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

  “Plans change.”

  “Please don’t tell me your plans have anything to do with Ms. Kitty and the Prowler.” Because that was all Glory needed right now, some Green E15 added to the fire.

  “Then I won’t tell you.” She looked at Skeeter, who was looking back like a man in love, and her hands dug into her pudgy hips. “You had too much to drink already, Skeeter? Or you having a stroke?”

  “No, ma’am, just not used to seeing your knees bare is all,” Skeeter said, reaching up to tip his hat—only to realize he wasn’t wearing one.

  Etta Jayne stopped, her face going red as a Falcons’ jersey, then sputtered. Skeeter, looking confused and a little bit terrified, did some sputtering of his own.

  With a sigh, Glory stepped in. “You’re right, Skeeter. Etta Jayne is looking pretty tonight.”

  Etta Jayne was in a knee-length dress. Mourning black with a matching organza church hat. Her boots were ankle high and steel toed, and her expression was dialed to “Can I get a witness,” but she was showing leg and wearing lipstick.

  “And you’re looking like you’re one shuttle arrival from going under.” The older woman tied a beer-stained apron around her round middle and looked at the drink in front of Skeeter. “You want an umbrella with that, Skeeter?”

  The poor guy swallowed hard but silently shook his head.

  “Would hate to think you’d gone soft.” She grabbed the shaker from Glory’s hand, took a sniff, and narrowed her eyes. “Or that you’d be courting some society pearl.”

  “Not me, Etta Jayne,” Skeeter said and, leaving his drink on the bar, got up and left in a flurry.

  “Mint julep,” Etta Jayne muttered as she poured the drink into a mason jar, added a mint sprig, and slid it down the bar to Mable.

  “I was afraid I was going to die of dehydration,” Mable said, patting a bony hand to her chest.

  “You’ll suffocate from running your lips long before that,” Etta Jayne hollered back.

  Grabbing a rack of mason jars, and all the ingredients in her pudgy hands, she looked at Glory. “Give me a dozen gin and tonics using that bathtub gin we found at Letty’s place, and a dozen of those juleps everyone seems to be so big on. Unless it comes in a bottle or out of a tap, this is all we’re serving tonight.”

  “You didn’t have to scare off Skeeter like that,” Glory chided. “You know that drink was for you.”

  “Are you offering me dating tips?” Etta Jayne laughed, and Glory zipped it. She hadn’t gone on a date since the unregulated raising of Leon’s flagpole. “That’s what I thought. Now, I got an hour before the girls and I head out, and Stella’s not coming till nine, so go get me some limes.”

  Glory kissed her boss on the cheek and whispered, “Don’t be snappy just because a man got you flustered,” then made her way to the other end of the bar.

  “Poor Skeeter,” Glory mumbled, pulling out a handful of limes.

  “I don’t know, at least he’s one step closer,” Charlotte said, sitting primly on a barstool in an adorable yellow and white polka-dotted dress with a white belt and matching clutch. “How about you, Glory? You going to take your own advice or just dish it out?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Gaze on the cutting board, knife moving at the speed of light, Glory efficiently wedged the limes—and avoided eye contact. Because she knew. And Charlotte knew that she knew.

  There was a full beat of silence but Glory stood firm. Charlotte wasn’t one to let things go and her teeth were sunk so far into this conversation, Glory could feel the pricking at her neck. “So then you don’t want to talk about you and Cal?”

  Glory looked around to make sure no one had overheard, then leaned in to whisper, “There is no me and Cal.”

  “Ah-huh. As a former McGraw addict, I know the symptoms when I see them. And you’ve got an acute case.”

  Oh my God, there were symptoms? Of course there were; Glory had a list three pages long detailing just how severe her affliction was. “Wait, former addict? So you and Cal?”

  This was more awkward than watching the man you kissed go on a blind date with the perfect catch.

  “Lord no,” she said her hand on her chest. “Although that would make things so much simpler. Unfortunately, the town’s golden boy is far too cultured for my liking, it seems.” Cal? Cultured? The man swung hammers for a living. “Plus my mother would approve.”

