Praise for the novels of

STEPHANIE

BOND

“The perfect summer read.”

—Romance Reviews Today on Sand, Sun…Seduction!

“[My Favorite Mistake] illustrates the author’s gift for weaving original, brilliant romance that readers find impossible to put down.” –Wordweaving.com

“This book is so hot it sizzles.”

—Once Upon a Romance on She Did a Bad, Bad Thing

“An author who has remained on my ‘must-buy’ list for years.”

–Romance Reviews Today

“True-to-life, romantic and witty, as we’ve come to expect from Ms. Bond.”

—The Best Reviews

“Stephanie Bond never fails to entertain me and deserves to be an auto-buy.”

–Romance Reviews Today

Also by Stephanie Bond

BABY, COME HOME

BABY, DRIVE SOUTH

6 KILLER BODIES

5 BODIES TO DIE FOR

4 BODIES AND A FUNERAL

BODY MOVERS: 3 MEN AND A BODY

BODY MOVERS: 2 BODIES FOR THE PRICE OF 1

BODY MOVERS

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

STEPHANIE BOND was raised on a farm in Eastern Kentucky where books— mostly romance novels—were her number one form of entertainment, which she credits with instilling in her “the rhythm of storytelling.”

Years later, she answered the call back to books to create her own stories. She sold her first manuscript in 1995 and soon left her corporate programming job to write fiction full-time.

Today, Stephanie has over fifty titles to her name, and lives in midtown Atlanta.

Visit www.stephaniebond.com for more information about the author and her books.

Baby Don’t Go

Stephanie Bond

www.mirabooks.co.uk

This book is dedicated to every person who recognizes that home is wherever you are loved.

1

Alicia Randall burst into her editor’s office. “I have my next story!”

Nina Halleck, executive editor of Feminine Power magazine, looked up from her desk and laughed. “Please, come in.”

Alicia smirked. “Sorry, Nina, but you’re not going to believe this. There’s a small town in Georgia that imported women for their men.”

Nina squinted. “Mail order brides?”

“More like bringing the entire catalog to town for the men to browse,” Alicia said dryly.

Nina pursed her mouth. “Okay, that’s a spin on matchmaking. What’s the name of the town?”

Alicia settled a hip on the edge of Nina’s desk, distantly registering the Manhattan skyline view. “The place is called Sweetness. Isn’t that great? I can’t make this stuff up.”

“Was there a shortage of women in this Sweetness?”

“Apparently, it was an abandoned mountain town that was being rebuilt, and there were no women. So a year ago the town leaders—all men—took out an ad in a newspaper in the town of Broadway, Michigan for—” she looked at her notes “—single women with a pioneering spirit, offering free room and board, and lots of single, Southern men.”

“Why Broadway, Michigan?”

“From what I can gather, Broadway was hit particularly hard by the downturn in the economy. I guess they thought women there would be desperate to relocate.”

“Did anyone respond?”

“Yes…a large group of women went down, a hundred or so.”

“And?”

“And—” Alicia leaned forward. “I want to go down there and see what’s going on. It could be my next topic for the Undercover Feminist column.”

Nina set down her pen. “Do you think they’re doing something illegal?”

“Not necessarily. But doesn’t it assault your sensibilities to think of a group of Neanderthals advertising for women to come and service them?”

“Do the Neanderthals have a name?”

Alicia checked her notes again. “Armstrong— Marcus, Kendall and Porter Armstrong—brothers. Apparently they grew up in Sweetness. About ten years ago, an F-5 tornado blew the town off the map.”

Nina grimaced. “Loss of life?”

“None. It was called the Sweetness Miracle.”

“I think I remember when that happened. I was writing copy for TV news.” Nina glanced upward, as if she were searching her memory banks. “No one was killed, but every building and home was destroyed…and maybe a water tower survived? Something like that.”

“Sounds right.”

“Hmm. So these Armstrong brothers are restoring their hometown?”

“According to the town website, they have a federal grant to rebuild based on a green initiative—recycling, alternative energy, tree-hugger stuff.”

“Sounds…wholesome.”

“It’s a great cover,” Alicia agreed. “Especially if they’re starting their own commune.”

“So what do you have in mind for a story?”

“I want to do an exposé of this chauvinistic matchmaking experiment of theirs.”

“By going undercover? As what?”

“What else? A woman with a pioneering spirit looking for a single, Southern man.”

Nina released a laugh. “You, on a manhunt? Alicia, when was the last time you even had a boyfriend?”

Alicia narrowed her eyes. “I wrote an entire feature on why that B-word should be stricken from every woman’s vocabulary.”

“I remember,” Nina said. “Sorry—old habits die hard. Besides, when I called Henry my manfriend, he said it made him feel like a butler.” She tilted her head. “But you digress…what administration was in power when you last had a man in your life?”

Alicia frowned. “I don’t need a man in my life, and I don’t want a man in my life.”

“My point exactly—so how do you propose to pass yourself off as a woman on the prowl?”

“I took acting classes in college,” Alicia said with a shrug. “Besides, anything for a good story, right?”

“If there is a story. The Armstrong brothers didn’t exactly coerce those women into moving there, did they?”

“Not that I can tell.”

“So…it’s a free country. Maybe they have the right idea, bringing men and women together to build a community from scratch.”

It was Nina’s job to play the devil’s advocate, Alicia conceded. “Tell you what—I have a few weeks of vacation coming, and my mother has been after me to visit her since she moved to Atlanta. Why don’t I head down and check out this place while I’m there?”

“When did your mother move to Atlanta?”

“Six months ago with her new boyfriend…um, Bo.”

“Bo? That’s his real name?”

“Evidently.”

Her boss considered her with shrewd eyes. “Alicia, are you sure this idea isn’t to satisfy some sort of personal vendetta to prove men and women can’t be happy together?”

Alicia scoffed. “The divorce rate in this country already proves that. Whatever I find in Sweetness will merely be anecdotal. Come on, I have a gut feeling that something will come of this. Will you authorize the expenses?”

Nina gave a rueful laugh. “Okay, it’s your vacation.” Then Nina took off her glasses and leaned back in her chair. “Alicia…the magazine has been approached about making your column a syndicated blog.”

Surprise and happiness shot through Alicia. “That’s great news!”

“Yes, it is,” Nina agreed with a smile. “Congratulations. I wasn’t supposed to say anything yet, but if this trip you’re planning turns up something interesting, it might be the right material for a blog series. It could be your first piece, a way to pull in readers right up front and develop a following.”

Alicia nodded. “Maybe I can get some of the women from Broadway to tell their personal stories…anonymously, of course.”

“I like it,” Nina agreed. “It has broad appeal and a human factor—I think readers will go for it.” Then she gestured to Alicia’s dark razor-cut hair, Nanette Lepore pantsuit and Stuart Weitzman pumps. “You’re going to have to take it down a notch if you’re going undercover in a mountain town, don’t you think?”

Alicia gave a dismissive wave. “I’ve been camping before.”

“When?”

“When I was nine, my dad and his second—no, third wife took me to the Met to camp overnight.”

“The Met?”

“It was a special program—the museum set up tents in the atrium.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s exactly the same as living in a mountain town.”

Alicia laughed. “Nina, I know this place will be different than my condo on the Upper East Side, but it’s not completely primitive—I’ve read they have wi-fi and cell phone service.”

“And spas and Starbucks?”

“I can acclimate.”

Nina smiled. “This assignment is suddenly starting to sound more interesting. And who knows—maybe you’ll find a big, strapping guy and live H.E.A.”

Alicia squinted. “H.E.A.?”

“Happily ever after.”

She gave her boss and friend a pointed look. “That’s funny…and pretty much contradicts everything this magazine stands for.” She pushed off the desk. “I’ll call you when I get there.”

Brimming with excitement, Alicia left Nina’s office and strode back through the noisy bullpen to her own office, with a smaller but equally nice slice of skyline view. The haze of summer hung over the city—it was a good time to get out of the brutal heat. The South would be steamy, but a change from the sizzling asphalt. Her mother had assured her a sweet magnolia-scented breeze blew round the clock.

She booked a flight to Atlanta and a hotel room in the area where her mother lived, then picked up her cell phone and dialed her mother’s number. Candace didn’t answer—she was probably out on Bo’s fishing boat, Alicia thought with an eye-roll—so she left a voice message telling her mother when she’d be arriving.

She glanced over her emails, grimacing at a “save the date” message from her father for his fall wedding to socialite Miranda Kitt, Mrs. Robert Randall number six. She wondered why he even bothered with a ceremony anymore, but each of his young wives had wanted the pomp and circumstance.

Alicia heaved a sigh. Her parents’ behavior had moved beyond humiliating years ago. It was almost comforting in its familiarity, and in some ways, she appreciated that they hadn’t given her unrealistic expectations of romance like most women her age. The time her peers in college, grad school and her early career had spent trying to find a mate, Alicia had spent working odd jobs, honing her skills and furthering her network. As a result, at thirty-one, she was the youngest staff writer in the forty-year history of the heavy-hitting Feminine Power magazine, and making a name for herself with exposés in her Undercover Feminist column.

To date, she’d taken on the system by going undercover to reveal job applicant and interview inequities, discrimination in the health care system and academic tenure programs, plus gender service inequalities in everything from car repair to dry cleaning. The Undercover Feminist column had spawned a couple of investigations by national news networks, garnering lots of coverage for the magazine. If the town leaders of Sweetness, Georgia, had initiated a mass matchmaking trend that was detrimental to women, she intended to get the word out.

Alicia paged through the rest of her emails, then brought up a browser screen and typed in the website address for Sweetness, Georgia, The Greenest Place on Earth.

She moved from screen to screen, on the hunt for tidbits she could use once she arrived. The fledgling town featured a boardinghouse, a clinic with a helipad, a school, a General Store, diner, bank and hair salon. A business of recycling tires and other materials into indestructible mulch had proved to be lucrative, as had the windmill farm and produce from an expansive organic garden.

A lost and found warehouse of items recovered after the tornado had its own social networking page for former residents to stay in touch. A restored covered bridge was being touted as a tourist destination. A scientist had built a laboratory to study the medicinal effects of a mountain vine called kudzu. And the town was having a Homecoming weekend in a month to welcome back anyone who had ever lived there.

On the About page was a photo of the three Armstrong brothers standing outside, dressed in dirty work clothes. Theirs was a strong gene pool, Alicia acknowledged with grudging approval, all of them as big as trees and rather attractive in a rugged sort of way.

