Sugar's Twice as Sweet: Sugar, Georgia: Book 1 (6 page)

Overhead, the head of the mama opossum peeked out of the vent and glared down at her, emitting an irritating hiss.

Oh, dear God. Did she really just tell her father that she was staying?

T
wo hours later and no closer to finding that rose garden, Josephina showered and threw on some boxers, Aunt Letty’s
S
HAKE
Y
OUR
S
HAMROCKS
T-shirt, and a pair of fairy wings she found in the back of the hall closet. She walked into the foyer, twisting her wet hair into two mouse ears on top of her head, while staring at the envelope sitting next to Kenny Rogers.

Digging into the bag of cheese-flavored pretzels, the only food that looked the least bit appetizing—besides a stash of chocolate bars that she’d already made an impressive dent in— she studied the strong yet feminine letters on the envelope.

Fairy Bug

That was as far as she’d gotten before deciding to shower, find food, clean out the fireplace, measure every cabinet and closet, alter some of the preliminary sketches she had drawn at rest-stops along her trip south, and organize her idea box. Anything to put off opening that letter. Unable to procrastinate any longer, Josephina lifted the envelope.

Seeing her childhood nickname made her throat go tight, so she took another long swig of beer she found in the fridge. Either Aunt Letty was a lush or her home was a front for a strip club. All that was in the kitchen was bar food, a healthy stash of cigars, and enough alcohol to get an entire pledge year of Kappa Delta Sigma plastered.

She dragged the back of her hand across her mouth. Coated in beer foam, powdered cheese goo, and a bit of leftover chocolate, she cringed and then wiped it on the right shoulder of her shirt. The left was already dirty. She opened the envelope and unfolded the letter.

Josephina closed her eyes and sank down to the floor, pulling her legs to her chest and nearly flattening Boo, who scrambled out from under the table. He looked up with his big black eyes and flopped at her feet, showing his support.

She did remember. Not that she believed in magic anymore. But when she was little, this place, and her aunt, had been heaven for an awkward girl who always felt like a hexagram in her parents’ square world.

Four reads, two beers, and an entire bag of cheesy pretzels later, Josephina lay on her makeshift bed of couch pillows and a quilt in the foyer, staring up at the ceiling, and cried.

What everyone else saw as flighty, her aunt saw as special. A pang of guilt settled in her chest. Last spring, before Aunt Letty passed, she had written to Josephina, asking her to come for a stay, to help her restore Fairchild House to its original glory.

Funny, how over the years, she’d never found the time to visit. But now, when her life was at its lowest, the only person who understood what it was like to live in her head was gone.

“This is why I don’t drink,” she said loudly, to any of the fairies still awake in the ceiling willing to listen. Even drunk she could tell she was slurring.

She stuck her hands in the bag of pretzels. Damn, empty. Tugging the top rim, she tipped it up, dumping the crumbs into her mouth. Correction, her hair.

She didn’t know how it happened, but Josephina had worked so hard over the past few years to become the kind of woman Wilson could be proud of that she’d allowed Wilson’s dreams to take over, until there was no room left for her own. No room left for Josephina. And all she’d wound up with was bruised self-esteem, a wallet full of canceled credit cards, frozen phone service, and a set of golf clubs.

Exhausted and tired of crying, she let her eyes slide shut. Somehow she knew that coming here had been the right choice. She still wasn’t sure what she was going to do, but just being in this house made everything less overwhelming. If she concentrated hard enough, she could actually feel herself flying.

Feel her wings—move?

She opened her eyes to find someone staring at her. Someone who was rapidly ruining her buzz.

“Ever hear of knocking?”

“Did. All I got in response was snoring.”

“I don’t snore.”

“Guess it was the dog then.” Brett flashed his million-dollar grin. One that further ruined her mood.

“Can you point that,” she whirled her hand in the air to encompass his trademarked smile, “somewhere else?”

