Sugar's Twice as Sweet: Sugar, Georgia: Book 1 by Marina Adair Page B

his day.”
    “Is he ticketing me?” Josephina asked, because there, across the street, next to Frank Brother’s Taxidermy, Ammo, and Fine Jewelry, and in front of the Sheriff’s Station, surrounded by a bunch of lookie-loos, stood one of Sugar’s finest—notepad in hand and studying her car.
    “That’s what happens when you forget to pay the meter.”
    “I did pay the meter.” A whopping twenty-five cents. “But I didn’t park it there. When you finished working on Ulysses I drove around the block and left him under the maple tree next to your shop,” she defended, not wanting to meet the town’s people with a public misdemeanor.
    “You saying it walked away?” Spenser joked, already headed for the open bay.
    “No, I’m just saying I didn’t park it there.”
    Josephina grabbed her purse and, making sure to smile at every single ma’am sent her direction, made her way down the cobblestoned sidewalk after Spenser, who seemed to be almost preening.
    A fire hydrant of a woman dressed in an apron, flour, and a good layer of condemnation stood under a neon sign, which read: T HE S ADDLE R ACK. It was Etta Jayne, and she was pointing a reprimanding spatula at Josephina and clucking away.
    “I put a quarter in the meter,” Josephina defended, hastily adding, “ma’am.”
    She half expected the woman to swat her tush with that spatula. She was pretty sure she could outrun the disgruntled granny, but she didn’t want to test that theory.
    A tip of a Stetson and three glares later, Josephina came to a halt, nearly toppling into Spenser, who had pushed her way through the gathering crowd and now stood on her tiptoes, glaring at the sheriff.
    “Afternoon, ma’am.” The sheriff lifted his hat, then shifted his gaze. “Spenser.”
    “Jackson.” Spenser sent him an eat-shit-and-die glare.
    This might be Mayberry, but Barney Fife he was not. The man was seriously hot. Tall, ripped, and looked amazing in uniform. She half expected him to pull out a boom box, rip off his pants, and show her his cuffs. Which should have excited her but didn’t, she thought proudly. Her antiman campaign was going swimmingly.
    “This your car?” Jackson asked, writing on that little notepad of his.
    “Yes, sir.” She reached in her purse and handed him a quarter since she couldn’t see a meter. “Here.”
    The sheriff eyed the coin and grinned. “I don’t know whether to arrest you for trying to bribe an officer of the law, or be offended that you think I can be bought off for a quarter.”
    “What?” Josephina gasped, shoving the coin in her purse. “It’s for the,” she almost said meter, then remembered there wasn’t one. “I’m paying for my parking spot.”
    “Parking illegally is the least of your worries, since driving a stolen car is a felony.”
    She was so busy staring at the big red and white S HERIFF P ARKING O NLY, V IOLATORS W ILL BE S HOT D EAD sign, she almost hadn’t heard his last accusation. “Did you say felony?”
    “Yes, ma’am. There is an ‘attempt to locate’ on this car as of this morning. Imagine my surprise when it turned up parked in my designated spot,” Jackson drawled, his hand resting on his sidearm.
    Josephina held her breath. If she wasn’t so terrified of guns, she would probably have jumped in Ulysses and sped off. Because every single person who happened to be in town was now filling the streets and, it seemed, placing bets on whether the city slicker would go to the pokey or grand theft auto was cause for a public lynching.
     “I’m going to have to ask you to step into my office so we can discuss the matter of this stolen car.” Even when threatening felony the sheriff’s voice was sexy. Low and thick and having absolutely no effect on Josephina whatsoever.
    “First off, I didn’t steal the car. It’s mine. And secondly, I’m the one who called it in when it went missing. Yesterday,” she added, making sure to point out just how misinformed his department