  The only McGraw who didn’t come with the Sugar stamp of mother approval was the youngest and most notorious McGraw. Jace’s talent for causing trouble was almost as legendary as Glory’s.

  Just ask Judge Holden. During high school, Jace was a regular in his courtroom.

  “You and Jace—”

  “Aren’t up for discussion.”

  “Well, neither are Cal and I.” Glory looked at her friend with feigned disinterest, then realized she was too tired to pretend any longer. “I thought there might be more but he made it clear that he isn’t looking for anything more than friends.”

  “The last time a man was adamant about being friends, I ended up naked in the backseat of his ’68 Camaro.” And the smile Charlotte gave at the memory was neither proper nor prim, and in no way former Miss Peach appropriate.

  “Yes, well, naked friends might be on the table for him but not me. I want more.”

  “Well, then smile,” she said. “Because Cal just burst through the door looking delicious, determined, and like a man on a mission. And honey, my bet is you’re the target.”

  Chapter 14

  I need you,” Cal said when he reached the bar and, whoa, those three words packed a punch.

  “Well, isn’t that the declaration every woman dreams of hearing,” Charlotte said, sending Glory a not-so-sly waggle of the brow.

  “Are you busy?” Cal asked.

  Glory laughed. Was he kidding? There wasn’t a spare inch in the joint.

  Only Cal didn’t laugh. Didn’t look at anyone but her. His clothes were filthy, his face was smudged with what appeared to be chalk, and his eyes were grim. Something was wrong.

  “Charlotte.” She took off her apron and tossed it at her friend. “Can you handle the bar for…” She looked at Cal, wondering just how long he needed her and hating herself for hoping he’d say, “Forever.”

  “Ten minutes tops,” he said, finally looking around. “I didn’t even realize it was so busy.”

  “Honey, take as long as you need,” Charlotte said with a mischievous smile. “Every minute I stand behind that bar, mixing sin in a glass, I come one step closer to horrifying my mother.” She was already tying the apron around her Sunday dress and pouring gin in a shaker when Cal took Glory’s hand and pulled her through the crowded bar.

  “What’s going on?” she asked once they were outside, sprinting across the parking lot toward his truck. Not that she was opposed to being whisked away by a sexy bachelor who needed her, but she had a feeling by the frantic pace he was keeping that this had nothing to do with stealing a few kisses in his truck.

  “You’ll see,” he said then stopped at the driver’s side of the truck and reached for the handle.

  “Am I driving?”

  “No.” He turned to face her, and if she thought he looked filthy inside, in the sunlight the man looked as though he’d been in a mountain when it exploded. He had bits of gravel in his hair, his face looked like he’d been mining sandstone, and his clothes were hidden under a thick layer of dirt. “And whatever you do, don’t let her know how bad it is. She’ll only cry more and I can’t handle another forty minutes of tears.”

  Before she could ask him what he was talking about, he opened the door and shoved her inside the cab of his truck. The passenger seat was empty and at first glance so was the rest of the cab. The only clue that she wasn’t alone was the little wet sniffles that came in a succession of threes.

  Glory leaned over the backseat and found the source of the sniffles—and Cal’s panicked state.

  Payton sat on the floorbo
ard in her cheerleading uniform, enough makeup to pass for a pole dancer, and a new set of bangs that looked as though they’d been cut with a weed whacker. She also looked like she’d rather die than face the world—and Glory felt for her.

  Every girl, at one time or another, attempted to give themselves a new style. It rarely, if ever, turned out good.

  Doing her best to play it cool, Glory asked, “Kitchen scissors or a hair trimmer?”

  “Quilting sheers,” Payton said, her voice catching. “Dad said it’s not that bad, but I think he’s lying.”

  Glory wasn’t a parent, and she wasn’t sure how Cal wanted her to handle this, but she knew that teens could smell BS a mile away, so she went with honesty. “He’s lying. It is pretty bad.”

  “I knew it.” And the little hitch in her voice became the beginnings of a sob.

