Second Chance at the Sugar Shack

by Candis Terry

  “Nice of you to show up. I’m sure your mother would be very happy.”

  His words sucked the air from her lungs. “Okay, I get it,” she said. “You don’t like me. Can we at least be civil while I’m here?”

  He shrugged one broad uniformed shoulder. “Sure.”

  Behind them the steel door swung open with a screech. Out barged Edna Price. With her came the melody of Frank Sinatra singing My Way.

  Edna looked up and smiled at Matt. “Gotta get home and put the dog out. Can’t leave her out for long though.” She turned a frown toward Kate. “All she’s good for is wandering.”

  The old woman’s barb hit its mark. But, of course, Edna wasn’t done.

  “Emma Hart’s in there looking for you, Matthew, honey. You don’t want to keep a good woman like that waiting.”

  “I’ll make note of that.” Matt gave her a wave and a friendly smile as she hobbled away on her moose-head cane. “Good night, Mrs. Price.”

  He turned back to Kate. “So how long are you staying?”

  “Two days.” To guard against the icy daggers shooting at her she folded her arms across her breasts. “Think you can handle that?”

  “Doesn’t really matter to me.”

  “Well, at least you’re honest,” she said.

  “At least one of us is.”

  One hand slid to her hip. The other white-knuckled her purse strap. “I never lied to you. Exactly.”

  “You never exactly told me the truth either. Would have been nice to know you’d been making plans to run away.”

  “You knew I was waiting for that scholarship. I didn’t run away.”

  He laughed. “Honey, your tennis shoes left burn marks in the road.”

  She glanced across the parking lot for an escape. Her mother’s boat was four cars down. If she walked fast, she could be there in a few seconds.

  “Have you been sitting around for ten years thinking up nasty things to say to me?” she asked, irritated with herself for standing there and letting him grind in the guilt.

  “Hardly. I’ve got more important things to do.”

  Before she could bite her tongue, she asked, “Like what?”

  A smile curved his sensuous mouth. “Sorry, sweetheart, you lost the right to question me a long time ago.” His gaze cruised up her body, taking its time at all the appropriate places.

  She knew that look. The one that said no matter how long ago it had been he remembered that the last time he’d seen her she’d been naked in his arms and moaning his name.

  She remembered too. It would have been nice if she could have packed away the memory of that night along with her clothes when she left town. But she hadn’t. And for a long time after, she’d lie alone in her bed remembering his touch, his kiss, his attention to detail.

  A shiver tingled down her spine and shot straight to her core. “Ancient history.” She refused to let those memories haunt her anymore. Tonight she’d conjure up someone else to fantasize over. And he wouldn’t have midnight hair or ice blue eyes or wear a deputy uniform or be too handsome for his own good.

  She looked away from him again. Up this time. Anywhere other than at those pale eyes that watched her with such intensity.

  “Wow. The North Star,” she said, knowing it sounded lame the minute it left her lips. “I haven’t seen that in awhile.”

  “That’s too bad. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to be inside with the other mourners.” He touched two fingers to the brim of his Stetson and he disappeared into the Grange.

  Kate stared at the hard steel doors that divided them. He thought she didn’t care about her mother, but it had never been about that. He should know it had never been about that. Matt Ryan had changed. Somewhere along the way he’d lost the warm-hearted boy he’d once been. As she headed toward the car the memory of a star-filled summer night hit her square in the chest.

  “There’s the North Star, Katie.” He pointed his finger toward the half moon above them. “Make a wish.”

  “My mother says wishing on stars is a waste of time.”

  “Your mother doesn’t know what she’s talking about. A wish from the heart is a serious matter,” he told her. When she hesitated he kissed her nose, her eyes, and her lips then said, “Do it for me. Please.”

  She looked up at the star and recited the poem. Star light. Star bright. And made her silent wish.

  Then Matt pulled her close, kissed her deeply, and made love to her. Her first time. It was everything she’d ever imagined and more—sweet and gentle, hot and sexy. And oh so memorable. In the aftermath when they were snuggled together beneath that plaid wool blanket, holding each other like they’d never let go, he said, “I made a wish too.” Then he whispered it in her ear.

