by Meg Benjamin
No escape. Make the best of it. “I’ve got a little catering business over by Oltdorf. And a food truck. Barbecue. So you’re part of the…” he searched frantically through his brain for the name of the organization that was holding its convention at the Woodrose, “…the Independent Merchants Association?”
Docia shook her head, her lips moving into a dry smile. “Nice try, Harris, but I’m not letting you off the hook on this one. How long have you been doing this?”
“Around a year.” He gave her what was supposed to be one of his most charming smiles, although judging from Docia’s expression it wasn’t having the desired effect. “I meant to call you, Dosh. Honest.”
“But the time just slipped away.” Docia’s dry smile stayed in place. “So you’re not working for the firm anymore?”
He shook his head. “Not for a while now.”
“How does Aunt Mel feel about that? And Gray?”
“About like you’d expect.” His charming smile started to curdle. “Could we talk about this another time, Dosh? They’re about to run out of brisket on the serving line.” Or they would be if he let Docia go on interrogating him much longer.
She nodded. “We will talk about this another time. At length. You need to come to dinner at our place. Meet Cal and maybe the rest of the Toleffsons, although not simultaneously. And give me enough time to worm all the details out of you.”
“Sure.” He managed one more thin smile. “Looking forward to it.” Just like I’m looking forward to my next root canal.
Docia threw back her head and gave one of those great hoots of laughter that made him love her. “No, you’re not. Not even slightly. But it won’t be as bad as you think. Trust me.”
“If you say so.” He sighed. “See you, Dosh.”
“See you, Harris.”
He headed back to the van. Being anonymous had been fun. But it looked like the fun might be ending.
Darcy looked across the lawn toward the Barbecue King’s food truck. The spectacular redhead he’d been talking to was striding back across the field toward the dessert table.
Of course he had groupies. Hell, every chef she knew had groupies. Amazing how many women found the ability to throw a piece of meat on the fire an aphrodisiac. She pulled another tray of potato salad out of the cooler, narrowing her eyes as she studied the other trays still resting inside. She’d overestimated how much potato salad they’d need. Or possibly overestimated the demand for potato salad with feta and olives. And DayJohn mustard.
She sighed. She was a chef. She knew only too well about the vagaries of appetite. Sometimes people were willing to take variations on the classics and sometimes they weren’t. But it almost killed her to admit the Barbecue King might be right.
She frowned, shaking her head. He wasn’t right. There was nothing wrong with her potato salad. It just wasn’t what people around here expected. She’d hang on to the recipe and use it again sometime when she was cooking somewhere else. They’d probably love it in Anaheim. Or Las Vegas.
She ignored the slight tightening in her gut at that idea of working somewhere other than Konigsburg. Anaheim would be okay. So would Las Vegas. Or Kansas City. She couldn’t afford to get attached to a place. She needed to move on when the time came, when that chef de cuisine offer finally came her way.
She narrowed her eyes at the leftover potato salad again. They might love it in Anaheim but they didn’t love it here and now. And the Rose would be stuck with the excess. Joe would probably find something to do with it, add it to a Niçoise salad or something. Serve it at brunch on Sunday. But she hated to misfire like this.
Damn Texas. Damn purists. Damn barbecue. Damn the Barbecue King.
She glanced across the lawn again to see his lanky silhouette emerging from his van, carrying yet another foil-covered pan of meat. Broad shoulders, slim hips, outlaw hat sloping low over one eyebrow.
Oh yes. Most definitely. Damn the Barbecue King.
Chapter Two
Chico Burnside guided his pickup carefully over the rise in the road. On reflection it probably hadn’t been too smart to take this particular route back from Oltdorf on a darkish night, but he was feeling bored and itchy, and the possibility of a quick climb over some challenging roads rather than a slower slog down Highway 16 had awakened at least a momentary sizzle of anticipation.
