Second Chance at the Sugar Shack
Page 6
He’d never considered himself a player. He’d always considered himself a one woman man, even when he’d never returned to a woman’s bed more than once. But lately he hadn’t had time for many outside pleasures. Dating had been dead last on his mind. He’d mapped out a life and he only had a few months to make it happen. If all went according to plan, by this time next year he’d be Sheriff of Deer Lick, have a wife, and maybe even have started a family.
Matt wanted a family.
He needed a family—one that would erase the years of dysfunction that had bred like cockroaches in his childhood home. Whatever welfare trailer-of-the-month that had happened to be.
Letty Silverthorne had told him he’d written himself a pretty tall order. But Matt knew what he wanted. Knew what he’d worked hard for these past eight years. And he had every intention of making all his dreams a reality.
All of them, except one.
He’d dreamed that Kate would realize she loved him and come back. But she hadn’t. Time to move on.
“Well, if you want respectable,” James said, “you’d best cross off Diane. I hear she’s got a mean penchant for whips and leather.”
Matt’s head shot up to find the customary smirk tilting his partner’s mouth. He and James had become friends over the six years they’d worked together. Before that, James had been untouchable, unreachable, and downright scary. Since he’d come over to the right side of the law, he’d become trustworthy and dependable. Seems James had hunted down his demons and won. Now he maintained a decent, if not a little wild, existence in his time off. But that didn’t make Matt want to wring his neck any less. “May I have that back?”
James handed him the paper. “You’ve got to quit making so many lists, my man, and start living.”
“That’s what I intend to do.”
“Right.” James leaned a hip against the desk while Harvey’s snores and Buddy’s curses rattled through the station house. “So does that mean you’re going to ask out that hot little redhead I saw you talking to in the Grange parking lot last night?”
Matt’s pulse kicked up a notch. “That hot little redhead happens to be the youngest Silverthorne.”
“No shit?”
“No shit,” Matt answered. “And no, I won’t be asking her out.”
“Huh.” James scratched his chin. “Mind if I do?”
Something zinged around Matt’s heart and forced its way into his throat like a fifty pound bag of cement. Something that made him remember the way Katie had whispered his name when he’d held her in his arms. Something that brought back the same fresh, raw ache in his soul he’d felt the day he learned she’d left without even a good-bye.
Did he mind?
The sudden image of Katie in James’s arms made Matt’s blood boil. Fucking right he minded. “She’s only in town for two days and her mother just died.”
James shrugged. “Maybe she needs some consoling.”
Matt’s stomach churned as he shoved the folded paper into his jacket pocket and hoped to God he wouldn’t have to kill his best friend.
Kate glanced around the bakery. Everything about the Sugar Shack screamed 1970s. The floor tiles, once a dusty pink, were now so yellowed with age they’d turned a putrid shade of orange. Dark paneling covered the walls and baskets of faded silk flowers decorated the top shelves. Everything was the same, even the intense smell of sugar.
Hands dusted with flour, Kate popped a tray of cooled cupcakes onto the work counter. Beside her, Kelly cut a tube of chilled dough to make their mother’s famous honey wheat dinner rolls. On Kate’s other side, Dean grumbled while he used a spatula to lift a batch of fresh-baked oatmeal raisin cookies from a metal pan.
“I’ll bet Sports Illustrated would love to get a load of you wearing that apron,” Kate teased. “Some big football stud, you are.”
“Just because I can bake a mean pastry doesn’t mean I’m not a killer on the field.”
Kate laughed and patted him on the back, leaving a floured handprint on his baby blue shirt. “You keep convincing yourself of that, Bucko.”
Kelly looked up. The frown wrinkling her smooth forehead ended their fun. “Come on you guys, quit goofing off. We need to discuss dad’s situation while he’s busy.”
Kate glanced across the bakery where their father leaned against the counter talking with Gretchen Wilkes, a woman far too old to wear a mini-skirt and cowboy boots. “Yeah. Now’s a good time. Especially since I have to leave tonight.”
