by Marina Adair
“Sure,” MeMaw said. “When we heard you had extra room, we thought we’d let those men suffer sore bottoms and hives while we ride in style.”
This couldn’t be happening. Sure, there were a few extra seats. Two to be exact, and of course Charlotte would gladly give up her seat, but that left a few dozen former Miss Peaches without seats in the parade. And the Miss Peaches always, always opened the parade. It was tradition. There was the current Miss Peach Court on their beautiful float, followed by two tractors pulling a living legacy of women who paved the road for each generation, riding on horse-drawn trailers.
“There aren’t enough seats for everyone,” Charlotte admitted, and an explosion of disgruntled and panicked questions filled the air.
“Then how are we going to be in the parade?”
“What about my walker? I can’t walk down Maple with my walker!”
“Sorry for the misunderstanding,” Darleen said, coming forward with a big grin. “When I never heard back about the number of cars, I just assumed that all of the cars you had on that fancy presentation were coming.”
“Those were just examples.” Which Darleen knew. “And I texted you yesterday. Told you that there were three cars. Three, Darleen!”
“Unfortunately you texted me after I ran into Mable. She was so excited about riding in one of the cars because of her hip, I said in passing it would be nice if the former Miss Peaches could ride in style, too.” Darleen looked at the crowd and gave an innocent shrug. “You know how news travels in Sugar.”
She also knew how Darleen worked, and if Charlotte didn’t fix this mess, all of those women standing in line would vote to have Charlotte im-peached. That hot wave of panic was back, so intense Charlotte thought she was going to be sick.
Adopting a calm and competent if I can save a life I can save this parade composure, she addressed the crowd. “This is not a big deal. If you could all hang tight for just one minute, I’ll take care of this.” And with a confident smile, she boldly strutted out through the back flap of the tent, across the lawn, and around the corner of the building—with Woolamena trailing behind her with a long pink scarf.
Hidden from prying eyes, Charlotte collapsed against the wall. The cold morning dew on the exterior wall seeped through her clothes, and the rough edges of the bricks pressed into her bare legs. Resting her palms on her thighs, she dropped her head between her knees.
Woolamena sat on her feet and went back to nibbling the leash.
“Oh God,” she breathed in. Then out. Then back in.
Watching her breath crystalize didn’t help. Nothing could help because this situation was so beyond fixing. Short of finding two new tractors and trailers, which none of the ladies would want to ride on now that they’d been offered shiny chrome carriages with sexy drivers, she was screwed.
So. Incredibly. Screwed.
“Oh God,” she breathed again.
“Is that your way of telling me you want another religious experience?”
Charlotte opened her eyes right as a pair of worn work boots came into view. Her gaze followed the boots to a pair of jeans, button fly to be exact, finally higher to the most magnificent biceps in the county, and her belly gave a little flip. Because Jace was standing there, looking like a warm blanket on a cold autumn morning.
Baa-ah.
“Morning to you, too,” Jace said, bending down to pet the sheep.
“Oh, she’s kind of shy around men.”
Woolamena flopped to her side, her little legs sticking up like roadkill, so Jace could access her belly. Traitor.
“She likes me fine,” Jace countered, giving the sheep a rubdown so thorough even Charlotte felt her soft underside showing.
“Bad boys with lethal smiles are her weakness,” Charlotte sighed, glaring at Woolamena who was too busy sucking up Jace’s affections and sighing in ecstasy to be offended.
“Lethal, huh?” Jace stood, and flashed her a grin so lethal it should be registered. “Sounds like someone else I know.”
She smiled back, she couldn’t help it. Jace had walked into what she’d believed to be a battleground, yet with a single smile he brought everything into perspective. “I thought you were getting Hattie’s car ready to paint today.”
“I am,” he said, extending a steaming cup of coffee. “But you left before we could do our morning ritual.”
She took a sip and nearly wept. “I so needed this.” Remembering her promise to not hold back, she stepped over Woolamena and into Jace, sliding her arms around his middle. “I need this more, though.”
