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

  A loud bang cut through the air and the crowd gasped. By the time Glory turned, everyone was on their feet, waiting to see how this would all play out.

  “Ho-ly shit,” Spencer said loud enough for the mic to transmit it to the crowd. “Kitty’s choking up a hair ball.”

  Because there on the track, five feet from the finish line, with smoke piling out of the hood, was the Peach Prowler and one very pissed off NASCAR champion. The tractor sputtered and jerked, fighting for its last few feet and losing.

  Skeeter gunned it, black smoke exploding out of his exhaust pipe as the Rust Bucket pulled ahead of the competition in time to cross the finish line a fraction of a second before the Pitter.

  No one breathed. No one said a word. They all silently watched the Prowler sputter to a stop a few inches shy of finish. Astonishment thick in the air, it took a moment to absorb what had just happened.

  Jelly Lou flew by the finish line in second place and came to a stop, turning around to find Glory in the crowd. Their eyes met and Glory smiled because her grandma was hugging Road Kill and looking like she’d just seen her Ned again.

  Mr. NASCAR hopped off the tractor and pried open the hood. It took a few seconds for the steam to clear, and when it did, the crowd fell silent. Because in one lift of the hood, Mr. NASCAR exposed a mighty fancy—and highly illegal—engine and Ms. Kitty as a cheat.

  The crowd stared at Ms. Kitty in shocked horror, and Ms. Kitty looked a million years old. Devastation was so engrained in her expression it was hard to watch. She stood alone at the edge of the bleachers—face drawn, both hands pulled in toward her chest, her head slowly shifting back and forth as though the movement alone would undo what had just transpired.

  Kitty Duncan’s decisions had finally caught up with her and no amount of money or spin-control could make this go away; that was obvious by the way not one Sugar Peach came to her side in a show of support.

  Strangely, instead of feeling vindicated, all Glory felt was genuine sorrow—and a strange sense of kinship. Ms. Kitty hadn’t just lost the Sugar Pull; she’d just lost her place in the community. Even worse, it had been obliterated in front of the entire town.

  And Glory knew exactly what that felt like.

  “Where’s my Peach?” Skeeter hollered, oblivious to what was happening in the stands. He hopped up on the hood of his tractor and took off his trucker’s hat, scanning the crowd. “I want some sugar from my Peach.”

  “You said I only had to ride with him,” Magnolia Rose cried, and before Glory could calm her down, Skeeter shocked everyone by pointing at Etta Jayne, who stood in the pit area in an equally bedazzled jumpsuit. Only hers was smudged with grease and said, GEORGIA’S FINEST.

  “You got two minutes to get yourself up here so I can take you for a ride,” Skeeter hollered.

  “You old fool, the rules say you have to take her.” Etta Jayne pointed to Magnolia Rose with a meaty finger.

  Miss Peach blanched.

  “They say nothing of the kind,” Skeeter countered. “I know ’cuz I spent the last two weeks poring over every bylaw in that manual you tote around, and nowhere in there does it say the winner has to take the current Miss Peach on their tractor. It just says Miss Peach, and the one I want happens to be a Ms., not a Miss.”

  Skeeter hopped down and hooked his thumbs in his belt loops. “Now you going to climb up on my tractor and let me take your for a spin, or am I going to have to put you there myself? Either way this ride is happening.”

  Etta Jayne opened her mouth, closed it, and opened it again, but nothing came out. She looked just like the Prowler, sputtering and steaming with no hope of winning.

  “That’s what I thought.” Skeeter gave a little bow and offered his hand like a gentleman. “Now, hop on up and be ready, ’cause when this ride is over, I’m going to get some of that sugar I’ve been waiting twenty years to experience. And I’m going to experience it here, in front of God and witnesses, to make sure you don’t mistake my intentions.”

  “And what intentions are those?” Etta Jayne spat, but even from a distance Glory could see the older woman blushing.

