“No, ma’am. It was marked to you, but I’ll readily admit, I was tempted.” He and Brody came back into the living room, with Rocky taking a seat in the wingback armchair and Brody leaning against the door facing.
“Oh, my gosh.” She exhaled again. “Okay, Brody, come sit with me on the couch so you can hold me up.”
Once they were settled in, she began to read aloud. “I’m cutting out the ‘yack, yack’ part and going to the chance. These are the figures from the Harbor Crew takedown. Of course, it’ll be divided up after the trial. I think the most important figure is a little more than six hundred fifteen pounds of marijuana, amounting to $1,144,000. The smaller amounts were eighty-one grams of crack at $7,120; fifty grams of powdered cocaine at $5,000; one hundred twenty-three grams of black heroin at $24,000; and sixty-one grams of methamphetamine for a measly $6,100, making that part of the take $42,000 on top of the marijuana and cash.”
Both men let out a hee-law and laughed deep and jovial.
“You’re going to love this one. First off, the number of dryer sheets that were in the mattresses trying to mask the smell of drugs could last a washateria a decade. The coffee packs Stanley took had cash in them of over half a million dollars. And that’s not all—we knew there were guns. They haven’t put a value on them yet, but there were fifty-plus hidden in the mattresses.” She turned to Rocky. “And Bruiser is the hero of this, because without him we would have had no reasonable cause to search. I don’t know how much our total cash value will be, but it’ll be substantial, oh yes, and they confiscated the tractor-trailer and no telling what it’ll be sold for. And Bruiser can have all the dog treats he wants from me.” She smiled at Rocky and said, “With Thelma’s coupons, she’ll probably have a big jar of them in the break room just for him.”
Avery didn’t know what came over her, but suddenly she had a desire to let loose and enjoy the moment. She couldn’t help but throw the papers in the air, grab both Brody and Rocky, pulling them from their seats, and make a circle to dance around the room with her.
After some of the adrenaline slowed within Avery, she let loose of Rocky’s hand but held tight to Brody’s. “Brody, do you want to tell him or should I?”
“I will,” he said in a teasing tone. “By the time the tractor and trailer is sold and all of the cash is divided, Bonita County Sheriff’s Department can buy me a new Police Pursuit Chevy Tahoe, just like yours.” He smiled at Rocky, then turned back to Avery. “Is that that you had in mind? Or is it that we can afford an Impala for you?”
She knitted her brows together and twitched her lips. “That’s not exactly what I had in mind.”
“Oh, you mean the other thing.” He pulled her tight against him. “Rocky, meet the soon-to-be Mrs. Brody VanZant.”
For the first time in three years, the thoughts and Lee, along with the shame and guilt, only served to Avery’s mind as a positive, loving feeling. The realization that she was not and never had been the cause of his death settled deep inside.
She looked deep into Brody’s soul through his eyes and she knew without him saying anything that he knew he was not responsible for any of Stanley’s actions.
Together, she had no doubt, they’d have a loving and fun relationship—and she couldn’t wait to be his wife.
“I’m not sure if she said yes, or not, but—”
“I said yes,” she said. Looking at the smile on his face, she added, “Or do I have to sign an affidavit to prove it?”
“Only your signature on our marriage license.”
Granny Johnson’s Peach-Apricot Fried Pies
Ingredients
Dough
4 cups white flour
2 tsps. salt
1 cup shortening
1 cup milk
Filling
8 oz. dried apricots
6 oz. dried peaches
¾ cup white sugar
2 cups vegetable oil for frying
DIRECTIONS
Crust
In a large bowl, mix together flour and salt. Cut in shortening until crumbly. Stir in milk. Continue stirring until dough forms a soft ball. Divide dough into 18 each 6” balls. Set aside.
Filling
1. In a large saucepan, combine apricots, peaches and sugar. Add enough water to cover. Cook on low heat, covered, until fruit falls apart. Remove lid and continue cooking until all of the water is gone. Note: I prefer to cook my fruit earlier and let it cool.
