Tucker's Crossing (15 page)

Logan took back the paper and read aloud. “Come to the Summer Sweet Spectacular and bid on Shelby Lynn Harris and her cupcakes.”

Cody ripped the paper out of Logan’s hands and, ignoring the sheriff’s doodling in the margin, read it for himself. Three times. Getting angrier with each mention of Shelby Lynn’s cupcakes. The picture, which moments ago looked motherly and innocent, now looked like an ad for a dirty movie. “What the hell was she thinking?”

“I doubt she’s even seen it. This has my sister-in-law written all over it.”

“Yeah, well it isn’t your sister-in-law’s goods up for bid!” Cody threw the paper and crossed his arms, afraid if he didn’t restrain them, he’d punch something.

“Interesting,” Logan said, followed by a disbelieving shake of the head.

“What the hell does that mean?” Cody snapped, feeling defensive and childish.

“That woman’s got you wound.”

He knew where his friend was going. No one had ever really grasped how crazy in love he’d been with Shelby or how deeply she’d hurt him. Marrying Preston had been one thing. Finding out she had raised their son with another man—he wasn’t sure he could come back from that.

“The only thing she’s got is the irritating ability to drive me over the edge.”

Logan released a low whistle, shaking his head again. And that pissed Cody off more.

“Well then, this is about to get as entertaining as the time Ms. Luella let a coon loose in The B-Cubed, because half the single men in this town would bid their best horse for a date with Shelby and her cupcakes. Not to mention a few married ones. Can’t say I blame them. Sweet woman, pretty as hell.” Logan raised his hands again in surrender. “What? I might not be looking, but I’m not dead.”

“Your point?”

“She’s a good woman. And your son’s got one hell of an arm. He deserves to grow up here and get to know his dad.”

He opened his mouth to tell Logan he’d better watch himself, mind his own business, when his last statement registered. Cody sucked in a breath. “You know about JT? That he’s mine?”

“Christ, Cody. The whole town knows about your kid. Silas took him around the first week they got here, introducing him to everyone as his grandson. One look at the kid and it didn’t take much to figure out which brother was his dad.” Logan stopped, leaned forward, rested his elbows on the desk and studied Cody. “Holy crap, you didn’t know.”

Cody felt his cheeks heat, whether from embarrassment or anger he wasn’t sure, but it was probably a mixture of the two. The whole town knew he had a son before he did. How could Shelby do that to him?

Cody never made the conscious decision to stand up; his legs just started moving toward the door, determined to pay Shelby a visit. He’d find out why she’d kept JT from him and let her know that he was dead serious about being some kind of father to his son. He wouldn’t scare her, although her being a little afraid of him right now couldn’t hurt.

“Hold on, cowboy.” Logan wedged himself between Cody and the door in an effort to keep him from storming out. “I know what you’re thinking and don’t.”

“This is none of your business, Logan.”

“Oh, but it is.” The sheriff widened his stance and, intentionally or not, his hand came to rest on his sidearm. “Every citizen of this town is my business. And you’re my friend, so if you think marching in to her work, scaring her into giving you answers is going to help you reconcile all that rage, you’re as dumb and shortsighted as your daddy.”

The phone rang. The sheriff didn’t budge. There was a knock at the door. Neither did Cody. Then Logan smiled and Cody finally had to admit that his friend was right. But there was no way he could wait until Sunday to finally hash this out. He needed to know if she’d kept JT from him because she was scared he’d hurt his own son, or if she just hated him that much.

“Then what do you suggest?” Cody forced his body to relax. Logan wasn’t going to back down and the last thing Cody wanted to do was fight with the only friendly face he’d met since his return to Sweet Plains.

“That you come throw back a beer or two with me at The B-Cubed tonight. I have it on good authority that Gina is dragging Shelby there, something about the cook-off and evidence.”

“You saying I should corner her at a bar and ask her in front of the entire town why she kept me from my son?”

“No, Cody. I’m saying that it’s awfully hard to avoid someone when you’re in their arms on the dance floor. Maybe it will pave the way for the talk you guys obviously need to have.”

“You know this from experience?”

“Have you met my sister-in-law?” There was a pause, not so long that it was uncomfortable, but enough to let Cody know Logan wanted to push the matter, but was also willing to let it drop.

