Hungry Heart: Konigsburg, Texas, Book 8 (29 page)

He blew out a breath, pulling the car to a stop at the top of the small hill that led down to the bridge. No point in driving down there and getting stuck in the mud again. Even though the sun was shining, the ground hadn’t dried yet. And given that the humidity felt like he was encased in marshmallow, he doubted the road was going to dry out any time soon. At least the water level had gone down fairly quickly. Apparently, only the back country had been hit by the floods. That same back country where he lived and had his business.

He picked his way gingerly down the slope, then stared at the bridge. Water still flowed around the ends, but it was shallow now and slower. The bridge itself was clogged with debris underneath—tree limbs, barnyard trash, and some miscellaneous stuff that looked hauntingly familiar. After a moment he recognized his lawn furniture and part of the bench from the cypress tree.

He’d have to clean it out once the water level went back down to make sure the bridge didn’t give way. Just another thing on his to-do list.

He glanced up at the trailer that should have been well above the water. The skirting around the bottom had gaping holes where sections had torn away. He took another deep breath and blew it out, suddenly glad he’d come by himself. He didn’t think he wanted anybody else around right now, even Darcy.

The interior of the trailer wasn’t as bad as he’d thought it might be. It looked like the water had mainly flowed underneath with some seepage through the doors and windows. The floors were slightly muddy, but he couldn’t see any water damage. At least he’d had the good sense to turn off the electricity before they’d left the night before. Still, he’d need to get a professional to check it over before he tried turning the power back on.

He headed up the road to the kitchen building, his boots sinking into sucking mud. The brush alongside was full of debris and the weeds were rolled flat on the ground, but the building was still standing. He took a moment to study it. He’d been ready for broken walls and a missing roof, but the cement blocks had managed to withstand the force of the river even though the watermarks were a third of the way up the sides. For once he was glad he hadn’t had windows put in since they’d probably have been blown out by the pressure. But he figured that was the only thing he could be thankful for.

The door had been forced open, letting the water flow inside. A few inches still remained on the floor, along with several inches of mud. The appliances were history. He’d already accepted that that would be true. The real question would be the plumbing and the electricity. It looked like the drain had backed up in spite of his attempts to block it. Muddy water filled the sinks and overflowed onto the counters. Pans and stainless steel bowls from the lower cabinets lay in crumpled heaps along the far wall. The upper cabinets where he kept his staples appeared untouched, but he figured he’d have to wait a few days to see if the wood warped from the moisture. The contents would have to be pitched—the humidity would have ruined everything.

He stepped back outside again, pausing to gather himself together, then heading toward the lean-to. Might as well see it all, as long as he was doing an inspection. One of the smokers lay halfway down the road, smashed against a tree trunk. Another lay crumpled against one of the support pillars for the lean-to. The third smoker might be salvageable since he’d anchored it to the side, but he figured it would take several days for it to dry out. And the mixture of ashes and water might corrode the metal more quickly.

He managed to drag this last remaining smoker out onto the flats where the sun could hit it, then drained off the water in the fire box and the smoker body. He wished now he’d brought along some towels to clean out the remains of ashes in the fire box.

Something else to consider when he came back tomorrow.
If
he came back tomorrow.

He squared his jaw and looked up the hillside. Some of the logs were still where they’d thrown them, maybe half. The rest had probably been washed down by the runoff. Probably soaking in the river by now and useless.

Harris sank down on a stump at the side of the lean-to. He’d need a new freezer, a new refrigerator, and a new stove, along with possible electrical and plumbing repairs. To say nothing of the cleanup on the trailer and the kitchen. He’d also need new smokers, and he’d have to check the wood supply. The stuff he’d stacked in Chico’s truck might get him through the rest of the year, but he wasn’t sure what would happen after that. He’d probably need to be re-inspected by the health department too, just to get re-certified to sell food.

What little money he’d been able to save over the past two years would be gone overnight. And his prospects for expanding the business were pretty remote.

The cook-off suddenly seemed like a joke. Hell, he couldn’t even get his food truck up and running without a place to smoke his meat and something to smoke it in, let alone produce award-winning barbecue up against several dozen other cooks. He had the portable smoker that was attached to the food truck, but it wasn’t big enough to do the briskets the way he’d been doing them.

Right now the real question was whether he’d ever be able to open again. He doubted his insurance would pay off since he didn’t have a flood rider. It had seemed unnecessary during an extended drought. His luck was running true to form.

You could tap into the trust.

He closed his eyes. No, he couldn’t. The trust came with conditions, and those conditions would shut him down just as thoroughly as the flood had.

You could give up and go back to work for the firm. Then try again in a few years.

And watch his soul wither up to the size of persimmon.

Poor you. Poor, pitiful you.

Harris gritted his teeth. That voice in his head could be really annoying sometimes. It could also be dead right.

He stared at the smoker sitting out in the sunlight then pushed himself to his feet. He purely hated people who sat around feeling sorry for themselves, and he sure as bedamned wasn’t going to be one of them himself. He might get beaten by circumstances, but he wasn’t going to beat himself.

The first thing to do would be to call Chico and see what they could set up for the cook-off, maybe see if the portable smoker could be modified enough to work. Maybe they could drag the one remaining full-size smoker back to town. It didn’t look too bad—a few dents and some mud. He could fiddle with it.

The second thing would be to talk to LeBlanc and see if he could leave the meat in his freezer for a few more days (and cancel the meat delivery scheduled for next week). After the cook-off he’d try to find someplace else to store it, although at the moment he didn’t have a clue where that might be. He’d also need to find some place he could cook, maybe see if he could rent out some cooking space at the Faro and see if they had space in their walk-in for his supplies. He could use the truck for sides and maybe he could set up the smoker in Darcy’s backyard.

