I Want Candy

  “And you realize the last time I mentioned the bakery thing I was still wearing a B cup.”

  Cheri giggled. “I know, but I figured now that you were back you’d think about it again. I mean, it’s almost like you threw away that dream the second you left for college.”

  “Almost,” Candy said, nodding.

  “I’m just saying that I know things are going to turn around for you. They always do.”

  Cheri was being outrageously optimistic, of course. It was true that Candy had always managed to come up with a business idea that got her on her feet again, but this time it was different—she was beaten down as far as she’d ever been beaten in her life. Her entrepreneurial juices didn’t flow well while being hounded by bill collectors. Go figure.

  Even finding a menial job was proving to be impossible in the current economy. The entire country was in a major recession, but Bigler had gotten the life choked out of it. With her business degree and résumé, Candy had positioned herself right out of a small-town job market. She’d already been told she was overqualified for every job she’d applied for in Bigler—assistant manager at the Piggly Wiggly, a bank teller position, waitressing, even a shift on the production line at the tannery. In desperation, she’d responded to an ad for a nanny position. But, like everyone else, they told her they feared she’d only quit the moment she found something better.

  Better? Right now, anything was better than what she had, which was sixteen dollars, about three days’ worth of mascara, and a car about to die a hideous—and noisy—death.

  That wasn’t counting Sophie, of course. It was far too early to even think about selling Sophie. The bracelet was her last defense against utter ruin, her ace in the hole, and her good-luck talisman. When the Florida housing market came crashing down, Candy refused to part with the twenty-two thousand dollars’ worth of platinum, sapphires, and pavé-cut diamonds. Even Cheri didn’t know she still had the bracelet.

  That’s because when it came time to sell everything for pennies on the dollar, Candy just couldn’t bring herself to do it. She’d purchased that bracelet for herself right after making her first million-dollar real estate deal—just strolled right on into Hayman Jewelers, tapped her finger on the glass case, and whipped out a roll of cash. And now, six years later, Sophie was the only remaining link to a lifestyle Candy was determined to have again. One day soon, when the time was right and the big idea was big enough, Sophie would finance Candy’s ticket back.

  As casually as possible, she touched the inside of her left thigh to make sure Sophie was in her customary place, strapped securely inside the small travel belt just below the leg opening of her panties. All was well.

  “Have you called Jacinta yet? Does she know you’re in town?”

  Candy stopped in her tracks and Cheri’s arm fell from her shoulder. “I told you. I don’t want to talk to her and she doesn’t want to talk to me. It’s the only thing we’ve ever seen eye to eye on.”

  “But she’s your mother.”

  “I hope you haven’t eaten lunch!” Viv called out, clapping her hands in excitement and looking none too sorry to have butted in on their conversation. “Look at you, Candy! I swear you look more like Marilyn Mon-roe every time I lay eyes on you! Ya’ll come on up here.” Viv ushered them onto the wide, wooden porch.

  “Be strong,” Cheri whispered in her ear.

  “Now, let me just say up front that all we’ve got at the moment is a twin bed, seeing as how Cheri took the big mattress and box spring with her to the lake house when she left without any warning.”

  Candy had to hand it to Vivienne Newberry—she was a passive-aggressive goddess. It didn’t matter to Viv that her grandniece was insanely happy with J.J. Decourcy and had been a spectacular success replacing Garland as publisher of the Bigler Bugle. Viv still couldn’t resist a poke at Cheri for moving out to the family lake house after just a few days of living under her roof.

  As they headed through the front door, Candy grasped at Cheri’s hand and gulped. She wondered how long she’d last at Land of the Lawn Jockey. She hoped to hell she was strong enough for this, because until she found employment, Viv Newberry was surely her last shot at free room and board in this town.

  * * *

  “’Sup, Sheriff?”

  Turner extended a leg out of the SUV and smiled at his best friend, hanging out in his usual workday spot, holding up the back wall of the Bigler Municipal Complex.

  “Haven’t you got anything better to do? Loitering is against the law in these parts.”

