by Rachel Magee
“Woo hoo!” Hadley popped the top of the champagne bottle, letting the cork fly over the bluff onto the sand below. “Looks like we have a lot of things to celebrate today.”
She filled the flutes Georgia and Lane were holding and they passed them out. The six friends stood in a circle and held the glasses up for a toast.
“To shiny new beginnings,” Hadley said.
“And happily-ever-afters,” Aiden added.
Paige looked around the circle at the faces that she loved more than any others in the world. The faces that had become her family.
“And to friendship.”
“To friendship,” they all repeated.
They clinked their glasses together and drank to their sparkling futures.
BBQ Brisket Tacos with Sunshine Slaw
Aiden’s improvised brisket tacos become a house specialty at his restaurant, and he serves them to investors who might buy the place. Both he and Paige have big decisions to make about what parts of their past to hold onto…and what to leave behind. Our recipe for BBQ brisket tacos is both casual and impressive, perfect for a summer gathering you’ll always remember.
Yield: 12 brisket tacos (6 servings)
Prep Time: 20 minutes
Slow Cooker Time: 12 hours
Total Time: 12 hours plus 20 minutes
INGREDIENTS
Slow Cooker Beef Brisket:
- 2 tablespoons olive oil
- 2 tablespoons apple cider vinegar
- 1 tablespoon liquid hickory smoke
- 1 tablespoon Worcestershire sauce
- 2 tablespoons brown sugar, packed
- 2 tablespoons paprika
- 1½ tablespoons kosher salt
- 1 tablespoon garlic powder
- 1 tablespoon onion powder
- 2 teaspoons ground cumin
- 1 teaspoon coarse ground black pepper
- 1 (3 to 5 pound) beef brisket
Sunshine Slaw:
- 2 cups shredded cabbage slaw blend
- 1 cup thinly sliced red, yellow and orange bell pepper
- ½ cup thinly sliced red onion
- ¼ cup mayonnaise
- 2 tablespoons apple cider vinegar
Brisket Tacos:
- 12 street style (4-inch) flour tortillas, lightly grilled or heated until warm
- ¾ cup smoky BBQ sauce
- ¾ cup crumbled queso fresco
- as needed, fresh lime wedges
- as needed, f7resh cilantro
DIRECTIONS
To prepare slow cooker brisket: combine olive oil, cider vinegar, liquid smoke, Worcestershire and dry seasonings in small bowl and mix to blend. Spread evenly over all sides of beef brisket.
Arrange rubbed brisket, fat side up, in slow cooker. Cook on low for 10 to 12 hours (based on size of brisket).
Preheat broiler. Carefully transfer brisket to sheet pan lined with foil (discard cooking liquid or save for another use). Heat brisket under broiler for 2 to 4 minutes, watching constantly, until surface is bubbly and golden brown and has developed a crispy “bark” on surface; let meat rest for 15 minutes before slicing (or refrigerate if making ahead). Thin slice brisket as needed for tacos. Reserve remaining brisket for another meal.
To prepare slaw: combine all ingredients in large bowl and toss to blend.
To prepare each taco: layer 2 slices beef brisket in center of warm flour tortilla; top with 1 tablespoon BBQ sauce, 1 tablespoon crumbled queso fresco and 2 tablespoons slaw. Garnish taco with cilantro. Serve with a fresh lime wedge.
For quick-and-easy week night taco assembly, use fully cooked smoked brisket purchased from a grocery store or BBQ restaurant in recipe.
Thanks so much for reading Beach Wedding Weekend!