“Mmmmm,” he said, pulling her into him and resting his cheek on her head. “Me too.”
She listened to the steady beat of his heart, felt the panic ease out of her body, and enjoyed the feeling of being held. Having support. To her surprise, Jace’s hugs were more intimate than anything she’d ever felt with another man.
Minutes passed, and admitting that she could stand there for a year and never get her fill she said, “I’m hiding.” He chuckled, and she felt it vibrate through her entire body. “There is a line of bitter Peaches around that corner.”
“I saw. They seem pretty hostile.”
“I know.” Charlotte heard the grumblings all the way around the corner. She dropped her head to his chest. “I have an insane schedule, my dad isn’t talking to me, Darleen is out to win, and if I don’t come up with a better option than a tractor-drawn trailer they might lynch me.” She snuggled deeper. “I should have stayed in bed.”
“I agree.” The husky tone in his voice told her exactly what they’d have spent their morning doing.
She looked up, and for just a second Charlotte considered, instead of facing the swarm, rising up on her toes and claiming her daily kiss. Of course, kissing would lead to touching, which would lead to shenanigans and eventually sexcapades. And a sexcapade sounded so much nicer than disappointing a bunch of women she admired.
“Later.” He kissed her lightly, then released her. “Because although I am more than interested to find out what is making you nibble that lower lip, that mob isn’t going away. So how can I help?”
His willingness to help was beyond sweet. Most men would rather get a limb severed than be willing walk into a den of disgruntled former pageant queens. Not Jace. He shoved up his sleeves and got to work, doing whatever was needed to make her day easier.
Charlotte explained the situation, leaving out the part where Darleen was torpedoing her. By the time she got to the angry swarm and how there was no way she could make this parade special for those women anymore, she became aware of the way Jace was watching her—the quiet understanding in his eyes, how his face softened with patience as though he didn’t have a full day in the garage waiting for him.
Jace listened to each and every complaint she had. Never once judging or dismissing the importance the situation held for her, he just ran his hands up and down her spine in comforting passes while she unloaded. When she was done, he gave her another kiss, this one a little longer and with enough tongue to leave her nipples hard, and said, “How many cars do you need?”
Chapter 17
Saturday afternoon, Jace stood in front of the Car Maintenance 101 class. They’d burned through jump-starting a car, so he was eating up time with some fun backwoods diagnostics for common car problems. They’d covered how to check the tread on their tires using a penny, how to check the tire pressure without a gauge, and were in the final stages of how to fill your radiator if you’re out of coolant. All tricks his dad had taught him early on.
“So if it gets too hot and I don’t have even a drop of water on me I can use this?” Darleen asked, and somehow managed to make a benign question sound like a proposition.
“As long as it’s cold and not sweetened, you should be good,” Jace said, looking at the women gathered around three different cars, taking turns pouring iced tea into the radiator.
“Then this only works if I’m in Yankee country,” Hattie said, peeking her head out from
under the hood of the blue pickup. “Because no Southerner would make tea that wasn’t sweet.”
A few Amens and God’s truths went up, and Darleen leaned in and whispered, “Mine is always sweet. Sweetest in three counties. In fact, I just made a batch if you wanted to come by tonight. Catch up.”
“I thought Tribble had a game,” he reminded her.
She shrugged. “Change of plans. So you free?”
“Thanks for the invite, but I’ve got plans.”
“Tomorrow?” She put her hand to her chest. “That’s right. Family dinner at the McGraws. How about after?”
“Actually I’m pretty booked.” Until forever, he wanted to say, but knew better than to rile a territorial cougar. Darleen didn’t take well to being told no.
“I’m sorry to hear that. I know you don’t get home often.” She gave him a look that was equal parts sweet and sting. “At least you got in some lake-time fun.”
Jace went as still as a stone, trying to decipher exactly what she was saying. And what she wasn’t saying. Only, unlike Charlotte, the woman had an impeccable poker face. And he didn’t mean that as a compliment.
