Second Chance at the Sugar Shack (8 page)

“I’ll have a lemon drop martini, please.”

Tank looked at her like she’d lost every marble in her head. She wasn’t in Kansas anymore.

“Oh, right. Uummm, a glass of Zinfandel?”

“We got house wine. White or red,” he grunted.

Which would assure her of a headache in the morning. No thanks. “What’s on draft?”

“Guinness and Moose Drool.”

Eeew. “Guinness, please.”

While she waited for her ale, Kate tapped her fingernails on her napkin and through the long mirror behind the bar watched a group of men in various stages of beard growth playing pool. They were watching her too. Like she was fresh meat.

In her thinking, men were all the same no matter where they came from. Beverly Hills, Manhattan, or downtown Deer Lick. Their pickup lines were altered only by accents or capacity of bullshit. And she’d become far too cynical to buy into any of it.

Tank slid a Guinness in front of her. Thirsty for a little mind-numbing reprieve, she reached for the mug.

“Kate!”

Kate looked up to see her old friend Maggie Densworth calling from all the way across the room. She dropped her serving tray to a nearby table and charged toward Kate with open arms. When she reached the bar, she grabbed Kate in a bear hug.

“It’s great to see you!”

Maggie had changed. She was rounder, which made her appear shorter. Her long wavy brown hair had been replaced by a super-short bob. Her slender face had filled out and her cheeks now resembled ripe apples. Still, Kate returned the hug, remembering all the hours the two of them had spent dreaming, wishing for boys who were unattainable, and conjuring up ways to keep from being bored. Most of which granted them thirty days of restriction.

“I was so sorry to hear about your mom,” Maggie said, hopping up on the bar stool beside Kate. “I wish we could have made it to the funeral but Adam had football practice and Brian had a dentist appointment.”

“Adam and Brian?”

“Oh, God, it has been a long time since we’ve talked, hasn’t it. Adam is my oldest, the one I was pregnant with when you left. Brian is my middle troublemaker. And Jeff is my baby. He’s just starting kindergarten this year.”

“Wow. You have three kids?”

Maggie laughed. “Yes, and that’s it. We kept trying for a girl but no luck. And honey, I am done. There’s not an inch of skin on this body without stretch marks.”

At that moment Kate realized that an entire lifetime, and obviously a few stretch marks, had evolved without her. People had gone on with their lives. Made homes. Raised families. Supported and comforted each other in this small community she’d once shared. A knot formed in her chest. To clear it she sipped her ale, but the liquid didn’t make the peculiar ache go away.

“So you and Oliver are still together?”

“Married ten years. He didn’t say hi when you came in?”

“Oliver’s here?”

“He poured your Guinness, honey.”

Kate looked up at Tank, seeing no resemblance to the handsome young man she’d known way back when.

“Yeah, we’ve both put on a few pounds,” Maggie laughed. “Ever since we bought the bar, our schedules have been crazy. Macaroni and cheese and Hamburger Helper aren’t too good for the waistline. Ollie!” she shouted over the din of
Old Time Rock and Roll
. “I’m having a drink with our old friend Kate. Pour me a Moose.”

Oliver waved and grabbed a mug from below the bar, tilted it beneath the spout and filled it without foam. He brought it down to Maggie and smiled. “Sorry Kate, didn’t recognize you.”

Kate smiled. She could say the same for him. “It’s good to see you again.”

“Consider me off the clock, sweetie.” Maggie leaned across the bar and kissed his bald head. “Kate and I have years of catching up to do.”

Oliver nodded and went to fill another order.

Maggie leaned back and gave Kate the once-over. “You look fabulous.”

“Thanks.” She could thank power bars and triple shot skinny lattes for keeping her fit. Or the typical Hollywood diet—starving. “It’s so great to see you. So, you’ve been married for ten years? Wow. I remember when you wanted to get out of here and be a news anchor.”

Maggie laughed. “Ah, foolish dreams.”

“Why so foolish?”

“If I’d have gone off to be a news anchor, I’d never have the life I do.”

“So you’re . . . happy?”

“Happy? Deliriously.” Maggie’s smile filled her entire face. “When I’ve got my arms around my kids or when Ollie has his arms around me, I wouldn’t want to be any place else.”

