right next to my husband every day from then on. Then a few years in, Ned said we were ready and he signed us up for the Sugar Pull. I was going to drive and he was going to be my pit boss. It was all he talked about but he passed before the next harvest.”
Road Kill, feeling Jelly Lou’s stress, hopped down and started grunting while brushing up against her feet.
“So you never got to compete?” Glory asked, wondering why she’d never heard this part of the story.
“I tried but I just couldn’t. Not so soon after losing him. For nearly three decades that man loved and cherished and believed in me. I wasn’t ready to let him go, and somehow entering his tractor would have been like saying my final good-bye.” Glory handed her grandmother a napkin to dry her eyes. With one final dab, she gave a good blow and straightened her shoulders. “So I’m racing in this year’s Sugar Pull. Win or lose, doesn’t matter, it’s time I live up to my end of the deal and take the Pitter for her final lap. And when I do, I just want to make sure that everyone is playing by the same rules.”
Glory didn’t have the heart to point out that Jelly Lou and her new pit crew had broken several rules last night—one really big one that carried really big consequences. Federally enforced consequences, which could get her suspended from competing. Instead she pulled her grandmother in for a hug and said, “How can I help?”
Tuesday afternoon, Glory was midway through her rounds at Sugar Medical Center, searching for a bulb syringe in Exam Room 7, when she happened to look out the window and— holy hotness —her heart stopped working. Right there in her chest.
The storm had finally blown through Sugar, leaving behind clear skies, green grass, and temperatures hot enough to melt the clothes right off a man’s body. Something she hoped would happen because there were enough heat-slicked biceps and glistening tool belts on display that, even in an air-conditioned hospital, Glory could feel the heat.
With one last excited fist bump to the sternum, her heart gave pause as everything in her body went on standby and Glory knew that she wasn’t over yesterday’s encounter with Sugar’s Sexiest Bachelor.
Or that kiss.
No matter how many times she told herself to knock it off, to act professional and get back to work, she couldn’t help but stare. One look out the window and her mouth went dry—the exact opposite of what was going on below the equator.
Because there, three stories down and—if she stood on her tippy toes and pressed her face to the glass—directly to her right, where the foundation for the new pediatric center was prepped to be poured, walking the perimeter in a pair of worn jeans, an impressive tool belt, and a T-shirt that clung to his chest with the day’s humidity, was the sexy general contractor on the job and that work-honed body of his. The one that tended to have men flexing and women straining for a better view.
Women like me , she thought as she nudged a footstool out from under the exam table and shoved it flush against the back wall to watch as, in one fluid motion, Cal hopped up in the bed of his truck and opened a big metal toolbox, where he proceeded to bend over—way over—so he could dig out, well, she didn’t really know. Didn’t care. All she knew was that the best ass in nine counties was practically begging her to look her fill.
And look she did—until the glass started fogging up. He kept digging so she kept staring, amazed at just how well he filled out a pair of jeans.
“This is ridiculous,” she said to herself, pressing even closer to the window when he rested his hands on the toolbox to dig deeper, causing his biceps to bulge a little and the hem of his shirt to rise a lot. The sheer amount of exposed muscle was enough to make her hyperventilate.
“It was one kiss.” And she had better things to do. Such as locating the bulb syringe so Angela, the pediatric nurse
Road Kill, feeling Jelly Lou’s stress, hopped down and started grunting while brushing up against her feet.
“So you never got to compete?” Glory asked, wondering why she’d never heard this part of the story.
“I tried but I just couldn’t. Not so soon after losing him. For nearly three decades that man loved and cherished and believed in me. I wasn’t ready to let him go, and somehow entering his tractor would have been like saying my final good-bye.” Glory handed her grandmother a napkin to dry her eyes. With one final dab, she gave a good blow and straightened her shoulders. “So I’m racing in this year’s Sugar Pull. Win or lose, doesn’t matter, it’s time I live up to my end of the deal and take the Pitter for her final lap. And when I do, I just want to make sure that everyone is playing by the same rules.”
Glory didn’t have the heart to point out that Jelly Lou and her new pit crew had broken several rules last night—one really big one that carried really big consequences. Federally enforced consequences, which could get her suspended from competing. Instead she pulled her grandmother in for a hug and said, “How can I help?”
Tuesday afternoon, Glory was midway through her rounds at Sugar Medical Center, searching for a bulb syringe in Exam Room 7, when she happened to look out the window and— holy hotness —her heart stopped working. Right there in her chest.
The storm had finally blown through Sugar, leaving behind clear skies, green grass, and temperatures hot enough to melt the clothes right off a man’s body. Something she hoped would happen because there were enough heat-slicked biceps and glistening tool belts on display that, even in an air-conditioned hospital, Glory could feel the heat.
With one last excited fist bump to the sternum, her heart gave pause as everything in her body went on standby and Glory knew that she wasn’t over yesterday’s encounter with Sugar’s Sexiest Bachelor.
Or that kiss.
No matter how many times she told herself to knock it off, to act professional and get back to work, she couldn’t help but stare. One look out the window and her mouth went dry—the exact opposite of what was going on below the equator.
Because there, three stories down and—if she stood on her tippy toes and pressed her face to the glass—directly to her right, where the foundation for the new pediatric center was prepped to be poured, walking the perimeter in a pair of worn jeans, an impressive tool belt, and a T-shirt that clung to his chest with the day’s humidity, was the sexy general contractor on the job and that work-honed body of his. The one that tended to have men flexing and women straining for a better view.
Women like me , she thought as she nudged a footstool out from under the exam table and shoved it flush against the back wall to watch as, in one fluid motion, Cal hopped up in the bed of his truck and opened a big metal toolbox, where he proceeded to bend over—way over—so he could dig out, well, she didn’t really know. Didn’t care. All she knew was that the best ass in nine counties was practically begging her to look her fill.
And look she did—until the glass started fogging up. He kept digging so she kept staring, amazed at just how well he filled out a pair of jeans.
“This is ridiculous,” she said to herself, pressing even closer to the window when he rested his hands on the toolbox to dig deeper, causing his biceps to bulge a little and the hem of his shirt to rise a lot. The sheer amount of exposed muscle was enough to make her hyperventilate.
“It was one kiss.” And she had better things to do. Such as locating the bulb syringe so Angela, the pediatric nurse
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