The Cowboy's Mail Order Bride

by Carolyn Brown

  Evidently Lenny had brought Carlene to work that morning since her car wasn’t parked out behind the shop. Patrice laid her head back against the headrest for a minute and shut her eyes against the blinding sun, vowing that she’d find her sunglasses before she stepped out into the sun again. She needed coffee, good black strong coffee, and lots of it. Thank goodness, Carlene always started a pot first thing in the morning.

  Her head throbbed so bad, she’d almost be willing for Alma Grace to lay hands upon her and pray that God would heal her, but then she’d have to listen to her asking God to forgive her for drinking. She just needed something to relieve the headache. She hadn’t killed her boyfriend so she didn’t need forgiveness and even Jesus drank wine so Alma Grace could keep her preaching to herself.

  “I’m never drinking again,” she said as she made her way to the back door. But when she opened it, the aroma of fresh coffee did not greet her.

  “Carlene?” Alma Grace yelled from the front of the house.

  “It’s Patrice, not Carlene. Where is our cousin? She’s never late,” Patrice said.

  Josie poked her head out of the sewing room. “From the looks of your eyes, I’d say you have a supersized hangover.”

  Patrice held up a palm. “Guilty. Don’t tell Alma Grace or she’ll start praying.”

  “Come on in the kitchen. I’ll fix you up,” Josie said.

  “I already did my magic.”

  “Did it work?” Josie pointed at the kitchen table.

  Patrice shook her head and it hurt like hell.

  “No.” She sat down, put her head down on her arms, and poked her fingers in her ears when Josie started the blender.

  “What is it?” she asked when Josie set a green drink that looked like ground-up bullfrogs in front of her.

  “Don’t ask and don’t come up for air. Drink it all down without stopping,” Josie said.

  Patrice did and then slammed the glass on the table with enough force to rattle the salt shakers. “Holy damn shit! That’s hotter than hell’s blazes.”

  “Yep and it’ll burn that hangover right out of you in five minutes. Now let’s go to work. Carlene’s not here. I hope she’s not sick. Y’all have the church choir coming today for fittings.”

  “Dammit all to hell!” Patrice groaned. “I’m not in the mood for praisin’ God and blessing souls or fitting bras to those holier-than-thou gossiping women.”

  “Me neither but they’ve got boobs that have to be roped down, so suck it up. Must have been a helluva weekend that you had.” Josie smiled.

  “I don’t even want to talk about it until my head stops pounding. God, I hope Carlene isn’t sick. I don’t want to wait on customers today.”

  Alma Grace poked her head in the kitchen door. “I hope she’s not sick, too, but it would be wonderful to have a baby in the family. My mama and your mama and Aunt Gigi are going to Lenny’s this afternoon to look at a car. It’d be a shame if Carlene isn’t here when they drive it by to show us.”

  ***

  Carlene breezed in the back door of the shop with an armload of clothing, her head held high, her makeup repaired, and a vow that no one else would ever see her cry again. That damned Lenny Lovelle would never, ever know how much he’d broken her spirit and her heart with his cheating.

  “I’d appreciate it if y’all would lend a hand and help me bring in all that stuff in my van before customers start coming into the shop.”

  Patrice peeked outside and frowned. “Good God, girl. You did more than clean out your closets while Lenny was gone this weekend. Did you buy out a store? Are we going into more than lingerie or what? And the look in your eyes is damn scary. What’s going on? You look like you could commit homicide on a saint.”

  “I’m divorcing that two-timing sleazy sumbitch Lenny Joe Lovelle. I should never have married him in the first place. Aunt Tansy read my palm and told me that you can’t change a skirt-chasin’ bastard but would I listen? Hell, no! Now are y’all going to help or not? And if you start praying, Alma Grace, I’m going to slap the shit out of you,” Carlene said. She sounded mean, but truth was she was just like those hollow chocolate Easter bunnies. If anyone pushed her, she’d crumble into a million pieces.

  “Dear Lord,” Alma Grace whispered.

  Carlene shot her an evil look. “I forewarned you.”

  “I wasn’t praying, although I should be. You want that unloaded up in one of the bedrooms or where? I can’t believe you are talking about a divorce.” She whispered the last word like it was something dirty.

  “Just put everything on that old sofa up there in the first bedroom on the left. I’ll decide which room I’m going to live in and hang them all up later.”

  “Dios mío, tell us what has happened,” Josie said.

  “Help me get the van unloaded first to give me some more time.” Carlene pushed the screen door open and it slammed behind her as she led the way outside to the company van.

  “Shit!” Patrice followed her.

  “Fool must’ve gotten caught,” Josie said.

  “Until death parts us. I heard her say the words,” Alma Grace whispered.

  “Yeah, well, way I see it is that don’t necessarily mean death of the body, girl,” Josie said. “I’ll be right here when y’all get that stuff all carried upstairs. I’m not making trips up and down those steps with these knees.”

