One Thanksgiving in Lusty, Texas by Cara Covington (rosie project TXT) 📕

I’ve known you, and that’s going a long way back. Once you nail it all down in your mind, I know you’ll be good to go.”

“This city does have a long history, but it has a lot of building going on. A lot of…growth. That has to reflect money being available to be invested, right?”

“It does, indeed. I’ve been scoping out a few names. I’ve got a list of candidates—most of them are widows, of both genders. There’re a couple of people our age, too. They’ve got money and show up in the papers for living the life of playboys. One in particular, his parents have threatened to cut him off. Maybe he’d be interested in a way to make his own fortune.”

“I can work with that. And with the widows, too. The secret is finding out what it is they want. That’s the secret right there, you know? A lot of people look good on the outside, they look successful and all, but on the inside, they’re lonely. And they want someone to listen to them. To listen and understand and then to help them get what they need, what they want.”

Gary had that look in his eyes, one that told Scooter he was already submersing himself in his “character.” Scooter wouldn’t be surprised if that had been his pal’s coping tool as soon as he was old enough to understand he needed one.

I only scam people because it’s easy and I’m lazy. Gary scams because playing the con lets the creative part of him be free. He can be anyone doing anything, a man of his own creation. Scooter shook his head. He didn’t often think things like that. But he and Gary had been partners for a long time, now. When you spend more than a couple of decades with someone, surviving with them, living with them, working with them, the experience sinks into your head.

At least it had sunk into Scooter’s.

“Okay, what do we do next, Scooter?”

“I say we head out to lunch. Let’s pick a nice little restaurant—not too rich but not a burger joint. We’ll be the newly arrived salesmen from ‘out east.’ We’ll make positive comments about how nice this city is, how clean—all the positive things we listed the other day. We’ll be amiable, and we’ll be engaging.”

The moment they headed out they’d no longer be Scooter and Gary, grifters. They’d be a couple of regional representatives of a national organization, hoping that this move would be permanent. They’d talk about settling in, settling down, and becoming a part of the community.

“That works for me. I’m hoping whichever place we choose has that chicken fried steak. Never had it before last week, but man, it was good!”

Scooter clapped his best friend, his partner, on the back. The two of them really had a lot in common. They were only different in the details. “I could go for an order of that myself.”

 

Chapter Eleven

Her men had come home a few minutes before, and now they were sitting down to supper. She was curious to see what they thought of the taco soup she’d made. Maria had told her it was one of their favorites, but that she thought they both liked less cilantro and more black olives than the way she made it for her husbands.

Her mother-in-law had also mentioned that, despite their always complimenting her and eating every drop, she suspected they preferred their soup a little less “hot.” Pamela wasn’t a fan of cilantro, nor could she get her taste buds to accept very much “hot,” so she’d eliminated the first altogether and cut the chilies called for in the recipe in half.

Before they started eating, Adam said, “Joan brought her boy in about an hour before the end of the day. He’d been running outside, tripped and fallen—landing on a small rock. Put a gash in his forehead.”

“Oh, no! Poor little guy. He’s all right, isn’t he? Joan must have been beside herself!” She’d been invited by Joan for tea the week before and had taken some muffins, which little Gordy had devoured.

“He’ll be fine, sweetheart,” James said. “It was a small cut but, being on his forehead, quite messy. Those kinds of injuries can be tricky, too. Adam and I took care of the medical end of things, suturing the cut. Uncle Terrence explained to his son and daughter-in-law the signs of trouble to watch for. The boy probably won’t be concussed, but you never know with wee ones. Of course, I told them to call us if they have any concerns, but I would guess they’ll call Terrence instead.”

“I’ll pop over there tomorrow and take some of my cornbread muffins. Little Gordy really likes those.” Pamela had been planning to go to her mother-in-law’s for lunch—the latest planning session of the Lusty Ladies’ coffee clutch. Of course, she thought of it as such, because she felt a little reluctant to tell her men exactly what the purpose of the group’s getting together so regularly truly was.

It had astounded her, a month before, when she’d learned the extent to which the grandmothers were willing to go in order to find some justice for her father.

Apparently, they had connections all over, even some in New York City. They’d hired a private investigator whose office was in Manhattan! The first report from him was due today, and that was to be the business portion of the get-together tomorrow—to hear that report and to decide their next steps.

Now she’d just head over to Joan’s, first.

“My goodness, baby. Whatever you did to this recipe, please, keep doing it!” Adam sighed as he spooned another mouthful of her taco soup.

James followed suit, and his smile spoke volumes.

“Mother puts a lot more heat in hers, and something else we don’t really care for,” James said. “But…” He shrugged.

“But you didn’t want to tell her you don’t really care for it. You’re both good sons.” All of which Maria knew, which was why she’d more or