Second Chance at the Sugar Shack (3 page)

“That’s not the way I remember it.”

“Of course not. You were so deeply immersed in parental rebellion she could have said the sky was blue and you’d have argued that it was aqua.”

“We did argue a lot.”

Kelly shook her head. “Yeah, kind of like you were both cut from the same scrap of denim. I think that’s what ticked you off the most and you just didn’t want to admit it.”

No way. “That I was like Mom?”

“You could have been identical twins. Same red hair. Same hot temper.”

“I never thought I was anything like her. I still don’t.”

“How’s that river of denial working for you?”

“How’s that rewriting history working for
you
?”

Kelly tightened her fingers on the steering wheel. “Someday you’ll get it, little sister. And when you do, you’re going to be shocked that you didn’t see it earlier.”

The remnants of the old argument curdled in Kate’s stomach. “She didn’t believe in me, Kel.”

“Then she was wrong.”

For some reason the acknowledgment from her big sister didn’t make it any better.

“She was also wrong about you and your financial worth,” Kelly added. “You make three times as much as I do.”

“But not as much as Dean.”

“God doesn’t make as much as Dean,” Kelly said.

Their big brother had always been destined for greatness. If you didn’t believe it, all you had to do was ask him. Being an NFL star quarterback did have its perks. Modesty wasn’t one of them.

“Almost there,” Kelly announced.

The green highway sign revealed only two more miles to go. Kate gripped the door handle to steady the nervous tension tap-dancing on her sanity.

Ahead, she noticed the swirling lights atop a sheriff’s SUV parked on the shoulder of the highway. The vehicle stopped in front of the cop had to be the biggest monster truck Kate had ever seen. In L.A., which oozed with hybrids and luxury cruisers, one could only view a farmboy-vehicle-hopped-up-on-steroids in box office bombs like the
Dukes of Hazzard
.

The swirling lights dredged up a not-so-fond memory of Sheriff Washburn, who most likely sat behind the wheel of that Chevy Tahoe writing up the fattest citation he could invent. A decade ago, the man and his Santa belly had come hunting for her. When she hadn’t shown up at home at o’dark thirty like her mother had expected, the SOS call had gone out. Up on Lookout Point the sheriff had almost discovered her and Matt sans clothes, bathed in moonlight and lust.

As it was, Matt had been quick to act and she’d managed to sneak back through her bedroom window before she ruined her shaky reputation for all time. Turned out it wouldn’t have mattered. A few days later she boarded a bus leaving that boy and the town gossips behind to commiserate with her mother about what an ungrateful child she’d been.

As they approached the patrol vehicle, a deputy stepped out and, hand on gun, strolled toward the monster truck.

Mirrored shades. Midnight hair. Wide shoulders. Trim waist. Long, long legs. And . . . Oh. My. God. Not even the regulation pair of khaki uniform pants could hide his very fine behind. Nope. Definitely
not
Sheriff Washburn.

A double take was definitely in order.

“Wow,” Kate said.

“They didn’t make ‘em like that when we lived here,” Kelly noted.

“Seriously.” Kate shifted back around in her seat. And frowned. What the hell was wrong with her? Her mother had been dead for two days and
she
was checking out guys?

“Well, ready or not, here we are.”

At her sister’s announcement Kate looked up at the overhead sign crossing the two-lane road.

Welcome to Deer Lick, Montana. Population 6,000
.

For Kate it might as well have read
Welcome to Hell
.

L
ate the following afternoon, Kate stood amid the mourners gathered at the gravesite for Leticia Jane Silverthorne’s burial. Most were dressed in a variety of appropriate blacks and dark blues. The exception being Ms. Virginia Peat, who’d decided the bright hues of the local Red Hat Society were more appropriate for a deceased woman with a green thumb and a knack for planting mischief wherever she went.

No doubt her mother had a talent for inserting just the right amount of monkey business into things to keep the town blabbing for days, even weeks, if the gossips were hungry enough. Better for business, she’d say. The buzz would catch on and the biddies of Deer Lick would flock to the Sugar Shack for tea and a sweet treat just to grab another tasty morsel of the brewing scandal.

Today, the Sugar Shack was closed. Her mother’s cakes and pies remained unbaked. And the lively gossip had turned to sorrowful memories.

