county,” J.J. told her.
Carrie grinned and said to Frank, “It’s a relief to know that you’re not a ghost.”
“A ghost?” J.J. said, frowning.
“I saw him in the justice of the peace’s office, and I assumed that he was Horace Pfannepatter.”
J.J. hooted with laughter. “Naw, old Horace was bald as buckshot and had thirty years and a hundred pounds on Frank. Are you new in town?”
Carrie shook her head. “Just visiting. I’m here doing research.”
“What kind of research?” J.J. asked.
Lori returned just then with another glass of tea and J.J.’s plate. “You folks ready to order?”
“The menu is on the blackboard,” Frank told Carrie. While she read it, he ordered the spaghetti special.
“Make that two,” Carrie said, glancing at J.J.’s plate. “That looks delicious.”
“It is. Mary Beth makes the best chicken spaghetti in town. I’m not marrying her for her cooking, but it’s a nice bonus.”
“Oh,” Carrie said, “are you and Mary Beth engaged?”
“Yep,” J.J. said. “I’m a lucky man. What kind of research did you say you were doing?”
“Some old county records, deeds and such.” She took a sip of her tea. “This is fabulous. Raspberry, isn’t it?”
Frank nodded. “House specialty.”
“You looking to buy some property?” J.J. asked.
What was it with J.J.? Frank wondered. He sounded like he was grilling a suspect.
Carrie chuckled. “Me? Heavens no. Please eat, J.J. Your food will get cold if you wait on us.”
“Nope. Here yours is.”
The waitress served plates to Carrie and Frank and added another basket of bread to the table.
B.D., one of the old guys who played dominoes and helped run the motel, passed by with a tray of food just then. B.D. greeted them all with a “hi-dee” and said, “Miss Carrie, you had a chance to talk to Millie yet?”
“Not yet.”
“Millie?” J.J. asked.
“Millie down at the library,” B.D. said. “Miss Carrie’s one of them genealogists, don’t ya know? Well, I’d better get this grub over to the office. The boys are waiting.”
“You’re a genealogist?” J.J. said.
Carrie laughed. “You make it sound like a disease.”
“I think what J.J. is trying to say is that you don’t look like the typical genealogist,” Frank offered, trying to steer away from the interrogation. The minute the words were out of his mouth, he wanted to kick himself. Oh, hell. Had he really said that?
J.J. grinned like a possum in a persimmon tree. Frank turned his attention to his plate, hoping she’d ignore his gaffe. She didn’t.
“And exactly what does the typical genealogist look like?” she asked, looking amused. “Have you known many?”
“Now that I think about it, I don’t think I know any genealogists. You’re the first.”
“There’s Millie,” J.J. said. “She’s the local expert. She’s even written a book.”
“I’ll have to buy a copy.”
She smiled, and Frank almost missed his mouth with his fork. He tried to think of something to say and drew a blank.
“What family are you researching?” J.J. asked between bites.
“I’m really not at liberty to say much about my business. Clients like to keep some things private.”
J.J. laughed. “Must be a horse thief or two in the clan.”
She smiled again, and the room seemed to grow brighter. “I have a couple of my own ancestors who were on the shady side. They’ve been expunged from the family bible. Speaking of shady characters, why in the world are you Outlaws named after outlaws?”
“It was my grandfather’s idea,” Frank said, relieved that finally he could contribute to the conversation. “He was a judge, too. He thought that having a memorable name would be an asset in both business and politics, so he named our father John Wesley Hardin and our uncle Butch Cassidy. I guess his idea worked. Our dad was undefeated for sheriff until he retired, and Uncle Butch was a state senator when he died.”
“And now the two of you are sheriff and judge. Undefeated?”
“So far,” J.J. said.
After Frank’s tongue got untangled, they talked about the history of the town and the old courthouse while they ate. Carrie seemed interested and asked all kinds of questions about the town and the county. He found himself growing very comfortable talking with her.
J.J. asked, “Where’s home for you, Carrie?”
“Houston.”
“Our oldest brother lives in Houston,” Frank told her. “He’s in homicide with H.P.D.”
“And his name is…”
“Cole Younger Outlaw,” J.J. supplied. “And our other brother is a Texas Ranger. Sam Bass Outlaw.”
“And our baby sister is with the FBI,” Frank said. “Belle Starr Outlaw.”
“Quite an impressive family,” Carrie said.
“We try.” J.J. polished off the last bite on his plate. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going into the kitchen to kiss the cook. Nice meeting you, Carrie.” He stood, bowed slightly and left.
She smiled. “I like your brother.”
“He’s a good guy. Do you like his brother, too?” Frank nearly groaned. Had he really said that?
“Of course. I’m glad you didn’t die.”
Her attention seemed to be on his hands, and he looked down to find that he was twirling his wedding ring round and round on his finger. “Me, too. My wife did, though.” God, that was awkward.
Carrie looked puzzled. “Did what?”
“Died. My wife was killed in a car wreck.”
She reached across the table and touched his hand. “I’m so sorry. When was this?”
“It’s been almost two years.” He shook his head to keep the memories from intruding. “How about dessert? Mary Beth makes a mean apple tart.”
“Sounds
