Ten-thirty on Monday night, and it was past closing time at
Texas Chili Witches Café. Sunny Payton closed out the
register while the late staff, dressed in their jeans and
red Chili Witches T-shirts, bussed the tables and cleaned
the kitchen. Coming off a twelve-hour shift, she was bone
tired, her feet ached and she was ready to go upstairs and
soak in an herbal-scented bath for about a week and a half.
After she stowed the receipts in the office safe, she let
her employees out the back door, calling good-night and
seeing they all got in their cars safely.
"Jeff, I want to hear that you aced your chem test,"
she said to a tall, lanky blond.
He grinned. "You're as bad as my mama."
"Worse," she said, grinning back. "A million
times worse."
Most of the staff were students from the University of
Texas, working flex hours to pay for those cars or buy
books, which were outrageous these days, even more costly
than when she was in school nearly a dozen years ago. The
cooks had left earlier, one of the perks of their job. The
students came and went, but the cooks and a couple of others
were longtime employees. Many of them had worked for her
mother and Aunt Min when they ran the place.
Sunny checked the kitchen, then made a last trip through the
two dining areas with the scarred, red-topped tables and
rough cedar walls filled with Texas memorabilia, funny signs
and assorted collectibles. The kitschy wall decor was
swapped out occasionally, and the computer and register were
state-of-the-art, but not much else had changed for as long
as she could remember.
She was reaching for the light switch when she saw him.
Her heart lurched as it always did. He sat at his usual
corner table, a cup of coffee near his hand.
"Hello, Senator."
"Hello, Sunny." He smiled. "Busy day?"
She nodded and sat down beside him. "Very. We had a
little cold snap today, and everybody in Austin was in the
mood for chili. It's supposed to be back up to ninety by the
weekend, so things will be manageable again. I haven't seen
you for a while."
He smiled. "Miss me?"
"I always miss you, Senator."
"How's your sister?"
"Cass is settling in and doing well. It's good to have
her home. Now she and I can share the work, and Mom has
finally been able to retire completely."
"That's good. I'll have to drop in on Cassidy."
Sunny laughed. "You do, and you'll scare the pants off
her."
He smiled. "It's good to hear you laugh again."
"Oh, I laugh a lot these days."
"Glad to hear it. Maybe now you're ready to meet a
special fellow."
She shook her head. "I already did. Brian. He was
special. I don't need anyone else." And she didn't.
Brian was the love of her life. When he'd died, a part of
her had died, as well.
"Honey, it's been three years since—"
"Sunny!" her sister yelled from the back.
"Sounds like Cassidy," the Senator said, tenderness
filling his eyes.
"Ignore her." Sunny absently reached to touch his
arm. As usual, her hand only touched the table.
"Your sister is tough to ignore."
"Who are you talking to?" Cassidy asked as she
charged into the room.
"The Senator."
Cass rolled her eyes. "Oh, gawd! Not that again. I just
got home from the play and decided I want a beer." She
walked behind the small bar and grabbed a mug. "Want
one?"
"You know I hate beer."
Cass drew a draft and joined Sunny at the table.
"How was the play?"
"Fantastic!"
"How was the date?"
"Abysmal. He had an ego the size of Texas and a brain
the size of Rhode Island. If I ever agree to another blind
date, tie me to a chair."
Sunny laughed and glanced toward the Senator.
He was gone.
And so was his cup.
Wonder what had prompted his visit? With him, one never knew.
At noon on Wednesday, Sunny was helping clear a couple of
empty tables when she spotted two very tall guys hanging
their white ten-gallons on the hat rack by the door. When
they turned around, she sucked in a little gasp—and
she rarely did that, but these two were unusually
good-looking men. Texas Rangers by the looks of the silver
badges on their dress shirts and the narrowed cop eyes that
quickly scanned the room.
As she approached, the dark-haired one grinned and said,
"Boy howdy, it smells good in here."
The sandy-haired one only smiled slightly, dipped his head
and stared at her with the greenest eyes she'd ever seen.
Taken aback by their color and the intensity of his look, an
odd feeling flashed over her.
