Sugar on Top (4 page)

“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.”

“What is that even supposed to mean?” she asked, the offense clear in her voice. “What does a quilter look like?”

“I don’t know.” But when he took in the sexy woman next to him who loved bartending and beer, he had a hard time picturing her sewing on a loose button, let alone making something as domestic as a quilt. St. Polly’s Girl she was, Holly Homemaker not so much.

“Well, I can assure you that I’m a damn good quilter. Almost as good as Hattie. She started teaching me after, well…I started quilting senior year.”
After I got chased out of school
wasn’t said but it hung between them nonetheless.

He’d heard enough stories from Brett to know that her senior year had been rough. He’d had no idea just how bad until one day Cal was driving home from a remodel across town and came across Glory walking down the highway heading home. She was cornered by a truck full of football players offering her twenty bucks for a BJ.

Cal chased off the guys and, after she’d promised him that she was okay, drove her home, wondering how her grandma continued to let her go to that school. The next day she unenrolled.

“I’m right there.” Glory pointed out the window. “The one with the big lemon tree on the porch.”

Cal pulled off on the gravel road, coming to a stop in front of her house. If the lemon tree landmark was accurate, Glory lived in the apartment above a detached garage that sat kitty-corner from her grandma’s farmhouse. He squinted through the windshield, noticing a small herb garden on the apartment’s porch and a couple of potted peonies lining the steps. It was small but welcoming.

The truck idled but neither moved. After a long moment Cal said, “If you called Jackson and explained what really happened to the tractor, I bet he’d drop the assault charges.”

“And tell him what?” she asked quietly, looking him right in the eye. And man, something deep inside of him tightened. “That
your
grandma took the company truck for a joyride on a suspended license and stole Ms. Kitty’s tractor with
my
grandma?”

Right, there was that. “It would get you off the hook.”

“That’s not the way I’d want to be exonerated. Plus, Ms. Kitty would just use it against my grandma somehow…” Glory swallowed hard and looked out the window. “Jelly Lou isn’t doing well. She’s back in physical therapy to help with her leg pains. I don’t want to add to her stress. Not until I know what’s going on.”

Everything inside Cal wanted to call Jackson, tell him to stop being a little bitch and let this all drop. But he knew that his buddy would only back down if someone confronted him with the truth. And he had a sick feeling that someone was going to have to be him.

“Jackson and I go way back. I could call him and discreetly—”

“Jackson and I go way back, too. So we both know that it won’t help, so please don’t.” Glory turned to face him, her hand resting gently on his arm, and damn it if he didn’t feel heat slide straight through to his core. “We don’t know who all was there or why they stole it. Plus, we both know Jackson’s just flexing his muscles. It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

Cal ran a hand down his face. He should have felt relief that he didn’t have to get involved any more than he already was—only he was too busy feeling angry. He knew Jackson would drop the charges because, even though he hated Glory, in the end he was a good guy and a great sheriff. Just like he knew that Glory could handle Jackson if it came to that. Hell, she’d been doing it most of her life. Didn’t mean she should have to, though.

“I’ll be fine, Cal. I promise.”

Cal let out a breath and gave a tight nod. “All right. But if you need anything…”

She was silent for a long moment, studying his face as though searching for the words. Or maybe she was waiting for him to finish. Only he faded off because he wasn’t sure what he was offering anymore. Something about the way she always seemed to stand alone got to him—and not much got to Cal.

“Thanks. For everything,” she finally said and tried for a smile, but it faltered under the strain of the night so she bit her lip to keep it in place. Her eyes were shinier than he’d like, and the way the delicate column of her throat worked overtime, he wanted to pull her into his arms again. She looked like she had all those years ago, vulnerable and scared and staring up at him as though he’d just made her fucking world. And damn it if that didn’t do something to his chest.

“No big deal.”

“To me it is. If you hadn’t come…I don’t know…” She broke off and shook her head. Rubbing out one of the million creases in her pajama bottoms, she looked up at him through her lashes, then opened her mouth. But when nothing came out, she gave a self-conscious smile that made him want to—

What?

