Hungry Heart: Konigsburg, Texas, Book 8 (16 page)

Darcy shrugged again. “I catch a few hours a night. It’s enough for now.”

“And you’re going to go on with this?”

Darcy glanced back to where the King was lifting another brisket off the grill. The muscles in his back flexed against the tight weave of his shirt, his biceps swelling as he lifted. “Oh yeah,” she said softly. “I’m going on with this.”

She’d spent most of the week trying not to spend too much time at the King’s place. She’d managed one quick visit without complications, but this was different. And she had tomorrow off.

MG’s lips curved up in a quick, very female smile. “I see your point. Have you had anything to eat yet? I can’t believe how much stuff there is.”

Darcy glanced back at the large picnic table laden with dishes—salads, potatoes, green beans, pintos, pickled jalapeños, cornbread—to say nothing of the panoply of desserts. “Looks like everybody brought something.”

“Nobody showed up empty-handed, that’s for sure.”

“What did Joe bring?”

MG shrugged. “Deviled eggs, of course. We’ve got surplus production to get rid of.” MG’s chicken flock had undergone a recent expansion, although the Rose’s breakfast service still used up most of her eggs.

“What did he put in them?”

“Put in them?” MG batted her eyes innocently.

Darcy grimaced. “Come on, this is me. I know he wouldn’t just make plain deviled eggs. What did he put in them?”

“Chopped jalapeño, plus a little cumin and Worchester to pull it together. Or so he said.”

Darcy glanced at the platter of deviled eggs on the table, most of which had disappeared. “Looks like it’s a hit. Maybe that’ll make him feel a little better about not doing the meat himself.”

“It won’t.”

MG’s attention had drifted back to Joe again, where it seemed likely to stay. “Go on back to him, kid,” Darcy said. “He’ll need support if those last deviled eggs don’t get eaten.”

She walked back to the serving table as the King pushed his second brisket into place. “Looks like it’s a hit.”

He nodded without looking up as he began carving. “Looks like.”

“How’s the pork?”

This time he did look up. “You didn’t have any?”

“Not yet.”

“Why not?”

“I thought I’d eat with you.” She was suddenly aware of Chico Burnside standing very still on the other side of the King. She smiled in his direction. “It smells terrific. You do a mean pulled pork.”

He nodded at her, his expression solemn.

“He does,” the King said easily.

Burnside turned his attention to him. “So? You want to take time to eat?”

The King shook his head. “Not right now. We’ve still got a few people coming by. And then there’ll be a line for seconds. But we might have a chance to grab some food during the next half hour if we don’t take too long.”

Burnside frowned, checking around the yard to make sure nobody was heading their way with an empty plate. “Sounds good to me.”

The King grinned. “You go ahead. I’ll make sure the Steinbruners don’t stage an end run.”

“Probably a good idea.” Burnside wiped his hands on a towel, then headed across the yard toward the chief of police. Or rather, toward a smallish, sandy-haired woman who was talking with the chief of police. She glanced up at Burnside with a dazzling smile and a slightly pink face.

Darcy blinked. Iron Man had a normal-looking girlfriend? Well, why not? “What about you? Want me to bring you something?”

“A beer maybe.” He stared fixedly at Burnside’s pork. “I need to taste that.”

“So? Taste it. I mean isn’t that the whole point?” She leaned back against the table. The smell of pork and brisket was making her mouth water so much it was hard to talk.

“Yeah.” He sighed. “It’s going to be good. Hell, it’s probably going to be great.”

“And this is a problem because…”

“Because then I’ll have to say yes. Commit to the whole barbecue team thing.”

She raised her eyebrows. “You don’t want to?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. Probably. I mean it’s probably time for me to get out there on the competition circuit.” He blew out a breath. “You need to eat something.”

Darcy frowned. She didn’t know what was going on exactly. “I repeat, so do you.”

“And I repeat, you can bring me a beer.” He smiled. “How’s your slaw doing?”

“Moving right along. I don’t know how much will be left when you finally finish here.”

“Okay, okay, grab me some now. Load up a plate with sides so I don’t end up with nothing but deli potato salad.”

Darcy moved to the food table, picking up two plates as she went. It looked like around a pint of her slaw was left. She grabbed a couple of quick spoonfuls, along with some German potato salad and the last of Joe’s deviled eggs. If the King objected to their non-standard nature, she’d eat them herself. Some of the other stuff did look like it came from the HEB deli, which wasn’t necessarily bad but probably wouldn’t be up to the King’s standards. At the end of the table she paused.

Two pots of beans sat on a warming tray. She recognized one pot as the King’s and she knew it was passable—slow-cooked pintos with a bit of bacon. His beans always seemed a little bland, but they were nothing to sneeze at either, even if she did have to doctor them up with hot sauce. Right now, about half of the pot was left. The pot beside it looked like somebody’s home casserole—ceramic dish in a basket-style carrier. More pintos, from what she could tell, although she had to sort of guess since there weren’t many left. They were dotted with bacon and bits of what looked like tomatoes and cilantro. She scraped up a spoonful from the bottom of the dish for herself, then put a spoonful of the King’s beans on his plate.

As she started back toward the table, she saw him walking toward her. “We’re going on the honor system for now,” he said. “People can serve themselves. Grab some meat and we can chow down.”

She handed him the plate of sides she’d put together for him, then helped herself to a couple of slices of brisket and some pulled pork on a slider roll. She glanced back at him. “What about the sauce?”

He shrugged. “What about it? Clem brought it out, but I don’t think she made it. For all I know it came out of a bottle. You want some?”

Darcy narrowed her eyes. The sauce might taste good on the pork. On the other hand, it might end up masking the flavor, and she had a feeling the King was going to ask for her opinion. She shook her head, reluctantly.