  “That I’m staking my claim, and it’s you, Etta Jayne. So be ready for the ride of your life, ’cuz I’m going to make you mine before this night is out.”

  And with that, Skeeter hopped up on the one-time champion, the Rust Bucket, and with one arm on the wheel and the other around his Ms. Peach, he took the woman he loved on a victory lap around the stadium.

  It was nearly seven, Cotillion was about to begin, and instead of standing under the twinkle lights of the Miss Peach arbor with her super-hot date, Glory found herself staring up at Duncan Plantation. It looked the same as it had back in high school, like one of those fancy homes they showcased in Architectural Digest’s “Southern Splendor” segments.

  Taking a deep breath, she lifted her hand to knock, but felt her inner strength deflate like a popped balloon. Ten minutes ago she had been bubbling with confidence and forgiveness, ready to be the bigger person and put this mess behind her, so she could move on and claim her fresh start. Only to remember that a million years ago, her seventeen-year-old self had stood in this same spot and told herself the same exact thing.

  You’re not seventeen anymore.

  She also wasn’t naive enough to think that one night of mingling with high society would change her life. She finally understood that if she wanted a new and improved life here in Sugar, she had to stop waiting for permission and just go for it.

  Shoulders back, she rapped boldly on the door. Glory hadn’t even dropped her hand when it swung open.

  Ms. Kitty stood there, backlit by a massive chandelier and dressed in a silky, sapphire blue, floor-length robe with feathers lining the collar, matching kitten heels—also accented with feathers—and pearls.

  “I figured you’d given up and scampered away by now,” Ms. Kitty said, once again in lemon-sucking mode. Glory seemed to have that effect on her. “But you leave me no choice; I’ll just have to call the sheriff.”

  Phone already in hand, her finger hovered with threat over what Glory assumed was the speed dial button for Jackson.

  “No need, I’ll be gone before you even hang up,” she assured. “I just came to say I’m sorry about…a lot. I didn’t understand until today what this festival meant to you and I apologize that I haven’t always considered your feelings.”

  “Huh,” the older woman said, crossing her arms and not making this any easier.

  “I didn’t want this position, but I know that you did.” Glory reached in her handbag and pulled out an envelope.

  “What’s that, an official notice banning me from all future Harvest Fest events?”

  That was what Charlotte and Etta Jayne had said she should do.

  “No, it’s the official list of the finalists for Miss Peach.” Charlotte had tallied the scores and placed the winners inside the sealed envelope. Even Glory didn’t know who had won. “This pageant is what it is partly because of your generosity and dedication. And we would be honored if you would agree to resume your position as host for the Presenting Ceremony.”

  “Well, pretty big britches you’ve got, speaking for the town as though God made you queen,” Ms. Kitty said, her eyes glued to the envelope.

  “Well, Judge Holden made me co-commissioner, and he’s one step from God in this town, so I am allowed to speak on behalf of the council. And as my final act as co-commissioner of the Harvest Council, I am reinstating you as a council member and asking you to come to Cotillion.”

  “Final act?”

  “Yes, Peg Brass is back from her trip and will be taking over as harvest commissioner, but I asked her if I could make one last ruling. She said as long as you are prohibited from ever running for office and banned from the Sugar Pull, I had her full support.” Glory extended the envelope again.

  Ms. Kitty took it and ran a shaky finger over its edge, then shook her head and offered it back. “Me going to that Cotillion would give ever
yone what they want, a chance to see how far the mighty have fallen.”

  Glory didn’t think Kitty Duncan was all that mighty anymore. She didn’t even think that the woman was happy. Kitty buried herself in committees and boards the same way Glory buried herself in school and work, as a way to belong.

  “Locking yourself in here is a better option?” Glory asked. “You’re the great Kitty Duncan. You only have to remind people of that.”

  Ms. Kitty didn’t look like she had it left in her to do anything of the sort. “I think they know who I am and walking into the lion’s den won’t help any.”