  It took several trips up and down the stairs to get everything brought inside. When they’d finished, the bedroom looked like a tornado had struck a clothing store. The sofa was completely obliterated and Walmart bags bulging and overflowing with panties, bras, and nightgowns were lined up against the wall.

  “Why in the hell didn’t you pack in suitcases? I know you’ve got at least three sets,” Patrice asked.

  “I was so damn mad I didn’t even think about suitcases. He promised her that he’d be living with her by the time the chili cook-off happens and that’s only a few weeks from now. And that he’d hang their pictures above those damned trophies. He doesn’t have a picture of me in his den, in his office at work, or even in his wallet.” Her voice quivered but neither of her cousins heard it or Alma Grace would have started praying again and Patrice would have got out a sawed-off shotgun.

  Alma Grace touched Carlene on the arm and said, “Okay, darlin’, tell us what happened and we’ll take it to the Lord in prayer.”

  “Coffee first and the Lord can’t fix this so I’ll be damned if I take it to Him. The person that I’m taking it to is Carson Culpepper and I hope that he’s as good as everyone says he is when it comes to divorce court.”

  “Poor old Lenny.” Patrice giggled then grabbed her aching head. Laughter and hangovers did not go together.

  Carlene whipped around and glared at her. “He deserves it.”

  “Hell, yes, he deserves it and Carson will make him wish he’d never even looked cross-eyed at another woman. Who was it and how did you find out?” Patrice asked.

  “Remember that cute little brunette who came in here and bought that red corset and matching bikinis? Bridget is her name and we laughed about her going to Vegas with her sugar daddy. Well, she works at the dealership and Lenny is the sugar daddy.”

  “Then go get him, darlin’. I’m right behind you. You want us to shoot his sorry ass? Ain’t a one of us that can’t handle a firearm, and we’re strong enough to dig a six-foot hole,” Patrice said.

  “Now girls, there’s two sides to every story.” Alma Grace folded her hands in front of her, shut her eyes, and prayed. “Dear Lord, please help Carlene forgive and forget. Help Lenny to mend his ways if he has transgressed and help them to work this problem out because they have both made vows to you. Amen.”

  Carlene glared at her cousin. Not one time in the past hour had she thought Patrice and Alma Grace wouldn’t both stand behind her in any decision she made. True, they were all di
fferent. Patrice with her wild ways and cussing. Alma Grace with her religion. Carlene with her business sense. But they were knitted together with blood that ran as deep as sisters. So why would Alma Grace want her to forgive a two-timin’, cheatin’ sumbitch like Lenny? She reached up and caught a tear as it escaped from the dam behind her eyelids.

  “Why in the hell would you pray like that? You should be praying for God to strike him dead,” Patrice said.

  “There’s two sides.” Alma Grace squared her shoulders defensively.

  “You got that right,” Patrice said. “There’s the truth and then there’s the lyin’, cheatin’ bastard’s story. Which family are you in anyway?”

  “I’ll put Carlene on the prayer list and we’ll all pray that God will guide you to make the right decision and forgive poor old Lenny for being so weak,” Alma Grace said. “Now let’s go have some coffee.”

  “There is no coffee because Carlene is the only one who knows how to make it, and if I was her, I’d poison yours,” Patrice said.

  Carlene was still amazed that Alma Grace hadn’t supported her. Tears stung her eyes and her heart felt heavier than it had all morning. “Coffee might clear our heads,” Carlene said as she started down the stairs.

  They trooped into the big old kitchen: Carlene with curves that stretched a size sixteen; Alma Grace, the petite cousin; Patrice, the tallest one of the three at five feet eleven inches and slim as a runway model. Carlene put on a pot of coffee and then slumped in a chair. She started at the beginning. Surely when Alma Grace heard the whole story, she’d be more sympathetic.

  “The sorry bastard. Let’s poison him,” Patrice said when she finished.

  “You promised to love him through good times and bad. You need to give him a chance to make this all right,” Alma Grace said.

  Josie stood up from her chair, rounded the table, and hugged Carlene. “Honey, I’m not much younger than your Grandma Fannin would be and I got a feeling that she would tell you the same thing I’m about to tell you. Cut your losses right now and move on with your life. He’s not worth it. Life’s too short and hell ain’t half full for you to put up with that kind of shit.”

  Alma Grace threw a hand over her eyes. “Dear God.”

  “You pray for me and I’ll hurt you, girl. I swear I will,” Carlene said.

  “I wasn’t praying. I promise that I wasn’t. I just remembered that our mothers are going to Lenny’s this morning to buy a new car,” she said.

  The sound that came out of Carlene’s throat was somewhere between a giggle and a sob. It quickly turned into nervous laughter, followed by a guffaw that echoed off the kitchen walls, and then tears flooded her cheeks again.

  She could tell by the looks on her cousins’ faces that they thought she was laughing until she cried.