That particular sizzle was long gone as he rolled slowly down the hillside, on the alert for potential potholes. He’d serviced the truck a couple of weeks ago, it was running like a champ, and he’d be damned if he’d end up with a broken axle because of his own stupidity. Evidence, if any was needed, that boredom could be dangerous.
It was largely boredom that had sent him off to Oltdorf that night rather than staying around the Faro saloon in Konigsburg as he usually did. He’d told himself he was checking out a new singer at the Oltdorf Hall who might turn out to be someone to book in the Faro’s beer garden. But in reality, boredom had sent him off into the night, and boredom had now gotten him onto this dark, treacherous road. Boredom was one dangerous mother.
The moon emerged from behind a cloud, but it didn’t do a lot of good. The hillside shaded most of the road and his headlights could only dent the considerable darkness now and then. He kept his gaze on the surface directly ahead, following the white ribbon of gravel that unspooled in front of him as he spiraled slowly down the hill. If memory served, there was a long, flat stretch coming up and then a few more curves before he reached the intersection with one of the state highways. A state highway which he’d gladly take home, foreswearing adventures for the time being.
He followed the last curve and then accelerated slightly as he finally reached the flat. A couple more miles and he’d be back on the highway again.
He almost didn’t see the car on the shoulder until he was past it, hidden as it was in the shadow of a pecan. It was actually the person standing at the front under the open hood who caught his attention more than the car. He slowed down, then pulled over carefully, hoping this wasn’t one of the places where the shoulder dropped off to a drainage ditch.
He grabbed the flashlight from under the passenger seat, then stepped into the road, making sure he was as fully lighted by the moon as possible. He didn’t want to alarm the driver, and he knew just how alarming someone his size could be—even in broad daylight. Six-foot-five and two hundred-fifty pounds cast a considerable shadow, even in this weak moonlight. He made a bit more noise stepping on the gravel than he needed to. By now whoever was standing next to the car should be well aware he was walking up the road.
The driver stepped back from the hood slightly as he came nearer. He took a closer look. A woman. He had a brief impression of a blazer and tailored slacks. High-powered executive type.
Great. He really hoped she wasn’t into shoot first and ask questions later. Fortunately, she didn’t seem to be holding a weapon.
He stopped a few feet away from her, trying to look as non-threatening as possible, which was, of course, completely futile. “Evening,” he called. “Are you having car trouble?”
He heard the woman clear her throat. “Looks like it.” Her voice was a smooth contralto, warm in the softening moonlight.
Yeah, yeah, you’re a freakin’ romantic. “Mind if I take a look?” He raised the hand with the flashlight, giving her plenty of time to step back.
“Go ahead.”
He stepped to the front of the car, raising the hood a little more so that he could see, and shone the flashlight across the engine. “Nothing obvious. What happened?”
She moved slightly closer. “I had some work out here. When I got back to the car, it wouldn’t start. I’m guessing it’s the battery.”
There were a lot of potential questions packed into that statement, but he decided to stick with the most relevant point. “Did it turn over at all?”
She shook her head. “Nope. Maybe I should say I’m hoping it’s the battery.”
He could hear the smile in her voice. All o
f a sudden he really wished the moon was a little brighter. He’d like to get a better look at her.
He stood up again, slowly. “Sorry, I don’t have my jumper cables with me. Where are you headed? I can give you a ride as far as Konigsburg.”
He sensed the brief hesitation before she replied. “I’m headed for Konigsburg actually. I live there.”
“Me too.” He turned toward her, holding the flashlight down so it wouldn’t dazzle her, then extended his hand. “Chico Burnside.”
“Andy Wells.” Her hand felt cool against his for a moment. “I know you, I think. You work for Tom Ames.”
“Right.” He nodded. He didn’t actually work for Tom, although Tom owned the Faro. But the simplest explanation was probably best in this case.
She sighed. “I’ll take you up on the ride, thanks. My phone doesn’t seem to work out here.”
