Enemies on Tap (5 page)

Anger flashed in her eyes before she smothered it with a cool mask. “I think I can take it better this time around.”

“What does that mean?” She was the one who’d blown him off all those years ago. If anyone should be holding a grudge, it was him.

“It means do your worst. This is one bet you’re going to regret taking.” She opened her office door and ushered him out. “Don’t come back now, ya hear?”

Logan made it down the hall and out the door in record time. His hand was on his car door handle when someone called out his name. Glancing back, he spotted the sullen man from when he first got there hurrying across the parking lot.

“Glad I caught you.” A conspiratorial smirk curled his thin lips. “My name’s Carl, and if you need any help getting rid of her, you just let me know. No one has a better handle on the brewery—and all the things that can go wrong—than me.”

He gave Carl a long, hard look, but kept his mouth shut. No one ever said winning was easy. Sometimes a man had to get his hands dirty… And in this case? He rolled the idea around in his head but couldn’t get past the bad taste it left in his mouth. He’d flirted with the line plenty in his life, but he drew the line at something like this. Without a word, Logan got into his truck and turned the ignition, feeling like a shithead for even considering taking the other man up on the deal.

Carl rested his elbow on Logan’s open truck window. “If you want to stop her, you come find me after hours at the Spotted Pig on Route One.” He nodded and took a backwards step. “And you will. I know your type—you don’t like to lose. Neither do I.”

Good thing Logan wasn’t planning on losing.

Chapter F
ive

Saturday morning breakfast at The Kitchen Sink had been a Martin family tradition since his father had come out of rehab for the second time. No matter their disagreements, Logan and his dad always met up for bacon, eggs, and home fries served up sizzling on a cast-iron plate, washed down with a giant glass of orange juice on the side. The food made up for whatever the conversation lacked.

“Look what the cat dragged in.” His father shot a dirty look toward the doo
r. “You’d think she’d have sense enough to stay away from where she’s not wanted.”

Miranda stood chatting with Ruby Sue in front of the cash register. If he’d thought she was hot while she fired daggers from her eyes at him at the bank, he’d been a fool. Watching her laugh with Ruby Sue, there was a confident lightness to her that amped up her beauty even more. The last time he’d seen her so relaxed and happy had been in the back of his truck before Mr. Cooper had found them and started the town talking. The whispers hadn’t been kind, but his father had put him on lockdown immediately. Still, he should’ve found a way to come to her defense. He dropped his gaze to the food on his plate, wishing he could eat the guilt away as easily as he had breakfast.

Right after graduation, Miranda had blazed out of town as fast as she could. He’d stayed, transforming a little bit more each day into his father. Now wasn’t that a pleasant thought?

Larry continued, “Sharlene said the Martin girl came into the bank for a loan the other day.”

The muscles in his shoulders tensed up. And so the lecture on propriety and maintaining the family name began. They’d been having this conversation on a weekly basis since his father had gotten back on the wagon almost ten years ago—right in time for all the gossip after his one night with Miranda. Best to cut the old man off at the pass before he really got going.

“Yep.” Logan scooped up a forkful of scrambled eggs while still staring at the way Miranda’s blue eyes lit up each time she smiled at Ruby Sue. What would it be like to have her look at him like that again? A spark of unwanted jealousy skittered down his spine. “I turned her down.”

His father snapped his fingers. “Earth to Logan.”

He blinked and turned his attention to the man sitting across the table from him. Something more than a little bit ugly burned in his father’s eyes. “Don’t let a pretty bit of fluff make you lose focus. Her people have always been trouble, and she’s no different.”

But she was trouble, and that was what made her so damned interesting.

“I’m like a laser beam, Dad.” He shoveled the eggs into his mouth, chewing them with the force of a lion tearing out a gazelle’s throat.

“Good. The faster you get her out of town, the better.”

“All we need to do is wait her out, Dad.” The way the old guard in town carried on, he’d almost believe Miranda carried the plague with her. For him, it wasn’t personal. It was business. That meant taking risks, sure, but measured risks. He was a betting man, but he wasn’t a fool.

“No. I’ve spent years watching how the Sweet family operates. You think they’re just buffoons, but they have a cockroach’s ability to survive just about anything.” The old man leaned forward, the fork jutting from his white-knuckled grip like a weapon. “Get her gone. Now.”

“Dad—”

“If you don’t, I don’t think I’ll be able to trust your judgment enough to retire at the end of the year as we’d planned.” He glanced down and his eyes widened as if he didn’t realize he’d nearly bent the fork with his ferociousness. With exacting care, he placed it on his now empty plate. “I’m just not sure you’re ready for the responsibility that comes with running the Martin Bank and Trust.”