2. Place oil (or shortening or lard to equal 2 cups) in high-sided skillet. Place over medium heat.
3. Make a ball out of divided dough and roll into a fairly thin 8 inch circle. Spoon an appropriate amount of fruit in the center, fold in half and either use a fork or a pastry wheel (dipped in cold water or flour) to seal the edges.
4. Fry a few pies at a time in the hot oil, browning on both sides. Drain on paper towels.
5. Cool and enjoy!
I hope you enjoy the pies and memories as much as I did. My readers might be interested to know that my maternal grandmother was Granny Johnson, and this is one of her many recipes. Lola Ruth Hicks was named after my precious mother, Ruth, and my wonderful mother-in-law, Lola. May they rest in peace.
The Troubled Texan
If you enjoyed Out of a Texas Night, be sure not to miss Phylliss Miranda’s previous Kasota Springs Romance, The Troubled Texan.
Small-town Texas isn’t big enough for the both of them . . . or is it just right?
Sheriff Donovan “Deuce” Cowan has seen his share of trouble, but when he nearly hauls in Maressa Clarkson for speeding, he’s suddenly in over his head. These days his long-lost high school classmate is calling herself Rainey Michaels and she sure hasn’t come to Kasota Springs by accident. It seems the Los Angeles Deputy DA has chosen the West Texas town to hide out from a dangerous convict. It’s all Deuce can do not to corral the sexy spitfire—in the name of keeping her safe, of course. Problem is, Rainey isn’t letting anyone in on her big secret, least of all a hard-bodied, former pro-footballer sheriff with an overactive protective instinct. So now she’s trying to keep him in line, one slow kiss at a time. . . .
Read on for a special excerpt!
A Lyrical e-book on sale now.
Chapter 1
LIFE WITHOUT PAROLE! the April 12th Los Angeles Tribune headline shrieked up at Maressa Clarkson.
The word “failure” might as well have been scrolled in neon. Not being able to get the death penalty for a murderer who made Charles Manson look like a schoolyard bully was totally unacceptable, nothing but a sign of weakness, unworthiness. At least that was the way her father would see the verdict.
District Attorney, Judith Mason, had stood alone with her, the only one to understand the emotional hell Maressa had been going through as lead prosecutor in such a high-profile, gut-wrenching case. Maressa suspected the DA figured that, since she was up for reelection and her conviction record had been challenged by her opponent, she didn’t want to get her hands dirty with such a horrific case. She certainly didn’t need the stigma of Alonzo Hunter receiving life in prison hanging over her head when he deserved the death penalty.
Besides her own father and her boss, there were probably thousands of citizens of the state of California disappointed in the verdict, but none more than Maressa herself.
Scoping out her desk, she touched a nutmeg-colored folder labeled “People vs. Alonzo F. Hunter” lying open beside volumes of Cal Stats—Statutes of California and West’s California Reporter. An opaque water ring from an empty Diet Dr Pepper can on her other-wise organized desk reminded her that she hadn’t eaten a real meal in weeks.
A bonsai plant she had pampered for five years caught her attention. She checked the soil. Still moist. Plucking off a leaf that clung for survival like an umbilical cord, she tossed the dead twig in the wastebasket beside the credenza.
She
turned back for a final look and ran her fingers across the brass nameplate: R. Maressa Clarkson, Deputy District Attorney.
The pathetic looking bonsai seemed to plead with her not to be left behind.
Don’t look so sad, little guy, With rare spontaneity, she snatched up the front page of the newspaper and wrapped it around the delicate plant, before securing the pot in a corner of her gym bag.
Sliding on her sunglasses, she headed for the door. Cautiously surveying the outer offices, she checked to make sure nobody was around.
Easing the door closed, she exited through the back and headed for a bank of elevators. Luck was on her side; the doors opened immediately and she stepped into the waiting car.
Adjusting her heavy tote bag slung on her arm, she steadied herself, leaning against the mirrored tiles covering three sides of the elevator walls. The coolness of the glass seeped through her olive-drab blouse hanging off her noodle thin shoulders. She had lost more weight. Barely five-foot-two and a slight one hundred and three pounds, she couldn’t afford to lose another ounce.
