Flirting with Texas (Deep in the Heart of Texas) (5 page)

“Thank you, Starlet, but I’ll take care of the refreshments.” Miss Ladue rolled into a room that was filled with bookshelves. “Did you get Miss Hattie’s room cleaned?”

Starlet’s face turned the color of Marcy’s shirt. “No, ma’am. The Birminghams haven’t been out of it all day.”

Miss Ladue smiled as she wheeled her chair around behind the large desk. “I’m glad to hear that Miss Hattie’s room is being used the way it should be. Better have Sunshine take a tray of food up. Sounds like they’ll need the nourishment.” She waved a hand at Marcy. “Don’t just stand there lookin’ stupid.”

The words had Marcy bristling, and she strode into the room and flopped down in one of the chairs that sat in front of the desk. It was about the softest chair Marcy had ever sat in, but she didn’t allow herself to relax back in the cushions. Instead, she got right to the point of her visit.

“I’m not one to beat around the bush, Miss Ladue—”

“Minnie,” the old woman cut in. “Everyone calls me Minnie.” Her crinkled-up eyes were direct. “And it’s nice to know that you don’t beat around the bush. I never cared much for it myself.” She opened a desk drawer and pulled out a bottle. “Brandy?”

Marcy could’ve really used a drink about then, but after spending the majority of her twenties more drunk than sober, she’d sworn off hard liquor. She shook her head. “No thanks. About that job…”

“I guess I need to give you the details, don’t I?” Minnie
said. “It only pays five dollars an hour, but that includes room and board. You’ll be assigned certain rooms to clean upstairs and downstairs, besides helping with meals and running errands.” She splashed the amber liquid in a glass and downed the entire contents before heaving a sigh and sitting back in her chair.

Marcy stared at her. “You mean to tell me that the job that Moses told me about really is for a maid?”

Minnie cocked her head to one side and arched an eyebrow. “What did you think it was for?”

Now more flabbergasted than nervous, Marcy flapped a hand around the room. “I thought what any intelligent person would think when told that Miss Hattie’s had a job opening. I thought you were looking for hookers! Not some servant to do your bidding for a measly five dollars an hour. Hell, I can make more than that workin’ tables at Bootlegger’s Bar.”

The old woman’s other eyebrow joined the first. “And you think you’d make a good… hooker, do ya?”

“Just ask anyone in Bramble.” Marcy got to her feet. “Sorry for the misunderstanding, but I need a job that pays more than five dollars an hour.” She was almost to the door when Minnie laughed. It was a raspy laugh that sounded like some tortured animal rather than an amused old woman. And if Marcy hated anything, it was being laughed at.

She whirled back around. “And just what’s so funny, old woman?”

Minnie took her good, sweet time answering. She wiped the tears of amusement from her eyes and then blew her nose on a flowered hankie she pulled from between her saggy boobs. “Life is funny, Marcy. Something I don’t think you’ve learned. Now come back and sit down.”

It was more of an order than a request. As far as Marcy was concerned, orders ranked right up there with people laughing at her. She remained where she was while Minnie opened another drawer and searched through it.

“You wouldn’t have a cigarette on you?” the old woman asked. When Marcy shook her head, she shrugged and pulled a Dum-dum sucker out and unwrapped it. “It’s probably for the best. Brant isn’t around, but that wouldn’t stop the hens from tattling on me. And that stubborn man can be a real pain in the butt when he wants to be.” She popped the sucker in her mouth and looked back at Marcy.

“You’re right, of course. A hooker is exactly what we need here at the henhouse.” Minnie smiled slyly. “But we have to keep up appearances, you know. We wouldn’t want word getting out to the wrong people.”

The news that Miss Hattie’s was a working whorehouse should’ve made Marcy happy. She needed money—lots of money—and since the bank had declined her loan, this was the only way she had come up with to get it. But she didn’t feel happy. She just felt kind of woozy and sick to her stomach. Worried that her legs might give out, she moved over to the chair and sat down.

“What percentage would I get?” she asked.

Minnie’s smile widened. “Here at Miss Hattie’s, we believe in giving people a hundred percent of what they deserve.”