He didn’t know. And staring at that mouth was stupid because he started making a list of exactly what he’d like to do to those lips. But looking into those gorgeous eyes proved even more dangerous, so he dropped his gaze to her hands, which had somehow gotten tangled with his, and he felt his pulse pick up.

Son of a bitch.
He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to kiss Glory Gloria Mann. Which made not one ounce of sense, because she was definitely
not
his type. Okay, with her killer body, full mouth, and exotic eyes, she was every man’s type. But what got him was that smile. It was sweet and sad and so damn determined, it broke his heart—and it pulled him in. Every time. And Cal couldn’t afford to be pulled in. He was a single dad, trying his best to be everything his daughter deserved. There wasn’t room in his life for a smile like that.

“Cal,” she whispered, and he realized his eyes were back on her lips.

“Yeah?” He threaded his free hand through her hair. It was silky and a little damp and felt amazing.

“I bake, too,” she said.

He blinked. Twice. “What?”

“I bake,” she repeated. Her breath was warm on his lips, and she smelled of vanilla and hazelnut and all things delectable. “I bake and I quilt and I like to garden. And thanks for saving me…” She leaned up and gently pressed her warm lips to his cheek and whispered a broken, “Again.”

She reached for the door, but before she could open it, Cal leaned forward. “Glory—”

She turned back to face him and whatever the hell he’d been about to say died because her mouth was right there, aligned perfectly with his. All he had to do was lean forward a smidge, and—

Sweet baby Jesus
, her lips parted on a breath and he watched the pulse in the base of her neck quicken. She knew exactly what he was thinking, indecision playing out in those expressive eyes, and his heart literally tripped.

He should leave. Leave her and this stupid idea and—

Her eyes dropped to his mouth.

That was all the welcome he needed. He cupped her face and kissed her. He kept it gentle, brushing her upper lip and finally delivering little nibbles to that lush, plump lower one that had been driving him crazy for years. Her mouth was soft and warm and so damn sweet a jolt of heat shot straight through him, warming up the car and making him want to strip off his clothes—then hers.

He pulled back, his hand was gripping the back of her neck. When her lashes finally lifted, her eyes were dazed and hungry and he knew he had to get out of there.

With one last brush of their lips, he whispered, “Thank you.” Her eyes narrowed in confusion. Welcome to it, he thought, since she’d been screwing with his brain all morning. “For taking the time to talk with Payton. About school.”

“I like talking to her, she’s a great kid,” she whispered, then looked him dead in the eye and, as if knowing exactly what he needed right then, said, “And you’re a great dad.”

He gave a single nod, not as confident as he’d have liked. “I have my moments. But lately I feel like it’s more misses than hits with her,” he said, surprised at his admission, even more surprised that he wanted to keep talking. To her. It was wild—talking to Glory about his life felt easy.

“You love her, that’s all that matters,” she said with so much confidence he had to check himself. She had been covered in cow shit, falsely arrested, and yet she refused to give in to the unfairness of it all, instead offering him sweet words in a moment when he really needed them. “Most girls dream about having a dad like you.”

Her voice cracked on the last few words, reminding him that growing up, she was one of those girls.

With a shaky smile, Cal watched her scurry out of the car and up the steps, his hat planted firmly on her head and his eyes planted firmly on the sway of her ass. His phone started buzzing, but Cal ignored it, ignored the fact that she was already inside and that he was sitting there idling in her driveway like an idiot.

What he couldn’t ignore was that a night with her would be the worst decision he could make since Tawny—or that out of all the women in this goddamned state, he had to feel that undeniable, sexual pull with this one.

T
o keep her mind off Cal, Glory took a shower. A hot one. But when all the not thinking about Cal turned into thinking about Cal’s mouth—on hers—she switched to a cold one. It didn’t help.

Who knew Cal could kiss like that? That he could kiss
her
like that? Besides their lips and his hand gently cupping her face, he hadn’t really touched her at all, and yet she felt him everywhere. Still could.

