We’re about the same size. Wear my kitty T!
A blue head caught Alice’s attention. Carmen was darting in and out of all the tables, and when she spotted Alice, she headed right over.
She poured coffee in Alice’s cup and plopped into the other chair. “Good morning, roomie. I fell asleep before you got back to the room, and you were in a coma when I woke up.”
“Not quite a coma, but I did finally fall asleep. And, erm, thanks for the clothes?”
Carmen grinned. “You look cute.”
That was doubtful. “Did the energy drink work?”
“Who knows? I spilled it all over your dress.” She pointed at her head. “Raging headache.”
Carmen looked great, as usual. Her hair was spiked up. She had on makeup, jewelry, and her signature classic white chef’s jacket, monogrammed with a dark blue B, for Bleu, over ripped jeans with rhinestones on the back pockets. You’d never know she was hungover.
Alice had never been hungover. She had no desire to dehydrate her body, irritate her digestive tract, or cause her electrolytes to go out of whack, just to shed a few inhibitions. She was fond of many things, and her inhibitions ranked right up there with a good book and a snuggly cat.
“Well?” Carmen said. “How did the confrontation go?”
Alice poured some cream in her coffee. She doubted Beau Montgomery cared if anyone knew the noise had been coming from his room, but she wasn’t one to participate in gossip. In fact, she hated it. And it was something small towns were particularly skilled at.
“Let’s just say—”
“Dang it,” Carmen said, standing up. “I’m being summoned by the hostess. You’ll have to tell me later. Are you doing the buffet?”
“That’s my plan.”
Carmen gave her a thumbs-up. “There’s good stuff on it this morning.”
Alice didn’t doubt it, and her mouth watered as she stood and headed for the spread, where she loaded her plate with a freshly baked croissant, a slice of German sausage quiche, and select pieces of cheese and fruit. When she looked up, Maggie Blake and Claire Kowalski were waving and pointing to an empty chair at their table. Their husbands, Travis and Ford, both smiled. Ford, who held baby Rosa, was the manager of Claire’s family’s ranch, Rancho Cañada Verde. Despite the bags beneath his eyes, parenthood looked good on him, and Alice smiled back and waved. Then she had the horrible thought that maybe they’d been waving at someone else. She briefly looked over her shoulder before sighing in relief.
Of course they were waving at her.
She collected her book, keys, and cup of coffee from her little table and then joined the group.
“Have a seat,” Maggie said, pulling out a chair.
Maggie’s short blond hair was a mess, her eyes were bloodshot, and she clutched a michelada in her small hand as if her life depended on it. A michelada was similar to a Bloody Mary, and paired with menudo, it was a popular hangover remedy in Big Verde.
“These are not as good as the ones you make,” Maggie whispered. “They need more lime juice. Also, I’m digging your outfit.”
Alice yanked on the shirt again. “I borrowed these clothes from Carmen.”
“Well, you look cute! Great legs. Awesome butt. And you’re pretty in pink.”
That was the first time anyone had said she had an awesome butt. “Thanks. And don’t let Carmen hear you criticize her micheladas.”
Alice did make killer micheladas. They were popular at book club.
“What’s wrong with my micheladas?” Carmen asked, swinging by their table with a coffeepot.
Maggie shrugged uncomfortably. “They need more lime juice. You should get Alice’s recipe. Hers are the best.”
Carmen put a hand on her hip. “Oh? How much lime juice per pitcher?”
“I’d say two limes, if they’re juicy,” Alice said. “Three if they’re not.”
“I’m still getting used to the ways of Big Verde,” Carmen said. “None of my other restaurants offer hair of the dog selections on the menus.”
Carmen’s flagship restaurant was in Houston. The other was in Las Vegas. Both were named La Casa Bleu, and both were booked solid with reservations months in advance. And yet here Carmen was, holding a pot of coffee in Big Verde.
She looked at Maggie’s husband, Travis. “How’s the menudo?”
“Almost as good as Lupe’s,” Travis said.
Travis and Maggie owned Happy Trails Ranch, a small family ranch that sold directly to consumers. Lupe Garza handled shipping and booked their tours and field trips. From what Alice could tell, she was like a member of their family.
“Almost as good?” Carmen asked. “I think I need to get some hometown recipes. You locals have all the secrets.”
Maggie eyed her bowl before pushing it away. “I know it’s supposed to cure a hangover, but I’ve never been able to eat menudo. I shouldn’t have ordered it.”
Claire Kowalski held up a buttered croissant and said, “Menudo is just one of the many reasons I rarely eat meat.”
Trista Larson showed up at the table, followed by her husband, Bubba. “I can’t eat menudo. I’ve never cared much for tripe.” She wrinkled her delicate freckled nose. “Texture issues.”
Tripe was the stomach lining of a cow, and it was the main ingredient in menudo. Alice didn’t much care for it, either.
Bubba held two plates, piled high with sausage links and bacon. “You have to have the stomach for stomach, which I do,” he said. “Can I have a bowl, Carmen?”
“And do y’all have room for two more at this table?” Trista asked.
“You have the stomach for literally everything,” Travis said. “Let’s pull that table over,” he added, pointing to a newly cleared table for two.
While Bubba and Trista got settled, Travis smacked his lips. “Time to doctor this bad boy up,” he said, gazing at his bowl. He took a pinch of dried oregano from a nearby condiment bowl and followed it up with cilantro and a spoonful of raw onions and jalapeños.
Maggie made a face. “With all
