What Happens in Texas
by Carolyn Brown
Pubdate: June 6th, 2016
ISBN: 9781492638742
Carolyn Brown
brings her unique voice to this tale of twin sisters finding love in a small
Texas town
Cathy Andrews’s
biological clock has passed the ticking stage and is dangerously close to
“blown plumb up”. While her twin sister Marty thinks settling down with one man
is just a waste of good cowboys, Cathy wants it all: the perfect husband, the
baby, and a little house right there in Cadillac. But even as the town is
laying bets on whose wedding will be next, Cathy doesn’t see happily-ever-after
happening anytime soon.
Fortunately, Cathy
and Marty have best friends who aren’t afraid to stir up a ruckus—and if it
means Cathy’s got to bust out and set the town on its ear they’ll back her
up—no matter how hot things get.
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An Excerpt:
If Prissy Parnell hadn’t married Buster
Jones and left Cadillac, Texas, for Pasadena, California, Marty wouldn’t have
gotten the speeding ticket. It was all Prissy’s damn fault that Marty was in
such a hurry to get to the Blue-Ribbon Jalapeño Society monthly meeting that
night, so Prissy ought to have to shell out the almost two hundred dollars for
that ticket.
They were already passing around the
crystal bowl to take up the voting ballots when Marty slung open the door to
Violet Prescott’s sunroom and yelled, “Don’t count ’em without my vote.”
Twenty faces turned to look at her and
not a one of them, not even her twin sister, Cathy, was smiling. Hell’s bells,
who had done pissed on their cucumber sandwiches before she got there, anyway?
A person didn’t drop dead from lack of punctuality, did they?
One wall of the sunroom was glass and
looked out over lush green lawns and flower gardens. The other three were
covered with shadow boxes housing the blue ribbons that the members had won at
the Texas State Fair for their jalapeño pepper entries. More than forty shadow
boxes all reminding the members of their history and their responsibility for
the upcoming year. Bless Cathy’s heart for doing her part. She had a little
garden of jalapeños on the east side of the lawn and nurtured them like
children. The newest shadow box held ribbons that she’d earned for the club
with her pepper jelly and picante. It was the soil, or maybe she told them bedtime
stories, but she, like her mamma and grandma, grew the hottest jalapeños in the
state.
“It appears that Martha has decided to
grace us with her presence once again when it is time to vote for someone to
take our dear Prissy’s place in the Blue-Ribbon Jalapeño Society. We really
should amend our charter to state that a member has to attend more than one
meeting every two years. You could appreciate the fact that we did amend it
once to include you in the membership with your sister, who, by the way, has a spotless
attendance record,” Violet said.
Violet, the queen of the club, as most
of the members called it, was up near eighty years old, built like SpongeBob
SquarePants, and had stovepipe jet-black hair right out of the bottle. Few
people had the balls or the nerve to cross her, and those who did were put on
her shit list right under Martha, aka Marty, Andrews’ name, which was always on
the top.
Back in the beginning of the club
days, before Marty was even born, the mayor’s wife held the top position on the
shit list. When they’d formed the Blue-Ribbon Jalapeño Society, Loretta Massey
and Violet almost went to war over the name of the new club. Loretta insisted
that it be called a society, and Violet wanted it to be called a club.
Belonging to a club just sounded so much fancier than saying that one belonged
to a society. Loretta won when the vote came in, but Violet called it a club
anyway and that’s what stuck. Rumor had it that Violet was instrumental in
getting the mayor ousted just so they’d have to leave Grayson County and
Loretta would have to quit the club.
Marty hated it when people called her
Martha. It sounded like an old woman’s name. What was her mother thinking
anyway when she looked down at two little identical twin baby daughters and
named them after her mother and aunt—Martha and Catherine? Thank God she’d at
least shortened their names to Marty and Cathy.
Marty shrugged, and Violet snorted.
Granted, it was a ladylike snort, but it still went right along with her round
face and three-layered neck. Hell, if they wanted to write forty amendments to
the charter, Marty would still do only the bare necessities to keep her in
voting standing. She hadn’t even wanted to be in the damned club and had only
done it because if she didn’t, then Cathy couldn’t.
Marty slid into a seat beside her
sister and held up her ballot.
Beulah had the bowl in hand and was
ready to hand it off to Violet to read off the votes. But she passed it to the
lady on the other side of her and it went back around the circle to Marty, who
tossed in her folded piece of paper. If she’d done her homework and gotten the
numbers right, that one vote should swing the favor for Anna Ruth to be the new
member of the club. She didn’t like Anna Ruth, especially since she’d broken up
her best friend’s marriage. But hey, Marty had made a deathbed promise to her mamma,
and that carried more weight than the name of a hussy on a piece of paper.
The bowl went back to Violet and she
put it in her lap like the coveted jeweled crown of a reigning queen. “Our
amended charter states that only twenty-one women can belong to the Blue-Ribbon
Jalapeño Society at any one time, and the only time we vote a new member in is
when someone moves or dies. Since Prissy Parnell got married this past week and
moved away from Grayson County, we are open for one new member. The four names
on the ballet are: Agnes Flynn, Trixie Matthews, Anna Ruth Williams, and Gloria
Rawlings.”
Even though it wasn’t in the fine
print, everyone knew that when attending a meeting, the members should dress
for the occasion, which meant panty hose and heels. Marty could feel nineteen
pairs of eyes on her. It would have been twenty, but Violet was busy fishing
the first ballot from the fancy bowl.
Marty threw one long leg over the
other and let the bright red, three-inch-heeled shoe dangle on her toe. They
could frown all they wanted. She was wearing a dress, even if it only reached
midthigh, and had black spandex leggings under it. If they wanted her to wear
panty hose, they’d better put a second amendment on that charter and make it in
big print.
God Almighty, but she’d be glad when
her great-aunt died and she could quit the club. But it looked like Agnes was
going to last forever, which was no surprise. God sure didn’t want her in
heaven, and the devil wouldn’t have her in hell.
“One vote for Agnes,” Violet said aloud.
Beulah marked that down on the minutes
and waited.
Violet enjoyed her role as president
of the club and took her own sweet time with each ballot. Too bad she hadn’t
dropped dead or at least moved to California so Cathy could be president. Marty
would bet her sister would get those votes counted a hell of a lot faster.
There was one piece of paper in the
candy dish when Beulah held up a hand. “We’ve got six each for Agnes, Trixie,
Anna Ruth, and two for Gloria. Unless this last vote is for Agnes, Trixie, or
Anna Ruth, we have a tie, and we’ll have to have a runoff election.”
“Shit!” Marty mumbled.
Cathy shot her a dirty look.
“Anna Ruth,” Violet said and let out a
whoosh of air.
A smile tickled the corner of Marty’s
mouth.
Saved, by damn!
Agnes was saved from prison.
Violet was saved from attending her
own funeral.
The speeding ticket was worth every penny.
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About the Author:
New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author and RITA Finalist, Carolyn Brown, has published more than seventy books. These days she is concentrating on her two loves: women’s fiction and contemporary cowboy romance. She and her husband, a retired English teacher, make their home in southern Oklahoma.
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Giveaway:
10 copies of What Happens in Texas. The giveaway will run from 5/22 –
6/22.
There's so many books I love I can't choose a favorite.
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