“You don’t regret—”

“Getting pregnant?” Maggie lifted her mug. “Not even for a second. Here’s to old friends.”

Kate tapped her Guinness against Maggie’s Moose Drool and stared while her friend downed a good portion of the drink in one swift gulp. Kate was accustomed to watching celebs sip Cristal or absently stir their frou-frou umbrella drinks. She’d forgotten that Deer Lick had a reputation for being a little less refined. Not that there was anything wrong with that.

Kate sipped her ale and listened attentively while Maggie spun into stories about her kids or town gossip that had happened since Kate had left. It was the first time in a long time she hadn’t been asked to talk about her
fabulous
Hollywood lifestyle. And she realized it wasn’t Maggie being rude, it was simply Maggie wanting to share the happiness in her life. Before she knew it, Kate found herself engrossed in a conversation that had nothing to do with glamour and everything to do with baby spit and poopy diapers. And unlike the celebrity affairs where Kate became trapped while divas argued over who had the best plastic surgeon in Beverly Hills, she didn’t feel like gnawing off her leg to escape.

“So I’m guessing you’ve run into Matt?” Maggie asked suddenly.

Just the mention of his name sent a warm tickle down Kate’s spine that spiraled around to the pit of her stomach. She managed to shrug nonchalantly. “A couple of times.”

Maggie leaned an elbow onto the bar and grinned. “And?”

“And what?”

“Honey.” Maggie waved their empty glasses in the air until Ollie gave them refills. “You may have been gone a long time, but I can’t imagine you’ve grown dense over the years. Or maybe seeing all those movie stars and rock stars has ruined your taste for gorgeous
normal
men. Especially one you had wrapped around your little finger before you left.”

Kate had no intention of discussing Deputy Rude with Maggie or anyone else. So they had a history together. So what? A decade had passed. Yes, Matt could be classified as a total hunk. But she wasn’t interested. What happened back then didn’t matter anymore. It couldn’t matter. Not even if there was a tiny little something that sparked inside her whenever she saw him.

She needed a break in conversation that wouldn’t seem abrupt but would steer them to a different, less dangerous, subject. Only one justification would work. “Would you excuse me? I need to use the little girl’s room.”

Kate stood and weaved her way through the crowd toward the back. In the dingy and less than sanitary restroom, Kate did her business, washed her hands twice with soap and water, and glared at herself in the mirror. She looked wasted and blamed it on the cheap mirror and bad overhead light instead of the Guinness she’d consumed.

When she was done, she tugged her sleeve over her hand and opened the door. She stepped out into the dark hallway that led from the bar to the restrooms and, from the sound of banging pots and pans, Kate guessed the kitchen. Why bars and restaurants always stuck the bathrooms by the kitchen was anyone’s guess and pretty disgusting.

She looked down, smoothed her hands over the front of her sweater and ran into a huge wall. Her head jerked up and she found a pair of icy blue eyes glaring down at her.

“That’s twice in one week you’ve barreled into me,
Ms. Silver
.”

His voice was low and deep. Yet even over the jukebox, she still managed to hear the bite of sarcasm in his tone.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think I had a target on me,” he added.

“Sorry, I leave the shooting practice to my dad.” Her gaze dropped from his eyes to the star pinned on his wide chest to the semiautomatic strapped next to the handcuffs on his utility belt. He stood close and the scent of him filled her head with autumn leaves and warm male. “What are you doing here?” she asked.

He rocked back on his heels and peered down at her more closely. The red glow from a Fat Tire Ale sign slashed across the left side of his face. “Got a complaint about some rowdy clientele. Would that mean you?”

“I never get out of line. Unless the occasion calls for it.”

His eyes skimmed her from head to toe. And that gave her a boost of alcohol-induced confidence. She smiled and folded her arms beneath her breasts. His gaze followed and fixed onto the front of her sweater. Yep, he was definitely checking her out.

“You wouldn’t happen to be flirting with me, would you, Deputy?” she asked. She did not receive a smile for her comedic efforts. Instead, his dark brows came together over those blue eyes and he leaned down. So close his cheek brushed her hair. Then he breathed deep.

“How much have you been drinking?” His eyes may have wandered a moment ago, but now his tone was all business.

“Not nearly enough,” she said, taking a step backward.