Beneath a withering maple, Kate escaped outside the circle of friends and neighbors who continued to hug and offer condolences to her father and siblings. Their almost overwhelming compassion notched up her guilt meter and served as a reminder of the small-town life she’d left behind. Which was not to say those in Hollywood were cold and unfeeling, she’d just never had any of them bring her hot chicken soup.

Plans had been made for a potluck gathering at the local Grange—a building that sported Jack Wagoner’s award-winning moose antlers and held all the community events—including wedding receptions and the Oktober Beer and Brat Fest. The cinder block structure had never been much to look at but obviously it remained the epicenter of the important events in beautiful downtown Deer Lick.

A variety of funeral casseroles and home-baked treats would be lined up on the same long tables used for arm wrestling competitions and the floral arranging contest held during the county fair. As far as Kate could see, not much had changed since she’d left. And she could pretty much guarantee that before the end of the night, some elder of the community would break out the bottle of huckleberry wine and make a toast to the finest pastry chef this side of the Rockies.

Then the stories would start to fly and her mother’s name would be mentioned over and over along with the down and dirty details of some of her more outrageous escapades. Tears and laughter would mingle. Hankies would come out of back pockets to dab weeping eyes.

The truth hit Kate in the chest, tore at her lungs. The good people of Deer Lick had stood by her mother all these years while Kate had stood off in the distance.

She brushed a speck of graveside dust from the pencil skirt she’d picked up in Calvin Klein’s warehouse last month. A breeze had cooled the late afternoon air and the thin material she wore could not compete. She pushed her sunglasses into place, did her best not to shiver, and tried to blend in with the surroundings. But the cost alone of her Louboutin peep toes separated her from the simple folk who dwelled in this town.

Maybe she should have toned it down some. She could imagine her mother shaking her head and asking who Kate thought she’d impress.

“Well, well, lookie who showed up after all.”

Kate glanced over her shoulder and into the faded hazel eyes of Edna Price, an ancient woman who’d always reeked of moth balls and Listerine. The woman who’d been on the Founder’s Day Parade committee alongside her mother for as long as Kate could remember.

“Didn’t think you’d have the gumption,” Edna said.

Gumption?
Who used that word anymore?

Edna poked at Kate’s ankles with a moose-head walking stick. “Didn’t think you’d have the nerve,” Edna enunciated as though Kate were either deaf or mentally challenged.

“Why would I need
nerve
to show up at my own mother’s funeral?”
Oh, dumb question, Kate. Sure as spit the old biddy would tell her ten ways to Sunday why.

The old woman leaned closer. Yep, still smelled like moth balls and Listerine.

“You left your dear sweet mama high and dry, what, twenty years ago?”

Ten.

“It’s your fault she’s where she is.”

“
My
fault?” The accusation snagged a corner of Kate’s heart and pulled hard. “What do you mean?”

“Like you don’t know.”

She had no clue. But that didn’t stop her mother’s oldest friend from piling up the charges.

“Broke her heart is what you did. You couldn’t get up the nerve to come back when she was breathin’. Oh, no. You had to wait until—”

Kate’s patience snapped. “Mrs. Price . . . you can blame or chastise me all you want. But not today. Today, I am allowed to grieve like anyone else who’s lost a parent. Got it?”

“Oh, I got it.” Her pruney lips curled into a snarl. “But I also got opinions and I aim to speak them.”

“Not today you won’t.” Kate lifted her sunglasses to the top of her head and gave Mrs. Price her best glare. “Today you will respect my father, my brother, and my sister. Or I will haul you out of this cemetery by your fake pearl necklace. Do I make myself clear?”

The old woman snorted then swiveled on her orthopedic shoes and hobbled away. Kate didn’t mind taking a little heat. She was, at least, guilty of running and never looking back. But today belonged to her family and she’d be goddamned if she’d let anybody drag her past into the present and make things worse.

Great. And now she’d cursed on sacred ground.

Maybe just thinking the word didn’t count. She already had enough strikes against her.

It’s your fault. . .

Exactly what had Edna meant? How could her mother’s death be any fault of hers when she’d been hundreds of miles away?

Kate glanced across the carpet of grass toward the flower-strewn mound of dirt. Beneath the choking scent of carnations and roses, beneath the rich dark soil, lay her mother.

