Sugar's Twice as Sweet: Sugar, Georgia: Book 1 (25 page)

“Don’t let him do that. Don’t let
anyone
minimize what you’ve done here, Joie. This event, the remodel, everything was you. I just earned a few peaceful nights of sleep by swinging hammers.”

Josephina told herself it was ridiculous to get teary-eyed over his words. Brett was just a protective kind of guy. The reminder still didn’t stop the swelling in her chest or the warm flutters in her stomach because he was extending that McGraw protectiveness toward her.

She moved the food around her plate for a second, wondering if she should go on, especially since he was looking a little nervous. She had a feeling that if she told him exactly how much of an impact he’d made on the inn he would get uncomfortable, just as he did when people around town thanked him for his help. But he deserved to hear how much his belief in her meant.

Setting her fork down, Josephina walked around the table and made herself right at home on his lap. “It’s about more than paint and siding, Brett. You believed in me. No one has ever done that before.”

The next night, Boo sniffed his dinner twice before showing Josephina his tail as he plodded gamely over to the entryway and plopped down. Ears alert, tail completely still, he looked out the screen door.

“Boo, come eat. He’s not coming,” Josephina said, pushing back her own plate.

The moment she set down the paint cans and started dragging furniture out of the salon, Brett had made some excuse about meeting Cal at the Saddle Rack and hightailed out of the house. Without their usual dinner. It hadn’t seemed like a big deal until Josephina sat down at the table and realized she had come to enjoy his company. Dinner with Brett was fun and easy. She liked having someone to share her day with. Someone to talk to about her crazy parents, to celebrate the little accomplishments on the inn.

Okay, it wasn’t just someone. It was Brett. She liked having him around. More precisely, she loved having him around and that terrified her. Somewhere between ripping up subflooring and wrestling hogs she had fallen hard. And he was leaving.

Appetite gone, Josephina picked up her plate and dumped the remains of her tarragon chicken and polenta in the trash. She was just rinsing it when she saw something streak across the boat dock.

Walking to the screen door, she strained to see through the night. The moon was high and after a few seconds her eyes adjusted. She grabbed a flashlight and one of the drivers from Wilson’s golf bag before quietly sneaking onto the back deck to end this.

Hattie, as of now renamed the Hillbilly Hellion, was at the front of the pack. Hard to miss in her kiwi green and condemnation, she waddled up the dock with tree trimmers in one hand, making complicated gestures with the other. Behind her, creating more noise than a street corner preacher in Manhattan, two others slunk in and out of the shadows. At the dock, sitting in the boat with her hand on the motor, was Jelly-Lou, loudly whispering orders and directions, which all ended with “God willing.”

Josephina did some slinking of her own, down the back steps so she could track their every move. Crawling through the rose garden, she crouched behind a hedge, blindly reaching for the garden hose and coming up short.

“Thisaway,” Etta Jayne hissed.

“What?” Hattie hissed back, so loud that it was most likely heard in town.

“I said, thisaway.”

“Don’t you tell me whichaway to go. Been coming here since Christ walked the earth. I know where it’s at!”

Both women took off toward the side of the house, jostling and elbowing for position, neither giving an inch until they reached the side wall.

Josephina didn’t know where Dottie had disappeared to and whether to call the cops or giggle at the old ladies—until she heard the metal of the tree trimmers sliding open and saw an explosion of sparks followed by a loud boom that ricocheted off the water and around the lake.

All the lights inside the house went five hundred Kelvins brighter, illuminating the entire backyard long enough to make out the shocked expression on each of the ladies’ faces, including Dottie, whose head peeked out from under Ulysses’s hood. A second later, the lights of all the houses around the lake flickered out like dominoes, one by one, plunging the entire area into a sea of black.

Boo took off, his little claws skidding their way across the back porch and down the steps, his bark somewhere between small-dog-defending-his-home and elation at seeing his friends.
Traitor.

“Lord Almighty, Hattie, I thought you said no one was home,” Jelly-Lou announced.

“Well, you thought wrong.” Josephina flicked on her flashlight, shining it in their eyes.