The youngest looking one—Porter Armstrong, according to the title underneath the photo—was obviously the personality of the three, grinning at the camera. The one standing in the middle—Kendall Armstrong—looked approachable, if less gregarious. The oldest looking one—Marcus Armstrong—looked the least pleased to have his picture taken. From his body language, she could tell he was the natural leader of the group, yet he seemed to hold himself apart…a loner. She could relate.

Those eyes… Alicia’s stomach tightened. Marcus Armstrong had the most intense stare of any man she’d ever seen.

What would it be like to gaze into those eyes while sharing a pillow? Desire stabbed her low and deep. She shook off the sensation with a little laugh—Nina’s teasing was getting to her.

But those eyes…

She picked up the phone and dialed the Research Department. “Neil, this is Alicia. I need a full background report on a Marcus Armstrong, currently residing in the town of Sweetness, Georgia. M-A-R-C-U-S….”

2

“Okay, let’s get started,” Marcus Armstrong said to his brothers, gesturing to the current month’s schedule mounted on the wall of the trailer they’d chosen as their construction office. “We have a lot to go over.”

A country song erupted in the room. “C’mon baby, drive south,” the singer sang before Porter could get his phone out of its clip. “Hang on—it’s Nikki,” he said, then connected the call. “Hi, baby, what’s up?”

Marcus bit down on the inside of his cheek. His youngest brother had become even more woman-whipped lately because he was feeling the pressure of not yet having proposed to his girlfriend, Dr. Nikki Salinger, who had come to Sweetness and started their family clinic. Porter, who had been a tough foot soldier in the U.S. Army and taken shrapnel in Afghanistan, turned into a blob of ooze when it came to Nikki. Marcus tamped down irritation as his brother made goo-goo small talk, then finally ended the call.

“Sorry,” Porter said. “Nikki wanted to square away dinner plans. Go ahead, Marcus.”

Marcus gave him a flat smile. “Thanks. As I was saying—”

Another song erupted in the room, this one blue-grass. “Baby, come home…baby, come home,” the tenor crooned before Kendall could get to his phone. “Just a minute, that’s Amy.” He connected the call. “Hi, baby, what do you need?”

Marcus pushed his tongue into his cheek. His other brother, Kendall, had recently reunited with his first love, Amy Bradshaw, an engineer who’d returned to Sweetness to rebuild the Evermore covered bridge and, to Kendall’s surprise, had revealed the existence of their twelve-year-old son, Tony. After a bumpy start, the three were now a family, although Kendall, too, was feeling the pressure to marry and make it official.

Marcus could add his brothers to the pile of love-addled workers who strung into the men’s barracks late every night because they couldn’t bear to leave their girlfriends.

And while he was happy enough for his brothers, in the scheme of things, having the influx of women here in Sweetness had been a royal pain in his ass. Sure, they had helped to move the town forward in some areas, but overall, they were a huge distraction from getting work done, and the to-do list to meet the federal deadline in six months was still long enough to keep him awake at night. If at that time they hadn’t achieved a level of expected success in manufacturing and infrastructure, the land within the city limits and everything on it reverted back to the government and the future of Sweetness would be out of their hands.

Marcus glanced at his watch. But apparently, he was the only person concerned about yet another day getting away from them. He glared at Kendall and gestured with a rolling motion to hurry the hell up.

Kendall wrapped up the call and closed his phone. “Sorry about that. Amy wanted to firm up plans for dinner, too. We’re all eating together tonight at the boardinghouse, Marcus. Join us.”

“Yeah, join us,” Porter said.

“No, thanks,” Marcus said, less than thrilled at the idea of being the fifth wheel to their foursome… again. “And do you think the two of you could get rid of those pansy ringtones?” He gestured to the office door. “Maybe we should take the day off to look for the balls both of you seem to have misplaced.”

Porter grinned. “One of these days, brother, you’re going to meet someone who will inspire their own ringtone.”

“Someone you’ll be happy to hand your stones to,” Kendall added.

“Right,” Marcus said dryly. “That’s never gonna happen.”

Porter looked at Kendall. “Famous last words.”

Kendall made a rueful noise. “The bigger they are, the harder they fall.”

“Can we get back to work?” Marcus barked.

Porter scoffed. “Lighten up, Marcus. We’ve made tremendous progress in the past few months. We can afford to relax a little.”

“I have to agree,” Kendall said. “The bank will be open any day now, that’s huge. Dr. Devine’s laboratory is underway, and he’s been written up in at least six national newspapers. The General Store has expanded, and now we have a pharmacy in the clinic. Our mulching business has doubled again in the last six months. The recycling plant is hiring. We’re breaking ground on the hotel today. We have a new fire truck and fire hydrants on the sidewalks my beautiful fiancée built for us.” He smiled a proud smile. “And our population is growing every month.” He pointed to the black chalk board next to the door exhibiting the number “845.”

“The hair salon is busy, too,” Porter added.

“Well, that’s a huge relief,” Marcus said dryly.

“I’m just saying that at this rate, the strip of retail stores we built will be filled in no time.”

“We have business applications now for a tax preparer, a real estate broker, a shoe store and a bakery,” Kendall added.

“Any applications for a Justice of the Peace?” Marcus asked. “Because we have to have a peacekeeper in residence before the deadline.”

“No,” Kendall said. “But Regina Watts, the recruiter who’s been helping us get word out about open positions, is working on it. The problem is, the salary we’re offering is a tad less than what the market is paying.”

“How much less?”

“The average salary for a Justice of the Peace is about fifty grand…and our budget only allows for fifty dollars. Regina’s hoping to find an attorney who’s retired…or independently wealthy.”

Marcus sighed. “Keep me posted.” He looked at Porter. “When will the church be completed?”

Porter squirmed in his chair. “The basement is finished. The building sections are supposed to be here by the end of next week.”

Kendall clapped Porter on the shoulder. “Does that mean a proposal is on the horizon?”

Porter frowned. “Nikki and I aren’t in a hurry to tie the knot.”

“Really? So you don’t mind if I mention it tonight at dinner?”

Porter’s frown deepened. “I’d rather you didn’t. Have you and Amy set a date?”

“Not yet,” Kendall admitted. “But she knows how I feel.”

Marcus grunted. “The whole damn town knows how you two fools feel—you spray-painted it all over our water tower!”

Kendall shrugged. “I couldn’t let Porter show me up. But at least I’ve already asked and gotten my answer.”

“I’m not worried about Nikki saying yes,” Porter said with a nervous little laugh.

“Then why haven’t you broken ground on your house?” Kendall asked.

“Why haven’t you broken ground on your house?” Porter retorted.

“Girls,” Marcus snapped, “can you save the chitchat for later?”

Porter straightened in his chair. “There are plenty of other couples waiting for the church to be built. The place will be stampeded.”

“Then I guess you’d better be finding us a minister, too,” Marcus said to Porter.

Porter sighed. “Okay.”

Kendall smiled into his hand. “Before the marriages get underway, we’re going to have to turn one wing of the boardinghouse into a family wing. And we need someone dedicated to managing the house. It’s getting too much for the volunteers to keep up with.”

Marcus nodded and made a note of it on his list. “What else?”

“The tourist traffic to see the covered bridge has ballooned,” Kendall added. “I see more strangers in town every day.”

“Which brings us to our most pressing problem,” Porter piped up. “The diner. We aren’t prepared to feed tourists. Or the crowd we’re expecting for Homecoming weekend.”

“Right,” Kendall said. “Plus the Department of Energy representative will be back any day for another inspection, and we need to pass with flying colors. If we could make sure there’s no food fight in the diner this time, that would be a plus.”

Porter laughed. “We’ll have to keep Colonel Molly and Rachel Hutchins at opposite ends of town.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Kendall said. “I noticed Rachel’s been hanging around Devine’s laboratory quite a bit since he moved in.”

“Much to Dr. Cross’s consternation,” Porter added.

Marcus frowned. “What does one thing have to do with the other?”

“Didn’t you know?” Porter said. “Dr. Cross has a huge crush on Rachel.”

“But he’s got to be a foot shorter than her,” Marcus said.

Kendall splayed his hands. “The man is ambitious.”

Marcus pinched the bridge of his nose. Now even he was being pulled into the soap opera the town had become. “Can we get back to the D.O.E. report? All our recycling initiatives passed on the last inspection except for the dining hall. But since then, we converted it into a bona fide restaurant, and we’re recycling ninety-five percent of the restaurant waste.”

“But the food is still terrible,” Kendall said, “and the service is lousy. They can’t handle a big crowd. Colonel Molly is impossible to work with—the waitresses don’t last long.”

Marcus frowned. “I’ll talk to her.”

“The diner stands to make or lose a lot of money as the town grows,” Porter pressed. “It needs your business know-how behind it.”

Marcus bit down on his cheek. “Let’s keep our eye on the goals for the federal deadline. In addition to a Justice of the Peace, we need to show we have adequate emergency response systems in place—fire and rescue. We have to break ground on a housing development, a jail, a library and city hall before cold weather sets in. Then we have to prepare for elections and buy polling machines.”

“We’re on track for all of those things to happen,” Kendall said calmly, making a steeple of his hands.

“But we can’t afford for anything to go wrong at this point,” Marcus said. “An explosion at the laboratory, or the discovery of something toxic where we want to put the housing development, would sink us.”

“We know, Marcus,” Kendall said. “But our first priority is still the diner. It’s the key to making everything else we have planned go smoothly.”

“So I hope you’re ready to do battle with Molly,” Porter said.

Marcus frowned. “I can handle her.” But he’d have to tread carefully—they were indebted to the retired U.S. Army colonel. She’d fed their original crew of two hundred and fifty men three meals a day for the first several months single-handedly.

Those were the days, Marcus thought. Before the women from Broadway, Michigan, had arrived, bringing with them their Northern attitudes and their endless high-maintenance demands—not the least of which was insisting the town charter include provisions that key positions be held by females, including the manager of the diner. The next thing he knew, they’d be unionized.

“Speaking of the diner,” Kendall said, “don’t forget we have a meeting this afternoon with Rachel for an update on plans for Homecoming weekend.” He arched an eyebrow at Marcus. “I understand she has lots of parties planned, so you’d better line up a date.”

“I already have a date,” Marcus said.

“Who?” they demanded.

“Mother,” he said. “Remember, she’s moving back Homecoming weekend.”

“How could we forget?” Porter asked. “She only reminds us every time she calls.”

“Amy is taking Tony down to help Mom pack a few of the heavier things,” Kendall said.

