Sugar's Twice as Sweet: Sugar, Georgia: Book 1 Read Online Free PDF Page B

much more fun. Which was why he was determined to get her into his truck.
    “If you want you can call the sheriff. His name is Jackson Duncan and he can give me the Sugar stamp of approval.”
    “All right,” she conceded, desperation—and possibly her shoes—winning out.
    She balanced the golf bag between her feet and reached into her purse. Hands fluttering through all eighty-seven pockets, they finally pulled out a cell. Pink. She punched in some keys and waited, her face going blank after about fifteen seconds. She stared at it, punching harder and tried again.
    “Rat bastard!”
    She pulled the phone back, wound up, and let her fly. They watched the pink metal glisten in the sun before shrinking into the horizon to finally disappear.
    “Nice arm.”
    Ignoring his comment, her eyes went to his truck again. “How tough is your truck?”
     “Chevy tough.”
    “Uh-huh.” She gave his tire a swift kick. Not impressed. “Tough enough to withstand a head-on with a Bentley?”
    “It’s American.” He meant it as a testament to how badass his truck was. But she mumbled something that sounded vaguely like “figures.”
    “You promise to take me to my car so I can get the rest of my things—”
    “There’s more?”
    “And get me to where I’m going, untouched?”
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    She still didn’t look convinced, which made her a lot smarter than he was. This trip home was about lying low, playing it safe. Not picking up designer women with purse-sized pets. Sighing, he ushered her toward the passenger door, her fuzzy companion letting loose sounds that were about as intimidating as a Christmas carol. He reached around to help her inside, but paused, content to watch her struggle with her dog, purse, and bag of clubs. Finally realizing that they wouldn’t all fit, she thrust her clubs in his face and went back to tending to the dog.
    “Listen, Barbie, Toto here isn’t going to pee in my truck, is she?”
    “My name is Josephina. This is Boo. And she is male, which means he’s predisposed to making public statements whenever he feels his masculinity threatened.” She eyed his truck again and smiled.
    Brett looked down at the tiny dog covered in white fluff that was teased, sculpted, and pinned back with a pink bow. Two wet black eyes looked up at him and Brett actually pitied the fuzzball. Until it leaped over the center console, made himself at home in Brett’s seat, and started gnawing on the steering wheel.
    His mistress, on the other hand, climbed into the passenger seat, while Brett took a minute to admire the view before hoisting her clubs to toss them into the back.
    “Wait,” she said, grabbing at the strap.
    “It won’t fit. Besides, already got my own set, Jo. Nicer than,” he looked at the label and mumbled, “those Stone clubs.”
    “Josephina,” she corrected. “And how do I know those aren’t from your last victim?”
    “Same way I don’t know if you used those clubs to emasculate Rat Bastard.”
    She nibbled her lower lip for a long minute and then let go of the bag. But not before she snagged one first—a nine-iron.
    “Good girl. Now promise me you don’t have him locked in that trunk of yours.”
    This time she smiled—and man, what a smile. Who knew that a smiling blonde wielding golf clubs could mess with his mind like that?
    Clearing his throat, he tossed her bag, sans the nine-iron, in the back and climbed behind the wheel, looking to see if he managed to crush her dog in the process. No such luck. Boo sat happily on her lap, tail wagging as she stroked his head. Lucky dog.
    “What’s that for?” Brett nodded to the nine-iron, clenched in her hand like a billy club. “We already established you know of my commercials and I have the sheriff’s support.”
    “I never got to call, remember? Plus, you’re male, which means 50 percent of what comes out of your mouth is a lie. I’m not taking any chances.”

Chapter 3
    D on’t cry don’t cry don’t