There was a brief oh-shit moment, then Dottie’s binoculars hit the dirt and they all took off, making their way around the hedges, every biddy for herself.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” Josephina snapped, stepping over the hedge, determined not to let them get away. “You broke it and this time you’ll fix it!”

Two steps and Josephina felt herself sink. Up to her shins in mud and soaked clay. She lifted her foot, and the suction was almost loud enough to drown out the now-obvious spray of the hose, which, based on the saturation levels, indicated that someone had turned it on hours ago. The same someones who were currently hobbling across the dock.

This was not happening. She was not going to be bested by a bunch of mean old ladies. She was going to catch them, call Jackson, then press charges, finally ending this feud.

Josephina sprang into action, leaping back over the hedge and making her way through the rose garden. Ignoring the pebbles cutting through her bare feet and the thorns scratching at her arms and legs, she stubbed her big toe on Letty’s ceramic fairy and rammed her knee into a rusted washing machine, getting to the dock just in time to see a green fanny bend over and yank the boat’s starter cord.

The engine sputtered and then caught, and all the ladies cheered as the boat slowly backed away from the dock.

With enough momentum, Josephina could leap and probably clear the boat. But the dock wasn’t all that sturdy and neither was the boat. And although Jelly-Lou wasn’t in her wheelchair, Josephina wasn’t sure if she could swim.

Boo, on the other hand, had no reservations about scurrying his little doggie butt down the dock and taking a flying leap. Josephina froze, part of her screaming, “Get ’em, boy,” proud that he was protecting what was his. While the other part wanted to cry because he was so little and the lake was so big.

But when Jelly-Lou reached out and caught him midair, and he crawled up her chest, tail wagging and licking her face, Josephina felt something inside her break a little.

“That’s my dog,” Josephina shouted over the engine.

“And this is our town,” Etta Jayne hollered back, her voice echoing off the lake’s surface.

“You have until tomorrow morning to bring him back or I call the cops,” she yelled into the night. The only response was the wind brushing through the old oaks.

At first Josephina thought that the ladies were lashing out because of the salon. That they were mad about losing their place to play poker, and in a way she understood. Now, all Josephina understood was that this was personal. It wasn’t the salon or her inheriting the house.

They didn’t like her. They never would. And with them running the town, it wouldn’t take long before everyone else started looking at her differently.

Sure she had made a few friends, but if pressed, Josephina had no illusions that they would pick her. Mean or not, these old ladies were grandmas to half the town, and surrogates to the other half.

And Josephina was not a part of that equation.

Brett found himself in a corner booth at the Saddle Rack wedged between Cal and the wall. What a sorry excuse for a Friday night. It was either listen to Hattie’s newest get-rich-quick scheme, which included a conference center, a camera crew, and some kind of jock itch cream, or go back over to Joie’s place, apologize for tearing out of there, and drag her to bed. Since both would give him an undesirable outcome, he chose to knock back a few with the guys.

The day had been normal, lots of stripping and nailing and brushing—and guilt. Then he’d walked into that kitchen and found her in pajama shorts and a light pink tank top, her hair in a messy knot on top of her head. She was barefoot, shower-fresh, and sitting at a table that had been set for a family. And he couldn’t do it.

He couldn’t sit across from her, sharing their day, looking her in the eye, and not tell her about the money. The more time they spent together, the less he thought about going back on tour. And the more he realized just how badly he had fucked up.

“Joie’s parents are coming to the Pucker Up and Drive,” Brett admitted. “They’re excited over Joie making the inn a success and called to say they are bringing some of their friends.”

Cal gave Brett a disappointed look. “You haven’t told her about the money yet, have you?”

“It hasn’t come up.”

“And what did you say when she told you the bank changed their mind about the loan?”

“That I was proud of her.” Same thing he said every time she’d brought up how surprised she was that Mr. Ryan had reconsidered and found her risky endeavor a sound investment.

“You’re a sick son of a bitch. You push yourself into her life, make her fall for you,
sleep
with her, and this whole time you’re letting her walk around town preening about her loan. Lying to her. If some bastard did that to Payton I’d kill him.” Cal shook his head, his voice going low. “And so would you.”

