Sprinkles on Top (A Sugar Springs Novel)
Page 3
And she had been thinking that there was nothing really to do around here. Not anything she was qualified for, at least.
If she’d gotten a teaching degree, maybe. That was one of the true “professions” in town. Other than doctor or vet, but she was sorely underqualified for that. Plus, she preferred something a bit more creative, even if her trip to Chicago had proved she didn’t have what it took.
She thought about how she wasn’t getting any younger, and figured she needed to be more settled. Responsible. She could drive out of town to work at the casket factory, she supposed.
Only . . . she didn’t want to work at the casket factory.
And she didn’t want to go back to school so she could teach.
Was marriage and babies it, then? All she had to look forward to?
Her chest tightened, but the thought wasn’t as sour as she might have imagined. She did want to get married at some point. And yeah, she wanted babies. Several of them.
Was it time?
Her breaths grew shallow as she took in each member of her family again, including her dad, who now stood in the doorway between the kitchen and dining room. He wore the same woe-is-Holly look as the rest of them.
She didn’t want them to think that marriage and babies was all she could do.
But then . . . she thought about the number of times she’d had the door slammed in her face in Chicago.
Maybe it was all she could do.
If she could even do that.
It wasn’t as if her dance card had been full the last few years. The men of Sugar Springs saw her more as a buddy than a potential mate. Which was her own fault. She’d acted like their buddy. The cute little Marshall girl.
Could she change it?
Did she want to?
With an inaudible groan, she lowered her eyes and dug into her food. She didn’t know what she wanted.
But she was pretty sure it wasn’t Hounddog Thompson.
Chapter Two
As of right now, you’re on vacation.
Zack tightened his fingers around the steering wheel and pushed down on the gas pedal as he replayed his boss’s words from Friday afternoon. Cecil hadn’t even let him stick around for the verdict. He’d kicked him out of the office the minute they’d recessed.
You’ve been somewhere else for months. Whatever is going on with you, we don’t need it here. Fix it.
Zack had tried to argue.
He wasn’t somewhere else. He was right there. He’d just had a bad day.
But that was bull and they’d both known it. In his eight years at the firm, he hadn’t had a bad day. And he hadn’t made a mistake. Until recently. Cecil was a good enough friend to call him out on his issues before it became a major deal. As if being unable to give closing arguments wasn’t a major deal. Thank goodness his colleague had stepped in. With him, at least they’d still managed to win the case.
Zack took a curve too fast, gripping both hands tight on the wheel as he fought to keep from losing control. Killing himself in the middle of nowhere wouldn’t solve his problems. Then again, he wasn’t sure going to Sugar Springs would solve them either.
The low-slung convertible headed into yet another twisting curve, and Zack gritted his teeth in focus, this time tapping on his brakes instead of risking going out the wrong side of the curve. There was zero chance of getting any good speed going on the tiny two-lane, as the majority of the three-and-a-half-hour trip north had been.
On a day when he wanted to go fast, it frustrated the hell out of him that he had to crawl.
He rounded yet another bend in the road, and his head swiveled to the left. Really? It was Memorial Day, for Christ’s sake. That made the third house he’d seen strung end-to-end with Christmas lights. He supposed the fact that the lights weren’t on was supposed to mean they didn’t exist. Or who knew, maybe come darkness, they would all shine bright.
He shook his head in disgust and returned his sights to the cracked asphalt in front of him. He couldn’t believe what a backwoods place this town was.
Or that it was his destination.
But his mother had made a good point. As had Cecil. He supposed.
Zack needed to deal with his issues.
With no chance of getting back into the office for the next two weeks, and given that he had brothers and that little fact wouldn’t be going away, he supposed he might as well deal with it.
He supposed he could spend the next couple of weeks in a town of less than six hundred if that meant he could get back to work. Back to making partner.
He wasn’t looking for relationships to come of this trip. In fact, just the opposite. He’d meant it when he’d told them that he had no interest. That hadn’t changed. They’d spent their whole lives never knowing each other. He couldn’t imagine it would turn into long-lost brotherly love at this point.
Yet he could no longer ignore the fact that it had impacted him. His closing argument. His job. His chances at making partner, for crying out loud.
He’d stick around Sugar Springs long enough for everyone to get their curiosities answered. He’d show his mother that he’d put in a good-faith effort at “getting to know” them. Then he’d put the situation behind him for good.
He took another curve and pushed the gas pedal to zoom up the slight rise. He’d topped the hill and headed back down when he caught sight of the next house. It was a single-wide trailer with a rickety do-it-yourself front porch, and hanging off all sides of the porch—as if someone thought they were decorations—were washtubs. Gray and dusty old-timey metal tubs, some rusted, some big, some small. It looked like something that belonged on Duck Dynasty.
The car hit a dip in the road and he jerked back around, only to see that he was no longer actually on the road. He’d missed a curve.
And he was headed straight for a massive oak sitting in the middle of a handful of gravestones.