  J.J. Decourcy laughed as he extended his arms wide. “What in the world would be better than this? I’m the managing editor of the freakin’ Bigler Bugle, baby, and I’m out hobnobbing with the powers that be, looking for another award-winning scoop!”

  Turner shut the door of his cruiser and headed up the back steps, the weariness settling in his shoulders and back. “You’re sure as hell chipper today.”

  J.J. fell in step with him. “Yeah? And you look like you been run over.”

  Turner shrugged. “Pulled a double shift. Pauline called in sick for the overnight again.”

  “Ah, man, that’s rough. Sorry to hear it.”

  As they strolled down the hall, Turner and J.J. waved at the usual daytime crowd that inhabited the public safety wing of the municipal building—the 911 call center employees (all two of them), the fire chief, the animal control officer, and the sheriff’s administrative support personnel, including Turner’s secretary, Bitsy, who handed him a hefty stack of paperwork as he passed by her desk.

  “Thanks, Bits.” Turner gestured for J.J. to have a seat in his office. “So what’s up at the Bugle? How’s the new publisher working out?” Turner glanced up in time to see a wave of ecstasy wash over his friend’s face. He’d become immune to it over the last few weeks. Mostly, anyway. It wasn’t like he wasn’t thrilled for J.J. and Cheri—they’d been in love since middle school, and it had been one hell of a long and convoluted path to happiness for them. He knew that better than anyone.

  But once in a while—okay, like right at that moment—Turner didn’t much care for the lovesick look that had taken up residence on his buddy’s face. It made him slightly irritable, in fact.

  “Cheri is incredible. Simply incredible.” J.J. sighed with contentment as he settled into the simple chrome and vinyl chair across from Turner’s desk. “Damn, Halliday. I’m a happy, happy man.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  J.J. laughed. “Sorry. I don’t mean to be obnoxious about it. But you did ask.”

  “Yep. I asked.” Turner turned his attention back to the stack of paperwork Bitsy had just handed him. The ongoing North Carolina Rural Drug Task Force investigation of Bobby Ray Spivey was starting to heat up. An undercover DEA agent had infiltrated yet another methamphetamine manufacturing and distribution ring headquartered in Cataloochee County, this time in Preston Valley, and the next month or so would mean lots of man-hours for Turner’s department. Or, more accurately, for Turner. Budget cuts had left him no choice but to hold off on the two new hires for the fiscal year, and with Pauline ready to go on maternity leave, he knew he’d better start getting used to a life of extra hours and not enough sleep.

  But to Turner, this wasn’t just another case. It was probably his last shot at linking Spivey to Junie’s death, and he’d have to do it before the meth investigation came to a close.

  “So. Anything good going on?”

  Turner looked up at J.J. and smiled. This was their daily dance, and by now, they were damn good at it. He and J.J. Decourcy had been best friends since kindergarten. After high school, Jay had gone away to UNC to study history and political science, then he’d run off to travel the world and eventually work for a news service in New York City. Since he was a country boy at heart, that hadn’t lasted long, and J.J. came back to work for Garland Newberry at the Bugle, where he’d been ever since.

  Turner, on the other hand, had done two years with the Marine Corps, then went to
Western Carolina on the G.I Bill, majoring in criminal investigation sciences. He’d married Junie right after graduation and joined the department as a deputy. Within three years, he was the boss. And not long after, Junie was dead. In a flash, his beautiful wife—the only woman he’d ever loved with all his heart and soul—was gone from the world.

  Turner let his gaze wander to the small silver frame he kept on his desk. Junie looked back at him with those dark, almond-shaped eyes and her trademark smile. He never got used to it, really, the idea that a spirit so full of joy could exist one instant and vanish the next. But he knew she was gone. He was called to the scene of the accident. He saw his sweet, funny, passionate wife slumped over the wheel, lifeless. Dead.

  Turner kept living. J.J. liked to point out that it was more like existing—just a cycle of breathing, eating, sleeping, and working—but somehow, he’d managed to keep going.

