Tucker's Crossing (2 page)

Shelby fiddled with the hem of her work scrubs. “That’s not how I want to handle this. There’s a right and wrong way to deal with Cody. If he feels cornered, he’ll just up and run before I get the chance to explain.”

“Which would be different from your current situation, how?”

Gina was right. After two years together, Cody finally opened up, let go of that control he clung so tightly to, and gave her the best night of her life. She’d been expecting a ring, but before she even had the chance to pluck her panties from the ceiling fan, he was bolting out the door and out of her life. Taking her heart with him. That was ten years ago.

“Wow. You’re seriously upset.” Gina rested her elbows on the table. “I thought you said you were over him?”

“I am,” she whispered, glancing around the diner, hoping it was the truth and knowing that if it wasn’t Gina would be able to tell.

“You ready to settle your bill?” the proprietor of The B-Cubed, and the last woman in town you wanted on your bad side, cut in before Gina could call “bullshit” again. Mrs. McKinney’s voice was as sugary as sweet tea but the way her plump hands stabbed into her hips, she wasn’t asking, she was demanding.

“Can I finish my food first?”

“As long as you’re paying cash that should be fine.” Mrs. McKinney stuck out a hand, expecting payment immediately.

“Should be
fine
?” Gina asked. “I’ve been coming here for thirty years. Since when do I have to pay cash? And before I finish eating?”

“Since you seem to be having a problem with settling your debts.” Mrs. McKinney jerked her chin toward the window, her crop of white hair bouncing in the process.

Gina looked through the generously stenciled panes, her eyes pinching into two pissed-off slits. “Oh no, you don’t!”

Grabbing a butter knife, Gina threw her napkin on the counter and stalked out the door, the bell jingling angrily in her wake. Because there, across the main strip of road that went through the heart of Sweet Plains, next to Bub’s Feed & Tack and directly in front of the sheriff’s office—where everyone in town was already gathered and those who weren’t would soon hear about it—sat Gina’s red sports car about to be accosted by a dirty yellow tow truck. And next to the curb, holding a department-issued clipboard and weighing in at two hundred pounds of armed good looks, was Gina’s reason for eating at The B-Cubed. Sheriff Logan Miller.

“Oh, boy.” Shelby scrambled out of the booth, grabbing her purse.

Mrs. McKinney reached out for her arm. “The total is eighteen, ninety-four. Plus gratuity.”

Shelby tossed a twenty on the table and, ignoring Mrs. McKinney’s reminder that twenty percent was the Southern way, raced out to stop Gina before she went from misdemeanor to felony with a deadly butter knife.

A blast of hot air hit her as she walked outside. Crossing the street, she waved at Beatrice Brice, of Bea’s Quilting Barn. A handful of “howdy’s” and a “sun’s so hot it’s like a turkey on Thanksgiving out here” later and Shelby was at the scene of the soon-to-be crime.

“You don’t even have enough cars to use up all the spaces, Logan, and you know it!” Gina accused.

Logan focused on the task at hand, writing out a ticket in that little notebook of his, not even sparing Gina a glance, which irritated her more. But Shelby noticed that under his hat his eyes were crinkling at the corners, fully aware that he was pushing each and every button Gina possessed. And enjoying it.

“Plus, I work for the county. Just like you! This is abuse of power!”

Logan looked up, pushed his hat back and jerked his head to the side. “Sign right there stipulates patrol cars only. And you, sweetheart, are a lawyer, not a deputy. Maybe living in the big city things were different, but here the law’s pretty straightforward.” Logan tore off the ticket and held it out. “Would think with that fancy degree you’d be able to figure it out on your own, especially seeing as how we’ve had this talk before.”

She grabbed the ticket, ripped it into a dozen pieces, took off his hat, shoved them inside and slammed it back on his head. “Wouldn’t want a littering ticket now, would I?”

The car jerked forward as Mister engaged the winch to pull it onto the flatbed of the truck. Running to the front of the car, wedging her body between the bumper and her symbol of big-city success, Gina splayed her hands over the hood, trying to stop its movement.

“Mister, you stop this right now or I’ll tell Ms. Luella I saw you eating a slice of Mrs. McKinney’s peach pie at The B-Cubed last week. With ice cream.”