“Probably between towers.” He started back toward his truck, hoping she’d follow. He had a feeling if he put a hand on her elbow, she’d bolt.
“Just a second—I need to get my stuff.”
He turned, shining the flashlight toward her car, and watched her remove a laptop case and a small cooler.
He frowned. “Lunch?”
She shook her head. “Water samples. Okay, that’s all I need for now.”
He started back to the truck again, pausing to open the passenger side door. “Kind of a mess in here, sorry.”
“That’s okay, I’m flexible.” She hoisted herself up to the seat and he noticed for the first time that she was wearing Timberlands with her fancy blazer.
Interesting.
Andy contemplated the man sitting across from her, his eyes slightly narrowed as he watched the road ahead. He was probably the biggest man she’d ever seen, undoubtedly the biggest she’d ever been this close to. The narrowed eyes made him look particularly ferocious—that, along with the long hair tied back at the nape of his neck, the clipped beard and moustache, and the fact that his hands were the size of cantaloupes.
He was the bouncer at the Faro, once one of the tougher bars in town, although now it was more like a restaurant and music venue. If she hadn’t recognized him, she wouldn’t have considered getting into the truck with him. Even now she had a few second thoughts, based on his scowl.
On the other hand, he’d just saved her a long walk, possibly a very long walk, back into cell phone range.
“What’s in the cooler?” He seemed to realize the question sounded abrupt. “If you don’t mind my asking.”
She shrugged. “Water samples, like I said. I work for the Texas Department of Environmental Quality.”
One of his dark eyebrows arched up. “The Texas Department of Environmental Quality sends you out to take samples in the middle of the night?”
Andy gave him a slightly grim smile. “The samplers were out earlier this afternoon. I just stopped to pick up the samples on my way back to town—I’ve been over toward Llano most of the day. We’re stretched a little thin right now.”
“Yeah. Aren’t we all.” He gave her a grim smile of his own.
The darkness seemed to make it a little easier to talk. “How did you happen to be out on this road?”
“I was checking out an act in Oltdorf. Decided to take the back road home.” He shrugged. “I was just kicking myself for not staying on the highway when I saw you there.”
“Lucky for me you did.” She settled back against the seat. “What kind of act were you checking out? And why?”
“I book talent for the Faro.” He shrugged again. “Oltdorf Hall had some roots rock bands this evening so I went over to see if they were any good.”
She took a moment to absorb that news. So he wasn’t just a bouncer after all. And aren’t we the proper little snot—since when is being a bouncer a shameful job? “So were they?”
He shook his head. “Not good enough. Right now we’re a solid middleweight club. We get big names a few times a year, but mostly we’re a good place for up and comers to build their rep. These guys sounded like they needed a few more months on the road to knock off the rough edges.”
Andy let herself smile a bit more warmly this time. “I was at the Faro during the Food and Wine Festival last fall. The music was great.”
He nodded. “It was. But the beer garden was too crowded during the festival. Come back some Saturday this summer. There’s more room to sit and less chaos.”
“I’ll do that.” She let her shoulders relax for what felt like the first time since she’d tried to start her car. “You’re from Konigsburg, aren’t you? I sort of remember you from high school.” He’d been a football star as she recalled. She wasn’t sure what had happened to him after that.
He nodded again. “Born there. My family still lives there. Most of them.”
“Do you live with your family?”
He gave her a slightly dry glance and she felt her face warm. I wasn’t asking if you’re married, honest.
He shook his head. “I’ve got a place close to work. Your family’s from the burg too?”
“Right. Three generations. My brother and I are all that’s left in Konigsburg, though. My grandma died a couple of years ago and everybody else has moved away.”
“Who was your grandma?”
“Cora Jepsen.”
He smiled. Not grimly at all. “Right. Taught third grade. I didn’t have her but my brother did. Nice lady.”
“That’s her.” Andy felt a quick pang. Grandma had been gone for two years now but she still got a twinge when she remembered her.
