I Want Candy (35 page)

“You can’t do anything right,” Bobby Ray hollered. “Why did you bring this stupid bitch here? Huh? And what the
fuck
were you thinking, doing this to the Fat Man? We can’t touch him! If we do, we’re all dead!”

“Shut up,” was Gerrall’s comeback.

Candy wasn’t following the conversation too well. She felt woozy.

Bobby Ray cracked Gerrall upside his head with a fist. Gerrall crumpled to the floor.

In the middle of all this insanity, Candy sensed she was being stared at. The men not actively beating on each other were sprawled on a collection of filthy chairs and couches, alternating their attention between leering at her and watching the father-son battle of wits.

Oh, God, her head hurt. What had happened? She remembered Gerrall shoving her in some car … making her drive … then the brakes gave out.

Candy shifted her gaze to her right and jerked in shock. The front end of a car was sticking through the wall of what she now realized was a trailer home. It was the car she’d been driving, and it was twisted and leaking green fluid right onto the dirty carpeting.

And then she checked to her left. It was poor Wainright Miller, in a similar situation, still tied up and gagged. He was breathing, that much she could tell, but unconscious.

Gerrall staggered up from the floor, wincing in pain.

“Well, your little sissy boy is in no shape to take care of that girl so whad’ya say I take a shot at her?” The man who said that was speaking to Bobby Ray but grinning at Candy.

No
. As she frantically looked around the trailer, her understanding of the situation became sharper. She was in a load of trouble. First off, she was the only female. There were guns and crumpled beer cans thrown everywhere. Several men were talking shit about how Candy “disrespected” Gerrall and would have to pay. And the leering continued, along with cussing, laughing, and lots of beer.

Her mind began to race. Her body trembled. The perspiration rolled down her face and back. She hadn’t survived two kidnappings and a car crash in the last two months to give up now. The question wasn’t if she would get out of here alive, but how?

Suddenly, Candy’s mind was flooded with memories of Turner—his beautiful face, his intense eyes, his bad-ass walk, the way he smelled out of the shower, his touch, the way he made her feel. She loved him. There was no doubt, not a single shred. And he loved her. It was that simple.

And because of that, she had no choice but to make it out of this hellhole in one piece. Whatever it took.

Candy reared back in the chair as Bobby Ray stepped toward her.

“So you got the hots for Sheriff Halliday, I hear.” He bent at the waist and displayed his green teeth to her. Candy could smell several years of cigarette smoke clinging to his hair and clothes. She had to shut her eyes and glance down and away.

“Oh, so I’m not good enough for you? Is that it?” Bobby Ray grabbed her chin and tugged on it but she refused to look at him. That made him laugh something awful. The laugh immediately turned into an awful, hacking cough.

“Let me have a shot at her!” shouted the same man from across the room. Candy figured that must be his standard pickup line.

“I said shut up,” Gerrall snapped. “She’s my girlfriend!”

Everyone in the room broke up at that.

Bobby Ray didn’t pay them any mind. Instead, he studied Candy carefully. “I knowed your daddy pretty good. Me and him was involved in some of the same po-litical groups.”

“Is that what y’all called the KKK back then?” one of the men called out, laughing.

Bobby Ray spun around, pulled a gun from his waistband and shot the commentator in the leg. The man wailed in agony and hobbled out of the trailer, dripping blood.

Candy overcame her horror enough to notice a muffled squealing sound coming from her left, and she turned to see that Miller had woken up. He stared at her with huge, questioning eyes—then peed himself.

All right. The situation was going downhill fast. Candy made a quick study of her condition—feet looped around the front legs of the chair and tied tightly to the rear legs. The same rope was crossed many times around her middle and chest and then used to yank her arms tightly and tie them to the back of the chair. Knowing she wouldn’t be going anywhere soon, her body sagged in despair.

“You know,” Bobby Ray said, returning his attention to Candy. “If Jonesy were alive today, he’d shoot Halliday between the eyes for touching his baby girl.” He put a hand on her thigh. “Maybe I ought to be a stand-in for your daddy and protect your honor. Whad’ya think?” His yellow fingers crawled up her leg. “Only maybe I can play with you a little bit beforehand. Huh?”