“About the brush,” Cody said.

“I’ll have one of my deputies dust it for prints, see if we can figure out who handled it.” Logan looked at the brush on his desk, turning back to lock eyes with Cody’s. “So I heard you traded in that fancy city car for a man’s vehicle.”

Just thinking about his spanking new Ford sitting out front was enough to make him smile. Eight cylinders, four-wheel drive, king cab—every nine-year-old kid’s dream. Cody liked it too. Couldn’t wait to get it dirty.

“Can’t tow in a sedan. And how the hell did you know? I just got the damn thing.”

“You kidding? A Tucker comes back to Sweet Plains and buys himself a truck. In small-town talk, that’s putting down roots, pal. Surprised it’s not in the paper.” The word paper reminded him of that ad and effectively ruined his mood. “So, does this mean you’re sticking around for a while?”

Cody thought about it. Coming back wasn’t as bad as he’d expected. Could he see himself here forever? No, but he wasn’t champing at the bit to get out like Shelby had accused him of either. He could probably manage a weekend visit every now and again.

“At least until I can uncomplicate things.”

“Yeah, good luck with that.” Logan chuckled, stepped out of the door and offered a hand. Cody followed suit. “I’ll let you know what I find on the brush.”

“Appreciated. Tell your folks howdy for me.”

The B-Cubed was packed and in full honky-tonk mode, with waitresses swapping out their aprons for tight baby-tees, and balancing trays of longnecks instead of biscuits. Cue balls cracked and the steel guitar of a local band echoed through the bar. The tables and chairs were full, pushed back to the periphery of the room to make space for the few dozen couples who, like Shelby, were already two-stepping around the dance floor.

Mitch Stewart was by far the best-looking guy who had asked her to dance all night. Heck, in nearly a decade. He was lean, and blond, and firm and had the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. He was also too charming, too confident, and his two hands were wandering dangerously too low.

“Are you a chili and corn-bread kind of guy?” Shelby asked, firmly moving his fingers a little farther north.

“What kind of Texan would I be if I said no?” If his polo and loafers weren’t enough, his accent was a dead giveaway. Mitch was a weekend-rancher. Men who spent their weekdays starched in a boardroom and weekends at their sprawling ranch, playing at cowboy and pretending to get down and dirty. “Why, is that an offer to cook me some chili?”

“No,” she bit out too fast, cringing when he laughed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I meant that if you’re the chili kind of guy, you should come to the Summer Sweet Spectacular next Saturday. They have a chili and corn-bread cook-off. It’s a lot of fun and for a good cause.”

“Ah, you’re asking me on a date then?” Mitch teased, smiling with a confidence that made Shelby squirm.

“Actually, I was wondering if you’d like to judge. Mrs. Peterson claims to have had a stroke—”

“Claims?” Mitch spun her out and pulled her back in, holding her a little closer than before. The man was solid, but the kind of solid that came from weights and machines. Nice, but not the same as earning it through sweat equity.

Shelby straightened her frame, buying a few inches of space. “There’s no proof, but she backed out and it left us short an event chair. Somehow I kind of got suckered into coordinating the cook-off part and I need an impartial judge.”

Impartial, partial, preschoolers, the contestants’ own spouses—at this point Shelby didn’t care who sat on the panel, just that she actually had one. The cook-off was in a week and she didn’t have a single judge. Not a one.

Ever since it had gotten around that she was the new cook-off coordinator, most of the women in town had been avoiding her like she’d had a run-in with a gang of skunks—and lost.

Earlier, Shelby had driven by Bea’s Quilting Barn, knowing it was Bee Day and that there would be a good handful of women inside stitching away. By the time she parked her car and got out, the lights were off, the CLOSED sign was swinging in the window, and there wasn’t a quilter in sight. Well, except for Mrs. Jayne’s fuchsia skirt and dappled bun sticking out from behind the rickrack and yarn display.

The Ladies of Sweet, all twenty-three of them with their big hats and strands of pearls, had been adamantly opposed to judging any kind of event that included beans, cornmeal and—Lord have mercy—Gina Echols as a chair. In addition, they were equally opposed to a girl like Shelby setting her sights on a Tucker, being as Cody’s great-great-grandmother was an original Lady of Sweet. And Shelby was a work-for-aliving, not-born-in-Sweet nobody.