The lights of Konigsburg glowed on the horizon ahead. Andy sighed. She’d have to call a mechanic tomorrow to see if she could get the car going, and she didn’t necessarily know a mechanic to call. Plus, getting the car fixed would make her late to the office and put her behind for the day. Maybe she should just get a rental so that she could take the samples in and take care of any bits of crucial business before she started calling potential mechanics.
“My brother Art owns a garage,” Chico Burnside said. “He could take you back to your car tomorrow and get it started. Probably just needs a new battery. He’s a good guy. He won’t try to charge for anything you don’t need.”
Apparently, along with booking talent he also read minds. She pulled out her cell phone which had miraculously regained its signal. “Do you have his number?”
“I do, but he won’t be there at this time of night. I’ll call him at home after I drop you off. He’ll help you. He’s the one who had your grandma for third grade.”
God bless Grandma! “Okay.”
“Where’s your house?”
She pointed at the intersection ahead. “Turn left here and then left again on Novarro. It’s the brick bungalow at the end of the street.”
“Got it.”
A few minutes later, he pulled up in front of her driveway, and Andy began to gather her belongings.
“What’s your number?”
She stilled, trying to decide if he was making anything like a pass.
“So I can have Art call you,” he added with another slightly dry grin.
Her cheeks flushed warm. Yeah, you’re a regular femme fatale. “Oh. Sure. It’s 555-220-3012.”
He keyed the number into his phone, then paused.
Andy remembered suddenly that she was supposed to be getting out of his truck. Funny how comfortable it seemed in here. She picked up her laptop and sample cooler. “Thanks so much. I’d probably be walking back to town if you hadn’t driven up when you did.”
He shrugged. “Glad to do it.”
“Well…” She paused, trying to think of something else encouraging to say and coming up dry. Want to come by for dinner some time? No, that definitely wasn’t a good idea.
He opened his own door and came around to hers, opening it for her. “You need any help with all that?”
“I can manage.” She started up the walk to her front porch, turning slightly. “Good night. Thanks again.”
He n
odded. “Any time.”
She was inside the house before she turned around again to look. He’d stayed at the curb until she got to the door, then pulled away.
Well, that was an interesting experience. Of course, interesting wasn’t exactly the word she wanted, but she couldn’t think of the one that was.
And that was probably the end of it. She wasn’t the type for chance encounters with intriguing strangers, particularly not chance encounters that became something else.
Do you want it to become something else?
That wasn’t a question she wanted to think about right then. Or possibly ever. She closed the curtains, heading back toward the kitchen for a quick sandwich. Then the news. Then bed.
She paused for a moment at the kitchen door, blowing out a quick breath. In reality she had to admit—she wouldn’t mind seeing Chico Burnside again. She wouldn’t mind it at all.
Chico guided his truck up Paradise Street for the ritual check of his parents’ house. Kitchen light on. Reflected glow of a television screen in the family room. All quiet on the Burnside front.
He turned back toward Main, toward his duplex just off the avenue. He’d bought it a couple of years ago, although he was willing to bet the guy who rented the other side didn’t realize he was the landlord. Not many people in Konigsburg would have realized that. Most of them assumed he was one step up from being a derelict. Chico didn’t see any point in disabusing them of that idea either.
He wondered if that was what Andy Wells thought about him. Probably. The combination of his size and his job convinced most people he was a barely rehabbed ex-biker. He was willing to bet Tom Ames got a lot of credit for his tolerance in taking Chico on and making him a semi-honest man even though the odds had undoubtedly been against it.
He’d love to see the faces of some of the more upright citizens of Konigsburg if they ever learned Chico was actually part owner of the Faro himself, having invested in Tom’s enterprise once he’d gotten a reading on his intentions and his ability to make things happen. He’d taken the bouncer job to keep an eye on his investment, and it had turned out to be a lot more enjoyable than he’d anticipated.