“You driving?” he asked.

“Nope. I’m just standing here talking to you.”

“Still a smartass.”

“Can’t arrest me for that.” She walked away.

“Don’t drive,” he warned in a big bad wolf growl. “Or I’ll make use of these handcuffs.”

She looked over her shoulder at him where he still stood in the dark hallway looking one hundred percent badass cop. “Is that a threat, Deputy Ryan? Or a promise?”

C
HAPTER
S
IX

A
definite chill frosted the air when Kate stepped out of the bar several hours later exhausted from Maggie’s breakneck speed of catching up on each other’s lives. It had been great to see her old friend and Kate had been happy to find the rhythm in their friendship hadn’t missed a beat. Within just a few minutes, they’d been laughing and gossiping as if the ten-year absence had never happened.

The knowledge filled her with unexpected pleasure. She didn’t have friends like that in Hollywood. What she did have were acquaintances. The closest that came to any description of
friend
were her assistant, her hairdresser, and the girl who sold her a cinnamon bagel every Saturday morning. A pretty pathetic list Kate realized.

As she walked toward her mother’s beast of a car, she breathed in the pungent scent of wood smoke. A fresh breeze caught the ends of her hair and whipped it across her face. The only winds she was familiar with anymore were the suffocating hot Santa Ana’s. Winds that seemed to harbor a taste for fanning flames that transformed expensive Malibu mansions into matchsticks.

Realization crept up on her and caused her heart to do a funny little flip. She’d missed the scents of home—the miles of open pastures, pine needles dampened by a warm rain, the aroma of home-baked meatloaf or pot roast wafting through open kitchen windows. And the bouquet of fresh bread or cookies baked in the ovens in her family’s bakery.

She dug her keys from her jacket pocket and noticed the quiet. Instead of the high-level traffic sounds she’d grown used to in L.A., there were only the muted sounds from the bar and the tap-tap of her boot heels against concrete.

She stuck the key in the car door, wondering again, why she bothered to lock the old heap. She slid onto the front seat and reached to turn the key in the ignition. But when she looked up through the windshield and couldn’t decide whether The Smoke Shop sign had one pipe or two, she knew she couldn’t drive. She’d have to call her sister or walk. At least the nip in the air would sober her up.

From the radio Tom Jones began to croon. A strong sense of déjà vu fell over her and she hoped the prior events were a one-time hallucination.

It’s not unusual. . .

“You are not driving this car, young lady.”

Shit
.

Knowing it was useless to look in the mirror, Kate turned in her seat. And there she was—red plaid shirt, denim overalls, messy gray bun on top of her head, hazy glow floating all over the backseat. “Mother.”

“Katherine.”

No need to acknowledge the scowl marring her mother’s face either. It reached all the way into her words. Kate turned around in her seat, dropped her head back to the headrest and stared out the bug-splattered windshield. She wondered briefly when the men with the nice white jacket would arrive.

“Young lady, you are in no condition to drive.”

“I’m not driving. I’m sitting. Besides I only had two beers.”

“Three. And they were Guinness. Much more potent than a Coors Light.”

“You were in the bar?” Kate asked. Great. Now she was being spied on? By a ghost? In the space of a pause, the air in the car grew heavy. The pressure pushed on her chest, squeezed the breath from her lungs.

“Not exactly.”

Kate closed her eyes and rubbed her fingers against her temples. “Then if you weren’t
exactly
in the bar, how do you know how many beers I had?”

“A mother just knows these things.”

“So . . . ghosts have ESP too?”

“So . . . daughters never stop being smartasses?”

Kate flinched. That was the second time tonight she’d been labeled. Maybe it held some merit.

“This is so unlike you, Katherine.”

The tone in her mother’s voice sounded exactly the same as the time Kate had taken on a dare and gone cow tipping with a group of friends after they’d bowled at Strike-Out Lanes. The cow had tipped over all right. On her. In a field overflowing with cow pies. Her friends had had to wake up the farmer to get her rescued from her bovine imprisonment. It had taken three showers to get the stink off. Her restriction had lasted an entire month.

“Not really,” she said. “You just don’t know me very well anymore.”

“A mother always knows her child. Always knows what’s best for her.”

Right. If she’d left her life up to her mother, she’d either be putting buns in the oven or have one in
her
oven.