He gave her an approving smile. “You up for this?”

She nodded. “Sure.”

He found space for them on a wooden bench on the covered patio, then handed her the plate. “Ready?”

“Ready.” She picked up the pulled pork sandwich and took a bite.

Against all her expectations, Andy was having a good time. Sort of. Whenever she could manage to ignore the people staring at her when they thought she wasn’t looking.

She’d figured people would be a little surprised to see her with Chico. After the way people had watched them at the Coffee Corral, she’d almost expected it. But she’d also figured they wouldn’t make a big deal out of it. After all, the two of them didn’t look all that weird together, or at least she didn’t think so. But apparently other people did.

Eddie’s reaction should have been the tipoff. He’d never shown much interest in her social life before, but the fact that she was going out on a date and that she hadn’t bothered to share the name of the man she was seeing had piqued his interest enough that he’d stayed around her place just to see who the man was. And once he’d seen it was Chico, he’d regarded the two of them like they were Bonnie and Clyde.

Tough shit, Eddie
.

Fortunately, she’d found a few people at the barbecue who weren’t interested in staring. Or anyway, not just in staring. She’d run into Erik Toleffson, the chief of police, who she sort of knew from some past cases, and his wife, whose winery had had a case of illegal dumping a while ago that Andy had worked. And then the mayor had joined them for a few minutes. Talking shop had led to some interesting gossip about the town’s upcoming elections. The chief, the mayor, the chief’s wife—they’d all been friendly and seemed not overly interested in who Andy was dating.

Unlike Lara Ziegler.

Andy knew Lara slightly. She was the administrative assistant at the elementary school where her grandma had taught for all those years, although Andy couldn’t say her grandmother had been terribly impressed with Lara. Now Lara regarded Andy with suspiciously bright eyes as she sidled across the backyard.

“Didn’t know you knew the Ameses,” she said when she’d finally worked her way to Andy’s side.

Andy shrugged. “A little.”

“That’s right. You came in with Chico Burnside, didn’t you?” Lara’s smile became avid, as if she was circling for the kill. “Sure didn’t know you knew him.”

Andy wasn’t sure what she was supposed to say to that. She solved the problem by saying nothing.

“Big fella, isn’t he?” There was no mistaking the innuendo in Lara’s voice this time.

Andy’s jaw hurt from the effort of keeping her faint smile in place. “Excuse me. I need to make sure they put out my beans.” She headed toward the food table without looking back.

She managed to return to the chief and his wife before Chico came looking for her a few minutes later. The chief actually gave Chico a nod and a smile, as if the two of them were friends.
And why shouldn’t they be?
No reason she could think of.

Chill out, Andy.

Now the two of them sat at a small portable picnic table in a corner of the yard, shaded by a spreading live oak. Andy kept her focus resolutely on Chico, ignoring the feeling of people watching her from various points in the crowd. “This pork is wonderful. Did you use
annatto
in the rub?”

He narrowed his eyes. “You caught that? That’s my secret weapon.”

“I’m a big fan of
cochinita pibil
.”

He nodded. “That’s sort of the jumping-off place for this version. I don’t use as much annatto as they do for
conchinita
, though.”

“No, but the little bit you’ve got here is great. It gives it a unique flavor.”

Chico sighed. “I don’t know that barbecue judges are looking for unique. More like best of breed.”

“Not necessarily. It sort of depends on the judge. Some of them like unique tastes. Some of them are going for Platonic.”

“Platonic?” His eyebrows went up. “I’m just a simple country boy, ma’am. What does that mean?”

“Some judges think there’s only one way for a dish to taste. So they’re looking for the absolute best rendition of that one way. But there really aren’t many judges like that anymore. Most of them just love barbecue.”

Across the yard, a couple of people were looking their way. Staring actually. Andy stared back until they glanced away. Her shoulders tightened again.

“We’ve got an audience, I guess.” Chico gave her a dry smile and dug his fork into her beans.

Andy bit her lip, trying not to worry about what he’d have to say about her cooking. She knew what Lew had said—she’d heard it often enough.
Jesus, Andy, can’t you just make pintos without all this crap? This isn’t the way pintos are supposed to taste.

Chico paused, chewing, his gaze suddenly far away. “Borracho beans,” he said softly. “Holy mother. It’s been years since I had good borracho beans. Most people either use too much beer or they leave out something crucial, like the cilantro. These are…terrific.”

Andy’s face grew warm.
Ridiculous.
It wasn’t like nobody had ever told her they were good before. Still she found herself giving him what must have been close to an idiot grin. “Thanks.” She cut off a piece of brisket quickly to put something in her mouth before she said anything asinine.

“What do you think of the brisket?” His voice sounded casual, but she wasn’t fooled. It was a serious question. Very.

“It’s good.” She nodded slowly. “Best of breed good, in fact. I’m impressed. I never had the Barbecue King’s stuff before.”

“Platonic?” One black eyebrow arched up.

“I don’t know—maybe. Depends on the judge. They’re pretty tough on brisket around here.”

“How many of these competitions did you see?”

“I was married for three years, and my husband already had his team when I met him. Over those three years, I probably saw more than a hundred of them.”

Chico gave a low whistle. “I didn’t know there were that many competitions in Texas.”

“Lew went out of state too,” she said slowly. “Memphis. Kansas City. We did the circuit.”

He scooped up another bite of beans. “Were you on the team?”

She shook her head. “It was all male.”

“So you didn’t do your
borrachos
?”

She smiled. It still felt good to hear that appreciation in his voice. “Most competitions don’t include sides. Just meat.”

“What did you do?”

“Ran errands. Went to the grocery if they ran out of stuff. Restocked the coolers.”
Went out of my skull with boredom while Lew behaved like an ass.