She forced herself to break eye contact. "And everything
tastes as good as it smells. First time at Chili Witches?"
"Yes, ma'am," the dark-haired one said, "but I
'spect it won't be the last if your chili is as good as I've
heard it is."
"Count on it," Sunny said. "It's an old family
recipe we've been making here for over forty years. We have
mild, medium and 'hotter than hell,' as well as a vegetarian
version. Don't try the 'hotter than hell' unless you have a
well-seasoned mouth and a cast-iron belly. Grab any table
that suits you. The one in the corner is free."
The men looked at each other. "Anywhere you want is fine
with me," the sandy-haired one said. "You like to
keep your back to the wall, Outlaw?"
"You betcha."
The men started for the corner table, but Sunny stopped in
her tracks. Outlaw? It was not a common name, but
not that unusual, either. Although she rarely heard it. Was
it possible…? Nah.
She followed them to the table as they sat down. Picking up
two menus wedged between the sugar dispenser and a black
minicaldron of saltine packets, she handed them to the
Rangers. "Your server will be with you in a minute. May
I get you something to drink?"
"Iced tea would be mighty nice," the dark-haired one
said. He was a charmer. A married charmer by the looks of
his shiny gold ring.
"Iced tea for me, too," said Green Eyes as he gave
her the once-over.
His left hand was bare. Not that his marital state mattered
to Sunny one way or another. She wasn't in the market for a
man. But she had to admit his slow perusal revved her motor
just a little. Just her pesky hormones acting up, she
decided as she hurried to the drink station. She ignored the
ominous tingle rising along her spine, the one that usually
warned of some momentous or unusual happening.
The Senator suddenly materialized behind the bar.
"Mighty nice-looking young fellow," he said.
"Which one?" she asked, being careful to keep her
back to the room.
"Both of them, but I was thinking of the green-eyed one
for you."
She made a snort. "Forget that," she muttered out of
the side of her mouth. "Don't meddle in my love life."
He smiled. "What love life?"
When she headed back to the table with their tea, the one
called Outlaw was staring at her and frowning.
"Is something wrong?" Sunny asked.
"No, no. Everything's just fine, but I'm trying to
remember where I know you from. Have we met before?"
"I don't think so," Sunny said.
"You sure look familiar."
"Maybe I just have one of those faces." She ought to
let it drop and leave, but a funny little feeling tickled
the back of her neck. She just had to ask. "Did I hear
you're called Outlaw?"
"Yes, ma'am," he said. "Sam Bass Outlaw at your
service."
What felt like a five-pound rock hit her stomach and
bounced. "Sam Bass Outlaw?"
"That's me. My granddaddy was big on all his descendants
having the names of famous outlaws. He claimed it was good
name recognition for anyone in business or politics—or
law enforcement. I've got three brothers and a sister all
named for shady characters and all in some kind of law
enforcement— except my sister, and she used to be an
FBI agent before she quit and bought a newspaper. There's
Cole Younger Outlaw, Jesse James Outlaw, Frank James Outlaw,
and Belle Starr Outlaw. My daddy was John Wesley Hardin
Outlaw, and his brother was—"
"Butch Cassidy Outlaw," Sunny finished before she
could stop herself.
Sam's eyebrows went up. "How'd you know that?"
She sighed. Had the Senator engineered this whole thing?
"My name is Sunny Outlaw Payton—or more
accurately, Sundance Outlaw Payton. Butch Cassidy Outlaw was
my father."
Sam looked puzzled. "But Uncle Butch and his—"
"I know. But he was my father."
"Are you sure?"
"Very."
She turned and hurried away.
"What was that all about?" Ben McKee asked Sam.
"I'm not quite sure, but I think I just met my cousin.
Now I remember why she looks familiar. She reminds me of my
sister, Belle. Both tall, brunette. Same eyes. Same nose.
Well, I'll be damned."
"And you never knew you had a cousin?"
"Nope, not by Uncle Butch. I don't even remember him,
but I know he and Aunt Iris never had children."
"Aunt Iris?"
