Crazy Little Thing Called Love

Book 2: Everson, Texas

by Molly Cannon

Genres: Romance; Mystery; Private Investigators

Synopsis

Here comes trouble...

Etta Green kissed Everson, Texas, goodbye years ago. A big city chef, she intends to return only long enough to settle her beloved grandmother's estate and then hightail it back to Chicago. But Grammy Hazel had other plans. In her will, she left Etta part-ownership of a B&B that's about to go bankrupt before it even opens. And what's worse--Etta's partner is Donny Joe Ledbetter, a handsome devil with some serious bad boy charm. Growing up, Donny Joe didn't give Etta a second glance. Now, she's got his whole attention.

A far cry from the shy bookworm he once knew, sexy, spirited Etta Green is nothing but trouble. Yet Donny Joe decides to play nice. After all, the quicker they open the B&B, the faster this exasperating--and irresistible--woman will be on her way. Donny Joe has never been a one-woman kind of man. But one crazy little moment of unforgettable desire may change his mind--if he can convince Etta to stay for good...

Release date: June 25, 2013

Publisher: Grand Central Publishing

Print pages: 384

Sample

You can’t take time off now. It’s out of the question.” Diego Barrett, head chef at Finale’s, made his decree and turned back to the stove as if everything was settled.

Etta swiped at a lone tear and sniffed. It was hard to believe she’d ever thought she was in love with this guy. “Diego, I’m not asking for your permission. My grandmother died, and I’m going to Texas to take care of the arrangements.”

He never looked her way as he banged around the restaurant kitchen, lifting lids, stirring a pot here, tasting a sauce there. “What about your sister? She lives in Texas. Why can’t she handle things?” He stomped over to the table that held menu plans and supply lists. “And how the hell am I supposed to get anyone to cover for you on such short notice? The Mann party is coming in tomorrow night, and they could make or break our reputation. Remember, Etta? The Mann party? The big opportunity we’ve been working our asses off for?”

“If you could stop ranting long enough to listen I’ll tell you. Mimi will cover for me tomorrow, and everything will be fine. But I’ll be gone at least a week. Adjust the schedule accordingly.”

“For God’s sake, why can’t you wait a day or two? Why do you have to leave right now? I need you here.”

“The question you should be asking is, ‘Are you okay, Etta? Is there anything I can do to help?’ ”

Sounding like a spoiled child, he tried guilt. “You know what kind of pressure I’m under. Thank you for adding to it.”

She took off her apron and started gathering her things. “And thank you for your support, Diego.”

“How’s this for support?” He sat down at the table, his tone overwrought. “If you leave me now, don’t bother to come back.”

Without a second thought, she picked up a vat of cold soup, a lovely vichyssoise, and dumped it in his lap. “Oops. There goes the soup of the day.”

His howl of outrage and the pungent smell of leeks followed her out the door.



Donny Joe Ledbetter hated funerals.

He huddled in his thin black suit coat as an uncommonly bitter wind whipped through Everson Memorial Gardens and battered the mourners who’d gathered graveside to pay their respects to the dearly departed Hazel Green. Miz Hazel, as she was known by one and all, had lived a colorful life and had died too soon at the frisky age of sixty-eight.

Amen and bless her soul.

She would be missed by the good folks in Everson, including Donny Joe. She’d been his next door neighbor, a grandmother figure of sorts, a never-ending source of unsolicited advice—some good, some bad. And of late, his business partner.

He didn’t treat her passing lightly, so when he was asked to be a pallbearer he agreed without hesitation. He had a real affection for the old girl. Too bad he couldn’t say he felt the same about her granddaughter.

He let his gaze travel over Etta Green. She had steamed back into Everson a few days ago to take care of the funeral arrangements for her grandmother, but grief could only go so far in excusing her surly attitude. Not that he’d had any direct encounters with her, but it hadn’t taken long for word to spread via the town grapevine that she’d bulldozed everyone in her path. Out of the respect people had for Miz Hazel, she’d gotten away with it. Now she perched on one of the spindly chairs set up for the family in front of the casket, her small fireplug of a body vibrating with defiance and anger.

What a piece of work.

He took in her face, grief clearly etched in every feature while the howling wind tossed her short dark brown hair around her head in all directions. Dressed all in black, her fists were clenched tightly in her lap as if it were all she could do not to shake them at the heavens for taking her beloved Grammy away too soon. Her pointy high-heeled black pumps tapped out a nervous rhythm on the dry winter grass, suggesting she might kick the shins of the first person who dared express any hint of sympathy. Donny Joe planned to keep his distance.

