Sugar on Top (27 page)

“I know what this looks like, sir,” he began, his voice quivering only a tad. “But I was running late to school when I saw Payton walking down the highway and offered to give her a ride. She said she would only come here so I drove her.” He straightened. “And I would do it again.”

Cal straightened, too—all the way to his full six-two and puffed out his chest. To his surprise, Mason looked ready to piss himself, but he held his ground. Cal smacked him on the shoulder. “Good to hear, son.”

Glory was right; the kid was one of the good ones. Glory had been right about a lot of things, he decided. The biggest one being that he did care about her a lot. In fact, he was pretty sure he loved her. The all in, head over heels, never going to stop kind of love that should scare the shit out of him.

Only, for the first time since his parents died, he wasn’t scared to love. He wasn’t scared of anything except losing the most incredible thing to happen to him since Payton.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a twenty, handing it to Payton. “Why don’t you take your friend across the street to the Gravy Train and buy him a coffee. Then I can follow you both back to the school and explain why you’re late.”

“Thank you, sir, but I’ve got money.”

“Yes, but if you buy my daughter coffee, then it’s a date,” Cal explained slowly. “And although Payton is old enough to have male friends, she’s not old enough for a boyfriend. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Plus, I think my daughter has some apologizing to do,” he said and Payton smiled.

“What are you doing?” Payton asked, standing.

“I’ve got some apologizing to do, too.” Only his was going to take a whole hell of a lot more than a cup of coffee and batting lashes to fix.

Cal pulled out his phone and put that family name, which he’d been so ridiculous about upholding, to good use.

“You do understand what kind of position this puts us all in,” the elder Dr. Holden said, setting down Glory’s proposal, his face etched with frustration.

“I do.” Glory stood, her legs rebelling from what felt like an endless weekend. She’d spent half of it blissfully falling in love, and the other half sobbing her eyes out over a gallon of Firecracker Surprise. Which was probably why her dress was a little snug this morning and Road Kill kept trying to smell her breath. “And I apologize for any inconvenience this weekend’s mess caused. But I know that my proposal is the best one in that stack, just like I know it addresses everything that this town and this hospital needs.”

“Which is what makes this decision so difficult,” he said and Glory didn’t have a good feeling. That Charlotte wasn’t meeting her gaze made it even worse. “The decision to move ahead and fund your proposal was a unanimous one. In fact, we already reached out to the high school to see if accruing school credit is a possibility.”

Glory’s heart jerked with utter astonishment. “That’s fantastic.”

She wanted to see this program work, wanted to have a place for teens to feel useful and important. She wanted this to work. Needed for it to work.

“However, after this past weekend, certain members of the board are concerned with your ability to manage minors. And if members are concerned, we’re certain that parents will be as well.”

It was strange—no matter how tight her chest tensed, she refused to let her heart sink. They wanted Glory out. Too bad this time she wasn’t going down without a fight.

“I did nothing wrong,” she defended. “All of the events that fell under my jurisdiction went well. Better than well, actually. Fantastic. This year’s festival brought in more money than any other year in recent history, and the pageant doubled its normal entries.”

“It did. But since the entire fate of the Miss Peach court is pending, and we have already decrowned one of the princesses, I fear that none of that will matter,” Charlotte’s father said. “All the parents will see is someone who doesn’t have a great track record working with teens.”

“I can’t think of a better person to work with my teen, and I’m the parent of the decrowned princess in question,” an extremely familiar, extremely sexy voice said from behind.

Glory turned in her chair and felt her heart catch, because there, under the wide arch of the conference room door, stood Cal looking as handsome and strong as ever.

Dressed in a dark jeans, a dress shirt, and unyielding confidence, he looked like a knight for hire. Only she didn’t want him to save her, she reminded herself painfully; she wanted him to love her. And that wasn’t a position he felt himself qualified for.

“In fact, I am here to submit an application on behalf of my daughter for Glory’s program.” Cal strode to the front of the boardroom and placed a piece of creased binder paper in front of the board. “I know the wait list will fill up quickly, and Payton wanted to make sure she got the opportunity to work under Miss Mann.”

Glory felt her throat tighten, but she was too afraid to allow herself to hope that his appearance was anything other than Cal doing the right thing. She didn’t want to believe that this could mean more, only to be crushed again.

“I’m sorry, Cal, but the board hasn’t decided if Miss Mann will be heading up this project,” Dr. Holden explained.

