Slim Pickings in Fat Chance, Texas

by Bonaduce, Celia

  “You’re my duck,” Dymphna said.

  She turned and graced him with her beatific smile. He ran and scooped her up, swinging her around. Crash squawked.

  “Sorry, Crash,” he said as he lowered Dymphna to her feet.

  Dymphna laughed and put Crash on the ground. The duck waddled over to the chickens, as if to see what had transpired in his absence. Dymphna and Professor Johnson suddenly remembered Tino.

  “Tino,” Dymphna said, but Tino put his hand up to stop her.

  “No no,” he said. “I can see the better man won.”

  Professor Johnson put out his hand. Tino shook it.

  “Seriously,” Tino said. “You two are perfect for each other.”

  CHAPTER 29

  Tino climbed the trail toward his truck. It was one of the few remaining vehicles at the turnout. As he got closer, she saw a woman sitting on his fender. As he got closer still, he could see she was crying.

  “Excuse me,” he said gently, so as not to scare her.

  The woman jumped. He was making all the wrong moves today.

  “I’m sorry,” the woman said, dabbing at her eyes. “Is this your truck?”

  “Yes, but take as much time as you need. I’m not in any hurry.”

  “Thank you.” The woman blew her nose. “I apologize for the display. . . but . . .” She cried harder.

  Tino sat on the bumper and patted her back. “But what?” he asked gently.

  “I just got dumped,” she cried.

  “Me too.”

  The woman stopped crying and looked at him. “You did?”

  “I did.”

  The woman started to laugh. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t be laughing.”

  “You shouldn’t be,” Tino said, starting to laugh himself.

  “I’m Cleo.”

  “Tino. What are you doing up here?”

  “Besides crying? I’m hoping to hitch a ride to Spoonerville. I need to call a cab. This was the only truck left up here, so I thought I’d take my chances.”

  He couldn’t imagine this sophisticated woman having business in Spoonerville.

  “What’s in Spoonerville?” he asked.

  “A phone that works,” she said bitterly. “I need to call a cab.”

  “You don’t need to call a cab. I’ll take you wherever you need to go.”

  “I’m going to Los Angeles.” She sniffled.

  “You were going to take a cab to Los Angeles?”

  “Oh no, just to Austin to catch my . . . catch a plane.”

  “I’ll take you to Los Angeles.”

  They stared at each other.

  “Can that truck of yours pull a U-Haul?” she asked.

  CHAPTER 30

  Professor Johnson didn’t need to bunk at the Boozehound Saloon.

  In the cool morning air, Dymphna and Professor Johnson walked hand in hand to the Cowboy Food café. Thud was having so much fun chasing and being chased by Crash that he almost stayed at the farm, but ultimately opted for the tantalizing aroma of breakfast coming from town.

  As they stepped onto Main Street, Professor Johnson’s back pocket started to vibrate. He pulled out his phone and stared at it.

  “It’s Auntie,” he said.

  “Isn’t she here?” Dymphna asked.

  Professor Johnson shrugged as he answered the phone.

  Dymphna nodded. She watched as Professor Johnson paced Main Street, trying to keep a signal going. When he finally got off the phone, the two of them continued their walk to the café.

  “She left?”

  “She left,” he said. “She’s on her way back to Los Angeles.”

  Because Fat Chance was such a small community, everyone was pretty much in the loop by the time Dymphna and Professor Johnson walked through the door. Professor Johnson looked at Powderkeg, who was sitting with his arm around Mikie.

  Powderkeg stood up. “Elwood—”

  “I just spoke with her,” Professor Johnson said. “She’ll be all right.”

  Professor Johnson could see the relief in Powderkeg’s eyes.

  The seating had been rearranged. Old Bertha was now sitting next to Pappy. Mikie seemed to have her own permanent spot next to Powderkeg. Titan stood up, vacating his spot so Professor Johnson could sit next to Dymphna. He pulled up a chair for himself nearer the kitchen. Dymphna looked at him questioningly.

  He beamed. “I still have Rocket. I made Dodge an offer he couldn’t refuse.”

  Dymphna was about to ask more questions, when Polly came out of the kitchen with a pot of coffee. She was wearing her ruffled apron.

  “You working here now?” Old Bertha asked.

  “Yep,” Polly said. “After yesterday, Fernando says it’s going to be all hands on deck.”

  As Polly poured coffee, Fernando came out of the kitchen with heaping baskets of bread. The group applauded him, both for breakfast and for breathing new life into Fat Chance, Texas.

  The wonderful smell of the freshly baked bread filled the room. The sweet scent of promise, thought Professor Johnson.

  The door to the café burst open and an out-of-breath Hank stumbled in.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Pappy said, and the group stood up, offering chairs and water to the gasping young man. “Where’s the fire?”

  “I brought the mail,” Hank said, coughing on a sip of water proffered by Polly.

  “Who are you, the Pony Express?” Old Bertha asked. “Why the rush?”

  “We’ll get our mail later this week,” said Fernando.

