Sugar on Top (Sugar, Georgia Book 2) Page 5

  “Which is a shame because the Sugar Pull used to be about celebrating this town and the men and woman whose backs it was built on. Your Granddaddy Mann was one of the first farmers to plant sugar peaches, and his daddy was one of the first peach farmers in this whole area. So when I see Ms. Kitty importing drivers from NASCAR and flashing around her high-priced fuel pumps, it goes against everything the Harvest Fest is about.”

  In Georgia, harvest season brought out hundreds of thousands of peach-loving visitors and their spending bucks. In Sugar, harvest season brought about the annual Harvest Fest—a weekend-long festival to celebrate the fruit that was the heart of their community—peaches. It was a time for friends and family to gather, and for the community to pull together and pay tribute to those who had come before. It was also where Jelly Lou met and fell in love with Ned Mann.

  “Have you tried talking to Peg?”

  “She wanted proof before she took it to the Harvest Council.” Peg Brass was the current harvest commissioner, and therefore the final word on all things peach related—including the Miss Peach Pageant and the Sugar Pull. “We had the proof but you took it back before Peg could get a look under Kitty’s hood.”

  “Which is the only reason you and the blue-haired brigade aren’t sitting in Judge Holden’s courtroom.” Or worse, jail.

  “Pit Crew Mafia,” Jelly Lou corrected, then went serious. “That Kitty isn’t throwing a stink, is she? Using her power and influence to make trouble?”

  “You stole a decorated town treasure.” Glory thought of Jackson and her night in jail and shivered. “So, sure, she called the sheriff and reported the tractor stolen. You would have done the same.”

  “Stolen?” she mumbled. “What a crock. Go get me my best dress. I don’t want to be looking all down and out when the sheriff arrives to take my statement.”

  Glory cleared her throat. “He isn’t coming.”

  “Probably because he knows that his grandma’s a cheat and making a big deal about this would look bad on his family.” Glory remained silent and she saw the understanding dawn on the older woman’s face. “He isn’t coming because I wasn’t driving the tractor, you were.” Glory looked out the window. “Oh, Glo, I’m so sorry. I won’t forgive myself if this causes you any trouble.”

  “It won’t,” she said softly, while reminding herself that Judge Holden was a fair man. Cal had told her so.

  “Well, if it does, you be sure and let me know so I can invite Little Jackie over for dinner and set him straight. You weren’t a part of this and I don’t want anyone saying differently.”

  She was already a part of this, from the second she started up that tractor. And having Little Jackie over for dinner wasn’t going to solve anything. Neither was telling Jelly Lou the entire story, so she settled on the highlights.

  “There was a little misunderstanding, but Jackson made sure the Prowler got home safely and then he”—cuffed, booked, and left me in a cold cell all night—“gave me a lift to the station and Cal dove me home.” She stretched her neck side to side because she didn’t like lying; it gave her a headache. “Nothing I can’t handle, but you have to promise me no more antics. This feud between you and Kitty needs to end.”

  “As soon as Kitty fesses up to being a liar and a cheat.” Her voice was so melodic she sounded as though she was giving one of her famous Sunday school lessons. Only the moral of this story was an eye for an eye.

  “Grams,” Glory said softly, looking at the photo that hung above the sink showing a very young Jelly Lou sitting atop the Pitter while kissing her Ned. “I know how important the Sugar Pull is to you, and what that tractor means. If Ms. Kitty wins, then the Prowler will be tied with Grandpa’s tractor for most wins on record. But I don’t think Grandpa would have wanted you to steal her tractor. Or that he’d be comfortable with you racing. I bet Dr. Moore wouldn’t be thrilled either.”

  “Why do you think I’ve been going to PT? To get ready.” Jelly Lou narrowed her eyes. “And I’m doing it because I promised Ned I would.”

  Oh boy. Jelly Lou might be the only woman in history crazy enough to petition that Road Kill should be a certified therapy companion so he could eat in restaurants, and she had been known, on occasion, to play forgetful when caught pushing her ’67 Camaro over eighty in a sixty zone, but she was as sharp as her quilting needle. Downright poky if riled. And sure, Glory had been working a lot lately, and with the condensed summer school schedule, she hadn’t been around as much as she’d like. But had she been too busy that she overlooked that her grandma’s mental state was slipping?

