Page 2 of Sweet Southern Heat

Silently I hooked up her car, ensuring everything was in the proper position. Sparing a quick glance her way, I spoke in a low, emotionless voice.

“Best get your belongings and hop in the cab. I’ll drop you off at home on my way to the garage.”

“Oh,” she said, waving me off. “You don’t have to do that. I can walk to my mama’s house. It’s not far.”

I gave her a flat look. Even if the piles of luggage I saw tucked into her back and passenger seats had wheels, we were still nearly three miles outside of town, and a storm was brewing. There was no way I would let her walk. Murphy would kill me, then fire my ass.

Just then thunder cracked and lightning streaked across the sky. Olivia looked up as a fat raindrop splashed onto herupturned face. Her gaze fell to me and filled with dread. I smirked, basking in her discomfort.

“Hop in. I’ll grab your bags.” Her spine straightened, and she threw her shoulders back defiantly.

“I can get them myself.”

“Fine by me, but you better hurry. There’s about to be a downpour.”

Ten minutes later, I sat next to a soaking wet Olivia. Her arms were crossed over her chest as damp clumps of hair clung to her shoulders. I suppressed a chuckle at her pouty expression and clearly displeased body language. Then my eyes fell to her chest where the once flowy top was plastered to her body, the wet material clinging to her every curve. The outline of her lacy bra was clearly visible through the thin cotton fabric. I cursed under my breath and gritted my teeth. It didn’t matter how pretty the package was; the inside was rotten. I just had to remind myself of that every time I looked at her. I wouldn’t be fooled by the sweet and innocent façade, her big doe eyes, or the dimples that creased her cheeks every time she smiled. She was a devil in disguise, and I’d do well to remember it.

We rumbled down the road into town, nothing but the steady thrum of the engine and the muffled pattering of rain on the roof filling the otherwise quiet cab. Olivia shivered and rubbed her arms, goosebumps spreading over her sun-kissed skin. Though I cared little for her comfort and wouldn’t be the least bit upset if she suffered just a little during the short trip to her mother’s house, I too was chilled from the springtime drizzle. The temperature had dropped several degrees, causing the damp air to feel especially frigid.

Mercifully warm air blew across my face and torso as I flipped on the heat. Olivia sagged in relief against her seat, relaxing a little more than I was comfortable with. I wanted to say something,anything, to incite her unease again. Before Icould open my mouth to unleash a biting remark, I remembered why she was here, why she had suddenly returned to town looking like a whipped puppy. She had lost her grandmother, the woman who had practically raised her since her mom was too busy being a Southern Belle socialite and chasing older men with even more money than the Dupreys’ considerable wealth.

It was no wonder Olivia skipped town after the accident and never looked back. My brother was dispensable to her. Our family had no money or clout, and therefore none of us were of any use to her, especially since she wouldn’t have my brother’s coattail to ride. He could’ve gone pro after college or even entered the draft. He wasthatgood. But Olivia Duprey stole that future from him, and now he would never get it back.

My jaw tightened, my teeth on the verge of cracking as I suppressed the urge to lash out and rub salt in her wound. I was better than that. She didn’t deserve my kindness or empathy, but, unlike her, I was raised right. I wouldn’t kick someone while they were down. Besides, I liked Odette Duprey. She was a good woman. I couldn’t fathom how her daughter and granddaughter had turned out so horribly. So out of respect for her, and because I had a tiny shred of decency left in my body, I kept my mouth shut. When we pulled up to her mother’s house, I helped her retrieve her bags and placed them on the curb. Before she could scurry away, I called out her name.

“Olivia.” My voice came out gruff and gravelly. She turned to look at me tentatively, her shoulders curled inward as though waiting for a verbal lashing. I swallowed down my pride and straightened my spine. “I’m sorry for your loss. Your grandmother was a great woman.” She truly was, unlike her daughter and granddaughter. Odette Duprey was a pillar of the community. She donated unsold goods from her bakery to the homeless shelter and food pantry and paid off cafeteria balances at the elementary school. She knitted hats for babies in theNICU and organized free yard sales at the church. Magnolia Grove would miss her warm smile and kind heart. It wasn’t fair that now we were stuck with her spoiled, self-absorbed offspring instead. With any luck Olivia would be gone as soon as Odette was laid to rest. That would be one less Duprey soiling her good reputation.

Olivia stared at me with wide eyes, her surprise evident by the way her mouth hung open. After a moment, she clamped it shut, visibly swallowing before nodding once.

“Thank you,” she croaked, her eyes misting.