“Why do you think I’m here?” her mother asked. “For my health?”

Kate’s eyebrows shot up her forehead and she couldn’t help but glance in the mirror. “Am I supposed to laugh at that?”

Her mother hooted. “No, but you’ve got to admit that was pretty good.”

“Hysterical.”

“And still you have no sense of humor,” her mother said. “Well, that’s why I’m here.”

“To make me laugh?” Kate asked, getting more confused by the minute. For Pete’s sake, if she was going to lose her mind by seeing dead people, they could at least have the decency to make sense.

“Not to make you laugh. Although that might be a nice side effect.”

“Then why
are
you here?”

Her mother paused as if searching for the right words. “Well, since I blew my chance to make amends while I was living, I’m here . . . ummm . . . to . . . help you. Yes, that’s right. To help you find the meaning of your life.”

“You sure about that?”

“It’s difficult to explain.”

Just what Kate didn’t need, a confusing
and
meddling ghost. “Look, Dr. Phil,” she said, “how about you just tell me how to help Dad. He’s lost without you. The meaning of
his
life is gone. We’re worried about him. And I’m just not sure how to handle all this.”

“My Bobby will be just fine, Katherine. Don’t you worry about him.”

“I think you overestimate him, Mom.” She breathed in a gulp of thick air and it clogged her throat when she thought of her heartbroken dad. “He wanders around the house like he’s looking for something. He won’t sleep in your bed. And he’s already thrown himself back into work.”

“What would you expect him to do? Sit around and rot? That’s my job. Ha! Get it?”

Kate cringed at the thought. “Not funny, Mom.”

“See. There you go again. No sense of humor.” Her mother paused again as though pondering some miraculous discovery. For a woman who seldom was at a loss for words, she sure seemed to be searching for them in her afterlife.

“What you need, Katherine, is to put a little spark in your life. But right now you’ve got your head so far in the clouds that he could fall right into your lap and you wouldn’t even recognize him.”

“He? Him?” Kate’s brows lifted. “I’m not looking for a boyfriend.”

Her mother released a heavy sigh.

Was that even possible?

“Boyfriend! I’m talking about soul mates, Katherine. That’s what my Bobby and I are. That’s why he’s going to be just fine. He knows I’m waiting for him—not that I want him to hurry up. But he knows our love reaches far beyond earthly boundaries. And that’s what you need to find.”

Kate shook her head and the vinyl seat squeaked. What she needed was another Guinness. She and her mother had barely spoken for ten years and the woman was worried about Kate finding a man? What about the argument they’d had before she left home? Sheesh. Still, if her mother wanted to discuss men, she’d try to comply. Arguing had never gotten them anywhere except estrangement.

“Mom. I barely have time for a dinner date let alone a
soul mate
. What I need to find is a way to help dad get his life organized so I get out of this hick—”

A sharp rap on the window startled her and sent her heart racing.

Kate looked up.

Through her side window, the white neon light from Bill’s Barber Shop reflected off a shiny pair of handcuffs that swung like a pendulum from a very large, very masculine hand.

M
att had just about finished his shift and decided to make another round past the bars to make sure everything was in order.

Okay, that was a lie.

He’d made another round past the
Naughty Irish
to see if Katie had gone home or if she was still perched on that bar stool with her group of pool-playing, camo-wearing admirers still gawking at her like she was a ten-point buck on opening day of hunting season.

Some things never changed. Especially in Deer Lick. New blood meant new challenges for the bored twenty-something-year-olds, the newly divorced, and those who didn’t quite take the sanctity of marriage as seriously as they should. When that new blood was in the form of a shapely firecracker like Katie, it was hard to tell what would happen. Usually someone ended up in cuffs.

Looked like tonight was the firecracker’s turn.

When Katie rolled down the window, Matt flipped the cuffs into his palm and took perverse pleasure in the frown that pulled at the corners of her luscious lips.

“You scared me,” she said with a squeak that told him she was about fifty percent pissed off and fifty percent amused. Police training hadn’t been necessary to figure out that one. Just personal knowledge.

Gravel crunched beneath his boot heels as he took a step back, peered down into her mama’s car, and tried not to laugh as he gave her his regulation cop glare. “May I see your license and registration, ma’am?”