A gaunt, tired image teetering on this side of anorexia screamed back at her. She touched the dark circles under her eyes. Lack of sleep and stress, compounded by the trauma of prosecuting such a horrendously complicated case and her concern for her safety, as well as that of her staff, had taken their toll. Her normally emerald-green eyes now looked more like mucky moss against her pasty complexion. Pinching her cheeks to add a tad of color didn’t work. She needed some sun. And rest, lots of it.
The elevator jerked to a stop on the ground floor where she located her new Lexus. She unlocked the doors, and then tossed her car keys on the concrete beneath the automobile. Exiting the parking garage on foot, she walked seven blocks south.
Although the back streets she took were virtually deserted at this time of the morning, she stopped several times to make sure she wasn’t being followed.
Halting near a trash bin, she took a deep breath, opened her gym bag and removed the Prada purse that cost more than a month’s payment on her condo. Tossing the turquoise-and-gray paisley printed handbag in a shallow growth of weeds behind the receptacle, she walked away. She had a small, cheap purse she had purchased inside her gym bag.
Someone would find her billfold, complete with identification, and figure she was another mugging victim. They’d take the piddling amount of cash she had deliberately left inside and discard the hand-bag. Nothing unusual in a city the size of LA.
Once she crossed back to the main avenue, crowds bustled to work around her like screensavers on speed. Meshing with the smell of designer perfume, tobacco, and leftover lust, she made her way another six blocks west before she flagged down a taxi. She told the driver that she wanted to go to the Los Angeles International Airport, where she paid him and mingled amongst the people before she caught a green-line bus and changed terminals. Weighted down with apprehension, she hailed a second cab.
Maressa removed a note Judith had given her from her pocket, and directed the cabbie to a used car lot in East LA, where she picked up her new identity and an ordinary Chevy Malibu. Not exactly a car she would have chosen, but one serviceable enough for her needs.
“Mrs. Michaels, uh, lady . . . Rainey—”
Jerking her head up, she responded, “What? Yes?”
She needed to get accustomed to her new alias since the last time anyone in her family used her first name was when she was baptized as an infant thirty-two years before. Her father hated the name Maressa, but had agreed to allow it to be put on her birth certificate only to appease her mother. The LA County DA insisted that “Rainey” didn’t sound professional and that using Maressa, along with her first initial, would set her apart from the other thousand-plus deputy DAs.
Rainey Michaels did have a secure ring to it.
“Don’t act scared. It’s a dead giveaway that you’re on the run. You paid a lot of money to get lost, so get used to it,” chided the slick-talking son-of-slime. “The registration and insurance documents are in here.” He handed her an envelope. “Keep ’em with the car ’cause you can’t afford to get stopped. Gotcha a New York driver’s license . . . everything you wanted, including a burner phone. You okay, Mrs. Michaels?”
“What? Yes, I’m fine. Thanks.” She handed over a manila envelope. “All the money is here.”
Deal closed, the man slithered back to the hole he called his office.
Slipping behind the wheel, she exited the parking lot . . . off the emotional roller coaster that had taken her for a nasty ride. She needed separation to heal, and plenty of it. Hopefully, given enough time, she could put the daily, sometimes hourly, images of the hideous crimes of Alonzo F. Hunter behind her and begin to live again.
Merging into traffic, she headed toward small-town USA where she could blend in like a single boll of cotton in pale moonlight.
A frightened deputy district attorney didn’t resign . . . she vanished.
And in R. Maressa Clarkson’s, rather Rainey Michaels’s case, she carried way too much baggage with her in the form of horrific memories.
The Tycoon and the Texan
Seven Days to Texas
With a name like Nick Dartmouth, and the fortune it comes with, it’s hard not to have a reputation for getting everything you want. So when his former secretary steps onto his foundation’s charity auction block, Nick has the perfect opportunity to woo the stunning beauty from Kasota Springs, Texas. But aggressive counterbids force him to make an extreme proposition. Except money itself doesn’t guarantee a blissful ride off into the sunset, especially when being won goes against the willful nature of McCall Johnson. Intent on showing Nick they come from two very different—and incompatible—worlds, she’s surprised by how well he can handle a horse. For a girl from Texas, that speaks volumes about a man’s value. Maybe there’s more to this playboy than she expected. . . .