A hundred percent?
Marcy tried not to show surprise. It was much more than she expected. Of course, maybe they expected more than she was willing to give.

“I don’t go for that kinky stuff,” she blurted out.

Minnie stopped sucking her lollipop. “Of course not. But there will be some training involved, and during the
day, you’ll need to help with the bed and breakfast.” She winked.

Marcy didn’t mind helping out as long as it paid off in the end. Still, it took her a while before she could get the words out.

“I’ll do it.”

A look entered Minnie’s eyes, and she studied her in a way that made Marcy extremely uncomfortable. Finally, she nodded her head and pulled a piece of paper out of the drawer. Rolling around the desk, she handed it to Marcy. Marcy had barely gotten a chance to read the heading—Henhouse Rules—when Minnie reached out and pulled her into her arms.

Marcy wasn’t used to hugs. Her parents had been too busy fighting to show their children physical affection. Because of this, she stiffened up and tried to pull away. But Minnie was having none of it. With a strength that surprised Marcy, she held tight and thumped her on the back.

“Welcome to Miss Hattie’s, Marcy. I think you found us just in time.”

T
HE HAT WAS JUST AN
ordinary black Stetson. Very similar to all the other Stetsons Jenna had grown up with. And maybe that was why she couldn’t keep her gaze from traveling over to the table where it sat. Her daddy had worn a hat almost identical to this one. Every day when he got home from work, her sisters Hope and Tessa, and her brother, Dallas, met him at the door and begged to wear it. Jenna had wanted to wear it too, but had refused to beg. Just like she’d refused to pick up the hat after Beau had left.

It was Davy who had walked into the hallway and picked it up, not at all concerned to find her with a strange cowboy. She should be glad that he trusted her. Instead, she felt a little disappointed that he hadn’t been more jealous. Of course, there was nothing to be jealous about. Beau was gone. And if he hadn’t come back for his hat in two days, he wasn’t going to.

A knock at the door snapped her out of her hat-gazing. Signing out of her bank account website, she set her laptop down on the coffee table and got up to answer the door.
Miguel stood on the other side, the hood of his sweatshirt shadowing his face.

“My mom signed for this while you were at work.” He held out a lavender envelope.

Jenna was more concerned with Miguel’s new high-topped Nikes than she was with the letter. “Where did you get those shoes?”

His shoulders stiffened. “I bought them.”

“With what? Joseph told me you quit Herbs and Spices this morning and didn’t even wait around to be paid.”

“I don’t need that asshole’s money,” he said belligerently. “Especially when he takes most of it out for broken dishes.”

She poked a finger in his chest. “So help me God, Miguel, if you’re selling drugs again, I’m going to turn you in myself.”

He stepped out of her reach. “Just because you got me a dumb job doesn’t mean you got the right to tell me what to do.” He stuffed his hand into his jean pocket and pulled out a twenty. “I don’t need charity from you or nobody. I can take care of my mom all by myself.” Before she could say anything, he flipped the money at her and raced down the stairs.

Jenna picked up the crumpled bill before going back inside. She was so concerned with Miguel selling drugs again that she barely glanced at the envelope. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw her full name scrawled over the front. No one but her family and the folks of Bramble used her middle name. And only because she had been named after her mother and it kept people from getting confused. Her mama was Jenna, and she was Jenna Jay.

Using the edge of her thumbnail, Jenna tore open the
envelope. A floral scent drifted up as she pulled the pretty cardstock out and read the printed script.

Jenna flipped the card over, but there was nothing on the back. She pulled out the enclosed sheet of paper and read the first rule:

Henhouse Rule #1: Always give a man the kind of welcome he won’t forget.

She laughed. This had to be some kind of promotional gimmick. The last time Jenna had been in Bramble, gossip had been flying about Miss Hattie’s Henhouse, the infamous nineteenth-century whorehouse that had been turned into a bed and breakfast. But how had they gotten her address?

A website at the very bottom of the card caught her attention, and she walked back to her laptop. The front page of the website had a picture of a sprawling mansion surrounded by cottonwoods, along with a brief history of the house of ill repute that had been started in 1890 by a Miss Harriett Ladue.