Even the nurses at the hospital were avoiding her, which made her job that much harder. So, desperate for judges, she decided to shift direction, get creative.

“It would only take an hour. And what kind of man could turn down blue-ribbon chili? There’s also dancing and beer and a football game,” Shelby went on, knowing that she was rambling, but also knowing that it beat giggling, which was what she felt like doing.

He was so good-looking and so out of her league and she was so
not
in the market for another man, thank you very much. She’d only agreed to the dance because he’d saved her from having to enter into another go-round with Mrs. McKinney. Plus he was really cute. And her self-appointed wing-girl, Gina, who swore not to leave Shelby’s side, a concession for going out, mysteriously disappeared the minute Logan walked in. Leaving Shelby with a tableful of unwanted admirers.

Shelby did a mental stop.
And potential judges.

Glancing over at her table, she found eight sets of eyes glancing back. She managed a small smile. In unison, they all raised a beer in greeting, then took a swig from their respective bottles.

It had been like that the second she’d walked into the bar. If the women were avoiding her, the men of Sweet had stood up and taken notice.

Guys who had no more than smiled at her while she picked out produce at Mable’s Corner Market were now out-and-out gawking, talking about her cupcakes for the auction, asking her to dance, offering to buy her a drink. She’d somehow gone from divorced mom of one, to just divorced, overnight. Which was why she’d agreed to a single dance with Mitch— he seemed the safest of the group, he didn’t smell like hay and hops,
and
he said he liked spicy foods.

“Well, you may just be in luck then,” Mitch said.

“In luck?” Shelby looked back to her partner and caught his gaze quickly drop to her chest and back, happening so fast she thought she might have made it up. It had been so long since she’d been out, danced with a man, she didn’t know if he was flirting or if she was desperate to feel wanted after the Cody-proposition disaster. Then he winked.
Yup, flirting.

“Looks like you’ve got yourself a judge.”

“Ohmygod! Are you serious? That’s great!”

Before she could protest, or even finish her “thanks,” Mitch slid closer, his arms tightening around her waist until they were chest to chest. She went stiff as a poker and tried to step back, but he held firm, leaning in and brushing his lips across her ear, whispering, “You need to unwind, darling.”

She swallowed, suddenly wishing she’d accepted Frank, and his two missing teeth, for this dance.

Mitch’s hand came up to massage the nape of her neck and Shelby purposely misstepped, crunching his toe. He grimaced and jerked back, pasting a smile over his twisted mouth. Too bad for him he went with the loafers tonight.

“Guess I should have warned you, I’m a terrible dancer. And since you aren’t wearing the proper footgear, maybe we should call this quits.”

“Just relax and let me lead,” Mitch said, his frame tensing. He added more pressure to his lead, strong-arming her around the floor like she was a horse. She wouldn’t be surprised if at the bridge he smacked her on the rump and said, “Getty up!”

Shelby didn’t know what else to do. Gorgeous or not, his touch didn’t feel right, she didn’t like the way his body pressed against her, and no matter how much space she tried to put between them, he wasn’t getting the hint.

“Is this better?” She blinked up at him as she made a deal out of rolling out her shoulders, and loosening her body, and stepped on his toes again. “Woops. Sorry.”

He bit off a curse, but held tight. “It’s all right.”

“Seriously, I have been known to maim innocent men in a single step. We should stop while we’re ahead. I could get you the sign-up sheet for the cook-off.” What had started out as a flattering offer by a handsome man to dance was quickly becoming something that made Shelby uncomfortable.

“I’ll make you a deal. Finish this dance and then we can go back to my place, have a glass of wine, cool down and get to know each other. And then we can talk about baked goods.”

“Cool down and get to know each other.” She glanced up. He
had
to be joking. “That sounds like code for get naked and have sex.”
Wow. She’d just said
sex
. To a strange man. Take that, Gina!

Mitch blinked. Then smiled. “Okay, if you want to cut to it, yeah.”

“You’re a nice guy, but I don’t even know you, and—”

“Easy fix. Get to know me.” Did this guy ever give up? “Maybe I could get a pre-auction preview of those cupcakes of yours I hear so much about?”