Sugar on Top (Sugar, Georgia Book 2) Read online

  “Which is why we’d understand if you decided to pull your support,” he said, standing.

  “But then you’d have no scholarship program. Are you willing to deny those girls a chance to go to college?” Kitty threatened and it was a good enough reason to back down. Only he couldn’t, because Brett was right; he was a good guy. And right now he needed to be Glory’s good guy.

  “Since the girls you are referring to will go to college regardless of the scholarship, I don’t think they’re worried,” Cal argued but Glory was opening her mouth, ready to back down so that the scholarship wouldn’t be lost. He wasn’t going to let that happen. “As for the other girls, they will be fine since McGraw Construction is willing to match dollar for dollar whatever is lost, should you decide to pull your support.”

  “What?” Glory said, her big green eyes going even bigger. “You don’t have to do that.”

  “I know,” he said. “But I want to help. The Harvest Fest benefits the whole town; I think it’s time that the rest of the businesses pitch in. However, my offer only applies if the application deadline is extended to include Sugar High students who didn’t feel comfortable applying before.”

  “You can count on the Saddle Rack to help out,” Etta Jayne offered and three other local business owners pledged their support.

  It was as though all of the air was sucked out of the room, and people were weighing in what was happening. Then Charlotte said, “Now who would like to sign up on my decoration committee?” and an explosion of hands went up.

  Ms. Kitty had lost the battle and it was going to be around town before the meeting let out. But that wasn’t what had Cal smiling. Nope, that honor went to Glory and the genuine surprise on her face.

  The room was a flurry of activity, so no one noticed when she walked up to him, stopping inches from his boots and toeing at the floor again.

  “Thank you,” she said quietly, having a hard time looking him in the eye. “For lunch and for helping me with my proposal and for, well, everything. I don’t even know what to say, except thanks.”

  “That getting easier?” he asked.

  “Admitting that you’re a good guy? Nah, I always knew it.” She looked up and let loose a big smile and, yup, he’d made her day all right.

  And the damn thing was, he was suddenly interested in what she’d look like if he made her world.

  Cal was doing his best not to think about Glory, but even shoveling gravel in the hot-ass Georgia heat wasn’t helping.

  He had spent all day yesterday digging the trench around the perimeter of the foundation for the drain tile, and hours that morning laying the pipe, and he was damn tired. So tired that thinking should be impossible. But that look she’d given him was going to kill him.

  Literally.

  He was so busy trying not to think about that look or what it meant, he didn’t pay attention to the loud beeping of the dump truck until it was too late. The bed lifted right as he looked up, covering the worksite with two tons of sand and, because he was standing downwind, covering him with two tons’ worth of sand dust.

  Coughing and smacking the gray powder off his jeans, he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He looked at the screen and answered.

  “Hey, Brett,” he shouted into the mouthpiece. “What’s going on?”

  “We’ve got a problem.”

  “I must have heard you wrong.” Cal walked toward his truck, putting distance between himself and the noise of the site. “I thought you said we have a problem, which couldn’t be right, since I am officially retired in the helping your ass out department.”

  “You might want to rethink that statement since I am currently sitting outside your bathroom door, trying to bribe Payton into coming out.” Brett let out a sigh that was utterly defeated and Cal felt his head begin to ache. “I’ve tried everything, man. Ice cream, crying it out with her favorite uncle, that stupid dance movie she loves. I even offered to buy her a pony.”

  “A pony?” The last thing he needed was one more life to be responsible for.

  “Don’t worry, she opened the door, screamed she wasn’t a baby, and slammed it shut.”

  Cal pinched the bridge of his nose and released a breath, a small cloud of dust expelling. “Let me guess, Tawny isn’t there.”

  “Nope. I guess she is stuck in traffic or running late.” More like she didn’t leave on time. “Payton called, asking for Joie. I told her Joie wasn’t home; she said her life was over and hung up. When I got here, she was already barricaded in the bathroom, and unless you’re willing to let me put a sweet-sixteen convertible on the table, I suggest you get home. And bring your tools. At this point we might have to pick the lock.”