“Which would be a shame if you ask me, seeing as I have a list of names right here”—he held up a second sheet of paper, this one an old blueprint with names scribbled on it—“that includes every single kid who was at that after-party. All of whose parents are excited about them spending a little time under the sure guidance of Miss Mann as they work their way toward paying back the damages of their decision.”

He turned and his gaze met Glory’s, tired but unwavering with belief—in her. And maybe a little in
them
.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“No, thank you,” he said, coming to stand in front of her. “These past few weeks with you have changed my family. Payton not only transformed into a responsible and wonderful young lady”—he turned back to the board—“breaking into the Falcon’s Nest notwithstanding”—then back to Glory, this time taking her hands—“but I finally started listening. My whole family, hell, my whole world has been forever changed by you.”

She wanted to ask him what that meant, because he’d changed her world, too, and she didn’t want to live in it without him. But she was no longer content to stay safely on the outside of his.

Cal turned back to the board. “No one else is as qualified for this position as Glory. The reason why it speaks to the town’s needs is because Glory speaks to the town’s needs. She has a huge heart and takes the time to really listen, cares about what kids have to say and what they aren’t saying, and she understands that sometimes the right call is the hard call. But she does it anyways. Which is why when my daughter found herself over her head, she reached out to Glory, because she knew Glory would be there for her—no matter what.” Cal paused. “I wasn’t proud that my daughter didn’t feel like she could turn to me, but I was proud that she had someone in her life that she could turn to like Glory.”

Dr. Holden stood. “Thank you for your insight. You’ve given us something to consider.”

Twenty minutes, and a signed offer of employment later, Glory walked out of the conference room with a huge smile and a heavy heart. The smile was because every single board member had voted in support.

Of her.

Not her idea or a fancy Gantt chart or some PhD from Georgia Tech, but her. The board had the chance to pick from a list of top-notch medical professionals from around the state, and they chose Glory Gloria Mann. Something that had never happened to her before, and the sheer awesomeness of it was humbling.

The heavy heart, however, was due to the fact that she didn’t know if Cal would choose her. Sure, he’d announced to the board that he thought she was a good woman. But did he think enough of her to make her his woman?

Promising herself that no matter how much it hurt, knowing how he felt would be easier than living with the regret of what if, Glory pulled out her phone as she turned the corner.

She dialed, the phone rang, and then it rang a split second later—only it wasn’t her phone she heard.

Glory looked up and faltered, because the man in question was standing at the end of the hall by the exit, holding up the wall with his body. He fished his cell out of his pocket and, eyes locked on hers, asked, “Did you get it?”

She held up the offer letter and smiled.

“That’s my girl,” he said into the phone.

Her smile faded and she pressed the phone closer to her ear. “Am I, Cal? Am I your girl?”

“No,” he said quietly. One word and everything inside her stilled. It was so painfully still, she wasn’t sure if she was even there. She looked at her chest and it appeared the same, which made no sense, because all she felt was empty.

She was so stunned by the vastness swelling inside that she didn’t realize he had hung up until he was in front of her, his hand wrapped around hers, hitting end on her cell and putting the phone in her purse. Then he cupped her face between his hands and lifted her gaze to his.

“You, Glory Mann, are my world,” he said quietly. “You make me laugh, make me question what I know, and you don’t take my crap. You force me to be a better dad, a better man, and to try new flavors even when I am convinced they can’t be better than vanilla.”

He leaned in and gave her a gentle brush of the lips, but the contact resonated through her entire body, releasing hope and so much love she started laughing.

“To think I wasted all those years on vanilla, when there was something as amazing as Firecracker Surprise.” He pulled back and he was laughing, too. “You make me happy. So goddamned happy I don’t want it to ever end.”

He wrapped his arms around her, nudging her closer, and Glory realized that somewhere between making him happy and him never wanting it to end, she’d started crying.

“The only other time I’ve ever felt like this was the day Payton was born.”

“What did it feel like?” she forced through the tears.

“Like I was holding the rest of my life in my arms.” Yup, definitely crying. “I love you, Glory, and I will do whatever it takes to earn your love.”

“You love me?” she asked shakily.

His mouth curved. “I think I fell in love with you the second I saw you in those ducky boots, kicking that fence at the sheriff’s station.”

“I’ve loved you since the day you saved me from that truck full of jocks and drove me home,” she admitted, and if he was surprised, he didn’t show it. “Did you know that outside of Brett and the grannies, you were the only person to ask if I was okay back then?”