  “Don’t look at me like that,” Jelly Lou chided. “I haven’t gone and lost my mind. Although I do admit that from time to time I talk to Ned. And sometimes, when I really need him, it feels as though he’s right there holding my hand and talking back.”

  “Me, too.” Glory had never met Ned. He’d passed before she was born, but she’d heard enough to know that she would have loved him. And Jelly Lou swore that he would have loved Glory right back. Most days Glory believed her.

  She thought of returning the tractor and smiled because today happened to be one of those days. Then again, Jelly Lou also swore that she was just going to play poker with the girls last night.

  “When I lost use of my legs, it was like I’d lost all my usefulness. I couldn’t cook or do simple housework, or stroll down Maple Street with Ned on my arm. I couldn’t even help him in the orchard and he always had a problem telling which ones were ready for picking.” She gazed out the window to the orchard, which was now leased to a tenant farmer. “One day he came in and tossed his hat on the table, the straw one hanging above the fireplace, and said, “Lou-Lu, picking peaches without your harping is about as exciting as whoopee with the lights off.” Then he picked me up right out of my chair and carried me outside. And there, sitting in the barn, looking as new as the day I got her, was the Pitter.”

  Glory sighed and felt it from her heart straight down to her toes. And like every other time she’d heard this story, she found herself wondering what it would feel like to be loved like that. To be so ingrained in someone’s heart that you need the other person to live.

  “Secretive old coot.” Jelly shook her head, a crop of silver curls bouncing as she chuckled. “Your granddaddy spent every spare minute that year rebuilding the Pitter in secret, from the brakes up. New engine, new seat with a special harness, even crafted hand-powered paddles for the accelerator and brakes. He said that I didn’t need legs to drive the tractor, but he needed his wife to tell him which peaches were ready for picking.”

  Jelly Lou’s face went soft, the way it always did when she talked about Ned. “Took me two years until I could operate it by myself, another three until I felt free again, but I worked that land right next to my husband every day from then on. Then a few years in, Ned said we were ready and he signed us up for the Sugar Pull. I was going to drive and he was going to be my pit boss. It was all he talked about but he passed before the next harvest.”

  Road Kill, feeling Jelly Lou’s stress, hopped down and started grunting while brushing up against her feet.

  “So you never got to compete?” Glory asked, wondering why she’d never heard this part of the story.

  “I tried but I just couldn’t. Not so soon after losing him. For nearly three decades that man loved and cherished and believed in me. I wasn’t ready to let him go, and somehow entering his tractor would have been like saying my final good-bye.” Glory handed her grandmother a napkin to dry her eyes. With one final dab, she gave a good blow and straightened her shoulders. “So I’m racing in this year’s Sugar Pull. Win or lose, doesn’t matter, it’s time I live up to my end of the deal and take the Pitter for her final lap. And when I do, I just want to make sure that everyone is playing by the same rules.”

  Glory didn’t have the heart to point out that Jelly Lou and her new pit crew had broken several rules last night—one really big one that carried really big consequences. Federally enforced co
nsequences, which could get her suspended from competing. Instead she pulled her grandmother in for a hug and said, “How can I help?”

  Tuesday afternoon, Glory was midway through her rounds at Sugar Medical Center, searching for a bulb syringe in Exam Room 7, when she happened to look out the window and—holy hotness—her heart stopped working. Right there in her chest.

  The storm had finally blown through Sugar, leaving behind clear skies, green grass, and temperatures hot enough to melt the clothes right off a man’s body. Something she hoped would happen because there were enough heat-slicked biceps and glistening tool belts on display that, even in an air-conditioned hospital, Glory could feel the heat.

  With one last excited fist bump to the sternum, her heart gave pause as everything in her body went on standby and Glory knew that she wasn’t over yesterday’s encounter with Sugar’s Sexiest Bachelor.

  Or that kiss.

