To Catch A Player (Second Chance)

by Piper Sullivan

  “I know, Ma. I’m sorry.” I was sorry that I let Steve keep me from her, but it was easier for everybody if I stayed away. Ma tied herself up in knots trying to be the referee between us and I hated it. Which only made me angrier at Steve. It was a cycle best left alone.

  “Don’t be sorry, just meet a nice a woman and start making some grandkids.”

  “No woman yet,” I groaned, just as I spotted Reese in a bright red tank top and skin-tight jeans, marching across the park towards Bo’s General Store. “Soon. Maybe.” I was already on my feet and following her.

  “Don’t leave soon too late, son, it shows up quicker than you realize.” There was a sadness in her voice that made my chest ache, and I hated that feeling because there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it. She wouldn’t leave Steve. Ever.

  “Sounds like you need a cruise to keep you busy, Ma.”

  “Oh, you,” she laughed, and it was the sound I remembered most before Steve showed up. Not that he was physically abusive—he wasn’t, and I wouldn’t have tolerated that—but he sucked all the air and fun and life out of a room. “I need to get going, Jackie, visiting hours start soon.”

  “Sure, Ma. Talk soon.”

  “Love you, my boy.”

  “Love you, too.” I slipped the phone into my pocket as I trailed Reese towards the general store, ready to share the good news with her.

  Too bad Mack Murray chose that moment to dart past me like he was being chased. All thoughts of Reese were temporarily forgotten as I chased down the teenager to gave him and his friend a little bit of tough love.

  Reese

  “Don’t you think fifty-thousand photos is more than enough, Janey?” As much as I loved doing anything to promote my restaurant and my barbecue sauces, I hated posing for photos. And being forced to smile.

  Janey groaned and dropped her camera to her side to glare at me. “Seriously? I’ve taken like fifty photos and you were scowling in half of them. The harder you fight this, the longer it’s gonna take, Reese.”

  “You sure you don’t want to put on something else? Maybe some heels or something?” Ginger’s voice was hesitant and I looked down at my outfit, which was really more like my uniform. Jeans and a tank top—any color, thanks—and a pair of sneakers. It was functional and comfortable, and went great with my chef’s coat.

  “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing? This is what I always wear. And this story is about the cook-off, right?”

  “Yeah, of course. It’s just this is going to be online… for everyone to see.”

  “And?”

  “And don’t you want to look like you… but with a little, I don’t know, pizazz?”

  Ginger and Janey both wore matching serious expressions and I couldn’t help it, I laughed. “What the hell do you mean by pizazz?” I should have realized my mistake sooner, because Ginger’s expression brightened.

  “Glad you asked.” She knelt down and grabbed a small black bag before she made her way to me. “I’ll just do a little bit of this and that and you’ll be you, but hotter.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “Close your eyes,” she instructed with a bossy tone and look that only eased when I did what she said. “You’re beautiful and you know it, that’s why you never wear any make-up or do anything to highlight it.”

  That wasn’t true. “That’s not true.”

  “It is. Open up.” I did and she flashed a satisfied smile. “Perfect. We’re ready, Janey.”

  “Ready to finish these photos, anyway.” As much as I didn’t like taking pictures, even for work, I really didn’t want or need anyone to help me in the kitchen. Other than Maven, who couldn’t be here because she had some big class project.

  Janey sighed, and this time her glare softened. “I’m sorry I didn’t give you more of a heads up about this, but what’s the big deal? This is great for you, the town, and the calendar.”

  I nodded, because the calendar was getting attention outside of Tulip and I’d love to benefit from that kind of exposure. “Fine.”

  Janey put the camera between us again and started issuing orders which I followed dutifully, hoping to be rewarded by finishing sooner.

  Ginger groaned in frustration. “You’re not even a little bit curious who’s gonna be your assistant?”

  “Is it Tyler Florence or Babish? Or Alton Brown? Because that guy knows his food science. If not, I’m not that curious.”

