Sugar's Twice as Sweet: Sugar, Georgia: Book 1 (18 page)

Payton wasn’t showing a speck of skin but the kid smiled back all the same. His eyes, however, said he was still thinking about anatomy. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed in a way that flexed his biceps, showing off a stupid-as-shit boy-band tattoo. All Brett wanted to do was walk over and kick that grin off his face.

“God, you’re as bad as Dad,” Payton cried. “We didn’t do anything wrong and now, because Dad freaked out, everyone’s treating us like we did. I thought
you’d
understand. Guess I was wrong.”

She tossed him his lunch and scooped up Road Kill. Tears in her eyes, she stormed off before Brett had a chance to set things right.

Shit
.

“It’s the hormones, dear.” Jelly-Lou patted his hand. “Now, go on and eat up. Maybe even take a little nap. You look worse for wear. Don’t want to add sleepless nights to the speculation.”

Brett looked around. Every single person in that parking lot was staring at him. The minute he locked eyes, each and every one of them sent a big nod and smile. Too big.

Having a hard time breathing, he thanked Ms. Mann, made a note to apologize to his niece, and headed for his truck.

As he rounded the back of the building, kicking himself for disappointing everyone, he plowed into someone with enough force to send that person tumbling. He heard a startled gasp followed by an angry yap.

Quick on his feet, Brett grabbed hold to keep them from falling into the Dumpster. When his arms met soft curves, silky hair, and needled teeth, his brain registered that this was not just someone. This was the last person he wanted to face right now. And her dog was practicing lockjaw on his arm.

Joie looked up through startled eyes, the sexy scent of whimsy washing over him. They stood there, with her wrapped around him, his hands low on her back, the smell of tossed-out dog food turning in the hot summer heat, and Brett felt all of the tension seep from his body. Which was as ridiculous as the goofy grin he wore.

To his amazement, Joie grinned back. Her hair was swept up in a ponytail but she was back to wearing her trademark uptown wear. Boo, who had on a baseball hat and stupid-ass doggie tennis shoes, growled, which meant he’d finally let loose the death grip on Brett’s arm.

Boo barked and sank his teeth back in.

“Boo,” Joie scolded, taking a step back. Brett would have put up with Needle-Teeth if it meant keeping her in his arms. ”I’m sorry. Did he hurt you?”

He looked at his arm briefly. Seven little puncture wounds, when turned sideways, seemed to make a smiley face. He glared at the dog. “Naw, a little thing like that couldn’t even hurt a kitten.”

Boo lunged, trap snapping.

“Bad, Boo,” Joie scolded, setting Fido on the hot cement and turning her attention back to Brett.

Boo pouted.

Brett preened.

Joie took his arm, her cool hands sending a sexual kick right to the gut. “I don’t know what’s gotten into him, he usually loves people. Are you sure it doesn’t hurt? Maybe we should see if they have anything inside to clean it out.”

“I’m fine.” He placed a hand over hers, stilling it.

Her focus shifted between their hands and his eyes several times. Her lips parted on a breath and then, sadly, she stepped back. “I guess you have enough soap on you to ward off germs anyway.”

He dropped his gaze to get his mind off those lips, which did him little good. Because now he was focused on her shirt, which was white. And sudsy. “I got you all wet.”

She looked down at her designer blouse and shrugged. “Who knew a flock of geese could be so dangerous?”

And just like that, any hope of him getting brownie points for helping animals in need was blown. How bad-ass could a guy look when he’d been taken down by an angry mob of geese?

That she knew, though, meant she’d been watching him.

As if reading his mind, she flushed and said, “I was on my way to meet Mr. Ryan about my loan. I have a two o’clock.”

Knowing it couldn’t be that late, Brett looked down at his watch. Tinker Bell was early.

“I know.” She smiled shyly. “I was so afraid I’d be late, I ended up being an hour early. I was going to see if Spenser wanted to grab a bite at the Gravy Train when I saw the sign for Memaw and Pa-Paw’s grand opening,” she paused, confusion lining her brows, “which seems odd since the sign next to it marked their sixtieth anniversary of being in business.”

Brett felt himself flush, and it wasn’t because of the triple-digit temperature. “Whenever I come home, if it falls on the eighteenth, Ms. Wilkes has a grand opening. She says it doubles her profits and helps get the locals to vaccinate their animals.”

