Trouble in Texas (11 page)

Beau didn’t waste any time accepting the offer. “Good luck, big bro,” he said as he
clattered down the stairs.

When he was gone, Brant took off his cowboy hat and hung it on an old hat rack before
rolling up his shirt-sleeves. “You don’t have to stay, Ms. Murphy. I’m quite capable
of handling the job alone.”

“I don’t doubt that for a second, Mr. Cates. But I also don’t trust you as far as
I can throw you.”

He laughed as he took a seat on the trunk he’d just opened. “So you’re planning on
selling the house?”

“There isn’t any other choice.” She glanced around the attic floor before taking a
seat in the rocking chair across from him, but a scratching noise had her quickly
hooking her feet up on the bottom rung.

“And if there was?”

Her gaze flickered up to his, direct as ever. “You’re right, I still wouldn’t keep
it. Miss Hattie’s was my great-grandmother’s dream, not mine.”

“From what I’ve read, it was quite a dream,” he said as he pulled the next trunk closer.
“It’s hard to believe this is the same house they wrote about. Although Miss Hattie’s
room certainly does the legend justice.” He unhooked the latches, but waited to lift
the lid. “I’ll give you a good price for the bed if you’re interested in selling.”

Her gaze snapped up from the floor, and she studied him for only a second before speaking.
“It’s not mine to
sell. It belongs to the hens, and considering how they hate to part with Miss Hattie’s
things, it’s doubtful that they’ll sell it.”

Refusing to let his disappointment show, he pulled up the lid of the trunk. This one
wasn’t filled with clothes, but stacks of yellowed newspapers. He went to pull the
first one out when Elizabeth stopped him.

“Be careful with those. If they’re as old as they look, the paper could tear easily.”
She scooted the rocking chair closer.

“I know how to handle old things,” he said. He hadn’t meant it in a derogatory way,
but when her gaze swept over to him, he couldn’t help shooting her an overtly innocent
look. “Present company excluded, of course.”

“These are Bramble
Gazette
s,” she said after only a glance. “I loaned your brother Billy copies of these.” She
carefully leafed through the stack in the trunk. “I’m afraid you won’t find anything
in here about your grandfather,” she pulled out a newspaper that looked smaller and
older than the others, “except for this false story that they printed about him being
shot in the middle of town.”

Brant took the page of the newspaper she offered him and quickly read through the
short article:

Shooting On Main Street

William Cates from Lubbock was shot dead by Sheriff Wynn Murdock on Wednesday, August
5, after a dispute with Mayor Fillmore over the dedication plaque Cates had made for
the new town hall. According to the mayor, who was the only witness to the shooting,
Cates became violent when
the mayor refused to pay him for the plaque, forcing the sheriff to use his Colt 45.

“It’s the sheriff’s job to protect the citizens of Bramble,” Mayor Fillmore said.
“And Cates had no business getting all riled up about money when the plaque had the
wrong date.”

Sheriff Murdock refused to comment.

“And what makes you think this is false?” Brant said after finishing the article.
“It sounds accurate to me.”

She looked up. “It did to me as well until I heard Moses’ side of the story and took
another look at the newspaper. Don’t you find it strange that the mayor was the only
witness to the shooting when it took place on Main Street? It’s also strange that
this wasn’t a headlining story. The entire front page was dedicated to Elma Winter’s
canned green tomatoes taking first at the State Fair.”

“So you’re saying that the mayor, sheriff, and newspaper were all part of a cover-up?”

“I know it sounds strange,” she said. “But it does make sense when you think about
it. Not only did the men of the town not want to tell your grandmother that her husband
was killed in a bordello, but I don’t think they wanted attention brought to Miss
Hattie’s.”

He placed the newspaper back in the trunk. “I still won’t believe Moses’ story until
I have proof.”

“Like a book with your grandfather’s name in it?”

“Exactly.”

Elizabeth stared at him for only a few seconds before she nodded. “Fine, Mr. Cates.
I’ll help you look for it.”

Her sudden about-face had him squinting at her until
the light went on. “So you’re afraid I might still close down Dalton Oil.”

She shook her head. “With as much as Billy loves Shirlene, I doubt that will happen.”

“Then why?”

Elizabeth stared down at the newspapers for a moment before she answered. “Maybe I
just want to force you to admit that you’re wrong.”

Brant got to his feet and pulled down another trunk. “Then you might want to get a
heavier jacket, Ms. Murphy, because that will be a cold day in west Texas and hell.”