That did surprise him. And made him angry.

“No, and I’m sorry. For what happened, and how you were treated, and for not doing more.”

He wrapped himself all the way around her, safe and strong like a shield, burying his face in her neck, and Glory felt her body melt into his.

“I’m sorry for everything, Boots. And I don’t know the best way to go about this with a teen daughter. But I know that I don’t want to spend another night like last night and I don’t want to spend another moment without you in my life. Without you in my family.”

“But you love me?” She was still stuck on those three words he’d placed in the middle of his declaration. Three little words that Glory had spent her entire life chasing, yet always seemed just out of reach.

“Loving you is the easiest thing I’ve ever done,” he said with so much confidence behind his words that it shook Glory to the core. “But loving you the way you deserve to be loved, Glory; that’s going to take me a lifetime.”

“Then the rest we can figure out. Together.”

He captured her lips in a kiss that was gentle and possessive and so right, she didn’t care that it had taken her this long to find love. Because when Cal went in, he went all in, and being loved like that was exactly the kind of life Glory had dreamed of.

D
r. Charlotte Holden took pride in her decorum and her ability to show grace under pressure. As a three-time Miss Peach and current medical director of Pediatrics at Sugar Medical Center, there wasn’t much that made her sweat—her mama had raised her better than that.

Not that she was sweating. But a distinct, thin sheen of perspiration seemed to be forming on her skin every time her phone vibrated with another message, and that really burned her britches. But she was nearing the important part of her tour with a group of potential donors when someone texted her a code silver in Exam Room 22—which was never a good sign.

“Do you need to take that?” Tipton Neil, chairman of Mercy Alliance, asked when Charlotte looked at her phone again.

The last thing she needed right then was to bring attention to the fact that there was a code silver. Not with so much riding on the hefty endowment that was up for grabs.

She’d invested three years and her entire heart into getting the new pediatric ward funded and built. The Grow Center—an outpatient clinic that would provide kids with the therapy and tools they needed to thrive in the world after hospitalization—was the final step in her realizing that dream.

“Nothing that can’t wait, I’m sure,” her father answered for her. Something he did often and bugged her to no end. Whereas Charlotte was the heart of the center, Reginald Holden the Third was all about the bottom line.

And the bottom line was—Mr. Neil was their last shot.

She took one last look at her phone, then her father—who was sending her every visual cue possible—and texted instructions to hand it off to the other doctor on duty.

“All handled,” she said, powering down her phone. “Now over here is the centerpiece of the new Fairchild Pediatric Center.” It was the centerpiece of the entire medical center—a prime example of what made Sugar Medical so special. “Our Grow Center.”

Tipton took in the massive play center, the brightly colored PT room, and the state-of-the-art equipment. “I was skeptical about what a small and rural community could offer, but your new facility and unique approach to medicine could rival the Mayo Clinic.”

Well, if that didn’t butter her biscuit.

“My Grow Center can stand up to any big-city facility. We might be small, Mr. Neil, but we are certainty not backwoods.” She laughed.

Her father did not. Dressed in his three-piece suit, suspenders, bow tie, and constant disapproval he looked the quintessential Southern medical director. “What my daughter meant to say is that being a smaller, privately owned hospital has allowed us to stay both profitable and cutting edge.”

Actually she’d meant exactly what she’d said. Being family-owned allowed them to customize treatments and programs that fit their patients’ unique needs. It wasn’t just a small-town hospital; it was the
town’s
hospital. And as such, it should benefit all of the town’s people, not just the insured ones. But she wisely kept that to herself.

“This is the exact kind of project Mercy Alliance was created to fund,” Tipton said, and Charlotte struggled to contain her excitement. But it was difficult. Almost as difficult as not blurting out, “I told you so.”

When she’d reached out to Mercy Alliance, it had been nothing more than a Hail Mary. No one, including her father, had considered it a realistic possibility. But Charlotte had. Even though their medical center had been labeled “too small” or “too ambitious” by every investor the board had approached, she knew that all it took was one person to see the potential of their idea.

So when a friend from medical school mentioned that Mercy Alliance was pulling their funding from a midsized hospital chain out West, Charlotte reached out immediately. And now she was about to see her dream become a reality for thousands of kids in the area.

Beating death and living life were two separate challenges, and Charlotte wanted to bridge the gap where insurance left off. Her vision was to create a pediatric rehabilitation clinic where no child was denied treatment based on the family’s ability to pay. Which was where Mercy Alliance, and their generous endowment, came in.