  He should never have told her.

  Wishes never came true when you said them out loud.

  The door slammed shut behind him as Matt walked into the Grange. She’d been in town less than forty-eight hours and already she had him tied up in knots. How the hell had that happened?

  He’d known she’d come home someday. It was inevitable. He’d known and he’d prepared himself. Or so he’d thought.

  For months after she’d left he’d tried to erase the memory of tangling his fingers in her hair, kissing her mouth, and slipping inside her where she was silky, hot, and eager. He’d tried to erase the memories of all the times they’d laughed together and held each other through times when it seemed no one around them understood. She’d been his best friend. His first love. And he foolishly thought she’d be his future.

  Over the years he’d finally managed a comfortable sense of numb whenever he heard her name or was forced to look at some fashion magazine article her mother proudly showed him.

  But seeing her today at her mother’s funeral, at the funeral of someone who meant the world to him, his defenses had been down and he’d been blindsided. And all his good intentions had been blown to hell.

  “Matt?” Emma Hart appeared at his side. “Are you all right? Why don’t you come over here and sit down. Have a slice of Letty’s last pie.” Emma led him past a row of tables and into a folding chair across from Katie’s quarterback brother, who was busy playing football god to the Deer Lick Destroyers’ offensive line. The teenagers all but drooled as Dean explained how to get a consistent snap.

  “Mr. Silverthorne insisted we save a piece just for you.” Emma slid the plate in front of him. “He said his Letty would want it that way because you were like a son to her.”

  The knot in Matt’s stomach blocked his appetite, even for a slice of Letty’s famous cinnamon apple pie.

  He poked his fork into the center of the crust and thought back to all the times she’d pushed him down into one of her Naugahyde chairs, shoved a hot slice of pie beneath his nose and conned him into telling her all his troubles.

  “Want it a la mode?” Emma slid onto the chair next to him while in the distance Elvis sang about being lonesome. “I’m sure I could scrounge up a scoop of vanilla somewhere.”

  Matt gave her a smile and shook his head. “Wouldn’t want to dilute it, being as it’s the last slice.”

  Emma laid her hand on his sleeve, curled her fingers around his forearm. “I can’t imagine how difficult this must be for you. I know how close you were with her.”

  Unable to speak, he took a bite of pie and savored the sweet, hot cinnamon flavor rolling around on his tongue. Letty had been the type of mother he’d always wished for. He liked to think they’d helped each other through some tough times. In Matt’s mind, the Silverthornes were an ideal husband and wife, father and mother. And for the life of him he couldn’t understand why their youngest daughter had deliberately chosen to hurt them the way she had.

  As for him, he had more important things to do than worry about her sudden intrusion into his life. He’d made a promise to Letty and he had exactly five months to make it happen. Before the election in January, he had to convince the good people of Deer Lick that he deserved to be their
next sheriff. In order to do that he needed to find himself a wife who would make him even more acceptable in the eyes of the community.

  There had never been a bachelor sheriff in Deer Lick and he had no intentions of losing votes on that one technicality. But more than needing a wife to make him a better candidate, Matt knew he was ready to fall in love again. For years he’d pushed women—good women—away believing it was safer. If he didn’t get involved, he wouldn’t get hurt. Now he was ready to fill his life with a family and commitment. He just needed to find the right woman to make that happen.

  He took another bite of pie and glanced at the attractive woman next to him. Emma’s soft blond hair, cool blue eyes, and calm demeanor were like a balm to everything inside him that raced and raged at Indy speed.

  While he ate, she chatted about the community project her kindergarten students were involved in and how it would flow over into the entire school. Emma appeared to be a good teacher and an involved member of the community. She was sweet and respectable. Now was the perfect time to get to know her a little better.

  The clock was ticking.

