the dark-haired woman said. “And I had a bounty hunter track my ex-husband down today, and now he’s been arrested for money laundering my trust fund.”
“Booyah!” Vonnie said.
Lidia laughed. “Just got word, and Vonnie was with me.”
“Wow,” Silvia said. She wasn’t even sure she knew what money laundering was, but she definitely knew what a trust fund was. She had one herself. “Congratulations!”
“Heck yeah!” Vonnie said.
“That’s amazing,” Glory added, coming over to hug Lidia.
“Well done.” Kellie hugged her as well.
Lidia beamed at the attention, and once they were seated, Kellie said, “I’ll say grace.”
The women all bowed their heads and grasped hands. As Kellie prayed, Silvia peeked at the others. Pam sat opposite, the one closest to her age, but she was still at least thirty. She hadn’t said a word except for “hello” when they were first introduced. Pam’s blonde hair was so pale, it was almost white.
Emma was at the other end of the table by Kellie. Emma seemed pretty good-natured. Her auburn hair was braided, and her fake eyelashes were a bit spidery. Maybe she needed new ones. She smiled a lot, reminding Silvia a little of her mom. Put on a happy face, and everything was fine.
All in all, there were six women in residence—seven if they counted Kellie.
The food was passed around the table, and Silvia took smaller helpings. She didn’t know how much the other women would take. It all looked delicious, though. Diced potatoes in some sort of cream, corn on the cob, salad heavy on cucumbers and tomatoes, and of course, steaming barbeque chicken.
Her first bite should have tasted like heaven, based on the smell alone. But when she chewed, she couldn’t help but make a face.
“Something wrong, hon?” Glory asked, genuine concern in her tone.
Everyone stopped in their conversations and looked at Silvia.
She brought a napkin to her mouth, embarrassed now. The meat was dry, the barbeque sauce water—no real flavor—and she couldn’t seem to swallow. She gave a nod and mumbled, “Mm-hmm.”
But everyone kept watching her, so Silvia forced down the swallow, although it felt like an insult to her palate. Then she reached for her glass of water and gulped some down.
“Sorry,” she said, her eyes starting to water now.
Still, no one looked away. They were waiting for an explanation.
“I’ve just never had Texan barbeque before, I guess?” she ventured. “It’s different.” Bland. Tasteless.
“Oh, this isn’t Texan,” Glory said, a proud note in her voice. “It’s my momma’s recipe.”
Silvia nodded and tried to smile. Maybe the potatoes were better. Please let them be better.
“Oh, well, then,” Silvia said. “I guess I’m used to a little more spice—you know, some kick. And less, um, baking time.” Now, why did she have to go and say that? Be quiet, Silvia.
Slowly, Glory’s pleased smile faded. “You don’t like my momma’s chicken?”
“It’s fine, really,” Silvia backtracked. I’ll just need a glass of water with each bite. She reached for the water and took another swallow, as if to soothe her subconscious. In a gallant effort, she ate another bite of chicken, since Glory was still looking at her like Silvia had just kicked the woman’s puppy.
She chewed. And chewed. Swallowed. Hid a gag. Drank more water.
“Well, if we’re voting on anything tonight,” Glory said in a tight tone, “I vote that Silvia is in charge of dinner tomorrow right before the rodeo.”
The table went silent again. No one seemed to know how to react. Had Silvia breached some serious protocol here by not loving Glory’s chicken?
Kellie jumped in. “That would be fine if Silvia agrees to it. But it’s Glory’s week overseeing dinner, and we can’t pass on our responsibilities. No matter the setbacks.”
Everyone was silent again. Every pair of eyes was on Silvia again.
Her neck heated up. She didn’t want to go against protocol of the recovery program or upset Glory. Cooking was probably the only thing Silvia could do well. But she’d never cooked for anyone outside of her family. Not even the guys she’d dated, because they weren’t really someone she’d bring home to her mom—and never her brother.
She met Kellie’s gaze. “I’m happy to cook tomorrow.”
The first few moments of a rising sun were the best part of the day, in Westin’s opinion. Ryan had offered a bed at his place, and that’s where the other guys were staying. But Westin liked things quiet—really quiet.
He turned his head as the sound of birds began to filter down from the nearby trees. The sky was violet and orange, and at