Sugar's Twice as Sweet: Sugar, Georgia: Book 1 (8 page)

“She’s renovating Letty’s place?” Hattie stood, midwhisk, her eyes narrowed.

“Yup. She’s got some pretty big plans for it.” He couldn’t help but smile, thinking how her eyes lit up when she talked about it.

 Apron off, batter forgotten, Hattie zipped up her hooded jacket—it matched her pants. “I need a ride into town.”

“What about the cake,” Brett asked.

“Forget the cake,” she snapped. “I gotta get to the post office. Then pick up some things for Bible study.” Which Brett had a sinking suspicion came in a bottle and was weighted in proof. “You can drop me off at Dottie’s after.”

“Where’s your car?” Brett asked.

“Jackson’s holding it hostage. Says I need to get my eyes checked. Told him he needed to get his head checked.”

“Sounds logical, seeing as you took out Etta Jayne’s mailbox last week,” Cal said.

No wonder he didn’t ever date. Not only had his ex-wife shattered his world when she walked out, Cal had enough women in his life.

“Took it out with a bat, and I was doing over sixty, which proves my eyesight’s fine.”

She waddled toward the back door without waiting to see who would take her, just knowing that someone would. She had a pile of Brett’s underwear in one arm and a stack of envelopes under her other. Which was funny, because Brett had been hard pressed to find even a single pair of skivvies last week and had to drive into town to buy some new ones. And last time he checked, those were missing, too.

“What are you doing with my briefs?”

“Selling ’em. They fetch a good one-fifty on that Worldwide Interweb. Can you imagine?”

Yes, he thought taking a deep breath, he could. “What about the autographed golf balls and T-shirts I left?”

Last visit, he’d spent an entire afternoon autographing swag to help out with the pediatric ward fund for the Sugar Medical Center.

“Interest dropped 80 percent since that video aired,” Hattie explained.

Brett shot a look at Cal. “The longer I’m not out on the green the less I’ll be worth.”

“Which is why I’m changing tactics. I’ve got folks from all over Facebooking me for a pair.” She pointed her chin at the stack in her hand. “Worn they get double, so I took the new ones out to the barn and rolled ’em in the hay a bit. Since most folks figure that’s how you spend your time these days.”

T
he sun was almost as high as Josephina’s stress level and she seriously considered, not for the first time that day, doing something impulsive—like stripping down and jumping into the lake.

Even though it was large enough to support small boats and jet skis, the houses on the other side were clearly visible, and that was the only reason she was still clothed. Because if Josephina could see Brett’s truck parked beside his grandmother’s house—not that she’d been looking—then he could, in theory, watch her swimming in nothing but skin, which was suddenly all tingles and warm fuzzies.

With a resigned sigh, Josephina sat on the porch landing, stared out over the graveyard of washing machines, and stabbed a peach from the can. It was less depressing than the rough estimate Rooster had drawn up and dropped off earlier that morning, which sat next to an even more depressing bank balance.

That was what happened when a woman gave up her career for a man.

She speared the last peach, a tastier meal than her breakfast of pickled okra and cheesy pretzels, but not nearly enough for the day she had planned.

“Looks like we need to get some wheels.” Preferably four. Attached to a working engine. She’d found the keys to Letty’s car, but no car. With her luck, it was buried somewhere in the barn.

Snuggled into her side, Boo barked in approval. Apparently dog cannot live on opossum jerky alone.

She lay back, hanging her head off the top step, and stared—upside down—out at the endless miles of green, rolling hills, blanketed in bluebells and oak trees. For the first time since her last summer in Sugar, Josephina had a plan that didn’t include outside expectations, and it felt damn good.

Her stomach grumbled. “We could always call our favorite cowboy for a ride.”

With a growl, Boo jumped to attention, his ears back. Glaring out over the driveway, he paced the top step, his hair mimicking a porcupine ready to spit quills.

“Good point.” Closing her eyes, she remembered his offer for
anything
and immediately discarded the idea. “He’d think that the kind of ride I was looking for included sweaty rebound sex.”

Not that sweaty, rebound sex with a man whose smile was dialed to launch a thousand orgasms sounded bad.

“Orgasm-deprived or not,” she said, trying to remember the last time she had that particular reaction with someone else in the room, “I refuse to sleep with a man just to stock my pantry.”

A bead of sweat trickled between her breasts. “Unless he’s got a trunk full of popsicles. Then all bets are off.”

“I hear ice works, but popsicles never even crossed my mind,” a weathered voice contemplated from overhead.

“According to my lady doctor, that’s a myth,” another, equally aged voice said.

Josephina’s eyes snapped open, straining to make sense of the upside-down display in front of her. Four ladies, dressed for church or maybe a funeral, stood on her front stoop. Each had a grandmotherly shape and a quilting bee face, and each was clutching an aluminum-foil-covered dish in greeting.

