Tucker's Crossing. Marina Adair

his hat back and jerked his head to the side. “Sign right there stipulates patrol cars only. And you, sweetheart, are a lawyer, not a deputy. Maybe living in the big city things were different, but here the law’s pretty straightforward.” Logan tore off the ticket and held it out. “Would think with that fancy degree you’d be able to figure it out on your own, especially seeing as how we’ve had this talk before.”

      She grabbed the ticket, ripped it into a dozen pieces, took off his hat, shoved them inside and slammed it back on his head. “Wouldn’t want a littering ticket now, would I?”

      The car jerked forward as Mister engaged the winch to pull it onto the flatbed of the truck. Running to the front of the car, wedging her body between the bumper and her symbol of big-city success, Gina splayed her hands over the hood, trying to stop its movement.

      “Mister, you stop this right now or I’ll tell Ms. Luella I saw you eating a slice of Mrs. McKinney’s peach pie at The B-Cubed last week. With ice cream.”

      Mister hesitated, for just a moment, his mouth going a little slack. Shelby’s mouth, on the other hand, gaped open. Was Ms. Luella seeing Mister? And was Mister blushing? She really needed to pay more attention if she was ever going to become a small-town girl.

      “Now, you wouldn’t do that. Ms. Luella would be serving Rocky Mountain oysters for supper, and they’d be mine.” Mister took off his trucker’s hat that read “Mister’s Auto and Body: Certified Mechanic and Acupuncturist,” tipping it respectfully. “Sorry for the language, Shelby.”

      “It’s all right.” Shelby laughed, understanding his fear. “Ms. Luella can get a little . . . competitive over her baking.”

      “Competitive? Hell, the woman downright scares me. Haven’t eaten out once since we started seeing one another. Afraid she’d accuse me of cheating. Only went to The B-Cubed ’cuz Ms. Luella’s a purist, which I admire, but with it being so hot out I really wanted some ice cream on my pie.”

      “Well, if you still want to walk come morning, then you’d better release my car,” Gina threatened, pulling out her phone and scrolling to Ms. Luella’s number.

      “Stop bullying Mister. He’s just doing his job,” the sheriff said.

      “Come on, Logan.” Gina pocketed her phone. “Let me off with a warning.” Most people would take her begging and sunken shoulders as a sign of defeat, but Shelby knew her friend was just changing tactics. “You can’t impound my car. I’ve got court today.”

      “Walk.”

      “It’s the Olsen case. I’ve got all that physical evidence to carry.”

      “That case is so tight you don’t even need to show up. The guy practically convicted himself.”

      “I promised I’d take Sidney to see that new Winnie-the-Pooh movie.”

      Boom, a direct hit. Logan stopped at his daughter’s name and ran his hand over the back of his neck. A few years ago he’d been married to his college sweetheart, recently elected sheriff, and a proud new papa. All it took was a dark county road, one drunk driver, and a blind turn to leave Logan a widower, Sidney motherless, and Gina a twin without her other half.

      Logan’s world was Sidney and he would do just about anything for her. Including toss out a parking violation, which was more about teaching his impulsive sister-in-law a lesson than upholding the law.

      “All right, promise not to park in my men’s spot anymore and I’m willing to deal.”

      “I knew you’d cave. Plus, I have a request in with the city to redistrict some of those spots to the county prosecutor’s office.”

      “You are the county prosecutor’s office.”

      Gina shrugged.

      “It’ll never pass. Anyway, do you want to hear my deal?”

      Gina circled her hand impatiently, indicating that he continue.

      “We’ve got a problem with the Summer Sweet Spectacular. According to Opal Peterson, she went and had herself a stroke, rendering her incapable of speaking.” Logan put up a disbelieving hand. “No proof exists to support her claim, which she called to inform me of. Hell, as far as I can tell she hasn’t been to the hospital in over a year, plus I saw her doing water aerobics at the community pool on Monday. But, since I can’t call a woman who has been in my mom’s knitting club since before I was born a liar, we’re once again short an event chair.”

      “What? Wait, are you suggesting that I organize the fair? No way! You know I don’t play well with others. That’s why I’m a lawyer.”

      “Your car for a few hours of your time. Take it or not, I don’t care.”

      Shelby sent up a silent prayer of thanksgiving that Logan hadn’t just conned her into organizing the Summer Sweet Spectacular. She may have made Sweet Plains her home only three years ago, but even she knew how much time, patience, and referee skills it took to organize the Sweet Plains’s annual school fund-raiser.

      The biggest downside of small-town living was the school district. Fewer kids meant less funding from the state. So every year, right around the time school was winding down, the town got together and held a fund-raiser. Complete with a Miss Sweet pageant, cook-off, father-son football game, and auction, the fair usually raised enough money to fund the kids’ art and sports programs. And every year the reigning organizer either quit, left the state, or—apparently—tried to claim a brush with death to get out of doing it.

      Gina swallowed, her eyes boring into Logan’s, pleading with him to change his mind, offer up another alternative. When he didn’t, Gina succumbed. “Fine, but don’t come crying to me when the Ladies of Sweet raise their mint juleps in protest. Because if I do this, I do it my way. I won’t be threatened into throwing the results of a contest or crowning the wrong princess. And there won’t be any frilly decorations.”

      “No frills. Got it. Mister, you can let Gina’s car loose.” Logan smiled in a way that made it clear so much more was on the line than a silly fair. With a tip of his hat he said, “Ladies,” and disappeared into his office.

      “Are you crazy?” Shelby asked, thankful that no one had gotten the blunt end of a butter knife but floored that Gina had put herself in a situation where she would have to work closely with her former brother-in-law, a man she usually avoided if at all possible. “You know you’re going to have to actually play nice with the sheriff?”

      “Yeah.”

      “And that the position requires you to attend teas, wear pastel, and socialize with the Ladies of Sweet,” Shelby said, referring to the self-titled group of women who, because of power, money, and deep local roots, dictated the social agenda of Sweet Plains—and the Miss Sweet Pageant.

      “I can be refined when I want.”

      “Didn’t they kick you out?”

      “No, I quit.” Which was short for driving a Harley through the middle of the crowning ceremony while sporting leather, a biker, and the finger. “Plus, Dawn was a Lady of Sweet. Hell, my great-grandmother was one of the founding members.”

      “Ah,” Shelby said, suddenly making the connection. “Let me guess, your sister was Miss Sweet and that’s how she won the sheriff.”

      “This has nothing to do with Dawn. Or how she married Logan,” Gina shot back. “Go there and you’ll find my guest room conveniently booked for the week.”

      Shelby put her hands up in surrender. “You win. No more Logan and Dawn talk, so don’t get any ideas about changing the locks. They have me pulling a double in the ER the night before and after my normal shift. There’s no way I could make it back to the ranch without falling asleep. And what? You can pry into my life, but I can’t even ask about yours?”

      “Damn straight!”

      Chapter