Chapter 14

Chapter

Fourteen

U lysses

"Stay here," I tell Kandie, unclipping but leaving my DWX semiautomatic in my shoulder holster.

"No one is here, U," she says behind me.

"One. You don't know that. Two. I'm not willing to risk you, wildcat." I take my time assessing the area, pretty sure she's right, but I don't take chances anymore, especially when it comes to her.

Ignoring the short intake of breath at my back, I continue into the bakery. Striding through the darkened space, my nose tingles with the permanent smell of yeast, sugar, vanilla, chocolate, and a hint of rose.

Glancing over my shoulder, I make sure Kandie's staying where I left her just outside of the shop. I duck back into the kitchen. Flipping the light on, I notice nothing out of place. The freezer is opened. And I walk in. On the shelf third from the bottom is a robin's egg blue stationary card. It's from a pack of stationary Kandie had on a little table in her reading nook.

Opening it, I frown at the words scrawled in an erratic script.

Kandie,

I was upset, okay? Seeing you with him makes me angry. You never smile at me like that. I wouldn't want you to either — what we have is real love. I want you to keep your sweet smiles.

He's not a good man, despite his position. He didn't even earn it. Just like he didn't earn you. I remain your first and ever love. Be good for me. I'll be watching.

~A

Tucking the envelope in my pocket, I make a quick sweep of the rest of the freezer before heading back out to the kitchen, checking the rear. I'm pretty sure he went out the back door because the front would expose him to discovery.

My brain is already going through every name that starts with A as I pick apart everything I've committed to memory. I won't have another chance to look at the message. There is no way I'm going to allow her to think both of her sacred spaces were violated by this guy.

I'd come over after I was radioed by Garcia she's escaped again. How she's doing it is nuisance enough. I didn't put her mugshot or the police report in the state or national database. I never had the intention of doing it. Just wanted to give her little spiteful ass a wake-up call. For years she's been skating by on trouble with barely a slap on the wrist. The truth is, she's a public nuisance when she's not baking. It's a rare weekend when she's not in the middle of some brawl at one of the local dive bars. Why they haven't banned her is a wonder in itself. I guess if they banned her, they'd lose half their patronage. People love her wildcat ways.

He left a spare key that she keeps hanging on a key rack in her kitchen. His subtle way of letting her know how thorough he was. Rage sits on my chest like a boulder. I can't wait to kill this bitch. He scared my little wildcat. Destroyed everything she worked so hard for, then left a threat with that key, letting her know he'll be back in so many words if she didn't leave me alone.

She won't even have the choice. I protect what's mine, and she's been mine from the moment she gave herself to me. The years don't fucking matter. Kandie Love is mine.

Not giving myself time to question why that is, I all but stomp back through The Kandie Shoppe until I'm opening the door.

"All clear," I say before she can make a liar out of me by asking if he was here.

"Told you," she softly chides, pressing a soft hand into my chest. Grabbing her hand, I press a kiss on her knuckles before dropping her hand. Turning to survey the room, I start getting the front of the shop ready for the day.

"You better get started baking, wildcat," I toss over my shoulder. She stands looking at me for a moment.

"Alright." To my ears, she sounds a little relieved. I watch her once she turns for some reason, unable to take my eyes off her.

In short order, I fill the dispensers at the tables for the napkins, sugar. I start the coffee.

"It's really strong," Kandie says, a light dusting of flour covering her when she comes to do a taste test. "I like yours better." She throws me a blazing smile, giving my shoulder a little squeeze.

Why does it feel like she's pouring sunshine on my bruised soul?

By the time the regulars start milling in, we have biscuits, scones, cinnamon rolls, muffins, and pastries. Some people order breakfast sandwiches of sausage, eggs and cheese.

"Uh-uh, Mr. Charlie," Kandie says to the gruff mechanic, who is giving her a frown that should be sending fear into her.