“You what?” Kelly’s eyes widened. Her knife thunked into the cutting board. “You can’t leave tonight.”
“Yes I can.”
“Uh-uh,” Dean interjected. “We agreed we’d talk about dad’s situation.”
Kate piped a dollop of butter cream icing on a cupcake. “So talk.”
Dean, being the oldest, gave Kelly that stupid eye signal he’d used in their adolescence when the two of them had plotted against Kate, the youngest and obviously, most naive.
“There’s no way we can all just jump on a plane out of here,” Kelly said. “Dad has no one.”
“I’m aware of that, Kel.”
“How’s he going to bake all this stuff? It’s going to take time to hire a good employee.” Dean slid the cookies onto parchment-covered trays. “And how’s he going to run the business alone? Forget about trying to run the household too. Mom took care of everything.”
“Who’s he going to go home to at the end of the day?” Kelly asked.
Kate looked up from the cupcake she was decorating with barely recognizable iced violets. “Why are you guys giving me the third degree?”
“We’re not,” Dean slammed his fist into a fresh glob of dough. “It’s just something we need to discuss.”
“So . . . let’s discuss,” Kate said.
“The football season is in high gear,” Dean informed her as if she didn’t already know. “I can’t just walk away. I’ve got a contract.”
“And I’m in the middle of a high-profile case,” Kelly announced. “If I walk away, a child murderer might go free.”
As their words sank in, Kate felt dizzy. The oven-warm smells of the bakery suddenly overwhelmed her. Her heart skipped and thudded. “This doesn’t sound much like a discussion.”
Dean plowed his fist into the dough again while Kelly slapped her dinner rolls onto baking sheets. Neither of them would look her in the eye.
“It just makes more sense that you would stay,” Dean said.
Kate shook her head. “No. I have a job too. I have three celebrities to dress for awards shows next week. I can’t just walk away either.”
“Isn’t there some way you can work without actually being there? You have a laptop. A cell phone.” Kelly shoved her rolls into the deep wall oven. “Seriously, Kate. You can hardly compare making gorgeous people even more beautiful to putting a child murderer away for life.”
“Or winning the Super Bowl,” Dean added.
“Are you both crazy? You can’t do this to me!”
Their father’s attention broke away from his conversation with Gretchen Wilkes and he gave Kate a smile that reached all the way from his sad green eyes to her heart. Kate broke out in a cold sweat that had nothing to do with the heat of the ovens behind her. “Oh, my God. You guys already told dad I’d stay, didn’t you?”
Kelly at least managed to look sheepish. Dean, not so much.
“Uh-uh.” Kate thrust her index finger in the direction of the back door. “Outside. Now!”
Surprisingly the football hero and the fierce prosecutor ducked their heads and followed her orders. Once they reached the back alley, Kate shut the door, folded her arms and glared at her traitorous siblings.
“Kate—”
“You guys suck. You know that? I may not have a job that can save the world or that an entire team depends on, but my career is important to me too. You both said we’d discuss dad’s situation. So that’s what we’re going to do right here, right now. Discuss. Not dog pile on Kate
.”
Dean and Kelly looked at each other.
“Stop that!” Kate yelled. “I know all about that weird nonverbal communication thing you do. It won’t work this time.”
Kelly rubbed her forehead. “I’m so sorry, Kate. There’s no way I can walk away from this case. You don’t know what it’s like looking into the eyes of this child’s parents. I can’t let them down. I’ve got to make sure their daughter’s killer never hurts another child, ever again.” Kelly’s eyes darkened. “Or I’ll never be able to live with myself.”
Imagining the worst scenario, Kate’s heart thumped hard. “He’s a real bad guy, huh, Kel?”
“The worst.” Kelly nodded slowly. “The best guesstimate I have for when the trial might be over is three to five months.”
“The season will be over after the Super Bowl,” Dean added. “I won’t accept that it will end sooner for the team. They’ve worked their asses off this year.”
Five months. Kate groaned silently.
