The Red-Hot Chili Cook-Off (27 page)

“It's been a crazy couple of months,” she said. “Hey, did you ever find out who stole all those cookers? They had to have had a list of the teams to even know where to start.”

Jack chuckled. “I'd tell you but then…well, you know the rest.”

“Hypothetically, then tell me a story.”

“Okay.” He slipped an arm around her. “But this is hypothetical, remember. About a dozen women came to the police station one night with this idea. I told them that it would never work but they showed me on paper how they'd go about the whole thing. The only place that they actually had to break into was Lenny's. Either they had a key or they knew someone who did for all the rest. They thought it would be a hoot and comeuppance for the way Lenny treated you. You'd be surprised how many friends you have out there who appreciate you for who you are. And I swear the skunk was just an added bonus.”

“Wives and ex-wives of the other teams who were sick of hearing about the men's only chili cook-off, hypothetically, of course,” she said.

“It could be. But I didn't want your fathers to be blamed so I got Jamie to have a poker party at his house.”

“Did they know? I can't see Uncle Jamie agreeing to poker…”

“But I want you to know and remember, Carlene, that among all those people who love you, your daddy is right at the top of the list.”

The Red-Hot Bloomers team picture hung above the credenza that Sunday afternoon. Tansy was bringing the trophy from her house where she said she was working magic and miracles. She finally arrived by way of the back door with her husband right behind her.

Tansy clapped her hands to get everyone's attention. “We're glad that Jack, Yancy, and Rick are here with us today. Now for the big moment we've all been waiting for.”

Tansy set the trophy in the middle of the credenza and pulled the white pillowcase away from it.

“It sparkles,” Josie said.

The trophy sat in the middle of a footed antique crystal plate that had belonged to Grandma Fannin.

“I remember that plate,” Gigi said. “It was the one that set on the credenza in our foyer with one of her candlesticks on either side. Mama kept fruit on the plate or cookies.”

“Oatmeal raisin,” Jamie said.

Dammit! Now all Carlene could see was those beautiful candlesticks all broken into smithereens.

“Speaking of which, if you will notice the broken bits that are glued to the plate and that surround the trophy,” Tansy said.

“I'll be damned,” Sugar said.

“Sugar cussed. She did and we all heard it,” Gigi said.

“Shhh, no bickering today from any of you,” Josie scolded.

“Forgive me, Lord.” Sugar looked up at the ceiling. “It's lovely, Tansy. How did you do it?”

“I had it done when the candlesticks came back broken. Took it to a little shop in Dallas and told them what I wanted. If we hadn't won the trophy, we would have put a candle in the middle. They crushed the candlesticks into smaller pieces then coated them with some kind of stuff so the top is smooth and yet we can see the glass sparkling. The trophy fits right well, don't you think?” Tansy beamed.

Gigi wiped at a tear and Hank handed her his handkerchief.

“I love it. This is the best Mother's Day ever. It wasn't just the winning, either. It was all the fun we've had with our girls and together.” She sniffed.

Carlene started the applause. “Yes, ma'am. To family and friendships.”

When the clapping stopped, Patrice pulled Yancy to the center of the foyer. “I know that thing sparkles like diamonds and speaking of which…” She held out her hand. “Look what I got about thirty minutes ago.”

Yancy grinned. “She said yes.”

Rick leaned down and whispered in Alma Grace's ear. “We won't steal their thunder but we're next in line, darlin'.”

Jack threw an arm around Carlene's shoulders and drew her close to his side. “Family and friends. A wonderful never-ending circle? This feels so right.”

Carlene snuggled into his embrace. “Yes, it does. Friends and family—the two best things in the whole world.”

THE END

Read on for an excerpt from

The Yellow Rose Barbecue Ball

by Carolyn Brown

Coming April 2015 from Sourcebooks Casablanca

If Nancy Baxter had known what kind of storm she was turning loose, she never would have put Stella's name on the prayer list down at the church in Cadillac, Texas. But she didn't have the benefit of hindsight on that hot southern night and she really did want Stella to get married. So when Heather, the president of the Prayer Angels, asked if anyone wanted to add a name to the list she spoke right up and said, “Pray for my daughter. She needs a husband.”