Too late for good-byes.

Too late for apologies.

Things just couldn’t get worse.

Unable to bear the sight of her mother’s grave, Kate turned her head. She startled at the sudden appearance of the man in the khaki-colored deputy uniform who stood before her. She looked up—way up—beyond the midnight hair and into the ice blue eyes of Matt Ryan.

The boy she’d left behind.

C
HAPTER
T
HREE

S
he was back.

Ten years of anticipation tumbled through Matt’s chest and left him breathless. When her mother passed, Matt knew she’d be back for the funeral. He’d been prepared. Still, seeing her across the casket and beside her father had been a shock. The sweat in his palms left no question.

Seeing her again brought him back to the day she’d left.

Without a note.

Without a good-bye.

Without so much as a kiss-my-ass.

It had been ten years since they’d parked at Lookout Point in his barely operable Chevy half ton and explored each others bodies long into the night. Ten years since they’d snuggled up in the bed of that old truck beneath a tattered plaid blanket where he’d planned to ask her the most important question of his life. Ten years since she’d snuck out of town and disappeared, taking his and her parents’ hearts with her.

She wasn’t a girl anymore.

Katie Silverthorne had developed into . . . well, she’d definitely developed. At fourteen she’d had freckles and a small chip in her front tooth from walking into an open school locker. At twenty she’d been a long-legged girl with fewer curves than a stretch of desert road. Now, the freckles and chip in her tooth were gone and she had curves in all the right places. The woman who stood in front of him with her ginger hair streaked blond, tawny gold skin, smoky green eyes, and lips so suggestive a man would be foolish not to kiss them, was anything but juvenile.

Too bad she was so cold-hearted.

If the situation were different, if they weren’t standing just feet away from where her mother had been laid in the hard, frozen ground, Matt wouldn’t hesitate to tell her what he thought. She didn’t deserve pity. Why the hell would she even put up the pretense of grieving when he and everyone knew she didn’t give a shit about either of her parents?

She didn’t deserve the time of day.

But he respected her mother. Her father. And that changed everything.

After Katie skipped town, her mother had lent a warm embrace to his wounded soul and become his friend—a surrogate mother for his own who refused to lift her life out of a bottle. In turn, he developed a love and appreciation for both her parents and the incredible role models they’d become for him. For that reason alone Matt felt it necessary to offer his condolences to the
girl
who’d not only run out on him but her own parents.

“Your mother was a wonderful woman,” he said, dropping his aviators into place. “We’ll miss her very much.”

Katie looked up at him. Uncertainty sparked in her eyes. “Thank you.”

Matt forced himself not to stare at her glossy lips as she spoke, so he scanned the cemetery, the flower-carpeted grave, the departing mourners.

He found himself entirely too distracted by the woman in front of him who wore a clinging black jacket and a skirt too short for somewhere as off the beaten path as Deer Lick. Or her mother’s funeral. She shifted her weight from one enticing hip to the other and the movement caught his eye.

“It’s good to see you again, Matt,” she said barely above a husky whisper.

Ten years melted away as he looked down at her, remembering the last time he’d held her. She’d been naked and warm in his arms and sweet as his Uncle Bob’s huckleberry wine. But those days were gone for good and she’d broken too many hearts along the way.

“Wish I could say the same.”

S
tunned right down to her pink toenails, Kate watched Matt walk away. All six feet plus of lean, hard muscle sheathed in a khaki uniform.

She wanted to kick him.

Okay. So maybe he had a right to have an attitude with her. Maybe she might deserve his animosity just a teeny tiny bit. And maybe he hadn’t gone the wrong-side-of-the-tracks path as she’d imagined. No beer gut. No balding head.

It was just too bad that he wasn’t nearly as pleasant as that gorgeous face.

“Katie?” Her father waved her toward him. “Come here, honey. Time to go.”

As she made her way over to join her father and siblings, taking care not to muddy the red soles of her shoes in the soggy grass, Kate glanced back where Matt remained near her mother’s final resting place. A pretty, petite blond walked up to him and took his hand. He smiled down at her.

Wife?

Girlfriend?

Definitely attached.

And Kate definitely didn’t care.

Whatever he did with his life or whomever he did it with didn’t matter to her.