“The eighteenth?”

Brett blew out a breath, hating that what he was about to say made him sound like a tool. “She calls it her ‘eighteen hole-in-one’. For eighteen dollars you can have your pet vaccinated, clipped, and groomed.”

Brett watched to see the reaction that would cross Joie’s face. To his surprise, she didn’t look at him as if he were either some hero or a tool. Instead her eyes went soft and she placed her hand on his shoulder, gently tracing a finger down his arm, leaving behind more than just the need to have her naked and moaning his name.

“By none other than Mr. Hometown Hero.” She shook her head, her ponytail brushing from side to side, reminding him of the girl he’d rescued from Letty’s old oak tree. “That must be exhausting.”

“Grooming animals all day?” He lifted a shoulder, trying to play off how tired he was.

“No. Always trying to manage everyone’s expectations.”

Brett didn’t know how to respond, because managing expectations had become so second nature, he didn’t even recognize when he was doing it anymore. But instead of explaining that letting down the town that had rallied behind his family after his parents’ death felt like a betrayal of their memory, he stood there like an idiot, staring into her eyes and nodding, hoping he met her expectations.

“Look, about the other night.”

Joie placed a finger against his lips and stepped closer. Wrapping her arms around his waist, she tucked herself firmly against him and just held on.

Brett closed his eyes and melted into her, loving how grounded he felt. These days, most of his time was spent in flux, balancing his needs against the needs of those he was responsible for. Yet this little pixie of a woman stood there, offering him something nobody in his world usually took the time to give—support.

A minute or fifteen might have passed before she gave him a final squeeze and stepped back. Her face was open and unguarded, and he wondered what she saw that made her lips turn up into a sweet smile. Before he could get any answers or even wish her luck on her appointment, she slid her hands up to cup his face and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek, then silently headed down Main Street toward Spenser’s garage—her dog strutting behind her.

Brett watched until she disappeared into the open bay of the shop.

Heart beating too fast, appetite nonexistent, Brett tossed the chicken in the Dumpster and headed back to help Ms. Wilkes close out the day. Washing pets was a perfect distraction from what had just happened and gave him time to put the past few weeks into perspective.

Time he’d no doubt spend obsessing over what the hell he was going to do with the neighbor girl who drove him to distraction. He hadn’t even tried to get her into bed. And that scared him more than the sight of Mrs. Winslow and her pet alligator.

Brett was exactly where he wanted to be—sitting on Joie’s front porch swing with Joie sitting on him in nothing but her blonde curls and tanned skin. Her legs tangled around him, pulling him closer as she arched back, sending that wild mass of hers sliding across his thighs.

Oh, my!
she moaned, rising up only to slowly slide back down. She felt incredible, the way she wrapped her body tightly around his as if she never wanted to let him go. Couldn’t let him go.

Her mouth worked his before heading south, down his chest, until she untwined their bodies and dropped to her knees on the weathered wooden porch. She took him in her hands, her eyes huge with appreciation, and licked her lips. Her gaze flew to his, heated and full of wonder.

Would y’all look at that?

That didn’t sound right. Brett opened his eyes and…

“Jesus Christ!”

“Watch that mouth, there are ladies present,” Grandma Hattie snapped, her voice crackling with outrage.

Brett opened his mouth to say—what? He had no idea, because standing next to Hattie were her poker buddies. With cameras. Their arthritis-riddled fingers and walkers having no effect on how fast they could snap off shots.

“Dottie, you hold him down while Jelly-Lou gets that Stetson on him,” Etta Jayne said, reaching into her fanny pack and pulling out a professional-grade lens.

“I bet it’ll get triple the money,” Hattie said, her sausage fingers rubbing together in the universal sign for “pay up or shut up.”

A flash went off. When the green and yellow spots finally stopped dancing, Brett saw a smiling Etta Jayne, wiggling her pudgy little fingers at him.

He looked down. Nothing but underwear.
Great
. He adjusted the afghan over his waist and stood up.

“Little late to pretend modesty now, don’t you think?” Etta Jayne looked her fill, and Brett could feel the heat creeping up his neck and inflaming his ears under the intense scrutiny. “You used to run naked through my sprinklers. You ain’t got nothing I haven’t seen before.”

“I was a kid.”

Etta Jayne shrugged.