She wanted to pretend she was immune, but feared she wasn’t. His grin only widened, so she slammed her eyes shut.

Ah, blessed silence. Then, his fingers brushed her shoulder.

She growled.

Boo barked.

“Gotta say, Joie. Or should I call you Tinker Bell? Kind of hurt that you threw a party and I didn’t get an invite.”

“You still here?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She opened her eyes right as he reached down and brushed a hand over her belly and a few crumbs scattered to the floor. His hand moved dangerously close to the underneath sides of her breasts, sending them into party mode.

“Stop trying to brush off all of my fairy dust.”

“I was actually trying to get the glob of cheese goo off your shirt before you become a sitting entrée for the rats.” He winked.

She glared at Brett, who didn’t have chocolate on his cheek or dinner on his shirt. No, he looked damn fine. He was freshly showered, clean-shaven, and smelled like sin.

Brett picked up a white plastic bag off the floor and dangled it in front of her nose. Something warm and mouth-watering wafted past. It was sweet and spicy and smelled like…grease.

“Is that what I think it is?”

“Double bacon BBQ burger with fries. Local specialty. Figured you might be hungry. And you might sleep better,” he pulled a brand-new, adorably pink cell phone out of his pocket, “knowing you could contact the outside world if the mood struck.”

“Food first.” Moving slowly to make sure the room really wasn’t spinning, Josephina drew in a grounding breath and sat up. Yup, the room was tilted. And swirling. And she just might need to lie back down, which she did.

Brett settled a hand on her shoulder and helped her back to a sit. He eyed the two empty bottles and grinned. “Please tell me there are more empty bottles lying around somewhere.”

“Nope.” Squinting, she narrowed her eyes on the bag, then on him. “Are you expecting a little rebound nookie to go with my fortune cookie?”

“Is that an offer?”

“No.” Josephina felt her cheeks heat, and it was definitely not from the alcohol. Feigning disinterest, she said, “The bald thing kind of blew it, remember?”

“You might want to tell that to your hands.”

She looked down. Whoops, somehow her hands had tangled themselves in the bottom of his shirt. She snatched them back.

Rising to his impressive height, and placing his most impressive part in her direct line of sight, Brett set the takeout next to Kenny and offered her a hand. He pulled her up—and so far into his personal space their thighs brushed.

“Thanks for dinner,” she said all breathy.

“There’s an extra patty in there for Fido.”
Fido
bared his teeth, and not in a nice way. “And this,” he held up the cell, “I wasn’t sure if the phone was working. I tried calling but only got a busy signal.”

A normal occurance when the phone was left off the hook.

“It’s already programmed with my number. Just hold down this button and you can get hold of me.”

She glanced at his movements. He’d programmed himself as number one—of course.

“Thanks. I can pay you back in—” She had no idea when.

“Think of it as a housewarming gift.” He slowly slid the phone into the waistband of her boy-shorts, her stomach quivering as his calloused fingers brushed her bare flesh.

Her eyes dropped to his mouth, lingering there long enough for him to notice and grin. But when she looked up he was staring at her the same way and they were standing awfully close. Close enough to kiss.

 “You did that on purpose.”

“Are you mad because I touched you or because you responded?”

Because you are making this whole “done with men thing” really hard.

“Thanks for, well, everything. It’s nice to know that if I get eaten by a family of opossums I can contact the authorities so they can tell my parents. But beyond that I’m just…” Too tired to fake it anymore, she dropped the manufactured attitude. “I came here because…well, I don’t know why anymore.”

The charm-your-pants-off smile that was Brett McGraw, PGA Playboy and everybody’s best friend, faded into something softer, something genuine.

“Because of that?” He tilted his chin toward the stack of sketches littering the floor.

Before she could stop him, he picked them up, slowly sifting through her drawings. To anyone else they might seem like pencil lines on paper, but those were her dreams, the way she envisioned Fairchild House.