Her father tucked her beneath his protective arm and as a family—or what was left of them—they all headed toward the Grange a few blocks away. As they walked down the sidewalk, Kate gave a last glance at her mother’s grave. And one more glance at the man who’d been an important part of her young life.

He, however, didn’t look back.

S
everal hours later, the interior of the Grange remained packed wall to cinder-block wall. The empty casserole dishes and lunchmeat platters that cluttered the banquet table confirmed that Letty Silverthorne had been a popular woman. In the corner the jukebox played Nat King Cole’s
Unforgettable
. Somewhere in the distance Junior Walker snorted a laugh as he recalled the time Letty had chased a skunk out of her garden, only to be sprayed in the keester before the animal trotted away. “Only good skunk is a dead skunk,” he recalled her saying. Everyone laughed.

Kate remembered how every October her father would dress in camo, sling a rifle over his shoulder, kiss her mother on the forehead and head out to the forest to slay Bambi or Bullwinkle or whatever four-legged critter happened to end up in his crosshairs. A few days later he’d come home like Rambo with the carcass slung over his shoulder. Her mother would praise him with such enthusiasm you’d think he’d been nominated president of the NRA. Yet the woman would nicely shoo a stinky old skunk from her much-loved garden.

Letty Silverthorne, savior of skunks, would never dream of picking up a firearm. But it was okay if someone else did.

Kate sat on a metal folding chair, an untouched piece of pineapple upside-down cake on a plate in her lap, listening to the
remember when
stories fly about the room. She had no appetite for anything other than escape. No room for anything except guilt because
she
didn’t have any recent Letty stories.

And she sincerely didn’t know how many more she could take.

“You look like you could use a big brother right about now.”

Kate looked up into Dean’s handsome face—a face that graced wall posters, prime-time sports clips, and probably more than one woman’s fantasies. She wanted to hug him for coming to her rescue.

He sat next to her, sprawled his long legs out in front of him and draped his throwing arm over the back of her chair.

“I saw you over there talking to that pretty redhead,” Kate said.

Dean tweaked her nose like he used to when she was a kid. “Yeah, but you’re my favorite redhead.”

“Great. That means my roots are showing and I need to make an appointment with José as soon as I get home.”

He gave her the smile that had landed him in the number one spot for
People
magazine’s Sexiest Man Alive. “So when do you head back to Weirdoland anyway?”

“Day after tomorrow. I have three clients to dress for the music video awards next week and none of them can make up their minds between the designers I’ve chosen. They’re all waiting for the fashion spies to let the cat out of the bag as to who’s wearing what so they can choose a more chic designer.” She took a breath. “Does that make sense? Even I can’t decode it sometimes.”

“You ever get tired of that game?” he asked.

“Do you ever get tired of football?”

He shrugged. “I’ll never get tired of the game on the field. But sometimes the celebrity game gets kind of ridiculous. Like when you come out of your house and there are paparazzi everywhere just waiting to see what kind of jeans you’re wearing. Personally, I don’t think I’m all that special. I just know how to throw a ball.”

“Stop dating supermodels and they just might forget about you,” Kate said.

“Yeah.” He flashed her a grin. “I don’t get
that
tired of it.”

She laughed and bumped his shoulder with hers. “When do you leave?”

“Same as you,” he said. “Season’s just started. And since I’m now at the ripe old age of thirty-four, I’m not about to move aside and let the new kid take over for long.”

“Why? Are you worried about being replaced?” Kate asked. “For crying out loud, you made the Super Bowl last year.”

“But we didn’t
win
the Super Bowl.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah. The kid’s like a wolf, always stalking me . . . waiting.”

“Waiting?”

“He knows one more wrong hit to the shoulder and I’ll have to call it a career.”

“Would that be so bad?”

His chin dimple winked at her. “Does the end of the world sound too over-the-top?”

“
You’re
too over-the-top. The last time I sat in Arizona’s stadium and watched you kick the Cardinal’s asses, I couldn’t believe you were my freaking brother.”

“Oh yeah? Well I’m still the guy who cut the hair off your Barbie and used it for my G.I. Joe camouflage tents. Besides, you aren’t hurting in the superstar department either. I Googled your name the other day and came up with umpteen hundred thousand hits.”