“Don’t touch her!” Gerrall shrieked. “She’s mine! Nobody can touch her but me!” He lunged toward his father but Bobby Ray bashed him in the head again.

This was too much. These people were animals. She and Miller were going to die if she didn’t figure something out fast.

“I’ll do whatever the fuck I want to do. You know damn well that’s how it works around here.”

Gerrall’s face contorted with sadness. “I don’t want you killin’ her like you did Junie Halliday! She didn’t have to die! She didn’t do nothing but want to help me! She was the only person who ever wanted to help me! I
hate
you! I
hate
you for running her off the road the way you did!”

Candy hardly had time to react to that terrible revelation. At exactly the same instant, Bobby Ray and Gerrall had pulled out their guns and were locked in a standoff.

*   *   *

They were too late.

That’s what Turner thought when they heard the gunshot. But seconds later a man staggered out, obviously hit in the leg, and tumbled down the aluminum front steps of the trailer. An agent plastered up against the outside wall of the trailer shut the door after him, and an emergency medical technician was there to treat the man while Turner interviewed him.

“Is there a woman inside?”

The man’s eyes rolled into the back of his head at Turner’s question. He howled in agony.

“A woman,” Turner repeated, grabbing him by the face. “Is she alive?”

He nodded, wincing in pain. “She’s alive,” he mumbled. “Help me. Somebody help me.”

Turner made one last check. The lab was secure. Seven people were already in custody. Two FBI snipers were on the roof. Four DEA agents were at the back door. Eight were at the front door. And two additional state police snipers had maneuvered into position inside the wrecked car.

He gave the signal, just as two simultaneous gunshots rang out and echoed through the compound.

*   *   *

The trailer door burst open, and Candy raised her eyes from the carnage on the floor to a burst of sunlight, followed by chaos. There was nowhere she could hide. She could only sit and hope she wasn’t shot or trampled in the melee. But it unfolded seamlessly, and within seconds, every man who had been lounging in the room was facedown on the floor and handcuffed. She blinked into the bright light, hoping what she was seeing wasn’t some kind of apparition brought on by her injuries.

There could be no mistaking that walk. Smooth and determined, it was the walk she loved with all her heart. And suddenly, Turner was there, kneeling at her feet, tenderly unwrapping her gag and cutting her loose as he spoke to her, his voice contained and calm on the surface.

“Did they hurt you? Did they touch you? Did the brakes fail? Where are your injuries?”

Turner began to run his hands all over her body, and she wasn’t sure if it was relief or exhaustion or just the need to feel his arms around her, but Candy collapsed against him.

He picked her up and carried her in his arms out the door. She hung on to him, in pain, weak, but the happiest she’d ever been in her life.

“I didn’t lose you. I didn’t lose you,” Turner said over and over, his nose and mouth buried in her hair as he walked.

Candy felt herself lifted into an ambulance, but Turner shooed the workers out and shut the door. He sat down on the gurney and put Candy back in his lap, so he could hold her closer, tighter.

“I’m okay. I got banged up in the car, but I’m okay,” she assured him. “Turner, they didn’t hurt me. The Spiveys killed each other. It was awful, Turner. So awful.”

He cradled her face in his hands and examined her from her hairline to her chin. It made her smile. “See? I’m all right.”

He nodded.

“I have to tell you what they were fighting over.”

Turner shook his head. “Later. The details can wait, baby. Let’s get you—”

“You were right,” she said, stopping his protests. “Turner, Bobby Ray Spivey ran Junie off the road, and Gerrall absolutely hated his father for doing that. Right before his daddy shot him, Gerrall said that Junie was the only person who ever wanted to help him.”

Turner’s face went hard as stone. Candy couldn’t tell if he was even breathing. She worried she was intruding on a private moment. “Maybe you want to be alone for a minute while you sort this out. I can—”

He pulled her down and crushed her mouth with a kiss. Candy felt his love and passion, but also gratitude, amazement, wonder. Turner released her and looked up at her with tears welling in his eyes.

“I’ve been alone a very long time, Candy. Not any more.” He brushed his fingertip down the side of her face. “Please do me the honor of staying by my side while I put away this last piece.”

Candy nodded. “Of course.”

