Hotter than Texas (Pecan Creek) (11 page)

Jake shook his head. “Let’s not go there today, all right? Go to your meeting. I’m going to sit here and think. You got a beer in the fridge?”

“I do not,” Vivian said, her tone frosty. “I do not drink.”

“You do drink,” Jake said, pulling open a cabinet in the kitchen and pulling out a bottle of homemade wine fresh from her small fermentation station in the backyard shed. “I hope this has some kick.”

“Is something wrong?” Vivian asked, her motherly instincts rising to the surface.

“No.” Jake slung himself into the wicker sofa facing out into a backyard where the last flowers of summer ran in riotous tangles of white crepe myrtle blossoms. “Everything is just ducky.”

“It’s that woman, isn’t it?” Vivian asked. “You know, Averie is aware your attention has become a bit divided.”

He opened the bottle. His mother handed him a crystal long-stemmed wineglass. “Are you kidding me? Don’t you have something more user-friendly?”

“No,” Vivian said, “use this and don’t drink out of the bottle. I’m running low on my private label.”

Jake laughed. “Private label. Is that what they called it during Prohibition?” He poured some in the delicate wineglass and took a swig. After a moment of the wine moving past his taste buds—granted he’d swigged it pretty fast, but the hints remained—he looked at his mother. “Damn, that’s pretty good. Why don’t you just sell wine instead of fronting sex businesses under the radar for your friends?”

“Does it bother you if the ladies make a little pin money on the side?” Vivian asked curiously. “They pay taxes to the town on their revenues. They do community service. Do you have a complaint?”

“No. I just think your wine is pretty good.” He looked at the liquid in the glass. “If you’re worried about money, this could be a very viable option.”

“I don’t think winemaking is a business model I’ll employ. When I was growing up, we weren’t even allowed to go into a liquor store. My parents didn’t have anything in the house that had been fermented unless it was brandied fruit.”

“Come on, Mom. You know very well your parents had a bit of brandy tucked away for medicinal purposes. It wasn’t all about the fermented fruit on shortcake.”

Vivian picked up her straw handbag, sending him a last glance. “Lock up when you leave, please. And don’t forget to call Averie. She’d really like to chat with you, sooner than later.”

He shook his head. “There’s nothing between Averie and me. It was over months ago. Just because she says there’s something to talk about doesn’t mean there is.”

“She’s from a very nice family, Jake. One with roots in this community, who will be here long after the Florida God-knows-whats are gone.”

He raised his glass to his mother. “I’ll lock up.”

Vivian left, and Jake let the stillness envelop him. He closed his eyes on the wicker sofa, enjoying the peace and quiet. He tried not to think about Kel’s problem, and the fact that Lucy had run over his friend like a bulldozer and didn’t even know it.

Damn, he did not want to end up like Kel.

Hey, red leather, nearly untouched confidante,

Haven’t checked in lately. Actually not since the first entry. Maybe Maggie and Sugar are being more loyal to the red journal idea. I’ve never been much for writing letters or anything else. I’d like to say I’ll try harder, but I was just trying to amp Sugar when I agreed to this, so don’t count on it.

Lucy leaned back on her bed in the Belle Watling madam room, admiring the red velvet drapes and the gold-tasseled bedding. “Vivian may be a stick, but she gets what makes a girl feel sexy,” she said, then continued her confession.

Just wanted you to know I’m pretty sure we’re screwed here in Pecanland. Not to be the voice of doom, but between Maggie’s memory and Sugar’s leap of faith, I fear the FOB may be DOA.

But, whatever! Cassavechias can handle anything.

At least I hope we can.

P.S. I’ve got a job. It’s kind of whack working for Whistler’s Mother shipping this season’s fashion outerwear for the discerning ding-a-ling, but it’s money. What’s a girl supposed to do? Cash is queen in my book.

Maybe I’ll start a blog about our journey. It’d be a helluva lot more interesting than talking to myself in this stupid diary!

Chapter Eight

Sugar found herself sitting in Jake’s truck the next evening, picked up almost as if they were going on a date. They weren’t. He’d called it
“dinner to make amends for being a dumbass,”
so she’d accepted. “This is not necessary.”