“Are you trying to blackmail your own son?” He bit the words out in an angry whisper.

His father shrugged dismissively. “Call it what you want, but I’ll follow through. I’ll stay at that desk until they cart my dead body out, and I’ll leave my shares to be distributed to the board of directors, not you.”

Larry Martin had been dangling retirement in front of Logan since he first came home from college. When the doctor told his father to cut back on work or else, the old curmudgeon had finally stepped back. He didn’t want anything bad to happen to his father—no matter how much of a giant pain in the ass he was—but it was past time Logan took over the family business.

“Well, if the doctor’s right, that won’t be long if you don’t start taking care of yourself. Years of hard drinking take their toll.”

“I’m a stubborn son of a bitch.” He smiled, but the gesture was anything but fatherly. “You really want to take that bet?”

Miranda sat down at the counter next to Harold “Red” Gaines, who just happened to be in charge of all the county road projects. She’d been waiting all morning for Ruby Sue’s call saying he’d shown up for The Kitchen Sink’s Saturday brunch. It was the perfect spot to plea her case for fixing the pothole-laden country road leading to the Sweet Salvation Brewery. The guys who brought everything from bottles to barley had threatened to halt their deliveries if it didn’t get corrected soon. If it wasn’t the hops
, it was the road. If it wasn’t the road, she was scared to contemplate what would happen next. A plague of locusts didn’t seem out of the realm of possibilities.

“Heyya, Red.” She hopped up onto the seat next to him and picked up the menu like it was any ordinary Saturday.

He tipped his Salvation High School football Saints baseball cap. “Miranda.”

He didn’t smile, but he didn’t shoo her off, either. That had to be positive. Right? Her stomach gurgled. Okay, time to go all in.

Swiveling her chair, she turned until she faced him. “I’ve been trying to get in touch with you.”

“Sorry.” His namesake’s color rushed up his throat. “I meant to return your calls.”

“Not a problem. I know how busy this time of year can be.” Since grabbing him by the collar and shaking him until he did what she wanted wasn’t an option, she gave her most indulgent smile. “I wanted to chat about the road leading to the brewery. I understand it’s been on the repaving list for the last five years, but it never gets done.”

He folded his napkin over and over until it formed a tiny triangle. “That happens.”

“I’m sure it does.” She put her hands close to the counter and lifted her pointer fingers and thumbs to form a mini-goal post. “But there’s going to be a lot more traffic on that road soon what with additional delivery trucks, supplies coming in, and people going on brewery tours.”

“Uh-huh.” Red flicked the paper football, sending it sailing through her fingers.

She picked up the triangle and handed it back to him. “I’m hoping you can make sure the road doesn’t get skipped again this year when it comes to repaving.”

He gave her a half grin and a nod. “Let me see what we can—”

“Red, how’s the kids?” Logan elbowed his way in between them, leaning on the counter with his back to her.

Miranda’s blood pressure spiked as she got an up-close and personal view of the cowlick in the back of Logan’s mahogany hair and his still-worth-mooning-over ass brushed against her knees, making her legs tingle from angle to hip. Damn the man and her own mutinous body for reacting to being this near the jerk.

“I hear Marty is going to be stellar at quarterback this year.” Logan continued as if he hadn’t just barged in between her and Red.

The other man’s eyes were the size of dinner plates, and his signature flush had deepened to vine-ripe tomato red. “I sure think so, and Coach Lansky put together a great team this year, so we’re hoping for a state championship.”

It took a second to recover from the shock of Logan’s brazen full-frontal attack. Then she couldn’t believe she didn’t have smoke coming out of her ears. Resisting the sophomoric urge to give him a wedgie, Miranda cleared her throat instead.

Logan ignored her. “Well, you can depend on the bank to be a big booster supporter again this year.”

“Great. Our boys sure appreciate it.”

“Always glad to help a friend.” He clapped his hand against the other man’s shoulder.

She tapped him on the shoulder. “Excuse me.”

He glanced back. “You’re excused.” Then he turned away and started talking football again with Red.

For his part, Red’s eyes had gone huge, and his worried gaze flickered between Miranda and Logan as he slouched back until his butt was barely on the chair.

She jabbed her finger into Logan’s kidney. “We were in the middle of a conversation before you so rudely interrupted.”

“You were?” He stepped back, his face as innocent as a discount store Christmas tree angel. “I’m so sorry. What were you talking about?”

Red stared at the ground like he was wishing for a hole to open up. If it did, she was going to shove Logan in it.

“Repaving County Road Forty-Four,” she responded.

A divot of fake concern appeared between his eyes. “The one that leads to your very troubled little brewery?”