Five looooong months.
How would she be able to keep her career alive after a five-month absence in a town that could forget a name in the span of an episode of Entertainment Tonight?
“We’re so sorry, Kate. I’ll come back as soon as I possibly can,” Kelly promised.
“Me too,” her brother echoed.
Kate exhaled. “I know.”
Then, they all hugged. Because in the end, this wasn’t about them. It was about their dad.
When all the baking had been done, Kelly and Dean went home and Kate returned to her cupcakes. Tension cramped the muscles in her neck and her grip on the pastry bag tightened. A big spurt of pale pink icing globbed onto the cupcake, ruining it for consumption other than the mouth of the trash can.
She did battle with a knot of fire in the pit of her stomach as she tried to dream up a way to help her father and attend, at least, her top three clients at the same time. Out of those three clients, two were her most difficult. It was too much for her to expect Josh to be able to handle all of them in her absence. But she was a pro. And it did make more sense that she be the one to stay and help. Her job wasn’t expendable but it certainly was easier to maneuver than having to be in a courtroom every day. Or flying across the country from game to game. It wasn’t as if she couldn’t juggle things. Heck, she was the queen at multitasking. Last year hadn’t she handled a movie star’s fantasy wedding, a red carpet arrival, and a charity fashion show all in one day? Easy cheesy.
Right. And Valentino gowns grew on trees.
Amid her misery the bell over the bakery door chimed. She glanced up as the door opened. A gust of air blew in, bringing with it the scent of rain on the sidewalk, autumn leaves, and Matt Ryan. Her nerves unraveled with an unexpected tingle.
In a wide stance, he paused before her mother’s lace-draped window and swept his gaze across the shop. When that gaze landed on her, his broad shoulders stiffened beneath the khaki uniform. The star pinned to his chest pocket lifted on a sharp intake of air. Slowly he removed his aviators from the bridge of his straight nose and that icy blue glare burned a hole right through her core.
Great.
Now all she needed was mean old Edna Price and her moose-head walking stick to show up.
Before the thought filtered from her head, the bell above the door jingled again. Kate cringed at the sight of the gray-headed woman as she hobbled through the door.
CHAPTER FIVE
Matt stepped from the autumn chill into the sweet, warm smells of the busy bakery. He gave a nod to Robert Silverthorne, who was placing flaky triangles of baklava into a pastry box for one of Deer Lick’s most notorious man-eaters.
“Hey there, Matt,” Robert said with a wave. “My helper’ll be happy to take your order.”
Helper?
Matt swept his gaze to the lunch counter and the redhead standing behind it.
The very last thing he expected when he stopped in for his customary tuna sandwich was to see her behind the counter frosting cupcakes. Like she belonged there.
She lifted her gaze and their eyes met. A flash of irritation seared him from behind those green depths. When the color returned to her pale cheeks, she tilted her head and her sleek auburn ponytail dusted the top of her shoulder. He could almost read her mind. Or at least the curse words bouncing around on her tongue.
Happy to take his order?
He didn’t think so.
Last night he would have bet money she’d have been on the first plane out today. He didn’t imagine the icy reception she’d received had been pleasant or comfortable for her. But she deserved nothing less.
Behind him the bell over the door jingled and Katie’s lips pursed like she’d tasted something bitter.
“Afternoon, Matthew.”
He turned toward the gravelly voice. “How are you today, Mrs. Price?”
“Oh, just fine and dandy. Course, my old bones aren’t liking this cold weather none.” She lifted her walking stick and gave it a wave. “You keeping your tradition of coming in for lunch?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Matt held back a smile at the pinched expression surrounding her rheumy hazel eyes. He figured she suspected he’d come in for a different reason—a shapely reason that stood behind the counter in snug jeans and a figure-hugging sweater. “I’m hoping Letty’s special recipes will still taste just as good as if she’d made them herself,” he said, reassuring her he had no other motivation.