He stomped on the brakes and the car swerved. It slid through the grass at an angle, but he did manage to come to a stop before he hit the tree. Barely. Unfortunately, one of the stones wasn’t so lucky. Nor was his airbag. He’d knocked a concrete marker out of the ground and his car now sat at an angle on top of it. His front tire no longer touched the ground. And a deflated airbag hung limply from his steering wheel.
A slight breeze whispered through the air of the open top, mixing with the acrid smell from the deployed bag and tickling against his neck and cheeks. He sat there fuming, taking in his surroundings. There were tiny red-, white-and-blue flags stuck in the ground at each of the plots. Beside the flags were small bundles of similarly colored flowers. They were all fresh.
This was not a forgotten family plot out in the middle of nowhere. And he was parked right smack in the middle of it.
Fantastic entrance, Winston. What else can you fuck up this week?
He forced himself to loosen his jaw, and turned off the engine. He wouldn’t be getting the car out of there on his own. If he hadn’t already ripped something vital out, trying to back off of the stone would surely do it.
Before he could pull his phone out to call for a wrecker, a squawking honk sounded in his ear. He snapped his gaze around. To the left of his car stood two Canadian geese. Clearly agitated. With an enormous, sable-colored horse hovering behind them. The horse slung its dark head and snorted, showing its teeth. Zack stilled.
What the hell kind of place had he landed in?
And then his eyes hit on a leg dangling down the side of the beast. His gaze shot up.
He took in the woman sitting on the horse. Thick, blonde hair parted down the middle, with braids hanging over each shoulder, and a face that was smooth and creamy. Bright-red lips and dark-ringed eyes drew his attention, and silver eye shadow glittered from her eyelids. She was dressed to match the flowers he’d just run over with his car.
She had on
a sleeveless white button-down knotted at the waist, the buttons straining to hold the material closed over her breasts, and a pair of cutoff jeans covered in white stars. The shorts looked as if they would be showing about half her ass, except for the cherry-red leggings—also adorned with the pattern of stars—that ran to just below her knees. At the bottom of those legs were the oddest shoes to be wearing on a horse. Black patent leather with a buckle closure and wide chunky heels. Green and purple fringe circled around the backs.
He eyed the shoes for a moment longer, thinking they seemed more like something that should be worn on stage. By a transvestite, perhaps. Then he forced his eyes back up and over her outfit, lingering at the rounded curve of her butt, and having the random thought that she wasn’t at all like the women he dated.
First, they’d never be caught dead in an outfit like that. They wore designer, or they wore nothing at all.
Second, they didn’t have nearly the curves this woman did.
And “woman” was a stretch. He couldn’t tell her age, but she looked younger than her body shape might imply.
He forced his gaze to continue up until he once again landed on her face. She was frowning at him.
“You ran over my granny,” she said.
Of course this would be her land. Why couldn’t he have made it to the bed-and-breakfast without incident? It couldn’t be more than a couple miles down the road.
He opened his door to step out, intending to gain the upper hand by standing tall and using his courtroom voice. Instead, his foot sunk into mud.
“And your car is straddling a dip in the land,” she added. “It rained last night.”
He held on to his temper—but just barely—and stretched his other leg two feet away until he hit drier ground. He pulled his mud-covered foot out behind him.
His shoulders drew in tight at the sucking sound as his shoe popped free of the sticky mud, and when he finally stood, with only the barest amount of dignity remaining, he removed his sunglasses and peered up at the rider as if he had every right to be there. His chest rose and fell with a frustrated breath, and he ignored the airbag dust now sprinkled over the front of his suit. He shouldn’t have come.
“As I’m sure you can guess,” he began, “I missed a turn in the road.” On a road in such poor shape it should be illegal to travel on, he added silently, and wondered if he should sue the city for the pitiful state of the asphalt. Or maybe he should sue the moron with the washtub ornamentation on his “porch.”
He motioned behind him to the marker buried beneath his car. “I’ll cover the repair as soon as I get my car towed. I’ll leave you my card.”
She eyed him from her seven-foot perch. If he were to guess, he’d say she was unimpressed. But then, he did have mud covering one of his Salvatore Ferragamos. It wasn’t a good look.
He watched as her green eyes blinked and then she shifted her gaze to his car. The top was down, and there wasn’t a thing to be found on the inside—other than the new layering of fine dust. The rest was spotless. It was as if he were seeing it himself for the first time.
Funny. He’d never thought himself quite as sterile as his car might imply. No-nonsense and to the point, yes. He didn’t tolerate less than the best, either in work or play. But not necessarily cold and empty.
But if he were her . . .
“I’ll give you a ride,” she said. Her voice bore no emotion. She scooted forward on the saddle, leaving about half a foot of empty space behind her. “You won’t get a tow truck out here today.”
He eyed the horse. “I don’t think so.” He was not climbing onto the back of a horse. Especially not in a twenty-five-hundred-dollar suit. “I’ll call my assistant. I’m sure she can locate someone.”