She craned her neck to look up at him. Her smoky green eyes narrowed. “I’m not driving.”

He scanned the car from the front bumper to the back.

“The car is not running. The car is in
park
,” she informed him in what he now called her big-city tone.

“You’re behind the wheel. And I have every reason to believe you were about to drive home.”

“And that’s illegal?”

“How much have you had to drink tonight,
Ms. Silver
?” he said, using the name she’d tossed at him yesterday. Did she think she was too good to use her real name? Or had she shortened it because people in Hollywood had only learned to spell two syllable words?

“One beer.”

“How many?”

“Ummmm . . . two?”

He leaned a little closer, slapped the handcuffs against his palm. “I didn’t quite hear you.”

Her eyes widened and she sighed. “Maybe three.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I swear.” She lifted her hands and clasped the steering wheel. “That’s all I had. And I wasn’t going to drive.”

“You always sit in the car and argue with yourself after only three beers?”

“I wasn’t arguing with my—”

“Would you mind stepping out of the car, please?”

“Seriously, Matt, I—”

“Step out of the car.” His request had little to do with police maneuvers. He just wanted to see her again—the tight jeans hugging her slender thighs, the way the oversized leather jacket fell across her small shoulders, the way the emerald sweater beneath dipped low and hugged her breasts.

Yeah, he was a glutton for punishment. No doubt about it.

She glared up at him from the driver’s seat. Seemed to weigh her choices. Then with an exaggerated exhale of breath she yanked the keys from the ignition.

“Fine.” She pulled back the handle and pushed the door open.

Had he not stepped back, the metal would have crashed into a certain part of his anatomy he’d like to keep intact, healthy and ready for action.

She stumbled her way out of the car and glared up at him. “I am
not
drunk.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I’m not.” She weaved just a little and leaned toward him. “So you . . .” Her long slender finger poked at his chest. “. . . just put those handcuffs away.”

He took a step closer, crowding her. To intimidate her? Or just for his own damned pleasure? “Or what?”

She probably wasn’t as drunk as he’d first thought, but she was definitely in no condition to drive. Standing this close her scent drifted up and caught him off guard. Surprisingly she didn’t smell like a brewery or heavy bar smoke like most people he pulled over under suspicious circumstances. Instead she smelled like wintergreen gum, aged leather, and warm woman. An enticing combination that had him fighting the urge to tangle his hands in her silky hair and haul her against him.

“Or . . .” She looked up and gave him a lopsided grin with that soft luscious mouth. “. . . hey, do you flirt with all the people you pull over, Deputy Ryan?”

“I don’t flirt when I’m wearing a firearm.”

“Seriously?”

She moved closer. So close her breasts were nearly pressed against his chest. Her heat radiated through the fabric of his uniform. She lifted her hand and traced the shape of his badge with a manicured nail. His heart rate kicked into overdrive and he fought back urges he hadn’t had to suppress in years.

“Because I’ve seen that look before,” she continued. “And unless you—heeey!”

The click of the cuffs securing her wrists echoed in the clear fall night.

“What are you doing?” she asked, her mouth gaping like a fish.

“You seemed to be intrigued by my handcuffs.” He circled his palms around the metal, making sure they weren’t too tight. But all he really felt was her soft skin against his calloused fingers. He thought the move clever, a distraction. He couldn’t have been more wrong. Touching her was like touching fire. Unfortunately he’d always been a man who didn’t mind getting a little singed now and then. “Thought I’d show you how they’re used.”

“Am I . . . under arrest?” Her body tensed. “You didn’t even read me my . . . whatchamacallems. It doesn’t work like this on
Law & Order
.”

“And this isn’t a reality show either, sweetheart.” He slid his hand beneath her elbow, led her to his patrol SUV, and helped her up onto the front seat. He reached across her to fasten her seatbelt and made another too-stupid-to-live error that pressed her warm breasts against him. Oh sure, he could remove the cuffs, make her more comfortable, but right or wrong this was a whole lot more fun than putting the cuffs on most of the drunks he came up against.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to call me sweetheart. Isn’t that sexual harassment? Aren’t you supposed to shove me in the backseat?” she asked acidly, her green eyes narrowing. “Isn’t that where hardened criminals like me go?”