by Meg Benjamin
Deirdre Ames smiled at her expectantly.
Andy gave a mental sigh, turning toward the garden. Taking time to primp would definitely establish her as a date, which she wasn’t sure she was. After all, they were just going to sit around the beer garden while Chico did his job.
She saw Chico as soon as she stepped through the door. He stood near the gate, his arms folded across his chest, watching the band with narrowed eyes. Andy glanced at the bandstand. The musicians seemed to be doing okay, for the most part, although they sounded a little like all the other country bands she’d heard over the last couple of years. She wasn’t sure whether that was good or bad.
She worked her way along the edge of the garden until she was standing near enough to be heard over the amplifiers. “Hi.”
His head swiveled toward her. After a moment, he broke into a grin that made her heart do a slight flutter. Stop that.
“Glad you made it. Here, have a seat.” He motioned her onto a bench next to him, then turned back to the band again, losing his grin.
“Don’t you like them?” she asked.
He glanced down at her, then back at the band. “They’re better than this as a rule. Either they’re having an off night, or they’re not making much effort. When they take a break, I’ll ask them which it is.”
Andy looked back at the band again. They seemed very young all of a sudden. If she were their age, she’d find Chico Burnside absolutely terrifying. Actually, she found him pretty formidable even at her current age.
Although terrifying didn’t seem to enter into her reaction anymore. However he made her feel, she definitely wasn’t afraid of him.
The lead singer of the band stepped to the front of the stage, grinning lazily at the crowd. That is, his grin was lazy until his gaze traveled to Chico. Then, it seemed to Andy, his face paled slightly.
Beside her, Chico’s expression was unchanged, but something about it made Andy herself feel slightly uneasy. She figured the kid on the bandstand was feeling it more than slightly.
The kid turned back to the band and muttered something, then counted down to the start of their next number. It was, she noted, a lot more sprightly.
“You want something to eat?” Chico asked her after a couple more, much improved, numbers. “I think Clem’s still back in the kitchen. I can get some sandwiches from her.”
“Sure.” In fact, she’d been too nervous to eat much in the way of supper, and she was afraid her stomach was rumbling loud enough to be heard over the band.
She watched him disappear into the main room. The band seemed to relax. “We’ll be back in a few, y’all,” the leader called to the crowd as they set down their instruments.
Chico returned a few minutes later, followed by a small, dark-haired woman in a white apron and carrying a platter. He had that expression again, the one that had stopped the band cold.
“Andy Wells,” he said, “this is Clemencia Rodriguez.” This time he rolled his eyes.
Clemencia Rodriguez ignored him, extending her hand to Andy. “Hey, nice to meet you. I’m the cook here. So how long have you been dating this refugee from a sixties biker movie?”
Andy blinked, glancing up at Chico’s suddenly blank expression. “Well… We… That is… We’ve been out a couple of times.”
Chico lifted the platter onto the table in front of Andy. “Thanks, Clem. I’ll take it from here.”
Clem gave him a slightly evil grin. “But we haven’t gotten to the good part yet.”
Chico gave her another death-ray stare, and Clemencia threw back her head and laughed. She turned to Andy, smiling. “It really is good to meet you, Andy. Don’t mind me. I’m just jerking his chain. And don’t worry. His bark and bite are both pretty bad, but he doesn’t use the bite part all that often.” She nodded at Chico, then turned back toward the kitchen again.
He dropped down onto the bench beside her. “Clem is sort of a law unto herself. Don’t take her seriously.”
Andy shook her head, feeling a little dazed. “No. I won’t. So is she your friend—Clemencia, I mean?”
He shrugged. “Yeah. She was one of Tom’s first hires. To the extent that we’ve managed to shake the old bad rep for the Faro, Clem’s been the major feature. Good food and bad company don’t really seem to go together.”
Andy nodded as the band climbed back on stage. “The band seems to be doing better.”
“They couldn’t do much worse,” Chico growled, but he was smiling. Sort of.