By contrast her older sister Belle had arrived in Everson just in time for the service. Ah, Belle. They’d had a mainly one-sided flirtation one summer a long time ago, and he hadn’t seen her since. She’d grown into an attractive, and from all appearances, even-tempered woman. Sitting demurely, ankles crossed, she wore a simple gray dress set off by a wide-brimmed black hat. A veil covered her face, giving her the air of an Italian film actress. She sobbed quietly behind the filmy material while her daughter Daphne stared straight ahead, not squirming or wiggling around like most young kids he knew. In fact she showed no emotion of any kind.

Donny wished he could be as stoic. Miz Hazel’s death had hit him harder than he’d expected. Despite her untimely demise she’d lived a good life, and the gathered crowd was a testament to how many people she’d touched. Shivering in the cold of the cemetery, surrounded by the grave markers of Everson’s deceased made him wonder about his own life. Who would shed a tear if he was to meet his maker tomorrow? Would anybody really give a damn if he lived or died? It gave a man pause.

Brother East, the Baptist preacher, asked everyone to bow their heads in prayer. Then after a chorus of murmured “Amens,” he instructed the pallbearers to say their final farewells by placing their boutonnieres on top of the half-lowered glossy white casket. Donny Joe removed the pearl-tipped pin holding the pink rosebud onto his lapel and trailed along in line with the others. Each man said a quick good-bye to Miz Hazel and laid their rose beside the giant funeral spray that adorned the box holding her remains. Donny Joe could feel his eyes start to water and blamed it on the stinging wind. When it was his turn, he stopped and took a moment with his thoughts.

“Good-bye, Miz Hazel,” he said in a choked voice. “I’m going to miss you.” He glanced up and his gaze locked unwillingly with Etta Green’s. She lifted an eyebrow as if doubting his sincerity, and maybe his manhood, too. What the hell was her problem?

Rattled, he broke eye contact and stepped forward, boutonniere in hand.

His foot caught on a half-buried tree root, a root from the stately old oak that would stand sentry over Miz Hazel’s final resting place. He stumbled, arms flailing, and then he fell. Fellow pallbearer Mitchell Crowley made a grab for him, catching only a handful of his suit coat as he landed squarely on top of the funeral spray and the casket underneath. Half the crowd gasped, and the other half laughed like things were just starting to get interesting.

For a stunned moment he lay there, his breath sawing in and out of his chest, feeling the polished wood and crushed blossoms pressed against his cheek, clutching the ornate edging that outlined the lid of the coffin to steady himself. The overwhelming floral smell filled his nose, and he could feel the tickle of a sneeze building. “A-a-achoo!”

“Bless you, Donny Joe,” someone yelled from the buzzing crowd.

That got him moving. A shower of roses, carnations, daisies, and lilies of every color and hue scattered like a potpourri of rats deserting a sinking ship while he scrambled on hands and knees to get up. Phone cameras appeared throughout the crowd, capturing the moment for posterity.

Mitchell finally got a grip on one of his arms and helped haul him to his feet. “Get ahold of yourself, buddy. We’re all going to miss her, but she’s in a better place now.”

“Sorry. Geez, I’m really sorry.” Donny straightened up, rearranging his coat and brushing off his pants. The crowd mumbled and tittered—probably discussing how much he’d had to drink.

Undoubtedly dismayed by his oafish performance, Miz Hazel’s granddaughters now stood, and he put out a hand in their direction, an apology of sorts. Belle Green lifted her veil, revealing her pretty tear-streaked face. Then she smiled and winked before letting the gauzy material fall back into place. Etta Green clenched her knotty little fists and skewered him with a glare hot enough to permanently singe all the hair from his body. Young Daphne stayed in her chair, stuck her thumb in her mouth and started to suck.



Etta hated lawyers.

She sat stick straight on the edge of a big leather wing chair in front of Mr. Corbin Starling’s scarred walnut desk, impatiently waiting for him to commence with the reading of her grandmother’s will. Not that she actually hated Mr. Starling. He seemed nice enough, but she’d never had anything good come from dealing with those in the legal profession, so the sooner they could get this over with, the sooner she could be on her way back to Chicago.

Her sister Belle lounged carelessly in the chair to her left, relentlessly texting and checking her phone for messages. Their appointment had been for ten a.m. They had arrived ten minutes early. It was now five after, and her grandmother’s lawyer, after greeting them and asking if they wanted coffee or tea, left them to their own devices while he rifled through papers on his desk. Etta looked at her watch, and her foot started to tap. Patience wasn’t one of her virtues in the best of times, and now the crushing sadness she felt over losing Grammy Hazel threatened to derail her thinly held control.