“Don’t want my renter ticked at me.” Jake pulled in to a tiny bar and grill with a small white-gravel parking lot. “Pecan Fanny’s” flashed in pink neon above the black roof. “This is the place you never hear about if you’re a tourist.”

“Does Pecan Creek have many tourists?” Sugar asked.

“Not enough,” Jake said. “Only at Christmas for the small-town parade bullcrap we put on. We get a few antiquers in the summers. Occasionally someone on the road back from Louisiana when the highway’s jammed up. We’re an out-of-the-way side road, but folks stumble on us that way.”

Sugar smiled. “You love this place, don’t you?”

“I’m pretty sure I don’t love anything except my mother in a maternal sense. Maybe my buddies, in a fraternal sense.” He shook his head. “The military had my loyalty and my gut. I loved it until I realized I was too lazy to be a lifer.”

“You aren’t lazy.” She looked at Jake as he got out of the truck. He came around to her side, helping her out. “You talk about being lazy like it’s a goal. But I don’t think you’ve quite succeeded yet.”

“I’m working my ass off on it, though.” He walked her inside, and they took a table by a sparkly clean window that looked out over an open field. “Can I get you a drink, Sugar?”

She looked at him. “I’d love a beer.”

“Good woman. Two longnecks, Suzy,” he told the waitress, who looked pleased to see Jake in the tiny eatery. “So, Sugar, I’m sorry about the other day.”

“Why?” She was curious to know exactly what Jake was apologizing for.

“For saying I’d like to get you naked. I would, of course, but don’t let it worry you. I know how to keep my inner animal locked away.”

“Good.” Sugar looked at him. “I shouldn’t have dumped you in the pond. I have a short fuse for jerks. And I think I’m pretty much not ready for men who are probably nice guys but say something jerky.”

“Understood.” He raised a longneck to her when Suzy put them on the table. “Apology accepted?”

She nodded. “The thing is, I think my basic frustration with you is Maggie. I feel like you have an opportunistic side, and I don’t want you using my mom.”

“I get it.” He nodded. “You think I’m playing the whole Cassavechia family.”

“Well, not Lucy. Lucy’s too clever to let some guy use her.”

He sighed, and Sugar wondered what was on his mind. But he drank his beer and pretended to study the menu, not broaching whatever he was thinking. Sugar did likewise, almost too jittery to select something to eat, until she realized she was jittery because she actually forgave Jake for jumping the gun with the naked comment, and maybe she even kind of liked him, and then she felt a little ill.

It was far too soon to fall a little bit in like with someone, especially a sexy, handsome guy like Jake who had a tiny blonde that would make her feel like a basketball player standing next to her.

A huge truck painted with camouflage pulled up on the gravel next to Jake’s truck, and Jake sighed. “Here comes excitement. Do you mind company?”

Sugar looked at the door in time to see three big guys come in with two women. “Friends of yours?”

“Lifelong.” Jake grimaced when his buddies filtered over to their table, crowding around and pulling up chairs. “Everybody, this is Sugar. Sugar, in case you don’t recall, this is Bobby German, Evert Carmichael and Kel Underwood. They own the Bait and Burgers. This is Cat Jenkins, who works at the coffee shop, and Sandy Goody, the sheriff’s daughter. They’ve got a farm that keeps Sandy busy.”

“Hi, everyone.” Sugar nodded, smiling.

They pulled up a table, connecting the two together, and sat down in a noisy flock of fun. Evert sat Cat next to him, tagging them as a couple, and Sandy took the chair on the other side of Cat, obviously unattached. “I’ll call Lucy to round out the group,” Sugar said, and Jake said, “No!”

She put her phone back in her purse. “O-
kay
.”

He put a hand over hers, leaned close. “I’ll tell you later.”

His hand was warm; he smelled great. Sugar blinked, feeling something snap inside her. She gazed into Jake’s dark eyes, just four inches from hers, and felt herself gripping hard on to the edge of the side of sanity.