“I know how much you McGraw men like to fish,” she finished, and before Jace could respond a hand went up in the far bay.
“We have a question,” MeMaw said from beside a midnineties Chevy sedan.
“Perfect,” Jace said, striding over to MeMaw Wilkes and Dottie Ryan, both longtime family friends and both smiling too widely for his liking. But he could handle whatever they threw at him, as long as it got him away from Darleen. “What can I help you with?”
“We were wondering if you could show us where the dipstick is,” MeMaw asked, and her gaze dropped to his crotch. Dottie snickered with delight. “In case I need to check my oil.”
Jace had no idea what they were up to—no good, knowing those two—but he wasn’t about to accuse a couple of woman who had changed his diapers of asking him to drop trou. So he grabbed a rag off the bench and leaned under the hood. “If you want to keep your hands clean, use a rag to pull the dipstick out, which is located right—Ow!”
Jace looked over his shoulder. Someone pinched his butt. Actually, it was more of a pinch, pat, squeeze combo. But there was definite contact made. Not that the women were fessing up, since they were looking for all the world like they were innocent grandmas.
“Thank you,” MeMaw said. “For being so gracious.”
Not sure how to respond, he straightened and addressed the entire class. “All right, ladies. That ends our lesson today. Remember, next Saturday will be our last class,” he said, and something about that didn’t settle right.
“Are we going to go over techniques for proper lubrication?” MeMaw asked.
He shot her a stern look, not that it helped. Dottie was back to snickering. “We will be going over how to not get bamboozled by a mechanic. So bring a pen and pad to take notes.”
Someone mentioned something about enough time to hit happy hour before coupon bingo started, and the room emptied pretty quickly. Darleen was straggling behind, finding every reason she could to be alone with him—something he did not want to happen.
So he caught up with Jelly Lou, who was trying to wheel herself out of the garage while clutching her electric lug-nut changer.
“Let me walk you out.” He grabbed the Sunday school teacher’s handles and wheeled her outside.
“Sure is pretty,” Jelly Lou said, taking in downtown.
The sky was bright orange with inky swirls, painting the autumn leaves and extending well beyond town and into the wide-open countryside. Jace had seen sunsets from every side of the world, but nothing got to him like the sun setting over Sugar.
“Sure is.”
He pushed her down the cobblestone sidewalk and to her car, giving Darleen a cordial nod as they exited. When they reached it, Jelly Lou looked up at him and smiled. “Thank you for helping me out.”
“Let me get your door,” he said, taking her keys and opening the driver’s side.
“Always the gentleman,” she said. “Even when you were little, you had this courteous way about you.”
“My parents were strict when it came to manners,” he said, helping her get in the car.
“That might be true, but your chivalry seemed to come from inside. Like you love to care for your loved ones.” She reached out a bony hand and gave his cheek a pat. “You get that from your mama, you know?”
Jace knew his mother had the ability to love unlike anyone else he’d ever encountered. Her hugs, even the way she looked at a person, carried a power that was magical. Around her, Jace felt as though nothing bad could happen.
“She had the gift of caring and passed it along to you,” she said, but something about how she was looking at him told him her statement wasn’t out of obligation, the way most people say sweet things. Jelly Lou said it as though she was just stating a fact and Jace happened to be there to hear it.
“Now don’t go getting shy on me,” she laughed, giving his cheek a little pat. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you. It was just my way of saying I miss your mama and I’m happy you’re home. We need more people like you around, is all.” And before he could say a word to the contrary, she added, “I think that Darleen has left, so it’s safe to go back inside now.”
Jace laughed. “Was I that obvious?”
“No, but Darleen was never good at hiding when she was on the hunt for a new husband. And I don’t think Hattie would be too happy about her landing you as husband number four.”
“There is no chance of that.”
“I didn’t imagine there would be,” Jelly Lou said. “Now, you have a good night.”
