Second Chance at the Sugar Shack

by Candis Terry

  Reaching for the lettuce, she bent over the workspace and gave him an excellent view of how nicely her jeans fit. Then she flung lettuce leaves on each side of the bread, smashed down scoops of tuna salad, and slapped on wedges of Letty’s homemade kosher dills. Her movements were swift and jerky, sloppy and careless. And he enjoyed watching every single movement, even though he had no business doing so.

  Without so much as a glance in his direction, she rolled the sandwiches up in crisp white paper and stuffed them and the bags of chips into a sack. From a pitcher she poured two cups of home-brewed iced tea, then slid the bag and drinks across the counter.

  “Have a nice day, Deputy Ryan. Come again soon.”

  Her polite business tone would have made her mother proud.

  “Hopefully next time I won’t be here,” she added.

  Okay, maybe not.

  He didn’t know why it gave him so much pleasure to have the ability to rile her up. Just a little. Paybacks were childish. And he was far from that. He was a man on a mission. He had an agenda. He needed to stick with that.

  “Why Miss Silverthorne,” he said, “if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to get rid of me.”

  “That’s Ms. Silver to you. And . . .” Her bowed lips curled upward. “. . . you’re a lot more perceptive than I gave you credit for.”

  He laughed—at her audaciousness and at his own reaction. He didn’t know why that sassy smile made his stomach flip. He had no interest at all in what she called herself, what she did, where she did it, or who she did it with.

  As long as his poor demented brain managed to remember that, he’d be good. Unfortunately, there wasn’t a single inch of the rest of his body that wasn’t interested.

  While her sister finished packing her luggage for an early morning flight, Kate tore down the sheet divider in their room.

  “What are you doing?” Kelly asked.

  “If you think I’m going to be stuck in this miserable town and stuck on one side of this miserable bedroom too, you’re crazy.”

  Kelly neatly rolled the black silk blouse she’d worn to their mother’s funeral and pushed it into her Liz Claiborne bag. “You’re still mad.”

  “I’m not mad.” Kate glared at her sister’s reflection in the mirror above the vanity. “Just . . . I don’t know. Tomorrow, while you and Dean go back to your normal lives, your normal jobs and your normal worlds, normal will no longer be a word in my vocabulary. In one short day my entire dialogue has flipped from St. Laurent, Hilfiger, and Armani to a dozen red velvet cupcakes, a double layer chocolate cake, and two tuna subs, no tomatoes—to go.”

  “I’m sorry, Kate. I really am.”

  Kelly looked duly apologetic and Kate tamped down her temper tantrum long enough to say “I know, Kel. I understand you have a child murderer to put behind bars. I know Dean has a multi-million dollar contract he can’t walk out on. It’s just—”

  Her cell phone rang. She grabbed it up off her bed and answered without looking at the number. “Hello?”

  “Please do not tell me you were serious about staying in Deer Poop or wherever the hell you are.”

  “I wouldn’t lie about that, Josh. I can’t come back until I get things here settled.”

  “Well, what am I supposed to do? Inara just showed up at Coco de Ville in a pair of mom jeans that would make Jessica Simpson cringe.”

  Kate closed her eyes. God help her. She had no doubt this whole staying in Deer Lick thing would shred her career. “Josh, I told you to watch her.”

  “Honey, you could shackle Robocop to her wrist and she’d still manage to create some kind of fashion catastrophe. The girl is a walking nightmare.”

  There was no use arguing with him. He was right. But she needed him to be her eyes and ears while she figured out how to juggle things between Glitter Town and Hick Town. Cajoling her assistant was the only weapon she currently held.

  “Come on, Josh. I know you’re up for this. Right now you have the perfect opportunity to step up your game. Weren’t you the one who convinced Paris the yellow chiffon was a disaster for that Vegas nightclub opening? Weren’t you the one who took Beyoncé aside and suggested her outfit would rock if she’d only remove her distracting bangles?”

  “Well . . .”

  “Come on, Josh. You are solid at stuff like that.” God, she could almost hear him preen through the phone.

  “I guess you’re right.”