Assuming Darcy was still in. He grimaced again.
Of course she’s still in.
Thinking she’d drop out over something like this was an insult to everybody concerned.

The third thing he needed to do was start working on his brisket for Saturday because he had just chosen to win that motherfucker. He might not be able to do much about this fucking disaster, but he could do that.

“Nobody beats the King in a cook-off,” he muttered. “Fucking nobody.”

He started back across the meadow just as he heard someone call “Harris” from the bridge.

He paused, squinting in the morning sunlight. His brother was standing at the far end. He waved. “Over here.”

Harris pushed his cowboy hat more firmly onto his head, striding back across the meadow. “Morning, Gray.”

Gray was frowning as he stepped gingerly around the mud. He was wearing wingtips, Harris noted. Maybe he hadn’t realized just how much flood damage there was back here. “I heard this part of the county got flooded last night. I was worried. I tried to call you, but I kept getting your voice mail. Are you okay?” He navigated the final stretch of the bridge.

Harris shrugged. “Yeah. Sure. My cell phone went dead because I left the charger out here.” He tried a grin, but gave up quickly.

“What about your trailer?”

“It survived.”

“What about…everything else?” Gray frowned as if he were trying to figure out what “everything else” covered.

“I’ve got some major damage. I’ll have to sort everything out next week.”

“Why not now?” Trust Gray. Of course he’d dive into fixing whatever was broken.

“I’ve got a barbecue competition on the Fourth. I have to concentrate on that right now.”

Gray folded his arms across his chest. “Will your insurance cover this?”

Harris shrugged, feeling mortally tired all of a sudden. “Probably not. I didn’t have flood coverage.”

Gray’s frown deepened. “What will you do?”

Harris shrugged again. “Don’t know. I’ll figure it out later.”

“Harris…” Gray began, then stopped.

Harris shook his head. “I’ll work it out. Thanks for coming out to check, Gray. I appreciate it.”

Gray looked as if he might say something else, then shrugged. “Good luck with the barbecue contest.”

“Yeah. Come on by and have a sandwich.” Harris managed to dredge up a smile.

“I might do that.” Gray gave him an anemic smile of his own. “I just might.”

Andy took a quick survey of Chico’s backyard. He’d texted her to drop by the house when she got off work, but he hadn’t told her why. Now that she was here, she found she still didn’t have a clue. There were a lot of people milling around, several of them very large. There were also a lot of barbecue smokers, maybe a dozen or so, all of them lined up in a row along the driveway. But none of them seemed to be in use so far as she could tell.

She made another discreet survey, trying to find Chico in the group. Judging from the look and build of a lot of these people, they were probably related to him somehow. She swallowed, wondering if she was really ready for this.

She’d spent most of the day in a sort of daze, some of it because she’d gotten less than four hours of sleep the night before but most of it because she was getting married again. She hadn’t been expecting it in any way, shape or form. But as soon as it was on the table, she realized it was exactly the right thing to do. Marry Chico. Spend the rest of her life with him. It made perfect sense.

Of course, just because it made perfect sense, that didn’t mean everything was going to be smooth sailing. She’d have to tell Eddie and Lorraine, and Eddie would be a pain in the ass because Eddie was always a pain in the ass. She grimaced. Lorraine would probably be happier about it if Andy had a ring, but she’d be damned if she’d let that be a factor in what she and Chico did.

She finally located him in a corner of the yard, talking to a group of men. She took a deep breath. No reason to be nervous about this. She loved him, after all. And these people were his family.

Chico glanced her way and smiled. Amazing how his smile transformed him from terrifying to moderately disconcerting. Today he wore a black T-shirt and jeans with a leather vest and aviator sunglasses, probably one of his bouncer outfits. His dark hair shone in the sunshine, pulled back with a leather shoelace. If he was going to work at the Faro later, she might have to go home by herself. She didn’t think she could keep her eyes open for another musical performance.

One of the men smiled at her and she recognized Chico’s mechanic brother Al who’d fixed her car. Then the person next to Chico turned her way, and Andy realized it was a woman. A large woman. In fact, a very large woman. Andy put her height at six feet, easily. Her shoulders were broad and squarish, her arms long, her hands the size of catcher’s mitts.

His mother. Had to be. She was almost as terrifying as her son, although for different reasons. Andy’s heart gave a mighty thump, but she managed to push her mouth into something resembling a smile.

Chico reached for her hand, pulling her next to him. “Mama, this is Andy. Andy, my mom.”

Andy stared up into deep-set dark eyes below beetling black brows. Mrs. Burnside must have been one frightening mom to cross. Then her frown relaxed, her lips spreading into a grin that was remarkably similar to her son’s. “Glad to meet you, Andy.”

“Likewise.” Andy let her own cautious smile grow a little wider.

“Don’t feel like you have to keep everybody straight this afternoon. These big bruisers are all related to us somehow,” Mrs. Burnside explained. “Chico’s dad is down in McAllen until the Fourth. He’ll be sorry to have missed all of this.” She smiled as she surveyed the moderate chaos of her son’s backyard.

Andy turned back to Chico again. “What’s with all the smokers?”

He shrugged. “The King’s only got one functioning smoker, plus the portable one that isn’t really big enough for much. His other two were totaled in the flood. And the one that’s left is going to take some work to get it cleaned up and functioning. I had everybody bring their smokers over so we could see if any of them could do in a pinch.”

“Hey, man, my baby’s better than a pinch,” another large man said, grinning. “She’s a class act.”

“That piece of tin?” someone else cut in. “Hell, you might as well use a pellet burner.”