The Twin

Chapter One

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.

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.”