  “I was at the store in Spoonerville this morning,” Hank said. “Dodge was sorting the mail. He picked up a letter and started laughing. It was that mean laugh, you know the one?”

  Everyone nodded.

  “Anyway,” Hank said, “I asked him what was so funny and he said he had a letter for Fat Chance from the health department.”

  “The health department?” Fernando exclaimed, and then staggered. Titan helped him into a chair.

  “I knew Dodge would find a way to cause trouble,” Pappy said. “He’s going to try to close us down.”

  “What is wrong with that man?” Mikie asked.

  “I told him I was headed over this way,” Hank said, casting a glance at Polly. “And said I’d deliver it.”

  “Isn’t that against the law?” Dymphna asked. “A postmaster letting a regular citizen deliver mail?”

  “Have you met Dodge?” Pappy growled.

  Fernando put out his hand for the letter. Hank looked blankly at him.

  “The letter isn’t for you,” he said, looking down at the envelope. “It’s for a Professor Elwood Johnson.”

  Fernando froze, hand still outstretched. The room was silent. All eyes were on Professor Johnson as he took the letter.

  “Lucy, you got some ’splainin’ to do,” Fernando said in a Cuban accent.

  “Yes, well,” Professor Johnson began, “it’s a little complicated.”

  “Just start at the beginning,” Dymphna said kindly, although her voice telegraphed the confusion that she could see in everyone’s eyes.

  “I know all of us beneficiaries are in the same situation,” he said. “We have our inheritance and we want to make the most of it. When I confirmed that we had Thomas Volney Munson’s grapes growing in Fat Chance, I—”

  “We have Thomas Volney Munson’s grapes growing in Fat Chance?” Fernando said, dropping the basket of bread. His background in Napa Valley gave him an edge over the other people at the table.

  Titan caught the basket in one swoop, but a roll fell to the ground. Thud was on it before anyone knew it was missing. Bloodhounds are quick when they want to be.

  “Who is Thomas Volney Munson?” Old Bertha asked.

  “There are no vineyards in Fat Chance,” Mikie said. “I’ve flown over this place hundreds of times.”

  “What has that got to do with the health department?”

  “Calm down, everybody,” Powderkeg said, slamming the table to silence the chatt
er. “Go on, Professor. Who exactly is this Munson guy?”

  “Was,” Professor Johnson corrected. “Who was Thomas Volney Munson. He died in 1913.”

  “May he rest in peace,” Old Bertha said. “Pertinent information only, Professor, please.”

  “OK,” Professor Johnson said. “Munson was a horticulturalist who tried to develop new varieties of pest-resistant grapes by cross pollination and hybridization.”

  He looked up and saw the eyes in the café begin to glaze over, so much like the eyes in his classrooms.

  “Let me try again,” he said. “In a nutshell, Munson failed at his experiments until he moved to Denison, Texas, where the weather and soil were perfect for his work.”

  “So, basically, he grew grapes?” Powderkeg asked.

  “Not just any grapes,” Fernando said. “The man is a legend in the wine community. In the late nineteenth century, when the French grape growers had an epidemic of some kind—”

  “Aphid phylloxera,” Professor Johnson added.

  “Yes, that,” Fernando said.

  “He sent aphid-resistant stock to France,” Professor Johnson said. “The French winemakers grafted their vines onto Munson’s rootstock.”

  “The dude saved the French wine industry,” Fernando said. “Not that the French are exactly bragging about it.”

  “Having a PhD in—” began Professor Johnson.

  “Natural sciences,” all the original Fat Chancers recited.

  “Exactly,” Professor Johnson said. “Well, my focus is environmental science and that made me curious about what exactly was growing here. I thought a section on horticulture would be interesting for my museum, of course.”

  “Of course,” Dymphna said.

  “I took samples of leaves and dirt back to Los Angeles and analyzed everything,” he said. “You could have knocked me over with a feather when I found out we had Munson’s mustang grapes growing right here in Fat Chance.”

  “The only grapes growing around here are hanging over my patio,” Pappy said. “You don’t mean . . .”

  “Those are Munson mustang grapes,” Professor Johnson said gleefully.

  Fernando glowered. “What has that got to do with closing down my café?”

  “I’m not closing down the café,” Professor Johnson said, tearing open the letter. “I’m getting us a food license—and I’m getting the Boozehound a liquor license!”

  Everyone stared at him while he read. He smiled. “God bless Texas,” he said, looking around the room. “If this were California, I wouldn’t be able to afford this. As it is, I spent almost everything I had.”

  “I must be getting old,” Old Bertha said, “but I’m not connecting the dots.”

  “We have Munson mustang grapes,” Professor Johnson said. “If I’ve jumped the gun, I’m sorry. But with a food and liquor license, Fat Chance can go into the wine business. We can have a wine-tasting room with an attached café.”

  “A gold mine!” Powderkeg said.

  “Well, no,” Professor Johnson said. “I checked that out, and there isn’t any gold around here. It’s a common mistake—thinking there’s gold everywhere in Texas.”

