The Maverick (2 page)

Cass would have bet a thousand dollars Griff Mitchell would show up at Chili Witches that day. She would have lost. Guess she’d read the signals wrong. Usually she wasn’t so far off.

Oh, well, no big loss. He was a nice looking guy and interesting—even if he was a Yankee lawyer. Her track record with Yankee lawyers wasn’t good. Her former fiancé was both. They’d worked for the same New York firm, and he’d sworn his undying love for her when he’d presented her with a large emerald-cut diamond and asked her to marry him. First chance he had to make points with the senior partners, he’d thrown her under the bus for a leg up.

What was worse, he didn’t see anything wrong with what he’d done.

Cass couldn’t see being married to someone ruled by jungle ethics. She quickly soured on New York, the high-powered firm and the eighteen-hour days. She also missed Austin and her twin sister, Sunny. They’d never been so far apart for so long.

At closing time, Cass locked up behind the last of the staff and stashed the cash in the office safe. As was their custom, she made a final round of Chili Witches, with its rough-hewn
walls and over forty years of rotating Texas kitsch. Her New York colleagues would laugh if they could see her now in jeans and a red tee instead of a power suit, but she was happy here among people who mattered.

She was startled when she saw the gray-haired man sitting at a corner table with a cup of coffee. He smiled at her as she approached.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I didn’t realize anyone was still here. We’re closed. You’ll have to leave.”

He suddenly vanished.
Poof.
Gone. Her heart jumped into overdrive.
Oh, gawd!
Was she going crazy? Maybe her eyes were playing tricks on her. She double-checked the locks, then hurried out of the café and up the back stairs to her apartment on the second floor.

She locked her door, reset the alarm, slapped her hand on her chest and struggled to keep herself from hyperventilating. No way was she admitting to what she’d seen. Correction: make that what she
thought
she saw. No way.

Not only had the incident scared the pants off her, the whole thing was impossible. Totally, utterly, completely impossible. Snatching up her phone, she punched the speed dial for Sunny, but hung up before it rang. Her sister would never let her hear the end of it if Cass admitted to seeing some sort of apparition. There was some perfectly reasonable explanation for what she thought she’d seen. Perhaps a flicker of a passing car or a glint from streetlights had somehow created an odd image. It had been a long day, and she was tired and ripe for her eyes to play tricks.

Forget it.

Certainly there was no reason to be afraid. After all, there was a cop in the apartment only a few feet away from her front door, and a baseball bat under her bed.

Flipping on the TV to catch the last of the news, she pulled off her sneakers, shed her jeans and tried to get her mind on something else. The phone rang.

“Did you just try to call me?” her sister asked.

“I did, but I hung up before you answered.”

Sunny laughed. “When did that ever matter? Something going on?”

While it was true that she and Sunny shared a special bond identical twins often had, and she acknowledged their exceptional connectedness, she didn’t want to admit to any absurd woo-woo kind of stuff.

“Cass? What’s happened?”

“What makes you think anything happened?”

“Don’t try to snow me, sis. Give.”

“Well, I met a very interesting man today,” Cass said.

“Uh-uh. You meet interesting men all the time. You’re nervous. I can hear it in your voice.”

“Sunny, I… Promise you won’t laugh.”

“Cross my heart.”

“I think I saw him,” she whispered.

“Why are you whispering? And who did you see? The interesting man you met?”

“No. The Senator.” Cass heard a choking sound over the phone. “Are you laughing?”

“No, I was coughing. Where did you see him?”

“Maybe I
didn’t
see him,” Cass said, trying to convince herself as much as Sunny. “I’ve never seen him before, and it was just for a second. You’re the one who always claimed you saw and talked to him, even when we were little. I’m sure it was just my imagination. How are Ben and Jay?”

Ben McKee was a Texas Ranger and Sunny’s fiancé Jay was Ben’s five-year-old son.

“They’re fine. And don’t try to change the subject. Describe your glimpse of the Senator. When did it happen?”

Knowing Sunny wouldn’t give up until she heard the whole story, Cass told her when and where she’d seen the man. “He had gray hair and wore a dark gray suit with a red-and-blue tie.”

“Sounds like the Senator. Why didn’t you talk to him?”

