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

  “Allergic reaction. Close proximity to assholes for extended periods of time tends to have that effect on me.”

  “So you’re saying a ride to the hospital with me would only add to your discomfort.”

  It would, but not in the way he was implying.

  “I don’t need to go to the hospital, and—” She took in a deep breath and added, “You’re not an asshole, Cal.”

  “That seemed painful for you to say.”

  Swallowing a big bite of humble pie, she looked him in the eye. “No, I mean it. I was so ticked I forgot to thank you for coming down and bailing me out. I know you probably did it because Brett forced you to, but I appreciate it all the same. And you don’t have to worry about me leaving town and costing you…”

  She looked up in question.

  “Five grand.”

  Glory gasped. “Five grand?”

  There was no way she was leaving town, because there was no way she could afford to pay him back if she did. Then all of her earlier anger vanished, leaving behind a deep sense of gratitude. If he hadn’t posted bail, she’d be calling Sugar County Jail her home until the sentencing. And based on how that went, maybe even longer.

  “Judge Holden’s a fair guy. You don’t need to worry, JD was just trying to scare you,” Cal said softly.

  Glory looked at the shattered lights of the cruiser, the accordion hood, and she wasn’t so sure.

  “I’m not thinking of skipping town, if that’s what you mean,” she said. “But if it makes you feel any better, you can hold the keys to my car. It isn’t worth five grand, but that way you know I can’t leave.”

  “I don’t need your keys, Glory. I don’t think you’re a flight risk,” Cal said and the belief she heard in his voice made speaking hard.

  “Okay, then. Thanks.” She gave a silly little flap of the hand that she hoped came off like a wave and walked backward. Right into the gate.

  Glory turned around and dropped her head to stare at her ruined boots. And just when she thought it couldn’t get any worse, she felt a warm jacket slide over her shoulders. She opened her mouth to tell him that she was covered in shit and she would ruin his soft and fuzzy and incredible-smelling jacket, but instead a sob came out. Followed by another one and a mortifying snort. Until finally her entire body was shaking.

  Large hands settled on her hips and slowly turned her until she was nestled in the most glorious chest she’d ever felt. Wanting to grab on, but terrified of looking as desperate as she felt, Glory dug her fingers into the edges of the jacket, pulling it closed. She rested her cheek over his heart and tried to calm her breathing to match his steady beat.

  And somewhere between his arms coming around her and feeling his lips press against the top of her head, Glory wondered if she would ever figure out how to become the kind of woman that good men, men like Cal, saw forever in.

  Chapter 3

  He was screwed. One simple contact and he knew that touching her had been an incredibly bad move, because his entire body registered just how amazing she felt in his arms. Soft and fragile and holding on to him so damn tight, as though he alone could make everything better. A dangerous position for a guy who’d spent his entire life playing hero, only to be benched, one by one, over the years by the people he loved.

  Cal’s parents died when he was a sophomore in college, and even though his grandma moved in and took over running the house, Cal took it upon himself to make sure his brothers grew up to become the kind of men their dad would have raised. Instead of finishing college with his buddies, he gave up an engineering scholarship to Georgia State and took a job swinging hammers for a local construction company, keeping him in Sugar.

  Only Brett and Jace left rubber tracks at the county line when they each turned eighteen, Brett chasing a golf career and Jace chasing freedom. Cal’s wife, Tawny, was the next to flee, and lately Payton, his daughter, had been wavering between needing him and needing space, and he knew it was just a matter of time before she took him out of the game altogether. Which was the only reason to explain his current situation.

  He’d gone in for the shoulder pat, the kind he gave his daughter when she was disappointed, the “hey kiddo, you’ll get ’em next inning” squeeze. Then Glory’s body crumbled on contact and instinct took over, taking it from touching to holding to an “I’ll fix everything, baby” hug. Before he knew it, the sound of her sniffles slid through his heart and the way her soft body pressed against his packed one hell of a protective punch.

  “You okay?” Cal asked, thankful when she wiped her face on his shirt and took a teensy step back.

