Nuts and Buried (26 page)

Everybody was at the Barking Coyote that momentous night, celebrating Melody and Miranda's catching two murderers and delivering Riverville from a crime wave. Jeannie didn't come because she didn't think it was seemly, being in mourning for her husband and, in a way, for her sister-in-law who, by the way, was the woman in the suede jacket and gold jewelry who met Peter Voorhees in Ralston. So, of course, my smitten brother stayed behind at the Wheatley place with her.

“Don't want her left alone,” Justin had muttered in his usual, untalkative way. Mama said something about never seeing her grown son so attentive to anything but the trees. I knew she was catching on to what was happening to Justin. We'd all seen it a dozen times, happening to other men. Poor fellows. Love sure did strange things to some of them. Like they weren't even who they used to be.

Meemaw worried out loud only once about how Jeannie was going to be very rich, and after all, she was a fresh
widow. Justin could be waiting a long time for things to change on that front.

The rest of us came to the saloon to have a good time and celebrate the twins and locking up a couple of lowlifes. I included Elizabeth in that category because she was the worst of the worst. Without Elizabeth nobody would be dead. Sally and Eugene would be alive and happy. Jeannie would be single. And if Elizabeth hadn't hired two hit men like Henry Wade and Peter Voorhees, they would never have come to town. Meemaw said it was something like a vortex—one of those whirlwinds that once it got going couldn't be stopped until people were dying and blackmailing one another and who knew what all else.

“Dark hearts,” she muttered more than once in the days since the twins caught the killers.

I was sitting at a table with Hunter, who was out of uniform. He was off duty and celebrating. “Gonna have one hell of a time tonight!”

Flasher was tied to Hunter's chair when we first got there. He gnawed through that rope in ten minutes. The dog just wandered after that, sniffing crotches, and then watching the dancers. Morton Shrift ignored him, like he did a lot of his customers.

Hunter had to bring Flasher with him because the dog chewed up too many pillows back at home. None of his neighbors wanted to watch him and everybody else was at the saloon to celebrate and weren't up to watching a hardheaded animal, or at least they planned on soon not being up to doing much of anything.

I thought having one hell of a time was a great idea, but all Hunter had done so far was sit sipping his 512 Pecan Porter beer. When I mentioned dancing, like everybody else was doing, he only shrugged one shoulder and made a face. Three times and I was getting mad.

Everybody else was on the dance floor, line dancing, slow dancing, leaning on one another and pretending to dance. The twins were the hit of the night and didn't miss a beat, whether dancing alone, together, or with a group of people.

Every couple of minutes Hunter looked over at me and tried to say something, but Waylon Jennings was singing out “Luckenbach, Texas” at the top of his lungs and people were drunk enough to sing along.

Not Meemaw, of course. She limited herself to one shot of Garrison's. But I'd say Mama was having herself a good time, line dancing with Ben Fordyce and other men who waited their turn.

Bethany was passing out cards for our event “pavilion,” as she called it now, faster than a poker player with ten aces up her sleeve.

I put my beer down on the wet, stained table. I was kind of mad at the silent Hunter, and ready to go on home, where I might as well read a book as be here where the music was so loud I couldn't think and where everybody was having a good time but me. I had to pee bad and didn't want to have to go to the Coyotes' ladies', where I knew the room would be swimming in lipstick-smeared Kleenex all over the floor; and the counter and toilet seats would be wet.

What I was working myself up to was a fine snit so I could stomp out and go home.

“Lindy.” The way Hunter said it made me look at him full-on instead of glaring from the sides of my eyes.

“Lindy,” he said again.

“Luckenbach, Texas” finished and the DJ was talking about how Morton Shrift was giving out a free beer to everybody to celebrate what the sheriff and the citizens did to stop the murders in Riverville. There was a lot of hooting and hollering so I had to bend over the table to hear Hunter.

He was thinking. Maybe he'd decided to dance after all.
I was expecting “You wanna dance this next one?”. Instead he leaned back, tipped the cowboy hat he wore over his eyes, and put one booted foot up on an empty chair.

“You gonna dance or not?” I demanded, as loud as I could, not caring who heard me.

He nodded. One of those nods to shut people up.

I got up just as the DJ put on another song. Hunter leaned over and grabbed my hand, pulling me back down near him.

“Don't go,” he said. “I . . . I . . . Give me a minute here.”

The song was loud. People were singing along. Billy Currington's “Like My Dog,” bringing on the usual laughter and hollering.

Hunter took off his black hat and set it in the little space we had left on our table. He scooted his chair around closer. With the set look on his face, I started getting worried.

