Fried Pickles and the Fuzz (2 page)

There were rumors, of course, just as there were in every small town. Most of the gossip mill centered around the fact that Joy's son,
Bill, who was also Heather's father, had sold the homestead farm as soon as he could after Joy's death and before Heather could stop him. It was said that he'd waited until she went back to College Station to finish her finals and pack up her apartment, then he
'd
brokered a speedy sale with the owner of the property next to Joy's. By the time Heather
had
returned to Big Creek
,
the deal was done and Bill had split with the proceeds and everything that had remained in Joy's bank accounts
,
leaving Heather to deal with the expenses of the Café
on her own.

Fortunately, according to Unice over at the hardware store, Joy had
had
a sneaking suspicion that Bill would do exactly that, so she
'
d placed Heather's name as the recipient of
T
he Pickle in her will.
It was the only thing Heather had left in the world that tied her to her family roots and
,
bless her soul, she lived and breathed
the
Fried Pickle.

Heather came back into the dining room
,
carrying
a round tray with
a plate brimming with fresh cornbread
and two small bowls
.
The hearty aroma of the just-from-the-oven bread sent his salivary glands into overdrive.

“I
gotta
say, Heather, you certainly
know how to keep a man happy.”

She place
d
the plate by his
bowl of chili
. “Granny Joy taught me
everything
I know.”
Turning, she filled a glass with iced tea and set it near his right hand. “How was your day?” She grabbed two spoons and added one each to the small bowls, one of sour cream and the
other of shredded cheese
,
and se
t
them
down on the
counter
within
his
reach
then place
d
the tray on the shelf below the counter
.

Bronson shrugged and crumbled a piece of
the warm
cornbread into his chili. “It wasn't bad. I had to go help old man Schultz with a downed fence over off the county road
by his west pasture
,
and we keep getting calls about a prowler in town
,
but no one seems to have any idea about what the perp looks like
.”

“Probably just a couple of the local boys out and about
cuttin' up before school starts again
.”

“For their sake
s,
I sure hope not. Mrs. Pearson's organized a neighborhood watch
,
of all things. She
's
bound and determined to uncover the mischief
-
makers at any cos
t. Says she wants them prosecuted to the fullest extent…
made an example of.
”

“I'm sure that she's just overly concerned because the Big Creek Days are star
t
ing
tomorrow
. It'
s th
e biggest thing t
o happen around here all year.”

Bronson tried to focus on his dinner before him.
He knew if he looked at her he'd be lost. Things would likely just fall from his mouth before checking in with his brain. Yep, he'd make a total fool of himself. “I've looked over the list of events. Looks like it'll be a fun time.”

Heather ran her hands over the laminate countertop. “Oh, it is. I make a real nice lunch to go in the box
ed
lunch auction. Usually whip up a batch of that fried chicken you like so much with fried squash, mashed potatoes, homemade biscuits
,
and pecan pie.” She tapped a fingernail on the slick surface. “I've been thinking about making peach this year, though.”

Bronson stirred the cornbread into his chili. Peach pie was his favorite.

“No toppings tonight?”
She nudged the bowl of shredded cheese closer to him.

“You know me too well.” He glance
d
up from his chili and found her staring at him.
His heart rate spiked. There was something very intimate about her knowing his habits and preferences. Like she was taking a special interest in him. Truth be told, she probably knew how every single patron she served liked their drinks and what sides they preferred, but it still made him feel special.

“Good men aren't hard to figure out.” Her blue eyes sparkled. “But like a five
-
pound bass
,
they're
hard to land.”

Oh, man.
Bronson swallowed hard. This was it. The perfect opportunit
y to ask her out to dinner. Or the
picnic. Or anything.
Say something
,
genius.
“Um, Heather?”

She tilted her head slightly to the left and edged closer to the counter. “Yes, Sheriff?”

Man, she smelled good. Some kind of delicious cross between fresh flowers and apple pie. His heart pounded in his chest. He hadn't been so nervous since his senior year in high school when he had asked Jenny Perkins to the prom. “I was wondering if…”

Heather placed her elbows on the counter and leaned a bit closer.
The
creamy skin
of her neck
seemed to beg him to discover if it was a
s
soft as it looked. “
Yes, Bronson?”

He cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. “Wondering if maybe sometime…
if maybe you'd like to…”
The radio attached to his belt crackled.

“Dispatch to Sheriff.”

And just like that
,
the spell was broken.
Like two teenagers who had just been caught neckin' in a car behind the gym, they both straightened, instantly putting distance between them.
Heather
broke eye contact
and began wiping down the co
untertop, moving away from him.