Marcus nodded. Kendall’s son was an Armstrong, through and through. Marcus loved the boy like he was his own. The thought of having a son sent a shot of longing through his loins…until he thought about having to deal with the child’s mother. Women were just too much trouble.

To confirm his point, Porter’s and Kendall’s phones started singing with their telltale “baby” ringtones.

“Are we finished?” Porter asked.

“Oh, yeah, you’re both finished, all right,” Marcus muttered as he headed toward the door. He planned to spend the morning at the recycling plant, then fish over his lunch hour…and count his lucky stars he wasn’t tied to a pesky, demanding woman.

3

“Thank you for the clothes, Mother,” Alicia said as she exited Candace’s house wearing and carrying a suitcase full of blue jeans, T-shirts and other clothes that were, in her opinion, too flashy for her mother to be wearing. Since leaving New York, her mother’s style had changed dramatically…presumably to appeal to her much-younger boyfriend, Bo.

What her mother saw in the bonehead of a redneck, Alicia couldn’t fathom. She supposed it had something to do with his sexual prowess, but she didn’t want to go there in her mind.

“And for the car,” Alicia added, then came up short in the driveway at the sight of an old blue pickup truck sitting next to the rental car she’d offered to trade for her mother’s sedan so she wouldn’t roll into Sweetness looking like a temporary visitor.

“Oh, I meant to tell you,” Candace said, her voice animated. “While you were packing, Bo said it would be better if he took my car to work and you took his truck to the mountains. It has four-wheel drive.”

Alicia tucked her tongue into her cheek—she supposed he’d meant it as a generous gesture.

She glanced up at her mother and felt a pang of sympathy. Candace Randall had met her idiot boyfriend in Atlantic City. Still slim and beautiful with creamy skin and dark hair, Candace was hanging on to her youth with both hands. She was obsessed with her exercise and beauty routine, constantly fussed with her hair and makeup. What little time Alicia had spent with her mother and Bo, she was glad she’d opted to stay at a hotel because the man—and she used that term loosely—fed Candace’s insecurities with sly, denigrating remarks.

It left Alicia feeling sick at her stomach to see her mother so desperate for affection. Worse, her mother seemed at loose ends, playing housewife in a small rental house in a shabby subdivision while her sweaty boyfriend worked landscaping jobs—a skill he did not put to use around their own residence, Alicia noted wryly, stepping over tall weeds in the seams of the concrete driveway.

And Jesus, it was hot down here. The temperature was at least a hundred degrees, and the air was as thick as cream. The sweet-scented breeze her mother had promised seemed to have died, along with the luster of her whirlwind romance.

“That was nice of him,” Alicia said, then took the keys her mother offered. She’d never been behind the wheel of a truck before, but it couldn’t be much different than any other vehicle. And maybe a pickup would help her blend in better once she arrived in Sweetness. She opened the passenger door and stepped back as a wave of pent-up heat rolled out.

“So you’re doing a story on Sweetness?” Candace asked.

“Maybe,” Alicia said vaguely as she lifted her suitcase into the seat. The cab of the truck was an oven. “I won’t know until I get there.”

“Since you borrowed my wardrobe, I assume this is for your Undercover Feminist column? Is something strange going on up there?”

“That’s what I intend to find out,” Alicia said mildly.

“I remember reading something in the newspaper about the town building a covered bridge. It sounds like a very pretty place,” her mother said, her voice wistful.

Alicia closed the passenger door, then reached forward to squeeze her mother’s hand. “Are you okay, Mom?”

Candace hesitated, her dark eyes troubled. Standing in the unforgiving sun, she suddenly looked her age. She glanced back at the small house in the little neighborhood, a far cry from the posh home she’d once shared with Alicia’s father. Then Candace conjured up a smile. “I’m fine.” She pulled something from the pocket of her worn jeans and extended it to Alicia. “I made something for you.”

Alicia took the item, a bracelet made of braided leather and silver wire, with a metal charm in the shape of a blossom. “You made this?” Her mother had always admired and acquired beautiful jewelry, but Alicia had never known her to be artsy.

Candace nodded and helped her fasten the clasp. “The charm is a magnolia blossom. It stands for beauty and strength, fitting for my successful daughter.”

Alicia was touched. “It’s lovely. Thank you.” She admired it, then looked up. “Mom, are you sure everything is okay?”

“I’m sure.” Candace wet her lips. “Have you talked to your father recently?”

Alicia hesitated. Was her mother in a funk because she’d heard about the upcoming nuptials? “He sent me an email the other day.”

“I heard he’s getting married again.”

Bingo. “So it would seem.”

“I’m sure the girl is your age,” Candace said, studying her manicure.

“Younger,” Alicia confirmed. “Only a young woman could put up with Robert, you know that.”

“You shouldn’t call your father by his first name,” her mother chastised. “Are you going to the wedding?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t given it much thought.” Alicia pushed aside the hurt she felt for her mother and smiled. “And you shouldn’t either.”

Candace’s smile was slower, fainter. “You’re right, of course. You’re always right. Drive safely, my dear.”

Alicia clasped her in a hug. “I’ll call you after I get there and get my bearings—who knows, I might be back tomorrow.”

Her mother brightened. “Then maybe we could dress up and go into the city, have a nice dinner.”

So her mother was well aware she’d taken a big step down in her expectations by shacking up with Bo. And she was obviously still pining for her ex-husband, who had married four times since their divorce twenty-five years ago.

Alicia wondered how it was possible to love someone for so long, although she conceded that her parents hadn’t dealt with their feelings at the time of their split. They’d lost a baby to miscarriage, her mother had told her later, when she was old enough to understand. Candace hadn’t been able to shake herself from the melancholy, didn’t want to be a wife anymore…and hadn’t been too keen on mothering Alicia either. Now in the afternoon of her life, she was nursing regrets.

All the more reason to avoid the complications of a relationship in the first place, Alicia thought.

“Going into the city would be nice,” she agreed, then gestured to the truck. “I’d better get on the road.” She shouldered her purse, opened the driver’s-side door of the pickup truck and pondered how to get up into the stained cloth seat.

“There’s a handle,” her mother said, pointing to the top of the door frame, then down to the bottom. “And you can step on the running board.”

Alicia reached for the handle and put her foot on what she assumed was the running board, then swung awkwardly into the seat. She crinkled her nose—the interior was filthy and smelled like cigarettes. She’d definitely be turning on the air conditioner full blast.

“The air conditioner is on the fritz,” her mother said. “Sorry.”

Alicia gave her a tight smile. “I’ll roll down the windows.”

“Only the passenger window goes down,” her mother said, then winced. “Halfway.”

Perfect. “Anything else I should know?”

“Um…Bo said you might need some gas.”

Alicia reconsidered her rental car still sitting in the driveway, with a working air-conditioner and a full tank of gas. But the last thing she wanted to do was drive into the small town and advertise the fact that she was a reporter on an expense account. Besides, this was an adventure, she reminded herself.

So she closed the door and after wrestling with the seat belt and the manual seat adjustment, she started the engine. Bo’s muffler, it seemed, was also questionable. Alicia waved to her mother and pulled out of the driveway.

By the time she reached a convenience store with a gas pump, her thin T-shirt was already stuck to her back. The heat was unbearable—she wasn’t sure how she was going to make the four-hour drive without some kind of ventilation.

Inside the convenience store, she was startled to realize men were openly ogling her legs. She already felt self-conscious in the short denim skirt and white sandals her mother had lent her, and the attention was unsettling. She usually didn’t garner a second glance in Manhattan, where she blended in with all the other thirtysomething women who wore dark business suits and blister-inducing stilettos. Besides, all the men in New York had their faces buried in the financial pages.

Were Southern men really as sexually assertive as their stereotype? The intense gaze of Marcus Armstrong rose in her mind, stirring unbidden desire in her stomach. She squashed the sensation, attributing it to feeling like a fish out of water.

Pulling her mind back to her objective, Alicia removed a large bottle of water from the refrigerator case. She was hungry, but the breakfast sandwiches were wrapped in grease-soaked paper, so she passed. The other offerings were pastries and packaged fare with names like “honey claw” and “cow pie,” none of which she found appetizing. If she were in Manhattan, she’d be having an egg-and-avocado sandwich on sunflower-seed bread and the world’s best coffee from Alfred’s café a block away from her office building.

She was definitely a city girl, she mused. If Sweetness was more primitive than this area, she hoped her visit would be of short duration.

On the way to the counter she spotted a battery-operated neon-colored plastic fan that mounted on a car’s dashboard with suction cups. The display model was generating a little breeze, and although Alicia found the item horribly gauche, she thought it couldn’t hurt, so she sheepishly plucked one from the stack. In a mirror near the counter she winced at her reflection. She had styled her hair this morning in a more casual version of her normal sleek bob, but humidity had taken over and it was already a frizzy mess. Luckily the eclectic racks at the counter also offered a package of elastic hair bands, so she added them to her bounty, along with a flip map of Georgia. The woman at the register gave her a big smile and called her “sugar.”

It was like being in another country, she mused.

Alicia looked around as she made her way back to the pickup truck with her purchases. Outside speakers blared twangy music, and the parking lot was jammed with trucks, muscle cars and motorcycles. Even the women drove huge SUVs, and everyone snatched up cartons from the barges of beer and soda sitting all around. Every person she passed nodded and smiled, as if they knew her. The first few times it happened, Alicia was startled, worried that someone had recognized her.

But that was ridiculous—who would recognize her? Even if anyone here read Feminine Power magazine, she didn’t resemble the polished woman in her head shot. She climbed back into the suffocating truck cab and mounted the little fan on the dashboard. She parted her damp, frazzled hair in the middle and braided it into low pigtails. Then she retrieved a mini voice recorder from her bag and spoke into it.

“I’m on my way to Sweetness, Georgia, on an undercover manhunt. Estimated time of arrival, about four hours. I’m hot, sweaty and driving a pickup truck. Not exactly sure of what I’m getting into, but here goes.”

4

The battery in the battery-operated fan died one hour into the drive to Sweetness. The radio in Bo’s pickup truck picked up nothing but howling country music stations. And when Alicia had to stand on the brake to allow a furry brown creature to cross a two-lane road, everything underneath the seat came rolling out at her feet, including a half-empty can of hot beer that soaked her sandals, and a pair of zebra-striped panties monogrammed with Pam.

Since, to her knowledge, her mother didn’t go by the nickname Pam, it seemed safe to assume that Bo was spending his days laying more than sod.