He leaned in, his lips almost touching my ear. “I been thinking . . .” he said and even that was hard to hear so I cupped my ear and bent in closer.

“I been thinking . . .” he started again.

Billy Currington was going on about his dog not minding a lot of things a wife would mind, like calling her sister a bitch.

I smiled at Hunter. Be good to hear what he'd been thinking about.

“You know, Lindy. We've known each other a long, long time.”

“Since swimming naked in the Colorado.” I had to yell to make him hear me. “You got so embarrassed because I saw your—”

He cut me short. “Yeah. Like I said, a long time now.”

An old cowboy, stumbling up to dance, kicked the back of my chair and bent down to apologize while swaying above me. Hunter half got up and told him to keep moving.

Currington was hard to hear over the laughter and even harder because I was trying to hear Hunter. But I thought
Currington was saying something about the wife not listening any better than his dog does.

“So I've been thinking . . .”

I rolled my eyes at him. Come on, get on with it, fella!

Another long pull on his Porter, a stretch of his neck muscles, and he was back close to my ear, where I could smell the beer and his shaving lotion and maybe some good soap under that and I was thinking I wasn't mad at Hunter at all. In fact, I felt the opposite. I felt his arm against me at the back of my chair. I turned to look into those round eyes and thought how those eyes could melt my heart.

I watched the dancing and listened to the laughing and here I was with this guy who made me happy, no matter what. Talk about “lucky dogs.” Not bad, Lindy, I told myself and reached out to touch Hunter's cheek, a little gritty with dark blond whiskers, and run my finger over his mouth.

“You know, Lindy. This is real hard on me.”

I caught only the end of that and made him repeat it as Billy Currington wrapped up his song begging somebody to love him like his dog does.

And people were clapping and stomping.

And Hunter was yelling in my face. “Want you to marry me, Lindy.”

Which everybody heard despite the noise. The whole place went up in a roar and they all came running over to where we sat, including Flasher, who leaped and danced and licked Hunter's face and then mine.

Morton Shrift was laughing, asking who was going to wear the noose in the family now and then offering another free beer for the whole saloon.

My hand was in Hunter's as everybody smacked him on the back and bent to give me a hug, especially Meemaw and Mama.

Hunter's face was redder than I ever saw a man's face get red.

He kept trying to look over at me, still waiting for an answer.

I only had a minute and was thinking fast about the stuff I wanted to do, the places I needed to go, and the time to myself I had to have.

I thought about all of that then leaned down, over Flasher, who was drooling on us, and yelled out, “Yes, I sure will marry you, Hunter Austen.”

I stood, turned to my loving family, to my good neighbors, to friends like nobody else ever had, and nodded. “I'm gonna love this good man,” I shouted real loud and lifted my beer over my head.

I can't sing, but I belted out my own line:

“I'm gonna love him like his dog does!”

With all those guns going off in Riverville, Miss Amelia thought it would be a good idea to divert everybody's attention from the real things by having a special day with a little firepower of her own. That was a big day at the Nut House.
PISTOL PACKING PECAN
DAY
, the banner over the door read. The hotter the day got, the hotter the food and the happier the people of Riverville. Again, Miss Amelia thinks a little Garrison's Bourbon never hurt one single soul in this world, so she's put it in the recipes. If you're a teetotaler, leave it out but you won't get to heaven any sooner than the rest of us.

Plenty of firepower in a bowl.

4 tbsps. butter

1 tsp. vegetable oil

1 large garlic clove, crushed

2 cups shelled and chopped pecans

1¼-inch-thick slice of round country bread

4 large tomatoes, quartered

4 chipotle chilies in adobo

7 cups milk

1 tsp. salt

½ tsp. freshly ground black pepper

6 pecan halves, for garnish

Dash of Garrison's Bourbon—for old time's sake

Melt butter in oil over medium heat in a big pot. Add garlic, pecans, and bread.

Cook about 5 minutes, stirring occasionally and turning garlic and bread once, until garlic is fragrant and bread is golden.

Transfer half the pecan mixture, half the tomatoes, half the chilies and 1½ cups milk to a blender. Puree until smooth.

Repeat with remaining pecan mixture, tomatoes, chilies and 1½ cups milk.

Pour mixture back into pot, along with remaining milk, salt and pepper, and bourbon.

Bring to a boil, then simmer about 3 minutes.

Serve hot, garnishing each bowl with a pecan half.

Hunter swears by this sweet bread his mother used to make. One condition of their wedding is that Lindy learns to make it. If not, he'll make it himself. Which Lindy thinks is a better idea.