  “Sometimes we do things out of desperation, things that feel right in the moment but aren’t,” Glory said quietly. “But one bad decision”—or in Kitty’s case a decade plus—“doesn’t have to define you.”

  And Glory truly believed that now.

  “I hope you decide to come to Cotillion. If not, I’ll be here next year, knocking on your door, bugging you to come,” Glory teased.

  “You won’t have any power next year. You’ll go back to being a big nobody,” Kitty said and then vanished—with the list of finalists, Glory noted with a smile.

  Chapter 18

  The Falcon’s Nest normally formal dining room was wrapped in twinkling lights and shimmery stringed balloons that littered the ceiling. Cocktail tables lined the back of the round room and a giant arbor covered in peach leaves and roses advertised just what tonight’s event was, in case someone missed the giant Miss Peach banner hanging above the entry.

  Cal checked his cell for the tenth time in five minutes, disappointed to see not a single missed call or text. Glory had texted about an hour ago explaining she had a last-minute errand to run and would meet him at the Country Club. He considered calling her but didn’t want to come off needy.

  Grabbing the little white box off the cocktail table he’d made his temporary home, he checked the entry hall to the Falcon’s Nest one last time. He was supposed to be in the holding area, waiting to present Payton to society, but he needed to find his date first—make sure she was okay.

  Make sure she didn’t change her mind and show up with someone else—like Chuck.

  Instead he found Ms. Kitty, draped in diamonds and entitlement, striding through the front doors with purpose.

  “What are you doing here?” Cal asked.

  “Being late for the Presenting Ceremony because that lady friend of yours drives like a slug.”

  “You’re doing the presenting?” This was news to Cal.

  “Well, when the co-commissioner comes up banging on my door, all but dragging me from my home, saying that Cotillion couldn’t possibly go on without me, what am I supposed to say?” Kitty smoothed her hair down. “So for the good of the event, I decided to put my differences with the current council aside and be the bigger person. Now, if you’ll get out of my way, I have a queen to crown.”

  Cal stepped aside moments before she would have whacked him with her purse. And speaking of his lady friend, Cal stood rooted in surprise as the front doors opened and in walked the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Her hair hung in soft waves, tumbling down her back, while little wisps curled forward, framing her face.

  At first glance, the dress was simple and elegant. A shimmery peach fabric that started at her collarbone, hugging her body and covering enough leg to be classy but leaving enough bare to make his mouth go dry. And her shoes—hot damn, her shoes.

  No cowgirl boots for this girl.

  Tonight she wore sleek and sophisticated mile-high heels with a tiny strap crossing her red-tipped toes and another wrapping around the curve of her ankle. But as he stepped closer, things got interesting. The fabric shimmered in the light, giving the illusion of being sheer while showing nothing and making him wonder about everything—like what she had on underneath.

  “They match my toes,” she whispered, leaning in until he could feel her lips graze the outer edge of his ear. The music inside the ballroom stopped and Ms. Kitty’s voice boomed through the speaker, announcing the start of the Presenting Ceremony.

  Glory peeked over his shoulder. “What are you doing out here?”

  “Waiting for you.”

  “But the ceremony is about to start. This is Payton’s big night. She can’t walk herself through the presenting arbor.”

  “It’s also your big night. And you shouldn’t have to walk through the door alone. Now, if you will do me the honor.” He took a corsage out of the white box he’d been carrying around for most of the night.

  “Cal,” she whispered, touching the petals but not taking it. “It’s beautiful.”

  “Payton picked it out. She said that peonies are the flower of honor and that they stand for romance and happiness to come,” he said, as if that wasn’t the pussiest sentence in the history of mankind. If his crew ever heard about this, he’d never live it down.

  Then Glory looked up at him and he stopped caring what his crew thought, because he was pretty sure that Glory was the most amazing person he’d ever met. And that he was one kiss away from falling completely. And he was surprisingly okay with that.

  “Payton knows? About us?” She sounded horrified.