“You don’t think I already feel like shit?”

“Yeah, well imagine what she’s going to feel like when she finds out.” That was Brett’s fear. She would be hurt and sad, but in the end she would question her ability. And that Brett couldn’t live with.

 “After her parents and that bastard of an ex, she pretty much thinks everyone expects her to fail. If she knew I gave her the money, she’d lose all belief in herself.” Brett leaned forward. “What the hell was I supposed to tell her?”

“The truth. Same thing I gave you when Mom and Dad died and you started screwing around.” Cal shook his head. “Saying you believe in someone and actually believing in them are two separate things. What’s the point in taking it slow with her, trying for something real, when you can’t even be honest with her?”

“I don’t want her to doubt herself.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it.” Cal leaned forward too, right into Brett’s space. “You think it’s easy for me to step back and let the people I love fall and make mistakes? You? Jace? Payton? Tawny? To put it all out there for everyone to see and then let the other person decide if they’re going to make it or rip your fucking heart out when they don’t?

 You’re scared, Brett. You’re scared that Joie’s going to screw up and lose Fairchild House and then leave. Leave Sugar. And leave you.”

Brett’s chest tightened. “Okay, then what do you suggest I do?”

“Man the fuck up. Put it on the line. Tell her about the loan, about how you feel, and let her decide if she wants to forgive you. If she loves you, she’ll figure it out.”

“And what if she decides she doesn’t.”

“Then you’ll have to figure out if you love her enough to let her find her own happiness.”

“I never said I loved her.”

“Yeah. Tell that to yourself a couple more times and you’ll start to hear what a complete ass you sound like.” Cal stared at Brett long and hard, and then shook his head. “Christ, Brett, you don’t even see it, do you?”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“You asked me to start building you a house on the other side of Mom and Dad’s property. Why else would you think about settling back in town?”

Before Brett could come up with a good reason, other than the obvious, Jackson walked up.

Dressed in jeans and bed-head, the sheriff appeared to have been called in on his night off, and judging by the way he gripped his sidearm, he was not a happy camper. “I hate to break up this brotherly love fest, but I just got a call from dispatch. Seems I am supposed to go arrest your grandma and figured one of you might want to come with me.”

Cal sighed. “Don’t tell me she was caught skinny-dipping again.”

“No, seems she’s wanted for destruction of private property, county property, and dognapping.”

“Ah, hell,” Brett said, already headed for the door. “Cal, you handle Grandma. I’m going to check on Joie.”

Brett skidded off the highway onto Fairchild Lane, kicking up gravel and sending his truck sideways. Anxious to get to Joie, he didn’t slow down even though he couldn’t see more than five feet in front of him.

The moment he’d left town, he’d understood just how much trouble Hattie was in. Sugar Lake, usually glimmering with twinkle-lit docks and glowing houses, was black. Kind of like his mood right now.

Cal had called and confirmed that their grandma had, after swearing to him otherwise, paid Joie a visit and reinstated the feud. She’d stolen Ulysses’s battery, cut Joie’s power—accidentally blowing a transformer and plunging the entire neighborhood into darkness—and dognapped Boo.

Brett crested the final hill, gunned it through the canopy of moss-covered oaks. His truck came to an abrupt halt as he stopped to take in the scene before him.

On the front porch, surrounded by some kind of torches, Joie sat on the swing, knees hugged to her chest, staring out at the lake. He wasn’t used to seeing her so still. The woman was constantly in motion. Even when she fell asleep watching TV her right big toe made small circles. Tonight she looked small and defeated.

Brett killed the engine, stepped out of the cab, and couldn’t help but grin. Closer inspection showed that it wasn’t tiki torches. She’d lit two of Rat Bastard’s drivers on fire and stuck them in the ground.

He made his way up the steps, careful not to singe his clothes, and eased down next to her. She didn’t say a word, and when he scooped her up and sat her on his lap, she just slid her arms around his neck and cuddled close. They sat, silently rocking in the swing and staring out at the lake, which now that Brett’s eyes had adjusted was lit by the moon.