Mr. Starling seemed to notice her impatience and glanced up. “I apologize for the delay. We’re just waiting for Mr. Ledbetter to arrive, and then we can get started.”

Etta’s foot stilled. “Mr. Ledbetter? As in Donny Joe Ledbetter?” The idiot who’d made a spectacle of himself at the funeral? She remembered him as a cocky, troublemaking teenager. Good Gravy.

“Yes, there are provisions that concern him.”

Belle leaned forward in her chair, giving Mr. Starling a generous view of her generous bosom. His eyes widened in appreciation of the gesture. Etta stifled a flash of irritation. Her sister’s idea of proper attire for a visit to see the family lawyer was a ruffled, low-cut red silk blouse and a pair of tight blue jeans. “I understand Donny Joe and Grammy Hazel got real close before she died,” Belle informed them.

Etta turned to look at her sister. “They did? How do you know that?”

“I had a real nice conversation with Donny Joe after the service yesterday afternoon. And Grammy was always going on about how much help he was to her around the house.”

Etta’s foot started tapping again. Donny Joe Ledbetter was her grandmother’s next door neighbor. She had vivid memories of him as a teenager from the summers she and Belle had spent at her grandmother’s house. Flirtatious, smooth-talking, too cute for his own good, and always stirring up some kind of trouble.

That was Donny Joe, then and now. From what she’d heard he ran some kind of swimming pool business these days. Now that she thought about it, she did remember her grandmother mentioning him a lot during their frequent phone calls of late, but she realized with a sharp pang of regret, she’d been too busy talking about her own problems and hadn’t paid much attention to the details.

Etta’s first instinct was to suspect he’d taken advantage of her grandmother’s trusting nature. But on the other hand, so what if he’d schmoozed his way into the old lady’s affection and she’d left him some small token of her appreciation in her last will and testament?

Fine and dandy. What did she care?

But he could at least have the decency to show up on time so they could get this whole ordeal settled. Her business in Everson, Texas was almost finished, and now that Grammy Hazel was gone, she couldn’t think of a good reason to stay any longer than necessary. Despite her assurances to Diego that he’d be fine without her, she couldn’t help worry.

Finally, there was a knock on the office doorframe, and Donny Joe stuck his head around the corner. “Sorry I’m late, Corbin.”

Mr. Starling stood up and waved him into the room. “Come on in, Donny Joe. We’re ready to get started.”

Donny doffed his cowboy hat and hung it on the coat rack by the door. “I had an emergency at the Senior Center. The pool wasn’t heating properly, and if Splashing with the Oldies doesn’t go on as scheduled there’s hell to pay. But I apologize.”

“Hey, Donny Joe,” Belle looked up from her phone and gifted him with one of her dazzling smiles.

“Belle.” He returned her smile with a dazzling one of his own, and then with the slightest nod in her direction acknowledged Etta’s presence as well. “Morning, Etta.”

He pulled a wooden chair up next to her, and sat with legs splayed wide, taking up more than his share of space in the room. Donny Joe was all lanky swagger, and Etta found herself bristling for no particular reason. Turning slightly in her chair, she angled her body so he was out of her line of sight, but a faint whiff of his cologne still wafted her way.

Mr. Starling cleared his throat and began addressing them somberly, so she focused on his words. “This is a sad occasion for us all. Hazel was a great friend to me and my family. We will miss her dearly, and you girls have my deepest condolences.” He put both hands on his desk and sighed. “This is the will drawn up by your grandmother three and a half years ago on her sixty-fifth birthday.”

He opened the file on his desk and began reading,

I, Hazel Faye Green, being of sound mind and body do hereby bequeath the following:

•   My string of pearls and matching earrings, the family recipe box, and my complete set of Nancy Drew Mysteries I leave to my great granddaughter, Daphne Jonquil Green.

•   My enamel turtle pin, my Joni Mitchell albums, and my Volkswagen bus I leave to my cousin, Beulah Cross.

•   My house, its contents and the surrounding five acres I leave to my granddaughters Etta Place Green and Belle Starr Green. I trust they will do all they can to keep the house since it has been in our family for over one hundred years.

Signed,

Hazel Faye Green

Etta slumped back in her chair, fighting new tears. The provisions in the will were basically what she’d expected, but hearing the words read out loud made the pain of Grammy’s death rise up and threaten to choke her all over again.