  “But,” Glory said, digging through Cal’s glove box, “nothing we can’t fix.”

  “Before the game?” There was so much hope in Payton’s voice, it pulled at Glory.

  “You bet,” she said with a reassuring smile, relieved Payton seemed to be pulling her tears in check. “Now”—she located a pack of wet wipes and passed them over the seat—“take off the makeup while I go grab my bag from the bar. I think a more all-American girl-next-door glow will work better with the uniform.”

  “I was trying to get the attention off my hair.”

  “Mission accomplished.” Glory looked at the smoky eye shadow and then to the Alfalfa bangs and reconsidered changing her statement. “I’ll be right back with my stuff. Oh, and Payton, I’m also bringing back your application.”

  Payton froze, wide-eyed and panicked. “You can’t.”

  “It wasn’t mine to accept to begin with.”

  And there went the waterworks again. At this rate, Payton would cry off all her makeup. “Dad already saw the dress. I can tell he’s super mad but waiting to talk to me about it because of, well.” She pointed to her hair. “I need more time so he can cool down.”

  “You have until Monday. And it has to have his signature on it or it will be rejected.”

  “What if he won’t sign it?” She sniffed.

  “What if he does?” At that, Payton blew out a like that will happen raspberry. So Glory got firm, channeling that velvet-stick tone Jelly Lou had perfected when Glory had been a teen. “You want him to treat you like a responsible teen? Act like one. Don’t sneak and go behind his back or pit your parents against each other to get your way.” The teen finally had the decency to look busted. “Explain to him why this is so important to you and have enough faith in him to respect his decision. Now wipe, I’ll be back in a minute.”

  It took three minutes to locate her bag and a pair of scissors, explain to Etta Jayne what was going on, and get back outside. Cal was pacing the lot looking like an expectant father.

  “I’m sorry I busted in on you at work,” Cal said, meeting her in the middle of the parking lot. “I was so wrapped up in Payton I didn’t even realize how packed it was. Did I get you in trouble?”

  “Nah.” She laughed. “Etta Jayne reminded me of the time I got my hair frosted. I wanted blond highlights but Jelly Lou got confused and told the hair dresser I wanted it frosted, like hers.” Cal looked at her as though she was speaking Latin. “It turned my hair gray and we didn’t have the money to fix it so I went to school for a whole month with white streaks in it. Everyone called me Bride of Frankenstein for the rest of eighth grade. Compared to that, fixing bangs is nothing.”

  Cal released a long, slow breath that had his shoulders sinking an inch. “It’s just been a hard day. Tawny’s late and we got into a huge argument and then I came home to find Payton rounding DEFCON-2 and heading straight toward nuclear meltdown, and I didn’t know how to fix it.”

  Hearing the strain in his voice shook her. But it was the distress in his expression over not being able to fix Payton’s world with a single hug that did her in. Reconfirmed for her what an amazing father Cal was, because he wouldn’t give up on Payton. He would do whatever it took to keep her safe—make her happy. And that, more than anything, reached Glory on a deeper level.

  “It’s just hair and makeup. Nothing that water and a bit of styling product can’t fix,” she said gently because he looked so upset. Regret clogged her throat, making it difficult to swallow, because—the application in her bag suddenly felt like it weighed a million pounds. Guilt could do that to a person.

  “But that’s just it. I don’t understand makeup or hair or why all the things that used to make her smile don’t work anymore.” He ran a hand down his face. “Jesus, I’m trying but no matter what I do or how hard I listen, I just don’t seem to get it.”

  Moved by the amazing man in front of her who was facing the reality that he had a teen daughter in his life, Glory reached out to cup his face but then remembered that Payton was within sight and settled for brushing the backs of his knuckles with her fingers. “You understand what’s important, Cal. And in the end, that’s all that matters.”

  After Payton’s game and the most uncomfortable family dinner of his life, Cal found himself back at the Saddle Rack, sitting next to Glory’s car staring at the blackened sky and waiting. For what, he didn’t have a clue.