Despite the panic bubbling inside, Josephina straightened, bracing herself for his reaction. She’d heard it all before. Her parents had pointed out every flaw in her plan, every reason why she would fail, completely discounting all of the work she had put into Wilson’s career-making hotel.

Brett got to the last page and looked up. “Seems like a pretty big undertaking.”

“My parents think it’s an impossible undertaking,” she replied, doing her best to sound confident. Because suddenly everything they had said was coming true and she wasn’t sure if she could do this.

Brett looked around and she knew he was checking out the watermarks above the fireplace, the crack running down the far wall, the way the upper walkway seemed to sag a bit in the center. But then he looked back at her and shrugged.

“I didn’t think anything was impossible when you were wearing these.” He lightly tugged on her fairy wings and she felt a simultaneous tug on her heart. “This town needs an inn, a warm place for folks to stay when they come visit. Your aunt understood that. She was one of the strongest women I knew. Stood down my grandma a couple of times when I was a kid. My brothers and I used to think she was magic, a fairy guardian, she’d call herself. And I can see a lot of Ms. Letty in you, Tinker Bell.”

“Thank you.” Those two simple words didn’t even begin to explain what he’d just done for her, but it was all she could squeeze out past the tightness in her throat.

Leaning closer, he ran a finger down her wings and waggled his brows. “Did you know I have a thing for fairies?” She laughed. And it felt good. “Hand to God. It has something to do with those skimpy little petal dresses.”

She went up on her toes and kissed the cleft of his chin. “Why couldn’t you have been a hog farmer?”

The room fell silent. Brett searched her gaze for a long intense moment, his own reflective and uncertain.

To diffuse the sudden shift in mood and bring it somewhere closer to manageable, Josephina gave him a playful shove. Which did nothing, considering he was built like the side of a mountain. He was also slow to move away so she backed up and held open the door. He followed, Boo prancing excitedly at his departure.

“If you need anything—” He stopped at the top of the steps, the easygoing Brett securely back in place, and ran his eyes down the length of her body. “And I mean,
anything
. Call me.”

Irritated that she was all flustered, she opened her mouth to give a breezy, not-affected-in-the-slightest laugh. Instead, a giggly and semihusky, “Not gonna happen,” came out, followed by a mortifying snort.

 “We’ll see.”

Brett rolled over, his skin squeaking against the sticky leather. He’d achieved exactly fifty-seven minutes of sleep, a kinked neck, and a bad case of bed head. Best night of sleep he’d had in three weeks.

Damn, this house was going to kill him. It was too big, too clean, hell, it even smelled like a new car. Hattie and Payton had spearheaded the decorating, making it a shrine to everything that’s wrong with the world. Every inch, including the guest room, was an infusion of Minnie Pearl and Paris Hilton—redneck chic. Which was why he’d decided to take up residence in Cal’s office—the only room Cal had a say in—even though cramming his over-six-foot body onto a toy-sized sofa was never a good idea.

Or maybe it was the fact that he’d accomplished jack shit since coming home to “lie low.” No matter what Cal called it, it still felt like hiding.

He looked around the office and took in just how far the McGraw brothers had come. Cream-colored walls, a comfortable sitting area composed of overstuffed leather furniture. It was a far cry from the three-room farmhouse he and his brothers had grown up in.

A gallery of photos hung above the mantel. In the center of the collection was a shot of their parents that Cal must have salvaged from the fire. His parents had been in love, all the way up until the moment they died, there was no doubt about that.

Brett found himself wondering what that felt like, to love someone so much that the rest of the bullshit didn’t matter. Not that he’d ever want that for himself.

Oh, he understood the desire for that kind of love. Saw it in his parents’ eyes growing up, watched how his dad’s entire world revolved around a little bit of a woman. His dad’s love went soul deep. That’s how it was for McGraw men, they went all in. So much so that Brett knew his daddy died because living without his wife would have been too hard.