“That’s the one.” An angry heat enveloped her from toe to eyebrow. She was beginning to understand how this town had driven her family to act out.

“I’m curious, Red.” Logan stroked his dimpled chin. “Is that road high up on the county’s priorities?”

Red had nearly turned purple. “Well…”

“It’s been on the list for years,” Miranda snapped. The dam holding back a lifetime’s worth of repressed crazy started to crack.

“I’m sure there’s a reason for that.” He rolled back onto his heels, a benevolent look softening his eyes. “Times are tough. It can be hard to find the money for every worthy activity.”

The shithead. He didn’t come right out and link the bank’s booster club support to the road paving priorities, but he didn’t have to.

Red didn’t miss the innuendo. His eyes narrowed, but he didn’t flinch. “It’s a pretty low priority. I doubt we’ll get to it this budget year.”

Logan
tsk-tsked
. “Tough break, Miranda.”

She clenched her hands into fists. “I
bet
you think so.”

His laugh echoed through the dining room as he strolled out of the restaurant like a man who’d already won.

She couldn’t wait until he tripped over that big ego of his. And if she gave him a little extra push, that would make the victory even better.

Two days later, Logan was back at The Kitchen Sink, this time picking up a coveted slice of pecan pie, which he planned to eat in his office while going over the plans for the Martin Industrial Park. Nothing like a little comfort food to offset the lingering feeling that he was off his game. His dad was on his ass about the industrial park. Salvation’s Mayor Tyrell Hawson had horned his way into an upcoming meet and greet with an investor. And he couldn’t stop thinking about Miranda Sweet in ways that had nothing to do with the bet. He
needed
the pie.

“Yo
u’re lucky, this is the last one Ruby Sue is making for the rest of the year.” Ellen wrapped up the pie in waxed paper before putting it in a Styrofoam container.

His gut pinched, and his taste buds lodged a formal complaint. “Why would she do something like that?” Logan hadn’t cried in only God knew how many years, but two and a half months without pecan pie might be what it took to change that.

“She’s raffling off the recipe. Part of the agreement is she won’t make any fresh pies until after New Year.” She slid the container across the counter to him.

Ruby Sue had been guarding the pecan pie recipe since before he was born. People had tried to steal the damn thing, and now she was giving it way? There was no way he could resist the odds.

“How much are the tickets?” He could win the recipe and make it at home. How hard could it be?

Ellen shook her head. “You don’t want to know.”

Logan’s hand was on his wallet before his brain had a chance to catch up. “Tell me.”

“A hundred bucks a pop.”

He almost dropped his wallet on the floor. “And people are buying them?”

Ellen looked over both shoulders and leaned forward. “Judge Carter bought ten,” she whispered.

There was no way that old coot was winning the raffle of a lifetime. “I’ll take twelve.”

A minute later, he was handing over the check when The Kitchen Sink’s door opened and a cold blast of October air blasted in—bringing Miranda with it. The thick sweater she wore did nothing to disguise the curve of her body. He forgot the fall chill, the raffle tickets, his own middle name. The woman was a danger to his sanity.

Her footsteps faltered when she spotted him, but only for a moment before she strutted over and took the seat next to his. She glanced down at the pie box in front of him. “Better watch the pie intake, Logan. Gotta watch those hips.”

“You can watch them all you like.” He winked at her, enjoying the way her chest rose in indignation. “How go the deliveries on that rough road?”

“Peachy keen.” She didn’t flip him off, but she sure looked like she wanted to.

Ellen reappeared at the counter with a handful of tickets. “Here you go, Logan.”

“You bought pecan pie recipe tickets?” Miranda’s eyebrows went skyward, and she spun her seat around to face him. “You?”

He looked from Miranda to Ellen and back again, swearing he could hear the
dah-dum, dah-dum
of a horror movie soundtrack in the background. “What’s wrong with that?”

Miranda laughed until tears formed in her blue eyes. “Well, thank you for your support.” The last word was punctuated by another fit of giggles.

“My support?” Oh, this was going to be bad. Very. Very. Bad.

She let out a sigh, the kind women made after they’d laughed until they couldn’t any more. “Didn’t you ask what the raffle tickets were raising money for?”

All of the sudden, he lost his appetite. “No.”

“God, I can’t wait to tell Ruby Sue. The raffle was her idea.” She wiped a tear from her cheek and peered at the tickets in his hand. “You, Logan Martin, just donated twelve-hundred dollars to the Save the Sweet Salvation Brewery Fund.”

He stared at the orange raffle tickets in his hand. They turned blurry, and he blinked several times to bring the world back into focus. “Fuck.”

“Not in this lifetime.” She winked at him. “Enjoy the pie.”