The Yellow Rose Beauty Shop (Cadillac, Texas #3)(96)

When Nancy put a high-heeled shoe on the first step, Everett scooped her up in his arms and said, “You’ll be the prettiest one in there tonight, Nancy darlin’. There ain’t a woman in Cadillac who can hold a candle to you.” He didn’t put her down until they were inside the barn.

Stella was the only one left in the limo and when she started out the driver held out his hand. She reached for it but Jed appeared out of the shadows and took her hand, helped her down, and looked deeply into her eyes before tucking her arm into his. “I love you, Stella Tucker.”

“That sounds real good,” she said.

“It does, doesn’t it? Miz Agnes, darlin’, could I escort the two loveliest women in the county into this ball?” he asked when they made it to the door.

“You are full of shit, Jed, even if you are a preacher, but I’ll gladly walk into this barn dance with you and Stella. Oh, my God!” Agnes said.

“What? Did you hurt your hip?” Stella said frantically.

“Hell, no! I just now figured the whole damn thing out. It’s been right there in plain sight the whole time. It’s Jed. And you are both wearing bright shiny new gold bands, which means he ain’t your feller but your husband. I can’t believe you pulled the wool over my eyes,” Agnes said.

“Yes, he is, but don’t let the cat out of the bag just yet.” Stella laughed.

“Does Nancy know?”

“I just now told her.”

“I bet she don’t know whether to wind her ass or scratch her watch.” Agnes cackled.

“That pretty much sums it up,” Stella said.



The big tin building was still a barn with a cracked concrete floor, wooden rafters, and buyers’ balconies on either side. It smelled like dozens and dozens of kinds of barbecue. No matter how many scented candles burned brightly on the tables or how many rose petals were tossed on the serving tables at the back, those were still slow cookers and disposable aluminum pans back there. And those really were red plastic cups for sweet tea and lemon-infused water.

The yards and yards of filmy illusion netting blown backward by the noisy air conditioners did little to keep the cold air in and the hot air out. Heather’s floral dress with its wide skirts looked like something out of a pre–Civil War museum.

“Well, Stella Baxter, here you are,” Heather said. “And the rumors have it that my marriage ministry has worked and you will be telling your family the name of your future husband tonight?”

“You look lovely, Heather, but”—Stella lowered her voice to a whisper—“you shouldn’t eat any of my pulled chicken. I made it special for my feller and he does like it a bit spicy. A delicate little flower like you could never handle the heat, but I do understand that Quinn loves it, so maybe he can have your portion.”

Heather’s beady little eyes squinted nearly shut. “Are you making fun of me?”

“No, ma’am. It’s just that city folks can’t eat my chicken. It upsets their delicate nature. Down here in the backwoods, people are stronger. They are able to handle the jalape?o peppers we grow here because they’ve been eating them their whole lives, but you, comin’ from the city, honey, it’s just a warning. Don’t take offense, now,” Stella said.

“Are you implying that I can’t handle as much as you can? I’ve eaten food with jalape?o peppers in it. Mexican food is some of my favorite,” Heather said.

“No, I’m telling you straight up that you can’t. You might think you are taking Violet’s place in Cadillac, but darlin’, I’m the new Agnes. And FYI, Violet couldn’t get ahead of Agnes and you will always be two steps behind me.” Stella laid a hand on Heather’s shoulder and looked her right in the eye. “And I’m giving you fair warning, my pulled chicken is not for you. You can thank me later when you come down off your high horse. Now I really must get on up into the balcony before you start drawing names.”

Heather headed straight for the food table holding Stella’s bright-red slow cooker of pulled barbecued chicken. She laid the lid to the side, picked up a plate, put a hamburger bun on it, and loaded it with the chicken. The expression on her face said that she would show that hussy just who had more steel in her backbone.

Stella watched from the shadows near the stairs leading up to the balcony where the ladies were gathered. Sheer determination made Heather eat every bite of the sandwich, with her eyes watering and her face flushed by the time she finished it.

Then she took off in a big-skirted waddle toward the table that held her special white grape juice punch. Piper, bless her heart, had offered to serve until time for the drawing and she filled a pink plastic cup to the brim and handed it to Heather.

“Someone should have told you that Stella puts a lot of jalape?o peppers in her barbecue. You poor dear,” Piper said sympathetically.

“I can take the heat,” Heather said stoically, but she downed the whole cup of punch and held it back for more. “I’m not a pansy.”

“I’m sure you are strong, darlin’,” Piper said. “The tables look lovely with all the candlelight flickering.”

Heather put down the second cup faster than the first and handed it back to Piper. “One more time. I’ve been working very hard and I’m thirsty.”

Piper was more than willing to oblige her. “You’ve done such a lovely job. Why, no one would ever believe this is a common old sale barn. Everyone in the whole county is going to be saying that it’s the best barn dance they’ve ever been to.”