  He checked out his friend now, sitting where he sat nearly every weekday morning, primed for the mental tug-of-war in which Turner would play coy and J.J. would try to get him to reveal more than he intended. After years of this, they considered themselves at a tie. They both knew the daily standoffs were more about friendship than work, anyway.

  “Pretty quiet,” Turner answered him. He shoved the task force reports into a file—that was one topic that would never come up with his best buddy during one of these chats. Although J.J. had been privy to Turner’s suspicions that Spivey was involved in Junie’s death, his friend would hear about the meth ring only about an hour before everyone else did—when the task force called a press conference to announce an arrest. Anything else would compromise the investigation and put an undercover agent’s life at risk. “But something kind of interesting went down early this morning,” Turner added, nodding slowly.

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Oh, yeah. I pulled some chick over for not having her headlights on, and she tried to flash me to get out of the ticket.”

  J.J. roared with laughter. “Damn, man. You have the best job in the world! You let her go with a warning, no doubt.”

  Turner felt himself grin at the memory of that spectacular sight—lots of creamy, milky, ivory-white cleavage, messed-up blond curls past her shoulders, and a pair of the pinkest, wettest lips he’d ever seen.

  Candy Carmichael drove him fuckin’ crazy. Always had, always would, and for good reason. That girl was a sweet treat that had continually been dangled just out of his reach. Intentionally or not, she’d flat-out tortured him in high school. The memory of her had left a permanent, voluptuously shaped indentation on his libido. And now, suddenly, all these years later and for no apparent reason, she decided to kiss him.

  It had damn near short-circuited his brain.

  “Yeah,” he said to J.J., sounding as nonchalant as possible. “I gave her a warning. And then she gave me a little somethin’ to show her appreciation.”

  J.J. sat up straight in the office chair, alarm on his face. Quickly, he looked over his shoulder, making sure Turner’s office door was shut. “Uh, is this going to be a Penthouse Forum kind of story? Because if it is, I need to prepare myself psychologically for this watershed moment.”

  Turner laughed aloud. Along with reminding him that he was still alive, J.J. had made it his mission to try to convince Turner to start dating again. He’d never even been tempted. It was as if that part of him had died with Junie.

  That was, until about six hours ago, near mile marker 47 on the shoulder of westbound State Highway 25. “Sorry to disappoint, but all the woman did was lean out the car and give me a kiss.”

  J.J. blinked. He waited. He shrugged. “And? Then what? Did you charge her with assaulting an officer? Can I run this on the front page?”

  “No, and no.”

  “So what happened?”

  “I kissed her right back.”

  His friend collapsed against the chair and his jaw fell open. “Wanna tell me who the woman was?”

  “I’ll give you a hint.” Turner felt a sly smile spread across his lips.

  “Yeah?”

  “She agreed to make me a chocolate cake in exchange for her freedom.”

  “Candy Pants?” J.J.’s voice lowered to a whisper. “You kissed Candy?”

  Turner nodded.

  J.J. suddenly looked panicked. “You know you two are supposed to come to the lake for dinner tonight, right? Cheri’s making some kind of marinated chicken thing. You can’t cancel on me, man.”

  “Yeah, I remember.”

  “But isn’t that going to be a little awkward? How are you going to handle this? What’s your plan?”

  Turner shrugged. “Same as my plan’s always been with that girl, Jay. I’m going to keep on walking.”

  “But she kissed you.” J.J. shook his head in confusion. “You’re going to walk away after she kissed you? Just pretend nothing happened?”

  “She was only thanking me. She’s been through a lot this last year or so—she was just being friendly.”

  “So it was a dry peck.”

  Turner bit the inside of his cheek before he answered. A peck? No. Dry? Hell, no. That kiss had been all about slick tongue, wet lips, and possibilities. And he couldn’t lie to himself. It may have started out as a “thank-you” kiss, but it was well on its way to becoming a “fuck-me” kiss when he’d put a stop to it.

  “It was on the moist side,” Turner said.

  “Moist.” J.J.’s voice was flat.

  “Yeah, man. Moist and friendly.”