Be My Texas Valentine
In Texas, Valentine’s Day is for restless hearts, brave second chances, and passions rekindled. New York Times bestselling author Jodi Thomas, Linda Broday, Phyliss Miranda, and DeWanna Pace tempt you with four delicious treats . . .
Out on these rugged plains, love never comes easy. And four daring ladies will do whatever it takes to capture the hearts of four irresistibly sweet-talking Texans. . . . When a quiet foreman comes to the aid of a mystery lady, they’ll find that this perfect starlit night is made for courtin’. . . . A determined heiress gambles high to reclaim the rancher she’s never stopped wanting. . . . When a spirited lady and a go-getter mayor compete for their town’s future, it’s two dreams for a lifetime. . . . And to attract a lonely doctor’s attention, a shy young woman needs courage—and two unlikely matchmakers. . . .
A Texas Christmas
In the Texas Panhandle, the winters are long, the storms fierce—and the Yuletide nights are sizzling. New York Times bestselling author Jodi Thomas along with DeWanna Pace, Linda Broday, and Phyliss Miranda bring you one tempting holiday delight . . .
On the eve before Christmas a blizzard arrived, transforming a small Texas town into a night to remember. Four ladies desperately in need of saving, four hard-ridin’ cowboys who aim to please. . . . When a lone farmer strides to a pretty store owner’s rescue, their deepest wishes just might come true. . . . A brave heiress can’t believe a rugged angel is riding out of the night to save her and her fellow train passengers—until she gets him under the mistletoe. . . . A quiet loner wants to help a stranded widow have a holiday to remember. . . . And a female saloon owner tired of being scorned by respectable folk gets some very naughty help from a handsome greenhorn. . . .
Give Me A Texas Outlaw
Fearless and irresistible, outlaws are the original bad boys. Now New York Times bestselling author Jodi Thomas and Linda Broday, Phyliss Miranda, and DeWanna Pace offer up four sexy and romantic stories for women who love men who know how to pack heat. . . .
/> If Cozette Camanez’s groom doesn’t show up for their wedding by dawn, she’ll lose her family ranch. Trouble is, the groom doesn’t exist—until unsuspecting thief Michael Hughes comes along. Never was an outlaw faced with such a lovely—and willing—target. . . . Larissa Patrick, the beautiful daughter of a wealthy rancher, has been kidnapped. Only one man can save her: gunfighter Johnny Bravo. Rescuing Larissa is the easy part—but getting her home without losing his heart will take the discipline of a saint. And Johnny’s no saint. . . . Lawman Ethan Kimble is finally face to face with his quarry: socialite and bank robber Savannah Parker. The only thing between them is a Winchester pointed at his heart—and some undeniable sparks. If Kimble can tame the Texas Flame, they may ignite a passion that breaks every rule. . . . When outlaw Shadow Rivers and desperado Odessa Kilmore escape a hail of bullets and team up on a long journey, both are determined to hide their secrets—and their attraction. No easy task as they discover a love more powerful than their enemies combined. . . .
Give Me A Texas Ranger
Born to protect and serve, these rugged lawmen are the stuff of Texas legend. New York Times bestselling author Jodi Thomas teams up with Linda Broday, Phyliss Miranda and DeWanna Pace to bring you four red-blooded Rangers and the women who tame their hearts. . .
When Annalane Barkley whispers her dreams to Wynn McCord, the Texas ranger has a new battle on his hands. For the sweet beauty’s words awaken his every protective instinct and he knows he’s found a woman worth fighting for. . . . When Stoney Burke finds Texanna Wilder in need of rescue, he’s caught between his hardened heart and his duty to his best friend’s lovely widow. Marriage is merely a solution to keep Texanna safe, but Stoney is suddenly aching for the wedding night. . . . Forced to take feisty Ella Stevenson into custody, Hayden McGraw has his hands full. But when he discovers the spitfire is on his side of the law, they’re soon working as a team—up close and very personal. . . . Thomas Longbow only plans to use Laney O’Grady as his cover on his latest assignment. But the passion that explodes between them threatens to expose his plot—and his heart. . . .
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