The Trouble with Texas Cowboys (Burnt Boot, Texas #2)(37)

“What?” she whispered.

“You were snoring.” He grinned.

She cautiously looked around to see if anyone was staring at her. “I don’t snore, and I wasn’t asleep.”

“It was more like a purr, but in another minute you’d have been sawin’ logs for sure,” he whispered. “It’s only five more minutes, and he’ll wind it down.”

“Thank God!”

“Church is definitely the place to do that,” Sawyer whispered.

As soon as the benediction had been delivered, Jill and Sawyer were both on their feet, headed for the door. Sunday dinner didn’t matter, not when they needed a nap.

“Hey, y’all should come home with us. Verdie has a pot roast in the oven that will melt in your mouth,” Finn said.

He was as tall as Sawyer and had the bluest eyes Jill had ever seen on a man. Callie nodded at his side as she corralled four kids, and Verdie poked her head out around Finn’s shoulder to say, “Yes, we’d love to have you. Got plenty of food and plenty of these wild urchins to entertain you. If that don’t keep you laughing, then there’s a parrot that never shuts up and a bunch of dogs.”

“And a cat,” a little girl said shyly.

“Y’all could play Monopoly with us this afternoon,” one of the boys offered.

“The children: Martin, Adam, Richie, and Olivia.” Callie laid a hand on each kid’s head as she introduced them.

“Pleased to meet you all. But I need a nap more than fun today. Can I take a rain check? I’d fall asleep in the middle of a board game, even if I drank six cups of coffee. I’m afraid that sleet, snow, or even”—she hesitated before she said anything about the promise of an afternoon of glorious hot kisses, and then chose her words carefully—“chocolate could keep me away from a Sunday nap. It’s been a long, busy week.”

“Jill snored in church,” Sawyer said.

She poked him in the chest with her forefinger. “So did you and a lot louder.”

“I thought I heard a bullfrog right behind me.” Verdie laughed. “Another Sunday then or maybe a lunch in the middle of the week?”

“That sounds wonderful.” Jill smiled.

With Sawyer’s hand at her back, they made their way to the door, where they shook hands with the preacher and made a comment about how wonderful it was to see the sun shining. Jill couldn’t lie and tell him it was an awesome sermon, because she’d caught only snatches of it between keeping Sawyer awake and dozing herself.

She heard someone snort and say, “Oink, oink.” Then another one gave a pig snort that wasn’t totally unlike Sawyer’s snores.

One more oink, and a Brennan said something about a thieving smart-ass. Jill was too short to see who threw the first punch, but the fight was on. The church parking lot, which had been declared sacred, neutral ground, turned into a free-for-all. Fists and profanity flew around like buzzards having it out over a dead possum in the middle of the road.

Those who sat in the middle section of church either quietly circled the brawl to their trucks or else stood on the sidelines. No one, not even the preacher, wadded into the middle of the fracas to try to put an end to it.

Finally, Verdie pushed her way through the speechless onlookers and right out into the lot. When she reached the middle, she grabbed two ears, a Brennan and a Gallagher, and hauled them off the ground to their feet.

“One of y’all makes a move, I will put a knee in a place that will hurt for the rest of the day,” she said loudly. “Stop it right now, or else I’m going out to my van and bringing in some pistol power.”

“They started the whole thing by stealing our pigs, and now they’re oinking at us and making pig sounds.” Quaid Brennan rubbed his ear.

“They’re lying about us,” Tyrell Gallagher yelled.

“I don’t give a shit who stole the pigs or who is lying. If you’ve got to fight like children, then take it away from the church, the store, and Polly’s bar. Those have been neutral places during this whole damned feud, and the next time this happens, I’m not whistling or pulling ears. I’m going to start kicking and asking questions later,” Verdie said.

“I want to grow up to be just like her,” Jill said.

“Not Polly or Gladys?” Sawyer asked.

“Oh, no. They’re mean, but believe me, Verdie is the toughest one of the lot.”

*

Two men had guarded the henhouse at Wild Horse, since Naomi was sure that’s where Mavis was going to hit her after the pigs went missing. There was no way those holier-than-thou Brennans were going to get at her big white chickens. Not when it was nearly time to start saving their eggs to incubate for next year’s chicken crop.

If they hadn’t been standing on the same side of the huge, custom-built coop, they might have seen that the cigarette one of them tossed on the ground and stepped on still had a spark. If they hadn’t been hungover from dancing and drinking at Polly’s the night before, they might have smelled the smoke before the chickens went crazy, flapping their wings and cackling louder than a rock band.

“What’s that smell? You’ve got to quit smokin’, Billy. That damn smoke gets in my nose and, oh my God! The henhouse is on fire. That’s why they’re throwin’ such a fit,” one yelled.