Alicia sighed for her mother. If Southern men were more sexually assertive than men in cooler climates, it would follow that they were less likely to confine their attention to one woman.

Which brought her back to the matter at hand, she thought as she slowed to turn from a state road onto a more narrow paved one so new it wasn’t reflected on the map she’d bought. But from the sign posted, it would allegedly take her to Sweetness.

These people were so far off the beaten path they could be operating the world’s largest brothel and no one would know.

The truck had been climbing for a while now, but the landscape suddenly grew considerably steeper. Violet-colored mountain peaks towered all around, studded with evergreen trees and sheared red rocks. Candace had told her about the orangey clay that passed as soil in most of Georgia. It made for majestic contrast in the landscape, a photojournalist’s dream.

Alicia had hoped the temperature would be cooler at this elevation, but instead it felt as if she was getting closer to the sun. She was absolutely miserable. Her makeup had melted off long ago, as had her deodorant. Her clothes were soaked through with perspiration, and her feet and legs were sticky and dirty from the spilled beer. She could smell herself.

She’d planned to arrive a little dressed down from her normal appearance, but this was ridiculous. If her appearance offended people, there’d be little chance of anyone talking to her. Undercover was one thing—repellent was something else altogether. Besides, she was supposed to be looking for a man, not sending them running in the opposite direction.

A sign on the right announced, Sweetness, Georgia, 3 miles. She slowed to take in the landscape on either side of the recently paved road. The expanse of green underbrush had been cut back…someone was taking care to ensure visitors got a good first impression. To the left ran a postcard-pretty creek—Timber Creek, according to the flip map. The water looked clear and gentle, especially since her throat ached with thirst.

She spotted a metal bridge that spanned the creek. A sign next to it read Sweetness Recycling Plant, although no structure was visible, just unending trees and a prolific vine that she assumed was the “kudzu” she’d read about.

In her research, she’d also stumbled onto a factoid that raised the hair on her arms—apparently, the North Georgia mountains were host to numerous rattlesnakes and scorpions.

Scorpions, for God’s sake.

Because the relentless heat, humidity and remoteness of this place wasn’t off-putting enough.

Ahead in a bend she saw a red covered wooden bridge, obviously the landmark her mother had read about in the newspaper. From the website she recalled the original bridge had been destroyed by the tornado that had devastated the rest of the town.

The structure was magnificent, she conceded, and so perfectly situated in its surroundings, it looked as if it had been there a hundred years. It tugged at her.

She slowed to pull onto the side of the road to get a better look and to stretch her legs. Even though the sun was high overhead in a cloudless sky, it was a relief to escape the stifling cab of the truck. But when she climbed down, the full impact of her grubby condition hit her. Her clothes were plastered to her wet, gritty skin, and her feet were nearly black. She cursed her mother’s boyfriend, wishing she’d thought to bring moist wipes or something. She did have a couple of washcloths in her toiletry bag, if only she had some water—

Alicia stopped and glanced down at the creek flowing by, the water crystal clear and inviting. If she could make it to the water’s edge, she could wash her feet, she mused, laughing to herself. But when she spied a path down to the water and didn’t see anyone around, she started thinking it wasn’t a half-bad idea. It certainly beat showing up at a hotel looking like a vagrant, or asking for a key to use a gas station bathroom.

From her suitcase she retrieved her toiletry kit and a clean T-shirt, then on impulse grabbed a bra, too, reasoning she could change underneath the shirt. At least she’d look presentable and smell respectable when she rolled into town.

Her mind made up, she locked the truck and made her way gingerly down the rocky path. She wasn’t much of an outdoorswoman, but Pilates had given her good coordination and balance. She nervously eyed the weeds and rocks along the path, certain they were riddled with snakes and scorpions. When she reached the edge of the water, she was relieved to find herself unscathed, and to see she was hidden from the road. The opposite bank was equally as tall and rocky, so she felt safe to remove her sandals. After scrutinizing the clear depths for water snakes, she waded in up to her ankles.

Alicia sighed in pure pleasure at the rush of cool liquid over her feet. Instantly her body temperature started to fall. She enjoyed the sensation for several minutes before crouching to wash her feet with one of the cloths. When she finished, she wiggled her clean toes, then felt compelled to dip her hands in the running water and splash her face—heavenly. She laughed ruefully, thinking if only her boss Nina could see her now, bathing like a hedonist. She wrung out the cloths and held them against her neck, groaning in relief.

She was crouched on a smooth rock, obscured by an outcropping. She glanced all around and, feeling confident she was alone, lifted her T-shirt over her head, then hurriedly ran the wet cloth over her exposed skin. The sun was so hot, the water evaporated almost instantly. Feeling braver now, Alicia looked right, then left, then reached around to unhook her bra.

Marcus almost dropped his fishing pole. When the dark-haired woman had first appeared on the opposite creek bank, he’d been irritated. He hadn’t expected to catch anything at this shallow spot in Timber Creek—the scorching sun had driven the fish to deeper, cooler waters. But he’d expected to be alone with his thoughts for ten damn minutes.

He was sure she would spot him, but from the way she’d panned the area with no reaction, he guessed he blended into the foliage where he sat a little ways downstream holding his pole. He’d assumed she was another tourist stopping to take pictures of the bridge. If he was the neighborly type, he might’ve waved…but no one had ever accused him of being neighborly.

When she’d slipped off her shoes and waded into the creek, he’d been amused by the look of sheer pleasure on her face. When she’d crouched to splash her face, he’d presumed she was travel-weary. But when she’d pulled her T-shirt over her head to reveal a lacy pink bra, he’d gotten nervous.

He should’ve divulged his presence, but at that point he was afraid he’d embarrass her. So he’d tried to look away while she dabbed a wet cloth over her skin.

Tried to. It was no big deal, he’d told himself. She wasn’t revealing more of her long, lithe body than she would in a bathing suit…maybe less. She was, after all, still wearing a skirt.

But when the bra had come off, he knew he was in trouble.

He sat there, frozen. Well…most of him. His lower half reacted rather fiercely. He felt like a schoolboy, thrilled by his first sight of female breasts.

It wasn’t his first sight, but it had been a long… long…long time. And hers were spectacular.

Sitting high and full, her breasts were perfectly tilted upward, like an offering. Judging from the pale hue of her skin, she didn’t make a habit of undressing in the wild. But the tattoo he couldn’t make out at this distance suggested she wasn’t modest.

She was a vision, kneeling on the rock, splashing water on her bare chest. Her nipples tightened to a point, coinciding with his own body tightening in places he’d disciplined himself to forget about. He knew he should try to disappear before she realized he’d seen her, but he was afraid he’d only attract her attention and make matters worse.

And besides, he was mesmerized. He found himself hoping she’d slip off her skirt and the matching pink panties she was probably wearing to skinny-dip for a while. He held his breath when she stood—her body was silhouetted in the golden sun, her hands at her narrow waist as if she were contemplating exactly what he was thinking. But then she leaned over to fish another bra from the pile she’d made on a dry rock, and quickly put it on, followed by a different T-shirt.

Marcus exhaled slowly, still afraid to move. He watched her while she put on her shoes and made her way back up the rocky footpath until she disappeared onto the bank. The loud rumble of an engine turning over reverberated down to him—the lady needed a muffler. He waited until the vehicle pulled away before he dared to stir. He didn’t realize how tense he’d been until he stood and his muscles protested.

She’d driven in the direction of town, he mused, wondering what her business was. Probably just a tourist…or maybe an acquaintance of someone else living here…maybe the girlfriend of one of the men.

The idea that she could be visiting one of his workers bothered him, although he wasn’t sure why. He didn’t even know the woman, but didn’t the fact that she was so transient that she’d stopped for an impromptu bath in the creek tell him all he needed to know about her character and background?

He gave himself a mental shake to loosen the half-naked image of her from his mind. If he had time for a woman in his life, it would be someone who had her act together, not a high-maintenance nightmare.

But he didn’t have time for a woman—he had a town to build.

A few months before his father had passed away, he’d invited a teenage Marcus to go fishing, just the two of them, which was unusual since his younger brothers almost always tagged along. Marcus had known his father had something on his mind. Later, when their baited lines were dropped into a deep pool of water, and they were each chewing on a blade of sourgrass, Alton Armstrong in his quiet, wise way claimed that Sweetness was more special than anyone realized. He’d said it was a golden place that molded people instead of the other way around, and that life in the mountains, despite its challenges, was a way of life worth passing on to the next generation. He must’ve had a premonition about his own death because that day he’d extracted a promise from Marcus to keep the Armstrong family planted in Sweetness, no matter what.

That promise was the reason Marcus had gathered his brothers together after they’d all left respective branches of the military to rebuild this town, why Marcus had practically blackmailed Amy Bradshaw to tell Kendall about his son once Marcus discovered his existence—the boy was an Armstrong, and the family had to stay together…in Sweetness. Which meant Sweetness had to prosper.

Nothing was going to distract him from his promise or his goal. He felt the mantle of responsibility of this town’s future every morning when he opened his eyes and every night before he closed them. If they stayed on track, at year end they would meet the requirements of the federal program and the land that made up the city limits of Sweetness would be turned over to the chartered resident shareholders, including him and his brothers.

But he was afraid if he took his eye off the ball for a minute, was distracted by anything personal, something would happen to derail the entire plan he’d worked so diligently to orchestrate. And he would let his father down.

He couldn’t allow that to happen.

Marcus glanced at his watch, realizing it was almost time to meet Rachel Hutchins at the diner to discuss the events she was organizing for Homecoming weekend. While he was there, he might as well talk to Colonel Molly about her managerial style.

He leaned over to lift his fishing pole and reel in his line. At the sight of his empty hook, he frowned—while he was distracted by the topless water nymph, some lucky fish had gotten away with a fat mealworm…which seemed fitting considering his previous line of thinking.

When he reached for his tackle box, something bobbing in the water caught his eye. He squinted, then waded in to scoop it up. It was a bracelet—braided leather and wire, with a dangling charm. Nice. And since the leather wasn’t yet saturated, he realized it probably belonged to the topless woman.

Marcus scratched his head—assuming he ran into her, how would he return the bracelet without revealing he’d been privy to the little show she’d put on? He considered the trinket for a moment, then dropped it into his shirt pocket and decided not to worry about it.

He’d probably never see her again.

5

“Guess where I am,” Alicia said into the phone.

“Rocky Top?” Nina asked.

“Right. Just checking my phone reception.”

“What’s the place like?”