You might also enjoy these other ebooks from Hallmark Publishing:
The Secret Ingredient
Love on Location
A Dash of Love
Love Locks
Moonlight in Vermont
The Perfect Catch
Like Cats and Dogs
Dater’s Handbook
A Country Wedding
Sunrise Cabin
October Kiss
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About the Author
Rachel wrote her first novel when she was twelve and entered it into a contest for young author/illustrators. Unfortunately, the judges weren’t impressed with her stick figures, so she dropped the dream of becoming a world-famous illustrator and stuck to spinning stories. When she’s not busy working on her latest book, she loves to travel with her family and friends. By far, her favorite destination is the beach, which tends to work its way into most of her stories. Between vacations, you can find her at home in The Woodlands, TX with her wonderful husband, their two adventurous kids and a couple of spirited pets.
Turn the Page for a
Sneak Peek of A Down Home Christmas
Chapter One
I should’ve come home before now.
The thought buzzed in Kris Trabeau’s head as his car bumped down the winding drive that led to Trabeau Farms. New potholes and overgrown trees greeted him, causing the guilt he continually stowed in the back of his conscience to rocket to the forefront.
At the very least he should have hired someone years ago to help his aunt. The old homeplace was too big for such a slip of a woman to take care of by herself—especially one with a broken leg.
But he knew his Aunt Tansy well. The fiercely independent woman would have sent whomever he hired on their way before the ink was dry on the check. Which was part of the reason he’d driven almost three hundred miles to Charming, Mississippi. It was beyond time to convince his stubborn aunt to give up on living alone and come live with him in Nashville.
Just as Kris crested the hill that would bring the farmhouse into view, a chicken flapped across the drive.
A chicken wearing a sweater.
“What the—” The words died on his lips as a huge beast loped behind in pursuit of the squawking fowl. A leash trailed behind the dog that seemed single-minded in its pursuit of the chicken.
Next came a barefoot brunette, waving her hands and screaming. “Heel, Edison. I said heel!”
Kris slammed on the brakes, the brand-new Mustang fishtailing before jerking to a halt. The woman’s gaze flew toward him, her mouth dropping open, before she continued her mad dash to apprehend the dog. Kris unbuckled and climbed out of the car. “Whoa, hey, you need help?”
“I got it,” she called back, disappearing down the hill.
Kris lifted his eyebrows and mouthed, Wow.
Then his aunt came limping as fast as her crutches would allow. She wore a track suit circa 1995 and a medical boot around her leg. “Think he’s gonna get my Loretta, does he? Well, he’s got another thing coming, is what he’s got.”
Kris moved then, meeting his aunt who hadn’t seemed to notice he stood in her driveway. “Whoa, now, Aunt Tansy. What’s going on?”
“Oh, sugar, Edison’s after Loretta Lynn again. That dog has taken a fascination with my chickens,” his aunt said, her gaze fastened to the spot where the chicken, dog, and pretty brunette had disappeared. Then she jerked stunned eyes to him. “Wait, Kris? What are you doin’ here?”
“Surprise,” he said, throwing up his hands. “I thought I would visit for the holidays.” Even though I swore I would never come back.
Aunt Tansy closed her mouth and wobbled a little. “For the holidays?”
Here in front of him was the very reason he needed to convince her to make a change. Tansy hobbling ar
ound chasing a dog was dangerous. She could have tripped again and done even greater damage to her healing leg. Or what if she had a heart attack? Heart disease ran in the family. Or someone broke into the house and Aunt Tansy couldn’t get to his great-granddaddy’s shotgun in time? So many horrible things could happen to his closest living relative, things he hadn’t considered until Thad Cumberland, editor of The Charming Gazette, had called his manager and relayed the news that Tansy had fallen, broken her femur, and was in surgery.
The panic at the thought that she could’ve died alone in that house with things still unsettled between them had sent a load of guilt so massive, Kris had trouble breathing. Guest appearances, tours, and promotional opportunities had occupied too much of his time lately, and he’d put his personal life on the back burner—including his Aunt Tansy. He couldn’t put off addressing her situation any longer. Thanks to the new contract, now he could afford to take care of her the way she deserved.
But, of course, he couldn’t tell her his plan just yet.