They spent the rest of the evening listening to the band, watching people dance on the miniscule dance floor and having a couple of beers to go along with what had been one of the best chicken sandwiches she’d ever tasted.
Other people joined them occasionally. Clem came out of the kitchen in her street clothes after she’d closed up for the night and took the chair across from Andy for a while. She contented herself with a few knowing glances in Chico’s direction. She and Andy discovered a couple of mutual friends, not surprising in a town the size of Konigsburg. When she rose to go a few minutes later, she patted Chico on the shoulder, winked at Andy, and slipped out the gate. A few moments later, Andy saw her walking down the far side of the street.
“Does she have a ride?” she asked Chico. It was probably a needless worry. Clem struck her as someone who could take care of herself no matter how short she was. But still.
Chico shrugged. “Her partner works down the street at that vintage clothing place. Clem picks her up and they walk home together.”
Andy nodded. Two women still might not be safe in some of the rougher parts of town, but at least it evened the odds.
Deirdre Ames appeared with a glass of what looked like soda, collapsing into the chair opposite Chico. “That’s it. I’m done for the night.”
He gave her a narrow-eyed frown. “You should have been done before you started. Why are you still working, Deirdre?”
“Because I enjoy it. And because I can.” She shook her head. “Don’t lecture me, Chico. Soon enough I won’t be able to do this anymore.”
Chico looked as if he might say something else, but instead he turned back to the bandstand, muttering a few comments about the band’s choice of numbers.
A few minutes later, a man with short, blond hair and ice-blue eyes knelt down next to Deirdre. “You want me to take you home? I’ve got a minute here.”
Deirdre shook her head, sighing. “You and Chico both need to chill out. I’m fine. Andy, this is my husband, Tom.”
Tom Ames raised an eyebrow briefly and once again she had that uncomfortable feeling of being inspected. “Pleased to meet you, Andy. Welcome to the Faro.”
Deirdre pushed herself to her feet. “It’s been a kind of long day, so on second thought, yes, I’d love to have you take me home.”
“Okay.” Tom glanced at Chico. “Jay’s on the bar. Keep an eye on things, okay?” He turned back to Andy again. “Come again sometime, Andy.”
Chico nodded, then watched Tom Ames hustle his wife back inside. “She’s pregnant,” he explained. “And she runs the coffee place next door during the day. She needs to start taking it easy.”
Andy glanced after Deirdre’s retreating figure. “She owns Coffee Delight? I’ve had her coffee. It’s terrific.”
“It is that.”
The band played for another half hour or so, then said good night. Chico ambled over to have a word with the lead singer before they packed up.
Andy glanced at her watch and was amazed to discover it was after midnight. She picked up her purse as he returned to the table. “I didn’t realize it was so late. I should probably get home.”
“Did you walk?”
She nodded, suddenly feeling a little obvious. She hadn’t really been thinking about having him walk her home through the warm Konigsburg night, had she? Well yes, of course she had.
“Give me a few more minutes until the band clears out.”
She nodded again, feeling a thrill of anticipation and a stab of doubt. Should she ask him i
n when they got to her place? Was she ready for that? Were they?
She watched him as he opened the gate so that the band could carry their equipment outside, then as he locked up and checked the bandstand one last time.
Deep breaths, Andy, deep breaths.
“Ready?” He smiled down at her.
No, actually. She pushed herself up from the bench. “Sure.”
This time he took her hand as soon as they were on the sidewalk. The warm evening air felt like satin against her cheeks. The quarter moon glowed white above them with a sprinkling of stars visible above the glare of the street lights.
“May night, and it’s already in the eighties.” She sighed. “June’s going to be a bitch.”
“Probably.” He guided her across the street at the light, keeping a wary eye on the few cars still trolling Main. “So how do you feel about barbecue?”
“Barbecue?” She blinked. Had she mentioned Lew? She was pretty certain she hadn’t.
He nodded. “You know—meat cooked over an open fire? Texas national dish?”
She blew out a breath. “Right. I like it, I guess. Who doesn’t?”