  “Ah, shit.” Cal took in the three trucks lined up and waiting for his signal to deliver the supplies, the two crews working hard to get the pipes laid and covered in time for the drain tile inspection on Monday, and his foreman who was waving him over—for what he assumed was another unforeseen setback.

  Walking off the site now meant that there was a good chance they wouldn’t be ready for inspection come Monday. Which could set them back. Big time.

  But Payton was his number one. Always.

  “I’ll be there in ten minutes,” Cal said, heading over to talk to the foreman. An ear-piercing scream came through the phone, followed by several “Ohmygods!” and hysterical sobbing. “Make that five.”

  And just when Cal thought his day couldn’t get any worse, Brett added, “And Cal, be ready. There’s a dress.”

  He stopped, everything inside him telling him not to ask. “What kind of dress?”

  “The shop delivered it about ten minutes ago. It’s blue and poofy and pageanty,” Brett said, and the asshole had the nerve to chuckle. “It doesn’t have any sleeves. I guess she expects to hold it up with her…you know.”

  Yeah, Cal knew. Just like he knew he’d been played. Only this time Tawny had pulled Payton into the game.

  “A dress, Tawny,” Cal barked into his bluetooth as he pulled out onto the highway. “What the fuck? We talked about this and decided she was too young.”

  “No, Cal.” Her voice filled the cab of his truck and grated like biting on tinfoil. “You decided she was too young. I started in pageants when I was three and loved it.”

  She was also pregnant and married by twenty—and not in that order. Cal loved his life as a single dad, wouldn’t change it for the world, but he wanted more for Payton. He wanted her to understand how intelligent and talented she was, and that, sure she was pretty, but she had so much more to offer the world than her looks.

  “Since we both need to be in agreement, and I’m not, the pageant isn’t happening.”

  “For God’s sake, she’s entering a pageant, not applying at Hooters.” Cal had been to a few pageants, knew what they wore, and didn’t see much of a difference. “She is so excited about this, Cal. We have been talking about it and planning all summer.”

  “Funny, since I’m her dad and this is the first I’m hearing about it.” Although if he were being honest, Payton had brought it up in passing several times. But not a word about it from his ex. “You should have been talking to me, Tawny. Not going behind my back to get a dress so I have to either say yes or be the bad guy who wrecks Payton’s world.”

  “Then don’t wreck her world,” she said as though she knew he was going to cave. And normally he would, but not this time. Not with her canceling two weeks in a row and then showing up late to the most important night of his daughter’s sophomore year. “This means a lot to her. To both of us and she was afraid you wouldn’t understand that.”

  All he understood was that once again his ex had manipulated the situation. And sure, he might not understand the finer points of makeup or what was so important about a pageant that Payton would feel the need to lie to him, but he made sure that he was always there for her. He showed up, took an interest, and listened because that’s what good parents did for their kids.

  “Tonight meant a lot to
her, Tawny.” More than a dress, Cal thought, pulling onto the gravel road to his house. “She was looking forward to spending time with you, showing her mom off to her friends, and now she is crying in the bathroom. What could be more important than you showing up for that? And don’t give me the traffic bull you told Payton.”

  Silence filled the cab of his truck, every second pressing farther down on his shoulders. Tawny only got silent when she was about to drop a bomb, and the last time he’d felt this kind of weighted silence was when she told him she was filing for divorce.

  “I’m not coming from home. I’m coming from the airport and my plane from Houston was delayed so I landed two hours late.” She exhaled—hard. Which had his heart thumping against his rib cage. “Randal wasn’t interviewing a perspective client; he was interviewing for lead council and he got the job.”

  Cal parked his car by the front porch and rested his head against the steering wheel. Payton was going to be crushed by the news. She barely saw her mom as it was and they only lived a few hours away. Four states between them was going to take their relationship from strained to more of a rotating-holidays one, and she deserved more.

