Texas Thunder (30 page)

“Thanks so much,” Earl said when Brett handed him a signed check. “If you need anything else, just let me know.” Earl turned and Brett went back to the ledger sheet.

“Oh, and by the way,” Earl added, drawing Brett's attention once again. “What do you want me to do with this stuff?” The older man lifted the box at his feet.

“What stuff?”

“Just some old coffee cups.” Earl rummaged inside. “A few pieces of what looks like some costume jewelry, a couple of faded pictures, and a few other things. We found it all when we dug up the garden. Most of it is covered in dirt and pretty much ruined. I could throw it out if you want—”

“No,” Brett cut in, pushing to his feet. He rounded the desk in a matter of seconds as his mind traveled back to the last time he'd seen the inside of his grandfather's safe and its contents before fast-forwarding to the PBR buckle that Karen had recovered from Pappy. The one he'd been digging in the garden with.

Digging?

Or burying?

“The revenuers are coming,”
his Pappy had said just a few nights ago right before he'd headed out to his garden.
“We have to hide everything.”

It had been the same thing the old man had said to Karen when she'd found him with the buckle.

“Just leave it with me,” Brett said, taking the cardboard container from the man.

“You're the boss.” Earl signaled good-bye and turned on his heel while Brett's heart beat ninety-to-nothing as he walked back to the desk and set the box on top.

He knew even before he glanced inside what he would find. His gaze shifted and he drank in some of the contents that had once been locked away securely in the safe. His grandmother's bracelet. Her necklace. The bronze baby boots modeled after Brett's first pair. The treasured photographs of his great-grandparents on their wedding day, Pappy in his christening gown, Pappy's first Christmas with his beloved wife, Martha. The small white Bible that Karen had carried during her confirmation sat tucked away amid the dirt-smeared treasures, a yellowed piece of paper sticking out from its dingy folds.

Brett's fingers touched the ancient paper and excitement whispered through him as he slid it free.

And just like that, he found himself staring at the other half of the infamous Texas Thunder recipe.

His muscles went tight and the oxygen snagged in his lungs as reality crashed in on him.

A day late, and several thousand dollars short, but he'd found it.

He'd finally found it.

 

Read on for an excerpt from the next book by
Kimberly Raye

RED-HOT TEXAS NIGHTS

Coming soon from St. Martin's Paperbacks

 

CHAPTER 1

It was the moment of truth.

Brandy Tucker switched off the neon pink OPEN sign that hummed in the window of her bakery, Sweet Somethings, and flipped the deadbolt on the front door. Pulling down the hot pink scalloped shades that spanned the storefront windows, she blocked out the rapidly setting sun and a small town full of prying eyes.

The last thing she needed was an audience.

Throwing the deadbolt on the front door, she double checked to make sure the ruffled curtains were pulled to and then walked behind the main display case filled with freshly made cakes and breads.

Her heart beating ninety-to-nothing, she leaned down behind the cash register and pulled out a small pint-sized Mason jar filled with a pale gold liquid.

It wasn't even close to her specialty—chocolate nirvana cake with marshmallow fluff frosting and rich ganache drizzle—but it was just as addictive.

More so if the rumors floating around Rebel, Texas, were even close to the truth.

She could only pray that they were.

Shaking the jar, she watched the bubbles swirl into a tell-tale funnel that, as her late granddaddy used to say, was the sign of a powerful mix. Judging by the speed of the popping and whirling, the alcohol was well over one hundred and sixty proof.

But potency was just the half of it when it came to good moonshine.

Not that Brandy knew all the ins and outs of the stuff. Sure, she was a direct descendent of
the
Archibald Tucker, half of the legendary duo responsible for the infamous Texas Thunder—the best bootleg ever made in the Lone Star State. But Brandy made her living baking cakes and pies. Her claim to fame? Mixing up a light and fluffy butter cream, not stirring together a batch of mash.

Until now.

Her finely tuned taste buds had paid off and she'd done it. She'd supposedly mixed up something better than the original she'd been trying so hard to duplicate. Forget Texas Thunder. This stuff was pure lightning in a jar. A raging tornado.

Texas Tornado
.

Her heart pounded at the thought and she drew a deep breath. She was getting way ahead of herself. Yes, she'd tweaked the original recipe, but who knew if it was that much better? All she had was the word of a few bootleggers who'd taken her mash and turned it into an actual brew.

She had no idea if they'd added something to it or altered it during the process. There was no way to be sure that it was one hundred percent hers without seeing the process through—from start to finish.

Which is why she needed to come up with another batch of mash and get it to a professional. Someone who could run the mix in a safe, controlled,
legal
environment. Someone who could tell her if she had, indeed, found her own version of liquid gold.

But first she had to taste this one and see if it truly was all that.

“Don't you think you're going overboard?” Ellie, her baking assistant, asked as she emerged from the storage area. The woman was in her early twenties, tall and thin, with her long red hair pulled back into a ponytail. She wore the tell-tale Sweet Somethings pink apron tied around her waist and a matching T-shirt that read
Go On … Whisper Sweet Somethings
to me. “It's not like
we
did anything wrong,” she added. “I just handed the mash to a friend who handed it to a friend who handed it to another friend who just so happened to have a still.”

“We've still got a jar of illegal moonshine in our possession.”

“True, but that's also true for half the people in this town. I'm talking about the processing. We didn't brew anything.”

