The Twin. Jan HudsonЧитать онлайн книгу.
“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.
Chapter Two
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