Brett ran a hand though his hair, which he was sure looked more like sex-ruffled than bed-rumpled. He’d have to sweet-talk his way out of this, because if those photos wound up on the Internet, Cal would kill him. The good news was that, since they were all women, he was pretty confident he’d walk away with all three cameras and his pride.

“Now, ladies.” Brett unleashed his award-winning smile.

“Don’t you flash those dimples at me,” Hattie scolded, stepping forward. “Here’s the deal. We aren’t making the kind of money we used to with your autographed golf balls, and the town is still short for the new wing.”

“And these pictures will be like having our own printing press,” Dottie said.

“Pictures that you will hand over immediately,” he threatened. “Because new wing or not, that”—he eyed the camera—“is not leaving this room or I’ll be too busy cleaning up my career to MC the Sugar Ladies Baptist Choir Summer Concert.”

“We’re counting on that money, and you already agreed,” Jelly-Lou said, panicked, rolling her wheelchair closer.

 “He doesn’t look very agreeable right now,” Dottie whispered to Jelly-Lou.

“He’s a McGraw. Man of his word,” Etta Jayne countered, staring Brett down.

“A fact that I hope you all remember and take to heart,” Brett said, glaring at his grandmother. Hattie took a seat on the couch and glared back.

With a sigh, Brett grabbed his jeans off the floor and tugged them on. If he was about to be blackmailed into helping out with whatever harebrained scheme they had going on, he wasn’t going to endure it in his skivvies.

“Here’s the thing, son.” Hattie tossed him a shirt off the floor. He smelled the pits and pulled it over his head. “We’ve played cards at Letty’s place every Monday night since that tornado tore through Sugar in the spring of ’58. The same year I lost my Ray. And no Yankee is going to come into our town and ruin over fifty years of tradition.”

“And drinking,” Dottie added.

“And since Letty’s niece got her knickers in a twist, we’re short a location,” Hattie said.

“What does this have to do with raising money for the medical center?” he asked.

“Well, you want these photos and we need someone on the inside.” Dottie steepled her fingers in front of her mouth, excitement pouring from her. “Feeding us information about Joie’s schedule.”

“So basically, I’m being blackmailed by the Sunday School Mafia?” Not a single lady had the decency to look even a little embarrassed.

“We need someone to keep her busy so we can continue having our Monday nights there until we find a place.” Jelly-Lou said, her eyes big and innocent-looking.

“Or she gives up and goes home,” Etta Jayne mumbled, cutting to the heart of the matter.

“And you were hoping that that
someone
would be me?” he asked, the throbbing behind his right eye escalating.

All four women nodded vigorously, suddenly looking like quilters instead of extortionists. Not that Brett wouldn’t mind spending every Monday night holding hands and showing Joie just how beautiful Georgia was. Hell, just the thought had him smiling like a damn teenager. But he wasn’t willing to betray her trust like that.

“Look, I know how important Mondays are to you.” He did. Hattie had never missed a one. They’d even invented Re-Run Monday’s at the Saddle Rack during the off-season, knowing that football would attract a crowd and distract folks from noticing that the Bible study ladies never carried Bibles. “But it doesn’t justify spying on Joie.”

“No one will know the truth,” Jelly-Lou said. “The whole town knows she was looking to have relations with you.”

Relations? Yes.

A relationship? Not so much
.

“It’s not going to happen, ladies.”

“Well, now, see, I was telling everyone down at the Gravy Train about what a good job you did on building me my ramp,” Jelly-Lou said with a smile that let Brett know he’d just been buttered. “Then Hattie reminded me how you paid your way through college, helping Cal build houses.”

“Rumor around town is that she’s in need of a contractor,” Hattie said.

“She’s already got a contractor.”

The women studied their shoes.
Ah, hell
. With his thumb and forefinger he pinched the bridge of his nose. The smart thing to do would be to walk away. His gut was telling him that every second he stood there listening to their crazy-ass idea, it became more likely he’d get sucked in.

Then again, as Brett was fast learning, he didn’t always do the smart thing.

 “What did you say to Rooster?”

“Seeing as his daddy is interested in being my gentleman friend.” Etta Jayne crossed her arms over her chest, jamming her fists in tight. “And this being a family feud, it would be outright disloyal for Rooster to keep taking a paycheck from that woman.”