"His wife in Naconiche. I never liked her much. She was
a sour-faced old prune who put the fear of God into us kids
if we so much as spilled a cookie crumb on her settee. I
hated to go visit her."
"I take it your uncle is dead," Ben said.
Sam nodded. "Somebody shot him thirty years ago. Right
on the steps of the capitol building. Be funny if it was
Aunt Iris. Well, not funny, but ironic."
"They didn't catch his killer?"
"Nope. Never did."
"She's a beautiful woman," Ben said.
"Who?"
"Your cousin."
"You interested?" Sam asked.
"Oh, yeah."
"Me, too," Sam said. "But in a different way
than you are. I've got to call my folks. They're not going
to believe this."
"I don't imagine your aunt Iris is going to be happy
about it."
"Aunt Iris is long gone."
"Dead?"
"May be, for all I know. She married a preacher about
fifteen or twenty years ago and moved to Des Moines. We
haven't heard from her since. Not even a Christmas card."
Their chili came, served by the young man who was their
waiter. He also delivered a cauldron of the oyster crackers
they'd ordered along with chopped onions and a couple of
kinds of grated cheese. They both dug in. This was good
chili. No, it was great chili. But hot. Real hot.
"Are you sure we ordered the medium?" Ben asked.
"Hoo-wee," Sam said, "this stuff is hotter than
a three-dollar pistol. But good. I'll bet the hottest kind
would blister the paint off a butane tank. Dump some of
those oyster crackers in it. And some of that cheese. Cuts
down on the fire."
Ben doctored up his bowl and ate the whole thing. His
forehead was a little damp when he finished, but he'd
enjoyed it. A girl came by and refilled their iced tea
glasses. He chugged the second glass and looked around for
Sunny, but she still hadn't reappeared. Where had she gone?
Sam must have read his mind. "Wonder where Sunny ran off
to?"
Ben shrugged. "I was wondering the same thing."
When the waiter came to get dessert orders, Sam asked him
about Sunny.
"She must be in the office."
"The office? She the manager?" Ben asked.
"Owner and manager. One of them. How about some peach
cobbler with ice cream? Or pecan pie?"
They both ordered cobbler.
"How long has Sunny been the owner and manager of this
place?" Sam asked the waiter before he could leave.
"Couple of years, I think. She took over from her mother
and her aunt before I started working here."
"From her mother?"
The waiter nodded. "Her mother and aunt started the
café. My grandfather says he's been coming here since it
opened back in the seventies. That was way before Austin
built up so much downtown. I'll get your cobbler."
Sunny sat in her office for a long time, staring out the
window at the courtyard and fighting the urge to go back and
ask Sam Bass Outlaw about his family. Her family. Her family
and Cassidy's. She'd always longed to meet them, but her
mother would have been mortified if she'd tried. Probably
still would be.
Should she tell Cass who had just dropped into Chili
Witches? Knowing her twin, Cass would go charging to his
table and demand answers. She picked up the phone to call
upstairs, then put it back down again.
Maybe it was best to let sleeping dogs lie.
A couple of days later, Ben McKee managed to shake loose
from a case he'd been working on by lunchtime. He'd had a
hankering for some more chili ever since he and Sam had
visited Chili Witches. He'd had a hankering to see Sunny
again, as well. She was a good-looking woman with a warm
smile, and he'd been thinking about her a good bit. He
hadn't been in Austin long and hadn't had much time to meet
any ladies.
Oh, his sister Tracy had been trying to fix him up with this
one and that, but he'd sidestepped her efforts at
matchmaking. He wasn't interested in the type of women she
wanted to introduce him to—the picket fence and
happily-ever-after kind. He'd tried that, and he was still
paying the price for it. Only thing good that had come from
his marriage was his son, Jay.
He grinned at the thought of his five-year-old towhead as he
pulled into a parking spot by the café. God, he loved that
little boy. No way in hell was his ex getting her hands on
him again. Marla had never wanted Jay; she was a party girl
and having a kid cramped her style. Having a husband had
cramped it, too.
Ben spotted Sunny the moment he walked in the door. Her back
was to him, but he'd recognize the curve of her jeans
anywhere. When she turned and spotted him, she grinned.