Hungry Heart: Konigsburg, Texas, Book 8 (31 page)

Eddie’s expression was thunderous. “Of all the gall…”

“Don’t worry. We’ll be polite,” Lorraine cut in. She looked at her husband. “You just stop digging now, Eddie. That hole’s so deep you’re about to suffocate. And insulting your sister’s not likely to make her more inclined to pay attention to you.”

Eddie narrowed his eyes, his face still bright pink. Then he shrugged. “I know how to behave. But I think you’re making the mistake of your life.”

“You’re entitled to your opinion,” Andy said through clenched teeth as the doorbell rang. She pushed herself to her feet, gathering her patience with both hands. If Chico saw her snarling, he might say something to Eddie, who’d probably say something back, which could lead to things she didn’t want to think about.

She threw open the door, smiling up at him determinedly. “Hi.”

“Hi.” He looked over her shoulder. “Family here?”

She nodded. “Oh, yeah.”

“Okay.” He put his hand on her shoulder, his forehead furrowing slightly. “Problems?”

“Nothing we can’t handle.” She took his hand, pulling him inside.

Eddie was still glowering at the table where she’d left him, but Lorraine had disappeared into the kitchen. At least she’d cleared the dishes away.

“Eddie, you remember Chico Burnside. Chico, my brother Eddie.” She managed a tight smile, while her eyes shot daggers in Eddie’s direction.

He pulled himself to his feet, extending his hand reluctantly. “Pleased to meet you.”

Chico nodded, shaking his hand. “Likewise.”

“Hear you’re getting married. You going to move in here?” Eddie narrowed his eyes. Maybe he thought Grandma’s house was what Chico was really after, rather than his nondescript sister.

Chico shrugged. “We haven’t talked about it. Whatever works for Andy.”

“Where are you living now?” Eddie’s eyes stayed narrow.

“I’ve got a duplex over on Paradise. I rent out half of it, but right now it’s empty.” Chico shrugged. “We could live there or here. Doesn’t matter to me.”

Eddie’s eyes widened slightly. Andy guessed he’d expected Chico to live under a bridge somewhere.

“Here we are.” Lorraine sailed back into the dining room carrying her pie and a stack of Grandma’s Fiestaware plates. She smiled in Chico’s general direction. “I’m Lorraine. Andy’s sister-in-law. And I guess you’re her fiancé.” She put the plates and the pie down on the table, then reached up to kiss his cheek. “She’s a wonderful woman. You’re a lucky man.”

Andy managed not to stare and not to look at Eddie, whose face was back to scarlet again.

Chico grinned. “Thanks. Yes, she is, and yes, I am.”

“Let’s have dessert,” Lorraine trilled, ignoring Eddie completely. “Sit over here next to me. I imagine you need to get back to the Faro pretty soon now. Andy says you’re in charge of the music over there. So tell me all about it.” She gave him another smile as she sliced into the strawberries.

Chico dropped into the chair next to her, looking a little dazed. Eddie stood frozen in place, staring at his wife.

She looked up at him, her glittering smile turning slightly feral. “Sit down, Eddie, you’re making us all nervous. It’s time for pie.”

Andy slid into the chair across the table from Chico, smiling almost against her will. “Yes it is,” she said. “Time for pie.”

Harris worked steadily through the afternoon in the backyard of the empty apartment next door to Chico’s place. The Burnside relations were great but also a little overwhelming. He’d managed to get his one remaining smoker cleaned up and serviceable for the short haul, although he had a feeling it wouldn’t last more than a couple of months. Buying two or three smokers moved up on his list of expenses for the insurance.

He’d finally met the adjustor at his place and confirmed what he’d already figured out—most of the damage wouldn’t be covered. The adjustor was sympathetic, but also pessimistic. At most he’d get a few hundred dollars and the damage looked like it ran into the thousands. The adjustor had also pointed out, helpfully, that he might have trouble getting coverage in the future since he could obviously get hit by another flood if the river rose again. He might be able to rebuild the kitchen in a less vulnerable spot, but right now nobody was likely to cover him.

He fired up his cleaned-up smoker in the backyard of the duplex. He was going to run the food truck tomorrow even if he only had a few plates to sell. Darcy was dropping by later with some sides, and he had a couple of salted briskets filling the apartment refrigerator along with a stack of sausage rings.

He took a deep breath, surveying what was left of his business. Times were tough, but they’d been tough before. He’d figure something out, one way or another.

Thinking of sausage, he glanced over at Porky. Considering that the dog had never been inside a house before so far as Harris knew, he seemed to be functioning okay. They’d worked out the bathroom issues earlier, and now Porky was curled up on the cement-slab patio, his legs twitching as he chased rabbits in his dreams. For a pup who was only a few months old, he’d already lived a pretty eventful life.

Harris headed back toward the kitchen and the waiting brisket as his cell phone rang. Probably Darcy—he’d borrowed her charger to get the phone up and running again. He clicked the receive button without checking the number. “Hi.”

“Harris?”

The familiar voice made his shoulders stiffen automatically. He’d heard that same tone for most of his early life.
Harris, why didn’t you qualify for National Honor Society like your brother? Harris, why haven’t you gotten your application in for law school? Harris, what do you mean you’re not going out with Emily Vanderpool anymore?

He closed his eyes for a moment. “Hi, Ma, how’s it going?”

There was a beat’s pause on the other end of the line. “You know I don’t like being called
Ma
.”

“I apologize. How’s it going, Mother?”

“Your brother tells me you’ve had a setback. Are you all right?”

He examined her tone for any sign of gloating, but didn’t find it. Probably there, just not obvious. “I’m okay. I just had some flood damage.”

“Has that put an end to this whole restaurant obsession of yours?”

