A Little Bit of Sugar (Snowed In & Snuggled Up #1) Read online

  “There’s no door number three?”

  Chris grinned. “There’s always a door number three, Mads.”

  She took a sip of her coffee, waiting.

  “Make him fall in love with you again, too.”

  “That didn’t work out so well for me last time, Chris.”

  “So do a better job of it.” He paused and took a drink of coffee. “And this time, skip the chocolate donuts.”

  Madison took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “I love you. You know that, right?”

  “Yeah. I’m a special guy. And I’ll tell you what—if someone I had that many feelings for was knocking on my door . . . I’d let them in.”

  “I’m scared.”

  “Comes with the territory, Madison.”

  She hugged him. “Okay. Dinner it is.”

  Feeling better—if no less torn, she got to work.

  Chapter Eight

  JT didn’t remember a whole lot of Sunday night—just a half-dozen fuzzy memories of him and Cody laughing their asses off, doing shots, playing “remember when,” and drinking more. Drinking more of everything. A lot more. Today, he had a king-sized headache to show for it.

  It’d felt good, though. Cathartic. Except, despite the laughter, there’d been a somber quality to Cody’s smile that JT saw every once in a while. He thought it was the divorce, but the morning light made him wonder. Cody had sounded relieved when he talked about the split between him and his wife.

  “I don’t know what to do with a woman, JT,” he said after the fifth—sixth?—shot of whisky and an equal number of beers. “Never did. I’m not talking about the mechanics, either. I know where everything goes. It just never felt right with us.”

  “Was there another man?” JT asked carefully.

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “I just wondered if maybe she found someone else and that’s why it felt off?”

  JT braced for Cody’s reaction. That had been a very blunt question, one a more sober JT wouldn’t have asked. One a more sober Cody might have answered with a right hook. But Cody looked more amused than upset.

  “Nah. It was all me. I’m what’s off. Let’s do another shot.”

  After that, they kept things light, reliving glory days and close calls. But Cody must have blabbed about JT’s date with Madison to a dozen people. JT wouldn’t be surprised if Madison called today and cancelled on him when she found out.

  Last night, he’d slept at his mom’s house out of necessity. By the time they’d called it quits, he could barely walk, let alone drive. He’d been worried about all those uncomfortable memories that had glommed onto the walls of his bedroom, but somehow they’d become comforting when he wasn’t looking. And when he came downstairs in the morning, his mom had looked so damned happy to see him, that he decided he’d stay there tonight, too. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that he’d rather be alone in the cabin.

  Besides, he wouldn’t be alone there, would he? He’d be knee-deep in Gramps . . . the smell of his pipe . . . the cackle of his laughter . . . the gentle prodding to do things his way . . . the not-so-gentle kick in the pants when JT refused.

  He sighed, smiling despite his questionable sanity. At least he’d put some pages down yesterday. Good, solid, meaty pages. Words that sparked and crackled with the essence of everything grandpa had been. He’d left the cabin yesterday feeling emotionally drained but super-charged—more than ready to drink the bar dry with Cody.

  It took him until two—and several of mom’s hangover remedies—to feel human, again. By four he was actually walking upright and by five, he felt like a new man.

  “Don’t you look handsome,” his mom said when he came down the stairs after his shower. “Got a date?”

  “Maybe.”

  He’d told his mom he was going out with friends tonight so she wouldn’t fuss about making dinner or anything, but he didn’t volunteer who he had plans with. But Catherine Winchester had reared three hell raisers. She’d always known more about where and what her boys were doing then they had themselves.

  “With Madison Lane?” she asked.

  “Probably.”

  She grinned. “Good. It’s about time you pulled your head out of the sand and started seeing her again.”

  “I’m not starting anything. We’re having dinner and catching up. That’s it.”

  “You going to Henry’s?” she asked too casually, shifting her gaze away and hiding the strange glint he didn’t know how to interpret anyway.

  “Yeah. And maybe Codiacs after. We’ll see how it goes. Don’t wait up for me.”

  His mom snorted. “Don’t worry.”