2 cups all-purpose flour

2 tsps. baking powder

2 tsps. baking soda

½ tsp. salt

1 cup sugar

1 cup sour cream

½ cup butter, softened

2 eggs

1 tbsp. Garrison's Bourbon

1 tsp. vanilla

1 cup chopped pecans

GLAZE

⅓ cup firmly packed brown sugar

⅓ cup butter

¼ cup chopped pecans

Heat oven to 350 degrees.

Combine flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt in a bowl. Set aside.

Combine all remaining ingredients, except pecans, in a large bowl.

Beat at medium speed, scraping often, until well mixed.

Reduce speed to low, beat gradually.

Add in flour mixture until moistened.

Stir in 1 cup of pecans.

Spoon batter into greased 9x5 inch loaf pan.

Bake for 60–65 minutes or until a toothpick inserted in center comes out clean. Cool 10 minutes. Remove from pans.

Combine brown sugar and ⅓ cup butter in 1-quart saucepan. Cook over medium heat until mixture comes to a boil (3–4 minutes). Spoon glaze over warm loaf.

Sprinkle with ¼ cup of chopped pecans.

A lot easier than pie and a great treat for the boys at the bar.

1 lb. milk chocolate candy coarsely chopped

½ cup toasted and chopped cashews

½ cup chopped pecans, toasted

½ tsp. cayenne pepper (you can use cinnamon if you want to)

In a microwave, melt candy; stir until smooth.

Stir in nuts and cayenne.

Spread onto a waxed paper-lined baking sheet.

Refrigerate for 20 minutes or until set.

Break into small pieces. Store in an airtight container in the refrigerator.

Yield: about 1½ pounds.

Miss Emily likes these brownies 'cause she likes food with an extra kick.

2 sticks unsalted butter, plus more for greasing

2 cups sugar

4 large eggs

2 tsps. Garrison's Bourbon

⅔ cup good-quality unsweetened cocoa powder

1 cup all-purpose flour

1 tsp. ground cinnamon

¼ tsp. cayenne pepper

½ tsp. salt

½ tsp. baking powder

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Line a 9x13 inch baking pan with parchment paper, leaving an overhang on two sides. Press the paper into the corners of the pan and lightly grease the paper with butter.

Melt the 2 sticks of butter in a nonstick saucepan over medium-low heat; do not boil.

Remove from the heat and let cool slightly.

Add the sugar, eggs, and vanilla to the saucepan and stir with a wooden spoon until combined. Add the cocoa, flour, cinnamon, chili powder, salt, and baking powder. Mix until smooth. Spread the batter in the prepared pan and bake until a toothpick inserted in the middle comes out fudgy, 20 to 25 minutes. Cool in the pan on a rack, then use the parchment paper to lift out the brownies before slicing.

Time: 35 minutes.

Miss Amelia swears Ethelred stole this recipe from her but you'll never get Ethelred to admit it. If you write her and say you hate the recipe, she will either tell you there's something wrong with your head, or she'll blame it all on Miss Amelia—depending on her mood at the moment. Serves 4

4 boneless, skinless chicken breasts

1 cup buttermilk

Vegetable oil—as needed in pan

¾ cup pecan halves

1 cup all-purpose flour

2 tsps. salt

Combine chicken and buttermilk in a large zip-lock bag and stick it in the refrigerator for 4–6 hours.

Place pecans in a food processor and process until finely chopped. Put in a pie plate and combine with flour and 2 tsp. salt.

Remove chicken from buttermilk and discard buttermilk. Dredge chicken in pecan-flour mix and turn to coat both sides well.

Heat oil in heavy pan. Fry chicken 6–7 minutes per side or until cooked through.

Place on wire rack to drain. Keep warm.

3 bacon slices

¼ cup chopped shallots

2½ tbsps. all-purpose flour

⅓ cup maple syrup

¼ cup whole grain Creole mustard

⅓ cup Garrison's Bourbon

½ tsp. Dijon mustard

½ tsp. salt

¼ tsp. black pepper

⅛ tsp. cayenne pepper

1½ cups heavy cream

Cook bacon until crispy. Place on towels to drain. Crumble.

Add shallots to bacon drippings and sauté over medium heat for 2 minutes.

Stir in flour and cook, stirring, for 2 minutes.

Whisk in maple syrup, all mustards, bourbon, salt, and peppers.

Cook, stirring, for 3 minutes. Gradually whisk in cream.

Bring to a simmer over medium heat. Cook, stirring frequently, for 5–8 minutes or until thickened. If it gets too thick, thin with a little milk.

Top chicken with gravy and sprinkle with bacon crumbles and any pecans you've got left.

Of course, Cecil wasn't to be outdone. He brought these over to the Nut House himself. Miss Emily graciously accepted his cakes—with a sniff.