  Kate hugged herself against the chill and made a dash for the car. She’d forgotten how cold this time of year could get back home and had left her warmer jacket stuffed in her closet at the New York apartment she shared with a runway model. Male. Gay, of course. Not that there was anything wrong with that. Hollywood. New York. She was surrounded by gay. No wonder she couldn’t find a man. At least one that might be interested in her. Of course, she hadn’t been exactly looking either.

  She unlocked the car door, although why she’d bothered to lock it in the first place she didn’t know. No one in their right mind would steal this heap. And she was pretty sure around here automobile theft was low, if not nonexistent.

  Sliding onto the seat, she turned the key and stomped on the gas pedal several times to rev the engine and get the heater going. As soon as she backed out of the parking space, curiosity sent her toward Main Street. With all the preparations for her mother’s funeral the previous day, she hadn’t had time to notice the changes and upgrades made to the town since she’d been gone. Mostly she just needed to drive and shake off the gloom that swirled over her head.

  As she turned the corner, the Sex and the City theme played from within her handbag. She pulled out her cell phone and glanced at the name in the display before she answered.

  “Josh, what’s up?”

  “It’s a damned catastrophe, Kate. When are you coming back?”

  “What’s a catastrophe?”

  “OMG, didn’t you see ET?”

  “Umm, no. My mother’s funeral. Remember?”

  “Oh. Sorry, sweetie.” He didn’t sound sorry. “Anyway, the so-called Fashion Guru slammed the outfit Inara wore to the premiere of Last Breakfast in Eden. I don’t even want to tell you what she did to Stella’s blue linen dress after I left her house.”

  A lump lodged in Kate’s throat. “Don’t tell me she sliced and diced an original McCartney.”

  “Worse. She bought a frickin’ BeDazzler and added . . . are you sitting down?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yellow rhinestones! And no, I’m not shitting you. We’ve only got four days before she attends the awards pre-show luncheon. I’m freaking out here, Kate. Somebody needs to get this trashy bitch under control!”

  Kate gripped her forehead. Great. Strike three. Hello, Variety classifieds.

  She took a deep breath.

  Okay. No problem. She could handle this. She’d run interference with the entertainment media fashion hags before. She’d just do it again. She was a pro—who really didn’t feel like dealing with such a trivial issue on the day they’d laid her mother to rest. But as soon as she hung up from talking with Josh, she’d order a bribe package to be delivered to the Guru and get her butt back to L.A. Pronto if not sooner.

  Only one little problem remained. She’d promised her brother they’d sit down tomorrow and discuss how to help their father. Crap. She couldn’t just bail on her dad the day after he’d buried his wife.

  “Calm down, Josh. I’ll call Inara. The soonest I can be there is late tomorrow night. And that’s if I can wrap it all up here and get a flight out. In the meantime, I’m putting you in charge of not letting our pop princess out of your sight.”

  Kate ended the call, pulled to the curb, ordered her bribe package, and changed her airline reservations to an earlier flight. Once business was done, she pulled back onto the road and maneuvered the car around the corner at the Gas and Grub Roundup where her friends Maggie Densworth and Oliver Barnett had once stolen Olde English from the ice locker.

  Oliver and Maggie consumed all six cans that night. Two months later Maggie announced she was pregnant. When Kate lamented her situation, Maggie told her it was no big deal. Shit like that happened all the time in a small town, she’d said. Maggie’s dreams of becoming a TV news anchor had been squashed. And Kate was convinced that for her, a one-way ticket out of Deer Lick was the right and only decision.

  Though Matt had taken precautions the night they’d made love, Kate had worried the following month. She didn’t want to end up like Maggie—trapped in a dead-end town with a dead-end job and a kid and husband who’d forever regret the day he’d married her.

  In a town the size of Deer Lick, everybody knew everybody’s business. And while there were many couples who’d married young like her parents and stayed happily together, there were many more that hadn’t. When marriage went bad, it got ugly and hateful and everybody got a black eye. Especially the kids who came from those busted and broken homes.

  Matt Ryan had been one of those kids.

  She may not have known much in those days, but she did know she cared about Matt too much to trap him into a repeat of the life in which he’d been forced to live as a kid.

  She’d wanted more.

  He deserved more.

