To Catch A Player

So, I headed back to the only thing in my life that still made sense. Work.

An hour after visiting with Bette, I had the kitchen good and steamy, with several pots of ideas simmering away while I got biscuit dough ready for tomorrow. It would be a nice surprise, since I’d be sweating it under a plastic tent in the Texas heat all day. It was almost enough to make me forget.

Forget the gossip that had started a couple days ago—the gossip that said Jarrod had arrived at the county jail nearly three days ago, that he was making calls to any and everyone in town who might be able to scrape together enough for his ten million dollar bail. It was all anyone could talk about.

That and wondering where the hero detective was who’d hunted him all the way down to Mexico and brought him back to make sure his victims received justice. The longer he stayed away, the more they speculated about what had happened. Odds were on Jackson falling in love with a Mexican heiress and retiring from law enforcement.

I didn’t believe it. I didn’t want to believe it, but with nothing else to go on, I was left with the most likely scenario. If something bad had happened, Tyson or Antonio would have said something, and Rafe had already stopped by to let me know Jackson was alive and uninjured. The knowledge should have made feel better, knowing no harm had come to him while doing his job, but it didn’t. Instead, it made me angry.

Angry that I’d fallen for his lies again.

Angry that I’d fallen for him. Again.

Pissed off that he hadn’t called. Or texted.

Even more pissed off that I was surprised he’d done it.

Again.

Well, I didn’t need to see the message written in neon lights, it was received. Loud and clear.

It was a good thing I’d found out now, anyway, before I did something stupid like track him down to make sure he was all right and not traumatized from whatever had happened in down in Mexico. Instead, I turned my focus to the competition and to the real idea of selling my own line of southern sauces. I wanted to win tomorrow, and not just one or two specialty categories—I wanted the big prize.

“Hey. You’re here.” There was surprise in Maven’s voice and I turned, not bothering to hide my emotions. “How is Bette doing?”

“The same,” I told her honestly. “Anything happen I need to know about?”

“Besides selling out of just about everything? Nope. Glad to see you’re already replenishing the supplies.” She laughed at the glare I sent her and that one act of familiarity, of sameness, made me smile.

“That’s good news. I’m making biscuits for tomorrow.”

“Very cool. I’ll go close out the register before I head home.”

“Thanks,” I told her, and whatever else I’d been about to say died at a loud pounding on the back door. “What in the hell is that?”

“Maybe Prince Charming is hot and horny for you.” She wiggled her eyebrows and made a shooing motion for me to answer the door.

“That’s doubtful.” Still, I took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

Janey stood there with a teenaged assistant, surrounded by black bags filled with what I assumed was photography equipment.

“What in the hell is all this, Janey?” The woman must have lost her mind if she thought she could interfere with my kitchen right now.

She froze and sent me a confused look. “I told you we were doing the Hometown Heroes photo shoot the night before the final cook-off. That’s tonight. Right?” She looked to her assistant for acknowledgment and he nodded.

She had told me, but with everything else, I’d forgotten. And because I didn’t know Jackson was available. To shoot. I didn’t have to see him to know he’d entered my space because I felt him, the way his very presence sucked all the oxygen out of the room. The way his big body took up all the space. “Fine. Do your shoot, but stay out of my way.”

“Sure.” That one word from Janey was tinged with uncertainty and I instantly felt bad.

“Sorry, Janey. I forgot. Just tell me what you need and I’ll do my best to work around you.” It took all the willpower I had not to look up at Jackson when he entered my orbit, but I managed. “Okay?”

“Yeah, okay. Thanks.”

“Great.” It took close to an hour for Janey to get lights set up in two different spots and I managed to work around her and her small crew, for the most part. I even managed to avoid Jackson. For the first hour.

“Hey.” He stood less than a foot from me, towering over me and blocking my light.

“Hey,” I said, that one word short, choppy, and angry. “I’m glad you’re okay.” That much was true. I was still angry and hurt, but there was now relief where the worry had been.