Scarlett clutched the phone tighter. “I really wish you could come with me.” She let out a breath. “But I understand. It’s not like you can tell Cindy Stubblefield to make her baby wait until after the fair to deliver.” Even as she spoke the words, they tasted sour in her mouth.

Vernon chuckled. “Yeah, I would if I could, but I don’t think the baby would listen.”

She heard noise in the background, someone trying to get Vernon off the phone.

“Listen, hon, I need to let you go. I’m so sorry about this, but I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

Scarlett had gone to the trouble of baking the stupid pie so Vernon could bid on it. If she hadn’t told Harper she could come with her and Vernon, she would’ve just stayed home.

“If I get done with the delivery early enough, I’ll stop by the fair, okay?”

“Okay.” She softened a smidgen. Vernon had been trying to take on another partner to reduce his workload, but so far, he hadn’t found the right fit. That meant he was always on call. And because Clementine was such a small town, he practiced all types of medicine, including delivering babies. She knew she was being petty about tonight, but she’d been looking forward to going with Vernon. Knowing Rigby was in town had left her feeling unsettled. She expected to run into him at every turn, obsessed over what she’d say, how she’d react. Her plan was to play it cool, remain aloof, so he’d never know how much he hurt her. A part of her wanted Vernon by her side, just so she could prove to Rigby that she no longer had feelings for him. Not that he cared. He’d left Clementine for those big city lights, not looking back. And he’d gotten everything he wanted career-wise with a glamorous wife to boot. Of course that didn’t work out so well for him when Sadonna Roberts cheated on him. As angry as Scarlett was at Rigby, she didn’t wish that on anybody, not even him. She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. She’d spent too much time thinking about Rigby today, as it was, and didn’t need to spend the rest of the night too. She looked in the mirror, doing a final check of her makeup. Considering the nonstop day she’d had, she didn’t look half bad. Lunch with the blogger had gone off without a hitch. Harper had managed the floor like a pro. The crab cakes, shrimp and grits turned out perfectly. Scarlett spoke briefly to Beverly after the meal. She was impressed … so impressed that she mentioned introducing Scarlett to a group of investors who might be interested in franchising her restaurant. Harper went gaga when she heard that. It was an exciting possibility, but Scarlett had to focus on the here and now. The goal was to get this restaurant in the black before planning for more. More than anything, Scarlett was glad lunch with Beverly was done. Now she could look forward to the article, which Beverly assured her would go live in two weeks.

Scarlett dropped her phone in her purse and got out of her car, holding her sweet potato pie. She’d asked her employee Mike to run the other pies over earlier, but wanted to hand-deliver this one to make sure it got to the right place. Of course, now it didn’t matter. Still, someone would bid on it, and the money was for a good cause. The biggest downer was having to share the pie with someone other than Vernon. Traditionally, the person who bought the item would share a slice with the person who made it. Last year, Walter Minford a portly, bald man, recently divorced won her item. They found an open table and each ate a slice, trying to make small talk. It was one of the most awkward moments of Scarlett’s life, and she didn’t want to repeat that scenario tonight. A light breeze ruffled her hair, she caught a whiff of the faint scent of popcorn in the evening air, reminding her of all the times she’d come to the fair.

Harper waited for her at the entrance. “Hey,” she chirped. “I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.” She looked past Scarlett. “Where’s Vernon?”

“He got called away on an emergency. Cindy Stubblefield’s having her baby. Can you believe it? Of all nights,” she pouted.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Harper said, but it was obvious from the jubilant expression on her face she was elated. “I see you brought your famous sweet potato pie.” She pumped her eyebrows, a teasing grin sliding over her lips. “Maybe Walter Minford will bid on it again. He paid a pretty penny for it last year. I think he has a crush on you.”

She grimaced. “If he bids on it this year, I’m sneaking out.”

Harper laughed. “Yeah, over Coralee Breeland’s dead body. You know what a stickler she is for the rules.”

She scowled. “I know, that’s why I’d planned for Vernon to bid on mine, so I could just eat the pie with him and be done with it.”

“I could always bid on it.”

“Sure, because you have so much money,” Scarlett quipped.

She rolled her eyes. “Well, if my boss would pay me more …”

“If I could afford it, I would. I assure you. You’re worth every penny I pay you and then some.”

Harper’s expression softened. “I know you would. And you can bet your best bra that I’ll hold you to that when business picks up. Come on, let’s go. I want to have time to do all the stuff before the auction.”

“I have to take this pie to the auction pavilion first.”

Harper puckered her red lips, sighing. “If we must, we must.”

A few minutes later they approached a massive table loaded with every baked good imaginable. Coralee smiled, wiping her hands on her apron. “Hey, how are y’all doing?” Her gaze flickered over them. “You both look beautiful.”

“Thank you,” they chimed in unison.

“Here’s my sweet potato pie.” Scarlett handed it over.

Coralee lifted an edge of the aluminum foil and peeked in. “Mmm, it looks amazing. I’m sure it’ll fetch a good price.” She gave Scarlett an appraising look. “Didn’t yours get one of the highest bids last year?”

“Oh, I don’t remember,” Scarlett said offhandedly.

Harper shoved her. “She’s just being modest. You could make a car payment with what her pie went for last year.”

Scarlett’s face flamed, and she wanted to stuff a sock in Harper’s mouth to shut her up. She really needed to tutor her cousin in the art of social grace.