  “Yeah, um, sorry about all of that. Long day, harder night, and…” She paused, nibbling at her full lower lip, and—sonofabitch—he wanted to kiss her. “I guess it’s been a hard everything.”

  He could attest to that.

  “Then let’s get you home.” He placed a hand at the small of her back.

  “Thanks, but I’ll just call Jelly Lou.” Face averted, feet stuck to the wet concrete, and he knew she wasn’t going to give in—easily. Which was too bad for her, because the way she kept eyeing the clouds and Maple Street meant she was considering walking, not calling her grandma. And he was a gentleman, so that wasn’t going to happen. He’d get her home and then go back to ignoring her. “I appreciate you paying my bail, though.”

  “Yeah?” He laughed. “Because I heard what you said, but the tone was more of a screw off.”

  When she looked up to argue, he raised a challenging brow, and she cracked a smile. A small one, but it was enough to show off those little dimples of hers.

  Man, she had a pretty smile. Even prettier lips. He dropped his gaze, and remembering that she was wearing a thin tank and no bra—and that it was raining—he grabbed the edges of his coat and zipped her up tight. Better.

  “Now,” he said, giving a casual shrug, not feeling the least bit casual. “We going to hop that fence or go through the station? Normally I’d be up for either, but since we have an audience”—Cal’s eyes darted across the street to take in the two women standing at the top of the marble steps in front of town hall, staring their fill—“I suggest we head out the front door like law-abiding citizens.”

  He said it to lighten the mood, but Glory didn’t laugh. In fact, her face sank and she took a little step back, right into him. Because standing across Maple Street, wearing a prim attitude and a stick-up-her-ass smile, was Darleen Vander, current vice president of the Sugar Peaches, Sugar’s honored and most distinguished ladies society—and the woman who had made Glory’s life miserable.

  To her right, digging through her enormous purse, for what Cal could only assume was a phone or a camera, was Darleen’s second in command, Summer Sheen. All they needed was one shot of Glory making her big escape and it would be all over town by lunch.

  Eyes still glued to the growing crowd across the street—two more pairs of cardigans and pearls had joined the gawkers—Glory asked, “Were there a lot of people out and around town when you came in?”

  Cal moved to stand in front of her, back to Darleen and blocking her shot. “Not too many people because of the rain.”

  Glory looked up and squinted as water streaked down her face, blinking as though just remembering that it was coming down pretty steady. He took off his cap, placed it on her head, and ignoring how good she looked in his clothes, pulled up the collar to shield her even more. “Why don’t you duck under that overhang by the station door and I’ll go get my truck. Gunther can open the gate and you can climb in.”

  Standing on her tiptoes, she peered over his shoulder at Darleen and he saw her weighing her decision. But instead of heading back to the station, she shrugged and started climbing the fence.

  “Whoa now, hang on there a second.” Call gripped her by the waist and, after prying her sticky little fingers off the metal, set her back on the concrete, water gushing out of her torn rubber boots.

  “What?” she said, heading back for the fence. He wrappe
d an arm around her middle before she could get very far.

  “They’re going to talk no matter what,” she said. “Plus, it’s the first Monday of the month.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning that it is the official Sugar Peaches meeting day and in about two minutes that little angora flock over there will become an annoying herd. Especially since they are picking the committees for the Miss Peach Pageant today.”

  As a horny young teen, Cal had loved that pageant. As a parent of a girl old enough to enter, he was determined to have it outlawed. Especially when he came across the stack of ads with pictures of dresses in her room—not a single dress age-appropriate.

  “Yeah, well, I’m more interested in you breaking your neck and me having to haul your stubborn ass to the hospital,” he said, tightening his arms when she seemed set on squirming away.

  Taking out his cell, he dialed the sheriff’s department. When Gunther answered, Cal asked him to open the gate.

  A second later a loud beeping echoed across the lot, followed by the sound of jangling metal. By the time it opened, the steps were filled with the clicking of pearls and judgment. It appeared Glory was right—every Sugar Peach from the beginning of time until last election was lined up and looking their way.