“Thank you.”

“I love you, Turner.”

“I love you. And it’s changed everything,” he said. Then he rested his head against her breast, shaking in silence.

Epilogue

Candy stood on the sidewalk and made one last critical analysis of the curb appeal factor. People would be arriving any minute, and she knew if she wasn’t ready now she never would be.

The autumn pansies, mums, and sedums overflowed from the window boxes. Three sets of wrought-iron café tables and matching chairs were arranged in the sunshine. The brightly striped awning hung straight over the window but left plenty of room for the large gilded letters to sparkle in the light:
CANDY PANTS BAKERY.

It brought a smile to her face to see the old building’s exterior looking so tidy and fresh, the result of a thorough power washing of the brick, tuck-pointing, and a careful scraping and painting of the wood trim. The sidewalk under her feet had been bleached and the heavy oak and leaded glass door refinished. Truly, it was a relief to see that the storefront looked nothing like it had back when Jonesy Carmichael ran his insurance business from inside—which had been the whole point, she supposed. And soon, their lovely second-story loft apartment would be ready to move into while their house received a few upgrades—two more bedrooms, a family room, an attached garage, and a fenced-in yard—things that would allow their new family to make it their own.

Tanyalee opened the door and poked her head out. “I’ve done everything on the grand opening list. Anything else you need?”

“Nope,” Candy said to her only full-time employee. “Just put on your customer service smile and a fresh apron. We’re about ready to rock ’n’ roll.”

“You got it!” Tanyalee grinned pleasantly and disappeared back inside.

A moment later, Candy felt a pair of strong arms encircle her from the back and large hands come to rest directly on top of her expanding belly. With a sigh of contentment, she let her head fall back against Turner’s chest, and snuggled her butt against the front of his body.

“So beautiful,” he whispered into her ear.

“It really does look great, doesn’t it?”

“I’m talking about you, darlin.’” He began to leave a trail of kisses down her cheek, jaw, and neck. She heard herself purr. “You make me absolutely crazy, Candy Carmichael.”

She laughed. “Thanks. Let’s hope you still feel that way in another couple months, when I’m extremely large and people are callin’ me Candy Halliday.”

“Always. Forever. Don’t you ever doubt that.” Turner tightened his grip on her and pulled her closer. “I am so proud of you. Seriously. It’s been a thrill to see you make something out of nothing, to bring this dream to life the way you have.”

“I had some help, as you might recall.”

That was an understatement, of course. Sophie brought just a little over sixteen thousand at auction, which was barely enough to pay for commercial ovens and other kitchen fixtures, so, for the last three months, Candy had relied heavily on the volunteer labor of friends and family working in shifts from dawn to dusk, doing everything from painting and decorating to heavy lifting.

Hugo and the bocce ball crowd from Cherokee Pines came out of retirement to offer their collective expertise in everything from plumbing to drywall and tile work. The ladies of the bridge club set Candy up with window coverings, antique tables and chairs, and regional folk art and decorative touches. Viv and Gladys did what they did best and told everyone they knew in North Carolina about the business. Lenny had a line to gently used restaurant equipment and fixtures, and he helped Hugo with installation. Tater Wayne built the front counter and all the storage shelves, plus the huge chalkboard menu display. Cheri, J.J., Turner, Rosemary, and Reggie worked tirelessly priming, painting, and hanging light fixtures.

And Tanyalee had been invaluable in her suggestions for the design of display cases and the menu, and Cheri and Candy discovered that as long as they made sure J.J. and Tanyalee were rarely in the same place at the same time, her contribution was nearly drama-free. Since she’d needed a job in the worst way, Candy decided to hire her. So far, so good.

Perhaps the biggest shock came the day Jacinta handed Candy a check, saying she wanted to invest in the business. “I have all the faith in the world in you, Candace,” her mother had said. “I know you’ll turn that place into something beautiful and good for this town.”

And in an ironic twist, one of Candy’s first commercial contracts came via Wainright Miller, who decided to outsource the senior home’s daily desserts to Candy.

During all these weeks of help and support, Candy often found herself more focused on her morning sickness than her own business plan. She sometimes felt guilty for not pulling her own weight, which everyone told her was nonsense.