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Glory’s body crumbled on contact and instinct took over, taking it from touching to holding to an “I’ll fix everything, baby” hug. Before he knew it, the sound of her sniffles slid through his heart and the way her soft body pressed against his packed one hell of a protective punch.
    “You okay?” Cal asked, thankful when she wiped her face on his shirt and took a teensy step back.
    “Yeah, um, sorry about all of that. Long day, harder night, and…” She paused, nibbling at her full lower lip, and— sonofabitch —he wanted to kiss her. “I guess it’s been a hard everything.”
    He could attest to that.
    “Then let’s get you home.” He placed a hand at the small of her back.
    “Thanks, but I’ll just call Jelly Lou.” Face averted, feet stuck to the wet concrete, and he knew she wasn’t going to give in—easily. Which was too bad for her, because the way she kept eyeing the clouds and Maple Street meant she was considering walking, not calling her grandma. And he was a gentleman, so that wasn’t going to happen. He’d get her home and then go back to ignoring her. “I appreciate you paying my bail, though.”
    “Yeah?” He laughed. “Because I heard what you said, but the tone was more of a screw off.”
    When she looked up to argue, he raised a challenging brow, and she cracked a smile. A small one, but it was enough to show off those little dimples of hers.
    Man, she had a pretty smile. Even prettier lips. He dropped his gaze, and remembering that she was wearing a thin tank and no bra—and that it was raining—he grabbed the edges of his coat and zipped her up tight. Better.
    “Now,” he said, giving a casual shrug, not feeling the least bit casual. “We going to hop that fence or go through the station? Normally I’d be up for either, but since we have an audience”—Cal’s eyes darted across the street to take in the two women standing at the top of the marble steps in front of town hall, staring their fill—“I suggest we head out the front door like law-abiding citizens.”
    He said it to lighten the mood, but Glory didn’t laugh. In fact, her face sank and she took a little step back, right into him. Because standing across Maple Street, wearing a prim attitude and a stick-up-her-ass smile, was Darleen Vander, current vice president of the Sugar Peaches, Sugar’s honored and most distinguished ladies society—and the woman who had made Glory’s life miserable.
    To her right, digging through her enormous purse, for what Cal could only assume was a phone or a camera, was Darleen’s second in command, Summer Sheen. All they needed was one shot of Glory making her big escape and it would be all over town by lunch.
    Eyes still glued to the growing crowd across the street—two more pairs of cardigans and pearls had joined the gawkers—Glory asked, “Were there a lot of people out and around town when you came in?”
    Cal moved to stand in front of her, back to Darleen and blocking her shot. “Not too many people because of the rain.”
    Glory looked up and squinted as water streaked down her face, blinking as though just remembering that it was coming down pretty steady. He took off his cap, placed it on her head, and ignoring how good she looked in his clothes, pulled up the collar to shield her even more. “Why don’t you duck under that overhang by the station door and I’ll go get my truck. Gunther can open the gate and you can climb in.”
    Standing on her tiptoes, she peered over his shoulder at Darleen and he saw her weighing her decision. But instead of heading back to the station, she shrugged and started climbing the fence.
    “Whoa now, hang on there a second.” Call gripped her by the waist and, after prying her sticky little fingers off the metal, set her back on the concrete, water gushing out of her torn rubber boots.
    “What?” she said, heading back for the fence. He wrapped an arm around her middle before she could get very far.
    “They’re going