“No, but we might as well have,” Brandy paced the length of the counter and fought down a wave of worry. “What if Sheriff DeMassi knocks on that door right now?”

“Sheriff DeMassi is up in Austin at a law enforcement convention. There's just Marty on duty and I've known that boy since he was pulling my hair in Sunday school. He's not the brightest bulb in the tanning bed, so I'm sure he's got his hands full as deputy with the Ladies Rotary Bunko Night going on over at the senior center. You know how those women get when the stakes are high. And hear tell, Laverne Shipley donated a full spa day at the Hair Saloon as a grand prize. I'm sure those old biddies are practically pulling each other's hair out by now. You know Sally Goodwin lost her weave during the last poker tournament they hosted, don't you?”

“Seriously?”

Ellie nodded. “Cara Donnelly pulled it out in one handful after Sally laid down a flush. It wasn't pretty.” Ellie's gaze went to the jar sitting on the counter. “Not nearly as pretty as this. I'm telling you, this right here is the mother lode.”

Brandy could only hope.

While the original Texas Thunder recipe had finally been found a few days ago, Brandy had no clue if her older sister, Callie, and Callie's fiancé, Brett, were still in the market to sell it. The two had solved most of their own financial problems for the interim, which meant they weren't in any hurry to make a deal.

Perhaps they'd hold onto the recipe. Maybe they'd auction it off. Hell, maybe they'd frame it and keep it for sentimental reasons. Brandy didn't know, and she certainly wasn't asking.

Callie Tucker had given up a scholarship to the University of Texas and forfeited her dreams to stay right here in Rebel and raise her two younger siblings when their parents had passed on. But ten years later, she was finally making her own dreams come true with a job at the local newspaper. Even more, she'd found her own happily-ever-after with the love of her life and once-upon-a-time enemy, Brett Sawyer.

The Sawyers and the Tuckers had been feuding harder and longer than any Hatfield and McCoy, but Callie and Brett were doing their damndest to mend the riff. They were getting married next month, much to the shock and dismay of an entire town still divided, but neither cared about public opinion.

They were in love. Happy.

Brandy certainly wasn't going to fudge that up by dumping a load of problems at Callie's feet.

Big problems.

Namely, Brandy needed to get out from under the loan she'd taken out a few months back to help pay the overdue property taxes left behind after her grandfather's death.

She'd been more than happy to put up her equipment for the secure note to help Callie, who'd been under pressure to save the Tucker family home. But Brandy hadn't counted on the new donut shop that had moved in down the street from her bakery just a few weeks after she'd signed on the dotted line.

A mom and pop endeavor like most places in Rebel, it had taken a bite out of Brandy's early morning rush. Sure, she was the only spot for cakes and pies and other custom-baked goods, but her morning muffin rush had brought in a healthy penny, too. With a fledgling business barely six months old, she had to put every available penny back into her bakery if she wanted it to grow. Chop off a chunk for lost income courtesy of Susie Mae's Habanera jelly-filled donuts—the new
it
breakfast in Rebel—and the substantial loan repayment, and she'd barely broke even this past month. Forget growing and nurturing Sweet Somethings into the go-to destination for all things sugar. Particularly among the special occasion crowd.

At her current size, she could barely produce one wedding cake per week in addition to her regular offerings. To really make a name for herself, she needed to crank out at least three to four custom orders. That meant hiring another cake decorator and bringing in a massive second oven.

And that meant she needed cash.

She reached for the jar. Drawing a deep breath, she willed her hands to steady. Her fingertips caught the edge of the metal and she unscrewed the lid.

In that next instant, the scent of warm strawberries and something much more potent filled the air and teased her nostrils.

“Go on,” Ellie said when Brandy hesitated. “Do it.”

“I will. Just keep your shirt on.” She tamped down on her reservations, gathered her courage, and touched her lips to the glass.

A quick tilt and the first drop hit her tongue. Slid down her throat. S
hazam!

Heat rolled through her and firebombed in the pit of her stomach. The floor seemed to tremble. The walls blurred. A ringing echoed in her ears.

Sheesh, the taste packed more of a punch than she'd expected. While she'd never been much of a drinker and she had no intention of becoming one, suddenly she could at least understand why, even in this day and age, there were still men willing to risk life and livelihood to brew up their own hooch.

There was nothing like it.

Like
this
.

Warmth soothed her insides. The sweet, succulent flavor of strawberries danced on her lips. The rich buzz of alcohol filled her head. And dollar signs danced in front of her eyes.

“I think I might be on to something,” she gasped, taking another sip just to be sure. Another punch of heat and a full-blown smile split her lips. “It's definitely good.
Really
good.”

But was it the best?

She handed over the jar to an eager Ellie and checked the locks on the door again. And then she started for the backroom and the plastic ten gallon tub sitting next to the pile of ingredients she'd assembled for another batch.

Because there was only one way to find out.

 

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Bestselling author
Kimberly Raye
started her first novel in high school and has been writing ever since. She has published more than sixty-five novels, two of them prestigious RITA Award finalists. She's also been nominated by
Romantic Times BOOK Reviews
for several Reviewer's Choice awards, as well as a Career Achievement award. She lives deep in the heart of the Texas Hill Country with her husband and their children. She's an avid reader who loves Diet Dr. Pepper, chocolate, and cowboys.
Especially
cowboys. Kim also loves to hear from readers. You can visit her online at
www.kimberlyraye.com
or friend her on Facebook. Or sign up for email updates
here
.