  “I’m pretty sure the whole town knows about us. And those who don’t are about to figure it out.”

  With that, he took Glory’s hand and pushed open the doors to the ballroom. Everyone turned to look as he slipped the corsage over her wrist. Offering his arm, he escorted her into the center of the packed room, and together they faced the crowd of curious onlookers.

  Cal might not have kissed Glory in front of God and town, but everyone there knew that she was his. It was in every touch, every look, and when he eased her in his arms to slowly move her around the dance floor, their bodies brushing with each step, she finally allowed herself to believe that she was his. And that what was between them had the potential to go the distance.

  “Payton looked so grown up tonight,” she said as Cal led her through a few turns, his hand never slipping past proper, but the small nuances in his hold and body language making a very wicked promise for what was to come. “And happy.”

  “Happy, yes.” A deep scowl crossed his face. “But I don’t want to talk about the other part,” Cal grumbled.

  “Do you also not want to talk about how your eyes went a little misty when she was presented?”

  Making no comment, he swept her across the floor—and off her feet if she was being honest—spinning her until she was too breathless to speak. Too caught up in the moment to care about giving him a hard time.

  “Jackson told me what you did for Kitty,” he said, absently trailing a finger over the zipper on the back of her dress. “Not many people would have done that.”

  The exact reason Glory had gone over there in the first place. Kitty messed up, no question about that, but it didn’t detract from what she’d done for the Harvest Fest over the years. She had been hosting the Presenting Ceremony since before Glory was born and was as much a part of the evening as the crown.

  She might not be the right person to run the pageant, but so what, she deserved to be there.

  “I know what it feels like to have no one in your corner. It sucks.”

  Cal’s serious eyes studied her. “So you went over there to tell the woman who has made your life hell that you were in her corner?”

  When put that way, it sounded silly. But looking at Ms. Kitty arguing with Darleen Vander over the balloons deflating was proof that, although bringing her here had been the right move, Glory had been wrong on several accounts. Like for one, she didn’t need to fit in. She was happy standing out if it meant being herself. In fact, she didn’t need to find her place; she had created one on her own and she was proud of it.

  Finally, and this was the most important part, Glory didn’t want what everyone else had. She wanted something special, something all her own. She wanted Cal.

  And she was pretty sure he wanted her back.

  Cal didn’t miss a step�
��not easy considering he felt like his heart was going to explode out of his chest. Because standing there on the dance floor with Glory in his arms, looking up at him with those big mossy eyes, he realized he didn’t want to be in her corner—he wanted to be her corner. Which shouldn’t make sense, yet it did.

  Between his job, his family, and his daughter, Cal would be crazy to add one more person to his list of responsibilities. Although looking at Glory right then didn’t feel crazy; it felt right. The more he thought about it, spending time with Glory was what had kept him sane these past few weeks.

  “Cal,” Glory said and he realized that the song had ended and he was about to kiss her. Which wouldn’t have been such a bad thing except that his daughter was standing right behind him—with the lawn boy.

  “Sir,” Mason began, running a hand across his forehead. Cal liked that he made the kid sweat. “I wanted to say thank you for allowing me escort Payton tonight and I hope that I’ve shown her the kind of good time she deserves.”

  “You’re welcome,” Cal said with a pleasant smile, but it took some serious effort. “And she’s still fourteen, so her good time ends at a few slow dances.”

  Payton went to argue, but Mason gently touched her arm and she zipped it. “Yes, sir. Of course. And even if she were eighteen, I wouldn’t expect more than a few slow dances. Maybe some hand holding.” The kid leaned in and whispered, “Girls have soft hands.”

  Cal rolled his eyes. “Why don’t we save the hand holding until next year?”

  “You bet.” Mason smiled as though he’d just won the lottery. “I came to ask your permission to take Payton to have ice cream. I’ll still have her home by her curfew.”

  Cal looked at his watch. “Which is in an hour and the deal was you drive her here, I drive her home.”