“You too, Ms. Mann.” He closed her door and strapped her chair to the rack affixed to the back of her car. He smacked the truck twice and raised a hand as Jelly Lou pulled onto Maple Street. He watched her brake lights turn after town hall and tried to remember when he’d last passed time gabbing with people who knew his entire family history. Before coming back to Sugar, he couldn’t remember a single one.
Jace hadn’t expected to be chased out of town, but he sure hadn’t expected the warm welcome he’d received. Maybe the only one harboring issues about the past was him. Because as far as he could tell, his return brought up happy memories for people.
Not the devastating ones he’d clung to for so long.
* * *
By the end of the weekend, Charlotte found that balancing her patient load while planning a parade was harder than it sounded. After word spread that Woolamena was living onsite, all of the other entrants, afraid that the champion was gaining an unfair advantage by memorizing the new track, decided to board their sheep as close to the start line as possible—turning the back field into a zoo of sorts. Her younger patients, catching wind of the pop-up petting zoo, came down with various symptoms that miraculously disappeared as soon as they saw the sheep. And since Charlotte was no closer to getting Jockey Jane to hold her stuffing, the lunchroom at the hospital had turned into an impromptu knitting club meeting ground.
“Loosen up on your yarn,” Hattie said, holding up what looked like a pair of baby booties and showing off her perfect stitches. She was plump and squat, and in electric green tennis shoes and a yellow tracksuit and with her white bristle hair she resembled a pineapple. “You look as if you’re about to strangle the needles.”
“That’s nothing,” Ms. Pearl said, her fingers moving with speed and accuracy. The woman wasn’t even looking at her hands and she was making more progress than Charlotte. “Yesterday, the girl yanked her stitches so tight, Jockey Jane’s face fell in on itself. Looked like one of those dried apple–face dolls.”
“This isn’t how I wanted to spend my lunch break, either.” Charlotte looked at her progress and set Jane in her lap. She could feel the panic set in, gaining ground with every day that passed, taking her closer to Founder’s Day. Closer to Jace’s departure date. “How could I make it through four years of medical school, top of
my class, yet I can’t knit a silly doll?”
“I don’t know, dear,” Ms. Pearl said. “But I’ve knitted me an entire tanning top in the time it’s taken you to knit one row.” Charlotte had no idea what a tanning top was, even when Mrs. Pearl held up what appeared to be two triangles attached by a braided rope. Then she molded it to her saggy cleavage and Charlotte got the picture. “No tan lines.”
“Why don’t you all clear out and let me help the girl,” Hattie said, making shooing gestures with her hand. “The way you’re watching over her shoulder, it’s no wonder she can’t figure out a head from a backside.”
Charlotte watched in horror as the other women packed up their canvas bags and waddled out. She hadn’t been alone with Hattie since she’d discovered that her grandmother-in-law was privy to being her grandmother-in-law. Survival by avoidance, Charlotte liked to think of it. A difficult task since the entire downtown area was roughly the size of two football fields.
“Actually, I have to get back to work,” Charlotte said, standing. “Crazy workload today.”
“Sit your tush down,” Hattie said knowingly, her fingers still working magic with the yarn. “You don’t have a patient for another ten minutes. I checked with Glory before coming in.”
Charlotte would have to remind Glory that her schedule wasn’t for public consumption. Not that it would do her any good now, she thought, taking a seat and picking up her needles.
“Good, now close your eyes and try it again.”
Charlotte looked at her raw fingers and chipped nails and wondered how she was supposed to knit a straight line with her eyes closed when she couldn’t manage to do it with them open, but she did as she was told. Because she had to get this right.
Had to.
“There you go,” Hattie said, with gentle encouragement. “Now don’t think about it, just picture what you want it to look like all done and let your fingers go to work.”
Her fingers ached, and the yarn burned as it slid back and forth over the angry skin, but a few minutes later she opened her eyes, and, “Oh my word!”