  Her stomach uncoiled half a knot. “I’m totally right. Sooo, can I count on you?”

  “I guess so.”

  “Great. Then I have one more teensy-weensy favor to ask.”

  “You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t.”

  “I need some clothes. Would you pack me up a few week’s worth, mostly jeans and sweaters, my Chucks, and . . .”

  “I am not invading your underwear drawer. I don’t do chicks’ panties.”

  He didn’t do chicks. Period. “You want me to go commando?”

  An exaggerated sigh squeezed through the phone. “Fine.”

  “Ship them overnight,” Kate said, “so I don’t have to dig into the high school wardrobe my mother never threw out.” She ended the conversation with a promise to conference call him and Inara tomorrow afternoon regarding the singer’s red carpet choices.

  “Problems?” Kelly asked. The smooth skin between her brows crinkled.

  Kate grabbed her old leather bomber jacket and cowboy boots from the back of the closet and shoved her feet into them. Her luck they still fit. She hugged her sister. “Go put that child-murdering bastard in prison, Kel. I’ll be fine.”

  Kelly hugged her back and Kate felt her sister’s warm tears press against her cheek. “Where are you going?” Kelly asked.

  “I just need to get out of here for a little while.”

  “Want company?”

  “Not this time.” Kate gave her sister one more squeeze. “See you in the morning.”

  Kate didn’t need company.

  She needed a drink.

  The Naughty Irish was a local bar that made no bones about living up to its name. Music might be the only exception, because good old American boys Mötley Crüe blasted from the jukebox as Kate walked through the door.

  A nontraditional blend of dark wainscoting, green walls, and deer antlers decorated the place. And if you felt lucky, you could spend ten dollars on a raffle ticket to support the local 4-H for a chance to be the proud owner of a Browning X-Bolt rifle. Or so said the hand-printed cardboard sign.

  Neon beer signs provided much of the interior lighting and had been strategically placed to provide dark corners for those who got a little horny when under the influence. The P in the Pepsi stained-glass light above the pool table had been knocked out and the bulb beneath shot a streak of white across the room.

  Kate allowed her eyes to adjust to the dim light. She stuck her hands in the pockets of her jacket and wove her way through the haze of smoke toward the long oak bar at the back. She studied the crowd as she scooted up onto one of two empty stools and wasn’t surprised to find the place packed with camo jackets and ball caps labeled Mossy Oak. After all, it was prime-time hunting season. Of course, that didn’t matter much to the people of Deer Lick who seemed to believe that camo went with every season and every outfit—including wedding attire.

  The bartender slid a cocktail napkin in front of her and asked what she wanted to drink. The man looked like a military tank with a beer gut the size of a prize-winning pumpkin at the Harvest Hoedown.

  “I’ll have a lemon drop martini, please.”

  Tank looked at her like she’d lost every marble in her head. She wasn’t in Kansas anymore.

  “Oh, right. Uummm, a glass of Zinfandel?”

  “We got house wine. White or red,” he grunted.

  Which would assure her of a headache in the morning. No thanks. “What’s on draft?”

  “Guinness and Moose Drool.”

  Eeew. “Guinness, please.”

  Wh
ile she waited for her ale, Kate tapped her fingernails on her napkin and through the long mirror behind the bar watched a group of men in various stages of beard growth playing pool. They were watching her too. Like she was fresh meat.

  In her thinking, men were all the same no matter where they came from. Beverly Hills, Manhattan, or downtown Deer Lick. Their pickup lines were altered only by accents or capacity of bullshit. And she’d become far too cynical to buy into any of it.

  Tank slid a Guinness in front of her. Thirsty for a little mind-numbing reprieve, she reached for the mug.

  “Kate!”

  Kate looked up to see her old friend Maggie Densworth calling from all the way across the room. She dropped her serving tray to a nearby table and charged toward Kate with open arms. When she reached the bar, she grabbed Kate in a bear hug.

  “It’s great to see you!”

  Maggie had changed. She was rounder, which made her appear shorter. Her long wavy brown hair had been replaced by a super-short bob. Her slender face had filled out and her cheeks now resembled ripe apples. Still, Kate returned the hug, remembering all the hours the two of them had spent dreaming, wishing for boys who were unattainable, and conjuring up ways to keep from being bored. Most of which granted them thirty days of restriction.

