Page 19 of Peach Cobbler Confessions
We wrap up the night and poor Ridge all but takes out a restraining order on Carlotta.
We head home and Everett doesn’t tell me his secret. He says the timing isn’t right as he warms my belly with his hand. Evie is spending the night at a friend’s, and I know exactly what that gleam in his eye means.
I don’t tell him my secret either.
It’s late. Noah went home and the timing isn’t right.
It’s something I’ll do tomorrow. No sense in anybody losing sleep over something that never was, that didn’t happen.
And in an odd way, I’m mourning what never was and didn’t happen, so I force myself to think of something that did happen—a murder.
How dare Noah and Everett threaten to toss me in a jail cell if I investigate this case. I get it, though. They don’t want any innocent parties, real or imagined, to get hurt while I’m knee-deep in my investigative shenanigans.
But if I were to investigate this case, I wouldn’t know where to begin. Sammy Brewer, Jade Archibald, Kent Noble—there are so many viable suspects, and they are all ripe for the picking.
But it’s harvest time and my fingers are twitching for justice.
What Noah and Everett don’t know won’t hurt them.
And for sure it won’t hurt anything in my barren womb.
Back at my place, Everett and I turn out the lights as he makes me forget all about the evils of this world, the lies and secrets trying to wedge their way between us.
We head back to simpler times, sexier times, and I have my way with Judge Baxter and his gavel.
Chapter 7
As soon as Everett pulled out of the driveway this morning, I jumped into my car and did my best to tail him without being noticed. I lost him twice, once in traffic and once taking the turn off to Ashford. Lucky for me, I happened to have a feeling exactly which coffee shop he’ll be meeting his stalker in. And no sooner do I pull into the lot than I spot his car up front, and Noah’s truck, too.
Bingo.
It’s a hot and humid morning, despite the fact a thick cloud bank is covering the sky. August is usually a time of extreme weather around these parts, and if I’m right, it looks as if an electrical storm is brewing.
I ditch into the coffee shop, where the fresh scent of brewed java enlivens me from the inside out, and I can’t help but smile. It was right outside these doors where I officially met Everett. I tripped over him and sent him sailing into the bushes, and our bodies connected in about a dozen intimate ways, even though we were fully clothed. He was outright annoyed with me at that point, but that didn’t stop me from following him into this very coffee shop while trying to wrangle his name out of him. All I got was Mr. Sexy, per the moniker printed on his coffee cup, and, boy, did that barista ever get it right. And later that morning, I discovered Mr. Sexy was the sitting judge presiding over my trial. My landlord had taken me to court over sheer nonsense and Everett wisely sided with me.
“Lottie?” Noah’s voice hikes from somewhere to my left and I give both him and Everett a friendly wave as I head on over. Both men stand in my honor and I give a bright smile as I spot a woman seated with the two of them. She has wiry cinnamon hair, a smattering of freckles over the bridge of her nose, and a wavering smile. She looks about my age, late twenties, and she’s wearing a red and black checkered flannel that hangs loosely on her.
“Well, what a surprise.” I bat my lashes, and both Noah and Everett frown over at me.
“Lemon,” Everett says my name with a stern inflection, the kind I’ve only ever heard in the confines of one of our bedrooms—and perhaps a bubble bath a time or two. “I’m in a meeting. How about you pick up a cup of coffee on me and find a table in the back? I’ll be done in a few minutes.”
He pulls a ten dollar bill out of his pocket, but I choose to ignore the bribery. Instead, I plunk myself down in the seat right next to him.
“Or feel free to join us,” he says with a touch of exasperation.
Noah sharpens his disdain with me himself as he glowers my way.
But I choose to ignore the irate males among me and hold out a hand to the woman to my right.
“I’m Lottie,” I say.
Her mouth opens as if she were pleasantly surprised. “And I’m—”
“The woman who dumped water and flour over my husband,” I finish for her because I already know exactly who she is, Brandy Fielding. “Look here, missy. I love both of these men, and if anything happens to either one of them, you’ll have me to deal with. Get it? Got it? Good. Because I have a bakery to run. So you have exactly five minutes to tell me why you think Everett can change the fate of your boyfriend.”
“Peter didn’t do it.” She shakes her head furiously. “The whole case against him, it was wrong. It was rushed.”
“Okay.” I pull Everett’s coffee my way and take a sip. “Fill me in on the evidence.”