"Ms. Shirley cornered me just the other day saying she was going to have my head if I gave you any sweets with the way your sugar diabetes is out of control. You can have those sugar free muffins I made for the folks with dietary restrictions or I can call her and tell her you're over here acting up." She moves over to get one out of the case. "Try it. I promise you're going to love them just the same, if not more. This one is free to try."

"Alright, then." The man sighs heavily, knowing he's good and caught.

Ducking my head to save his dignity, I grab another set of gloves to replace the ones tearing from being too small before I start packing more breakfast sandwiches for the people taking them to go.

"Um-hm, I see y'all together now for real this time," Mr. Charlie grumbles before his mouth presses into a hard line. I would think he was displeased if his eyes weren't alight with mischief as he regards a now bristling Kandie.

"Minding your own business is free, Mr. Charlie — respectfully." She adds on the last part with obvious reluctance, handing him a bag along with a coffee she made for him with monk fruit replacing white sugar.

"Kandie-girl, you are our business. Have been for a long time, sweetheart." He winks, covering her hand with his pale one, giving her a little pat.

Throwing me a negligent wave and a dismissive glance, he heads out the door.

For the next hour, eat-in diners fill the space. A pleasant hum fills the bakery. The smell of coffee, savory breakfast, and pastries has my stomach growling.

"Take a break," Kandie says, handing a plate filled with cheese grits, Conecuh sausage, two biscuits, and soft eggs, which explained why she dipped away for a moment.

"Go head, I'll bring some of that coffee you made," she says, nodding to an empty table in the far corner along the wall.

Ignoring the cheeky grins and stares of the lookie-loos, I weave my way through them until I reach the far corner. As I settle in the chair, I look around, marveling how Kandie was able to transform the old diner into a bakery with a mix of English tea shop and French coffee house aesthetics. It's like she couldn't make up her mind and decided she would take what she loved from them both and make a creation all her own. The mix of light blue, purple, black, and pink isn't lost on me just as they weren't when she revealed her sister's favorite colors. The chairs are tufted and I wonder how she afforded them but then I know from my mom how she loves to DIY, so she probably made them herself. I can see her now going to estate sales all over the county and buying the furniture for this place. The small tables are all the same color, but when you look at them closely, you can tell no two are quite the same. They'd only been repainted to look as if they are.

I'm digging into my feast of soft scrambled eggs, grits, and sausage when the door chimes.

Assistant Pastor Nathaniel comes in. His face is not a wreath of smiles, like normal. He stops by several tables, patting folks on the back, even giving me a wave and nod of acknowledgement before turning to Kandie.

"Hey there, Nathaniel, you want the usual?" I hate the way she smiles at him. I more than hate the way he looks at her so admiringly in return. Still, he's a stand-up guy who does more than his fair share for the community. He was on the volunteer fire squad until the Takedas joined with Mama-Pete putting pressure on the state legislature to fund one here recently.

"Sure." He nods, leaning against the counter in what looks way too comfortable to me.

Usual? Does that mean he's also a regular? Is he coming by here every morning like some lovesick schoolboy begging for her attention?

I know I'm too old for this shit. Jealousy is beneath me. I'm a fucking Shelby. She's mine. Everyone in this town knows it. It seems like this little motherfucker needs a reminder. Setting aside the fact that he's ridiculously close to her height, sure he has blond hair, but not like mine. Am I making a comparison because of the way he's looking at her or because of the way she seems to be a little bit extra kind to his ass?

She comes back, handing him a breakfast sandwich and a to-go cup, setting it in front of him. Just as she's about to retreat, he grabs her hand clasping it between both of his.

I'm out of my seat in an instant and so fast that the chair rocks back, catching the wall, drawing several glances my way. The look on my face has them swinging back around to see what or who has me so riled. I barely notice the whispers as I trek over to the two.

"I think you need to get your hand off her partner if you still want to be able to pass that collection plate around." The motherfucker seems to have a death wish because his ignorant ass takes a tad bit too long letting my lady go.

"Sheriff," he acknowledges like he didn't nod in my direction just before he headed over to the counter like a simp. He gives her hand a little squeeze before releasing her.