  “I guess they have already assembled a jury of my peers,” Glory joked with a tight strain in her voice.

  “My truck is just down the street. It’ll only take me a minute.”

  She looked at the pack of Peaches and faltered. From the depths of the courthouse emerged a bulldog of a woman dressed in mourning black and clutching one of those little basket purses and a good ten-plus years of indignation tightly to her chest.

  “No way.” Glory shoved Cal aside. “And miss all the fun?”

  Before Cal could stop her, Glory stepped out onto the curb and hollered across the street, “Morning, Ms. Kitty. It’s a lovely day, wouldn’t you agree?” With a big-ass wave and a parting smile, she made her way down the cobblestoned sidewalk toward his truck.

  Ms. Kitty stood under a flapping SUGAR COUNTY: WHERE THE PEOPLE ARE AS SWEET AS THE PEACHES banner, lips peeled back and teeth bared, a pink hat capping her silver bob. She didn’t return the wave.

  Over the next two blocks every person who happened to be downtown came out of their respective storefronts to witness Glory’s walk of shame. Cal wouldn’t know if he’d call what happened fun, but after several polite nods and a few sunny “mornings” for every person she passed, Cal was damn impressed. Glory walked head high, smile on that pretty face, acting for all the world as though she wasn’t strutting down Maple Street in her shit-stained pajamas, her boot slushing with every step. Or facing a sentencing in seven days.

  He caught up to her quickly as she had to take two steps for his every one and placed a hand on her back, ushering her toward the passenger side of his truck. Unlocking the door, he reached around and helped her inside but she paused, her eyes locked on the big cow-sized dent marring the back of his truck. Then she took in the flecks of peach and gold paint covering the tailgate and grinned.

  Yet another issue he had to deal with and he was pretty sure that his grandmother and her “Pokers” were behind it.

  “You getting in or are you walking?” he warned, holding the door open.

  Pressing her lips in a firm line, which didn’t hide her amused grin, she hopped in. After enjoying the view of her backside encased in shrink-wrapped flannel, he slid around the car and started the engine. Cranking the heater to full, he pointed the vents at the waterlogged woman shivering beside him.

  Truck in Drive, Cal made a U-turn and drove past the cluster of society women who were waiting for their final glimpse of Sugar’s Most Wanted.

  Glory didn’t hide under the ball cap or duck down as the women all watched his truck blow past, but she did swallow hard a few times, her eyes glued out the front windshield. When they were clear, she slipped out of his coat and huddled around the vent, rubbing her hands back and forth.

  “There’s some coffee in that thermos.” He pointed his chin to the lunch pail at her feet. “You’re welcome to it.”

  “You sure?” She was eyeing it like if he said no, she’d die of frostbite.

  “It’s all yours. I can fill it up when I get to the work site.”

  She picked up the thermos, her hands a little unsteady as she undid the top and moaned at the bittersweet scent filling up the cab of the truck. She eyed him over the steam rising from the cup. “Hazelnut and vanilla? Surprised the guys at the site don’t make you turn in your man-card.”

  Cal ignored her. Partly because he didn’t care what she thought—one sip and she’d know it was a damn fine cup of coffee. But mostly he kept his mouth shut because his men had taken to calling him Princess ever since his daughter, Payton, had turned him on to lattes.

  Glory took a tentative sip and then a big swallow. “God, this is good.”

  “I would offer you my lunch, but seeing as Payton made it, it comes with a warning.” He slid her a sidelong glance. “Eat at your own risk.”

  “It can’t be that bad.” Suppressing a grin, he watched Glory bend over and take out the wrapped breakfast cake. She poked it a few times, took a tentative sniff, a bite, then made a gagging noise and put it back.

  “Care to change your answer?”

  “No,” she said, taking another hearty sip, most likely to wash down the cake.

  “Because that would mean admitting I was right?”