“T
HE
C
ATES BROTHERS ARE NOT STAYING FOR DINNER,
” Elizabeth stated. “Nor are they staying the night. I’m willing to let them look
for information about their grandfather, but that’s where my generosity ends.”

It was a nice speech, but not one hen paid her any attention. Sunshine was busy carrying
in the fresh sheets she’d just taken off the line. Baby was standing over a stove
filled with all kinds of bubbling pots. And Minnie was sitting at the kitchen table,
playing solitaire and humming “Someone to Watch Over Me.”

“Are you listening to me?” Elizabeth said. “The Cates brothers are not staying. Beau
might be a nice person, but Brant is not. He’s the same man who tried to close down
Dalton Oil and still would, if not for his brother.”

She glanced up at the ceiling, having second thoughts about leaving such a dishonorable
man alone in the attic with all the antiques. Of course, losing a few antiques was
better than losing something else. Like her virginity. Within one short hour of being
in the attic with Brant, she knew the exact angle of his jaw and the length of his
eyelashes. Knew the
breadth of his shoulders and trim lines of his waist. When she caught herself staring
at the bulge beneath the zipper of his fly, she decided that she trusted Brant in
the attic by himself much more than she trusted herself with him.

“Branston can’t be all that bad,” Minnie said as she flipped down another card. “After
all, he didn’t call the sheriff on us.”

“And why was that? What law-abiding citizen that you know wouldn’t call the sheriff
after what we did to him?” Elizabeth leaned over Minnie’s shoulder and went to move
the four of spades to the five of diamonds, but Minnie slapped at her hand before
she could accomplish it.

“Maybe he likes us,” Baby said.

Minnie snorted. “I don’t think it has anything to do with us. Obviously, Lizzie here
has more talent than I thought she did.”

Try as she might, Elizabeth couldn’t control her blush, which she thought would have
Minnie cackling like a fool. Instead, the woman glanced up and studied her through
a swirl of cigarette smoke.

“Isn’t that the same ugly suit you had on last night?”

Elizabeth tugged on her jacket. “I didn’t exactly have time to shower and change when
my entire life was about to go down the drain.”

“Well, you better clean up. Men don’t like a woman that looks like she’s been rode
hard and put away wet.” Minnie grinned. “Unless they’re the ones who have been doin’
the ridin’.”

“I don’t care if Mr. Cates likes me or not.” Elizabeth lifted the lid of the pot on
the stove. Baby didn’t smack her, but she did take the lid and push her out of the
way with one curvy hip.

“Then take a shower for us hens,” Minnie said. “Your stink is makin’ my eyes water.
And of course Brant and Beau are staying for supper,” she continued, “Hens have never
sent a man away hungry, and we never will.”

She went back to her card game. “But if you don’t want to stay, Lizzie, that’s up
to you. The hens and I can entertain the boys just fine without your help.”

“Not likely—”

The kitchen door opened and Beau came in with an armload of cedar wood. As he pushed
the door closed with his elbow, he took a deep breath. “What is that smell?” Elizabeth
stepped back before she realized he was talking about Baby’s cooking.

“Chicken and dumplings.” Baby beamed.

Beau flashed a smile at Elizabeth that would make any woman a little breathless. “Please
tell me I’m invited for dinner.”

As much as she didn’t want the Cates brothers to stay, she couldn’t bring herself
to be rude. “We would love to have you…” she cleared her throat, “and your brother
stay for dinner.” She narrowed her eyes at Minnie. “I’ll just go freshen up.”

“You’ll have to use Hattie’s bathroom,” Minnie said with a gleeful note in her voice.
“Ours is cluttered with a shower bench and a bunch of old woman stuff.”

Miss Hattie’s bathroom was as luxurious as her bedroom, but there was little doubt
that it had been remodeled—during a time when pink toilets and sinks were popular.
The only thing that looked like it had come from the eighteen hundreds was the huge
bear-claw bathtub. A bathtub that Elizabeth didn’t hesitate to fill.

The water that came out of the faucet looked a little
rusty at first, but after a few minutes it turned clear and steamy hot. Elizabeth
usually took a shower before work—a three-minute shower to be exact—but, at night,
she enjoyed the muscle-relaxing heat of a full bath. But her tub didn’t come close
to being as big as Miss Hattie’s. She could stretch her legs completely out and still
not touch the other side. She had just rested her head against the rim of the tub
when she heard a soft click. She sat up, sloshing water over the edge as Sunshine
walked in, holding a key she had undoubtedly unlocked the door with.