  Patrice threw a kitchen towel across the table toward Carlene. “Dab, don’t wipe or you’ll ruin your mascara. What do you bet that he runs the other way when the Fannin sisters come through the door? He won’t remember that Aunt Gigi has been talking about a new car for weeks. Enough of this shit. We’ve got a business to run.”

  Carlene pushed the end of the towel up under her eye. “And I’ve got to call the furniture store and tell them to deliver a bedroom suite before dark or I’ll be sleeping on the floor.”

  “You can stay with me,” Alma Grace offered.

  “Hell, no! I’m staying right here. All I have to do is walk down the stairs into the store every morning. It’s a perfect setup until the divorce is settled. I hope he loses that damn chili cook-off trophy this year. It would serve him right after promising that bimbo that he would hang her picture above the trophies. I threw them across the room but they didn’t break.”

  “You will make the coffee every morning, right?” Patrice asked.

  Carlene shot a look across the table.

  Patrice fended it off by putting both her palms up. “Don’t be killin’ me with your mean looks, woman. I didn’t cheat on you and I’m supporting your decision to leave that scumbag. I can’t believe he’s so stupid he didn’t even check his briefcase.”

  “I can’t believe you are so stupid that you married him. Everyone knew he was a skirt chaser,” Josie fussed.

  “Well, I can’t believe you aren’t going to live up to the vows you said before all three of our mamas and God. And the fact that the trophies didn’t break is a sign that your marriage isn’t broken, just cracked, and that it can be mended,” Alma Grace sniffed.

  “I thought he meant it when he said his womanizing days were over, Josie. I hear the front door. Let’s go to work,” Carlene said, walking out of the kitchen.

  “And he broke more vows than Carlene did, Alma Grace, so stop your sanctimonious shit. I hear the front door,” Patrice said.

  “It’s going to be the ruin of us. The church didn’t like it when I threw in with y’all to put in a lingerie shop but a divorced woman in the mix? I don’t know what’s going to happen to me,” Alma Grace whispered.

  “We’ve done got past the fifties, cousin. Divorce happens. Get over it and you better not ever let me hear you praying for that bastard again or I’ll snatch you bald-headed,” Patrice said.

  Carlene returned with a white carryout box and opened it before she set it in the middle of the table. “That was Beulah from across the street. She ran over to Miss Clawdy’s and brought us a dozen pecan tarts. Said that she’d heard the bad news and would be praying that me and Lenny could work things out. Don’t you even roll your eyes at the ceiling Alma Grace! She said that she hoped that the tarts would help us get through the morning.”

  “Bad news travels fast,” Josie said.

  “Fat chance of working it out,” Patrice said. “Lenny Joe has treated you horrible, Carlene. It’s over.”

  Alma Grace reached for a tart. “You had these at your wedding. All arranged on a silver platter on the groom’s table. You want one? Remember all the good times, Carlene. God wants you to forgive Lenny.”

  “I’d rather lick the white tops off of chicken shit.” Carlene marched out of the room before she had another emotional outbreak just thinking about her wedding day.

  The Blue-Ribbon Jalapeño Society Jubilee

  by Carolyn Brown

  Come early, eat until your buttons pop, and dance until you drop!

  Miss Clawdy’s Café has won the Jubilee blue ribbon every year since the dawn of time. This year, town matron Violet Prescott is going after that ribbon with an iron-clad determination only thinly disguised by her perfect coiffure and flawless manners, bless her heart.

  It’s time for café owners Cathy and Marty and their best friend Trixie to pull out their secret weapon. And this is where a lifetime of friendship, combined with just the right recipe at just the right time, might carry the day—or blow everything to smithereens.

  Welcome to Cadillac, Texas, where the jalapeños are hot, the gossip is even hotter, and at the end of the day, it’s the priceless friendships that are left standing…

  “A high-spirited, romantic page turner.”—Kirkus

  “Brown keeps it lively with tart and raunchy dialogue and situations that will make you laugh out loud.”—Shelf Awareness

  For more Carolyn Brown, visit:

  www.sourcebooks.com

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  About the Author

  Carolyn Brown is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author with more tha
n sixty books published, and credits her eclectic family for her humor and writing ideas. Her books include the cowboy trilogy—Lucky in Love, One Lucky Cowboy, and Getting Lucky—the Honky Tonk series—I Love This Bar; Hell, Yeah; Honky Tonk Christmas; and My Give a Damn’s Busted—and her bestselling Spikes & Spurs series—Love Drunk Cowboy, Red’s Hot Cowboy, Darn Good Cowboy Christmas, One Hot Cowboy Wedding, Mistletoe Cowboy, Just a Cowboy and His Baby, and Cowboy Seeks Bride. Carolyn has launched into women’s fiction as well with The Blue-Ribbon Jalapeño Society Jubilee. She was born in Texas but grew up in southern Oklahoma where she and her husband, Charles, a retired English teacher, make their home. They have three grown children and enough grandchildren to keep them young.