Alicia squinted up at the white water tower that loomed over her approach. Welcome to Sweetness, the tank proclaimed. But spray-painted over the black lettering was I ♥ Nikki in red and I ♥ Amy in blue.

“It’s…quaint.” A car coming toward her honked, then the driver waved as they went by.

“What was that?” Nina asked.

“Everyone down here honks and waves,” Alicia said. “I’m driving a pickup truck.”

“Get out.”

“I’m not kidding.”

“Wow, when you go undercover, you go deep. What’s your plan?”

Alicia slowed as what she presumed was the downtown area came into sight. “I’m going to find a place to talk to people without raising any red flags.” The sidewalks were surprisingly crowded. Everyone turned to look at her vehicle. “I have a feeling that everyone here can spot a stranger.”

She panned side to side, taking in the odd-looking buildings that appeared to have been constructed with a motley collection of materials—recycled materials, she realized. Her gaze landed on a sign that read Hair Salon, and she smiled into the phone. “Gotta run—I just found a place where people talk.”

After disconnecting the call, she followed signs for parking to a large grassy lot. The town was obviously preparing for the arrival of many cars, probably the Homecoming event she’d read about. She parked Bo’s smelly truck and climbed out, then made her way back to the town’s main street. On the way to the hair salon, she took stock of the businesses she’d read about on the website—the General Store, bank, the clinic and other buildings, including one that simply read Diner. It looked like a movie set for a small town…this place was surreal.

Or unreal?

The sidewalks, she noted, were more extensively networked than the buildings, hinting at more construction to come. And they were uncommonly beautiful. The light-colored concrete contained bits of colored glass—more use of recycled materials, she realized.

The people looked laid-back, dressed for the sweltering weather and moving slowly. By the matching T-shirts and hats a clump of kids wore, she assumed some sort of team sports game was about to be played. The presence of children was a little jarring—for their sake she hoped nothing illicit was going on in this town.

The hair salon, she noted wryly, featured a striped barber’s pole next to its sign. She opened the door and was immediately struck by how busy the place was—and how…segregated.

Women sat on one side of the salon, apparently waiting for one of the three female stylists working there. Men sat on the other side, waiting for one of the two barbers attending old-fashioned barber’s chairs. There was literally a wall down the center of the establishment.

Alicia’s back stiffened. Privacy was one thing, but even the waiting areas were separate?

The other thing that caught her eye was the sign that said all haircuts were five dollars.

She was in the Twilight Zone.

She walked into her gender-appropriate area and smiled at a rounded, dark-haired woman sitting there, waiting her turn. The woman looked her up and down, but offered a smile. “Hello.”

“Hello,” Alicia said. “Do you know if they take walk-ins?”

“Oh, sure,” the woman said, “but you might have to wait a while. I’m Susan Sosa.”

The introduction took her by surprise—no one in Manhattan offered their name unless they were applying for a job. “Alicia,” she responded, her mind racing for an alias last name. “Alicia Waters.”

“Nice to know you,” the woman said, then nodded at Alicia’s bag. “Beautiful purse.”

Alicia realized her Chanel bag didn’t exactly go with the rest of her outfit. “It’s a knockoff,” she lied, “but thanks.”

“Have a seat,” Susan said, gesturing to the empty chair next to her. “When did you move here?”

“I just arrived,” Alicia said, taking the proffered seat. “Actually, I was wondering what you could tell me about the town.”

Susan smiled. “It’s nice. I moved here about a year ago.”

“From where?”

“Michigan. Believe it or not, I answered an ad.”

What a stroke of luck to find one of the original women who’d come to the town looking for a man. “A newspaper ad?”

The woman nodded. “Sweetness was just being built and they needed women. I was single, laid off from my job, and I needed a fresh start, so here I am.”

Alicia offered a girlfriend smile to the pretty woman. “And how is it working out?”

“I like it here, it’s simple.” She grinned. “And there are lots of men.”

“I’ve heard that men run this town…is that true?”

“I guess so. The Armstrong brothers sort of run everything.”

“What are they like?”

Susan shrugged. “The younger brothers are nice enough—they both have sweethearts.”

“What about the older brother?”

“Marcus? He doesn’t like women.”

“He’s gay?”

Susan laughed. “No. He just keeps to himself. He has a temper, so people tiptoe around him.”

Alicia mulled the information, then gestured to the two waiting areas. “Do the men and women do everything separately?”

“Pretty much,” the woman said with a nod. “We live separately and sleep separately.”

Alicia tried to hide her surprise. “You do?”

“Like I said—simple.”

“Even the married couples?”

“There aren’t any married couples. The women and children live in the boardinghouse, and the men live in barracks.”

Alicia blinked.

“Susan,” called one of the stylists, holding up a cape. “Are you ready?”

“Excuse me,” Susan said. “Nice talking to you.” Alicia managed a smile, but was digesting the woman’s words. What was going on in this town?

She pushed to her feet and headed toward the door—she needed to find a way and a reason to stay here for a few days to find out.

“Earth to Marcus,” Porter hissed.

Marcus started, realizing he’d zoned out on the meeting with Porter, Kendall and Rachel Hutchins about the Homecoming weekend plans. Darn that dark-haired woman and her spontaneous outdoor bath. “Sorry, repeat that?”

Porter gave him a pointed look. “Kendall and I were just telling Rachel how grateful we are that she spearheaded this effort.”

“Er…right,” he said to the pretty blonde who had proved to be an organizational dynamo. “Everything sounds…great.”

When he realized his comment made it seem as if he hadn’t been listening, he added, “I know you’ve put a lot of work into this project.”

Rachel smiled. “So you’ll do it?”

He panicked. “Do what?”

“Hang the banner across Main Street,” she said, her voice irritated now that she knew he hadn’t been listening at all.

“We were saying we’ll need the cherry picker basket on the fire truck ladder to hang the banner,” Kendall said, giving him a quizzical look. “And since the fire department is your area…”

“Oh, right,” Marcus said. “No problem—I’ll take care of it. What else?”

Rachel gave him a little frown. “Here’s a schedule of the weekend events, and everything that’s still left to do in the next month.”

“We’ll provide any men you need,” Marcus said magnanimously.

“Yes, Kendall just said that,” Rachel said, her voice flat.

“Okay…anything else?”

“Just our food,” Rachel said, craning for a server.

“Our waitress seems to have disappeared,” Porter said.

“Molly probably ran her off,” Rachel offered. “That woman is impossible. And that help-wanted sign in the window is useless—word has gotten around. No one wants to work here.”

Marcus glanced around at customers sitting at cluttered tables, antsy and impatient. Others hadn’t yet been waited on. Irritation simmered in his empty stomach at the thorn in his side this place had become.

From the back came a horrific crashing noise, then Molly’s raised voice. “Get out of my kitchen!”

A young waitress came running out in tears, then bolted for the door. Molly emerged, shaking a spatula. “And don’t come back!”

Some of the customers got up and left.

Marcus stood and strode behind the counter, his anger zooming to the surface. “What’s the problem, Molly?”

The boxy woman squared her body to his. “The problem is no one around here has a head on their shoulders!”

“Molly,” Marcus said, banking his ire, “can I have a word with you in private?”

She crossed her arms over her matronly bosom. “No. Whatever you have to say, say it here.”

Marcus set his jaw and decided it was time to stop sugarcoating the situation. “You’ve had a dozen waitresses and they’ve all left. There’s a common denominator here, Molly, and it’s you!”

“I run a tight ship—it’s not my fault these flibberty-gibbet females can’t keep up!”

He pursed his mouth. “The bad service aside, the food still isn’t good enough. We’re expecting another inspection any day now, and a big crowd Homecoming weekend. Something has to change.”

She snorted. “If you think you can do a better job running this place, Mr. Marine MBA, be my guest.”

His mouth quirked. “You know the town charter specifies a woman in key positions, and the manager of the community-owned restaurant is one of those positions.”

She gave him a little smile. “Yes, it does. And believe me, no other woman around here can do this job.”

Exasperation with her and every other woman in town seized him. The fact that this restaurant could jeopardize all his plans made him see red. He’d faced down armed enemies on foreign territory, yet he had to come home and do battle in his own backyard? He lifted a shaking finger and didn’t bother to lower his voice. “I can take the next woman who walks through that door and teach her how to run this place better than you!”

The door opened and they turned to see a dark-haired woman standing there holding the help-wanted sign from the window.

Marcus’s mouth went dry—it was the woman from the creek.

“This will be fun to watch,” Molly said, then untied her camouflage apron and handed it to him. “Good luck.”

6

Alicia stepped to the side to dodge the bulldog of a woman who charged her way, gave her a smirk, then marched out the door. Alicia glanced around the nearly empty diner and was drawn to a tall, broad-shouldered man standing behind the counter looking in her direction.

That blue-eyed gaze was unmistakable. It was Marcus Armstrong, in the flesh.

As she walked forward, her mind scrolled through the information from the background report she’d ordered.

Marcus Alton Armstrong, thirty-eight, joined the U.S. Marine Corps while still attending high school, had made the military a career, served in Bosnia and Iraq with distinction. In between stints overseas, he’d earned an International Business degree and an MBA. A hero, a scholar, and a straight arrow. Never married, no children.

And insanely handsome in person. Everything about him reflected this rugged setting. His hair was sun-streaked, his skin deeply bronzed. His dramatic eyes were set in a rocky face, with a jutting nose and a square jaw. He was as tall as an evergreen with biceps like boulders. His drab-colored pants and cargo shirt said he was happy to blend into the background, but his sheer physical presence made that impossible. He looked formidable…the kind of man who was always in control.

From the way he was staring at her, Alicia was sure she must look a fright—her hair was still damp around her face where she’d splashed herself in the creek, her makeup was long gone, and she was seriously regretting pulling her hair into pigtails.

Why had she come to this town? Oh, right…

To expose this man for the extreme chauvinist he was.

“Hi,” she said, offering a smile and holding up the help-wanted sign. “Who can I talk to about a job?” When she’d seen the sign in the window, it had seemed like a natural fit—she’d worked dozens of restaurant jobs while going to school.

Although admittedly, she’d been fired from every one of them. Firing in her case had been literal—she’d been a decent cook and a popular waitress, but she’d shown an unfortunate propensity for setting fires. That part she would keep to herself, Alicia decided.

Instead of answering, he glanced around the diner as if he were looking to palm her off onto someone else. Two men at a nearby table she recognized from the website photo as his brothers looked at him with raised eyebrows, but made no move to relieve him. Finally, he turned back to her.

