company?”
“Shore is,” Sheriff Winslow said. “Buildin’s goin’ up right next to Jones’s Garage.”
“No kiddin’.” Billy tipped his head. “And just what kind of business is it?”
The townsfolk glanced at each other with confused looks until Kenny’s best friend, Rye Pickett, spoke up.
“I think it has somethin’ to do with choppers.”
“Like them choppers on QVC that dice onions without tears?” Rachel Dean asked. “Because I bought one of those things once, and it don’t work a’tall—I still bawl my eyes out.”
“Not those kind of choppers, woman,” Rossie Owens, the owner of Bootlegger’s Bar, enlightened Rachel.“We’re talkin’ the kind of motorcycles with the long forks and big handlebars—Desperado Customs is what Colt calls it.”
The name took Billy by surprise. Anyone with any interest in motorcycles knew of Desperado Customs. It wasn’t a fly-by-night operation. Desperado made custom bikes for the rich and famous. A business like that would employ a number of people.
He shook his head. “C-Corp. A new motorcycle shop. Pretty soon Bramble will be as big as Houston, and I’ll have to find another small town to do my huntin’ and fishin’ in.”
A concerned look entered the eyes of the townspeople before the mayor spoke up. “Now I wouldn’t go that far, Bubba. A few new businesses won’t turn us into a big city.”
“A few?”
Harley nodded. “Colt and Hope think we need a few more if we want to have enough jobs to support our town. ’Course they haven’t had much time to pursue other companies, what with little Daffodil’s birth and all.”
“Cutest thing you’ve ever seen,” Twyla gushed.
Rachel shot her a shocked look. “Cuter than our little Daisy? Why, shame on you, Twyla. You know full well that Faith and Slate’s baby is just as cute as Colt and Hope’s. In fact, they look as identical as Faith and Hope do.”
While Twyla looked duly chastised, Billy tried to steer the conversation back to the subject he was most interested in.
Pulling his hat off, he scratched his head. “I guess I’m just a dumb ol’ country boy, but I don’t quite understandwhy y’all need other businesses when C-Corp took over Dalton Oil?”
Harley grinned at Billy as if it
was
the stupidest question he’d ever heard. “Because Colt and Hope don’t think we should have all our eggs in one basket—or depend on oil to keep Bramble afloat.”
Billy snorted. “Not depend on oil?” He held up a hand. “Now, I don’t mean to be puttin’ my nose into other people’s business, but isn’t askin’ Texans not to depend on oil a little like askin’ a kite not to depend on the wind?” He shrugged. “I mean, isn’t crude what Texas was built on?”
A multitude of eyes squinted in thought until finally Harley spoke up.
“Bubba’s right. Why are we lookin’ elsewhere when we’ve got plenty of oil right in our own backyard?”
Rachel Dean nodded. “Oil has sure done right by us.”
“Shore has,” the sheriff agreed.
“Well, there she goes,” Kenny said, drawing everyone’s gaze back to the window as the rental SUV drove past with Shirlene and the pig sitting in the passenger’s seat.
“You want me to do a background check, mayor?” Sheriff Winslow asked. “The man could have a record.”
“No foolin’,” Kenny Gene said. “If I’da known that, I’da asked for his autograph. ’Course, they ain’t called records no more, Sam. They’re called CDs.”
The sheriff looked completely exasperated. “Damn, son, if you want the position as my on-call deputy, you’re gonna have to use that brain God gave you. I’m not talkin’ about a music record. I’m talkin’ about a criminal record—a legal document that lists every offense a person has.” He looked over at the mayor. “Or I could bring him in for questioning?”
Harley shook his head. “No, let’s wait and see what the man’s up to first. But we’ll need to keep a close eye on
“Shore is,” Sheriff Winslow said. “Buildin’s goin’ up right next to Jones’s Garage.”
“No kiddin’.” Billy tipped his head. “And just what kind of business is it?”
The townsfolk glanced at each other with confused looks until Kenny’s best friend, Rye Pickett, spoke up.
“I think it has somethin’ to do with choppers.”
“Like them choppers on QVC that dice onions without tears?” Rachel Dean asked. “Because I bought one of those things once, and it don’t work a’tall—I still bawl my eyes out.”
“Not those kind of choppers, woman,” Rossie Owens, the owner of Bootlegger’s Bar, enlightened Rachel.“We’re talkin’ the kind of motorcycles with the long forks and big handlebars—Desperado Customs is what Colt calls it.”
The name took Billy by surprise. Anyone with any interest in motorcycles knew of Desperado Customs. It wasn’t a fly-by-night operation. Desperado made custom bikes for the rich and famous. A business like that would employ a number of people.
He shook his head. “C-Corp. A new motorcycle shop. Pretty soon Bramble will be as big as Houston, and I’ll have to find another small town to do my huntin’ and fishin’ in.”
A concerned look entered the eyes of the townspeople before the mayor spoke up. “Now I wouldn’t go that far, Bubba. A few new businesses won’t turn us into a big city.”
“A few?”
Harley nodded. “Colt and Hope think we need a few more if we want to have enough jobs to support our town. ’Course they haven’t had much time to pursue other companies, what with little Daffodil’s birth and all.”
“Cutest thing you’ve ever seen,” Twyla gushed.
Rachel shot her a shocked look. “Cuter than our little Daisy? Why, shame on you, Twyla. You know full well that Faith and Slate’s baby is just as cute as Colt and Hope’s. In fact, they look as identical as Faith and Hope do.”
While Twyla looked duly chastised, Billy tried to steer the conversation back to the subject he was most interested in.
Pulling his hat off, he scratched his head. “I guess I’m just a dumb ol’ country boy, but I don’t quite understandwhy y’all need other businesses when C-Corp took over Dalton Oil?”
Harley grinned at Billy as if it
was
the stupidest question he’d ever heard. “Because Colt and Hope don’t think we should have all our eggs in one basket—or depend on oil to keep Bramble afloat.”
Billy snorted. “Not depend on oil?” He held up a hand. “Now, I don’t mean to be puttin’ my nose into other people’s business, but isn’t askin’ Texans not to depend on oil a little like askin’ a kite not to depend on the wind?” He shrugged. “I mean, isn’t crude what Texas was built on?”
A multitude of eyes squinted in thought until finally Harley spoke up.
“Bubba’s right. Why are we lookin’ elsewhere when we’ve got plenty of oil right in our own backyard?”
Rachel Dean nodded. “Oil has sure done right by us.”
“Shore has,” the sheriff agreed.
“Well, there she goes,” Kenny said, drawing everyone’s gaze back to the window as the rental SUV drove past with Shirlene and the pig sitting in the passenger’s seat.
“You want me to do a background check, mayor?” Sheriff Winslow asked. “The man could have a record.”
“No foolin’,” Kenny Gene said. “If I’da known that, I’da asked for his autograph. ’Course, they ain’t called records no more, Sam. They’re called CDs.”
The sheriff looked completely exasperated. “Damn, son, if you want the position as my on-call deputy, you’re gonna have to use that brain God gave you. I’m not talkin’ about a music record. I’m talkin’ about a criminal record—a legal document that lists every offense a person has.” He looked over at the mayor. “Or I could bring him in for questioning?”
Harley shook his head. “No, let’s wait and see what the man’s up to first. But we’ll need to keep a close eye on
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