  But talking about the possibility of his baby girl participating in the Miss Peach Pageant, something he promised to think about, made him angry. Because if Tawny hadn’t thrown giving Texas a trial run into the mix, something Payton promised Tawny she’d think about—God, that damn near broke his heart—he wouldn’t have had to pretend that the pageant was going to happen in the first place. So when he loaded up his daughter’s duffel bag and kissed her good-bye, he’d called Brett to meet up for a drink. One strong enough to make him forget that his perfectly unplanned life, which he loved so much it hurt, was rapidly turning to shit.

  Only instead of going inside and drinking it out with his brother, he’d left Brett hanging and spent the past hour sitting on his tailgate in the back parking lot, waiting for Glory to get off work and say…what?

  That with a little water and styling product she could fix his mess.

  That she could fix him.

  Jesus, what was he doing here? He’d come to thank Glory, not dump more of his problems on a woman who already had a truck full of her own. And sure, Tawny had done one on him tonight and he wasn’t his usual self, but if he were a smart man, he would stick a note under Glory’s windshield wiper, pack it up, and go home. Alone.

  Except that’s what he’d be, totally and completely and pathetically alone. Payton was with her mom, Hattie had gone to Atlanta for a girls’ weekend with her Bible group, and Brett had moved out and into his new blissful life. And Cal? He was exactly where he’d been the day Tawny walked out.

  Which was the only reason he could come up with for why, twenty minutes later, he was still sitting on his tailgate watching the stars when trouble walked out the back door, riffling through her purse for keys. And maybe, just maybe, he was there because being with Glory was like seeing the plans to a new build for the first time—exciting, invigorating, a fresh shot at being a part of something amazing.

  Her hair was pulled up in a flirty ponytail with little pieces hanging loose, framing her incredible face. Her lips were still tinted a bright red, and her top had tiny little straps and one of those built-in bra thingies that were made to mess with a man’s mind and—look at that—she had on cowgirl boots.

  Saloon Glory was done with her shift and looking a little messy and a whole lot tempting, and suddenly, he knew just why he’d come.

  She looked up, spotted him, and stopped. Then let loose a killer smile that had him smiling back. “What are you doing out here?”

  “Waiting for you,” he said, not feeling like a pussy. At all. “What are you doing off so early?”

  Her boots echoed off the pavement, not letting up until she was standing close enough to touch. Close enough to smell—which was freaking incredible. “I only worked a half shift so th
at I could study for my final exam. It’s on Monday.”

  “Well, then I won’t keep you, I just wanted to say thanks for helping Payton out tonight.”

  “How did it go? Did she make it in time for the photo?”

  “We pulled up right as the photographer was organizing the team. She looked great and everyone was talking about her new bangs,” he said.

  Glory smiled and set her bag on the end of the tailgate, the motion causing one of those little straps to slip off her bare shoulder. She asked something else about the game, maybe the final score, only he was too busy trying not to look at the more than inspiring view of her breasts the fallen strap provided. Breasts he’d had spent the past two weeks convincing himself couldn’t be as perfect as he’d imagined.

  They weren’t. They were even better. World-class, in fact. Not that he could see all of them, but he wanted to.

  “I thought we weren’t doing this?” she said with a low chuckle, letting him know he was caught. He raised his gaze and—oh yeah—she flashed him one hell of a wicked smile. And his brain checked out. Just like that. One smile and he was toast.

  “We’re not,” he said quietly, reaching out to fix her strap, only to cup her hips instead, drawing her toward him and parting his legs to make room. Not because he needed to touch her, okay, he needed to touch her, but that seemed a whole hell of a lot safer than slipping a finger through that strap and testing just how far it could slide.

  “You sure?” She shimmied forward a little until their bodies brushed. Hers soft and warm, making his hard and ready and he wasn’t sure about a damn thing.

  “Yes, I came here to thank you,” he said but her gaze had slid to his mouth, which was fine with him since his hands slid right over her spectacular ass to trace the hem of her skirt. He felt her tremble beneath his touch so of course he did it again.