I turned on my heel, ready to sprint back to my truck. I had to get away from her before the devastated look in her eyes could break through the ice surrounding my heart. It had already begun to crack, but I wouldn’t let her get through. After all, she’d gotten to my brother, and all that caused was heartbreak.

Chapter 3

Olivia

“Ashes to ashesand dust to dust.” Brother John’s voice droned on from behind the pulpit as I fought back tears. I couldn’t believe this was happening, that my grandmother was truly gone.

I rubbed at the spot in the center of my chest that began to ache the day I’d got the call from my mother telling me that Nan had passed in her sleep. Every time I thought about her, heard her name, or a well-meaning neighbor asked how I was holding up, the pain hit me square in the sternum, nearly stealing my breath. It was as though she took a piece of my heart when she'd passed, leaving me with a phantom pain that would never go away.

My mother reached over and clasped my free hand as she made a show of dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. I didn’t doubt she was heartbroken, but everything was about appearances with her. When she’d come home from college pregnant with me and only half her business degree completed, she had everyone convinced my father had passed away. According to my grandmother, she'd barely left the house, and when she did, she wore black and hardly spoke to anyone. Everyone thoughtshe was in mourning when really, she didn’t want to be seen with a baby bump and a bare ring finger.

The rumor mill went wild, and she did nothing to curb the outlandish theories the townsfolk concocted once they'd realized she was pregnant. Some believed my father was a soldier who’d died in combat. Others guessed he was in a tragic accident, but everyone was too polite to ask. It wouldn’t have been proper. And my mother used that deeply ingrained Southern etiquette to her advantage. Even into my childhood she made comments about how he never got the chance to hold me. What she’d failed to mention was that he’d never wanted me.

I'd learned the hard way when she had a few too many gin martinis one night and confessed that she had an affair with her econ professor. He was married with children and didn’t want the stain of a pregnant mistress and student on his reputation. He’d demanded she get rid of me, but she’d refused. Instead, she came home with her tail tucked between her legs and never contacted him again. His wife, though? She got an “anonymous” letter detailing the circumstances of their affair.

My mother eventually completed her degree—a stipulation set forth by my grandfather for her to take over some of the family business—and became quite successful. She took an already thriving business and expanded it into a new and more profitable venture. She liked to point out that she made something of herself despite being a single mom when all I could manage was becoming a lowly pastry chef, something that had been a bone of contention between us when I decided to go to culinary school instead of following in her footsteps. It hurt knowing she was ashamed of me, but I should’ve been used to it. She’d been ashamed of me all my life considering the circumstances surrounding my conception. Even though no one but my grandparents knew the truth, my existence was still a stain on her soul. She’d never come out and said it, but I saw theregretful way she looked at me at times, burden and unwanted responsibility in her eyes. It was always there, from as early as I could remember. It was never more present than after the accident when she had to face the scorn of our town. Lyle was Magnolia Grove’s golden boy. He rose from nothing to become the top high school football player in the state. He was supposed to put our town on the map, and to them, I’d stolen that dream from him.

I knew deep down the accident wasn’t my fault, but it did little to assuage my guilt, especially when most of the town blamed me for ruining the Crawfords’ lives. Lyle had been their greatest hope, a way to make a name for their family, and those dreams were dashed in an instant.

So I ran. I packed my bags, left for school, and didn’t return for nearly two years. My grandmother asked me when I was coming home every time we spoke. I always told her “soon,” but that was a lie. I couldn’t face the town or my mother’s disappointment. So I stayed away. I didn’t return until my mother married her second husband four years ago. To my surprise, nobody treated me with scorn. Sure, there were a few weary glances cast my way, but most of Magnolia Grove had welcomed me home. It made it easier to come home for holidays and special occasions.

And then I ran into Landon.

It was the day before Thanksgiving, and I’d gone to the market to find fresh cranberries for my grandmother. She preferred to make them from scratch, so I'd scoured the produce aisle until I found the last remaining bag. When I reached for it, a muscled arm shot out and snatched the bag from the shelf before my fingers could make contact. My eyes slowly raked up a thickly veined hand and tatted forearm, across a set of broad, sculpted shoulders, a chest adorned with dog tags, and landed on the most menacing set of ice blue eyes I’d ever seen. I suckedin a sharp breath as Landon’s furious gaze met mine. He was home and by the looks of it, he wasn’t happy to see that I was too.

“I-I need those,” I’d stuttered out, pointing to the bag. I didn’t want to let my nan down by coming home empty handed. She loved cranberries. It was her favorite Thanksgiving side dish.

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