  He kissed her cheek and went out into the crisp dusk. A steady flurry had been coming down all day, fat snowflakes that clung to his lashes and clothes. After the warmth of Phoenix, it felt unbearably cold here.

  He made a mental note to check out his mom’s furnace, the gutters, and the roof before he left. He’d get Scout and Hamilton to help him. Mom said they were both in town, so maybe he had spotted Hamilton in the crowd yesterday. But other than that and his brief conversation with Scout at the rink, JT hadn’t seen either one of them. His mom said Scout was staying at Constance Carter’s Bed and Breakfast. Hamilton might already be up at the cabin.

  There’d be time tomorrow to catch up, though. They were supposed to meet at the cabin in the early afternoon to settle the business about selling.

  In the driveway, JT debated whether he should take his SUV or walk to Madison’s house. Driving seemed ridiculous, but walking seemed presumptuous for reasons he couldn’t quite catalog. He didn’t know what was going on in her head right now—hell, in his head either—and didn’t want to inadvertently step on a land mine before the night even began. She’d been so particular about the details that he felt uncertain. In the end, he drove.

  Madison opened her front door amid a fury of barks from her enormous dog. She wore a tight sweater, fitted jeans and knee boots that made her look long and sleekly curved. Her brown hair hung loose around her shoulders and her dark eyes held a wicked sparkle that sank beneath his skin and awoke his inner caveman. When he was with her, he wanted to touch, to take, to throw her over his shoulder and haul her back to his lair. Not usually his style, but Madison had always brought out traits he didn’t recognize.

  “You drove?” she said, gaze flashing at his car parked at the curb. An incredulous laugh bubbled out of her.

  “It’s cold,” he defended.

  “Maybe for soft city boys. The weather’s fine for us mountain girls.”

  “Come see me in August, sweetheart. A hundred and twenty will fell even the sturdiest mountain girls.”

  “No, thanks,” she said, but she rewarded him with a big smile that made something deep inside him clench tight. That smile had had the same effect on him when he was twenty and aching for her so badly that he couldn’t stand to be apart.

  Madison shrugged into her coat and stepped out without inviting him in. She pulled a treat from her pocket for Moof and held it out. “Watch the house, big boy,” she said.

  Moof shot JT a dirty look for taking his human, but took the treat with a gentle tug and padded back to his bed.

  They left JT’s car in front of her house—a flashing neon sign that Mrs. Shelton was probably posting about on Facebook even now—and walked the two blocks to Venti’s from Madison’s house. They didn’t say much as they made their way through quiet streets lit by overhead lights and the phosphorescent snowflakes, but the tension that had riddled their other two meetings had dissipated, leaving behind only the low hum of awareness. JT had forgotten the kind of peace that settled over Plymouth Rock with the dark. Now it crept beneath his skin, welcoming him back.

  I’m not back.

  “Does it feel weird being home?” Madison asked as they strolled. She wore the cranberry colored scarf and matching gloves again, and a deep gray pea coat buttoned up to her chin. Her skin looked like pearl against all the dark and the gleaming
waves of her silky hair.

  “Surreal,” he answered.

  “Bet your mom’s glad to see you. Are you doing Thanksgiving up at the cabin?”

  He nodded. “It’s tradition.” One they hadn’t honored once since Gramps had died.

  “And that’s the only reason you’re—I mean, I know you’re not back.”

  He slid her a sideways glance, sure there was a hidden trap in that question. “Meaning?”

  She shrugged. “Just wondering if maybe you were planning on seeing your dad while you were here?”

  A surprised laugh escaped him. “Ah—how about hell, no?” He paused. “Why? Did you hear he was in town?”

  “I heard there was the possibility that he was coming to meet with you and your brothers.”

  “Why?” JT asked, stunned.

  “Something about an investment?”

  “With my dad? Not a fucking chance.”

  “So you aren’t thinking about selling Win Creek Cabin?”

  “Jesus,” he said in a low voice. “Who told you that?”

  “Is it true?”

  “I’m serious. Where’d you hear this?”

  “You haven’t been gone that long, JT. News like that travels in the wind.”