Grammy’s house. Growing up, it had always been a safe haven, a place to escape the never-ending circus of her parents’ chaotic marriage. And with Grammy Hazel’s help, it was the place she learned to cook. She loved the nooks and crannies, the tall ceilings, the wooden floors. It wrapped around her, comforting her like one of Grammy’s crocheted afghans. Built by her great-great grandfather and passed down to each new generation, the house still stood tall and strong, despite the human frailties of those who’d occupied it through the years. She was momentarily stirred by the connection with those who’d come before her. With the death of their father four years ago, the house now belonged to her and Belle.

But she would never seriously consider living in it. She had a life to get back to in Chicago.

Probably.

Oh, of course she did. Surely Diego hadn’t been serious when he’d fired her. And he couldn’t really fire her. Not outright anyway. She was a minority owner in the place, after all. Just because he’d told her if she left not to come back. Just because she’d dumped a vat of cold potato soup in his lap on her way out the door. She could be volatile, but so could he. It wasn’t the first time one of them had used food to emphasize a point, and it wouldn’t be the last. Even if they didn’t share a passion for each other any longer, they still shared a passion for their work and a passion to make Finale’s one of the best restaurants in Chicago. That’s why they made such a good team. Unfortunately, he held a controlling interest, and that put her at a disadvantage.

But back to the matter at hand. As far as she was concerned Cousin Beulah could continue to live in the house if that’s what she wanted. Maybe rent out a room if she needed help around the place.

Or maybe Belle would consider moving back to Everson. It would provide a stable home for eight-year-old Daphne. Everson would be a great town to raise a child. And a stable home was something her niece hadn’t known from the day she’d been born. They certainly had a lot to discuss. She glanced at Donny Joe. Why was he here again? The will hadn’t said a word about him. She looked at Mr. Starling expectantly.

“You said there were provisions that concerned Donny Joe, Mr. Starling. I don’t understand.”

Mr. Starling cleared his throat again and picked up another file. This one was two inches thick. He opened it carefully and sighed. “As I said, your grandmother’s will was written over three years ago. Since then circumstances have changed.”

“In what way?” Belle asked, glancing up from her phone.

“Over the last few years your grandmother has struggled some to make ends meet, and to put it simply, the house is no longer hers alone to bequeath.”

Etta scooted forward to the edge of her chair again. “What do you mean? Of course it’s hers. And she would have told me if she was having problems.”

“Well, why don’t you explain, Donny Joe?”

She turned her head slowly, taking in the tall man sitting beside her.

He wasn’t smiling anymore, and he seemed all business now. “Your grandmother approached me about turning her house into a money-making venture to offset some of her expenses. A bed and breakfast, to be exact. You may have noticed some of the renovations that have already taken place.”

Actually she had noticed a few things, but thought her grandmother had gone off on one of her many remodeling kicks. She was always repainting the walls and changing the drapes. “A bed and breakfast? Was this her idea or yours, Mr. Ledbetter? I assume you have some financial interest in this project? That must be the reason you’re here this morning.” Etta jumped to her feet, outrage fueling her words. As far as she was concerned he was the lowest form of dirt—a dirty, low-down, sleazy, cheating scumbag who’d taken advantage of her sweet grandmother’s trust.

Mr. Starling stood up. “Ms. Green, let me assure you that this was your grandmother’s idea, but yes, at this point Donny Joe has made a substantial investment that can’t be recovered if the work isn’t completed. Your grandmother’s greatest fear was that she’d lose the family home altogether, and now with her untimely death everything is up in the air unless you two are willing to follow through with her wishes.”

Etta glanced at Belle, who seemed bored by the whole proceeding, and then turned back to the two men. “So,” she asked tightly, “what’s the bottom line here? Where does that leave us?”

“It means Donny Joe is already part owner of your grandmother’s house. And if any of the construction contracts currently in place aren’t honored by you and your sister, he will own it all.”



I say, let him have it.” Belle flounced up the porch steps of their grandmother’s house and dropped into the old wooden porch swing.

“I say, over my dead body.” Etta kicked off her shoes and joined her sister on the swing. The chains creaked as they pushed back and forth in a slow rhythm. “We can’t just let Donny Joe have Grammy’s house. One of her last wishes was for us to keep it in the family. And what about Beulah? Where will she go if we can’t hang on to it?”

The family home was a white two-story sprawling house with a wide welcoming front porch and deep teal shutters. Although the neighbor’s house was set within walking distance, the property was several acres long, running out back behind the house and down to a creek. Etta had explored every inch of the place as a child, and even though she hadn’t spent much time here as an adult, the summers she’d spent here with Grammy Hazel held too many precious memories to count. She wasn’t going to stand idly by and do nothing to save it.

After the meeting at the lawyer’s office, Donny Joe said he had some immediate business to take care of but agreed to swing by their house after lunch so they could discuss all their options. Etta wasn’t looking forward to the meeting. Not in the least little bit. Too many things hadn’t been settled. And they weren’t likely to be settled by this afternoon.