“Buddhists, vegans, maybe deep-sea fishermen for all I know. The thing is, we’re having a barbecue next Sunday night at the Faro, and I’d like you to come.” He glanced down at her. “If you’re free, that is.”
She shrugged. “I’m free so far as I know. Who’s cooking?”
“The Barbecue King.” He sighed. “And me, Lord help me.”
He looked so doleful she found herself smiling. “I didn’t know you were a cook.”
“I’m not—usually, that is. I do barbecue, though. And the King and I are thinking about putting together a team for the Fourth of July cook-off.”
A cold weight settled in her stomach.
He narrowed his eyes, studying her. “What’s wrong?”
She had to give him credit. Lew probably wouldn’t have noticed she was even slightly upset. “I’ve had some experience with barbecue competitions. My ex-husband has a team.”
“Your ex?” He frowned. “I didn’t know you’d been married.”
“We were divorced a few years ago.”
“And he made you hate barbecue?”
She shook her head. “I like barbecue fine. Like I said, who doesn’t? But some of those guys on the competitive circuit get a little…carried away. They let it take over their lives.” And Lew’s marriage, such as it was.
He slid his arm around her shoulders, pulling her a little closer to the hard wall of his chest. “Things only take over your life if you let them. I’ve never been much for doing that.”
No, given the number of careers he’d had so far, she’d guess that he hadn’t. “Good idea.”
“But if you don’t want to get involved in this crap, we can do something else some other day. Would you prefer that?” He gazed down at her, raising an eyebrow.
She shook her head. “No, I’d like to come. It’ll be fun.” Or at least it would give her a chance to see if he really was somebody who could keep the barbecue bitch at bay.
Her porch light gleamed at the end of the block. Just a few more steps now. “What time?”
“I’ll pick you up around noon, if that’s okay. I should have a break around then.”
She nodded. “Okay. I can do that.” Her pulse seemed to have speeded up since they’d rounded the corner. Or maybe it was just her imagination.
He took her hand again, leading her up the walk to her front door.
Now or never, Andy. Now or never. She took a breath to ask him if he’d like to come in and then promptly lost it when his lips touched hers.
It was their last kiss magnified by a power of ten. She brought her hands to his chest, feeling the slabs of muscle beneath her palms. His arm was wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer as his tongue rasped against hers. Her arms snaked around his neck, her breasts pushed flat against his chest, her legs spreading slightly as she leaned against him, feeling the weight of his arousal.
The very considerable weight of his arousal.
Her heart was pounding suddenly, whether from desire or anxiety she wasn’t entirely sure. Half of her wanted to pull back, but the other half was definitely in favor of full speed ahead. Speed into what? What exactly am I getting myself into?
She did pull back then, staring up into his midnight-dark eyes. “Would you like to come in?” she stammered.
He stared down at her for a moment, his lips edging up in a slightly rueful smile. “Not tonight, I think,” he said slowly. “But soon. Really soon.”
She blew out a breath. “Right.”
“Good night, Andy.” He brushed his fingers across her forehead, pushing the hair back from her eyes.
She tried desperately to think of something sexy to say. And failed. “Good night,” she croaked and turned toward her door.
Chapter Nine
Harris took the road to his place at a much higher speed than was prudent. He hadn’t expected his meeting at the Faro to take as long as it did—going into town to talk to Chico was supposed to be a quick trip. And when he’d tried to call Darcy, he’d realized he hadn’t yet gotten her number.
If she’d had to sit outside in the sun to wait for him, she might not feel like giving her number to him either.
He pulled the truck to a stop on the other side of the bridge and took the last fifty feet at a trot. Darcy’s SUV was parked at the top of the hill leading down to the bridge. Darcy herself was nowhere to be seen.
He started toward the kitchen and then paused. He could hear music—faint, but definitely there. He turned back toward the trailer.
Porky was stretched out in front, his chin on his paws. He raised his head, panting in welcome when Harris walked up. Someone had refilled his water bowl and placed it in the shade. The door opened easily when he pulled the knob. Darcy was sitting at his kitchen table, resting her feet on a chair as she leafed through an old copy of Texas Monthly. The music came from her phone, which she’d plugged into the speaker set he kept over the sink.