“I guess that would be me. I’m Marcus Armstrong.”

He had an amazing voice, as deep as a bottle of scotch, with a nice husky finish. But his backbone was rigid, and his mouth was unsmiling.

“Are you the owner?” she asked.

“Closest thing to it,” he bit out.

“What’s the job?”

He took his time answering, scowling at her T-shirt—Candace’s T-shirt, actually. A hot flush climbed Alicia’s neck at the “I’m a peach” slogan that implied she was a juicy mouthful.

“A little of everything,” he hedged, as if he were doubtful she could fill the bill.

“Hey,” a man seated at the counter called, “can I get some service?”

Alicia made a split-second decision and sprang into action. She walked over to the guy, pulling a notebook from her bag along the way. “Yes, sir, what can I get for you?”

She wrote down the man’s order as he read it from the menu—T-bone steak, medium-well, fries and a fountain drink—then assured him she’d get right on it.

She turned back to Marcus and smiled. “I’ve got this.”

He was still scowling—the man must be having a bad day. Instead of waiting for him to respond, she fished a drinking glass from under the counter, scooped in ice from the adjacent ice maker, and filled it from a fountain drink hose. She plopped in a straw, then set it in front of the man, who smiled in appreciation. She turned on the stainless steel grill, then retreated to the kitchen, stepped around a mound of broken dishes in the floor and stowed her purse on a counter. After washing her hands in one of the deep sinks, she draped a white hand towel over her shoulder. Because the contents of the commercial refrigerator and freezer were labeled with compulsive precision, she had no trouble finding a bag of French fries, a T-bone steak and garnishes.

Juggling the food, she made her way back to the grill and placed the steak on the clean, hot surface, then emptied the fries into a wire basket and lowered it into a vat of hot grease. Throughout, she was conscious of Marcus Armstrong’s gaze upon her. When everything was happily sizzling, she seasoned the steak with salt and pepper and retrieved a plate from the clean stack sitting outside the enormous conveyor dishwasher. She removed a pair of tongs from a hanging rack and flipped the steak. When the fries turned a nice golden color, she used a mitt to carefully lift the basket to a hook for it to drain.

When the steak was done, she plated it and the steaming fries, added garnishes, then set it down in front of the customer. “How’s that?”

He cut off a piece of the steak and put it in his mouth, then nodded. “It’s perfect.”

“Anything else?”

“I’m good for now,” the man assured her.

She backed up to lean on the counter next to the grill, crossed her arms, then turned a triumphant smile toward Marcus Armstrong. “You were telling me about the job?”

He worked his mouth from side to side. “I need a manager…and someone to help cook until I can fill that position, as well.”

“Then I’m your woman.”

His jaw hardened—he obviously didn’t appreciate her attempt at humor. “I take it you have restaurant experience?”

“That’s right—cooking, waitressing, hostessing, managing.”

He didn’t seem particularly happy to hear she was qualified. “It’s going to be a lot of work to get this place up to speed. I have to warn you, I’m not the easiest person to work for.”

Alicia’s pulse jumped. When she’d seen the help-wanted sign, she’d thought working at the diner would be a great way to meet and establish a rapport with some of the women who’d answered the ad. Spending time with the man himself would be a bonus for the blog.

“I can take whatever you dish out,” she said, lifting her chin.

He narrowed his eyes. “Aren’t you interested in how much the job pays?”

She caught herself—she had to act authentically. “Of course. How much?”

“Minimum wage and a room in our boardinghouse.”

She couldn’t care less about the money, but it was nice to know she wouldn’t have to arrange for a place to stay while she was here. “That sounds fair.”

“What’s your name?”

His suspicious look unnerved her, but she offered the alias she’d previously given in the hair salon. “Alicia Waters.”

“Waters?” he repeated, as if he knew she was lying.

She nodded and maintained eye contact, although it was difficult because his gaze was so intense.

“Where are you from?” he asked. She had the feeling he wasn’t just making conversation, but rather, wanted to know everything about people who intended to live or work in the town…his town.

She shrugged. “All around, but mostly the Northeast.”

“What brings you to Sweetness?”

She would have to be careful around this one. “I came to Atlanta for the weather, then I read about your covered bridge in the newspaper and thought Sweetness sounded like a pretty place to live.” She gave him what she hoped was a flirtatious smile. “And I understand there are lots of single men here?”

He stopped just short of an eye-roll. “That’s right.”

“Sounds good to me,” she said cheerfully. “Is there anything else I should know about this town?”

He considered her for a few seconds. “Because we’re new, we have more rules than most places.”

She made a face, but said, “I guess I can abide by a few rules.”

He hesitated, then with an expression akin to pain, he stepped forward to extend his large hand. “Okay… you’re hired.”

She placed her hand in his, and it was instantly swallowed. The contact was electric, conducting pulses up her arm.

“You won’t be sorry,” Alicia murmured.

He kept her hand and stared into her eyes until she started to feel warm. He was so big and sexy, she felt the urge to do ridiculous, girly things, like twirl her hair and preen. No man had ever made her sweat before.

Suddenly his eyes widened and he flung his arms around her. Alicia was stunned at the sudden contact and her body reacted instantly.

Until she realized he was reaching around her.

“You’re on fire!”

He yanked the towel off her shoulder and flung it to the floor. It was engulfed in flames. He stomped out the fire, then spun her around and swatted her back, shoulders and backside. Which didn’t feel terrible, but still…

“Hey, hey, hey!” she yelled, slapping at his hands.

He stepped back, then jammed his hands on his hips. “Are you okay?”

She twisted to look at her clothes. They were singed and smoking, but intact. “I think so. The towel must’ve touched the grill.”

He grunted. She could tell he was already sorry he’d hired her.

Oh, well, she’d just have to change his mind. She smiled prettily and batted her eyelashes. “Should I take some more orders?”

“No,” he said with a frown. “We’re going to close for the rest of the day so I can try to hire back some former employees.” His frown deepened. “And so I can get an extra fire extinguisher.”

She swallowed a sheepish smile. “What do you want me to do?”

The words left her mouth innocently enough, but once they reached the space between them that was charged with tension, they took on a weighted meaning. Images of the possibilities of what he might want her to do darted through her mind, sending her temperature higher than the fire she’d started. For a split second, she thought she saw desire flash in his eyes, too. But if so, it was gone just as quickly.

She thought about the comment the woman in the hair salon had made about Marcus Armstrong not liking women. Alicia definitely felt his animosity, and wondered if he sensed hers, though she was doing her best to keep it hidden.

“You can get settled into the boardinghouse,” he said, his voice gruff. “Ask for Regina, she’ll find you a room. Be back here in two hours, ready to work.”

Oh, she would be ready to work, Alicia thought. Ready to work on him. Because if Marcus Armstrong was one of those old-fashioned men who thought women were frivolous, silly and subordinate, she’d happily be the female to bring him to his knees.

7

Alicia stood at the window of the plain but comfortable room she’d been assigned in the enormous and bustling boardinghouse. To her right, an orange sun melted into a pink-and-red sunset bleeding over a black mountain range. It was the stuff of Hollywood movie backgrounds—a surreal backdrop for a surreal little town.

The movie The Stepford Wives came to mind.

She held her cell phone to her ear and listened as it rang on the other end. She expected to leave a voice message for her mother, but Candace answered.

“Hello? Alicia?”

“Yeah, Mom, it’s me. I’m just checking in. Looks like I’ll be staying here for a while.”

“Oh? I’m disappointed you won’t be coming back right away. Is Sweetness as pretty as it sounds?”

Alicia absorbed the calming view and exhaled. “Yes,” she admitted. “Very pretty. But it’s also very humid, and there are lots of bugs.”

Candace laughed. “You always hated insects of any kind. Bo asked me to ask if his truck is okay.”

Alicia thought of the monogrammed panties that had rolled out from under the front seat. “The truck is fine,” she said through gritted teeth. “Is everything okay there?”

“Sure,” her mother said cheerfully.

Too cheerfully.

“So, have you met any mountain men?” Candace asked, her voice breezy.

“My boss,” Alicia said idly. “I took a job in a diner to pass the time.”

“A diner? Are they aware of your little problem with pyromania?”

Alicia frowned. “I don’t set fires…not on purpose, anyway.”

“Is he cute, your boss?”

Alicia shifted her gaze to the diner across the street just as Marcus Armstrong himself emerged to lock the door behind him. Unbidden, her vital signs increased.

“No.” No one could accuse the man of being cute. After spending a couple of hours with him and the handful of waitresses he’d hired back, listening to his expectations for the eatery, she’d developed a list of adjectives for him—tough, opinionated and unyielding. But not cute.

“Oh, well,” Candace said, “there are other more important qualities in a partner.”

She turned her back to the window. “Mom, I’m not looking for a partner.”

“I know.”

Candace sighed and Alicia realized her mother was talking to herself as much as to her daughter, perhaps coming around to the belief that her “cute” boyfriend wasn’t all he was cracked up to be.

“How do you like your bracelet?” her mother asked.

Guilt seized Alicia. She touched her bare wrist where her mother had fastened the bracelet that morning. Sometime during the day she’d lost it, but hadn’t noticed until she’d undressed to take a shower.

“I love it,” she said, which was the truth. She only hoped it was in the pickup truck somewhere.

“Good,” Candace said, her voice infused with pleasure. “I’m asking because I’m thinking about starting my own jewelry business.”

“That’s terrific, Mom. You’d be good at it, and you have great contacts in retail.” She wet her lips. “What does Bo think about the idea?”

“I haven’t mentioned it to him yet.”

“Maybe it’s something you should keep to yourself for now,” Alicia suggested. “Until you work out all the details.” Or else Bo would probably plant doubts in her mother’s head. She hated that Candace was so easily influenced by men who didn’t have her best interests in mind.

“Maybe you’re right,” Candace agreed, her voice distant.

Alicia’s phone beeped. She glanced at the screen to see her boss, Nina, was calling. “Mom, I need to take another call. I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”

“Of course, dear. Good luck with your story.”

“Thanks, Mom. Goodbye.” Alicia disconnected the call. Worry over her mother niggled her stomach, but she’d learned long ago not to get involved in her parents’ relationships. Eventually, the players would change anyway.

She connected the second call. “Hi, Nina.”

“Just checking in to make sure you weren’t kid-napped…or worse.”

“No,” Alicia said with a laugh. “I got a job working in the town diner. I figure I can talk to a lot of people that way.”