“Exactly how does one talk to a ghost?”

G
RIFFIN
M
ITCHELL HUNG UP
his coat and stripped off his tie. Damned meetings had gone on all day, and he was tired. He stepped onto the balcony of his hotel room and looked out over the lake, at the reflection of streetlights there. He thought of a pair of dark eyes and a sassy mouth on a beautiful woman—and not for the first time that day. He’d meant to drop by Chili Witches, the café she’d mentioned, but he hadn’t been able to break away. He’d known who she was, of course. He’d known a great deal about her and her sister, the ex-cop, who ran the family business now that their mother and aunt had retired. But nobody had prepared him for the sheer vibrancy of Cassidy Outlaw in the flesh.

Cass was an extraordinary lady, but then he was fond of tough Texas women. After all, his mother had been one until she moved to Long Island after she married Griff’s father. In fact, she still flew the Texas flag on the patio at their house. Occasionally, she used to turn the cook out of the kitchen and make chili or tacos or some other Tex-Mex concoctions. Griff hadn’t much liked the food, but he never knew if he didn’t care for the spicy fare in general or if his mother was simply a terrible cook.

In any event, he planned to have chili for lunch the following day. Maybe he could even talk Cass into going out with him Friday night or Saturday. He’d have to check the
Austin American-Statesman
he’d bought in the lobby, and find something interesting going on in town. What sort of entertainment would suit Cassidy’s taste? He couldn’t see either one of them enjoying the doings on Sixth Street—the clubs there were more for a younger crowd—but the dossier he had on her didn’t cover entertainment preferences. He’d have to wing it.

G
RIFF LOOKED FOR
C
ASS
on the jogging trail the next morning, but didn’t see her. Probably because of her scraped knee. He was sorry about the injury. That part hadn’t been scripted. He skipped out on Friday’s meetings in time to arrive at Chili Witches by a quarter of twelve. There was already quite a crowd, he noticed, as he stood by the door and surveyed the place.

He spotted Cass talking and laughing with a table of uniformed cops. When she spotted him, she broke away and approached him.

“Hello,” she said, smiling. “Welcome to Chili Witches. Have you been here before?”

A bit puzzled by her behavior, he nevertheless played along. “No. This is a new experience for me. How’s your knee today?”

She frowned. “My knee? It’s fine. Let me find you a seat. Do you have a preference?”

“Surprise me,” he said, grinning.

“Sure. Right this way.” She led him to a table for two by the window and plucked a menu from between a small black cauldron of crackers and the saltshaker. “We have three grades of chili—mild, which is comfortably spicy, medium for those who like to sweat a little, and ‘hotter than hell,’ which has about the same kick as a blow torch and is not for the uninitiated. We also have other dishes, as you can see. Our ham
burgers and sandwiches are excellent, as well as our chili, and we have a salad bar. May I get you something to drink?”

“Very good,” Griff said.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Your spiel. Well done.”

She frowned again. “Thank you, I think. Drink?”

“Beer would be good.”

“I’ll have it out right away.” She smiled and left.

The whole exchange seemed very peculiar to Griff. Surely he didn’t look so different in his suit that she failed to recognize him. He studied the menu and opted for the house specialty, mild.

A waiter in a red T-shirt and jeans, which seemed to be the uniform, delivered the beer and took his order.

“Where is Cass?” Griff asked.

“I don’t know,” the waiter said. “She didn’t come in today.”

“How can that be? I just spoke to her.”

The waiter chuckled. “That wasn’t Cass. That was Sunny, her twin sister. Happens all the time. Sunny’s here Monday, Wednesday and Friday, and Cass takes over on Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday.”

“Oh, I see. I knew Cass had a sister, but I didn’t realize they were twins.”

“Identical. Some people say they can tell them apart, but me, I can’t tell one from the other. I’ll be right back with your chili. Want cheese or oyster crackers with that?”

“Sure.” It was a shame he’d picked the wrong day to visit the café, and was risking heartburn for nothing. At least the beer was cold.

While he waited, Griff looked around at the scarred tables and rough, wooden walls covered with all sorts of garish memorabilia. He doubted that much had changed in the past
forty years. The bar looked as if it might be original to the building, which was well over a hundred years old. Unbelievable that this place sat on such a prime piece of real estate. He wondered if Cass and her sister realized the value of the land.