Mister hesitated, for just a moment, his mouth going a little slack. Shelby’s mouth, on the other hand, gaped open. Was Ms. Luella seeing Mister? And was Mister blushing? She really needed to pay more attention if she was ever going to become a small-town girl.

“Now, you wouldn’t do that. Ms. Luella would be serving Rocky Mountain oysters for supper, and they’d be mine.” Mister took off his trucker’s hat that read “Mister’s Auto and Body: Certified Mechanic and Acupuncturist,” tipping it respectfully. “Sorry for the language, Shelby.”

“It’s all right.” Shelby laughed, understanding his fear. “Ms. Luella can get a little . . . competitive over her baking.”

“Competitive? Hell, the woman downright scares me. Haven’t eaten out once since we started seeing one another. Afraid she’d accuse me of cheating. Only went to The B-Cubed ’cuz Ms. Luella’s a purist, which I admire, but with it being so hot out I really wanted some ice cream on my pie.”

“Well, if you still want to walk come morning, then you’d better release my car,” Gina threatened, pulling out her phone and scrolling to Ms. Luella’s number.

“Stop bullying Mister. He’s just doing his job,” the sheriff said.

“Come on, Logan.” Gina pocketed her phone. “Let me off with a warning.” Most people would take her begging and sunken shoulders as a sign of defeat, but Shelby knew her friend was just changing tactics. “You can’t impound my car. I’ve got court today.”

“Walk.”

“It’s the Olsen case. I’ve got all that physical evidence to carry.”

“That case is so tight you don’t even need to show up. The guy practically convicted himself.”

“I promised I’d take Sidney to see that new Winnie-the-Pooh movie.”

Boom, a direct hit. Logan stopped at his daughter’s name and ran his hand over the back of his neck. A few years ago he’d been married to his college sweetheart, recently elected sheriff, and a proud new papa. All it took was a dark county road, one drunk driver, and a blind turn to leave Logan a widower, Sidney motherless, and Gina a twin without her other half.

Logan’s world was Sidney and he would do just about anything for her. Including toss out a parking violation, which was more about teaching his impulsive sister-in-law a lesson than upholding the law.

“All right, promise not to park in my men’s spot anymore and I’m willing to deal.”

“I knew you’d cave. Plus, I have a request in with the city to redistrict some of those spots to the county prosecutor’s office.”

“You
are
the county prosecutor’s office.”

Gina shrugged.

“It’ll never pass. Anyway, do you want to hear my deal?”

Gina circled her hand impatiently, indicating that he continue.

“We’ve got a problem with the Summer Sweet Spectacular. According to Opal Peterson, she went and had herself a stroke, rendering her incapable of speaking.” Logan put up a disbelieving hand. “No proof exists to support her claim, which she
called
to inform me of. Hell, as far as I can tell she hasn’t been to the hospital in over a year, plus I saw her doing water aerobics at the community pool on Monday. But, since I can’t call a woman who has been in my mom’s knitting club since before I was born a liar, we’re once again short an event chair.”

“What? Wait, are you suggesting that I organize the fair? No way! You know I don’t play well with others. That’s why I’m a lawyer.”

“Your car for a few hours of your time. Take it or not, I don’t care.”

Shelby sent up a silent prayer of thanksgiving that Logan hadn’t just conned
her
into organizing the Summer Sweet Spectacular. She may have made Sweet Plains her home only three years ago, but even she knew how much time, patience, and referee skills it took to organize the Sweet Plains’s annual school fund-raiser.

The biggest downside of small-town living was the school district. Fewer kids meant less funding from the state. So every year, right around the time school was winding down, the town got together and held a fund-raiser. Complete with a Miss Sweet pageant, cook-off, fatherson football game, and auction, the fair usually raised enough money to fund the kids’ art and sports programs. And every year the reigning organizer either quit, left the state, or—apparently—tried to claim a brush with death to get out of doing it.

Gina swallowed, her eyes boring into Logan’s, pleading with him to change his mind, offer up another alternative. When he didn’t, Gina succumbed. “Fine, but don’t come crying to me when the Ladies of Sweet raise their mint juleps in protest. Because if I do this, I do it my way. I won’t be threatened into throwing the results of a contest or crowning the wrong princess. And there won’t be any frilly decorations.”

“No frills. Got it. Mister, you can let Gina’s car loose.” Logan smiled in a way that made it clear so much more was on the line than a silly fair. With a tip of his hat he said, “Ladies,” and disappeared into his office.