  “I was so sorry to hear about your mom,” Maggie said, hopping up on the bar stool beside Kate. “I wish we could have made it to the funeral but Adam had football practice and Brian had a dentist appointment.”

  “Adam and Brian?”

  “Oh, God, it has been a long time since we’ve talked, hasn’t it. Adam is my oldest, the one I was pregnant with when you left. Brian is my middle troublemaker. And Jeff is my baby. He’s just starting kindergarten this year.”

  “Wow. You have three kids?”

  Maggie laughed. “Yes, and that’s it. We kept trying for a girl but no luck. And honey, I am done. There’s not an inch of skin on this body without stretch marks.”

  At that moment Kate realized that an entire lifetime, and obviously a few stretch marks, had evolved without her. People had gone on with their lives. Made homes. Raised families. Supported and comforted each other in this small community she’d once shared. A knot formed in her chest. To clear it she sipped her ale, but the liquid didn’t make the peculiar ache go away.

  “So you and Oliver are still together?”

  “Married ten years. He didn’t say hi when you came in?”

  “Oliver’s here?”

  “He poured your Guinness, honey.”

  Kate looked up at Tank, seeing no resemblance to the handsome young man she’d known way back when.

  “Yeah, we’ve both put on a few pounds,” Maggie laughed. “Ever since we bought the bar, our schedules have been crazy. Macaroni and cheese and Hamburger Helper aren’t too good for the waistline. Ollie!” she shouted over the din of Old Time Rock and Roll. “I’m having a drink with our old friend Kate. Pour me a Moose.”

  Oliver waved and grabbed a mug from below the bar, tilted it beneath the spout and filled it without foam. He brought it down to Maggie and smiled. “Sorry Kate, didn’t recognize you.”

  Kate smiled. She could say the same for him. “It’s good to see you again.”

  “Consider me off the clock, sweetie.” Maggie leaned across the bar and kissed his bald head. “Kate and I have years of catching up to do.”

  Oliver nodded and went to fill another order.

  Maggie leaned back and gave Kate the once-over. “You look fabulous.”

  “Thanks.” She could thank power bars and triple shot skinny lattes for keeping her fit. Or the typical Hollywood diet—starving. “It’s so great to see you. So, you’ve been married for ten years? Wow. I remember when you wanted to get out of here and be a news anchor.”

  Maggie laughed. “Ah, foolish dreams.”

  “Why so foolish?”

  “If I’d have gone off to be a news anchor, I’d never have the life I do.”

  “So you’re . . . happy?”

  “Happy? Deliriously.” Maggie’s smile filled her entire face. “When I’ve got my arms around my kids or when Ollie has his arms around me, I wouldn’t want to be any place else.”

  “You don’t regret—”

  “Getting pregnant?” Maggie lifted her mug. “Not even for a second. Here’s to old friends.”

  Kate tapped her Guinness against Maggie’s Moose Drool and stared while her friend downed a good portion of the drink in one swift gulp. Kate was accustomed to watching celebs sip Cristal or absently stir their frou-frou umbrella drinks. She’d forgotten that Deer Lick had a reputation for being a little less refined. Not that there was anything wrong with that.

  Kate sipped her ale and listened attentively while Maggie spun into stories about her kids or town gossip that had happened since Kate had left. It was the first time in a long time she hadn’t been asked to talk about her fabulous Hollywood lifestyle. And she realized it wasn’t Maggie being rude, it was simply Maggie wanting to share the happiness in her life. Before she knew it, Kate found herself engrossed in a conversation that had nothing to do with glamour and everything to do with baby spit and poopy diapers. And unlike the celebrity affairs where Kate became trapped while divas argued over who had the best plastic surgeon in Beverly Hills, she didn’t feel like gnawing off her leg to escape.

  “So I’m guessing you’ve run into Matt?” Maggie asked suddenly.

  Just the mention of his name sent a warm tickle down Kate’s spine that spiraled around to the pit of her stomach. She managed to shrug nonchalantly. “A couple of times.”

