county’s priorities?”
Red had nearly turned purple. “Well…”
“It’s been on the list for years,” Miranda snapped. The dam holding back a lifetime’s worth of repressed crazy started to crack.
“I’m sure there’s a reason for that.” He rolled back onto his heels, a benevolent look softening his eyes. “Times are tough. It can be hard to find the money for every worthy activity.”
The shithead. He didn’t come right out and link the bank’s booster club support to the road paving priorities, but he didn’t have to.
Red didn’t miss the innuendo. His eyes narrowed, but he didn’t flinch. “It’s a pretty low priority. I doubt we’ll get to it this budget year.”
Logan tsk-tsked . “Tough break, Miranda.”
She clenched her hands into fists. “I bet you think so.”
His laugh echoed through the dining room as he strolled out of the restaurant like a man who’d already won.
She couldn’t wait until he tripped over that big ego of his. And if she gave him a little extra push, that would make the victory even better.
Two days later, Logan was back at The Kitchen Sink, this time picking up a coveted slice of pecan pie, which he planned to eat in his office while going over the plans for the Martin Industrial Park. Nothing like a little comfort food to offset the lingering feeling that he was off his game. His dad was on his ass about the industrial park. Salvation’s Mayor Tyrell Hawson had horned his way into an upcoming meet and greet with an investor. And he couldn’t stop thinking about Miranda Sweet in ways that had nothing to do with the bet. He needed the pie.
“You’re lucky, this is the last one Ruby Sue is making for the rest of the year.” Ellen wrapped up the pie in waxed paper before putting it in a Styrofoam container.
His gut pinched, and his taste buds lodged a formal complaint. “Why would she do something like that?” Logan hadn’t cried in only God knew how many years, but two and a half months without pecan pie might be what it took to change that.
“She’s raffling off the recipe. Part of the agreement is she won’t make any fresh pies until after New Year.” She slid the container across the counter to him.
Ruby Sue had been guarding the pecan pie recipe since before he was born. People had tried to steal the damn thing, and now she was giving it way? There was no way he could resist the odds.
“How much are the tickets?” He could win the recipe and make it at home. How hard could it be?
Ellen shook her head. “You don’t want to know.”
Logan’s hand was on his wallet before his brain had a chance to catch up. “Tell me.”
“A hundred bucks a pop.”
He almost dropped his wallet on the floor. “And people are buying them?”
Ellen looked over both shoulders and leaned forward. “Judge Carter bought ten,” she whispered.
There was no way that old coot was winning the raffle of a lifetime. “I’ll take twelve.”
A minute later, he was handing over the check when The Kitchen Sink’s door opened and a cold blast of October air blasted in—bringing Miranda with it. The thick sweater she wore did nothing to disguise the curve of her body. He forgot the fall chill, the raffle tickets, his own middle name. The woman was a danger to his sanity.
Her footsteps faltered when she spotted him, but only for a moment before she strutted over and took the seat next to his. She glanced down at the pie box in front of him. “Better watch the pie intake, Logan. Gotta watch those hips.”
“You can watch them all you like.” He winked at her, enjoying the way her chest rose in indignation. “How go the deliveries on that rough road?”
“Peachy keen.” She didn’t flip him off, but she sure looked like she wanted to.
Ellen reappeared at the counter with a handful of tickets. “Here you go, Logan.”
“You bought pecan pie recipe tickets?” Miranda’s eyebrows went skyward, and she spun her seat around to face him. “You?”
He
Red had nearly turned purple. “Well…”
“It’s been on the list for years,” Miranda snapped. The dam holding back a lifetime’s worth of repressed crazy started to crack.
“I’m sure there’s a reason for that.” He rolled back onto his heels, a benevolent look softening his eyes. “Times are tough. It can be hard to find the money for every worthy activity.”
The shithead. He didn’t come right out and link the bank’s booster club support to the road paving priorities, but he didn’t have to.
Red didn’t miss the innuendo. His eyes narrowed, but he didn’t flinch. “It’s a pretty low priority. I doubt we’ll get to it this budget year.”
Logan tsk-tsked . “Tough break, Miranda.”
She clenched her hands into fists. “I bet you think so.”
His laugh echoed through the dining room as he strolled out of the restaurant like a man who’d already won.
She couldn’t wait until he tripped over that big ego of his. And if she gave him a little extra push, that would make the victory even better.
Two days later, Logan was back at The Kitchen Sink, this time picking up a coveted slice of pecan pie, which he planned to eat in his office while going over the plans for the Martin Industrial Park. Nothing like a little comfort food to offset the lingering feeling that he was off his game. His dad was on his ass about the industrial park. Salvation’s Mayor Tyrell Hawson had horned his way into an upcoming meet and greet with an investor. And he couldn’t stop thinking about Miranda Sweet in ways that had nothing to do with the bet. He needed the pie.
“You’re lucky, this is the last one Ruby Sue is making for the rest of the year.” Ellen wrapped up the pie in waxed paper before putting it in a Styrofoam container.
His gut pinched, and his taste buds lodged a formal complaint. “Why would she do something like that?” Logan hadn’t cried in only God knew how many years, but two and a half months without pecan pie might be what it took to change that.
“She’s raffling off the recipe. Part of the agreement is she won’t make any fresh pies until after New Year.” She slid the container across the counter to him.
Ruby Sue had been guarding the pecan pie recipe since before he was born. People had tried to steal the damn thing, and now she was giving it way? There was no way he could resist the odds.
“How much are the tickets?” He could win the recipe and make it at home. How hard could it be?
Ellen shook her head. “You don’t want to know.”
Logan’s hand was on his wallet before his brain had a chance to catch up. “Tell me.”
“A hundred bucks a pop.”
He almost dropped his wallet on the floor. “And people are buying them?”
Ellen looked over both shoulders and leaned forward. “Judge Carter bought ten,” she whispered.
There was no way that old coot was winning the raffle of a lifetime. “I’ll take twelve.”
A minute later, he was handing over the check when The Kitchen Sink’s door opened and a cold blast of October air blasted in—bringing Miranda with it. The thick sweater she wore did nothing to disguise the curve of her body. He forgot the fall chill, the raffle tickets, his own middle name. The woman was a danger to his sanity.
Her footsteps faltered when she spotted him, but only for a moment before she strutted over and took the seat next to his. She glanced down at the pie box in front of him. “Better watch the pie intake, Logan. Gotta watch those hips.”
“You can watch them all you like.” He winked at her, enjoying the way her chest rose in indignation. “How go the deliveries on that rough road?”
“Peachy keen.” She didn’t flip him off, but she sure looked like she wanted to.
Ellen reappeared at the counter with a handful of tickets. “Here you go, Logan.”
“You bought pecan pie recipe tickets?” Miranda’s eyebrows went skyward, and she spun her seat around to face him. “You?”
He
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