  “Party pooper,” she accused and stuck her tongue out at me. “That tall, dark, and mysterious drink of water known as Detective Slater.” Her smile was mischievous and I just shook my head.

  Because of course it was Jackson. Because who else would the universe send my way? “So, not a chef, then?”

  “No,” Janey groaned. “We have no Hometown Hero chefs.”

  “A few photos. No more.” I didn’t have time to babysit an amateur in the kitchen while I was trying to take my business to the next level.

  “Sous Chef Slater, reporting for duty.” His voice came out as a low growl that was, okay, a little bit sexy.

  I flashed a phony smile. “Shift’s over, thanks for your help today,” I deadpanned.

  He frowned but only for a second. “I just got here.”

  “And I was just informed of this… whole situation, which means I don’t have anything for you to do.” I’d have to find something easy for him that would keep him out of my way.

  “I can do anything you need.”

  “Doubtful.”

  His brows arched in amusement and Jackson took a step forward. “Care to test that theory?”

  “Sure. You go inside and work on my sauces and I’ll go home and catch up on… anything else.”

  “Done. I can whip up some sauces in an hour or two.”

  I knew he was baiting me but still I gasped and took a step forward, fire in my eyes. “Keep talking and you might end up a key ingredient in one of my sauce recipes, Detective.”

  He took another step forward until the tips of his shoes touched my much smaller sneakers. “If you wanna get your mouth on me, just say the word.”

  As. If. “Keep dreaming.”

  He smiled again and I took a step back.

  “Kids!” Janey’s voice carried in the early morning quiet, and both Jackson and I turned to her. “I don’t know whatever this is that you two got going on,” she began, waving a hand at us both.

  “Nothing,” I insisted and folded my arms over my chest. Angrily.

  “Not a damn thing,” Jackson barked, his posture mirroring mine.

  “Whatever, I don’t care.” She snapped a photo of us and grinned. “Jackson has already agreed to be your number two, since Maven can’t.” She flashed me a pointed look that was unnecessary. “That means you will do what Reese wants, Jackson. Got it?” We both nodded. “Good.”

  “And I won’t need anything from you until we’re closer to the cook-off, so I’ll email you.” That was weeks away and there was the possibility, however small, that I wouldn’t make it to the end. “That was easy enough. Let’s finish this please, Janey.”

  But Janey still held the camera at her side and stared at me like I was crazy. “Reese, this is going to be a four-part story covering each leg of the cook-off competition, and Jackson will assist you for each one.”

  Kill me now. “Great. Let’s finish this, then, because I have a lot of work to do.” And I had to find a way to work with Jackson for the next few weeks without killing him. He was a detective after all, and the law tended to frown on things like that.

  “Looks like you’re stuck with me,” he whispered so only I could hear him.

  “Lucky me.”

  Thirty minutes later, Janey carried her photography equipment to her car, an almost apologetic smile on her face. Almost, because she’d gotten her way. Again.

  “It’s just you and me now, kid. You can’t avoid me.”

  “I’m not avoiding you, Detective.” Maybe I made sure I wasn’t where he would be, but that was smart. It wa
s self-preservation, not avoidance. “Come on.” I could feel his gaze on me but I refused to turn around, to acknowledge any of the tension between us.

  “This kitchen is bigger that I imagined.”

  I smiled and looked around. This was my pride and joy, my favorite part of the business. “Plenty of room for the creative juices to flow.” At least that’s what Aunt Bette used to say about her own giant kitchen.

  “They must overflow, because I’ve never eaten so much barbecue in all my life as I have since moving to Tulip.”

  “Thanks.” It was, admittedly, the best compliment I’d heard in a while.

  “Is it so bad to have me here, Reese?”

  This was it. I could tell him that, yes, it would be awful, and he would go away. Or I could let him stay and work through this particular challenge, and when it was over, there wouldn’t even be weirdness. Just a cool, detached civility. That sounded… nice.

