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Chapter One
“You going to get up there and sing tonight?” Jen Randall asked, tucking a lock of blond hair behind her ear.
“I’m going to need a few more of these”—Annabelle Thompson wiggled her longneck beer—“before that happens.”
It had been a busy week but a good one. It had taken seven years of saving, planning, and hard work, but Annie’s Café was finally up and running. She was ready to put down the pastry bag for one night and throw back a couple with her best friend.
“Hey, you could do some Britney Spears!”
Annie just about choked on her beer. “In a two-step bar? We’d have a riot on our hands.”
It was more like a two-step town. Sweet Hill was nestled in the heart of Washington, surrounded by apple orchards. All of which were owned by the Jacobs family.
The thought left a sour taste in her mouth, mostly because harvest season was in full swing and the name Jacobs was thrown around even more than usual. It was tough to escape it, and Annie really wanted to escape it. Especially since the last time she saw Luke Jacobs—and by saw, she meant saw naked—was two years ago tonight.
“Yikes, what bit your ass?” Jen asked loudly, swiveling on her barstool to face Annie.
“What?”
“You just got a mean look on your face. Don’t like the Garth Brooks rendition Big Saul is pulling off?” Jen pressed her finger against her ear and gently shook her head. “Can’t say I blame you, if that’s the case.”
“No, it’s not Big Saul.” However, the six-foot-plus overall-clad combine operator currently stomping, dancing, and singing was obviously tone-deaf. The wood planks of the tiny stage at the front of the bar weren’t the only thing screeching.
“Aw, I should have known.” Jen eyed Annie. “It’s your heartbreak anniversary.”
“Don’t call it that. It makes me sound like a pathetic crazy person,” Annie said before taking another swig of beer. It was two years since she’d seen the bastard who stole her heart—and her panties—and took off for the East Coast, never to be heard from again.
“How about it’s your sex-a-versary?”
“That’s even worse.”
Jen still didn’t seem convinced. “Look, I know these last few years have been tough, but you finally have your café, and your mama hasn’t come around in over a year. These are things to celebrate.”
Annie nodded. Her dad had walked out when she was a baby, and her mother had habits—mostly men—that didn’t leave a lot of time in the day to be a decent human being. Raised by her grandmother, Annie had saved every penny she had in hopes of owning her own business one day.
Annie adjusted her shoulders and smiled. “It’s a good day, good week, and you’re right, time for a little celebration.” Because despite her mother blowing into town once every year or so looking for money, somehow Annie had managed to pull off her dream, and so far, business was booming.
“That’s the spirit!” Jen took a drink and scanned the room. “Now, let’s find some men to celebrate with.”
“I don’t think that’s going to happen,” Annie said. She knew the men of this town and they knew of her, or rather of her mother. A reputation that didn’t warrant a lot of dignity.
“Well, get ready, because we just got another round.” Jen smiled and raised her drink to the handful of men in the corner.
“They bought us a round?” Annie asked, completely confused.
“Yep, they sure did.” Jen stirred the little straw in her cosmo.
“But that’s Ricky Thrown.” His father owned House of Throwns Toilet and Plumbing, and his was one of the better-known and well-respected families of Sweet Hill. He also never spoke to Annie, not since twelfth-grade science class when he’d tried cheating off her paper and looking down her shirt all at the same time.
Annie glanced over her shoulder. Sure enough, he was smiling and waving in her direction.
“I think he likes you.” Jen nudged her.
“He toilet-papered my grandmother’s trailer.”
“That was in high school.”
Before Annie could argue more, Ricky walked up, beer in hand and beaming with a practiced smile.
“Hey, Annie. Looking good tonight.” He openly ogled her legs and breasts. “Tell me something.” He leaned over her and put his hand on the bar, boxing her in. “What’s a guy gotta do to get a taste of your pie?” Ricky barely got the words out before he started laughing so hard some spit landed on Annie’s face. She wiped her cheek and didn’t even have a chance to tell him to fuck off before Ricky was already walking back to his buddies, who were also laughing and now pulling out five-dollar bills and handing them to him.
“I survived an encounter with White Trash Thompson!” he said loud enough for everyone to hear over the music.
“Go to hell!” Jen yelled back.
“Forget it,” Annie mumbled, glaring at Ricky.
Annie looked around and saw what she did every time she set her sights on the male population: nothing.
Most of them whispered about her being mouthy, crazy, or straight-up white trash. While she had her mother’s build—tall, lean, and stacked—boys had made the mistake only a few times when she was a teenager to assume she was just like her mother in any other way. The opposite sex had generally steered clear ever since she bit Anthony Swank’s lip when he tried to kiss her in the ninth grade.
