Sugar on Top (11 page)

“I drive a pickup.” He looked at her lips. “And look what happened with us.”

She laughed, but when she spoke, her voice was serious. “The Pep-Luck is a big deal and a huge honor for a sophomore. Mason understood that, even made sure he picked Payton up because she’s the only girl on varsity who doesn’t have a license and he didn’t want her to be embarrassed.”

“By what? Me?” He felt his face crease into a frown. “Are you saying my daughter is embarrassed to be seen with me?”

Glory rested her hand gently on his chest and damn it if he didn’t feel it everywhere. “I’m saying that your protective personality is charming. But to a fourteen-year-old, it might come off as…smothering. And maybe a tad embarrassing.”

Payton was embarrassed by him? When had that happened?

“So you think I’m charming, huh?”

“Did you hear anything else I said?”

“Nah, I just focused on the important parts.”

She smiled, and man oh man, he was in trouble. Serious trouble. For the first time since becoming a single dad, Cal was tempted to break his own rule. Because what was the point of looking for fun outside Sugar, when the fun he wanted was not only well within the city limits, but standing right in front of him.

A
fter yesterday’s encounter with Ms. Kitty, followed by a lengthy discussion with the Pit Crew Mafia over the validity of Kitty’s invoice, Glory knew the only way she was going to get a moment’s peace was to follow up with the one person who could put this argument to rest.

With less than an hour before class started, Glory parked her car in front of Kiss My Glass Tow and Tires, grabbed Ms. Kitty’s invoice, and hurried over to the tow truck idling a half a block down Maple Street. The early morning heat was already sweltering and carried a sweetness from the nearby peach orchards.

“You’re up and about early,” Glory said as she approached.

Spencer came out from behind the truck wearing a
GREASE YOUR OWN MONKEY
tank, stained work pants with enough metal tools hanging off her belt to ensure electrocution in a lightning storm, and combat boots. Both mechanic and ensemble were covered in what had to be two days of grease.

Spencer caught Glory’s eye and gave a brisk nod in greeting, then leaned through the unrolled window and pushed a lever on the dash. When she reemerged from the cab, she was smiling. Odd since Spencer rarely showed her teeth before lunchtime—unless it was for intimidation.

“Haven’t been to bed yet,” Spencer hollered over the sound of hydraulics as the wheel lift of her tow truck slowly lowered to the asphalt. “Been up all night, watching and waiting for it to hit six fifty so I could tow this bad boy.”

She patted the hood of the black truck, which was parked directly behind hers. It was ridiculously high with big mud tires, even bigger flaps, and a gun rack on the roof. It also had a sheriff’s hat sitting on the dash.

“You’re towing Jackson’s truck?”

“I’m towing a truck that has been parked at an expired meter for over twenty-four hours,” Spencer said, showing more teeth than lips. Definitely a victorious smile. “Illegal is illegal, doesn’t matter whose stupidly overdone truck it is.”

It was a lie and they both knew it.

“So this has nothing to do with him confiscating your gun last month?”

“He was showing the Gun and Garden Club the new handguns the sheriff’s department purchased.” Spencer secured the wheel lift to the driver’s side front tire and walked around to secure the other. “I had a bigger barrel in elementary school than that thing he was flashing so I whipped out mine to do a little comparison and he tagged me for open carry.”

“You drew a loaded gun out and pointed it at the sheriff in town hall.”

“Which is where the Garden and Gun Club meets. It was pistol envy, so he had to wave his badge around.” She tugged on the metal chains that wrapped around the tires and stood. “Just because JD carries a badge doesn’t mean he gets to walk around like he’s a god.”

“You don’t need to convince me,” Glory said and held out the invoice, noticing that her arms were already glistening in the morning heat.

Spencer let out a low whistle. “Wow, not even a week in and Kitty’s already got you jumping through her hoops.”

“I’m not jumping through anyone’s hoops.”

“Ah-huh,” Spencer mumbled, unconvinced as she looked from the still rising sun to Glory, and raised a brow. Fine so it was early, and she had a lot on her plate, but she was there to do her job, not Kitty’s bidding.

“Can you tell me if this invoice is real?”

Dusting off her hands, which made not an ounce of difference, Spencer took the paper. She flicked it open and took her sweet time reading it. “You should’ve called. It would have saved you the drive into town.”

“So Kitty was telling the truth,” Glory asked, careful not to brush up against Spencer’s truck. “You did the install?”

“Yup. Ordered the parts and installed them a couple of months back. Peg came out to the shop and signed off on everything. It’s not the standard pump for that kind of tractor, but it abides by the guidelines.”