  Maggie leaned an elbow onto the bar and grinned. “And?”

  “And what?”

  “Honey.” Maggie waved their empty glasses in the air until Ollie gave them refills. “You may have been gone a long time, but I can’t imagine you’ve grown dense over the years. Or maybe seeing all those movie stars and rock stars has ruined your taste for gorgeous normal men. Especially one you had wrapped around your little finger before you left.”

  Kate had no intention of discussing Deputy Rude with Maggie or anyone else. So they had a history together. So what? A decade had passed. Yes, Matt could be classified as a total hunk. But she wasn’t interested. What happened back then didn’t matter anymore. It couldn’t matter. Not even if there was a tiny little something that sparked inside her whenever she saw him.

  She needed a break in conversation that wouldn’t seem abrupt but would steer them to a different, less dangerous, subject. Only one justification would work. “Would you excuse me? I need to use the little girl’s room.”

  Kate stood and weaved her way through the crowd toward the back. In the dingy and less than sanitary restroom, Kate did her business, washed her hands twice with soap and water, and glared at herself in the mirror. She looked wasted and blamed it on the cheap mirror and bad overhead light instead of the Guinness she’d consumed.

  When she was done, she tugged her sleeve over her hand and opened the door. She stepped out into the dark hallway that led from the bar to the restrooms and, from the sound of banging pots and pans, Kate guessed the kitchen. Why bars and restaurants always stuck the bathrooms by the kitchen was anyone’s guess and pretty disgusting.

  She looked down, smoothed her hands over the front of her sweater and ran into a huge wall. Her head jerked up and she found a pair of icy blue eyes glaring down at her.

  “That’s twice in one week you’ve barreled into me, Ms. Silver.”

  His voice was low and deep. Yet even over the jukebox, she still managed to hear the bite of sarcasm in his tone.

  “If I didn’t know better, I’d think I had a target on me,” he added.

  “Sorry, I leave the shooting practice to my dad.” Her gaze dropped from his eyes to the star pinned on his wide chest to the semiautomatic strapped next to the handcuffs on his utility belt. He stood close and the scent of him filled her head with autumn leaves and warm male. “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  H
e rocked back on his heels and peered down at her more closely. The red glow from a Fat Tire Ale sign slashed across the left side of his face. “Got a complaint about some rowdy clientele. Would that mean you?”

  “I never get out of line. Unless the occasion calls for it.”

  His eyes skimmed her from head to toe. And that gave her a boost of alcohol-induced confidence. She smiled and folded her arms beneath her breasts. His gaze followed and fixed onto the front of her sweater. Yep, he was definitely checking her out.

  “You wouldn’t happen to be flirting with me, would you, Deputy?” she asked. She did not receive a smile for her comedic efforts. Instead, his dark brows came together over those blue eyes and he leaned down. So close his cheek brushed her hair. Then he breathed deep.

  “How much have you been drinking?” His eyes may have wandered a moment ago, but now his tone was all business.

  “Not nearly enough,” she said, taking a step backward.

  “You driving?” he asked.

  “Nope. I’m just standing here talking to you.”

  “Still a smartass.”

  “Can’t arrest me for that.” She walked away.

  “Don’t drive,” he warned in a big bad wolf growl. “Or I’ll make use of these handcuffs.”

  She looked over her shoulder at him where he still stood in the dark hallway looking one hundred percent badass cop. “Is that a threat, Deputy Ryan? Or a promise?”

  CHAPTER SIX

  A definite chill frosted the air when Kate stepped out of the bar several hours later exhausted from Maggie’s breakneck speed of catching up on each other’s lives. It had been great to see her old friend and Kate had been happy to find the rhythm in their friendship hadn’t missed a beat. Within just a few minutes, they’d been laughing and gossiping as if the ten-year absence had never happened.

  The knowledge filled her with unexpected pleasure. She didn’t have friends like that in Hollywood. What she did have were acquaintances. The closest that came to any description of friend were her assistant, her hairdresser, and the girl who sold her a cinnamon bagel every Saturday morning. A pretty pathetic list Kate realized.