Page 77 of Burn for You (Slow Burn 1)
½ tablespoon chili powder
1½ tablespoons paprika
1 teaspoon ground cayenne pepper
1 teaspoon celery salt
1 can diced tomatoes
2 cups homemade (or organic) chicken stock
1 cup good-quality red wine
1½ pounds wild-caught raw shrimp, peeled and deveined
8 scallions, chopped
fresh parsley
Preparation
In a large Dutch oven or high-sided pot, melt butter. Cook bacon and sausages for three to five minutes or until lightly browned, stirring frequently. Season chicken breasts with salt and pepper, add to pot, and cook additional 5 minutes or until browned.
Add onion, bell pepper, celery, and garlic and cook until soft and fragrant, about 10 minutes. If pot seems dry, drizzle lightly with olive oil.
Add rice, thyme, bay leaves, paprika, cayenne pepper, and celery salt and stir to mix. Increase heat to high. Add tomatoes, red wine, and chicken stock. Bring to a boil, reduce heat to medium/low, cover pot, and simmer for 15 minutes or until rice is tender.
When rice is done, add shrimp and green onions. Cook on low for additional 10 minutes or until shrimp is pink and cooked through. Remove bay leaves, fluff jambalaya, and serve, garnishing with fresh parsley.
TWENTY-TWO
BIANCA
After I hung up with Jackson, it took a solid fifteen minutes of dithering before I worked up the nerve to call my mother. She answered on the first ring.
“Hi, Mama. How are you?”
The gentle laugh that came over the line was reassuring. “I told you this morning I’m feeling good today, chère. You worry about me too much.”
“That’s good.”
After listening to the cavernous silence that followed, her mother-bear instincts kicked in. She said sharply, “Bianca? What’s the matter?”
I stared at the kitten poster on the wall of my office until it blurred. “Uh . . .” Be brave. You’ve got this. Terrified, I cleared my throat. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”
She didn’t even miss a beat. “Who, Jackson Boudreaux?”
My jaw hit the desk. When I recovered my wits, I said, “How did you know?”
“Sweetheart, I’ve known Eeny for going on fifty years. Did you think she wouldn’t call me when a man barged into your kitchen and announced you were getting married like you’d just won the Publishers Clearing House sweepstakes?”
Eeny! I should’ve known she’d blab! The air leaked from my lungs like a punctured balloon.
Mama said, “Well, he might have a reputation for being too big for his britches, but the man must have some sense in his head to fall in love with you.”
Love? I almost slipped into a coma. But what could I say? No, actually we’re only getting married to save his inheritance and your life?