Tansy’s dark eyes flashed with something that made the guilt he carried wriggle inside him. Tansy had taken him in at ten years old when his parents had died in a plane crash, sending a terrified Kris from the flat plains of Texas to the gentle Mississippi hills. Living at Trabeau Farms with a maiden aunt he’d barely known hadn’t been easy. But Tansy was a determined woman and hadn’t given up on him, even when he threw a brick through the front window of Ozzy Vanderhoot’s Old-Fashioned General Store or when he drank a six-pack and spray-painted a choice directive on the Charming, Mississippi, water tower.
“Well, boy, I’m glad to see you, but I ain’t got time to sit here jawin’ when Edison’s chasing my Loretta. He may not mean harm, but he might scare her to death. Wait here. I’ll be right back,” she said, starting toward the woods to his right.
“Hold up,” he said, taking her by the elbow. She felt too thin. Looked too tired and old. How long had it been since he’d seen her? Three years? Maybe four? “You broke your leg. I’m sure you’re not supposed to be running after chickens.”
“I’m not running after chickens. I’m running after a dog.”
“Let me get the dog…and the chicken,” he said, carefully leading her to a flat patch where she could balance better. She looked so slight a stiff wind could likely blow her over.
Tansy didn’t look satisfied. “You remember how to handle chickens? You’re a fancy city boy now and all.”
“I’m pretty sure I remember how to pick up a chicken,” he said, with a roll of his eyes. Fetching eggs had been one of his jobs growing up. Of course, back then, his aunt hadn’t named her egg producers and dang sure hadn’t dressed them in sweaters.
“I suppose it’s like riding a bicycle,” she conceded.
“Probably. I’ll be back in a sec,” Kris said, before jogging down the slope that led to a wooded copse that held a small creek and good climbing trees. He’d built a fort in those woods when he’d first come to live with Tansy, and the remnants were probably in there somewhere.
He followed the sound of yipping dog and squeaking brunette, pushing through the brush that should have been dead in December but wasn’t. Because it was Mississippi and unusually warm for December. Heck, sometimes they even wore shorts at Christmas.
“Ouch, ouch. Please, Edison. Stop. Stop!” the woman yelled somewhere off to his left.
At that moment, the sweater-wearing chicken flew by Kris’s head and the dog came bounding after it. Kris ducked as the chicken tumbled by, crashing into the underbrush. He snatched the leash that bumped behind the dog, making the beast’s head jerk around when he reached the end of the tether. The huge fluffy dog immediately started yipping at the hapless hen. A few steps behind, the brunette emerged, panting, her curly hair displaying bits of leaf and twigs. With her pointed chin, big gray eyes, and flushed cheeks, she looked a bit like a woodland fairy.
“Oh, thank goodness,” she breathed, pressing a hand against her chest.
Edison, who looked like a cross between a Saint Bernard and Chow Chow, whined and strained at the leash. The chicken’s sweater had caught on a broken limb and the poor thing flapped and squawked. Kris extended the end of the leash to the woman. She took it and jerked her dog back toward her. “Sit, Edison. And hush! You’re scaring Loretta.”
The dog sat, tongue lolling out, panting, eyes still fixed on the Rhode Island Red that flopped about pitifully in the brush. Kris went over to the bird and wondered how in the heck he was going to free the terrified Loretta Lynn without getting pecked to death. He started unbuttoning his flannel shirt.
“What are you doing?” the woman asked, sounding slightly alarmed.
“Trying to calm this chicken down.”
“By taking your shirt off?” Her eyes grew wide as she looked from him to the chicken.
“I’m going to drape it over her so I don’t get pecked. Then I’ll try to free her.”
“Oh,” the woman said, tugging as her beast leapt against the restraint. “Good idea. Birds have a higher visual stimulus and covering her eyes should calm her down.”
Visual stimulus?
He shrugged out of his shirt, glad he’d pulled on an undershirt to ward off the early morning chill when he left Nashville that morning. Then he approached the chicken, who grew even more agitated as he moved toward it. Carefully, he drew his shirt over Loretta, then slid his hands around her now-clothed body, pinning her wings to her sides. The hen went still. “There.”