Bronson reached up to his shoulder, depressed the button on his mic
,
and tried desperately to keep the irritation from
his voice. “Go ahead, Martin.”

“We've got a disturbance over by the water tower.”

With a deep sigh, Bronson closed his eyes. Time to get back to work. He had to check it out. The town depended on him
,
and there had been three complaints in just over a week about some strange shadows lurking around town
.
Mrs. Pearson was threatening to round up her watch group and start doing nightly checks
.
The last thing Big Creek needed was a handful of geriatric locals
shuffling
down the streets at all hours of twilight
,
trying to rid their precious community of thugs and
ending up with broken hip
s
from a misplaced step
.
“On my way.”

Glancing toward where Heather
worked
on the other
end
of the counter, he mentally groaned. He should
just
ask her. Otherwise it might
be another two months
before he found the courage to try again.

“Go
.”
Heather smiled
as she made her way back t
o
him
and picked up his bowl
of barely touched chili
. “I'll see you tomorrow.”

Before he had a chance to think twice, she disappeared into the kitchen along with
his
dinner. And his shot at asking her out.

Well,
sugar-nuts
.
If this turned out to be a cow wandering around town
,
he was going to be mighty upset.

 

 

Monday dawned bright and cheery with not a cloud in the sky. The
weatherman
predicted the entire week would be rain
-
free with mild temperatures. Perfect weather for the Big Creek Days. Family, f
riends
,
and tons of country fun. With the parade scheduled to begin at six pm, Heather had a million things to do. Folks would be coming into town from all over the county and beyond. They did every year. Since most of the residents of Big Creek worked locally, having a yearly event that lasted an entire week didn't get in the way of business. Of course
,
most of the owners tended to change hours of operation during the festiv
ities to allow everyone to participate in the events.

With
T
he Pickle being right on the square where many of the events would be taking place, it was easy for Heather to close up, join in
,
and re-open so diners could come in and visit or enjoy a meal afterward.
And since the festival was a long-standing tradition, no one minded. Big Creek wasn't exactly on any major thoroughfares with the chance of passersby. If you ended up in town you had a reason…
or you were really lost.
It was just the way things were. Always had been and surely always would be.

The downside? Because the café would be closed for about an hour and then open with an immediate influx of patrons, Heather had a boatload of prep to do before she could even think about the parade. Everything needed to be ready to go the minute she walked back into the kitchen…
and she had a lot to do.

With only about an hour and a half to go until the big event, she was grateful
T
he Pickle was slow. Obviously everyone was either at home getting ready to come to town…
or they were gearing up for the
slew
of customers
who
would inevitably rush the town square businesses right after the parade ended.

At least Heather had a bit of company while she worked to get everything stocked for the dinner rush. While her best friend, Beth Ann, might not chip in and help out in the kitchen, she could be counted on to keep the mood light before the madness that would ensue.

“I think he was going to ask me out.”

“Really? Oh, girl. You'd better jump on that.” Beth Ann boosted herself up onto one of the gleaming stainless countertops in the Fried Pickle kitchen and grinned. “I know a lot of gals here in town who
'
re just itchin' for a chance to catch his eye. You turn him down and they'll be all over him like ducks on a
June
bug.”

Heather chuckled. “Yeah, I know, but I can't make him ask me.”

Beth Ann grabbed the edge of the counter and leaned forward. “Girl, what decade do you think this is? You
could
ask him.” She sat back up and rolled her eyes. “Women have been doing it for a few years now. I think the chances of you being deemed a hussy are slim
, even in
this
town
.
You haven't been out on a date even once since you came back near
ly
six months ago.
”

“
Yeah
, I know, but it's still nice
to have the guy do the askin'.”

“
H
umph
.
I
t might be nice
,
but who says it's
practical
? Especially out here in the boonies when seventy percent of the male population is either related to you, jailbait
,
or older than dirt. Jump
,
girl, jump.”

With a sigh, Heather turned back to her mashed potatoes and added a healthy d
ollop of butter.
Not margarine, but real sweet cream butter. It was the secret to Granny Joy's p
erfect spuds and the reason everyone seemed to love them. Especially Bronson. Every night he came in at the same time,
slid into the same stool at the end of the counter, gave her that show
-
stopping smile that never failed to turn her legs to mud
,
and chat with he
r while he ate dinner. Then,
if potatoes were a side of the daily special he always ordered, he would shyly ask for a second helping.

She smiled. Few things
had
made her heart flutter the past few years, but the feeling she got watching Bronson clean his plate, clearly a meal enjoyed, nearly made her toes curl. No, they weren't dating
,
but late at night when they were the only ones in the café, Heather liked to imagine that things were different. That they were a couple. She liked the thought of taking care of him, of belonging to him and him to her.