat in front of the window.