“Her sweater’s still hung,” the woman said unhelpfully.
“I got it,” he said, pulling the royal blue yarn free from the branch and looking back at the woman and dog. “Why is this chicken wearing a sweater anyway?”
“That’s Loretta Lynn. Miss Tansy’s pet. She likes to knit sweaters for her hens. She got the idea off Pinterest.”
“Pet? She calls them pets?” Kris arched a brow. “And people make clothes for farm animals now?”
“Haven’t you seen the videos of baby goats in pajamas? They’re so cute.” She paused and then shook her head as if she knew she got off track. “For some reason, Edison really likes Loretta. I think it’s because she’s very flappy.”
Kris couldn’t stop his smile. “Flappy?”
“Miss Tansy sometimes gives Edison dog biscuits, and he remembers. So when he gets loose, he comes here. Unfortunately, the chickens intrigue him. Maybe he prefers Loretta because she makes the most noise.”
“That makes sense. He’s a dog, after all,” he said, turning back to the chicken. He carefully lifted and tucked her beneath his arm. The hen, oddly enough, seemed to sink in relief against his side. Poor Loretta Lynn. “There now.”
“I’m so relieved she’s not dead. Miss Tansy would have killed me and Edison.” The woman let out a sigh.
“And who are you exactly?” he asked.
The woman pushed back the hair curling into her eyes and held out her hand. “I’m Tory Odom. I live next door to Tansy.”
“You’re one of the Moffetts?”
“No, I live in the cottage on the other side of Tansy,” she said as he took her hand. It was small and capable-looking, like she could smooth a child’s fevered forehead or hoe a garden equally well.
“Oh, the Howards’ old place?” Last time he’d been home, he’d predicted a strong wind could topple what was left of the Howard place.
“I restored the cottage. It’s really nice now.” Edison took that moment to spring toward the bundle under his arms. She tugged on his leash and pushed him into a sitting position. “And you are?”
“Oh, I’m Kris. Tansy’s nephew.”
“The country music singer?”
Kris felt pride stir inside. He’d waited a long time to be known as a country music singer. Being named CMA’s New Artist of the Year just weeks ago had cemented his position in the country music scene. He’d placed his award
in the center of his mantel and made sure the accent light hit it perfectly. The award was the first of many he’d use to decorate the downtown Nashville loft he’d purchased earlier that year with the royalties on his first album. A Simple Dream had hit big last spring, but it had taken years of sweat, tears, and sore fingers from playing guitar for his dream to come true. He’d hit number one with two songs on his debut album and was in the process of putting together his second one. Of course, he still had to write some songs for it, but they would come. He prayed they would come. So, heck yeah, he was the country music star. “Star is kind of a strong word, but, yeah, I play country music.”
“I didn’t say star.”
She hadn’t said star. She’d said singer. He glanced away so she wouldn’t see that he was embarrassed about the faux pas. He felt really stupid. “Right, right.”
“I don’t really care for country music. You could be a star and I wouldn’t know it,” she said, sounding like she offered an apology.
Her admission embarrassed him even more, and he found he hadn’t a clue what to say to her. Maybe the sweater-bedecked chicken nestled beneath his arm paired with an ego smackdown had something to do with not being able to find the right words.
Or maybe it was the fact he’d not been able to find the words for the last few months.
And that was what worried him most.
Tory Odom was at her very essence a scientist, so she knew Kris Trabeau was exactly the sort of test subject that behavioral researchers would use to gauge the concept of attractiveness. People were more apt to trust others with symmetrical features as an indicator of being attractive. The man in front of her fit the description. Not only were his features symmetrical, but he also had broad shoulders, shaggy dark hair, and a scruffy beard. Normally she didn’t care for a rough-around-the-edges look, but somehow it worked for this country music singer.