Page 2 of Cowboys & Hot Sauce
MeeMaw nodded, eyes revealing nothing. "Well, I'm meeting with Bethany Sue on Sunday after the festival wraps up. She's bringing paperwork." Heading for the door, she paused. "Your display looks nice. You always did have a knack for making things pretty."
That double-edged compliment hung in the air as she stepped into the Texas heat, leaving a sinking weight in my chest. Sunday. Three days to prove I was worthy of Smokin' Lurline's—the legacy I'd only realized I wanted now I was in danger of losing it.
Taking a deep breath scented with cinnamon from the nearby bakery, I forced back the panic. I could do this. Win the hot sauce competition. Show MeeMaw that Scarlet's Inferno wasn't just a whim but a sustainable business. Prove toSweetwater that I’d changed, and I wasn'tthat wild Landry girlanymore.
Stepping outside to finish setting up my outdoor area, voices drifted over from the neighboring booth.
"...and Melissa called to say they're expecting another girl. Three daughters! Brad's beside himself," said a woman with a laugh sweet as artificial sweetener.
"Well, at least Melissa settled down proper," replied another, judgment dripping from every syllable. "Unlike some in that family."
Arranging sample cups with more force than necessary, my ears burned red as my food truck's paint job.
"Have you seen? Scarlet's back in town for the festival with her latest dog-and-pony show. Lurline must be at her wit's end."
"Poor woman. All those grandkids, and not one interested in taking over that BBQ place. Tyson's got his banking job, Melissa's busy with her family, and Scarlet... well, you remember what she was like."
"Rowdy as a mustang on open range. Remember when she nearly burned down Lurline’s place with those culinary experiments?"
Their cackles floated over the booth divider. My chest tightened with each word.
"Bethany Sue Walker's looking to buy the grill. Reckon it might be for the best. Can't see Lurline leaving it to somebody who might just up and disappear again when the mood strikes."
Standing up straight, I walked around to the neighboring tent where Mrs. Thornton and Mrs. Dalton froze in identical masks of embarrassment.
"Mrs. Thornton. Mrs. Dalton." Recognition flashed as I spotted my former Sunday school teacher and the local flowershop owner. "Nice to see you both again. Stop by for samples later—on the house. Y'all could use something to spice up your afternoon besides other folks' business."
Their mumbled apologies trailed behind them as they scurried away.Nobody left in the family she can rely on. The words echoed as I returned to my setup.
By early afternoon, my booth gleamed with readiness—menu board displayed with my distinctive swirling handwriting, sample station arranged in a vibrant color spectrum, kitchen prepped. I'd hung strings of tiny pepper lights around the serving window and positioned my vintage hot sauce collection where customers could admire it.
The festival wouldn't officially open until four, giving me just enough time to check in with the vendor coordinator. Making my way across the fairgrounds, August heat shimmered off the pavement. Mrs. Naylor arranged turquoise jewelry at her booth while Mr. York assembled his famous popcorn stand. The Josey twins struggled with a crooked banner for their face-painting service. Pure Sweetwater—familiar, slightly chaotic, and complicated in the way only hometowns can be.
I spotted Burke Tate at the information booth, checking in vendors under the merciless August sun. He wore a faded blue T-shirt with the Tate & Sons logo, his brown cowboy hat tipped low against the glare. The years since high school had filled out his frame, turning the lanky math tutor I remembered into a man who looked like he could haul hay bales without breaking a sweat.
"Look who drew the short straw on committee duty," I called as I approached.
Burke looked up, and for a moment, genuine pleasure lit his green eyes. "Scarlet Landry," he said, his voice warming as he took me in. "Heard you were back with that food truck of yours."
"In the flesh," I said, leaning against the counter and wiping sweat from my neck. "Looks like they suckered you into organizing this year?"
"Somebody's got to keep things running," he said with a half-smile that caught me off guard. Burke had never been the expressive type in high school. "Though Rhett was supposed to be helping with all this."
"Let me guess—he's busy charming the ladies instead of working?" I asked.
Burke rolled his eyes. "Claimed he needed to 'coordinate' with the refreshment vendors. Last I saw, he was helping Didi DiSanto set up her lemonade stand. Funny how he never offers that kind of service when the ranch fences need fixing."
"Classic Rhett," I laughed. "Always finding the prettiest girl in the room to help."
"And somehow never getting in trouble for it." There was an ease to his voice I didn't remember, a confidence that made my stomach do an unexpected flip.
In high school, while his brothers were winning blue ribbons at 4-H shows, Burke had helped me through algebra when I'd skipped too many classes. I'd never given much thought to how he'd grown up until now—seeing how the years had broadened his shoulders and added a touch of stubble along his jaw that he hadn't had at seventeen.
"So you're really back in Sweetwater?" he asked, his eyes studying me with interest.
"For good, hopefully," I said, surprising myself with how easily I opened up. "I'm actually hoping to take over Smokin' Lurline's. MeeMaw's thinking of retiring."
His eyebrows raised slightly. "Retiring? That's hard to imagine."
