I know I sound like a broken record, but thank you for your continued support. I appreciate it and need it. And thank you for giving the story a try.
Standard disclaimer.
As Mercedes drove to the hotel, uncertainty plagued her.
She stepped out of the rental and marched purposefully, with a bout of uneasiness, up the steps of the Texas Lily.
At the elegant stained-glass front doors, she rang the bell and waited. And waited. Then she resorted to pounding.
She wasn't going to be treated shabbily by that rascal.
"Sam Evans, I know you're in there. Open this door immediately!" she shouted and pounded some more.
The door opened, and the elderly Hispanic maid, she'd seen the night before asked,
"Yes?" Mercedes mustered as much dignity as she could, considering she was huffing and puffing from her exertion.
"I'm here to see Mr. Sam Evans."
"He don't usually see visitors this early in the morning, Miss."
"I'm not surprised. I assume he's sleeping off a hangover?"
"No ma'am. He's in the kitchen."
"Okay. Then, direct me to the kitchen, please," Mercedes said.
"Certainly."
The delicious scent of strong coffee and frying ham, assaulted Mercedes' nose, as she marched towards the kitchen, behind the elderly lady.
It was a spacious kitchen, and as she entered, the scene before her caused her to stop short.
Seven beautiful, but sleepy-looking young women, in various stages of dress...or undress, sat around a big table, waiting patiently it seemed, for breakfast.
Sam Evans, needing a shave and in a wife beater, worse yet, wearing an apron, stood at the stove, cooking. 'Sexy,' her thoughts immediately screamed. She shook her head, just as he turned and grinned.
"Mornin' Miss Jones. Would you like some breakfast? I cook on Sunday, sometimes."
"He's great at flapjacks," the blonde from the night before, volunteered, then lit a cigarette.
"No thank you. I've had breakfast. Mr. Evans, we need to talk…"
"Well, I haven't, so you'll have to wait. Carmen, get the lady some coffee." Mercedes wasn't about to accept any hospitality from this rascal.
"Thank you, but I'm here on business…"
"You might as well have a cup," the maid said. And then, "Mr. Sam is right stubborn."
Stubborn? She'd show him stubborn. His charm won't work on a Jones descendant.
She accepted the coffee, however, and stood there awkwardly.
"Sit down," he ordered, gesturing towards the table, but all of a sudden, the girls didn't look too friendly.
"Thank you, but I prefer to stand."
"Suit yourself."
He shrugged and returned to his cooking.
Sam had pots boiling and ham frying, along with his flapjacks. He looked at home in the kitchen, Mercedes could tell he knew what he was doing.
She didn't know what to say, but she didn't want to stand there, just so.
"I didn't expect you to be a cook," she broached.
"It's just one of my many talents," the rascal said, winking at her. And the girls around the table giggled.
"I like to keep my hand in…I learned a lot in New Orleans and where I'm from, Tennessee. All the days, except for Sundays, the kitchen belongs to Carmen."
She watched him dish up food.
Something in a big bowl, looked like mush.
"What in the name of goodness is that?" she asked, pointing to said bowl.
"Grits," he grinned. "You know you're in east Texas, when they serve you grits with your eggs. In north Texas, it's more likely to be fried potatoes and along the Mexican border and west Texas, it'll be beans and tortillas. Want some?"
"I said, I already had breakfast," she answered frostily. The girls were digging into their heaping plates.
"Sam honey," a brunette said, smiling at him. "You've got so many talents."
"Evidently, Miss Jones doesn't think so," he said. He grinned that devilish grin of his, dished himself a plate of food and poured a cup of coffee.
"Very well, Miss Jones, if you will follow me, we can talk in my office, while I eat…if you don't mind." The girls moaned. One said,
"Aww Sam... honey, we thought you was gonna eat with us." He winked at them, and said,
"We'll have dinner together. Remember? I've got a roast ready to go in the oven…and Carmen, you'll watch my coconut cake, while I'm with Miss Jones, won't you?"
"Sho 'nuff, Mister Sam. You want icing with that?" He nodded as he pulled off his apron.
"Get the eggs out. The whites whip higher when they're room temperature."
"Well," huffed Mercedes. "Is there no end to your talents?" He winked at her.
"Ask the girls."
And the girls broke out into giggles, whilst Mercedes' face burned.
She wanted to grab the syrup pitcher, and pour it all over his head, but being a lady of quality, she wouldn't lower herself to that. Besides, the rascal that he was, he might return the gesture.
"We have business to discuss," she reminded him with a frosty tone.
"Come, Miss Jones," he said, leading the way out of the kitchen, food in both hands.
She followed along, silently, with her coffee cup, as he led her into a large office, in one wing of the hotel.
Sam set his food down and gestured for her to sit in a nearby chair.
Instead, she chose to take the one directly across from him.
She set her cup on the desk with a bang, as he dug into his food, eating heartily.
"Are you sure you wouldn't like some, Miss Jones?"
"No thank you. And it's not polite to greet a lady in such attire." Sam grinned at her and a lock of hair fell over one eye.
"Let's get one thing straight, lady. I didn't invite you and I've never claimed to be a gentleman. I'm a Tennessee-an by birth, a gambler by choice, a Texan right now and I was very good friends with your late aunt."
"How good?" she asked, without thinking.
"Now, who's being rude? She was like a mother to me…if that's what you're asking."
"I…I'm sorry."
She realized that he was right.
She might have to change her attitude, if she's going to get anywhere with this rascal. It's very obvious, he's accustomed to dealing with women, not ladies.
Well, as she's said before, his oily charm won't work on her.
"Mr. Evans, you must understand that, I'm a bit startled to discover my aunt's past."
