Page 31 of Just This Once

“Don’t you mess up my chicken, young man.” Mama Faye pointed her long, bony finger in my direction as she walked past. “I don’t care who your daddy is, I’ll take the spoon to you.” She extracted a long wooden spoon from her apron and swirled it in the air as proof.

“Yes, ma’am.” I smiled at the woman. Mama Faye had been cooking up Remington County’s best smoked barbecue since before I was born. She was bird-boned, with leathery wrinkles across her dark skin, and had one of the most genuine laughsI’d ever heard. If Mama Faye was around, people were having a good time.

Much to my father’s dismay, she had declined his offer to move her from the silver Airstream trailer she cooked out of and allow her to rent one of the Kings’ many storefront properties. Despite his assurance that it would be better for business—and his bottom line—Mama Faye had insisted that nothing could top the trailer her beloved deceased husband had built for her when she dreamed of opening her own barbecue restaurant. In public Dad had acted as if he was happy for Mama, but in reality he’d been dissatisfied with herindependent spirit.

Dad abhorred anything and anyonehe couldn’t control.

“Okay, boys”—Mama Faye smiled and winked at our female firefighters—“and ladies. I’d like to thank those of you who donated your time or equipment. We’ve got lots of orders to pack, and I expect more walk-ups than usual. Let’s get some food on the table.”

Whoops and hollers rang out. In the open field behind the fire station, Mama Faye’s Airstream stood proudly, and the banner announcing her business flapped in the breeze. Chief Martin had approached several of the shifts at the station, hoping for volunteers to assist in a fundraising project for the local school district. Once people got wind that Mama Faye would donate a platter of food in exchange for the help, others—like my brother—were all in.

Just before three o’clock, our first customers started walking up. You couldn’t blame them either. For ten dollars per container, you could get half a smoked chicken, potato salad, smoky baked beans, and a side salad. For Mama Faye’s barbecue, it was the steal of a lifetime.

When Chief Martin walked up, I busied myself with stacking empty containers, ready to complete the orders as the food was prepared.

“Sure smells good around here.”

I grinned at him. “Mama Faye’s is the best.”

“Thank you for volunteering your time. It’s good for the crew to see their own stepping up. That’s the kind of leadership we’re looking for.” Pride swelled in me. I was a grown man, but the chief’s approval still tended to hit me in the center of my chest every time. “It also means a lot to Emily,” he added.

My brows pinched. “Sir?”

“My daughter, Emily. She’s the new chair of the educational foundation, and she and a few of the women in town came up with some new ideas to raise money for the school.” Chief shook his head. “She’s hoping to impress the principal over at the junior high, but he’s a fool if he can’t see how resourceful and stubborn she is.”

That’s Prim, all right.I bit back a grin.

“You’ll meet her today, I’m sure.”

Not wanting to deceive my chief, I offered a tight smile.

Chief Martin clapped his hands together. “Well, I suppose I better make myself useful. But before I forget, the missus asked me to invite you to supper tomorrow evening.”

I wanted to refuse. There was no way I’d be able to be that close to Emily and not screw it up, and the last thing I wanted was Chief Martin knowing I’d fucked his beloved daughter. The very same daughter who got under my skin and somehow turned me into a version of myself I barely recognized.

A nod was my only response.

I stared at his back as he walked away. He was completely unaware of the history between his daughter and me.

My hand flexed as irritation rolled through me. The last time I’d been face-to-face with Emily, I’d been unhinged—jealous of Charles fucking Attwater and his two left feet.

Though she mostly looked down her nose at me like a bug under her shoe, there were moments—like in the bathroomwhen I caged her against the sink and her round ass pressed into my cock—when the fire in her eyes melted into something hungrier.

I shook away the image of Emily’s lush body pressed against mine as my first customer walked up. Wyatt Sullivan was Outtatowner’s golden boy—hero quarterback who went on to the NFL and returned to coach at a university not far from here.

His cocky swagger was every bit a Sullivan as he stepped in front of me. “Whip,” he said and nodded.

“GB,” I shot back, knowing full well he’d fought long and hard against hisGolden Boynickname.

Unfazed, Wyatt said, “I’ve got five orders for pickup.”

I scanned my list and placed a check mark next to his name before accepting his payment. As I stacked the premade containers into bags, I got curious. “Your little girl hit a growth spurt or are you feeding a few more these days?”

Wyatt smiled. “Pickle can eat a linebacker under the table lately, but we also have a player who lost his mom spending the weekend with us... so he doesn’t have to be alone.” He shrugged. “Plus, Lark likes having the players around.”

That was the thing about Sullivans—they were so fucking perfect. Unlike the Kings, they’d been raised to fight fair and work things out with words rather than fists. I had no clue what that would have been like.

I handed the bags across the table.

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