  “It’s not bad, no. But this was just sprung on me this morning and today is my day, where I catch up on the business side of things and test out new recipes.” It was time just for me, and now I had to share it. For charity, I had to remind myself.

  “All right. What would Maven be doing if she were here instead of me?”

  “Prep work.” At his frown, I explained. “Any of the preparations needed for a dish. Today, she would have spent the morning chopping vegetables.”

  “I can do that,” he insisted with the confidence of a man who had never chopped a dozen onions in one go.

  “Or you can go enjoy your morning and if anyone asks, I’ll tell them you were an excellent sous chef.”

  Jackson folded his arms over his chest and stared at me. “We’re back to that again?”

  “Nope. We’re not.”

  “Then I’m helping.” He was more stubborn than I’d given him credit for, which impressed me.

  “Fine. I need ten diced onions to start with. Then garlic and bell peppers.” I turned and found him a pair of latex gloves. “You’ll need these for the chili peppers.”

  “Cool. Show me how you want them.”

  I did and he picked it up quickly, allowing me to get back to my work, which was scattered across one of the tables in the kitchen instead of my office because I had anticipated having the place to myself today. A mistake I wouldn’t make again. “If you have any questions, ask.”

  He nodded and started to chop, and we worked in a peaceful silence for a full ten minutes before Jackson started talking. “Why did you choose to open a restaurant?”

  “Instead of just work at one, you mean?” It wouldn’t be the first time I’d gotten that question, but it usually came from older women—like my aunt, who worried my focus on business would interfere with my finding a husband.

  “I mean, instead of a food truck or catering. I knew a guy who was a private chef, even.”

  Oh. “I liked the idea of cooking for people and creating new takes on old favorites.”

  “Like barbecue?”

  That made me smile. “Some of my best memories are with my bare feet in the grass beside my Aunt Bette as she painted different homemade sauces on ribs and burgers for the neighborhood. The smell of meat on the grill, the blend of sauces—I loved it.” Living in a place where you could barbecue most of the year meant those memories were just a weekend away on any given day.

  “Nice memory.”

  “There weren’t a lot, but it was enough. Is that why you became a detective?”

  “Because of some really good barbecue? No. I like solving puzzles and punishing bad dudes.” His words had the ring of truth to them, which only made laugh. “Something funny about that?”

  “I believe you, but it sounds like it came from a cheesy cop movie. A B-movie, at that.” More laughter erupted from me and the more he frowned, the louder and more energetic my laughter grew.

  “Very funny.”

  “Sorry. You were saying?”

  “Nothing,” he said, now upset. “It’s the truth.”

  “I believe you, really. It’s just funny you said it that way. I didn’t peg you for the sensitive type.” And I didn’t want to think about him having actual feelings. “Why did you come to Tulip?”

  He had been an officer somewhere else, was all I’d managed to find out before I had started actively avoiding learning anything about him.

  “A few too many homicides put me at risk of burning out early. Rather than let that happen, I made a change.” There was more to it than that, but he was entitled to his secrets. More importantly, I had no claims on them.

  “What about you, never wanted to leave Tulip?”

  “I left, for a while. And I like to travel when I can, but this place is home.”

  “All done,” he announced, taking a step back to proudly admire at his handiwork. “Not bad, right?”

  Inspecting the onions carefully, I had to admit, “You did a good job.”

  “Man, I bet that physically hurt to say.”

  “Not at all.” I smiled up at him. “Because it means I don’t have to do them over, which saves me some time. So, thanks.”

  “Happy to help.” I believed him, but I also didn’t want to tempt fate by spending more time together.

  “Good. You can take the rest of the day off, because I don’t have a plan for two people. But I’ll get with you soon about a schedule.”

  “You will?”

  I understood his skepticism and laughed.

  “I will, because if I don’t, Janey will. I have to rearrange some things now that I’ll have some help.” But I was happy for the assistance actually, and that was what I would try to remember when I was tempted to call the whole thing off.