Donny Joe Ledbetter?

Of all the people she didn’t want to be dealing with at a time like this. Good Gravy. What were you thinking, Grammy?

But Belle’s concerns, as usual, were all about Belle. “Well, I have zero interest in being an innkeeper in this backwater town. Can you see me decked out in a frilly apron, baking muffins, putting mints on pillows, and pointing the toilet paper? Not in this lifetime.”

Etta laughed at the horrified expression on Belle’s face. “I don’t know. You could probably make frilly aprons all the rage if you set your mind to it.” She stole another glance at her older sister and floated the idea she’d had earlier. “I thought it might be nice for Daphne if she could stay in one place long enough to finish the school year in the same city she started.”

“Daphne is fine. Moving around has made her adaptable.” Belle nudged Etta with her elbow. “Just like us.”

Etta stared at Belle as if she had two heads. She found Belle’s casual attitude appalling and without thinking exclaimed, “Not to mention neurotic and insecure. Just like us. You know I love Daphne like she was my own, but she doesn’t act like an eight-year-old kid. She acts like an uptight matron.” Etta winced, giving herself a mental kick in the shins. She had to learn to keep her opinions on Daphne’s behavior to herself.

Belle didn’t seem to be offended, though. “You worry too much. She’s an only child, and only children always act too grown-up for their age. Now if you’re through insulting my parenting skills can we get back to discussing Grammy’s house? Why don’t we just sell our share of the house to Donny Joe, and he can do whatever he wants with it. I could really use the money.”

“If you’d been paying attention this morning, I think the whole point was there is no money. Not unless we want to devote a big chunk of time and energy into Grammy’s B&B plan. And even then, there’s no guarantee we’ll see a profit.”

“So, we’re supposed to drop everything and move here because Grammy Hazel got a wild hair in her bonnet before she died? No thanks. I have a scrumptious new boyfriend waiting for me in Houston. I think he might be ready to pop the question. And what about your precious job at your precious restaurant in Chicago? I can’t believe Diego isn’t flipping out by now.”

Etta scowled at the mention of her friend–slash–partner–slash–ex-lover. As of nine months ago they had called it quits. As lovers, that is. But they were still bound together by their partnership in Finale’s. So, since then they’d been struggling to find an amicable way to work together at the restaurant. The tension between them had been building for a while and leaving suddenly for Grammy Hazel’s funeral hadn’t helped.

“He wasn’t exactly thrilled when I left.” Since then he’d been suspiciously and uncharacteristically silent. Etta nudged that uncomfortable thought from her head. Since their break-up, even though it had been a mutual decision, he’d been moodier, more of a bully to the staff than usual. Something she’d known she’d have to deal with somewhere down the road. The best she could do now was call Diego later and try for a temporary truce. “And you always have a scrumptious new boyfriend. What makes this one different from the last two or three?”

Belle sighed, the dreamy kind of sigh that always spelled trouble. “Roger Fisher. Oh, he’s nice looking, rich and he keeps hinting that he wants to take me to Paris for a long holiday. Of course, I told him I couldn’t go. Who would watch Daphne?”

“I thought rich was a given with all your boyfriends.”

Belle smiled. “True, but Roger has something else going for him. He isn’t married.”

“Well now, there’s an improvement.”

“Be sarcastic all you want, Etta. It doesn’t change the fact that I’m not going to do anything to discourage Roger. If I marry him Daphne will have all the security she needs.”

“That’s all well and good, but it still leaves the problem of cousin Beulah. Grammy Hazel would expect us to take care of her and you know it.”

Belle stood up. “Until we talk to Donny Joe there’s no point in trying to make any decisions, okay? I’m going to go find Daphne and see what she wants for lunch.”

Etta listened to the wooden screen door slap closed behind her sister and then stood up as well. She slipped her shoes back on and wandered inside, stopping in the foyer to admire the dozens of plants and flowers sent by Grammy’s friends and neighbors. She began gathering the attached sender’s cards, glancing at them as she went, thinking she should get busy writing thank you cards. It would be a good way to fill the time while she waited for Donny Joe to show up for their meeting. The outpouring of love for her grandmother hadn’t been surprising. The evidence was all around her. Everyone loved Miz Hazel.

She retrieved the note cards provided by the funeral home and sat down at her grandmother’s rolltop desk in the formal living room. She knew a lot of these names from the summers she’d spent in Everson, so it was easy to write sincere notes thanking them for their thoughtfulness. She sifted through the cards reading names. Bertie Ha. . .