  Powderkeg opened his mouth, but Mikie put her hand on his arm and patted it.

  “Is this possible?” Titan asked.

  “Sure,” Professor Johnson said. “We can start our own vineyard.”

  “There’s only one problem,” Polly said, looking at Thud. “If we get an OK from the health department, old Thud here won’t be able to hang out in here.”

  “I’m going to get him a therapy dog license,” Professor Johnson said. “I mean, he’s earned it.”

  Fernando had gone around the room pouring the last of his peach brandy into juice glasses. “A toast,” he said.

  Everyone stood, glasses in hand.

  “Wait,” Polly said, getting her cell phone from her back pocket.

  Everyone crowded into the frame.

  Polly beamed. “OK, Fernando,” she said. “Go!”

  “One for all,” Fernando said, “and all for one fat chance!”

  Be sure not to miss Celia Bonaduce’s

  WELCOME TO FAT CHANCE, TEXAS

  For champion professional knitter Dymphna Pearl, inheriting part

  of a sun-blasted ghost town in the Texas Hill Country isn’t just

  unexpected, it’s a little daunting. To earn a cash bequest that could

  change her life, she’ll have to leave California to live in tiny,

  run-down Fat Chance for six months—with seven strangers.

  Impossible! Or is it?

  Trading her sandals for cowboy boots, Dymphna dives into her new

  life with equal parts anxiety and excitement. After all, she’s never

  felt quite at home in Santa Monica anyway. Maybe Fat Chance will

  be her second chance. But making it habitable is going take more

  than a lasso and Wild West spirit. With an opinionated buzzard

  overlooking the proceedings and mismatched strangers learning to

  become friends, Dymphna wonders if unlocking the secrets of her

  own heart is the way to strike real gold . . .

  A Lyrical e-book on sale now!

  The Rollicking Bun—Home of the Epic Scone—is the center of

  Suzanna Wolf’s life. Part tea shop, part bookstore, part home, it’s

  everything she’s ever wanted right on the Venice Beach boardwalk,

  including partnership with her two best friends from high school,

  Eric and Fernando. But with thirty-three just around the corner,

  suddenly Suzanna wants something more—something strictly her

  own. Salsa lessons, especially with a gorgeous instructor, seem like

  a good start—a harmless secret, and just maybe the start of a fling.

  But before she knows it, Suzanna is learning steps she never

  imagined—and dancing her way into confusion.

  “The Merchant of Venice Beach has a fresh, heartwarming voice

  that will keep readers smiling as they dance through this

  charming story by Celia Bonaduce.”

  —Jodi Thomas, New York Times bestselling author

  Erinn Wolf needs to reinvent herself. A once celebrated playwright

  turned photographer, she’s almost broke, a little lonely, and tired of

  her sister’s constant worry. When a job on a reality TV show falls

  into her lap, she’s thrilled to be making a paycheck—and when a

  hot Italian actor named Massimo rents her guesthouse, she’s certain

  her life is getting a romantic subplot. But with the director, brash,

  gorgeous young Jude, dogging her every step, she can’t help but

  look at herself through his lens—and wonder if she’s been reading

  the wrong script all along . . .

  Look out, Venice Beach—the Wolf women are all together again.

  But when 70-year-old Virginia arrives with her teacup Chihuahua

  and unshakeable confidence, she senses trouble. Erinn is keeping

  secrets—like being broke and out of work—and Suzanna is paying

  too much attention to the wrong man—a Latino dance instructor

  who nearly broke her heart once before. Virginia’s ready for the

  third act of her life, and she intends to make it rousing and romantic.

  Now she just has to convince her daughters to throw out their old

  scripts. If life has taught Virginia anything, it’s this: There’s more

  than one way to a “happily ever after.”

  © William Christoff Photography

  Celia Bonaduce is the author of five novels and is currently a Field Producer on HGTV’s House Hunters. She has covered a lot of ground in TV programming, including field-producing ABC’s Extreme Makeover: Home Edition and writing for many of Nickelodeon’s animated series, including Hey Arnold! and ChalkZone. Her successful Tea-
Shoppe Stops, lectures and readings of the Venice Beach Romance series: Merchant of Venice Beach, A Comedy of Erinn, and Much Ado About Mother, will continue across the country with the Fat Chance, Texas series, although a better venue might be local rodeos. Celia lives in Santa Monica, California, with palm trees, the Pacific Ocean, and her husband, Bill.

  Website: http://www.celiabonaduce.com/

  Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Celia-Bonaduce/352890508156101

  Twitter: @celiabonaduce

  Instagram: Yocelia

  Media: http://www.celiab.name/

  To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.

  LYRICAL PRESS BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2016 by Celia Bonaduce

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  Lyrical Press logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

  First Electronic Edition: January 2016

  ISBN: 978-1-6018-3431-7

  First Print Edition: January 2016

  ISBN-13: 978-1-60183-432-4

  ISBN-10: 1-60183-432-2