Page 16 of Sweet Temptation (Honeysuckle, Texas #3)

“I think you’ve all lost your minds.” Bright and early, before he’d had enough coffee to clear his head, Garret simply shook his head at his brothers, their wives, his sisters, and Jackie, all gathered in his Dad’s office.

“It’s one thing to tell the principal parties involved of Brad’s unscrupulous behavior, but it’s something totally different to gang up on him. ”

“Why?” Arms crossed, Rachel sat in the lone recliner.

“Because it could backfire on all of you.” From the determined look on the faces of the women in his life, Garret knew he was wasting his breath, but he had to try.

“Garret has a point.” Carson looked at his sister Jillian, whose body language mimicked her twin’s. “No one has any idea how Brad will react, or how much trouble he can cause if he chooses to get even.”

Scanning the room, it was clear, the women stood on the side of insanity and the men did not.

“We spent all of last night coming up with a detailed plan,” Jackie explained.

“And with today being the Annual Corn Hole School Fundraising Festival, it’s the perfect time to pull it off. It will be fun.” Jackie smiled at him.

“Fun?” the three men in the room echoed.

“You’ll see. We’ve got this.” Rachel spoke, but also sporting a satisfied grin, Jillian nodded with her twin.

Nothing about this sat well with Garret, but it was pretty clear to him and his brothers, this was one battle they weren’t going to win. Glancing down at his watch, just a couple more hours and Operation Pay Back was about to begin.

In full swing, slightly past noon, the Honeysuckle Annual Corn Hole Festival to support school funding pulsed with life.

Laughter mingled with the twang of country music, the rhythmic thud of beanbags, and the tempting scent of popcorn and grilled onions.

Garret kept a watchful eye on the happenings, his gaze flicking between Jackie—standing near the raffle booth with Rachel and Jillian, projecting an air of breezy nonchalance—and Angela, who having assured the precious Maserati was parked as planned in front of the cafe, strolled along with Brad Peters smugly attached to her arm.

There was no way Garret or anyone else could miss how utterly out of place Brad looked amidst the small-town charm. Wearing crisp chinos and according to everything the women had told him, his clearly overpriced, custom-made Italian loafers, Brad radiated misplaced importance.

Earlier that morning, before taking their designated places, Diane had pressed a small, familiar key into Jackie’s hand.

Grim satisfaction shone in her eyes. Garret knew the plans that the women had concocted at the candle shop last night, but somehow seeing it all slowly come to life had his stomach twisted in knots.

These women might consider this little karma plot all fun and games, but Garret was not at all convinced.

Now, as Angela steered Brad towards the funnel cake stand, Jackie palmed the key to Jillian. A shared look of understanding passed between them, before each woman went their separate ways, the passing crowds oblivious to anything but good food and toe-tapping music.

“Operation Payback is a go,” as Rachel pretended to admire a quilt, her voice murmured into everyone’s ear. Each of them wore one ear bud, the group call already live before they split up—no texting, no fumbling with phones.

Garret almost wished he weren’t privy to the blow-by-blow commentaries. Instead, he stood casually near Jackie’s grandmother and his mother at a prime picnic table, perfectly positioned to observe. And pounce, if needed.

Grams, adjusting her floppy sun hat, gave a subtle nod to her co-conspirators. “Isn’t this lovely, Alice?” Eleanor beamed. “So much community spirit.”

“It certainly is,” his mom agreed, pointing. “Oh look, there’s Angela with her young man. Garret, didn’t you say Jackie knew him from Houston?”

“Briefly, Mom. Small world.” Garret forced a smile, his gaze fixed on his kid sister. His stomach tightened. This whole plan felt like juggling dynamite.

Jillian, who had opted to leave the candle shop in an employee’s hands in order to participate in the mission, meandered towards the parking lot. With every doo doo, doo doo , her choice to hum the theme from Mission Impossible in everyone’s ears did nothing to calm the knots tightening in his gut.

A few minutes later, she reappeared near the lemonade stand, catching Rachel’s eye with a discreet thumbs-up. Softly she muttered to the group, “Phase one executed flawlessly, if I do say so myself.”

Brad’s flashy red Maserati previously parked in front of the café doors, now occupied the spot directly in front of the fire hydrant.

Oblivious to the shenanigans planned by the women in his life, Brad sampled a piece of fudge Angela offered. “Quite good, for local fare,” his voice dripped with condescension. Then eyes bulging, fudge at his lips, he froze.

Garret knew exactly what had caught the poor schmuck’s attention. Diane stood nearby chatting easily with Aunt Vicki near the Corn Hole Heaven tent.