  “How long does Randal have to make his decision?”

  “It’s an incredible opportunity for us,” she said, completely oblivious to the fact that she’d just turned Payton’s world upside down. “Why would he wait?”

  “I don’t know, maybe to talk to your daughter, see how she felt about her mother living in a different state.” What had he ever seen in her? “Did you even stop to consider how hard this might be on her?”

  “Of course I did,” she snapped. “Which is why Randal and I want to ask her to come with us. I was going to bring it up at dinner tonight.”

  “Jesus, Tawny.” Cal’s heart stopped—right there in his chest. “What about talking to me about this first?”

  “I’m talking to you now, aren’t I?”

  “Only because I called.” She went quiet, a clear sign that she had planned on railroading him tonight at dinner. His ears went hot, a clear sign that he was about to lose it. “You know what, the dress, your stupid games, none of it matters because it’s not going to work, Tawny. Payton lives here. In Sugar. Her family, her friends, her life, everything is here.”

  He wanted to point out that he was there, too, and Payton was his life.

  “I’m her family, too, and she only lives in Sugar because that’s where you chose to live.” He didn’t choose but whatever, the second Payton came along, he settled in for the long haul to give his daughter roots and stability. “She has no idea what else is out there.”

  “And you’re going to show her that? You can’t even handle being a parent every other weekend, and you want me to believe you can handle it full time?”

  “It’s not about what you want anymore, it’s about what Payton wants.” Easy to say when armed with a pageant dress and a designer house on the Gulf. “She is fourteen now, old enough to choose. And I’m not saying she’ll choose to come with me, but I hope she does.”

  Cal’s phone buzzed. It was Brett. “I gotta go, we’ll talk about this later.”

  “Tell Payton I’ll be there in time for the start of the game.”

  Cal disconnected without a good-bye and clicked over. “I just pulled up.”

  “Thank God,” Brett said, his voice clipped with the same panic Cal felt coursing through every cell of his body. “I convinced Payton to open the door, but I gotta warn you, I don’t think even a pink convertible will be enough to fix this.”

  Back in the Saddle Night at the Saddle Rack was always held on the fourth Friday of the month—and it was always packed. The only two-step social in three counties that recognized senior discounted cocktails, it was a Sunday boots mandatory, dentures optional kind of crowd where Hank Williams ruled the jukebox, Bengay was applied in advance, and bathtub gin and mint juleps were the drinks of choice.

  The theme changed weekly, the crowd was always the same, and since tonight was Bootleggin’ Days—and the staff had to dress accordingly—Glory was wearing a silver beaded drop-waist dress, vintage cowgirl boots, and had a flask strapped to her inner thigh.

  “Hey, Miss Glory,” Skeeter hollered over the elevated cheers as the first notes of “Hey, Good Lookin’” filled the room. “Pretty crowded tonight.”

  Crowded? A good portion of the town’s retired sector was already there and the Senior Shuttle was doing a steady pickup and drop-off every fifteen minutes. In fact, the next one was due to arrive anytime, and if it was as packed as the last, it would keep her too busy to obsess over confusing sexy single fathers.

  “Sorry about the wait, we’re a little understaffed tonight.”

  She was the only staff. The cocktail waitress and hushpuppy runner was a no-show. Not that Glory was surprised. Stella was twenty-two, twice-divorced, and had already missed two nights that week alone, citing “personal problems.”

  “What can I get you?” Glory asked, thankful Skeeter would say something from the tap and not a drink that would require a shaker, blender, two hands, or way too much time. Skeeter came in every week, parked his spare tire in the same stool at the bar, then watched everyone socialize while he nursed his Lone Star. “The usual?”

  He did a little shuffle in his chair, cleared his throat, and even smoothed all seven hairs on his head over to the side. “How about something a little more educated?”

  “Educated?”