“Are you crazy?” Shelby asked, thankful that no one had gotten the blunt end of a butter knife but floored that Gina had put herself in a situation where she would have to work closely with her former brother-in-law, a man she usually avoided if at all possible. “You know you’re going to have to actually play nice with the sheriff?”

“Yeah.”

“And that the position requires you to attend teas, wear pastel, and socialize with the Ladies of Sweet,” Shelby said, referring to the self-titled group of women who, because of power, money, and deep local roots, dictated the social agenda of Sweet Plains—and the Miss Sweet Pageant.

“I can be refined when I want.”

“Didn’t they kick you out?”

“No, I quit.” Which was short for driving a Harley through the middle of the crowning ceremony while sporting leather, a biker, and the finger. “Plus, Dawn was a Lady of Sweet. Hell, my great-grandmother was one of the founding members.”

“Ah,” Shelby said, suddenly making the connection. “Let me guess, your sister was Miss Sweet and that’s how she won the sheriff.”

“This has nothing to do with Dawn. Or how she married Logan,” Gina shot back. “Go there and you’ll find my guest room conveniently booked for the week.”

Shelby put her hands up in surrender. “You win. No more Logan and Dawn talk, so don’t get any ideas about changing the locks. They have me pulling a double in the ER the night before and after my normal shift. There’s no way I could make it back to the ranch without falling asleep. And what? You can pry into my life, but I can’t even ask about yours?”

“Damn straight!”

Gravel crunched under his tires, pelting the paint job of his car, as Cody Tucker sped down the same country road he’d driven a thousand times over. Giant oak trees lined the winding lane, gnarled and intertwined, creating a canopy of mottled green. Passing through those iron gates only confirmed that he was back at the one place he’d sworn he’d never return—Tucker’s Crossing.

Besides the surprising lack of cows, the once-thriving cattle ranch looked exactly the same. Tens of thousands of acres of gently rolling hills spotted with scrub oak that made a century of Tuckers seem insignificant. Despite the years of pain and disappointment, the raw beauty of The Crossing never failed to steal his breath. Like it or not, this land was in his blood.

But where the hell were all the cows?

His great-great-granddad was one of the founders of Sweet Plains. Packed up his young wife and headed west from Georgia with the dream of raising cattle. And that’s what he did. What Tuckers had done for four generations. So how the hell could someone run a beef ranch with no cows?

Rounding the last curve, Cody swore when the yellow ranch house tore through the tranquil view. Two stories of history and tradition were held in by the white porch. Massive windows spanned the lower level of the house. And a porch swing, his mama’s favorite place to end the day, rocked silently—empty.

He’d always known his father was a controlling son of a bitch—he just hadn’t known that his old man could still screw with him from the grave. After the reading of Silas Tucker’s will, Cody had loaded up his car and set out for the family ranch at Tucker’s Crossing.

Their mama had loved that house, put every last piece of herself into making it a home. Cody would be damned if his father destroyed that too. Being that there were only three Tuckers left, he knew that if he didn’t step up he’d not only let his mama down but, worse still, one of his brothers would come, determined to make things right. And that was not going to happen.

Noah, two years younger and several inches taller than Cody, was a Texas Ranger in the middle of a career-making assignment. Beau, the youngest and only Tucker who had ever come close to being called charming, as he could charm women into bed and horses out of the chute with one damn grin, had nationals to think about. Plus Cody couldn’t get his mind off of the way his baby brother had looked when Mr. Parnell, the executor of Silas’s will, got to the part about someone having to live at the ranch house. Beau didn’t even blink at the demand but hidden beneath the courage and swagger that comes from being a champion bulldogger, Cody saw something he hadn’t seen since the night he’d gone back for his kid brother—fear.

He wasn’t about to let either of his brothers make that kind of sacrifice just to satisfy their old man’s last attempt at control. He, on the other hand, could work from the ranch and put the plan they’d mapped out into action.

Five years ago, tired of making other people rich, Cody had founded Tucker Industries. What started out as a boutique commodities producer and trading firm quickly went from sweat equity to something that made his family’s wealth look like small change. Now he had the freedom, and the money, to work from wherever. He’d just never imagined
wherever
would ever encompass Sweet Plains or Tucker’s Crossing. But after a lifetime of protecting his kid brothers, it was a hard habit to quit.