Panic flickered in Brad’s eyes. “You know, darling…” He spun quickly, taking Angela’s arm, not knowing everyone could hear him thanks to the phone in Angela’s purse. “I suddenly have a craving to see… animals. Didn’t you say you wanted to visit the petting zoo?”

Beautifully, Angela feigned surprise, then delight. “Oh, yes! The bunnies are adorable. Come on.”

She practically dragged Brad towards the penned-off area where Clint, volunteering for the day and in on the plans, was diligently mucking out the goat enclosure. For a man who supposedly wanted to see animals, Brad’s nose twitched with distaste and his gaze seemed to search for a quick exit route.

“Oh, Brad. Aren’t they precious?” Angela cooed, pointing at a particularly fluffy goat. “Stand right here, the light catches your profile perfectly. Let me get a picture.” Phone held high, she frowned, then nudged him a tad to the left, positioning him precisely on a clean thin patch of straw.

Odors forgotten, Brad puffed out his chest, striking a pose.

Taking a step to the side, angling the camera, she paused, waving madly as if just noticing who was working the pens. “Hi, Clint!”

Shovel in hand, the Sweet’s lone ranch hand Clint, as if genuinely startled by the greeting, straightened and turned abruptly towards the sound of Angela’s voice. The shovel, laden with wet, fragrant goat manure, swung in a wide arc.

Splat . A generous dollop landed squarely across the toes of Brad’s pristine, hand-stitched loafers. Another glob splattered onto his chinos for good measure. Yep, X had indeed marked the perfect spot.

“Whoa there!” Clint grunted, feigning surprise. “Sorry ’bout that, mister. Guess I swung when I should have stopped.” He casually scraped the remaining manure into the wheelbarrow.

Brad stared down at his feet, his face contorting in growing fury. The smell hit him, thick and earthy, and he gagged slightly. “My shoes! These are bespoke! Do you have any idea—”

“Oh, Brad! Honey! Are you okay?” Angela rushed over, photo forgotten, dabbing uselessly at his shoe with a tissue.

“Terrible luck.” Alice Sweet called out, having ambled over with Eleanor to see the animals.

Eleanor surveyed the scene, a faint smile playing on her lips. “Accidents do happen, dear. Especially when one isn’t paying attention.”

Brad, trying futilely to scrape the offending muck from his shoes on a patch of grass, looked up to see Diane approaching calmly from one side.

Spinning away, his eyes darting about like a trapped rat looking for escape, he spotted Jackie approaching from the other direction.

His face went from furious red to clammy white. The guy was cornered.

“Brad? Having some trouble?” Diane asked mildly, taking in the state of his shoes with detached interest.

“Diane…Wha, what are you doing here?” Subtly he tried to shift so Angela wasn’t directly in Diane’s line of sight.

“Brad!” Jackie exclaimed with forced cheerfulness. “What a surprise seeing you here. Enjoying the local… uh… atmosphere?” She wrinkled her nose slightly.

He looked frantically between his composed wife and his smiling ex.

“Everything all right here, honey?” Angela stepped closer to Brad again, completing the triangle of women surrounding him.

As Brad, utterly flustered and hemmed in, stuttered to find words, Rachel materialized holding two enormous Sno-Cones, dripping with luridly blue and sticky-red syrup.

“Coming through!” Rachel called out, swerving about like the town drunk, evading low scrambling critters, and with a dramatic flair worthy of an Academy Award, proceeded to lose her balance, stumbling directly into his path.

The blue Sno-Cone met Brad’s neatly pressed white tailored shirt, leaving a massive, rapidly spreading stain. The red iced treat made glancing contact with his perfectly styled hair, depositing a sticky, melting glob near his temple.

“Oh, my stars! I am so sorry!” Rachel gasped, dropping the now-empty paper cones. “They’re just so slippery! Are you okay?”

Brad sputtered, trying to swipe the sticky syrup from his hair, only smearing it further. He looked down at the vibrant blue and red masterpiece blooming across his shirt, dripping down his paint leg, and onto his manure-caked shoes. His face was a thundercloud.

“First manure, now Sno-Cones.” Alice shook her head as she and Eleanor caught up. “This poor young man is having the worst day.”

“Indeed.” Eleanor’s eyes sparkling with amusement. “Almost seems like the universe is trying to tell him something.”

Attracted to the sweet scent of syrupy ice, every four-legged animal within the pen raced in his direction.

One goat merrily chewed on a loafer tassel—amazing that goats could eat anything no matter what they were covered in—while another licked at his pants.

Soon baby lambs and bunnies surrounded him, all interested in an early-afternoon snack.