"You ain't startled, lady. You're shocked out of your drawers."
He put a bite of ham into his mouth, and her eyes followed. He had the most succulent looking lips, she's ever seen on a Caucasian man. He went on,
"Sue was a great old gal and you can only hope to be half the woman she was. Are you going out to visit the grave?"
"Certainly not! And I won't sit here and be insulted." She rose, feeling herself flush.
"My dear Miss Jones, I don't know what you're doing in Texas or the Lily. I offered to buy you out, to spare you from ever knowing the hard facts of life, that your aunt apparently hid from you."
Mercedes didn't know whether to cry, or throw her coffee cup at him.
"I will admit, I've lived a very sheltered life. I had hoped to make a new start in the hotel business here." He laughed and sipped his coffee.
"The Lily is not exactly a hotel."
"I'm aware." She set her jaw and glared at him.
"So, just where is this conversation headed, Miss Jones? We seem to be caught in a Mexican stand-off, here."
"A what?" He leaned back in his chair and sighed. "It's Texas talk, which is like no other in the world. It means, we're at loggerheads. What do you have in mind? It seems quite clear that we'd be unlikely partners."
"Me? A partner in a…a…"
"See? You can't even say the word." He flashed a cheeky smile at her. "You should have accepted my generous offer and stayed in Lima."
"I wish I had," she snapped back. "But I had no idea…"
"Now you do. And my offer still stands…wait, I'll sweeten the pot."
"What?"
"It's a poker term. I'll give you ten thousand more, if you let me buy you out…and keep the Texas Lily…and you go back to Lima." Mercedes was nothing if not shrewd.
"So, what was worth twenty thousand dollars, is suddenly worth thirty? It's probably worth more than that, also." He sighed and looked right at her.
"Don't toy with me, Miss Jones. Take my money and go away. It's a fair offer. Although, I may have to borrow the money," he lied. "It's worth the extra ten thousand to keep you out of my hair and out of town."
Mercedes politely cleared her throat and stared him down.
"If it's worth that much to you, sir, I believe it's worth that much to me. In good conscience, I cannot imagine myself running a…a…a brothel for a living."
"Good Lord!" Sam said, looking skyward. "Sue Sylvester, what were you thinking? I thought you liked me." Then to Mercedes. "Alright, Miss Jones, then, you buy me out, and shut the place down."
"Are you insane? I don't have twenty thousand dollars laying around," she lied.
"Oh, I thought we were talking thirty? However, to break the partnership, I'll accept twenty thousand and move on. I'd even go for nineteen thousand, or there-about. I've been run out of better towns than this, anyway."
He put his boots up on the desk and smiled at her.
"I do not want to own a…a…" She still had trouble saying the word.
"So, you will accept the twenty thousand and return to Lima?"
"You said thirty." She glared at him.
"You are a tough cookie to deal with." He smiled in grudging admiration. "Alright, thirty. There's an evening train…"
"No!" She said, glaring harder.
"No? Did you say no?" From the expression on his face, the handsome rogue had never heard that word from a woman before.
"I said no. The Jones' have a long history of resoluteness," she snapped. "We do not run from adversity…."
"Oh God!"
Mercedes took a deep breath and decided on a different tack. This scoundrel was as stubborn and determined as she was.
"I do not know what the answer to this conundrum is, Mr. Evans, but…"
"This what?"
"Conundrum."
"School-teacher. Figures. I came up through the school of hard knocks, Miss Jones, and so did your aunt." She winced.
"I'm embarrassed by my aunt. I cannot imagine she needed money so badly, that she would stoop this low." He gave her a cold, hard look.
"You should hope live, to be half as warm and generous as Sue Sylvester. Here in Texas, we always say, don't judge anyone, until you've walked a mile in their boots."
"This is getting us nowhere, Mr. Evans. I think we should arrange a meeting with this despicable lawyer, who emailed me…"
"Will? He's really a good man." He grinned.
"Pardon me, but I have another opinion of him…hotel indeed!" She huffed. "I understand he's an acquaintance of yours, so you'll know how to contact him. Let us say about four o'clock, this afternoon?" she finished.
"On Sunday?" he paused. "I think Will is usually taking a nap or playing pinochle with Dimples and Pug, on Sunday afternoons."
"Who? Never mind. Send him a message to forego his afternoon pleasures and we'll meet at his office at four o'clock, sharp. We'll let him mediate this mess."
She stood and walked briskly to the doorway, turning,
"I will see you in Mr. Shuester's office, which I presume is on the main street. This problem must be resolved." Sam sighed.
"I was planning on going noodlin' for catfish this afternoon, before supper."
"What?"
"It's a Southern thing. You dive down and feel along the river-bank, until you stick your hand in and find a big catfish, laying under the bank in the mud, where it's cool. Then you grab him and toss him up on the bank. Last one I got, weighed fifty pounds," he explained.
"It sounds dangerous and primitive."
"Just like me," he grinned.
"Well said. I couldn't agree more. Now, good day to you, sir."
"Well, it was, until you showed up," he tossed at her.
"Humph!" And she went sailing out of his office, out the door and down the steps, fuming.
Sam Evans was primitive, but she wasn't certain how dangerous he was.
The way the girls at the Lily had sighed and smiled at him…and he certainly thought he was God's gift to women. Well, this is one woman who is immune to his charm, even if he was a big, handsome...no...gorgeous man, she thought.
She was determined not to let that rascal win this.
This Mercedes is a prude, almost a snob, but she's educated and was raised by a cold, no-nonsense mother, who used her words like daggers against her only child and daughter, as a way to reign her in and control her.