  “Yeah, cultured, like one of them martinis.” Glory blinked, long and slow. “But I don’t like green things in my drink. Do I have to have the green things in it?”

  “I could do a lemon instead of olives.”

  “Then yeah, one of them.” Skeeter leaned in and lowered his voice. “And a mint julep.”

  “Mint julep?” Glory raised a brow but poured the vermouth and gin in a clean shaker. “Those are some pretty fancy drinks.” The official drink of choice by Sugar Peaches everywhere. “You trying to impress someone?”

  Glory meant it as a joke. Everyone in town knew that Skeeter had a thing for Etta Jayne; not that he’d acted on it. When courting a woman who used to castrate bulls for a living, timing and delivery were important. Which was why Skeeter hadn’t done more than tip his hat in Etta Jayne’s direction since his wife passed away nearly twenty years ago. But he hesitated, for just a moment, his mouth going a little slack. Glory’s mouth, on the other hand, fell open.

  Now that she thought about it, Skeeter was dressed for church, even left his hat at home, and he looked a little sweaty and a whole lot nervous. Like he might just pass out.

  Glory leaned in and lowered her voice. “Are you on a date, Skeeter?”

  “No,” he sputtered, not sounding all that convincing. “I’m here alone. But…” Skeeter glanced over his shoulder at the front door and pulled at the collar of his shirt. “I’m hoping to make an impression on someone. A real class act and nothing says high class like a julep. And sweets.”

  He set a pink and white metal tin on the bar. Inside were six handmade truffles, each in a red paper cup and tied with a pink bow. If there was one thing Etta Jayne wasn’t, it was a pink kind of lady.

  “That is very sweet of you,” Glory said, a ridiculous smile forming when she thought about Cal showing up for her the other day. He’d helped take her proposal from amateur to front runner in one afternoon—and brought her a meatloaf sandwich with a cookie.

  “Sweet?” Skeeter looked horrified. “Ah, hell, it is, isn’t it?” He wiped the sweat off his brow with the cuff of his shirt. “You know what, just make it a Lone Star and skip the julep. Don’t know what I was thinking. She’s not here yet so I bet she won’t even show.”

  Tension pinched between her shoulders as Glory looked down the length of the bar. It was already three people deep, nearly every table was full, and through the window she could see the next shuttle pulling up. Or maybe what was pricking her wrong was that Skeeter was going to give up—and Glory wanted someone to win in the game of lov
e.

  “But she might,” Glory said. “And when she does, you’ll need a drink in hand for your classy lady. Who knows, she might even let you take her for a spin around the dance floor.”

  “Or she might tell me where to shove it.”

  Etta Jayne was more a woman of action than words, so he should be more worried about where she’d stick it. “At least the wondering would be over and you wouldn’t come in here week after week, sitting and watching and wondering.”

  Something Glory knew all too well. She’s been sitting and watching Cal for years, and now that she knew what he tasted like, she had to admit that all of her wondering didn’t even come close to the reality.

  Cal McGraw was about as perfect as a man could get—and instead of ignoring her, he wanted to be her friend. She wasn’t sure which was worse.

  “When did I start paying my employees to stand around and flap their gums?” Etta Jayne asked, making her way through the crowd and sliding behind the bar.

  “I thought it was your night off and you were coming here with the girls,” Glory asked, emptying Skeeter’s drink from the shaker to a martini glass, sliding a lemon on the rim, and going to work on the mint julep.

  “And I thought you were handling business. Mable Facebooked that she’d been waiting so long to get her drink she’d died of old age and if someone could notify her son in Tampa to come retrieve the body.” She held up her phone as proof. “Plus, Jelly Lou wanted me to tell you that you have to sit Road Kill this weekend.”

  “This weekend?” The last time she’d been left to sit Road Kill, the grannies had been kicked out of Atlantic City for counting cards and Road Kill had eaten a hole in every single pair of Glory’s underwear. “I thought you ladies had choir practice tomorrow morning.”