  She gave a cute little shrug and went back to gulping down his coffee. When her fingers were no longer purple and her chattering teeth had quieted to white noise, he heard himself ask, “So want to talk about what happened last night?”

  So much for his idea to get in and get out and not get involved.

  “Nope.”

  “You sure?” Not that he wanted to talk about it, but her hands were still trembling slightly and those dark bruises under her eyes advertised more than just a lack of sleep. She looked chewed up and spit out and talking was what women did in these situations. Correction, talking was what women did. Period.

  She gave him a long look. “You want to talk about that big-ass peach-colored dent in your truck?”

  “Fair enough,” he said, a little shocked, and went back to staring out the windshield in utter silence.

  After a few more blocks of listening to the wipers squeak across the glass, he became twitchy. Watching the clapboard-siding storefronts fly by without so much as a word from her made him worried. Maybe she was more upset than she was letting on.

  Telling himself that he was just being neighborly, Cal came to the Brett McGraw Highway, and even though both ways were clear, the truck crawled to a stop, and resting his arms on the back of the bench, he looked over, letting her know that he was in no rush—that if she needed to talk it out, he was her guy.

  “Glory,” he gently nudged like he would when trying to pry something out of Payton, only Glory just looked at him—for a long time.

  “Oh,” she finally said, her hand coming up to flutter in front of her mouth.

  Yup, Cal thought, settling in for the duration, here it comes. The rain and lack of building inspector meant that his day was blown to hell, so he made sure his body was relaxed and giving off the “you take all the time you need” vibe.

  “Right, um, I just assumed,” she faded off, looking a little lost. And how could he blame her, she’d had a pretty rough night. “Well, I live about a mile west. Right off Old Mill Road.”

  She pointed and then went back to staring out the window.

  Cal blinked. Then choked a little before pointing the car west. That had never happened before. The women in his life lived to fill the silence. They couldn’t help themselves. In fact, Cal hadn’t had a quiet meal in over fifteen years. Not Glory, though, he thought as he pulled onto the highway. She seemed content to just stare out the window and watch raindrops slide off glass.

  “How come you never moved into town?” he asked as the h
ighway stretched into a half-kept road on the outskirts.

  She gave a small shrug and said, “Jelly Lou refuses to leave her house,” as though that answered everything.

  He knew her grandmother was her only family and that Jelly Lou needed help from time to time since she was in a wheelchair, but he couldn’t help but wonder if Glory ever got lonely living all the way out here. Then he wondered how she spent her free time, and about the point where he began wondering if she had anyone special to spend that free time with, Cal said, “How about some music?”

  He flipped the knob before she could answer, which was fine with him. He was done talking and wondering.

  A sugary voice with more pop than twang filled the car and poured out of the speakers. Immediately he shut it off. Too fast to cover Glory’s soft snort.

  “Taylor Swift?”

  “It’s a first-day-of-school thing.” He shrugged, feeling stupid.

  “That’s right. School starts Wednesday. Is Payton excited?” Her eyes grew soft and she flashed him a smile so sweet he forgot how to talk. Which was a problem because Glory wasn’t talking either. Nope. She was sitting quietly, patiently waiting for him to answer.

  “It’s all she’s been talking about.” Just not to him. Lately his baby girl had taken to locking herself up in her bedroom, talking on the phone to who knows, about hair and shopping and that damn Miss Peach Pageant.

  Cal felt himself scowl.

  “Good,” she sighed, looking relieved. “She was nervous about starting sophomore year because she has all of those AP classes. She was really worried about getting Mrs. Fry for biology but I told her that she was a great teacher and if she did the work she’d be fine.”

  Payton was nervous about her school? Why had she told Glory? And more important, why hadn’t she come to him?

  Cal must have looked confused because she added, “Your grandma sometimes brings her to Quilting Night at the Fabric Farm, and since Payton and I are the only two born after the Second World War, we talk.”

  “You quilt?” he asked as he eased on to Old Mill Road, his tires kicking up water. “You don’t look like a quilter.”