My stare trains on the hand he defiled for a long moment before I allow my gaze to travel up her soft arm, past her plump breasts to her full lips, only to stop at her troubled gaze. She looks so vulnerable as she regards me. Only that look stops me the from molly-whopping this guy and dragging his ass out here to dump him on the curb.

"Ahem," he clears his throat, breaking the connection between us. "It's good to see you watching over her. I was just letting her know that the congregation over at Second Baptist stand behind her. Pastor Lowry wanted me to pass that along personally. He sent messages out to everybody about the break-in and we will find those vandals, Kandie. You can count on us." Standing tall after that statement, his eyes full moons of emotion just for her, he adds, "If you need anything, I'm here for you."

I almost admire his bravery, declaring himself to my woman in front of me. Maybe it's his closeness to the Most High that has him wanting to meet him so soon. I don't give a fuck.

"No, you won't." I give him a hard stare.

"I beg your pardon?" he stammers.

"Did I stutter?" I allow the low ominousness to bleed through those few words.

He swallows hard, then looks at Kandie, who stands stunned, her eyes on me. Good. That's exactly where I want them.

He grabs his to-go cup and sack, leaving amidst the swirling murmurs and outright speculation of us having a love triangle.

Everyone who didn't know about the break-in of her place, which seems like the majority of the morning people, now do after checking the messages and text threads. The news is out townwide that Kandie's home was vandalized.

The crime quickly replaces my little squabble with the assistant pastor as the news of the day. In no time people are volunteering services and the like to help their favorite baker furnish her home.

The thing about Shelby-Love — people are nosey and messy as hell, but they are still good people. Some of the guys from Cruz Construction stop by with paint the color of robin's egg blue.

"I don't want them to see what's on that wall." She sounds miserable turning to me when they start unloading the paint.

"I'll take care of it." Pressing a kiss on the crown of her head, I release her before calling out to halt the workers.

Never let anyone say painting doesn't take skill. Especially when you're covering a blood red slash on the entire wall.

It takes me nearly two hours, then another, for the fans they brought to dry the wall between coats before it's primed for them to paint, with no one seeing the slur on the wall.

While I worked, Oz and the other cousins removed all the furniture. Kandie teared up when they put the slashed and broken beyond repair recliner she reupholstered in the back of Pa-Pete's truck. I've never been so glad that she was in jail. It was probably the safest place for her. I won't even allow myself to think of what could happen if that asshole had caught her at home.

The way the community has rallied around her can do nothing but enrage him more. People who do this seek to control their marks. They want them isolated — left feeling abandoned, so they can push them to the brink of despair. He must be enraged she's not cowed.

By the time the afternoon rush has slowed to a trickle, I'm back in the bakery, this time hanging behind the counter in case another handsy motherfucker decides he wants to comfort her. Unlike the misguided minister, their intentions may not be so kind.

I'm sure several of the guys she never gave a chance will see this as a prime opportunity to make their move.

"Why are you making that sound?" she queries when the shop falls silent after a group of teens leaves.

"What sound?" My brows shoot up. I have no idea what she's speaking of.

"Like a growl, a warning. The kids looked at you weirdly. That's when I noticed. You probably do it so much I don't even pay attention to it." Huffing out a little laugh, she shrugs.

"I was thinking about how people are going to try to come talk to you now that they think you're vulnerable." Giving her a look to let her know I don't like that bullshit, I add, "Nathaniel probably meant well, but you best believe these local jokers don't."

"I'm not some naive girl who ain't never been through anything U, give me some credit." She's bristling and I like it even if she's mad at me because of it.

"I'm just saying." I'm not apologizing. I've heard how some of the men in this county have talked about her. I won't have them thinking she's unprotected.

"I don't need you to say anything and I don't need you running away good loyal customers like Nathaniel." She puts her hands on her hips like she's letting me have it. "I've worked too hard at building this business to let you ruin it."