He leaned back against the counter. “I don’t have a restaurant. I run a food truck. And a catering business.”

“Don’t be dense, Harris. I’m asking if you’ve finished doing whatever it was you thought you were doing when you left Houston.”

He could picture her waving her hand in impatience. Details bored her. Mostly the details that had to do with him. “I should be back in business again soon. Right now, I’m using a friend’s kitchen.”

“How expensive will it be to put yourself ‘back in business’ again?” His mother frequently spoke in scare quotes.

“I don’t know yet. I’m working with the insurance adjustor.” Suitably vague.

“Several thousand dollars, I’m sure,” his mother continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “Did you manage to spend all of your grandmother’s legacy on that land?”

He rubbed his eyes. Suddenly, he felt unbearably weary. “Where are we heading with this, Mother?”

“You have five years until you’re eligible for the trust fund,” his mother said flatly. “Until then, I make the decisions about disbursements.”

“I’m aware of that.” He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck.
Just get to it.

“I’d be willing to allow you access to some of the funds in the trust. Provided you agree to meet some conditions.”

Okay, here we go.
“And those conditions would be?”

“You return to the firm. You agree to stay for at least three years. Perhaps Grayson could find a way to use you at the Austin office if you want to be based in the Hill Country.”

“I wouldn’t be able to run my business under those conditions,” he said quietly.

“Of course not. You’d be far too busy with your practice.”

He forced himself to loosen his grip on the phone. “Thanks for the offer, Ma…ther, but I’m going to get my business back up and running again here.”

“Harris, don’t you be a fool.” His mother’s voice had dropped a few degrees toward freezing. “I’m offering you an opportunity to access your money early. All you have to do is come back to the firm where your father wanted you to be.”

Harris closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose.
You had to bring up Dad, didn’t you?
“Thanks, as I said, for the offer. But I’m not interested.”

There was a blankness on the other end of the line, and for a moment he thought she’d hung up. Then she was back again. “That’s ridiculous, but I know you well enough by now to know that you’re not ready to listen yet. Just be aware that the offer is there when you are.”

“Thank you.” He wondered how many times he’d have to say it before she gave up.

There was a click. This time, she truly had hung up.

Harris stared down at the phone, feeling a headache nudging at the base of his skull. For just a moment he remembered the hopelessness, the black exhaustion, the sense of complete uselessness that had ridden him during his last year at the firm. On the whole, he’d rather dig ditches than go through that again.

But he’d rather cook ’cue than do either.

He heard the front door of the apartment swing open. “Harris? Where are you?”

“Back here,” he called.

Darcy swept into the room, a couple of gallons of what he assumed were potato salad and coleslaw in her arms. “Lucky I had these made up already. I’ve still got to put together all the stuff for the cook-off.”

He stared at her for a moment—the spikes of ice-blond hair, currently untipped by any other color, the rows of jewels lining the outside of her ears, the white chef’s coat hanging open to reveal the black tank top underneath.

One tough broad. Tough enough for anything.

She set the two containers on the counter. “I’ve got to get back. I’m doing dinner tonight. You coming to my place after you get stuff going here? I don’t guess there’s anything to sleep on in this apartment.”

He stepped forward, pulling her into his arms and hugging her tight like the life preserver she seemed to be. After a moment, she wrapped her arms around his waist and hung on.

“Is that a yes?” she asked finally, leaning back to look at him.

He nodded, almost afraid to speak. “Yeah. Sure. Once I get the fire going and the brisket on. It can fend for itself overnight.”

“Good.” She kissed him once, lightly. “Like I say, I’ve got to get to the Rose.”

He stroked a hand through her hair. “Okay. You’ll be back, though.”

“Sure.” She narrowed her eyes. “Everything okay?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Of course. I saw the insurance adjustor.”

“And?”

He shrugged. “Like I figured, I won’t get much. And he said I might have trouble getting covered in the future.”

She frowned slightly, running her fingers lightly along his cheekbone. “You want me to stay and help? I could call Joe. Or maybe you could come with me tonight. I could feed you at the Rose.”

Geez, do I look that bad?
He shook his head. “Thanks, Darce, but we’ve both got stuff to do. See you later.”

“See you.” She gave him a tentative smile, then turned back toward the front door.

He had to hold himself back from running after her.
You’re a big boy. Let the lady go do her thing.

Right. And it was time for him to do his. He lifted the brisket again, heading for the back door. Barbecue waited for no man, after all.

Chapter Twenty-One

July third dawned hot and dry, as if the rain storm had never happened. Darcy worked breakfast and lunch so that she could have the evening off, along with the Fourth, which should be a light day anyway. The team would start cooking tonight at the county fairgrounds, taking turns babysitting the smokers. Harris had managed to get his remaining smoker into working order for the truck, but he wasn’t using it for the contest. Instead he was cooking on some incredible monstrosity Chico had called a
Texas hibachi
—a fifty-gallon drum turned on its side and sliced open, with a smokestack and four iron bars for legs.

Why Harris loved it she couldn’t say, but she’d dealt with enough chefs with eccentric tastes to know that psychology was two-thirds of the battle. If Harris believed his Texas hibachi was golden, then by Christ it was.

He’d come to the Rose with her that morning so that he could transfer the last of his meat from the freezer. Chico had found him a meat locker somewhere in town where he could store his supplies until his kitchen was up and running again. She’d asked him about the how much it would cost to get his business going, but his answer had been smilingly vague. She guessed that meant it would cost more than he had.

Joe had tried to pump her for information, seeing as how Harris was booked for three more barbecues at the Rose in the coming weeks, but she didn’t really have any to give him. She hadn’t been back to Harris’s place to see how much damage there was, and he didn’t seem anxious to describe it to her. That in itself was enough to tell her that things weren’t good.