If she let go, if she slipped and let herself fall into the pit of love again, she knew she would regret it. It was a dark, foul pit full of heated emotions and sharp ups and downs, the roller-coaster ride from hell.

No roller coaster of love for her.

“We’ve figured it out, Jake,” Bobby said, and the girls nodded enthusiastically.

“Got what figured out?”

“Where we’re going to have our party. The last party of the summer.”

“Yet it’s pretty much fall already,” Jake said. “There’s a hook here, watch for it,” he told Sugar.

“A party sounds like fun to me,” Sugar said, and the girls smiled at her.

“We’re going to have the party at Sheriff Goody’s in the field where we play shirts ’n’ skins,” Bobby continued. “And we’re going to have it open to the community and bill it as a charity event for Pecan Creek. We’ll charge admission, and the money will go to put an ad up on the billboard outside of town.”

“What ad?” Jake asked carefully.

“A year-round ad that proclaims Pecan Creek as the most honest,
growing
town in Texas,” Evert said. “Thousands of people will see it all year long.”

“You didn’t tell me that the highway sign needed an ad buyer,” Sugar said.

“I didn’t,” Jake said, meeting her gaze, “because rotating ads have been working just fine. And we’ve been booked solid.”

“Not since August,” Kel said. “The economy has dried up the billboard business in town, as local businesses are suffering. That’s the brilliant thing. We’ll take it over for Pecan Creek in January. That way, the sign doesn’t sit bare in our slowest month when we could use advertising.”

“The timing’s right,” Cat said. “We could all stand a little extra business here.”

“I did ask about the sign,” Sugar said.

Jake spoke carefully. “It’s a thorny problem.”

“Only for you,” Sugar said. “Who made you the keeper of the billboard?”

“We all did,” Sandy Goody said. “Jake’s pretty good at wheedling money out of people.”

Sugar looked at Jake. “It’s not thorny. It’s you being the keeper of the gate.”

“I know. But I was being honest when I said that it was probably best not to rile folks around here if you want to fit in. And I think Maggie does,” Jake said, directing his words for Sugar’s ears only.

“I just don’t think you should be the one to decide whether we’re accepted or not,” Sugar said, “since you know very well your mother would never accept anyone.”

“What are we talking about?” Cat asked, overhearing the last words.

“Nothing,” Jake said.

“The party sounds like a great idea,” Sugar said, so the edge wouldn’t be taken off the group’s excitement.

Jake squeezed her knee in thanks under the table, and Sugar pinched the hell out of his wrist so he’d move his hand. He did, lightning fast.

“Meany,” he said. “Can I buy you another beer?”

“Yes,” Sugar said.

“What do you do, Sugar?” Cat asked. “I heard you and your family moved to Pecan Creek. I’m sorry I haven’t been by to say hello.” She smiled, so friendly and cute that Sugar took heed of Jake’s wish that she keep their business secret for Maggie’s sake, for now. Besides, they didn’t have a recipe yet. No sense stirring the fire, although she
was
going to fire Jake up later.

“My mom is in remission from breast cancer,” Sugar said. “We came to Pecan Creek because it’s quiet here, and relaxing. We were looking for a small town with nice people, and Pecan Creek was everything we wanted.” She smiled, super-friendly in return, and everyone beamed at her.

Maybe Jake was right. Soft-shoe things a bit in the beginning. Make friends. Don’t go at everything headfirst, like she had all her life. Sugar relaxed, and Jake patted her knee again, and this time, she didn’t pinch him.

She did move his hand, though. No point in letting him off the hook too fast.

A big man ambled over to their table, and everyone turned their attention to him with big smiles.

“Hello, Lassiter,” Jake said. “Lassiter Johnson, this is Sugar Cassavechia. She and her family have rented our family place.”

Lassiter shook her hand, smiling with a well-groomed mustache and blue eyes that twinkled in his acorn-colored face. He lifted his tan Stetson to reveal a nice thatch of silver hair. Black boots, huge rodeo buckle, strong shoulders complemented his appearance. The effect was pretty stunning for a probably sixty-year-old man, and Sugar was charmed.