Free Second Chance at the Sugar Shack by Candis Terry Page B

gently against her back. “Get into trouble.”
    He smiled.
    She waited for his response, her eyes shifting from light to dark green. When she realized all she was going to get was a smile, she slapped his receipt down on the counter and pushed it toward him. “I’ll have your order ready shortly.”
    He picked up the receipt, careful not to make contact with her again. One shock a day was enough for him. He’d already had two.
    Since Edna Price had put some pretty awful thoughts into his head, he stepped back to watch Katie prepare his and James’s lunch, making sure nothing but tuna salad went on his sandwich. She sliced through the crusty picnic rolls with such ferocity he expected to see blood drawn.
    Reaching for the lettuce, she bent over the workspace and gave him an excellent view of how nicely her jeans fit. Then she flung lettuce leaves on each side of the bread, smashed down scoops of tuna salad, and slapped on wedges of Letty’s homemade kosher dills. Her movements were swift and jerky, sloppy and careless. And he enjoyed watching every single movement, even though he had no business doing so.
    Without so much as a glance in his direction, she rolled the sandwiches up in crisp white paper and stuffed them and the bags of chips into a sack. From a pitcher she poured two cups of home-brewed iced tea, then slid the bag and drinks across the counter.
    “Have a nice day, Deputy Ryan. Come again soon.”
    Her polite business tone would have made her mother proud.
    “Hopefully next time I won’t be here,” she added.
    Okay, maybe not.
    He didn’t know why it gave him so much pleasure to have the ability to rile her up. Just a little. Paybacks were childish. And he was far from that. He was a man on a mission. He had an agenda. He needed to stick with that.
    “Why Miss Silverthorne,” he said, “if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to get rid of me.”
    “That’s Ms. Silver to you. And . . .” Her bowed lips curled upward. “. . . you’re a lot more perceptive than I gave you credit for.”
    He laughed—at her audaciousness and at his own reaction. He didn’t know why that sassy smile made his stomach flip. He had no interest at all in what she called herself, what she did, where she did it, or who she did it with.
    As long as his poor demented brain managed to remember that, he’d be good. Unfortunately, there wasn’t a single inch of the rest of his body that wasn’t interested.
    W hile her sister finished packing her luggage for an early morning flight, Kate tore down the sheet divider in their room.
    “What are you doing?” Kelly asked.
    “If you think I’m going to be stuck in this miserable town and stuck on one side of this miserable bedroom too, you’re crazy.”
    Kelly neatly rolled the black silk blouse she’d worn to their mother’s funeral and pushed it into her Liz Claiborne bag. “You’re still mad.”
    “I’m not mad.” Kate glared at her sister’s reflection in the mirror above the vanity. “Just . . . I don’t know. Tomorrow, while you and Dean go back to your normal lives, your normal jobs and your normal worlds, normal will no longer be a word in my vocabulary. In one short day my entire dialogue has flipped from St. Laurent, Hilfiger, and Armani to a dozen red velvet cupcakes, a double layer chocolate cake, and two tuna subs, no tomatoes—to go.”
    “I’m sorry, Kate. I really am.”
    Kelly looked duly apologetic and Kate tamped down her temper tantrum long enough to say “I know, Kel. I understand you have a child murderer to put behind bars. I know Dean has a multi-million dollar contract he can’t walk out on. It’s just—”
    Her cell phone rang. She grabbed it up off her bed and answered without looking at the number. “Hello?”
    “Please do not tell me you were serious about staying in Deer Poop or wherever the hell you are.”
    “I wouldn’t lie about that, Josh. I can’t come back until I get things here