She'd taken his heart and his virginity and left him more bitter than sweet.
The Sweets rarely set foot on the avenues. They'd always lived on the street-side of town, where duct tape held everything together and WD-40 stopped the squeaks.
I'll be damned. Miranda Sweet, is it you or is my glaucoma acting up again?" Ruby Sue sat her glass down on the Formica countertop with a clank. "You always did know how to make an entrance. Who do you think you are, the Queen of England?
West Virginia had the Hatfield and the McCoys. Shakespeare had the Capulets and the Montagues. Salvation had the Martins and the Sweets.
And suddenly, her day turned into the kind that explained why God invented chocolate, comfy pants, and booze.
Time for a showdown with her mutinous brewmaster. She'd tried nice. She'd tried all business. She'd tried cajoling. Now, it was time to try bitch with big brass balls.
In her career, she'd closed multi-million dollar deals without a hint of nerves. Now she needed a jumbo-sized bottle of antacids just to get out of her car. Or a double shot of whiskey. God, she was losing it.
She hadn't just drunk the Salvation Kool-Aid - she'd started to brew her own.
Being this close to him was like sitting under a hotness heat lamp. In the desert. At high noon.