“You mean that I was arrested and sentenced to two hundred hours of community hell for nothing?” Glory slumped back against the door of the tow truck, no longer concerned with her sundress.

“You got to hit JD with a cow pie.”

“Well, there was that. Then again, I also got stuck planning a pageant for a bunch of entitled debutantes whose Cotillion, according to the former Miss Peaches and Kitty, will be held at Duncan Plantation.”

Spencer yanked the chain and, satisfied with her handiwork, walked toward the front of her truck and leaned a hip against the fender. “Tell Ms. Kitty and the Peaches to kiss your ass and then have the pageant wherever you want. You’re the commissioner.”

“Co-commissioner.” And Kitty made a good point the other day in court. “Kitty’s offering to host it for free at Duncan Plantation, so it would cut way down on the budget and that means more scholarship money.”

The only part of the pageant that interested Glory. She wasn’t excited about the fanfare or even the Cotillion—although it had been a long time since she’d had an excuse to dress up—but she loved the idea of helping some really deserving girls go to college. And after thumbing through the stack of applications that had already come into the Harvest Commission’s office, Glory was surprised to find that, while many of the girls were expected subjects—debutantes and “it” girls wanting a crown—there were a small handful of entries from girls who were interested in the community involvement aspect as well as the scholarship.

“Ten grand,” Spencer said with a low whistle. And that was just for Miss Peach. There were other, smaller but still impressive, scholarships for the top five runner-ups. “Do you know what I could have done with that kind of money after high school?”

Glory had a pretty good idea. Ten thousand dollars would have paid for her nursing school. She wouldn’t have had to juggle working full time while taking classes and trying to study. It would have changed her life.

“All I’m saying is that you have the chance to do something cool and plan an event where kids like we used to be feel comfortable coming.
And
stick it to a Duncan at the same time.”

Glory laughed at the idea of Spencer in heels and a tiara and then immediately sobered when Spencer started toying with a really sharp-looking tool on her belt. “Um, I didn’t know you were into pageants.”

“I’m not. But I’m also not into creating unfair advantages that only help the already advantaged.” Spencer opened the door and hopped in the cab of her truck. She rested her forearm on the window frame and leaned out. “So you can either let the Duncans walk all over you again or grow a pair. Your choice.”

Spencer hit the lever on the dash of her truck. A loud beeping filled an empty Maple Street, scattering a family of morning birds from a nearby giant oak, then the front of Jackson’s truck slowly lifted off the ground.

The engine revved a few times and Spencer pulled out onto the street, flashing the lights and laying on the horn as she passed the Sheriff’s Department.

For the first time since Glory had been caught driving the stolen tractor, she felt nervous. Kitty was on the up-and-up, everyone was playing by the rules, and now it was up to Glory to pull off a great Harvest Fest.

Up until now, everything had seemed simple enough—sift out the cheaters, level the field, and plan a fancy dance where teen girls got to play dress-up. But suddenly everything became real and Glory realized that there were a lot of girls counting on her to get this right.

Girls who, like Glory, might not have a champion in their corner.

Glory walked back to her car and, grabbing her cell out of the center console, scrolled through her contacts. Before she lost the courage, she hit Send. Her pulse pounded through her chest and the possible outcome of what she was about to do made her hands sweat. Taking on Kitty Duncan was insanity. Then again, insanity had never felt so good.

If Glory could make this right, it was as if she could make everything else in her world right.

“Please tell me you aren’t calling from jail,” Charlotte said by way of greeting.

“No.” Then because she wasn’t entirely confident of what the future would hold, she added, “Not today. But I am calling to ask you a favor. It’s about the pageant.”

“Will it set Ms. Kitty on fire?”

“Yes, which is why I’ll understand if you pass.”

“Honey, when she started talking doily sizes and using the town flag as a color scheme, I started looking into other places. So what did you have in mind?”

Glory smiled because Charlotte was resourceful, sneaky when needed, and probably the savviest Miss Peach in the history of the pageant. If anyone could outsmart Kitty at her own game, it was Charlotte.

“You free for lunch?”

It was twelve thirty sharp when Glory pulled into the Gravy Train. As she parked in front of the old ranch house turned eatery, she couldn’t help but smile. The more she thought about what Spencer had said, the more excited she had become.

Grabbing her idea journal and the applications off the passenger seat—all the applications but one, which was still tucked in the bottom of her purse and added the weight of the world—Glory walked toward Sugar’s only smokehouse BBQ.

