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plenty of cravings of my own when I was pregnant with my first—”
    â€œIt’s my book club,” Callie blurted. “It’s my turn to bring the snacks.”
    â€œBook club, huh?” Ivy eyed her. “And just which book club might that be? I know ’em all, sugar, on account of I usually work the night shift and it gets mighty boring around here at three a.m. Books help me pass the time. So which one you into? Hunger Games ? Fifty Shades of Grey ? Eighty Psalms of Praise ?”
    â€œ Hunger Games. ” Guilt welled, but she shoved it back down. Sure, she’d never read the book. But she had seen the movie on pay-per-view. Twice.
    â€œ Hunger Games, huh?” Ivy pursed her lips. “My daughter Louella leads that one and she insists on homemade snacks. She don’t cotton to all those preservatives they use in this store-bought stuff. Why, she’s liable to kick you out on your keister if you show up with this—”
    â€œThe other one,” Callie blurted. “I forgot. It’s the other one.”
    â€œWhich one—”
    â€œListen, I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m in a really big hurry. I’ve got to get back over to the church. For the funeral,” she added, just in case Ivy had missed the front page of the Rebel Yell, which had detailed the fire and James’s sudden demise.
    The old woman looked as if she wanted to keep drilling, but if there was one thing that could kick nosey’s ass in a small town like Rebel, it was the death of a loved one. “Mighty sorry for your loss,” she murmured grudgingly before clamping her lips shut and reaching for the second box of cupcakes. “That granddaddy of yours sure could cook a mean moonshine. Not that I tasted even a sup myself,” she rushed on, “but folks talk and I hear everything. ’Course it wasn’t nearly as good as the original, but word is it ran a close second.”
    Close, but not quite there.
    The story of James Harlin’s life.
    She’d heard the sentiment time and time again while growing up. James complaining about his lot in life. James complaining about the Sawyers. James warning her about the Sawyers. James cursing the Sawyers.
    He’d nearly had a fit when Brett had shown up to take her to the prom that night. He’d even pulled out his shotgun, but luckily her father had taken it away before James had managed to do anything more than fire off a few warning shots.
    Callie’s father hadn’t been too thrilled with her choice of escort, either. But he’d been a decent enough man to keep his thoughts to himself and let her make her own choices. He’d simply given her a hug, a concerned smile, and a “Be careful.”
    That had been the last thing he’d ever said to her.
    â€œâ€¦ Earl over at the VFW Hall said your granddaddy was brewing up some really good stuff these past few months. Really good.”
    â€œI’m sure he would have been happy to hear that.” Callie busied herself opening her wallet while Ivy finished ringing her up.
    â€œCain’t say as I’m surprised about what happened though,” the woman added as she handed over Callie’s bags. While she might have quit prying, she wasn’t about to give judgment a rest. “It’s a wonder your granddaddy didn’t blow himself up a long time ago. Those stills are unpredictable, ya know. That’s why I never let my Robert get himself mixed up in any of that.”
    No, Robert hadn’t done any cooking himself. Instead, he’d been one of James Harlin’s biggest customers. At least that’s what Callie had figured since she’d seen his old truck pull around back every Friday afternoon, along with a stream of other cars that had all paid her granddaddy a visit for their weekly fix of his brew. The sheriff had dropped by on occasion, as well, although for much different reasons. She’d gone to