She glanced up at him. “Hey there, Your Majesty. I thought we had a date.”
“We did. Sorry. I got held up in town. Give me a minute and we’ll get going.” He tossed his hat on the rack at the door, then headed down the hall toward what passed for his bedroom.
“I didn’t mind waiting,” Darcy called down the hall. “We just do brunch on Sundays and we’re closed on Mondays.”
“Good.” He pulled open the snaps on his shirt, tossing it into the laundry bag near his bed. Another thing he’d have to take care of next week—laundry.
“Porky and I checked your wood,” Darcy continued, “but I didn’t light any fires. I didn’t know if the wood in the firebox was ready to go or not.”
He pulled on one of his working T-shirts and headed back up the hall. “It’s not exactly ready yet. I lay out the hardwood in the morning so I can light them as soon as I get back. I’m going to get a late start tonight.”
“I didn’t see any charcoal.”
“I don’t use much of it.” He stepped back into the kitchen. “Just a few briquettes to help get the fire burning.”
“What do you use instead?”
He shrugged. “Wood. Didn’t you see my piles of logs up there?”
“Wood?” She sat up. “If it’s just a wood fire, how do you keep it going?”
“You add more wood. How do you think you keep it going?”
“So you stay up all night, putting wood on the fire?”
He shook his head. “Come on. It’s easier to show you and I need to get the fires started. They have to burn for a while before it’s hot enough for the meat.” He grabbed his hat from the hook and headed down the outside stairs. After a moment, she followed him.
He glanced at her as they moved toward the kitchen. “How did you get in anyway? Not that I mind, but, well…”
She grinned. “I climbed in a window. But your lock isn’t exactly top of the line, Ace, and P
orky didn’t mind. If you’re worried about security, you might want to see about getting something better in the way of locks and watch dogs.”
He shook his head. “Not much in there that’s worth stealing besides the computer. And I’ve got most of the records saved in the cloud anyway. It’s mostly a place to sleep.”
“Nice-looking place to sleep.” She picked up her pace as he moved toward the smokers in the lean-to. The tips of her spiked hair were bright pink this time, the color of cotton candy. He had a sudden impulse to run his hand through them. An impulse he ruthlessly suppressed.
She glanced up at him. “So now what?”
“Now we get the fires started, like I said.” He opened the fire box in the nearest smoker, grabbing the chimney starter.
“Is that loaded up with briquettes?”
He nodded. “That and wood chunks. Once the fire gets hot enough, we can throw on some more logs.” He stuffed wadded-up newspaper in the bottom of the chimney, placing it in the midst of the wood in the fire box and pushing the lighter into the opening at the bottom.
“Logs?” She narrowed her eyes.
“Short ones. I cut them to fit.” He gestured toward the wood stacked along the hillside on both sides of the lean-to.
“Geez.” She stepped closer to the nearest woodpile. “You’ve got enough here for a couple of years.”
He shrugged. “Not really. The first pile is new wood, around a year old. The second is two years, the third is three years. The third pile is all I use right now.”
“And the others are aging?”
He nodded as he set up the second fire box. “Right. New wood is too smoky. You need wood that’s dried out.”
“I thought you wanted smoke.”
“You do. But you don’t want too much. Your meat shouldn’t taste like an ashtray.”
She made a face. “Nope. What kind of wood is this?”
“Mostly post oak.” He nodded toward a bin at the side. “I’ve got pecan chunks in there for flavor. Sometimes I pick up peach wood if there’s been a bad storm and the orchard owners are clearing out the windfall.”
“But you still have to feed in logs all night?”
He shook his head. “Not if I get the fire going right. You don’t want it to get too hot. You can end up burning up your rig by mistake. You have to get the dampers set just right so it’s not too hot and not too smoky. If the fire’s burning the way it’s supposed to, it’ll go for seven or eight hours without refueling.”