  The Buick sputtered past Purdy’s Pawn Shop, which had expanded into the old Laundromat next door, and the Once in a Blue Moon Café where they served a heavenly Monte Cristo sandwich with homemade huckleberry jam. When she came to the red brick building in the center of the block, tucked between Buck’s Gun Shop and the Once Again Bookstore, she pulled over and parked in front. Half whiskey barrels brimming with autumn mums framed the door and eyelet lace hung like a Victorian petticoat behind the plate glass window. The building looked dated and worn out. But she knew it was as reliable as the sweets served inside.

  The Sugar Shack.

  Kate had spent the early days of her life in that bakery kitchen, licking chocolate cake batter from the big wooden spoon her mother used. According to Letty, metal turned the chocolate bitter. Whether the story was true or not, Kate never found out. And when she’d had sweet chocolate smeared all over her face, she hadn’t cared. The chocolate myth was just one of her mother’s quirks that everyone accepted as gospel. Her mother had a million bakery mysteries that ranged from the possible to the absolutely ridiculous.

  Sitting in the driver’s seat of her mother’s car, Kate stared at the darkened window of the brick building and fought back the emotion welled in her throat. The engine idled to keep the heater running. She turned on the radio—oldies, of course. Practically the only station in town. Unless you happened to favor country—not—or the talk radio station out of Bozeman—to which she’d rather gouge herself in the eye with a wand of cheap mascara.

  Tom Jones serenaded her with It’s Not Unusual. Her mother had adored the Welsh singer. Kate had always thought he had fish eyes and would get totally grossed out when her mother would giggle and swoon when old Tom swiveled his hips. Even after Kate had met the singer at a Grammy’s after party, she still couldn’t see understand her mother’s fascination.

  Over the years she and her mother had argued who was better: Elvis or Tom, Gilligan or the Professor, Bo or Luke. Kate never won a single dispute. Hard to do when you were arguing against the 1965 Deer Lick Debate Champ.

  Kate slumped
further down into the seat to stay warm. She leaned back against the headrest, closed her eyes, and listened to Mr. Jones croon away.

  It’s your fault. . .

  She tried to push Edna’s accusation and all the chaotic thoughts in her head to rest. But as she sat there, the air thickened with the cloying scent of vanilla. Despite the heater blasting, the interior of the car grew colder. Kate rubbed her arms. Maybe she’d done enough reminiscing for one day. Maybe she just needed to go home, crawl into the same small bed she’d slept in most of her life, and pray for complete oblivion.

  Inside the car the temperature took another dip. She shivered and reached for the gearshift. As her cold fingers curled over the plastic knob, the air inside the car vibrated.

  Suddenly Kate knew she wasn’t alone.

  Goose bumps rushed across her arms and up her spine. With one hand on the door handle, Kate snuck a peek over her shoulder, fully expecting to see some guy in a hockey mask waving a bloodied axe.

  What she saw trapped a scream in her throat.

  Surrounded by cookbooks, quilting fabric, giant knitting needles, and an odd hazy glow, sat her mother.

  Looking anything but dead.

  “Long time, no see, daughter.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “So how’d I look at the funeral?” her mother’s voice asked. “Okay? Or did Trudy White put too much blush on me like she does everybody?”

  Kate twisted back around in the seat and faced the windshield. Her brain clicked through several cycles before she managed to come up with a relatively normal rationalization.

  She was hallucinating.

  No other explanation came to mind. It had been months since she’d had a decent night’s sleep. She’d been overwhelmed by the approach of awards season. And then her mother’s unexpected death . . . clearly she was exhausted.

  As her heart tried to pound out of her chest, she reached up, adjusted the rearview mirror and scanned the reflection.

  Just to be sure.

  The radiance remained, floating above the clutter in the backseat. Nothing else seemed out of sorts. The glow could be just the moonlight bouncing off the oversized knitting needles. And the voice? Well, she’d always gotten good grades in her creative writing class. Looked like she was putting that imagination to good use. She shook her head to clear it and decided she definitely needed to get some sleep. Again, she reached for the gearshift.