Of course they did. Cass was nobody’s fool, and her sister had identical genes.

When his chili was served, he picked up his spoon with trepidation, but his first bite was a pleasant surprise. It must have been his mother’s terrible cooking to blame for his previous opinion. A good thing the food was tolerable since he’d have to make a return trip the next day.

C
ASS
’
S CELL PHONE RANG
just as she was locking the door to her apartment. It was Sunny.

“What’s up, sis?”

“Did that new guy you met have unusual blue eyes and a Yankee accent?” Sunny asked.

“Yes, why?”

“I think he’s having a bowl of chili at table four. He asked me how my knee was doing. You might want to make a pass through here if you’re interested.”

“Thanks for the heads-up,” Cass told her. “I’m due someplace shortly, but I’ll check it out.”

Her first impulse was to go back inside and change clothes. Stupid idea. She looked just fine in pants and sandals, and comfort was important for the volunteer work she intended for the afternoon. Griffin Mitchell was no big deal, she told herself. Still, she took the steps a little faster than she usually did.

She spotted Griff at table four, dressed in an expensive suit and chowing down on a bowl of chili. “Well, how is it?” she asked as she approached.

He glanced up and smiled warmly, flashing those cute
dimples again. “Quite good.” He glanced toward the door where Sunny stood, then back at her. “Cass?”

“In person.”

“Won’t you join me?”

“For a moment,” she said. “I have to be somewhere in a few minutes.”

“Can’t you play hooky for the afternoon? You can show me the sights of Austin.”

“Sorry, but I’ve volunteered to stuff envelopes for a nonprofit organization, and since I’m the president, it would look bad if I was a no-show.”

“I concede your point. Would you like some lunch?”

“I’ve already eaten, thanks, but I’ll have a glass of iced tea and keep you company if you’d like.”

His dimples flashed. “I’d like.”

Cass signaled a waiter for tea.

“How’s your knee today? Your sister said hers was fine and looked at me as if I had grown horns as long as those.” He motioned to the rack of a longhorn on the wall.

She chuckled. “Got us mixed up, did you? A common occurrence. My knee is fine, too. I’m a fast healer.”

He motioned to his bowl. “This really is very good. You ought to consider packaging and marketing it.”

“We’re looking into the possibility. Think they would buy it in… You know, I don’t think you’ve mentioned where you’re from.”

“I grew up on Long Island. And I’m sure at least one person there would buy it. My mother. She’s a Texas girl.”

“Really? So you’re not a total foreigner.” Cass checked her watch. Karen would kill her if she didn’t get there to help. “Griff, I’m sorry, but I can’t stay longer. I have to get to my task.” She stood.

He stood as well and peeled a twenty from the wad in his money clip, tossing it on the table. “I’ll go with you. You could probably use an extra pair of hands, and I’m not bad at stuffing envelopes.”

“See, I told you it would all come back to me,” Griff said as he licked another envelope from his stack. He’d shed his coat and tie rolled up his shirtsleeves and dived in.

“I’m proud of you,” Cass said. “How long since you’ve actually stuffed any mail?”

“In bulk? Must have been in college, or maybe in law school when I was working on some campaign or another.”

“Where did you go to law school?”

“Harvard.”

“Of course,” Cass said. “Why did I even ask?”

“And you?”

“University of Texas, here in Austin. I was too poor for Harvard or Yale, and I got an excellent education here.”

“I’m sure you did,” Griff said. “UT Law has a fine reputation. Too bad you’re not using your education.”

Cass’s hackles went up. “Oh, but I am. My education doesn’t define me. It enriches me.”

“Sorry. That was insensitive. You’re right, of course.”

“Are you being condescending?”

He smiled and held up his hands in surrender. “With a tough Texas woman? I wouldn’t dare. I’m done with my stack. Are there more?”

“That’s all,” Cass said. “Karen will stamp them in the morning when she comes in, and deliver them to the post office.”

Griff picked up one of the envelopes and looked at the return address. “Exactly what is POAC?”

“Didn’t you read one of the letters?” Cass asked.

“Nope, I simply stuffed and licked.”

