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At the reminder, an animalistic fury blacked out the rest of Logan’s world. He slammed the mayor against the wall so hard the pictures shook. He swiveled his right arm so that his forearm pressed against the other man’s windpipe. The mayor’s eyes watered, and he squirmed against Logan’s grasp. He could wiggle all he wanted, but Logan wasn’t about to release the shithead.
“Let him go.” Miranda placed her hand on his shoulder and whispered into his ear. “He’s not worth it.”
The instinct to shrug off her hand warred with the knowledge that she was right. Tyrell Hawson was a slimy bastard, but he wasn’t worth an assault charge. Slowly, he released the pressure on the mayor’s throat, and the other man slumped against the wall.
Tyrell sucked in a raspy breath and glared defiantly at them both. “At the next county council meeting, they’re going to pass an ordinance outlawing alcohol manufacturing within the Hamilton County lines. Then they’re going to use imminent domain to claim your property—just like your knight in shining armor here suggested a month ago—and build a connector road between the interstate and the proposed site for the industrial park. You might as well start packing up your bags now.” He raised a slightly shaky hand and pointed at Logan. “As for you, I won’t forget this. You’ll get yours.”
Hands fisted at his side, Logan wanted nothing more than to finish what he’d started, but the click of Miranda’s heels caught his attention. She was out the door and halfway across the lobby before he processed what was going on and took off after her.
She was already in the parking lot and had her car door open by the time he caught up with her. Relief loosened the knots holding his shoulders tight. “Miranda, wait.”
Her fingers gripped the door so tight her knuckles had turned white. “Look, what happened last night was us scratching an itch.” She kept her gaze locked on the multi-hued leaves tumbling down the sidewalk. “It’s been scratched, and now we can move on.”
He jerked to a stop, every instinct he possessed screaming a warning not to let her go. “That’s not fair.”
“Take it from a Sweet. Life isn’t fair.” She leveled a hard gaze at him. Gone was any trace of the passionate woman who’d melted in his arms last night. In her place was someone weighed down by a chip on her shoulder the size of Alaska. “You don’t owe me any allegiance just because you got in my pants.”
A six-ton brick of agony formed in his stomach. “We could work together.”
Miranda shook her head, the late afternoon sunlight turning her wavy curls golden. “No, we can’t. You heard Tyrell. Even if we wanted to, the old guard would never accept it. Instead of pulling me up, I’d just drag you down into the mud. It’s what we Sweets excel at.” She slid into the driver’s seat. “Game over. Looks like you won the bet after all.”
She shut the door with a slam and drove off before he could get a word out. And for the first time in his life, he had no plan for what to do next.
Chapter Fourteen
Even though it was forty degrees outside, Miranda blasted the air conditioner in her car as she drove down Main Street. The icy breeze did little to cool the heat burning her from the inside out. She’d been right to leave Salvation right after high school graduation. Each time she’d returned, all she’d gotten was a soul-crushing reminder of her family name’s twisted roots.
She’d been stupid to think that this time would be any different. Her degree. Her career. Her life beyond Salvation. None of it mattered in this town. Here she was, just another half-crazed Sweet. And who could blame them? Her family was a collection of rabble-rousing misfits. She didn’t even have to try hard to dredge up examples of how the Sweets had cornered the market on weirdness.
Aunt Laurell had buried Civil War-era pistols in the woods and, at sunset, had set Miranda and her sisters loose to dig them up with only a map, a flashlight, and hand shovel. Miranda shook her head in disbelief. What kind of adult did that with ten-year-old girls?
Then there was the time that her dad had meditated for forty-eight hours in silent protest in the middle of the football field when the school had canceled the drama program Olivia had loved. The police had to cart him off the field so they could play the Homecoming game. She still cringed at the memory of being jeered as she walked past the cheerleaders decorating the gym fo
r the post-game dance.
A few months before he’d died, Uncle Julian had hot-wired his assisted-living facility’s van and driven to Harbor City where he’d talked her into driving with him down to the Eastern Shore. He’d eaten so many crabs he got kicked out of an all-you-can-eat buffet. Her heart had nearly exploded when the cop told her she was driving a stolen vehicle. That had been a long night of explanations and lukewarm coffee, but luckily no orange jumpsuit.
The Sweets were all mentally disturbed. Stealing cars barely made mention in retellings of the family’s criminal history. Still, she could taste the melted butter she’d dunked those crabs in. Uncle Julian was almost all sunken cheeks by then, but God he’d made her laugh like she hadn’t done in years.
She blinked away the sentimentality brought on by the memory. The Sweets were unhinged. Passionate and devoted, sure, but still looney as jaybirds. Still…her dad’s stunt had worked. The school board had reinstated funding for art class and drama classes the next year.
Miranda chuckled despite herself. She bit the inside of her cheek, bringing herself back to reality.
The Sweets were wild and without any sense of propriety. Letting kids roam the woods all night long and then feeding them homemade waffles and center-cut bacon when they brought their bedraggled butts home in the morning. She’d been so tired that she’d barely been able to finish breakfast. But her aunt had kept asking about all the details of how she and her sisters had found every last one of the pistols, keeping her awake long enough to finish every last bite. Then she and her sisters had fallen asleep in a big pile of lanky little girl limbs on the floor in the living room while cartoons played on the TV.
The resentment that she’d held on to for so long and that bubbled in her stomach whenever she thought of family popped like a balloon thrown against a cactus. That night was one of the best adventures of her life.
The Sweets were dysfunctional, slightly delusional, and more than a little deranged at times, but they were family. Her family, and she loved every one of those demented people.
Realization hit her smack in the forehead. Everything wasn’t lost. The Sweet Salvation Brewery could still be saved. Instead of running away from the Sweet family legacy, she needed to embrace it—but she couldn’t do it alone.
While paused at a stop sign, she switched on her speakerphone and punched in Natalie’s cell phone number.
Her sister picked up halfway through the first ring. “So, how did it go?”
“Hold on, let me get Olivia on, too.” Miranda entered the number.
Olivia being Olivia took four rings to finally pick up. “Please tell me this is good news, because I can’t take any more of the other kind today.”