She let out a breath and grabbed the meatloaf and a crockpot of low-sodium chili she’d made for her grandma to get her through the next few nights while Glory worked the closing shift at the Saddle Rack. Wrapping her raincoat over her new flannel PJs, she darted down the stairs and into the small farmhouse she grew up in.

Jelly Lou sat in her wheelchair watching the limbs of the peach trees droop with rain. She wore teal sweats, matching fuzzy slippers, and pink lipstick.

Glory kicked the door shut and low grunting was the only warning she got before a soft nose and scaly head disappeared beneath her pajama leg.

Part dinosaur, part honey badger, and wearing more body armor than a gladiator, Road Kill, her grandmother’s armadillo, was so excited by the smell of the chili that he was trying to climb her leg to get it and leaving little claw marks all down Glory’s shins.

“Down,” Glory said, giving her leg a little shake.

Fingers between her teeth, Jelly Lou let go a whistle that had Road Kill peeking out from the fabric and scurrying over to his master, his weapon of a tail smacking everything he passed.

“We thought you’d come right over to tell us how your test went,” Jelly Lou said, picking up Road Kill and placing him in her lap. He curled up, but his eyes stayed locked on the crockpot. “Then we saw Cal McGraw’s truck in the drive and figured you needed some time to pull yourself together.”

Glory shrugged out of her raincoat. “He was just being neighborly.”

Jelly Lou raised an amused brow. “Is that why your face is all flushed?”

Since Cal was a topic she was determined
not
to obsess about, Glory went into the kitchen and straight to the coffeemaker, not slowing down until she poured herself a big steaming mug.

A warm calmness washed over her as she breathed in the familiar scent of freshly baked cornbread and lavender soap. So many times over the years, Glory had come home from school to find her grandma at the counter cooking up dinner, a bowl of potatoes waiting to be peeled or peas to be shucked. Jelly Lou believed that family was about caring, standing together—side by side through even the toughest times.

There had been a lot of tough times in Glory’s life and Jelly Lou had never faltered in her support. She had given Glory stability, affection, a safe place to be a part of—and so much love.

Glory took her first sip of her coffee when Jelly Lou and Road Kill rolled in. Not wanting her to bring up the midterm again, or God forbid Cal, Glory gave her a kiss on the cheek and asked, “Did you reschedule your physical therapy appointment?”

“Who says I missed it,” Jelly Lou asked causally, stroking Road Kill’s head, and Glory pierced her with a knowing look—which was met with an innocent shrug, so Glory waited.

A good and long time.

With a huff, Jelly Lou caved. “I called his receptionist this morning and she said Dr. Moore is booked out for two weeks. Then she had the nerve to say she was charging me, even though he didn’t help me none. How can someone charge for doing nothing?”

“Easy. He got to sit around wondering why he rushed to work at eight o’clock on a Monday when his eight o’clock was a no-show. And since you didn’t call in advance to cancel and you don’t have a good excuse for missing it, he gets to charge you for his wasting his time.”

“I had a good excuse.”

“Breaking into Ms. Kitty’s barn and stealing her tractor?”

Jelly Lou said not a word, just grabbed some napkins and spoons, and rolled over to set the table.

With a sigh, Glory served up two bowls of chili, topped them generously with shredded cheese, and set them on the table. She set a cob of corn on a napkin and placed it on Road Kill’s chair—which he vacuumed up the second his feet made contact with the cushion. “I’ll stop by Dr. Moore’s office tomorrow and see if he can squeeze you in this week.”

Jelly Lou clasped her hands together. “Such a good granddaughter. How did I get so lucky?”

“We can discuss
that
after you explain exactly what you were thinking stealing Ms. Kitty’s tractor.”

Her request was greeted with more silence, broken only by the occasional slurp, clanking of metal on porcelain, and Road Kill’s grunting.

She had to remind herself that she was a lucky girl. She had an amazing grandmother. Sweet, patient, loving—and stubborn as hell. Good thing Glory had spent a lifetime waiting for answers to questions she didn’t know how to ask, so if Jelly Lou thought she could outlast her, she was greatly misinformed.