  No matter how many times she told herself to knock it off, to act professional and get back to work, she couldn’t help but stare. One look out the window and her mouth went dry—the exact opposite of what was going on below the equator.

  Because there, three stories down and—if she stood on her tippy toes and pressed her face to the glass—directly to her right, where the foundation for the new pediatric center was prepped to be poured, walking the perimeter in a pair of worn jeans, an impressive tool belt, and a T-shirt that clung to his chest with the day’s humidity, was the sexy general contractor on the job and that work-honed body of his. The one that tended to have men flexing and women straining for a better view.

  Women like me, she thought as she nudged a footstool out from under the exam table and shoved it flush against the back wall to watch as, in one fluid motion, Cal hopped up in the bed of his truck and opened a big metal toolbox, where he proceeded to bend over—way over—so he could dig out, well, she didn’t really know. Didn’t care. All she knew was that the best ass in nine counties was practically begging her to look her fill.

  And look she did—until the glass started fogging up. He kept digging so she kept staring, amazed at just how well he filled out a pair of jeans.

  “This is ridiculous,” she said to herself, pressing even closer to the window when he rested his hands on the toolbox to dig deeper, causing his biceps to bulge a little and the hem of his shirt to rise a lot. The sheer amount of exposed muscle was enough to make her hyperventilate.

  “It was one kiss.” And she had better things to do. Such as locating the bulb syringe so Angela, the pediatric nurse Glory was shadowing, could complete the retrieval of Lego Luke Skywalker and, Glory was pretty sure, his trusty pal R2-D2 out of Cole Andrew’s left nostril. The result of a schoolyard dare gone bad.

  Not to mention she had to find Charlotte Holden. And soon. Glory needed to explain to the doctor why she missed her midterm before word spread about the arrest. Finding out how the Great Tractor Heist of Sugar County would impact her future at the hospital should have been at the forefront of her thoughts. Only Cal took that moment to glance behind him—and directly up at her window.

  He paused.

  She panicked.

  Even though his ball cap was pulled low on his head, shadowing most of his face, she could still feel those intense blue eyes when they zeroed in on her. Buns of steel still to her, he nodded in greeting and, oh boy, smiled. Actually it was more of a grin, which implied smugness. And the only reason he’d be smug was if he knew she’d been caught ogling the goods.

  Which she totally had, but would rather die than let him know.

  You got this, she told herself, proud that she managed a serene smile. At least she hoped it came off as serene. Hard to tell when her lungs had stopped functioning properly.

  All she needed to do was give a causal, Oh, hey there wave, and he’d turn his head back around, bury it in his toolbox, and it would be business as usual. Then she could slink off. It was what they did. What they’d spent the past fifteen years mastering. She’d ogle, he’d catch her, she’d play it cool, and he’d go back to ignoring her.

  Rinse and repeat.

  Her hand rose and fell. She gave it a solid 9.2 on the cool and unaffected scale. It was short, to the point, and not a single finger broke away from the pack to flit in his direction. Good start.

  He returned the gesture with a set of double-barreled dimples and perfectly white teeth, but there was no business as usual. Instead he didn’t break eye contact, didn’t ignore her, just stood there, flashing her his sugar-shaker, amusement clear on his face. Then he craned his neck even more and looked at his butt and then back to her.

  Oh God.

  Straightening, he turned to face her and lifted a single finger then twirled it around in the universal gesture for, I showed you mine, now show me yours.

  She shook her head and his hands went to his hips. She mimicked his stance. So he reached into his pocket, pulled something out, and—

  Her phone vibrated. It was Cal. She considered ignoring it, but what would that accomplish since he was watching her, waiting for her to answer?

  “I’m working,” she said by way of greeting.

  “I can see that.” She wondered what else he could see, such as the way his voice rumbled over her skin and had her nipples waving their big welcome flag. She crossed her arms.

  He smiled.

  “If you’re calling to make sure I didn’t skip town, your bail is safe.”

  He walked to the end of his tailgate and studied her through the glass for a moment. “I was calling to see if you were okay after yesterday.”