All of them except the one dressed in a blue jogging suit. With a cake nearly her equal in height, the woman assessed Josephina in a way that had her sitting up and smoothing down her hair.

“Hello,” Josephina offered.

The women all stared at her for a long beat, then jumped in, scrambling over each other to be the first to greet the new neighbor.

“Why look at you.” The birdlike one holding a crockpot reached out and tugged Josephina’s ponytail fondly. She had a long face, even longer limbs, and smelled like Joan Collins. Around her neck she wore a pair of binoculars. “You look just like Letty. Doesn’t she look like Letty?”

“Spitting image,” Candy-Apple agreed, shaking her head and sending her white hair, spiky enough to poke an eye out, ruffling with the movement. “It’s the eyes.”

“Nope. It’s that fanny. Letty always carried her extra biscuits in the back,” one of them said. She was short, round, and with a gray halo could have passed for Mrs. Claus, except for the permanent glare and always-packing attitude. She also had enough casserole dishes to feed a small principality and was shoving a plate of cornbread in Josephina’s face. “It’s cornbread, dear, to go with Dottie’s beans.”

Josephina couldn’t help but stand, hoping that her backside looked smaller when she was fully vertical. The expression on the face of the birdlike one, who Josephina assumed was Dottie, said she should give up biscuits immediately, so Josephina shoved her hands in her back pockets.

 “Don’t worry, dear. Dottie always de-gasses her beans.” A frail woman in a wheelchair rolled forward, offering a shy smile and a plate that seemed to jiggle. From the wheels rolling over cracked pavement or her shaking hands, Josephina couldn’t be sure. Her hair was gray tufts on top of her head and she reminded Josephina of her childhood Sunday school teacher. “It’s ambrosia. My great-grandmother’s recipe, but with my hands…well, my granddaughter whipped it up.”

“I’m Etta Jayne, now aren’t you going to invite us in?” the woman with the plethora of dishes asked in a sugary voice. Etta Jayne’s smile was as sweet as peach tea, but the way her plump hands stabbed into her hips, she wasn’t asking, she was demanding.

Josephina attempted to invite them in and gain some control over the situation—it was her house after all—but realized it would be a waste of breath. Before she could say a word, Etta Jayne was already shuffling toward the front door.

One by one, the other ladies walked past Josephina with a “how nice to invite us in” or “such a good hostess, Letty would beam,” through the entryway, past the sitting room, and into the kitchen. Even Jelly-Lou in her wheel chair managed to roll her way up the ramp and into the house before Josephina could blink.

Not only were they familiar with the layout of the house, they made themselves at home, grabbing some plates and taking up residence around the farm-style table. Right on top of her blueprints.

Josephina yanked her papers out, just before platters started hitting wood. After her talk with her mom, she wasn’t sure she was ready to discuss her dreams with anyone else.

“I don’t know if you remember me, I’m Hattie McGraw.” She set down an impressive coconut cake and whispered, “Blue ribbon in three counties,” before continuing. “Your aunt Letty and I used to take you fishing.”

Josephina did remember, and her chest relaxed. These women were a welcoming sight. They were her aunt’s closest friends and knew about Letty’s dreams for the inn. “You taught me how to braid my hair.”

She was also Brett’s grandmother, and suddenly Josephina felt the ridiculous need to impress the woman.

“Always wanted me a girl and you had the prettiest hair. God gave me a son and then three grandsons. It’s why I went white by fifty.” Hattie patted a motherly hand on the chair below the window. “Have a seat, child, I’m starting to get a crook in my neck from staring up at you.”

“Yes, please.” Dottie gestured, setting her binoculars on the table.

Josephina did as asked, her heart in her throat that they thought to save Letty’s seat for her, as if this were some ceremony at which Josephina was being handed the legacy of Fairchild House and taking her rightful place. Her tension evaporated, replaced by excitement and a feeling of belonging. If anyone could understand her need to do this, it would be these ladies.

“I like what you’ve done with the place.” Hattie cut off a slice of cake and offered it to Josephina.

The kitchen was spacious, with floor-to-ceiling cabinets and hanging copper pots, which screamed country living. The floor was checkered black and white, the exposed beams covered with cobwebs and what Josephina feared was mold. Just about everything else was yellow—the curtains, the walls, even the refrigerator. The appliances were outdated and the furniture yard-sale antique.

Besides the missing layer of dust, it looked the same. “I haven’t done anything yet.”

“I know.” Hattie smiled, taking a bite of her cake.

Josephina did the same, but found it difficult to hold on to that smile, especially when Etta Jayne asked, “How long are you planning to stay?”

Josephina swallowed, the piece of cake getting stuck in her throat. “Actually, I’m, ah, going to reopen the inn.”

All four ladies stopped chewing, expressions set between disbelief and bless-her-stupid-little-heart.

“More of a culinary getaway, really,” she rambled on, desperate for them to see what she saw, buy into the potential of Fairchild House—into the potential of her. “Complete with a full-service spa and first-rate amenities, I want to create a space where guests can relax in quaint luxury.”

