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Ruby Sue had been guarding the pecan pie recipe since before he was born. People had tried to steal the damn thing, and now she was giving it way? There was no way he could resist the odds.
“How much are the tickets?” He could win the recipe and make it at home. How hard could it be?
Ellen shook her head. “You don’t want to know.”
Logan’s hand was on his wallet before his brain had a chance to catch up. “Tell me.”
“A hundred bucks a pop.”
He almost dropped his wallet on the floor. “And people are buying them?”
Ellen looked over both shoulders and leaned forward. “Judge Carter bought ten,” she whispered.
There was no way that old coot was winning the raffle of a lifetime. “I’ll take twelve.”
A minute later, he was handing over the check when The Kitchen Sink’s door opened and a cold blast of October air blasted in—bringing Miranda with it. The thick sweater she wore did nothing to disguise the curve of her body. He forgot the fall chill, the raffle tickets, his own middle name. The woman was a danger to his sanity.
Her footsteps faltered when she spotted him, but only for a moment before she strutted over and took the seat next to his. She glanced down at the pie box in front of him. “Better watch the pie intake, Logan. Gotta watch those hips.”
“You can watch them all you like.” He winked at her, enjoying the way her chest rose in indignation. “How go the deliveries on that rough road?”
“Peachy keen.” She didn’t flip him off, but she sure looked like she wanted to.
Ellen reappeared at the counter with a handful of tickets. “Here you go, Logan.”
“You bought pecan pie recipe tickets?” Miranda’s eyebrows went skyward, and she spun her seat around to face him. “You?”
He looked from Miranda to Ellen and back again, swearing he could hear the dah-dum, dah-dum of a horror movie soundtrack in the background. “What’s wrong with that?”
Miranda laughed until tears formed in her blue eyes. “Well, thank you for your support.” The last word was punctuated by another fit of giggles.
“My support?” Oh, this was going to be bad. Very. Very. Bad.
She let out a sigh, the kind women made after they’d laughed until they couldn’t any more. “Didn’t you ask what the raffle tickets were raising money for?”
All of the sudden, he lost his appetite. “No.”
“God, I can’t wait to tell Ruby Sue. The raffle was her idea.” She wiped a tear from her cheek and peered at the tickets in his hand. “You, Logan Martin, just donated twelve-hundred dollars to the Save the Sweet Salvation Brewery Fund.”
He stared at the orange raffle tickets in his hand. They turned blurry, and he blinked several times to bring the world back into focus. “Fuck.”
“Not in this lifetime.” She winked at him. “Enjoy the pie.”
While his brain was still trying to process how in the hell he’d just messed up so wholeheartedly, the rest of him was enjoying the view of her ass and round hips swaying as she strolled across the restaurant to a back booth where Ruby Sue waited for her. He should have been pissed, but all he could do was shake his head with wonder.
Chapter Six
Even though the loading dock had been open for a day and a half to let the place air out, more than a hint of bleach hung in the air as Miranda toured the 15,000-square-foot brewery floor. The three stainless steel beer kettles, once smudged with grime, shined enough that when she peered closely, she couldn’t miss the overstuffed suitcases under her eyes and the freckles across her nose. Both were the result of two days spent painting the six-foot wide Sweet Salvation Brewery sign out front.
The finished sign along with a successful negotiation for the hops were minor victories, but they still went in the win column, and she needed everyone one of those. The DeBoer-imposed deadline loomed like a black cloud on the horizon, and there was a ton to do before she could get the brewery to stop leaking money like a busted keg. Without that, everything she’d done so far would be a waste.
She hopped back from the kettle. Best not to look that close at her messy reflection.
Instead, she gave the brewery the once-over and didn’t even bother to fight the smile tugging up the right side of her mouth. The past few days had been long and hard days of cleaning and just as long nights studying the brewing process so she could prove to Sean and the rest of the staff that she wasn’t a complete idiot. She could recount the steps by heart now.
First, the staff would steep the malt in hot water for about an hour. Thanks to Sean’s Beer for Everyone books, she’d learned that this process activates enzymes in the malt, making it break down and release its sugar. The hot sugary water, which goes by the gross name of wort, is drained out of the kettle and put into a brew kettle, where it’s boiled and the hops are added. After that, the wort is cooled, filtered, and transferred to a container where Sean adds the yeast, making the whole place smell like an alcoholic bread factory. Then, bam! In a couple of weeks, they’d go through the bottling and aging process. A month later, Sweet Salvation Brewery’s stock would be delivered to restaurants and bars across the region. It sounded so easy when she thought of it that way, but the reality was a lot harder. Every step of getting the brewery back on track was kicking her ass, but she wasn’t about to give up.
Miranda’s belly fizzed up like a can of soda on a roller coaster, and she did a little shimmy in the midd