She chuckled. “You could have spent the last two hours aiding and abetting a subversive organization. Lawyers are supposed to read the fine print.”

“I trusted you wouldn’t get us thrown in the slammer. Let’s see. POAC. Please Order Another Chili. People on a Caper. Pick Out a Cucumber.”

Cass laughed. “How about Preserve Old Austin’s Charm? We pronounce the acronym ‘poe-ack.’ We’re sort of a watchdog group to help preserve the flavor of our town so that its charm doesn’t get paved over by cookie cutter high-rises and such.”

“Ah, like the taco place and the hotel.”

“Exactly. We’re not extremists opposed to progress and modernization, but we want to keep the old along with the new. Austin has made a half-dozen lists recently as one of the best places in the country to live, and we’ve had a big influx of people. Sometimes it seems as if, after they arrive, they want to start changing the very things that drew them here, to make Austin into Anywhere, USA.”

“You sound very passionate about this,” Griff said.

“I am. I love this town. I love the bakeries and shoe shops and little taco joints that have been downtown for fifty or a hundred years.”

“And the chili cafés?”

Cass gave a bark of laughter. “You bet. But Chili Witches wasn’t always a café. It started out as a saloon and bawdy house.”

He chuckled. “You’re kidding.”

“I kid you not. The madam’s name was Selma Newton, and she was a real rounder. Upstairs, where my apartment is, used to be rooms where the soiled doves entertained the town swells.”

“You live over the restaurant?”

“Temporarily. Until I can get this place fixed up,” she said.

“Which place? Here?” he asked, looking around the living room of the run-down house where they’d come to work.

“Yes. When I’m finished it will be a charming cottage again, and in a prime location. The architecture is unique, and while they may not qualify as landmarks when this block is restored all the houses will be lovely. Can you believe they wanted to tear down these houses and put up another five-story apartment building? And you should have seen the design!”

“Bad, huh?”

“Atrocious!” Cass said, making a face.

“And POAC stopped it?”

“Not single-handedly. Several groups and individuals joined together, lobbied for the preservation of the neighborhood and bought the properties.”

“And you bought this house?”

“I did. And the one next door, as well.”

Griff lifted his eyebrows. “So don’t mess with Texas women?”

Cass grinned. “You got it, Yankee. Now I’ll get off my soapbox. Thanks for helping me this afternoon. May I drop you at your hotel?”

“I was hoping you might show me around some of charming Austin this afternoon,” Griff said as she locked up.

She glanced at her watch. “I have time for a drive through Zilker Park, but I have an appointment coming up.”

“I noticed that there was an interesting production at the
Paramount Theater this weekend. Would you like to go with me tomorrow night?”

“I’d love to go, but I work on Saturdays,” Cass said. “We don’t close until ten or ten-thirty. Sorry.”

“I know it’s short notice, but could you make it tonight if I can get tickets?”

“Good luck with that,” Cass said. “I hear it’s sold out.”

He grinned. “Never underestimate my ability to get what I want.”

She threw back her head and laughed. “I wouldn’t dare.”

G
RIFF HAD TO CALL IN
a couple of favors, and ended up paying a scalper an exorbitant price, but he got two tickets in the orchestra, fifth row center, for that night’s performance at the theater on Congress Street. He’d have paid twice the amount. Not only was it a sop to his ego, but he wanted to impress Cass. He found that he genuinely liked her and enjoyed her company. She was the most interesting and engaging woman he’d met in a very long time.

As soon as the tickets were assured, he called the cell phone number she’d given him and told her the show was a go.

“Wonderful!” she said. “Now I have someplace to show off my new pedicure. My toes are absolutely ravishing.”

He laughed. “Your appointment was for a pedicure?”

“Along with a haircut. Do you think it was fate?”

“Undoubtedly. The performance starts at eight. Shall we have dinner beforehand or a late supper?”

“I’m not a late supper kind of gal,” Cass said, “and I’m going to be pushed to get home and dress. Why don’t you order something nice from room service, and I’ll have a bite at home? We can have drinks at the theater. Shall I pick you up?”

“No, I have a car at my disposal. I’ll pick
you
up. Seven?”