The angels took their spirituality seriously, so the praying began in earnest, and before they were done, God had been petitioned by a dozen women to send a husband to Cadillac and to earmark him special for Stella Baxter. No one dared ask why she needed a husband, but they did have their ideas, which turned into juicy gossip by the next morning.

***

Stella was humming a song from a Pistol Annie's CD as she opened the door to her beauty shop, the Yellow Rose, that Friday morning. She set the control on the air conditioner back a few notches and swept up a few dead crickets from the waiting area in the front part of the shop.

Blow-dryers heated up the small room, and customers liked to be cool. If it was this hot the day before the first day of official summer, then by the end of July, it would be even hotter than the famous jalapeño peppers that Cadillac, Texas, was famous for.

The Yellow Rose Beauty Shop had started out fifty years before as a small clothing store, so it had a big display window in the front. It had taken lots of discussion when she, Charlotte, and Piper were designing the shop, but they'd finally decided to carpet the display area with yellow carpet and put a white cast-iron bistro set in it. A galvanized watering can stuffed with a gorgeous arrangement of silk daisies and Queen Anne's lace sat in the middle of the table.

They'd left a wide expanse of floor open between the front door and the three styling stations at the back. Covered in light brown tile that shined like glass, it was easy to clean. On one side was a glass-topped table with four chairs around it, and a soft leather sofa the color of freshly churned butter with a coffee table in front of it occupied the area on the other wall. It was bright and comfortable. Hairstyling magazines were scattered on both tables. Stella stopped long enough to arrange them before she went back to her station.

To the right of the styling stations, three shampoo sinks with chairs had been installed, with a small bookcase separating them from the front area. Above the sinks were posters of their three favorite movies:
Gone with the Wind
,
Steel Magnolias
, and
Something to Talk About
. A swinging door led into a back room that held a weathered wooden table and four mismatched chairs. The table was used for folding towels, doing paperwork, or having lunch. A washer and dryer sat in the corner next to a dorm-sized refrigerator topped with a microwave. And what used to be shoe shelves now held perms, hair dye, shampoo, and racks for towels and capes.

Stella checked her reflection in the mirror while she waited for her first customer of the day. Thank God only her droopy eyes gave away the fact that she'd had a long night of world-class sex in a motel up in Durant, Oklahoma. If someone could look into her face and see both the happiness and the fear, she'd be in big trouble.

If anyone did notice her tired eyes, she'd pass it off as allergies. She would never, ever admit that she'd only slept a few hours between the time she got off work the day before and that morning when the alarm went off. Not even to her two best friends and business partners, Charlotte and Piper. She pulled her naturally curly red hair up into a messy ponytail and tied a bright purple scarf around it, hoping Charlotte and Piper would fuss at her for not fixing her hair and not notice her baggy eyes.

“Hey, are you the only one here?” The bell above the door dinged as Trixie Matthews pushed her way inside. “Ah, cool air. We're in for a scorching-hot summer. I love what y'all did with this old building, Stella. It's light and airy, and I feel like I'm in an uptown salon every time I walk in here. I know I've said it before, but I wish more businesses would refurbish the old part of town.”

Stella waved her over to a chair. “Maybe they will. It takes time to rebuild a town when it's got one foot in the grave and the other on a pod of boiled okra. I was just thinking the same thing about this summer. We're due a long, lazy old summer, but it will pass fast, and then it'll be time for the jubilee. Tomorrow is the official first day of the season, and the weatherman says today it's going to reach the three-digit mark for the first time this year. Have a seat, and we'll get you all fixed up. Cut and highlight, right? So what's going on with you and your doctor fellow? Oh, and speaking of the jubilee, how's the jalapeño pepper crop coming along?”