“But the board feels that at a bigger facility, our funds would go further, help more people,” Tipton added, and suddenly all that excitement felt like a big, suffocating knot in her chest.

Why she’d thought all she had to do was convince this one man that her plan was good enough, she had no idea. But her dad’s look said he’d expected this all along. In fact, his grim expression seemed to be doing the I-told-you-so dance, all over her morning. “Paging Dr. Holden to Room 22,” a slightly harassed voice came over the hospital’s intercom. “Paging Dr. Charlotte Holden. Code silver in Room 22. Dr. Holden to Room 22.”

And just like that, the knot in her chest grew to cut off her entire air supply.

“Please tell me I misunderstood the page,” Charlotte asked, taking the medical chart from Dr. Benjamin Clark.

“Wish I could,” Ben said, hustling to keep pace with her. He was handsome in that intellectual way that usually got her. And he had gotten her, which made him her ex. They’d dated all through undergrad and then again last summer when he’d been hired on at the medical center. He was bright, a rising star in medicine, came from a good family—and was just like her. Which was why they quickly decided they were better suited as friends. “I also wish I could have handled it myself, but the situation requires a woman’s touch.”

“Chicken.”

“Damn right. She took one look at my anatomy and went straight for the boys. I barricaded myself behind the exam table and paged you.”

“You always were a little skittish when it came to aggressive women.” Ben rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. “Keep watch and make sure no one comes in.”

The last thing she needed right then was to have another patient—or God forbid, Mr. Neil—walk by. Charlotte tapped on the door, waited the respectful amount of time, then entered.

And sighed.

Four years of medical school, another three in residency at one of the top hospitals in Georgia, and this was what her life had come to. She stared at her patient, who was on all fours licking the soap dispenser, and allowed herself a quick roll of the eyes before plastering on her most Southerly smile and entering the room—sure to close the door behind her.

“Mrs. Ferguson,” Charlotte greeted, then looked at her patient, who had moved from the soap dispenser to nuzzling the hospital gown on the exam table. “Woolamena.”

June Ferguson stood and smoothed down her dress. It was denim with cowhide trim, and speckled in fertilizer—which was appropriate since she was co-owner of Ferguson Family’s Feed Line and Fertilizer Farm.

The
code silver
in question dropped the gown and bleated a loud “
Baa-ah
” before huddling under the exam table—which was appropriate since Woolamena was a sheep. Not just any sheep, but the reigning Sheep Scurry champion of Sugar County, who was expected to defend her title at the Founder’s Day Fair in a few weeks.

“I know what you’re going to say, but it was an emergency,” June explained.

“Then you know I’m going to remind you I am a doctor. Not a therapist or a life coach or a veterinarian. And this is a hospital. For humans.” They’d had this conversation last spring when one of her prized heifers went into early labor and she tried to convince Charlotte to act as the midwife.

In fact, livestock in the hospital had become such a problem they’d even created a code and a room for such an occasion—Silver being the Lone Ranger’s horse. The 22 was because Noah filled his arc two by two. Not that the big-city donors would understand that. Which was why Charlotte needed to clear that room stat, before the welcoming tour made their way in this direction.

“Your card says family practitioner.” June produced a card from her purse as proof and waved it around. “And seeing as Woolamena here is family, I brought her to you.” The older woman leaned in to whisper, “I think she needs some of those little blue pills you are all pushing these days.”

Charlotte choked. “You want me to prescribe your sheep Viagra?”

“Woolamena. She has a name. And what school did you say you went to again?”

“A very good one.”

“Ah-huh.” The older woman didn’t look so convinced. “I was talking about pills for people who are thinking of
buying the farm
.” The woman mouthed the last few words as though the sheep, excuse her,
Woolamena
could understand.

“You think, uh, Woolamena is a risk to herself?”

“I think that Diablo led her on and now she’s got a broken h-e-a-r-t.”

“And Diablo is another sheep?”

“No, he is the stud we brought in for the heifers. Paid a farmer from Magnolia Falls a good price to bring him down, but instead of knocking up my cows, he came on to Woolamena, wooed the girl, then left her good and dry. Didn’t he, baby.”

At that, Woolamena’s ears went back and she wedged herself as far beneath the table as she could get, clearly not open to discussing Diablo—or his leaving. June, however, was just getting started.