  “I guess I’d forgotten.”

  “How could you?”

  JT rubbed his face. “I don’t know. It’s exactly why I couldn’t wait to get the hell out of here. Everyone knows your business.”

  “Small town. People care. Get over it.”

  “It doesn’t bother you?”

  “I don’t have that many secrets. Besides, community is like family. Good to have in a pinch. Or at the dinner table.”

  He ignored the jibe. “You find yourself in a lot of pinches, Madison?”

  “Maybe a time or two. You still haven’t answered me. Are you selling?”

  JT let out a breath. “Hamilton has some investor in his pocket—not my dad—and he’s offering a lucrative deal. But the cabin . . . That’s a piece of me. Hamilton’s here to talk us into selling. I’m here to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

  “What about Scout?” she asked.

  “I’m not sure where he stands, yet. But I can guarantee that my dad’s not part of the equation. I wouldn’t trust him with a dollar—let alone something as dear to me as Win Creek Cabin.”

  “That’s good to know.”

  He cast her a sideways glance, trying to read between the lines of that comment. Giving up, he reached for her arm as they crossed the street, then let his hand slide down until his fingers laced with hers. Smooth move, Gramps would’ve called it. Fortunately, his imagined voice hadn’t followed JT down Avalanche Road. He’d surprised her, but she didn’t pull away. He took that as a good sign.

  Venti’s Fine Italian Dining was on the corner of Quail and Columbus and lit up with sparkly lights hanging from the eaves. In the summer, Henry Venti served dinner on the patio surrounded by those fairy lights and sometimes he hired musicians from Durango to serenade his guests. He had a romantic flair—one that came with a roving eye that had lost him his wife years ago.

  Tonight, the place looked magical and when they stepped inside, the heavy aroma of garlic and tomato sauce filled the air in a heavenly scent. The girl who greeted them at the door knew Madison, but gave JT a curious, assessing look before grabbing two menus and saying, “Follow me.”

  “That’s Karen Applegate’s daughter,” Madison whispered as they trailed her to a table.

  “You’re kidding,” he said, once they’d sat down and she left. “Karen’s not old enough to have a kid that age.”

  “She got pregnant when we were seniors. Marty Gale donated the sperm before he took off and left her on her own.”

  “He always was a dick.”

  “Mrs. Shelton says he’s in and out of jail a lot, so maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing that he left. Karen ended up marrying Wes Fleming later—remember him? He moved to Denver in junior high? Came back about eight years ago.”

  Bemused, JT shook his head. He remembered, but that sense of surreal seemed to expand with each passing second.

  A waiter came to the table and filled their water glasses. JT didn’t recognize him, but no doubt Madison could relay his parentage back to the Mayflower. Dressed in a snowy white shirt and black trousers, he gave them a warm greeting and launched into the night’s specials.

  “Would you like to start with wine?”

  JT wasn’t a big wine drinker, but when in Venti’s, one didn’t order anything else. He looked to Madison. “What would you like?”

  She grinned and her dark eyes flashed with that playful light that had charmed him stupid all those years ago. It was doing a pretty god job of that now, too.

  To the waiter, she said, “Would you please tell Henry that JT Winchester is sitting in his dining room craving his lasagna? Tell him we’d like a bottle of whatever wine he recommends.”

  The waiter raised his brows, shifted his gaze between the two of them, then headed for the kitchen. JT smiled at Madison. Henry Venti loved to pair the wine with the meal. If he could have made it mandatory, he would have done so.

  “Remember when the old man would get Henry all riled up about the wine, just to get his goat?”

  Gramps had delighted in instigating vehement disagreements with Henry over his choices—whatever they may be. Gramps didn’t care.

  “Yeah. I miss your grandpa.”

  “He was a good guy. I miss him, too.”

  “You haven’t been back since the funeral,” she said.

  Immediately on guard, JT lowered his gaze. “I’ve been busy. Plus, mom likes to get out of the cold in the winter. She doesn’t mind bouncing around between us over the holidays.”

  Madison blinked her eyes. “You and your brothers don’t spend the holidays together?”