Trixie had to hop to get settled into the chair. She pulled off a baseball cap and set free her light brown hair. She'd always reminded Stella of Ashley Judd in size and looks but maybe with a few more pounds on her curvy body. “We're taking it slow. Besides, I don't have time to plan a wedding, what with all these other ones going on in town. And Cathy keeps those peppers watered every day. I think she might tell them bedtime stories, and that's the secret as to how they get so hot. She might be reading them those erotic romance books she reads all the time. I read one and believe me, if she's reading those to the pepper plants, they'll be plenty hot this year.”

Stella whipped a black cape around Trixie's shoulders. “You'll be the prettiest bride Cadillac has ever seen when you do decide to get married again. And I wouldn't doubt anything that Cathy does to make those peppers hot. Daddy says they're the best in the whole world.”

“That is so sweet, but, darlin', I had that big wedding thing once. I don't want it again. A trip to the courthouse is more up my alley. I hear that you're on the way to the altar, too. The gossip is hotter than the peppers this morning up at Clawdy's.”

Stella's heart stopped, and all the color left her face. The purple scarf didn't even put color into her ashen cheeks.

Trixie reached out from under the cape and touched her arm. “Hey, you look like you've seen a ghost. I was just teasing.”

After a couple of good solid thumps, Stella's heart went back to pumping and high color filled her cheeks. She'd been so careful the past six months, mostly because she didn't want to jinx something that was so perfect, and yet so wrong.

“Why would you think such a thing?” Stella whispered.

“It was the gossip from the breakfast crew at Clawdy's this morning. They said that Nancy put you on the prayer list last night.”

“I'm not sick, and what does that have to do with marriage!” Stella gasped.

“Maybe you are lovesick,” Trixie laughed.

“I can't imagine why she'd do that,” Stella said.

“Gossip has it that she just said to pray for you, that you needed a husband, and they prayed. But this morning, everyone is speculating about why you need a husband, and if it's safe to breathe in all these fumes if you are pregnant, and who the father is.”

Stella leaned against the counter. “Oh. My. God.”

The business. Dammit! The beauty shop would fold. They'd only been open a year. “Everyone in town knows?”

“Probably. Didn't you drive past the church on your way to work this morning?”

Stella shook her head.

Trixie flipped open her phone. “I took a picture.”

“Of the church?” Stella asked.

“Of the sign. See.”

There it was, right on the big, white wooden sign located at the edge of church lawn in black lettering: PRAY FOR MY DAUGHTER. SHE NEEDS A HUSBAND.

Stella blanched, then blushed.

“It doesn't say whose daughter or why, but someone put it out there for the whole world to see. I bet the church is packed this next Sunday so everyone can see for sure who is at the top of the prayer list. Preacher Jed reads it every Sunday before the sermon, remember?”

Stella tried to speak, but words wouldn't go from brain to mouth. Her face burned. Her hands shook so bad that she laid the scissors down and ran a comb through Stella's hair. No way would she trust her herself to cut hair until she settled down.

“I'd be pissed if I was you,” Trixie said.

Piper came through the back door into the shop. “Who's pissed? They can join my club since I'm permanently pissed. Hey, Stella, have you seen the billboard in front of the church? I saw it when I took the boys to day care. Who's got a pregnant daughter in town?”

Instead of a hairdresser, Piper could have been a plus-size model with her height, sexy curves, and big brown eyes. She had a thick mane of gorgeous honey blond hair that fell into soft curls around her face without a bit of styling. She sat down in her swivel chair, threw one long leg decked out in bright yellow leggings over the other, and adjusted the collar of a flowing sleeveless blouse printed with huge sunflowers and green sandals.

Piper looked from Trixie to Stella. “What's going on? I don't think it's ever been this quiet in the shop. Even the crickets are quiet.”

“Shhh.” Trixie put a finger over her lips. “She's about to explode. I can feel it.”

“What happened?” Piper whispered.

Trixie adjusted the cape over her lap. “Nancy put Stella on the prayer list down at the church last night. She's the daughter who needs a husband.”