  “I’ll hold you to that,” he said, walking off with a charming smile and a smart-ass salute.

  “Jackson?”

  He turned with that panty-melting grin I remembered well from that night. “Yeah?”

  “Thanks for your help today.”

  “My pleasure.”

  No, it wasn’t. It wasn’t anybody’s pleasure.

  There would be no pleasure. Just barbecue.

  Jackson

  Nothing like a nice long workout to get a certain sassy chef out of my mind—too bad it didn’t work.

  Reese was still all I could think about, despite the clear ‘hands-off’ signals she was sending. She was mostly sending, because there had been a few times on Monday when I’d caught desire in her eyes. She might not like me, and Reese definitely didn’t want to work with me, but she wanted me.

  Still.

  It was something I could work with over the next few weeks. Though I had to wonder, if she still desired me, what the hell her problem was with me. Another question I’d have to find the answer to.

  “Jackson, there you are.” Elizabeth Vargas strolled up to me looking like she’d just stepped from the pages of some fashion magazine for the sophisticated woman of a certain age, completely standing out inside the gym. She wrinkled her nose. “Not very fresh in here.”

  I couldn’t disagree. “It is a gym, what else should it smell like?”

  “The underlying scent of chlorine could be a bit stronger,” she said primly and shook her head. “Anyway. You’re working with Reese for the cook-off, aren’t you?”

  I dropped my gym bag at my feet and folded my arms. The meddling matchmakers had been at it all year, getting in everyone’s business in one way or another. “You know I am. Why?”

  You had to be strong and firm with these busy bodies. It didn’t really help, but they were more covert when you made your displeasure known.

  “I have something for her and since you’re right here, you can give it to her the next time you see each other.” She tried—really damn hard—to look innocent, like she wasn’t meddling. Or matchmaking. It wasn’t a good effort.

  “You can’t just give it to her yourself? I’m sure you know where she lives. Or where her restaurant is.”

  Elizabeth stuck her nose in the air with a huff. “I have a ver
y busy life, Detective, thank you very much. Just see that she gets these, and tell her I look forward to her feedback. And samples, of course.” She tossed a small sack on my gym bag.

  “Of course.”

  She mistook my words for agreement, tossing a wave my way before she sauntered toward the exit, certain her bidding would be done.

  And dammit, it would.

  I grabbed my bag and headed out, toward my car instead of Big Mama’s to pick up some dinner. It would have to wait until the task was done—only then could I relax, assured that a bunch of meddlesome but well-meaning ladies wouldn’t show up on my doorstep with a woman in a white dress. I headed home for a quick shower to soothe my muscles—there was no way I’d show up at Reese’s smelling like I hadn’t bathed in a week.

  The house she lived in was unexpected, to say the least. Reese was a beautiful woman, with a fantastic body that she downplayed with simple hairstyles and no makeup, but she couldn’t hide it completely. Her home, though, was as pretty and feminine as she was, with a red door and matching shutters with flower boxes filled with herbs and vegetables. It was just like the woman herself. Cute. Small. Functional.

  I knocked and waited, bracing myself for any potential reaction to my unannounced visit.

  “Just a second,” she called from inside, sounding slightly breathless and annoyed. The door opened a moment later and I had to suppress a smile at how right I was. Her skin was flushed pink and her long hair stood in all directions. “Jackson. What brings you by?”

  I noticed the way she gripped the doorknob and took a step back when she realized how closely I studied her. That silky blond hair hung down to the middle of her back, falling over her shoulders prettily in a way that had my hands itching to touch it again. She wasn’t wearing shoes, so her toenails, painted in alternating hot pink and light pink, were on full display. It was her everyday attire, only more… intimate.

  “Elizabeth hijacked me at the gym with these peppers, which are starting to make my eyes water.”

  Reese let out a laugh that was melodic and feminine, and sincere. She took a step back and motioned for me to come inside. “Thanks. I hope you didn’t leave them in your car?”