“Seven is great. Just come up the stairs off the parking lot behind the café. I’m apartment B. And Griff, remember that Austin is supercasual. People will be in everything from shorts and flip-flops to dress clothes. Feel free to go without a tie.”

“My mother would disown me. She was from Dallas.”

“Ahh,” Cass said. “Enough said. Dallas has always been much more fashion conscious than Austin.”

When he picked up Cass later, he would have debated Austinites’ fashion sense. She looked stunning in a blue dress and a floaty, flowered jacket. The high heeled sandals she wore were little more than thin straps to show off her newly painted pink toenails, but he’d been around women enough to know that she hadn’t gotten them at Wal-Mart.

“You look lovely,” he told her. “I like your toes.”

She laughed and wiggled them. “Terribly Pink.”

“Yes, they are.”

“The color is Terribly Pink.”

“Ahh. Excuse my faux pas.”

Downstairs, he helped her into the backseat of the chauffeured Town Car he’d hired for the evening.

“How very impressive,” Cass said when they were settled.

“That was the idea,” he said, winking. “This smells much better than most taxis. And it’s more comfortable. I was hoping you would appreciate it.”

“I do. I do.” To the driver she said, “Hi, Brad. How are you? I haven’t seen you in ages.”

“I’m fine, thank you,” he responded as he pulled away.

“How’s Barbara?” she asked.

“Great. She’s pregnant.”

“How wonderful! This is your first, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is. We’re excited.”

“You know our driver?” Griff asked.

“Sure. Brad’s wife, Barbara, used to work at Chili Witches when they were in college and before they started their car and limo service. Austin has grown over the years, but basically we’re still like a small town.”

“You’ve convinced me.”

“Actually, the theater’s not far from here,” Cass said. “Walking distance if I’d worn more sensible shoes.”

“I’m glad you didn’t. I rather like those. Jimmy Choo?”

“Prada,” she said. “How on earth do you know about Jimmy Choo?”

“You caught me.” He laughed. “I confess I watched a couple of episodes of
Sex and the City
to see what all the fuss was about. I discovered it wasn’t a guy thing, but I do recall Jimmy Choo as being a coveted kind of shoe. I seem to remember Prada as being in the same category.”

A few minutes later they were standing in front of the old theater on Congress, the wide street that led from the front of the capitol building to the river, then many miles to the south beyond that. The Paramount was, according to Cass, over a hundred years old and looked rather ordinary from the outside. Inside was another story.

“I can’t believe this place,” Griff said. “It looks like a European opera house.”

“Beautiful, isn’t it? Sunny and I used to beg to come here all the time when we were little. It seemed very grand to us.”

“It
is
very grand. And only a little frayed around the edges.”

“There was a move to have the place razed a few years ago. Wouldn’t that have been a shame?” Cass said.

“I’ll have to admit that it would have.”

They stopped to have a glass of wine before the show, and after they were served, Griff said, “You’ve mentioned that your sister’s name is Sunny. Is that a nickname?”

“Yes. Her real name is Sundance, but no one has ever called her that.”

“What an odd name. Sundance…and Cassidy? Don’t tell me—”

Cass chuckled. “I’m afraid so. Our father was named Butch Cassidy Outlaw. His father seemed to think naming his sons after infamous outlaws was a tremendous PR ploy for business or politics or professions in the law. He was Judge John Wesley Hardin Outlaw. Our uncle was a junior, called Wes, and our father was half of the infamous pair played by Paul Newman and Robert Redford in the movie. My uncle Wes became a sheriff, and my father became a state senator, so I suppose my grandfather’s idea worked.

“I have several cousins also named after outlaws, and most of them went into law enforcement of one sort or another, and so a tradition was born.”

“And you became a lawyer,” Griff said.

“I did. And my sister became a cop.”

“Were you influenced by family tradition?”

“Hmm. I don’t think so. It just seemed to work out that way. Why did you become a lawyer?” Cass asked.

“Tradition again, I suppose. My father and grandfather were lawyers.”

“Interesting, isn’t it? That we are—were—both third-generation lawyers.”

He raised his glass. “To tradition.”

“To tradition,” she echoed, touching her glass to his.

Suddenly, both glasses shattered. Crystal shards and wine flew everywhere.