Glory lifted her spoon and dug in. Except for Jelly Lou asking for a second helping, they finished their chili in silence. Then as though Glory hadn’t been waiting fifteen minutes for an answer, Jelly Lou leaned over and, with a warm smile, patted Glory’s hand. “Now, tell me about that test.”

She dabbed her lips with a napkin and went for honest. Well, as honest as she wanted to get with a woman who wore her guilt like lipstick. Heavy enough to be detected from outer space. “I missed the test because I was returning the Prowler.”

“Oh, Glo.” She clutched Glory’s hand to her chest and held it there. “What on earth were you thinking?”

“That I didn’t want my grandma incarcerated for stealing the mayor’s tractor.”

“The mayor doesn’t care; he knows his mama is petty. Plus, Jackson wouldn’t have arrested us.” Glory snorted. “And we weren’t stealing it. We were gathering evidence. Kitty is a cheat and the whole town knows it. They’re all just too scared to speak up. That’s the only way she could win nine Sugar Pull champions in a row.”

“Maybe she’s just got the better tractor and driver,” Glory said, but even
she
didn’t believe her argument.

Jelly Lou was the proud owner of the only ten-time Sugar Pull champion in the history of the event, the Pitter. The woman knew what it took to win, as it had taken her and her husband, Ned, over fifteen years of racing to accumulate that many titles. So if Jelly Lou was claiming foul play, then Ms. Kitty was cheating the system—and most likely bribing the officials to look the other way.

Not that Glory was surprised. Sneaking and scheming to win, even when harmful to others, was Ms. Kitty’s MO.

“Please don’t tell me this is because of what happened with Damon.” When her grandmother stared at the floor, tension knotted painfully in Glory’s chest. “Because I’m over it. Really. I am.”

There, that sounded convincing.

“A good Southern woman always forgives, but only a stupid one forgets. And I won’t forget what her family did to you. Ever.” Jelly Lou’s words were strong and laced with a protectiveness that made swallowing difficult. “But, the good Lord knows, I have forgiven them.”

Glory raised a brow and Jelly Lou cracked a weary smile. “Okay, the good Lord also knows that I have to reforgive them every Sunday and on all religious holidays. But this is about something else I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”

The last time her grandmother had used those words, it was when Glory had come home to find her mom had decided to move to Florida. Without Glory.

She didn’t know which hurt worse. That her mother had admitted Glory wasn’t Billy Mann’s before skipping town with someone else’s husband. Or that after hearing, Billy took off, too, leaving Glory behind. All she knew for sure was that her daddy wasn’t Billy Mann—and Glory was all alone.

Jelly Lou fixed that, though. She had taken a heartbroken Glory into her home and explained that Glory was hers, forever. No matter what.

Which was why, no matter what this town threw at her, Glory wasn’t leaving as long as Jelly Lou was breathing.

She scooted closer and took both of Jelly’s Lou’s frail hands into her own. “You can tell me anything.”

Jelly Lou gave two squeezes, then smiled, big and bold. “Good. Because I’m entering the Sugar Pull. Hattie, Dottie, and MeMaw have signed on to be my pit crew. Etta Jayne’s the pit boss. We call ourselves the Pit Crew Mafia.”

An overwhelming sense of panic blew through Glory at the thought of her grandma racing again. “Is that safe? You haven’t raced since Billy was in high school.” Since she’d taken a debilitating fall off a ladder during harvest and broken her back. That had been thirty-five years and three wheelchairs ago.

“Then I’m long overdue to defend my title,” she explained.

“Against men half your age?”

“The first time I raced, I was sixteen and steamrolled over men twice my age. Still managed to win with a one point six second lead. I can do it again.”

“A lot’s changed since then.” Like automatic transitions, disc breaks, and YouTube. Now every redneck who owned a computer knew how to make a turbo injector with dental floss, tinfoil, and a nine-volt battery.

“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.