Jessie James lay in the doorway, his eyes closed, dead to the world. JJ, the restaurant’s resident welcome dog, spent his days holding down the doormat and his nights sniffing out doggie bags. But the applications in Glory’s hand rustled when she reached for the door, like a paper to-go bag and JJ leapt into action, hitting the “how can you say no to this face” position and aiming those big wet puppy eyes her way. Then he tilted his head for effect.

She put the applications out for him to sniff. “Sorry, buddy, going in, not coming out.”

JJ snorted his disappointment, then plopped back down, this time blocking her path completely. With a pat to the head, Glory stepped over the big guy and opened the door. She was greeted with the smell of warm cornbread, barbeque sauce, and lemongrass.

Specializing in Asian-infused Southern eats, the Gravy Train didn’t just serve the best ribs in town, it served up an eating experience that was as unique as its menu.

Peanut hulls covered the dark saloon-style floors and a dinner bell marked the kitchen door. The ceiling was a grid of exposed wooden beams with Chinese lanterns hanging at every intersection, and customers sat at picnic tables covered with red-and-white-checked cloth.

Above the mid-lunch crowd, Glory spotted Charlotte already seated at a booth near the back. She was dressed in a sleek blue dress with even sleeker heels, and when she caught Glory’s eye, she waved her over.

“You’re early,” Glory said, taking a seat.

“I just got here.” Charlotte pushed her menu to the side of the table. “And since I have to be back at the hospital in thirty minutes, I called in our order. A slab of the Baijiu ribs, emerald pulled pork sliders, daikon slaw, and a round of Thai teas to celebrate. I hope you don’t mind.”

That was enough food for a family of four, but Glory didn’t complain. “I start my rounds in an hour, so good call. But what are we celebrating?”

“Besides
not
having to explain away a ridiculous assault charge to the board? Glo, you are orchestrating the biggest teen event in the county,” Charlotte said. “It can only help you establish credibility.”

Glory hadn’t thought of that. Up until that moment she had considered the Harvest Fest as one more thing in a long list of responsibilities she had to push through.

“Did we miss lunch?” Joie McGraw, blond hair pulled up in a ponytail, hands resting on her swollen belly, half waddled half walked to the table. She was the only woman on the planet who could make a pair of capris and sunny maternity top look couture.

“What are you doing here?” Glory asked, patting the bench. “I thought you and Brett were taking a babymoon.”

“We did. The Napa Valley was wonderful and romantic and Brett was so sweet. Then on day two it was like the smell of the rotting grapes was everywhere, even in the hotel room and…” Joie broke off with a grimace and then sat.

“If she throws up and ruins lunch, she picks up the tab,” Spencer warned, plopping down next to Charlotte. “I don’t care if it is hormones.”

Joie pointed to her baby bump. “One day this will be you and I will remind you of this moment. And you will cry. Like a baby. And I will film it and put it up on Facebook so everyone can see just what hormones are capable of.”

“They make you mean, that’s for sure,” Spencer said.

Joie ignored her. “So co-commissioner, huh? Cal ripped Brett a new one over that.”

Glory grimaced. “I felt so bad that he got stuck helping me run the Harvest Fest.”

Although a secret part of her was excited at the idea of spending time with Cal—and not just her girly parts.

“Don’t.” Joie laughed. “I actually think it will be good for him. He’s been griping nonstop about that pageant all summer. Maybe being forced to work on it will show him that Miss Peach isn’t some male-created ruse to get girls to parade around in bikinis.”

“Do you know if Payton is going out for Miss Peach?” Glory asked casually, not wanting to break her word, but wanting out of this situation completely. She had no idea what she’d been thinking to accept the application in the first place.

“She is obsessed with entering,” Joie said with a smile. “Although I’m pretty sure Cal’s got a different opinion on the situation and I don’t think any amount of eye batting and charm will sway him this time.”

“Who knows? Maybe it would be good for her.” Cal saying yes would be amazing for Glory—and her ever-increasing guilt level.

“I think it would be good for
him
,” Joie said, resting her hand on her belly. “Cal needs to loosen up. He is so busy trying to make up for Tawny leaving that he’s holding too tight to Payton.”

“I think it’s kind of sweet,” Glory admitted. What she would have done to have a parent who cared that much about her. “A bit over the top, but sweet all the same.”

“He is sweet. And sometimes I think lonely. He’s put everything he had into raising Payton, and now that she is growing up, I think he needs to get back out there.” Joie leaned in and lowered her voice conspiratorially. “Which is why I am so excited about this Cotillion. It is black tie, romantic, and the perfect place to meet someone. Someone special.”