“You Googled me?” She pressed a hand to her chest. “I’m flattered.”

“Don’t be. I’m just being an overprotective brother. I check up on you and Kel all the time to see how accessible you are to the freaks among us.”

“You mean stalkers?”

“Yeah.”

It was nice to have a big brother. Even if she saw him more on Monday Night Football than in real life. At least she and her siblings made it a point to chat on the phone once a week. She credited that for keeping them close. “Don’t worry. The only stalker I have is a calico cat that hangs around my condo.”

“No boyfriends?”

“No time.”

“That sucks.” He folded his highly insured hands together and dropped them between his knees. His green eyes darkened. “On the serious side . . . you, Kel, and I all need to sit down tomorrow and talk about stuff.”

“What kind of
stuff
?”

“Dad stuff.”

They both glanced over to where their father stood near the kitchen door.

“He’s going to be all alone now,” Dean said. “How will he run the bakery by himself? Who’s going to take care of him?”

“That’s exactly what I’ve been wondering.”

“I’m worried about him.”

Kate took a breath to clear the clog from her chest. “Me too.”

“Then together we all need to come up with some solutions. Tomorrow. Okay?” Dean patted her knee and stole her piece of cake before he walked away.

Eager to sneak out, Kate stood. Since they’d ridden to the funeral together in their mother’s car, Kate glanced around for her sister. She spotted her in a corner talking with the town veterinarian, an elderly man who, judging by his long hair and wooly sideburns, was simpatico with his furry clients. Kate motioned to the door. The almost imperceptible shake of Kelly’s head translated to:
I’m stuck. Go ahead without me.

Across the room, Junior Walker roared into another Letty story that involved an oversized loaf of wheat bread and a raccoon.

God, she had to get out of here.

Kate spotted her father still chatting near the kitchen and made her way toward him. The overhead light flashed across his balding head when he nodded at something the man across from him said. When she approached, the men opened up their circle to include her.

“My little Katie.” Her father gathered her in and gave her a hug. “I’m so glad you’re here, honey.”

“Me too, Dad.” Kate squeezed her eyes shut and hugged him back, glad to be in her father’s arms again. But there was so much inside of her bubbling beneath the surface she could barely breathe. “I’m a little . . . tired. Would you mind much if I went home?”

“Of course not,” he said. His eyes were rimmed with red. Kate knew he’d been in a state of tears all day. Some from laughter at old memories of the woman he’d loved for more than thirty-six years, some from the unbelievable sense of loss.

“Are you okay?” she asked, cupping his weathered cheek in her palm.

He nodded. “You go ahead. I’ll be home soon.”

“You sure?”

He kissed her forehead and gave her a smile.

As she walked away she glanced back over her shoulder. “Bring Kel home with you, okay?”

He waved his response then turned to rejoin his friends.

Friends.

They were what he needed now. Not comfort from a daughter he barely knew anymore.

Eager for fresh air, Kate pushed open one of the big steel doors and ducked her head against the breeze that had kicked up. Searching through her handbag for the car keys, she stepped beneath the overhang and bumped into something large and immovable. Her heels wobbled in the gravel. A big hand steadied her.

“Excuse . . .” Her head shot up.
Shit
. “. . . me.”

Everything in Kate stopped cold. The blood drained from her head. Her ears buzzed. Her chest tightened the same as it had when she’d seen him earlier.

Matt’s mirrored shades were gone and she looked right into the ice blue eyes she’d once gone crazy for. The thick fringe of dark lashes surrounding those eyes only enhanced the mesmerizing hue—like arctic icebergs surrounded by a stormy sky. His cheekbones were sculpted, his jawline chiseled in a masculine way that said the boy she knew was gone forever. In his place stood a man. A real man—who smelled like autumn leaves and wood smoke and a lethal amount of sexy.

Earlier today she hadn’t been prepared for him, hadn’t been armed for his harsh words and his cold demeanor. But she was ready now.
Bring.
It.
On.

She forced herself to look up at his strong chin and the etched curve of those lips she’d kissed so many times. Way back then they had been remarkably soft and tender. Now they were pressed into a hard, implacable line. Through their school years, he’d been a great-looking boy but now . . . now he just looked dangerous. The shiny star pinned to his broad chest didn’t help.