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high school with Sheriff Hunter DeMassi. He’d been a grade above her, but in a small place like Rebel, everyone knew everyone. He was a good man and had tried on more than one occasion to shut James down. But Callie’s granddaddy had been cooking far too long to get caught so easily. Every time Sheriff DeMassi had come sniffing around, he’d never managed to find any evidence. No liquor. No still. Nothing.
    And so James had stayed under the radar.
    â€œWhy, my Robert was the picture of health,” Ivy went on, “right up until the day he suffered a massive heart attack. Natural causes, of course.” Her gaze collided with Callie’s. “My Robert wasn’t one to pollute his body. Not like that James. The man practically pickled himself.” She waggled an arthritic finger. “I hope you and your sisters are smarter than that. It’d be a shame to see you all follow in that old coot’s footsteps.”
    â€œWe’re definitely smarter,” Callie mumbled as she took her bags.
    â€œSo I guess that means you won’t be carrying on the family tradition?” Ivy tried to look nonchalant, but Callie didn’t miss the sliver of hope that lit the old woman’s eyes.
    â€œNo, we’re all too busy with our own jobs to start brewing moonshine. Our own legal jobs.”
    â€œHappy to hear it,” Ivy said even though she didn’t look the least bit happy. “I always knew you girls were decent. Even for Tuckers.”
    Callie opened her mouth, but then thought better of it. Telling off a woman like Ivy accomplished little. The woman was old and set in her ways. Even more, she wasn’t worth the extra cupcake it would take to calm down after Callie got into it.
    â€œYou take care,” Ivy added, sliding the final bag across the counter.
    â€œYou, too.” Callie turned and made it two steps before her phone rang. Shifting her bags to one arm, she shoved one hand inside her purse and rummaged for her cell.
    â€œThe reverend is asking for you,” Brandy blurted the moment Callie managed to say hello. “He’s got a golf game at two and he wants to pray with us before tee off.”
    â€œI’m on my way.” She pushed through the glass doors. “Just sit tight and I—hmph!”
    Her breath caught as she came up hard against a solid mass of warmth. Her heart stalled. Her phone took a dive for the floor. Her purse hit with a solid thunk. Her bags crashed and the contents scattered.
    â€œI’m so sorry,” she started. “I didn’t see—”
    The word you lodged behind the sudden lump that blocked her throat. Her head snapped up and her heart stalled.
    Brett Sawyer’s eyes were even bluer than Callie remembered. Deeper. More unnerving.
    Especially up close.
    They pulled her in and sucked her under like the cool, clear water that filled nearby Rebel Creek. Sensation washed over her body, lapping at her ultrasensitive skin, sneaking into every hot spot until she felt completely submerged and temporarily paralyzed and …
    Uh oh.
    The moment of doom struck and she stiffened, desperate to get a grip. “I—I should have been watching where I was going.”
    And how. Then she could have slinked out the back or hidden in the paper goods section—anything to avoid a face-to-face today of all days.
    As if he read her thoughts, his brow wrinkled and he murmured, “Shouldn’t you be over at the church?” His voice, so rich and husky, slid into her ears and prickled the hair on the nape of her neck. Her attention shifted to his mouth.
    He’d always had great lips. Slightly full on the bottom. Sensuous even. Just right for kissing, or so she’d thought every time he’d folded himself into the desk next to her in freshman English.
    â€œI needed a break. Too many people.”
    He nodded and she saw a glimmer of understanding in the deep blue depths of his eyes. As if