"I can guarantee you how you act out in these Shelby-Love streets will ruin you and your business long before I ever will," I ground out in a hard, scathing tone. "That shit you pulled last night was a fucking felony, need I remind you. Walking home from bars in the middle of the night almost got you fucking raped and murdered. You're drunk half the time anyone sees you. That's why motherfuckers think they can lay hands on you whenever they want to."

I step away before I rail at her more. Her face is wiped of all expression. Her eyes are too big, too bruised as she regards me. Her deep-set dimples mock me. They should be accentuating her happiness at how people are showing up for her not looking hollow from hurt.

I'm not going to take those words back. She needs to stop putting herself in situations that can get her killed.

"You lost your family. You didn't lose your life, but you will if you keep this shit up, wildcat." Her eyes well and her nose tinges red beneath the brown. I couldn't have cut her deeper if I had a blade. I haven't felt this helpless since I was sixteen and watched my dad rush into that building. That taught me a lesson. Sometimes you don't get a second chance to make a mistake. You don't get people back, and I'm done losing mine.

"You can go, U." I can tell she doesn't want me here, but she also doesn't feel safe.

"I won't." Crossing my arms over my chest, I look down at her as she tries to do everything in her power to keep from attacking me. A clear sign of growth on her part.

"I can call my cousins." She takes her phone out of her smock. I grab it.

"Waste of time because I'm not leaving. You can be mad, hell I'm mad, but I'm not leaving and you can't make me leave. What you gone do? Call the police? Already here." I smirk down into her brown enraged eyes.

"You ain't shit." Huffing, she pivots, throwing me a dirty look over her shoulder. "Dirty ass cop," she says, disappearing into the back.

A few seconds later, she calls out to me. "Sweep and mop the floor, then wipe down the counters, make new water when you clean the tables, then come back here and wash these dishes." She laughs, hearing me groan.

"Uh-uh, Sheriff, too late to bitch. My cousins work without complaint and so will you."

When I'm finally done, she comes back to inspect my work with a jaundice eye. "Not bad," she mutters, heading back to her workstation in the back where she is working with pastry dough.

"You do this every night?" I get the answer with a dry look.

"Thought you were just going to make cakes." I think back, remembering the late-night whispers of her dreams.

"Diversify or die." She shrugs, basting the delicate dough with butter before layering it.

"Taught myself most of the things I know from library books and YouTube, then was able to take some classes here and there." Eyes focused on her task, she shrugs like what she did for herself is not a big deal.

My chest swells with pride at what she's accomplished.

"Who would've thought winning the Alabama State Fair baking competition would lead to all this?" She waves a hand around her spotless workspace.

Marveling at the sheer amount of work she does every single day, I hang back watching knowing as a person who likes doing things on my own that she has a system and if I tried to help, it would throw off her rhythm.

"Why didn't Krie ask you to be her pastry chef?" The question comes out before I can snatch it back. I have no idea if this is a point of pain for her.

"Oh, she did, but she's a business owner like me and knows what it means to pursue your own dream. I even taught her chef to make some of the local favorites. She's put her own twists on them."

After laying the last croissant on the parchment, she moves to pick up the massive tray.

"I got it, wildcat." Face wary, probably from our previous argument, she steps back, allowing me to help her.

"Thanks." If her words sound softer than they ever have before, I don't let it show. I said what I said, and I fucking meant it. Still. My heart, that treacherous motherfucker, has me pulling her into my arms as soon as I return from putting the tray up.

"I'm going to get flour on you." Soft whispered words, soft breath brushes my chest. A crush of curls and the barest whiff of vanilla-rose slays me.

"I don't care. You're who I care about." Leaning back, I make her meet my eyes. "Do you believe me when I say that, wildcat?"

She swallows hard, then nods up at me.

Dipping my head, I take her lips. Soft brushes of our mouths meet until our tongues tangle. By the time she pulls a way reminding me of the work she has to do, I'm rock hard pressing into her soft plush belly.

The rest of the evening passes much like that with stolen kisses and pastry making.

Later, when I checked the messages I've been ignoring, I have to bite back a curse.

Angel: We have a problem, hombre. Aside from the one you still have not taken care of, but choose to play the baker with.