  “Well, sure. Sometimes—”

  “Sometimes? Like how many since your grandpa died?”

  He looked at his fingers, spread on the white table cloth and gave a noncommittal shrug.

  “Once? Twice?”

  He said nothing.

  “Are you kidding me, JT? Not once in five years? What’s wrong with you Winchesters?”

  Her eyes had narrowed with disbelief and anger. He was pretty sure his had, too. Who did she think she was, criticizing his family for the way they did things?

  “If I had family,” she went on passionately, “I’d never miss the chance to spend a holiday with them.”

  “We’re three bachelors, Madison. And my mom doesn’t mind not cooking if she doesn’t have to. She spends enough time in her studio kitchen as it is.”

  “Why don’t you cook for your mom, then?” Madison insisted.

  “When she visits, I do cook for her.”

  “I mean, why don’t you make enough for everyone . . . for her.”

  He pulled his brows. “I’m not that good of a cook.”

  “So? Wouldn’t your brothers help?”

  Of course they would. Hamilton had always loved to cook, just like mom.

  “Besides,” she insisted. “It’s not about the food. It’s about the relationships.”

  Yeah. And relationships needed nurturing—something none of the brothers were particularly good at. Maybe they’d all inherited their hit-and-run dad’s talents with that.

  He leaned back, not at all happy with the way this conversation was going and determined to end it.

  “No one’s complaining about how we do it now,” he said with a pointed look.

  “Oh. Okay.”

  She sat back, too, disappointment in her eyes. JT was struggling to figure out how a conversation about wine and missing Gramps had taken a south turn into this. They hadn’t even seen a bread basket yet and she already looked like she wanted to leave.

  JT rubbed his face, then peered at her over the tips of his fingers.

  “The truth is,” he began, stunned by what was going to come out of his mouth. He didn’t talk about this stuff. Not to anyone. N
ot ever. “Since Gramps died, it’s been too hard to be a family. Not logistically, but . . . the space he filled . . . it just seems to swallow us all up. Getting together now would just make the void feel too big.”

  His voice had gone deep and his eyes stung. He lowered them and took a drink of water.

  “I’m sorry,” she said gently. “I never got to tell you that after the funeral. But Grandpa Win loved big gatherings. You and your brothers need to fill that void for him. You know that’s what he’d want.”

  JT had a lump in his throat as he nodded. She was right—and it wasn’t anything he didn’t know already. Avoiding was so much easier than facing that loss and overcoming it, though.

  Henry chose that moment to come through the kitchen door, tying a fresh white apron around his waist. Henry was not the kind of man who’d be caught with a stain on his apron.

  “Jefferson,” he exclaimed in his deep, merry voice, drawing all eyes their way. Not that JT hadn’t felt the speculating glances on them since they’d walk through the door.

  No one on the planet called JT by his first name, but it was hard to take offense with Henry.

  “Of course you’ve been craving my food,” he boomed. “What do they feed you in the desert? Cactus? Lizards? Am I wrong?”

  “Well—”

  “Tonight you dine like a king. You will have a magnificent Malbec—a new label from Napa. A friend of mine owns the vineyard and it’s astounding. You will like it.”

  Of course, they would, if Henry declared it so.

  Henry’s wine cellar was tour-worthy, but he knew his audience and never tried to be such a snob that the locals couldn’t afford the offerings. With much ado, he disappeared for a few moments, returning quickly to serve the wine with all the drama it deserved, and probably a little extra for good measure. He waited for JT’s sip and approving nod.

  “Fantastic, Henry,” JT replied dutifully.

  Beaming, Henry gave them each a hefty pour and handed the bottle to the waiter to dress and leave at the table.

  “You’ll start with mussels, sautéed in a garlic, lemon and chardonnay sauce. They will wake up your palette and make it beg for more.”

  He was gone before either one could agree, not that they would have dared to do otherwise. Like the force of nature Henry was, he managed to take the solemn air that had fallen between them with him, and for that JT was grateful. Cautiously, he glanced across the table, letting out a soft breath. Madison smiled at him.