“You’re a waitress?”

“I’m the manager and, for now, the cook.”

“You? The woman who set the microwave on fire in the break room?”

Alicia frowned. “That was a faulty bag of popcorn.”

“Right. Did you give your real name?”

“Of course not.”

“Won’t that be a problem when you provide your social security number?”

“I’ll figure out something to stall the paperwork.”

“No doubt. Have you met any of the Neanderthals?”

“I’m working for the head Neanderthal, Marcus Armstrong.”

“You’re kidding.”

“He’s overhauling the diner for an inspection from the Department of Energy. It has something to do with recycling and keeping their federal grant.”

“And is he horrid?”

Alicia turned back to the window and glanced down into the street. Marcus Armstrong was still there, talking to a young boy in a soccer uniform, and the man was…smiling? “He’s…hard to read,” she murmured.

“What’s your general feel of the place?”

She looked back to horizon. “I know I could never live here.”

“Are the conditions primitive?”

“There aren’t many luxuries for sure. But it’s just so isolated. The town is surrounded by mountains. It feels like civilization is far, far away.”

“So do you think something interesting is going on there?”

Alicia turned and picked up a sheet of paper that listed the resident rules, chief of which was no overnight male guests. Protective…or controlling? “Yes, I’m just not sure what to make of it all yet.”

“Okay, keep me posted.”

Alicia disconnected the call and looked back to the street. Marcus Armstrong was alone again, hands jammed on his hips, that perennial frown back on his face. He glanced up and down the sidewalks, as if to assess the town and its people. Tall and authoritative, he looked every inch the head of the community… a throwback to an earlier time, when a whole town could be held in one person’s hands.

But what exactly did he have in mind for this one?

He looked up in the direction of her window and Alicia shrank back, her heart pounding. Even at this distance, he had the ability to make her feel as if he could see through her, as if he knew she was here under false pretenses. She blamed it on his mesmerizing blue eyes.

When she chanced another glance, he was walking away, his head and shoulders back. She watched his big body until he was out of sight.

Alicia bit into her lip. Marcus Armstrong seemed like an intelligent man. She was going to be disappointed if she discovered he was unstable, or some kind of religious zealot. The town didn’t have a church, but she’d noticed postings downstairs about “services” on Sunday in the great room. While she wasn’t a particularly religious person, she planned to attend to make sure nothing kinky was going on. Because something strange had to be going on. A town where the women and children lived in a boardinghouse and the men lived in barracks and a water tower supplied hot showers and the General Store sold live bait and haircuts were five dollars and everyone honked and waved…well, that was just… crazy. Wasn’t it?

Alicia sat down and booted up her notebook computer, then opened a new file and began to type. Undercover Feminist by Alicia Randall

A little more than a year ago, the Armstrong brothers, ex-military men, banded together to rebuild their hometown in the North Georgia mountains. Sweetness, Georgia was a tiny map dot decimated by an F-5 tornado just over ten years ago. The Armstrongs secured a federal grant to rebuild the town on the platform of recycling and alternative energy and set about reconstructing Sweetness. But to attract women to their fledgling remote town, they took the novel approach of placing an ad in a newspaper in economically depressed Broadway, Michigan, for women with a “pioneering spirit” looking for a fresh start. The ad promised lots of single, Southern men, although it wasn’t clear what was expected of the women in return. I decided to go undercover in Sweetness to see how the matchmaking and town-building experiment is working.

When I drove into town in a borrowed pickup truck, I felt as if I’d gone back in time fifty years. A covered bridge over a picturesque stream welcomed me to the outskirts of town. A water tower straight out of the movies stands watch over visitors driving in. The drivers of cars I passed honked and waved, as if we were old friends. In my mind I could see someone phoning someone else that they’d just spotted a stranger driving into town and to pass the word.

At first glance, the town looks like a movie set. The hair salon, for example, is named simply Hair Salon. But at second glance…well, the town still seems to be out of some zombie movie plot because I soon learned that the men and women don’t live together. The women and children live in a boardinghouse, and the men live in a barracks reminiscent of a military facility. And strangely, no one seems to think the living arrangements are odd. Methinks I will stay awhile and investigate further.

I walked into the town diner carrying a help-wanted sign and walked out with a job as manager. I figure it will give me the opportunity to meet some of the women who came to Sweetness in search of a new life, and find out if the experience has been all they expected it to be. The bonus? My boss is one of the Armstrong brothers—the eldest, in fact, and he appears to be the de facto leader of the community. He’s an imposing figure, single and about as approachable as a grizzly bear. I’ve been told that “he doesn’t like women.” (Although he’s infinitely straight.) In between slinging hash and dishing up apple pie, I hope to gain some insight into what he has in mind for the town, and what part he sees women playing in the future of Sweetness. Stay tuned…

8

“Still waiting on bacon!” Sheila shouted toward the grill.

Marcus flagged that he’d heard her, then turned a half dozen fried eggs and glanced around for Alicia Waters, his alleged cook. She stood at the opposite end of the counter chatting with Susan Sosa. Irritation ballooned in his chest—the woman seemed more interested in talking to the customers than tending the grill. Considering that she’d already caught a stack of menus on fire this morning, he was inclined to let her float around chinwagging, but his skills gained in KP duty in the Marines were limited, and he was falling more and more behind.

“Alicia!”

She looked over and he bit down on the inside of his cheek. When would those enormous brown eyes stop sending a jolt through his system?

“I could use some help over here.”

She held up a well-manicured finger. “I’ll be right there.”

A waitress named Terri scooted past him with a coffeepot. “Are the biscuits done?”

Marcus peeked into the oven to find it empty. Damn—he’d forgotten to put them in. “Not yet.”

A third waitress named Gina walked up and extended a half-empty plate of food. “The guy at table six said his steak was too well-done—he ordered medium rare.”

Marcus noticed it hadn’t kept the man from eating half of the T-bone. He tamped down his frustration and glanced toward the cook-wanted sign in the window. “Gina, can you cook?”

“No,” she said definitively.

“Do you know anyone who can?”

“No.”

He frowned. “Somebody in this town must cook—what does everyone eat at the boardinghouse?”

“Mac and cheese, frozen dinners, pizza and Crock-Pot stuff.” She gestured to the crowded tables. “Why do you think this place is so packed, especially now that everyone knows it’s under new management?”

He grunted.

“Still waiting for bacon!” Sheila called.

“And the biscuits,” Terri added.

“What about the steak?” Gina asked.

He massaged the bridge of his nose. “I’ll fix another one.” This time, he’d leave it bleeding.

He sent another glance toward Alicia, only to find the woman bent over retrieving a pen from the floor. He hardened his jaw. She wore a pair of red shorts that were too short, in his opinion, no matter how nicely they hugged her derriere. And who wore high-heeled sandals to work in? Sure, they made her long legs look great, but they weren’t very practical. And thank goodness the apron she wore covered the T-shirt that was tight enough to remind him of the display he’d seen yesterday at the creek.

As if he needed a reminder.

The images had kept him awake most of the night, grinding his teeth against his body’s reaction.

She straightened, then headed his way, tucking her notebook into her pocket. Her hair was still in those silly pigtails. She walked up, then wrinkled her nose. “Something’s burning.”

He glanced down at the eggs and at the sight of the blackened edges, muttered a curse before scraping them all into the food waste canister.

“Someone’s not paying attention,” Alicia teased.

The words leapt to his tongue that his attention span had been fine before she came to town and started taking baths in the wild and wearing short shorts. Marcus closed his eyes. His lack of sleep— also her fault—was wearing on him. He opened his eyes, but averted his gaze.

“I need another dozen eggs from the kitchen, plus a T-bone steak and a tray of biscuits.”

“Sure thing, boss.”

He tucked his tongue into his cheek. His workers called him “boss” all the time…so why did it sound mocking coming out of her curvy red mouth? He tried to force his mind away from the woman and concentrate on the orders that were coming in. The three waitresses were tossing around slang he could barely decipher.

“Flop two, over easy.” (Two fried eggs, runny yoke.)

“Heart attack on a rack.” (Biscuits and sausage gravy.)

“Two pigs in a blanket.” (Sausage links wrapped in pancakes.)

He was on the verge of throwing up his hands when Alicia returned with the promised food from the kitchen. She glanced over the food orders written on tickets posted over the grill. “I’ll do the eggs and pancakes if you’ll take care of the meat.”

Her closeness unnerved him.

She looked supremely annoyed. “Do you want my help or not?”

He frowned. “Okay.”

She stepped next to him and, bristling, they worked practically hip to hip. Marcus was aware of every inch of her…and how was it possible that her light, sweet perfume cut through the strong odors of the food cooking?

He’d never thought of arms as sexy, but hers were—long and shapely, ending in pretty hands that seemed better suited to office work than the harsh environment of handling food and detergents. Her slim bare wrist reminded him of the bracelet he’d found in the creek, the one he was still trying to find a way to return to her without raising a red flag.

She sighed. “What?”

He turned his head, a mistake because this close, her big brown eyes were so deep, he almost tripped. “What?”

Alicia frowned. “You’re staring at my hands, so I’m obviously doing something wrong.”

He scrambled for an excuse. “You shouldn’t turn pancakes more than once.”

Her shoulders went back. “Really? Is that another town rule? I’ve never seen so many rules in my life as this place has.”

He frowned. “No, it’s not a rule. It’s just something my mother always said.”

Her shoulders softened. “Oh.” She turned back to the grill and loosened the cooking eggs with a metal utensil. “Is your mother still living?”

“Yes.”

“Does she live here?”

“No.”

Alicia gave a little laugh. “Getting information out of you is like pulling teeth.”

He squinted. “Why do you want information?”

“I don’t. I mean…I was just making conversation.” She looked away, and Marcus felt like a jerk.

“After the tornado, she moved north of Atlanta to live with her sister,” he offered. “But she’s moving back to Sweetness Homecoming weekend.”

“That’s nice,” she mumbled.

He’d hurt her feelings—Jesus, women were sensitive. “It’s sort of a milestone for all of us,” he added, turning the sausage. “One of the reasons we wanted to rebuild the town was so my mother could come back home.”

Her expression turned wistful. “Your family must be close.”

“We are,” he conceded. “My father passed away when I was a teenager, but my brothers and I are close to our mother.” He kept turning the food, and suddenly missed her conversation. “Do you have family?”

She took her time responding. “I have my parents. They divorced when I was young.”

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, unable to imagine a life where his parents hadn’t lived together and loved each other.