  “Yeah,” she said but suddenly she wasn’t sure what okay even meant. Ever since that kiss she’d felt…off somehow. And she wondered if he was feeling the same. “I mean, it was just a kiss.”

  He shifted slightly and cupped the bill of his hat. “I was talking about being arrested, but we can talk about the kiss,” he said almost in horror, the pitch of his voice making her cringe. “If you want.”

  Did she want? Hell, yes she did. Was she going to admit that to him? Not when he sounded like he’d rather talk about the birthing process. “Nothing to talk about.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yup.”

  “Good.” He sounded a little too relieved for her liking. “Because Payton is my number one focus. And my life, my family, my career…” He sounded weary just talking about it. “I’m not in a position to start up anything right now.”

  She wasn’t sure if he meant that he wasn’t in the market or if it was more of a buyer’s remorse kind of issue. Either way, she let the unexpected wave of disappointment roll right off her and then gave an unaffected chuckle. “It was a long night, I was tired, and then there was the rain. It was bound to happen.”

  She could see the easygoing amusement creep back into his stance. “Rain, huh? And here I thought you’d just been chilled from the cold.”

  She opened her mouth to tell him he’d been pretty damn affected by their kiss, too, when someone cleared their throat behind her.

  Hand on her chest, Glory turned to find Peg Brass leaning heavily against the door frame. Her lavender dress was wilted, her purse hung from her clutched hand, and her usually sharp tongue seemed subdued by her loud panting. In fact, it was as though the door frame was the only thing keeping the owner of Peg’s Brass Peaches, the largest peach plantation in the county, from kissing the floor. Which was odd since the woman was the fastest peach packer in the sixty-five and over division.

  “I have to go.” She disconnected and made her way toward the older woman’s side.

  “Hey there, Mrs. Brass.” Gently she took the woman’s wrist, checking her pulse. It was erratic and her skin was clammy to the touch. “What seems to be the problem?”

  “The problem is I can’t breathe, my hand’s gone numb, I’m pretty sure I’m dying, and you’re too busy playing Who’s Your Doctor with Hattie’s oldest grandson to do your job,” she said between gasps.

  “Does it hurt anywhere else?” Glory as
ked and steered Peg toward the exam table.

  “I’m squeezing my chest. Where do you think it hurts?” the woman barked but her lips trembled. Peg was built like a horse, tall, sturdy, and bucked at any sign of weakness. She was also one of Jelly Lou’s childhood friends and her weathered skin was a little too pale for Glory’s liking. “Just my luck, I have a heart attack in a hospital and the only person around to help is still testing to get her license.”

  Ignoring this, Glory squeezed Peg’s left hand. “Can you feel that or is there any numbness or tingling in your left arm?”

  “What the hell?” Peg flinched. “I got the arthritis. What kind of medical expert smashes a patient’s hand when they got the arthritis? Especially when I already done said it’s my chest. It’s giving me the palpations, squeezing the breath right out of me. Fix that.”

  “Let’s check your heart rate.” Glory unsnapped her oxygen tester off her lanyard and slipped it on Peg’s pointer finger. Although her heart rate was elevated, the oxygen level in her blood seemed to indicate there wasn’t any blockage to the heart.

  “When did the symptoms start?”

  “Yesterday,” Peg said, and Glory felt herself relax. If this was a heart attack, and it had started yesterday, then Mrs. Brass wouldn’t be breathing much less talking. “After the Sugar Peaches’ meeting I was feeling dizzy. Then I went to the market and the palpitations started up.”

  “Did you call Dr. Holden?”

  “Why would I? The woman’s an idiot. Gave me these little pills to fix my cholesterol problem. A year later my cholesterol’s even worse.”

  As one of the top family practitioners in the state, Dr. Holden was far from an idiot. But preaching preventative medicine in a town where gravy, country fried, battered, and à la mode made up the four food groups had its limits.

  “Plus, I had a new Wheel of Fortune on the recorder,” Peg said as though that explained away everything. “And that Pat Sajak was wearing a blue tie.” The more the older woman talked about her game show, the slower her heart rate became and the steadier her breathing sounded. “He always looks good in blue.”