Jenna clicked on “Accommodations” and scrolled through pictures of bedrooms that looked like they came right out of a history book. Each room was filled with
beautiful antiques and named after the women who had worked there. Sassy Kate. Daring Delilah. Sweet Starlet. And the biggest and most expensive room—Miss Hattie’s.

The website was professionally done and further supported Jenna’s belief that the invitation was all part of a publicity stunt. Maybe some online company she’d purchased from had sold her address to Miss Hattie’s, along with thousands of other names. She lifted the envelope and looked at the perfect writing. A tingle of apprehension tiptoed up her spine. But would they fill out each one by hand and then send it via registered mail?

Knowing she wouldn’t be able to sleep until she had some answers, she reached for her cell phone. But while looking for a contact number on the website, she discovered something else.

The name of the owner.

Jenna probably should’ve changed before jumping in a cab. Leggings, a Saggio’s Pizza t-shirt, and flip-flops weren’t exactly appropriate clothing for a bull-riding competition. But then again, she didn’t plan on staying long. Just long enough to squeeze some information out of a sneaky cowboy.

It was a lot easier to get tickets at the box office window than it was to get back to the bull riders. It seemed that numerous female New Yorkers wanted a chance to talk with a “real cowboy,” forcing Jenna to lie through her teeth. The story she invented worked well on the arena employees, but not so good on the cowboys in the matching black shirts that guarded the chutes and holding pens.

“Who did you say your husband was?” the short cowboy with the beer belly asked.

“Beauregard Cates,” Jenna said with a big smile. She held up the Stetson and laid on the Texas accent. “He forgot his lucky hat in the trailer, and Lord only knows what could happen if he doesn’t have it on.” She brushed at the corners of her eyes and sniffed. “And I just don’t know what me and the kids would do without Beau.”

The short cowboy exchanged a confused look with his friend. “Did you know that Beau was married?”

“Nope,” the tall cowboy said. He looked back at Jenna. “What’s your name?”

“Jenna Jay, but Beau likes to call me Blondie.”

Jenna thought it was a nice touch, but the men still didn’t look convinced. She was about to give up when a big-busted cowgirl came strutting up.

“Did you say Blondie?” the woman said. When Jenna nodded, the woman’s eyes narrowed. “Why that good-for-nothing, manure-tossing cow-wrangler.” She pushed her way between the two men and grabbed Jenna’s hand. “Come on, honey. Let’s go set some things straight with that no-account husband of yours.

“The name’s Peggy Sue,” the woman said as she pulled Jenna around a pen of bulls that didn’t look the least bit vicious. Two were munching on hay, and another was licking his friend’s ear. “And I want you to know that I had no idea that Beau was married before I slept with him,” she continued. “He told me that you were just some woman who lost her phone. Of course, it explains a lot. Guilt can keep a man from doin’ things he has no business doin’. And here I was thinkin’ that his lack of enthusiasm had to do with me.” She pushed out her big boobs. “As if.”

Jenna had just started to piece together what Peggy Sue
was talking about when they came through an opening and out into the arena. It was only a few minutes before the show started, and the seats were filled to capacity. The bull riders sat on the railing or strutted around the chutes and holding pens with hats pulled low and chaps flapping.

For a moment, Jenna felt like she was back in high school, surrounded by arrogant cowboys who thought that women should kiss their dung-covered boots. It should’ve annoyed her. Instead, a nostalgic feeling came out of nowhere and brought a lump to the back of her throat. She barely had time to swallow it down when she was being hauled over to three bull riders who sat along the railing. They were all handsome and rugged. But only one was hatless with hair that gleamed silver in the bright stadium lights.

The lack of a hat didn’t make Beau look any less of a rodeo star. Tan leather chaps encased his thighs and flared out from his bent knees, the red fringe hanging to the boot heels hooked on the rail. He wore a blue-plaid western shirt beneath a black Kevlar vest, and one glove hung over the silver buckle of his belt. He was laughing at something the cowboy on his right had said, and his eyes were still twinkling when they shifted over to Peggy Sue.

“Hey, darlin’.” He jumped down to the hard-packed dirt. “I’ve been meanin’ to call you, but—” His gaze finally drifted over to Jenna, and his eyes widened.