Another shrug. “Some people just aren’t meant to be together. Besides, marriage is an outdated institution.”

Marcus agreed that these days marriage seemed to be more of a gamble than a promise, but the truth sounded bleak coming out of the mouth of a young, attractive woman.

“You’ve tried it?” he asked. “Marriage, I mean.”

She looked horrified. “No.”

He frowned. “Yesterday you seemed to be looking for a man.”

She blanched and seemed to catch herself. “Yes, but I…I don’t necessarily want to get married.” She seemed nervous. “Have you ever been married?”

He let out a bitter laugh. “Not me.”

“Ah, so we agree on one thing.”

They did, yet for some reason it rankled him. “No brothers and sisters?” he asked to change the subject.

“Nope,” she said in a way that closed the topic. She transferred two pancakes to a plate and handed it to him to add the sausages.

He rolled the hot pancakes around the links, then secured them with a toothpick and passed the plate off to Sheila. Alicia served up the eggs on another plate, but seemed preoccupied. He felt a pang for her, that she’d never experienced the security of a close-knit family.

The door opened and Porter and Kendall walked in, shooting grins in his direction.

Sometimes, though, he felt as if his family was too close. He plated the steak and handed it to Gina, then turned to face the firing squad.

“I like the apron,” Porter said as he bellied up to the counter.

Marcus brushed at crumbs on the front of the camouflage-print apron he wore. “Shut up.”

“What, no hair net?” Kendall asked as he slid onto the stool next to Porter.

Marcus sent a glare his way, too. “If I have to box your ears right here in public, I will.”

Kendall laughed. “Relax, Marcus. We’re just giving you a hard time. We’re glad you took over this place.”

Porter made a rueful noise. “Molly, on the other hand…”

Marcus sighed. “How is she?”

“She’s stubborn, like you. She’s working in the lost and found warehouse, sure that you’ll come crawling back when you get fed up.”

Remorse shot through Marcus—he felt indebted to Molly for her loyalty, but he’d given her as much leeway as he could to make the transition from running a military-inspired mess hall to running a civilian-friendly diner. He’d have to figure out a way to make it up to her.

Alicia walked up holding the glass coffeepot. “Coffee?” she asked his brothers.

They turned over the clean coffee cups sitting on the counter in front of them.

“Sure.”

“Yes, thanks.”

They both seemed wary of the coffee and intrigued by his new manager at the same time. He could see they were brimming with questions.

“I’m Alicia Waters,” she offered with a smile that she’d never extended to him.

“Porter Armstrong.”

“Kendall Armstrong.”

“The boss’s brothers?” she asked.

Porter arched an eyebrow in his direction and Kendall wiped away a smile with his hand. “Yes, we’re the boss’s brothers.”

“Nice to meet you,” she said.

“Same here.”

“Likewise.”

She walked away and both men pushed away their coffee cups.

“Go ahead, take a drink,” Marcus encouraged.

Porter held up his hand. “No, thanks. The last time I drank coffee in here, it took the hide off my tongue.”

“Ditto,” Kendall said. “My mouth was numb for a week.”

“Just try it,” Marcus said.

Porter reluctantly lifted the cup to his mouth and took a sip. Then his eyes widened. “Not bad.”

Kendall took a drink and nodded. “Not bad at all.”

“So the coffee has improved dramatically since yesterday,” Porter said. “How about the food?”

“See for yourself,” Marcus said, waving toward the blackboard where Alicia had written the most popular items from the menu.

Porter lifted his hand. “No, thanks. I had breakfast with Nikki at the boardinghouse.”

“I already ate, too,” Kendall said.

They exchanged a quick glance and when Marcus realized what it meant, annoyance flashed in his chest. They felt sorry for him, sorry that they had someone to eat breakfast with and he didn’t.

“But I could probably choke down a biscuit,” Porter added quickly.

“Or an egg,” Kendall offered.

Marcus frowned. “Never mind. You can get something later.”

Porter took another sip of his coffee. “So…how’s your new cook working out?”

“Fine.”

“She’s cute,” Kendall said.

“Is she?” Marcus said idly.

Porter laughed. “Marcus, I know you haven’t been in the company of a woman in…well, I won’t embarrass you with the truth, but have you gone completely blind?”

Marcus gritted his teeth. “No, but considering you’re practically engaged, you should be.”

Porter scoffed. “Nikki’s the only one for me.” Then he set down his cup. “But that reminds me…I got a call from Emory Maxwell last night.”

“Emory?” Porter’s former Army buddy had been in Sweetness on leave with Porter when the devastating tornado had hit over a decade ago. Emory had been the one who’d sounded the warning siren from the water tower. “What’s he up to?”

“Still living in Florida. He and Shelby are coming back to Sweetness Homecoming weekend. His dad is coming, too.”

Marcus smiled. “That’s good. It’ll be nice to see them all.”

Porter made a rueful noise. “Emory and Shelby are going through a rough patch. He said they’ve been trying to have a baby for a while now, and it’s really wearing on their marriage. He asked if they could renew their vows in our church.”

Marcus pursed his mouth. “Will it be ready?”

“If the fabricator delivers the sections next week as scheduled, then yeah, it should be. I’m putting out feelers for a minister to come and conduct services that weekend.”

“I think it would be a fitting ceremony,” Marcus said. “Of course they can use the church.”

Porter nodded. “I agree. Especially since their first wedding had to be held down by the creek after the tornado. Did you know the town gave them wedding rings?”

“It was the least the town council could do,” Kendall said. “Who knows how many lives Emory saved when he sounded that alarm.”

“You should let Rachel know about the ceremony,” Marcus added. “It sounds like the kind of thing she’d make a big deal over, get the whole town involved.”

“While we’re on the subject, when are you going to get that Homecoming banner hung across Main Street?” Kendall asked.

“Soon,” Marcus said. “I think things here are under control enough for me to leave the new manager in charge.”

“Molly will hate to hear that,” Porter said with a smirk.

“Speak of the devil,” Kendall murmured.

Marcus looked up to see Colonel Molly walk in. She gave them a smug smile as she hefted her considerable girth onto the stool next to Kendall.

“Good morning, boys.”

“Good morning,” they chorused.

“So, jarhead, how’s your new manager working out?” Molly asked Marcus, nodding toward Alicia.

He turned to look at Alicia to make sure she wasn’t on fire. She wasn’t, but she was still working those short shorts. He turned back. “Fine,” he said with more bravado than he felt. “She has a lot of experience running a restaurant.”

“You don’t say?” Molly asked mildly.

“And she has a lot of ideas to improve profitability,” he lied.

Molly nodded, although she still looked unconvinced. “Good for you.”

“Yes, good for me,” he said, crossing his arms. But his bluster was shattered by a familiar whooshing noise behind him.

“Fire!” Alicia shouted.

He was jolted as she backed into him. He acknowledged a disturbing twinge from the contact before bumping into a stack of glasses on the counter that fell to the floor in a deafening crash. Flames encompassed the grill. He set Alicia aside and reached for one of the three fire extinguishers lined up under the counter. After stepping over the pile of glass, he pulled the key from the extinguisher, and foamed the fire until it was out.

He grunted, then turned a frustrated glare toward Alicia. “What happened?”

She gave him a sheepish shrug.

He took one step toward her, not sure what he would do when he got there, and his feet flew out from under him. He landed on his back on the hard tile floor, the wind knocked out of him. When he opened his eyes, Alicia peered down, along with Porter, Kendall and Molly, who had all stretched over the counter.

“Are you okay?” Alicia asked, her dark eyes wide and innocent.

He wanted to answer, but his lungs had compressed. Plus he had the insane urge to pull her down on top of him.

“Yes, I can see your new manager has everything under control,” Molly said, her expression gloating.

In his head, Marcus unleashed a string of curses. Alicia Waters had caused him nothing but grief since he set eyes on her. He opened his mouth and dragged in a painful breath. “Everybody out,” he announced where he lay. “We’re closed for the day.”

He and his new manager needed to have a little one-on-one training time.

9

Alicia watched as Marcus shepherded the waitresses toward the door. “Thanks for cleaning up. We’ll reopen Monday morning. Don’t forget to spread the word about the cook’s position.” He closed the door behind them and turned the dead bolt.

The clicking noise sent a little thrill through her chest—being locked in with Marcus Armstrong would be a great opportunity to pick his chauvinistic brain.

As far as feeling a little light-headed, she attributed it to not having had anything to eat. The smell of all the fried food on top of an empty stomach was making her queasy.

With his back to her, Marcus put his hands on his hips and heaved a huge sigh. Alicia frowned. It wasn’t as if the man had people lining up to cook for him—he should be grateful she’d work in his dinky little diner!

He finally turned to look at her, then pulled his hand down his face.

She glared. “If you’re going to fire me, then do it.”

He settled his blue-eyed gaze on her and walked closer. “I can’t—” He stopped. “I mean, I’m not going to fire you. It’s my fault for expecting you to just walk in and know what you’re doing.”

Alicia crossed her arms. “Is that supposed to be some kind of back-handed apology?”

He straightened. “No.” Then pain flashed across his face and he gasped, putting his hand to his back.

Contrite for setting off the events that led to his fall, she hurried toward him. “Are you okay?”

He held up his hand, as if she were a contagion. “Just a pulled muscle. I’ll live.”

She winced. “Sorry.”

He didn’t look to be in a forgiving mood. “Forget it. Let’s just go over some things so Monday we can get through a full day of business with no mishaps. The Department of Energy rep will be here any day for another inspection, and the diner needs to be ready.” His brows furrowed. “In other words, not burned to the ground.”

A sharp retort was on the tip of her tongue, but she held it, reminding herself to act as if she wanted this job. So she simply inclined her head in concession, although the gesture sent her blood pressure skyrocketing.

“Chances are,” he continued, “my brothers or I will be with the inspector, but in case he stops by on his own, you should know what to expect.”

“What will the representative be looking for?”

“Mostly, how we’re composting our leftover food and handling the recycling of our grease.”

She made a face. “Okay.”

“Follow me.” He lifted a stainless steel bucket of grease from the side of the grill by its handle, then with his other hand, rolled a large trash container marked “Food Only—No Meat” toward the rear door.

“I can get one of those,” she offered, but he acted as if he hadn’t heard her.

She pursed her mouth. If the man with the gimpy back wanted to go all Southern macho on her, then she’d let him. She smirked as he wrestled with the door while trying to manage the two containers. From his jerky body language, it seemed as if his mood was rapidly eroding. She followed him outside, at a distance.

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