“Holy shit! I told you it was a bad idea to come back here. And what happens when we do? Gene divorces me. Charlotte gets all serious about her knitting again. And now you are pregnant. I bet Nancy is ready to do more than shoot you.” Piper finally took a deep breath.

“I am not pregnant!” Stella raised her voice. She gave up on Trixie's hair for the time being and sank into the third swivel chair. This could not have possibly happened at a worse time. What in the hell was her mother thinking?

“Then why would Nancy think you need a husband?” Piper said. “Not that she and I are in agreement on that issue. God only knows if I'd known then what I know now, I damn sure wouldn't have married Gene Stephens when I got pregnant with the twins. Hell, no! I would have just raised them by myself and saved myself the misery. Okay, 'fess up. Why did Nancy do that?”

Trixie answered, “Morning gossip up at Miss Clawdy's Café says that Nancy wants a grandbaby by Mother's Day, which means Stella needs a husband by the first week in August. Evidently she wants a legitimate grandbaby.”

“That's right before your birthday, Stella,” Piper said.

“Who's getting a grandbaby by Mother's Day?” Charlotte called out from the back door.

“Did you drive past the church this morning?” Piper asked.

Charlotte tucked her purse into the cabinet by Stella's chair and carried her knitting bag to the sofa. She pulled out a set of circular needles and six inches of pale yellow baby blanket. “Yes, I did, and what does that sign mean? Who's pregnant? Who is getting a baby by Mother's Day? Boone and I've decided to wait two years to get pregnant. Mama says that I shouldn't start a family when I'm past thirty, but if we wait two years, I'll still only be twenty-nine when the baby comes.”

“Why do women say that?” Trixie asked.

“What?” Piper asked.

“
We
get pregnant? The man in the relationship damn sure doesn't get morning sickness, swollen ankles, and a baby bump. So why does he get to think that he is pregnant?” Trixie asked.

“I don't know, but would somebody please tell me whose daughter needs a husband because she's pregnant?” Charlotte asked.

“Nancy,” Piper said.

Charlotte flipped around, wide-eyed, and slapped a hand over her mouth. “You are pregnant? You didn't tell us you were dating. Dear Lord, you are as pale as a sheet. Have you had morning sickness yet?”

Stella stood up and started to pace. “Some friends you are. I'll say it one more time: I'm not pregnant. I can't believe Mama did this. She's lived here her whole life, and she knows how folks talk. This is going to ruin our business. The town is barely big enough for two beauty shops as it is, and we've just now got things built up, and…” Her voice got louder with each word, and the pacing got faster. The lump in her throat was bigger than a grapefruit, and no matter how hard she swallowed, it would not go down.

“Slow down, girl,” Trixie said. “It'll all blow over by next week. They'll put something else on the sign and the gossip about you will be old news. You know what they do with yesterday's newspaper, don't you? They wrap raw fish in it or put it on the bottom of bird cages.”

“We can always sell out and go back to Dallas,” Piper said.

“Or maybe we could go to Walmart in Sherman. I hear they're always looking for good help in the beauty shop up there,” Charlotte said.

“I'm not going anywhere,” Stella declared. “And I don't need a husband, and I'm pissed, and I could just…” She bolted to the back room, sat down at the old table, and put her head on her arms. She wouldn't cry, not with Trixie there, even if she was a friend. She wouldn't. She refused to let one tear fall. But it did, and then a river washed down her face, taking mascara and blush with it, but none of the pain.

Charlotte and Piper hurried to her side, patting her arm and her knee.

“I've never seen you cry like this,” Charlotte said.

“Not since that rotten boy broke up with you our sophomore year,” Piper said.

“I'd almost forgotten about that a son of a bitch,” Charlotte said.

“You've got every right to be pissed.” Trixie followed them back, taking off the cape and laying a hand on Stella's shoulder. “I'll come back later for a cut and highlights. I understand how you feel, but don't worry about the shop. If we've proven anything up at Clawdy's, it's that gossip is damn good for business.”