“Well, aren’t you just the sweetest thing.” Mrs. Price reached up and patted his cheek. “You’d best get that sandwich to go. Don’t know what in blazes that one’s doin’ here . . .” She gave a head wag toward Katie. “. . . but you’d best check your order. See she don’t cheat you.”
Matt figured the target of their discussion could come up with a whole list of rotten things she’d probably like to do to his food. Cheating him on his order might be the least of them.
When Mrs. Price hobbled over to the display case, Matt stepped to the small lunch counter.
Katie looked up, gave him half a forced smile, and then slid a pencil between her fingers. Her hands were small and feminine, with short manicured nails painted a soft pink. If he closed his eyes, he could still imagine those warm hands on his skin, in his hair, cupping the fly of his jeans—
“Can I help you, Matt?” Her fascinating mouth formed the word that made up his name, but he barely heard it past the blood pulsing through his veins.
He let his gaze roam over her, stopping at the interesting places along the way. The little pearl buttons on her yellow sweater brought forth memories of a stormy spring night they’d once shared in the cab of his battered pickup truck. Memories of hard rain beating down on the metal roof and warm breath fogging the windows. Unbuttoning her cotton blouse and slipping his hands beneath the crisp fabric to touch her silky skin.
Every nerve in his body went on alert.
He remembered her warmth. Remembered her peaches-and-cream scent when he’d buried his face in the smooth curve of her neck. He remembered the taste of her on his tongue—all sweet and fresh and eager.
From behind the counter she watched him, and he couldn’t help but remember the way she’d gazed up at him that night. Back when she’d been everything he’d ever wanted.
Back when he’d been nothing a damned fool.
“Hel-lo?” She wiped a smear of purple icing down the front of her white apron. That simple slide of her hand sent a responding upward tug inside his uniform pants.
“What are you doing here?” He crossed his arms and widened his stance, proclaiming this to be his territory. “I figured this would be the last place you’d want to be.”
She shrugged. “Dad insisted on opening up shop today. We all told him it was too soon but—”
“Everyone grieves in their own way.”
She glanced over her shoulder at the man in question. The hint of a sigh whispered through her lips. “I guess.”
“Are you?”
Her gaze shot to
his face. “Am I what?”
“Grieving.”
While Kenny Chesney sang about the good stuff from the radio perched on a shelf above the mixer, the smooth skin between her perfect brows drew together. Then she flattened her hands on the counter and leaned forward.
“Is there something I can help you with, Deputy? A donut perhaps? Or did you specifically come in here to attack my moral fiber?”
Silence stretched between them as he debated whether or not to inform her he didn’t believe she had any moral fiber.
But then she folded her arms beneath her breasts and shifted her weight to one enticing denim-clad hip and the thought flew from his head.
“Well?”
“Two tuna subs,” he said. “No tomato. Two iced teas.”
“For you and your evil twin?” she asked with a snarl. She jotted down his order then rang it up on the cash register. “That will be nine fifty-six.”
“Don’t need a twin,” he said. The sleeve of his uniform rasped against his utility belt as he reached into his pocket, withdrew a ten spot and handed it to her. “I can get into trouble all by myself.”
A simple curl to the corners of her mouth showed a bit of the sassy side he remembered so well. She handed him back his change and her fingertips swept across the center of his palm. Electricity snapped between them.
She looked up, obviously aware. Maybe even surprised. “Is that something you do frequently?”
“Shock people?”
She shook her head and that sleek ponytail swung gently against her back. “Get into trouble.”
He smiled.
She waited for his response, her eyes shifting from light to dark green. When she realized all she was going to get was a smile, she slapped his receipt down on the counter and pushed it toward him. “I’ll have your order ready shortly.”
He picked up the receipt, careful not to make contact with her again. One shock a day was enough for him. He’d already had two.
Since Edna Price had put some pretty awful thoughts into his head, he stepped back to watch Katie prepare his and James’s lunch, making sure nothing but tuna salad went on his sandwich. She sliced through the crusty picnic rolls with such ferocity he expected to see blood drawn.