It didn’t get much quainter than Sugar. With growing up in the hotel industry and her culinary expertise, plus her eye for detail, this was the perfect opportunity for her.

The women blinked. In unison. Three times. Making Josephina’s throat close even further.

“It’s pretty far from town,” Etta Jayne pointed out.

 “Only eight miles,” Josephina corrected, her voice strong and unwavering—though suddenly her confidence was anything but. “During the day, guests can explore the town, only to come home and learn how to cook gourmet, southern-inspired cuisine right here in Letty’s kitchen.”

“Did she say cuisine and southern in the same sentence?” Hattie asked, her eyes filled with concern.

“I don’t know,” Dottie whispered to no one in particular, her hand over her heart as she took in the kitchen. “I was too busy wondering how she was going to fit a bunch of Yankees in here. Unless—” Her eyes locked on the prep-island and then flew to Josephina, who shifted uneasily in her seat. “Letty taught you the key to a flaky crust at that counter. We’d jar our jellies and jams right there, every summer.”

“Remember the summer Etta Jayne bought those dime store lids instead of the Kerr lids?” Hattie asked, her face pinched with sadness.

“They shot right off while we was waiting for that double batch of Letty’s bumbleberry jam to set.” Dottie picked up her binoculars. “You can still make out the purple rings where the jars were.”

The ladies shared a look, one that was filled with memories and connection, but when they trained those eyes back on Josephina all she saw was worry and—her throat tightened even further—their fear that she was going to ruin everything.

“What are you going to do to the salon?” Jelly-Lou asked, her eyes wide and encouraging as though willing Josephina to say the right thing. And she wanted to say the right thing. She really did. But she also wanted these ladies, with their sweet-tea voices and covered-dish welcome, to understand that she was finishing what Letty had started all those years ago with magazine clippings and crayon drawings.

“Eventually, it will be a spa,” Josephina answered, an uneasy feeling settling over her as the wistfulness in Jelly-Lou’s eyes vanished. “I’m hoping to convert it to house a massage room, a place to do facials, and right there, where you’re at, Jelly-Lou, will be the mud bath.”

“Did she say mud bath?” Dottie whispered, loud enough for the entire room to hear.

“Who’d bring mud
in
the house? On purpose?” Hattie added, staring at Josephina as though she were dimwitted, and Josephina gave up. She didn’t want to be rude to Letty’s oldest friends or make enemies out of a group of ladies who had been sweet to her when she was younger, but she was done with people punching holes in her plan.

“It’s going to take more than elbow grease and an exterminator to get this place up and running,” Etta Jayne said, all the honey gone from her voice.

“Now, Etta Jayne, be nice.” Jelly-Lou gave the other woman a long look that would have sent Josephina scurrying for safety. “I’m sure the girl isn’t set in her ways just yet. Why, when she really thinks this through and sees how much work is needed to make that happen, she’ll realize that a summer home she can come visit now and then would be a fine compromise.”

“I’m not afraid of hard work.” And she wasn’t afraid of these old ladies. Nor did she need their validation. Letty had entrusted the future of Fairchild House to her—not her parents, or her cousins, or the little biddies glaring at her. She’d left it to Josephina, which meant Letty believed in her ability to not screw this up, had faith that Josephina could make the inn a success.

And why not? Her three-tier red velvet cake was so moist it brought people to tears in one bite. She made hosting elaborate parties look effortless. And she beat out Abigail Van Wellington for the title of Miss Dogwood three years running with her poise and kick-ass fencing demonstration.

She might not know a whole lot about running the back end of a business, but she understood exclusivity, ambiance, and entertaining like nobody’s business. Reopening the inn was smart, and Josephina was the perfect person for the job. That it wasn’t
their
dream didn’t mean it couldn’t be hers.

“Thank you, for the warm welcome and bringing me dinner”—she looked at the sheer amount of food on her counter—“for the rest of the week.”

Josephina stood and headed for the living room, liking this new side of her.

“Are you kicking us out?” Hattie gasped, her hand on her chest as if Josephina had just committed a mortal sin.

“As you so wisely pointed out, I have a lot of work before this place is a bona fide, functioning inn. So, I’m sure you all understand that I need to get busy. I’m halfway to the garage with pulling weeds and I refuse to stop until I unearth Letty’s car, which I know is hiding under there somewhere.”

“So you’re set on tearing this house apart then?” Hattie’s silver crop shook with anger. “Dishonoring your aunt’s wishes?”

“I’m not tearing it apart, I’m making it better,” Josephina defended, making sure that her voice didn’t expose how much Hattie’s words hurt. “And maybe you all didn’t know Letty as well as you thought. She would have loved what I’m doing here. It’s why she trusted this house, and her dreams, to me. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

At that, the women all exchanged a look, which Josephina couldn’t quite decipher, but a tightening in the back of her gut said it wasn’t a good sign. Not for her anyway.