“After he went home, she started acting a little off, moping around Diablo’s old pen, refusing to eat, tearing her wool out.” Which explained the big bald patch on her rump. “Then, last week, I found her standing in the middle of the highway, staring down one of them big Red Bull trucks headed toward Mable’s Market. At first I thought she was admiring the sexy bull, but I think she was tempting the devil himself, because today she wandered down to the lake and waded in, and she wasn’t taking a bath neither. The water was already up to her brisket and closing in on her muzzle when my farmhand pulled her out and I said enough was enough and loaded her in the truck and came here.”

When June placed a hand to her mouth and gave a few heartfelt sniffs, Charlotte handed her a box of tissues and pulled out her stethoscope. This was in part because any woman who’d delivered nineteen calves in one evening had more pluck than Charlotte, but also because she was a sucker for broken hearts.

Having suffered from one herself several years back, which she’d barely recovered from, Charlotte understood the delicate nature of loss. She also understood the power of ice cream.

Charlotte poked her head out of the door. “Ben, could you bring me one of those ice cream bars from the vending machine? One without the chocolate shell?”

With a nod, Ben was gone. Too bad dating him had been like dating herself. He was one of the good ones, and between decorating her new house, the stress of the grand opening, and her mother’s endless matchmaking—since being single at thirty was a sin in the South—Charlotte could sure use a good man in her life. Not to mention an orgasm.

She could definitely use one of those.

Ben returned and something about the way he looked at her had every warning flag rising to full mast. They’d been friends too long for her not to notice the way he shifted in his loafers. A sign that he had bad news. “Oh, no. They know about the sheep.”

Baa-ah
came through the door.

He looked down the hall and back at her. “No, I just saw your father load Mr. Neil into his car.”
Damn it!
“Reggie was wearing his cameo jacket.”

Double damn it!

The only time Reginald Holden the Third wore cameo was when he was going hunting. Which meant he’d hijacked Charlotte’s meeting. Not that she should be surprised. Her father’s answer to any professional situation was to bond over a good boar hunt, then get down to business.

He might have appointed Charlotte as head of Pediatrics, but he still believed that the best boardroom in town belonged to the Sugar County Hunting Lodge—a members’ only club that hadn’t approved a single female applicant since Ada Bradly “accidentally” shot her husband in the backside. She claimed that she saw a figure in the distance, recognized it as the one that had rattled many windows of the ladies on her block, mistook him for the worst kind of dog, and took action.

Mr. Bradly lived, Ada was sentenced to community service, and anyone lacking a Y chromosome knew not to apply. So if Charlotte wanted to finish her meeting with Mr. Neil, she’d have to wait until after the weekend.

If her dad’s “backwoods” business tactics hadn’t screwed up the deal by then.

“At least they didn’t see the sheep,” Ben said, knowing exactly where her thoughts were going, and held out not one, but two ice cream bars. “Between your patient load, the meetings with the donors, and now your dad, I figured you hadn’t had time for lunch and could use some ice cream right about now.”

She eyed the bar, then looked at Ben. Really looked at him, and wondered if maybe it could work, then caught sight of his designer shoes, Sunday best attire beneath the white doctor’s coat, and shivered—not in a good way.

They matched. Even down to the brand of stethoscope. “Nope.”

He laughed knowingly. “Would make it easier, though.”

It sure would.
Unfortunately, her heart had long ago given up on easy and her other parts only seemed to be interested in courting hard—hard bodies with bad boy smiles and tattoos, she feared.

“Thanks for this.” She took both bars—it was well past lunchtime after all—ushered Ms. Ferguson out of the room and into Ben’s care, and closed the door.

Alone with the sheep, Charlotte sat on the floor at the edge of the exam table. “Now come on out.”

When the sheep just looked at her, watching her carefully, Charlotte scooted closer and held out the ice cream. “We can talk about it or just plain eat it out, you choose, but moping around and pulling your hair out over a man is just not dignified. And a Southern woman with six titles needs to maintain her dignity at all times.”

She let out
Baa-ah
of protest, but the ice cream was too much temptation to ignore. Eyes firmly on Charlotte, Woolamena slowly made her way out from under the table and took a tentative sniff. Then a nibble, and as though the sheep could recognize another lonely soul, she curled up against Charlotte’s side and the two women ate their ice cream in silence.

It was a rare day in Sugar when Babette Holden graced the morning before the sun, especially when there was no one to bring her coffee in bed. But when Charlotte’s mother had her mind set, not even the threat of puffy eyes, or lack of a front door key, could sidetrack her.