  “Okay, so let me get this straight.” J.J. adjusted his position in the chair and cleared his throat. “Candy Carmichael—who’s been yanking your chain since before you even knew you had a chain or what it was for—just laid something moist and friendly on you and you’re going to walk away from it? Why? You’re single. She’s single. You’re both adults. I don’t get it.”

  Turner took a deep breath. “You’re missing the bigger picture.”

  “Which is?”

  “How many times do I have to tell you? I’m not ready for a woman in my life. Period. And besides, this is Candy Carmichael we’re talking about. Candy, man. I grew up with her. She’s been a friend of mine forever. That would just jack everything up something awful, especially if she decides to stay in town for a while.”

  “Rrriiight,” J.J. drawled. “First off—at the risk of sounding like a broken record—you need to start dating. It’s been over four years. You know Junie would have wanted you to have love in your life.”

  “But—”

  J.J. cut him off. “And secondly, since I’m fixin’ to marry one of my oldest friends in the very near future—a woman I’ve been nuts about my entire life—if you think I’m going to sit here and agree that a good friend can’t become a great love, you’re out of your damn mind.”

  Turner opened his lips to say something, but couldn’t manage it.

  J.J. grinned. “Who’s missing the bigger picture now?”

  * * *

  The instant the shiny black SUV pulled into the driveway, Candy yelled “Bye, Viv!” while grabbing her purse and trying to shut the big oak door behind her. Oddly, it wouldn’t budge.

  That was because Vivienne had wedged her chubby leg in the door.

  “Yoo-hoo!” Viv called out to Turner, nearly knocking Candy down to get to the top of the porch steps. “How sweet of you to swing by and give her a ride! These girls just don’t have much luck with their cars, now do they?”

  Candy squeezed her eyes shut in mortification. It was bad enough that her damn car had stopped working that afternoon, but the idea that Cheri had recruited Turner to drive her to the lake was just wrong, wrong, wrong. How weird was this going to be?

  “Oh, don’t you look handsome tonight,” Viv said, beaming at Turner. “Sounds like ya’ll are going to have a lovely time. Cheri’s making some kind of fancy chicken dish I never heard of, so I can’t really vouch for it, but it’s supposed to stay muggy after sunset so ya’ll might want to take a nice swim.”


  Turner seemed to follow Viv’s rambling just fine and nodded politely as he strolled down the front sidewalk. He was out of uniform now, wearing a faded pair of jeans, a white and neatly pressed cotton oxford shirt with the sleeves rolled up, a pair of sneakers, and his ever-present sheriff’s department ball cap pulled down tight. He had one hand in his jeans pocket. He had a little smile on those lips. He had one of the smoothest man-swaggers Candy had ever had the privilege to witness.

  Why hadn’t she noticed this before?

  It was almost as if Turner Halliday had stepped from the shadows and started walking around under some kind of personal sexy spotlight. When had this happened? She’d been back in town for nearly two weeks and she’d certainly seen Turner enough—out at the lake house, in town, and she’d even run into him in the Bugle newsroom a few days ago when she’d gone to visit Cheri. He’d always been perfectly sweet. Polite. Helpful. Witty. Charming. In other words, he’d been the same Turner Halliday she’d always known.

  So why the sudden change in him? Or was it simply a change in the way she saw him?

  Just then, Turner’s eyes flashed at her, his smile spread, and it all became clear.

  It was the kiss. The second I decided to kiss Turner Halliday, everything changed.

  Because up until that morning, she’d never kissed him. Not once. She’d liked him, of course—he made her laugh, he listened when she complained about boyfriends, he’d helped her out of more than a few jams over the years—but she’d never even thought about him that way, not the whole time they were kids and certainly not since she left Bigler a dozen years before. Candy had never figured Turner for dating material, let alone kissing material.

  How wrong could a girl get?

  “Good evening, ladies,” Turner said, coming to a stop at the bottom of the stairs. “A swim sure sounds nice, Miss Newberry, but I can’t stay out late tonight. I have to get some sleep before I go back in to cover the last half of the night shift.”

  “Oh, that’s right! Pauline’s about to pop, isn’t she?”

  Turner chuckled. “Yes, ma’am.”