His assistant had taken the two weeks off since he was banned from the building, but he knew she’d help him out. She’d be glad to. He pulled his phone from his pocket.
“Not in Sugar Springs she won’t,” the woman told him. “It’s a holiday.”
The geese squawked at him again as if reiterating her point, and he sighed. He was quickly losing patience. “And emergencies don’t happen in Sugar Springs during holidays? Surely there are trucks on standby.”
Who lived in a place like this?
She shrugged a slim shoulder. Her whole demeanor was one of casual unconcern. “Emergencies happen,” she said, “but then there’s always someone around to help.” She patted the neck of the horse. “Like Misty here. She’d be glad to carry you up to the house.”
Up to what house?
He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.
Ignoring her, he turned back to his phone. He was not getting on that horse.
Holly Marshall watched the man for five more seconds before she directed Misty to turn. Her first impressions were rarely wrong, and her instincts told her this guy was an ass. So, fine. He could walk to the house.
She may have to deal with him when—if—he ever arrived at her parents’ bed-and-breakfast, but she certainly didn’t have to deal with him now.
What a jerk. He reminded her of every boutique owner she’d met during her stint in Chicago. If they hadn’t been looking down their noses at her or talking about her behind her back, they’d insulted her directly to her face.
She hadn’t needed their rudeness, and she didn’t need his. She had better things to do with her time.
Before she, Misty, and the geese could get more than a few feet away, she heard the man curse. She couldn’t help the smile. Arrogant pricks deserved to be put in their place.
She fought the urge to nudge Misty to go faster.
“Do you not get a cell signal out here?” he finally growled out.
Laughter would only make it worse. She stopped the horse and peered back over her shoulder, giving him the same loathing perusal he’d given her. “I don’t need a cell signal out here, sugar.”
She was tired and frustrated, having worked too many hours the last two days at the B&B and then fixing the mess Patrick had made of the books. She wasn’t in the mood to deal with a jerk of a man who thought he was better than her simply because he saw himself as higher class.
Even if he was smoking hot in a black pin-striped suit.
With mud up to one ankle.
Plus, she knew who he was. Therefore, she already knew he was an ass. But what she didn’t know was what he was doing there.
The name on the register she’d checked that morning was listed as “Z. Winston,” with an Atlanta number. When she’d first seen it, she’d wondered if it would really be him. Cody and Nick had told her about their brother, and about how he’d treated them when they’d gone to Atlanta. Zack Winston had been less than receptive to their brotherly overtures.
So a fancy, fast car with Georgia plates and a lawyer type in a pricey suit—who just happened to look like Nick and Cody Dalton—could only be one person.
The thought crossed her mind to leave him standing in the middle of the mud and let him find his own way out. He had knocked over her granny’s tombstone after all. And right after she’d put fresh flowers on the grave. He didn’t really deserve her help.
But then again, she hadn’t been raised that way. It wouldn’t hurt her to help him out. So she tilted her head and gave him a polite smile. She was, after all, representing her parents’ business.
“Misty still has a spot open,” she pointed out. “All you have to do is climb up.”
When he looked at the horse and his face lost some of its color, she almost felt bad for the guy. Was he afraid of horses? But then she remembered the way his lip had turned up when he’d looked at her shoes. He’d judged her and found her lacking.
Therefore, he didn’t get her sympathy.
She did, however, hold out hope that he was in Sugar Springs for good reasons. Maybe her friends would get that chance to get to know their brother, after all.
His jaw worked back and forth. He’d put his sunglasses back on and she couldn’t see his eyes anymore. Which was fine with her. They were dark brown like his brothers’. The color actually looked good on them. On Zack it just looked . . .
She growled under her breath. On him it looked good, as well. Dang it.
And she didn’t want to think about someone like him looking good. Though he did. Even in his pricey, probably hand-tailored suit.
He looked like the best thing to come along in years.
Her mother’s sad eyes darted through her mind, along with her telling Holly that she needed a man.
But she didn’t need this one!
She’d had enough of people like him to last her a lifetime. She turned Misty to go once more, letting anger from her recent trip resurface. She’d tossed away her dream because of assholes like him, and she was still a little raw about it.
Hell, she hadn’t even managed to get in the door of each gallery to explore her dream.
She’d gotten nowhere.
She’d been made fun of simply for being who she was. As if there were nothing more to her than where she came from and how she talked.
It wasn’t fair. She was a good person.
And she had a hell of a lot of talent.
“Where are you proposing to take me on that thing?” he asked with an amazing amount of bluster. “I would still need a lift to the B&B where I’ve rented a room. It’s the Marshall place. Do you know it?”
A sigh pushed up and out of her lungs as she turned back to him. “You’re on Marshall property, Mr. Winston. You’re here.” At his arched brow over her use of his name, she merely continued. “We just need to go about one mile down the road and you’ll see the house.”
“Oh.”