One Texas Cowboy Too Many (Burnt Boot, Texas #3)(95)

The Jubilee got bigger and bigger with each passing year. They added vendors and a kiddy carnival with rides and a Ferris wheel, and people started marking it on their calendar a year in advance. It was talked about all year, and folks planned their vacation time around the Jalape?o Jubilee. Idalou died right after the first Jubilee, and folks in Fannin County almost brought murder charges against Claudia’s mamma for breaking poor old Idalou’s heart. Decades went by before Claudia figured out how her mother grew such red-hot peppers, and when her mamma passed, she carried on the tradition.

But she never did write down the secret for fear that one of the Fannin County women would find a way to steal it. The one thing she did was dry a good supply of seeds from the last crop of jalape?os just in case she died that year. It wasn’t likely that Fannin County would be getting the blue ribbon back as long as one of her daughters grew peppers from the original stock and saved seeds back each year.

“If we had a lick of sense, we’d all quit our jobs and put a café in this big old barn of a house,” Cathy had said.

“Count me in,” Marty had agreed.

Then they found the old LP albums in Claudia’s bedroom, and Cathy had picked up an Elvis record and put it on the turntable. When she set the needle down, “Lawdy, Miss Clawdy” had played.

“Daddy called her that, remember? He’d come in from working all day and holler for Miss Clawdy to come give him a kiss,” Marty had said.

Trixie had said, “That’s the name of y’all’s café—Miss Clawdy’s Café. It can be a place where you fix up this buffet bar of southern food for lunch. Like fried chicken, fried catfish, breaded and fried pork chops, and always have beans and greens on it seasoned up with lots of bacon drippings. You know, like your mamma always cooked. Then you can serve her pecan cobbler, peach cobbler, and maybe her black forest cake for dessert.”

“You are making me hungry right now just talkin’ about beans and greens. I can’t remember the last time I had that kind of food,” Marty had said.

Trixie went on, “I bet there’s lots of folks around here who can’t remember when they had it either with the fast-food trend. Folks would come from miles and miles to get at a buffet where they could eat all they wanted of good old southern fried and seasoned food. And you can frame up a bunch of those old LP covers and use them to decorate the walls. It would make a mint, I swear it would.”

That started the idea that blossomed into a café on the ground floor of the big two-story house. The front door opened into the foyer where they set up a counter with a cash register. To the left was the bigger dining area, which had been the living room. To the right was the smaller one, which had been the dining room. What had been their mother’s sitting room now seated sixteen people and was used for special lunch reservations. Their dad’s office was now a storage pantry for supplies.

Six months later and a week before Miss Clawdy’s Café had its grand opening, Trixie caught Andy cheating on her, and she quit her job at the bank to join the partnership. That was a year ago, and even though it was a lot of work, the café really was making money hand over fist.

“Hey, good lookin’,” a deep voice said from the shadows when she stepped up on the back porch.

“I didn’t know if you’d wait or not,” Trixie said.

Andy ran the back of his hand down her jawline. “It’s Wednesday, darlin’. Until it turns into Thursday, I would wait. Besides, it’s a pleasant night. Be a fine night for the high school football game on Friday.”

Trixie was still pissed at Andy and still had dreams about strangling Anna Ruth, but sex was sex, and she was just paying Anna Ruth back. She opened the back door, and together they crossed the kitchen. He followed her up the stairs to the second floor, where there were three bedrooms and a single bathroom. She opened her bedroom door, and once he was inside, she slammed it shut and wrapped her arms around his neck.

“I miss you,” he said.

She unbuttoned his shirt and walked him backward to the bed. “You should have thought about that.”

“What if I break it off with Anna Ruth?”

“We’ve had this conversation before.” Trixie flipped a couple of switches, and those fancy no-fire candles were suddenly burning beside the bed.

He pulled her close and kissed her. “You are still beautiful.”

She pushed him back on the bed. “You are still a lyin’, cheatin’ son-of-a-bitch.”

He sat up and peeled out of his clothes. “Why do you go to bed with me if I’m that bad?”

“Because I like sex.”

“I wish you liked housework,” Andy mumbled.

“If I had, we might not be divorced. If my messy room offends you, then put your britches back on and go home to Anna Ruth and her sterile house,” Trixie said.

“Shut up and kiss me.” He grinned.

She shucked out of her jeans and T-shirt and jumped on the bed with him. They’d barely gotten into the foreplay when a hard knock on the bedroom door stopped the process as quickly as if someone had thrown a pitcher of icy water into the bed with them. Trixie grabbed for the sheet and covered her naked body; Andy strategically put a pillow in his lap.

“I thought they were all out like usual,” he whispered. “If that’s Marty, we are both dead.”