Her gaze fell on Elizabeth, sitting in the tub with her hands clamped over her breasts,
and she released a snort. “I don’t know what he sees in you. A toothpick has more
curves.” Then she gathered up Elizabeth’s dirty clothes and disappeared out the door
before Elizabeth could do more than sputter.

Unless she wanted to go down to dinner in a towel, Elizabeth had no choice but to
finish her bath and head to Miss Hattie’s closet.

She’d expected to find hanger after hanger of revealing, inappropriate clothing. And
there was plenty of that. But surprisingly, there was also conservative clothing.
Walking dresses with high-buttoned collars, shirtwaist blouses and full skirts, and
cashmere suits with furred collars and knee-length hems.

As she searched through the racks, she couldn’t help but wonder which outfits had
been worn by whom. Had Miss Hattie worn the southern belle-styled dress with the numerous
petticoats? Had her great-grandmother, Lillian Ladue, worn the teal chiffon? Had her
grandmother, Millicent Ladue, worn the bell bottoms and fringed vest?

Her grandmother.

Elizabeth was just as intrigued by Millicent as she was by Miss Hattie. Why would
her grandmother will the henhouse to a granddaughter she’d never even met? She understood
why she hadn’t willed it to her mother; Harriett Murphy wanted nothing to do with
the henhouse. But why had her grandmother thought that Elizabeth would?

A flash of scarlet satin had Elizabeth separating the hangers and pulling out the
long, satin dressing gown. The very same gown Miss Hattie wore in the mirrored picture.
Elizabeth didn’t know why she took it off the hanger or why she slipped her arms through
the belled sleeves. Maybe she just wanted to see if it would fit. Or maybe, like the
bed, she just wanted to see what it felt like to step into Miss Hattie’s shoes for
a moment.

She walked over to the beveled mirror at the back of the closet. The gown didn’t fit.
The bodice was too loose. The hem too short. Still, there was something about her
in it that Elizabeth couldn’t seem to look away from. Even with the damp waves of
hair that spread around her shoulders, she didn’t look like herself. She looked different.
Pretty. Sexy. With her gaze riveted on her own reflection, she didn’t notice Brant
standing behind her until she heard his sharp intake of breath.

Elizabeth’s face turned as bright red as the dress, and she pressed a hand over the
low neckline before turning around. Except Brant’s gaze wasn’t riveted to her insufficient
cleavage. His eyes were staring straight into hers as if she was a stranger. Or maybe
not a stranger as much as some kind of a ghost.

“I’m sorry,” he said in barely a whisper. “Minnie told me I could clean up for dinner
in Miss Hattie’s bathroom.”

It took her a moment to find her voice. Even then, it
sounded quivery and breathless. “Of course. I’ll just be a second more.”

Brant nodded, but didn’t seem to be in any hurry to leave. And the funny part about
it was that Elizabeth wasn’t in any hurry for him to leave either. She wanted him
standing there looking at her in the gown. In fact, she wanted him to reach out and
touch it.

To touch her.

Then just that quickly the moment was shattered, and without a word, Brant walked
out of the closet and closed the door behind him. Once he was gone, Elizabeth didn’t
waste any time taking the gown off. She tried on numerous other outfits before she
settled on black cigarette pants and a sweater set. The only bra she found in the
lingerie drawer was a heavy-duty contraption that made her breasts jut out like two
missiles getting ready to launch. But, with the cardigan buttoned, she didn’t think
she looked all that bad. At least, that’s what she thought until she walked into the
kitchen.

“Well, it’s an improvement,” Minnie said as her gaze ran over Elizabeth. “But not
much of one.”

Dinner parties weren’t something Elizabeth was used to. Growing up, she and her mother
had always eaten at the kitchen table. After moving to Bramble, she usually took her
food into the living room where she would sit on the couch and nibble while she read.
So she felt completely out of her element sitting in the cavernous dining room at
the linen-covered table Beau and Brant had moved in from the kitchen. It didn’t help
that Brant sat across from her, studying her like a map written in a foreign language.
His deep-set gaze made her so nervous she became a
klutz. She dropped her fork twice, dripped gravy on her sweater, and knocked over
her water glass. Finally, she gave up trying to eat altogether and just sipped her
wine and listened to Beau, who turned out to be as good at telling stories as he was
at smiling.