Hotter than Texas (Pecan Creek) - By Tina Leonard Page 0,12
Sugar said without inviting Jake in—when he visited, she felt like this wasn’t their house—but Maggie elbowed her out of the way.
“I’m ready. Ready to go be the new mayor of Pecan Creek!”
Jake smiled. “I’ll have her back in a few hours.”
Sugar nodded, keeping her gaze slightly averted from Jake’s dark brown eyes. The man was gorgeous, heartstoppingly so, and nothing good could come of having one’s heart stopped by gorgeous. She waved good-bye as they left, and went upstairs to the Best Little Whorehouse room.
The bedroom was an oasis of sorts. She couldn’t imagine changing a thing. At first, she’d been put off by the heavy draperies. Perhaps she’d even felt claustrophobic. The circular bed practically begged for its heavy curtains to be closed at night, but it was August, and the encircling velvet made her feel like something out of Scrooge’s bedchamber. When the hangings were open, the room felt more open and welcoming.
“Sugar!” Lucy called. “Have you seen this sweet cabinet?”
Sugar went into the hall to join Lucy, who was squatting down in front of an old walnut-stained Revere-style cabinet. “What’s so sweet about it?”
“It has family memorabilia.” Lucy held up an album. “Let’s investigate, shall we?”
Sugar blinked. “Is there a good reason to investigate?”
“There always is.” Lucy flipped the book open. “Oh, look at Jake in his little swimsuit.”
She stared at a picture of Jake on the beach with a shovel and bucket, next to a tall, dark-haired woman wearing Ava Gardner sunglasses and a Betty Grable swimsuit. “Women really did seem more glamorous back then,” she murmured.
Lucy flipped the page. “Our photos of Maggie don’t quite look like this. I think Vivian may have been raised a bit more gently, as they say.”
Sugar seated herself cross-legged on the hardwood floor next to her sister. “Where’s Jake’s father?”
“Not in this book, at least not yet.” Lucy pointed at the carefully written captions beneath each photo. “Here we have Jake in the first-grade Pecan Creek Christmas play. He was one of Santa’s elves.”
Jake’s slightly mischievous brown eyes shone with delight, even in the old color photo. “Pecan Creek loves its Christmas season.”
“Yeah, what else is there to do in a small town? You gotta love the fat man and the dead man, or you don’t have a holiday.”
Sugar drew back from her sister. “Lucy!”
“What? I’m just saying. Holidays are about fairy tales, aren’t they?”
Sugar sighed. “I’m going to bed.”
Lucy snapped the book shut. “I’m going into town to check on Maggie.”
“Why?” Sugar looked at her sister as she jumped to her feet and shoved the photo album back into the cabinet.
“Because I’m afraid, that’s why. I don’t trust Jake. I don’t know why he’s sticking Maggie with being mayor, but I’ve never heard of a small town electing a woman they’ve only known for a few days with the job unless there’s a problem.”
Sugar got to her feet, slightly alarmed. “Maggie can take care of herself.”
“Can she?” Lucy began clopping down the wooden stairs. “Do we want to find out?”
Sugar hesitated. Lucy didn’t trust anyone. Jake seemed nice enough to her. Maggie liked him; she’d said so.
Then again, Lucy had a point. It wouldn’t hurt to tag along so Maggie wouldn’t feel like Lucy was being overprotective. They could say that they’d simply come to meet some of the folks in the town, and thank Jake’s mom for the delicious apple pie.
It really hadn’t been that good. Sugar thought Mrs. Bentley had bought the pie at a bakery and put it on her own disposable plate with a doily before abandoning it on their doorstep with a cursory welcome note.
“I’ll go with you,” Sugar said, fast on Lucy’s heels.
Chapter Three
Vivian Bentley was the soul of poker face, Southern charm and impeccable good manners.
She was also, Sugar thought, like a mannequin who’d been left unattended too long. Stiff. Cold. Unbending.
Sugar and Lucy watched from the back of the old courthouse, which appeared to house a few jail cells, this gathering room and probably the catacombs of Pecan Creek. Lucy had simply looked on the town square for Jake’s black truck, and from there it was easy to follow the lights and the sound of voices. Maggie sat upright like she was at an interrogation. Jake’s mother—it had to be Vivian; none of the other three ladies had the ramrod formal, elegant bearing Sugar recognized from the photo album—stared at Maggie with little warmth.
“Maggie has generously offered to be our mayor,” Jake said, and Sugar strained to listen. “Since