“What?” Harper countered. “Don’t look at me like that. It’s true.”

Coralee just laughed. “You know what they say, Scarlett. If the shoe fits …”

“Yeah, I guess.”

Coralee hesitated, giving Scarlett a tentative look. “Is your dad coming tonight?”

For nearly a year, a romance had been budding between Coralee and her dad, which came as a total surprise to Scarlett. But she couldn’t deny they got along well together, and it was nice they didn’t have to be alone. If anything, they were mostly good friends at this point. “Yes, he mentioned something about it.” A smile played on her lips. “And, I believe there was also talk of a certain coconut pie he wanted to bid on.”

Coralee lit up like a lightning bug, as she giggled and waved a hand. “Oh, you.”

Harper tugged on her arm. “Let’s go.”

Scarlett turned to Coralee. “It’s good to see you.”

“You too.”

Coralee looked past them and waved. “Rigby, come over and say hello.”

Scarlett turned. She jerked at the sight of Rigby striding toward them. He looked good. No, he looked great—better than she remembered in jeans and a black t-shirt, which emphasized his well-formed chest. A girl would have to be blind not to notice the way his muscles moved underneath his shirt as he walked. Her heart pounded in her chest, sending blood rushing to her head, making her feel dizzy. What was she … sixteen? Geez, she needed to get a grip! A slow smile stole over his lips as his eyes locked with hers. “Hey.”

“Hey.” She hated him still having such a strong effect on her. It was so utterly unfair! All those little talks she’d had with herself about leaving the past where it belonged burned away like the residue of clouds in the wake of the sun. Her mind tried to reconcile the Rigby from her dreams with the living, breathing man. His features were more chiseled with the passage of time, his probing ice-blue eyes exactly the same. The slight wave in his brown hair made it lay so perfectly that kids in high school used to tease him about styling it. The faint stubble running along his jaw emphasized its leanness. His nose had a tiny bump from being broken several times. She was glad he had at least one imperfect physical characteristic.

“Rocket Breeland,” Harper gushed in a high-pitched tone, a volume too loud. “It’s great to see you. You’ve finally come home,” she exclaimed, like she was playing Scarlett O’Hara on the stage. She flung her arms around Rigby, pulling him close.

Scarlett couldn’t help but snigger, especially when she saw Rigby’s uncomfortable expression as he tried to extricate himself from Harper’s grasp. She’d never been one to honor the personal space rule. When Rigby saw Scarlett laughing, he gave her a courtesy smile bordering on snarky.

“Rigby was just saying how he wished he had someone to pal around with for a couple of hours before the pie toss,” Coralee said. “I’m sure he would love to hang out with you girls.”

Rigby’s eyes widened. “I did?”

“You certainly did,” Coralee added, smiling brightly, not backing down an inch.

“Oh, come on,” Harper urged. “It’ll be fun.”

He pulled at his shirt. “Yeah, I’m not sure … maybe I should hang out around here instead, so I’ll be close by when the pie toss starts.”

For some strange reason, Rigby’s reticence irritated the heck out of Scarlett. Her eyes narrowed. “What part do you have in the pie toss?”

“Rigby’s the one getting pied in the face by the lucky winner of the most tickets for events,” Coralee explained.

Harper squealed. “Ooh, that sounds fun.”

“Yeah … loads,” Scarlett muttered under her breath.

Rigby’s features tightened as the two locked gazes. There was so much between them—the familiarity of having lived next door to each other their entire growing-up years, a fierce attraction that had ignited into an all-consuming love, and finally, a heartache so large it would’ve filled the fairgrounds ten times over.

“You know, I think Rigby’s right,” Scarlett quipped. “Maybe he should stay here.” She pinned on her ice queen smile, dripping with honey, the same one she used when a customer at the restaurant sent a plate of food back to the kitchen for the umpteenth time. Her voice went sickly sweet. “I mean, we wouldn’t want him to get lost in the crowd and disappoint all those adoring fans that are waiting to see The Rocket get pied, now would we?”

For a blip of a second, a stunned silence froze the group, then Coralee coughed like she was embarrassed. Scarlett immediately felt guilty for the retort. She was about to say something to soften the blow when Rigby shook his head, a grin tugging at his lips. “The more things change, the more they stay the same.”

Scarlett’s hands went to her hips. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He laughed. “Take it how you will.” He turned to Harper, flashing a dazzling smile that turned to her a puddle of hairspray, red lipstick, and fingernail polish. “Harper, I’d love to hang out with you.” He cut his eyes at Scarlett. “And you can trail along too, if you’d like.”

The nerve! Scarlett wanted to squeeze his pompous neck until his head popped off. She glared at Rigby, but he only laughed.

“It’s good to see you, Scarlett.” His eyes moved over her in that leisurely way known to electrify her blood. “You’re still as beautiful as ever,” he murmured.

She just stood there, tongue-tied.

“You kids have fun,” Coralee quipped, then quickly turned her back, eager to remove herself from the conversation.

Rigby clasped his hands together. “Where to first?”

“The Ferris Wheel,” Harper said dreamily.

“I was thinking of something a bit more competitive,” Scarlett said. She had to do something to break the strong connection between herself and Rigby. She was with Vernon now, and she’d promised herself too many times to count that she’d stay strong and resist Rigby’s charms. The moment of truth was upon her. It was time to rise to the occasion.

Rigby cocked his head. “Really? What do you have in mind?”

She arched an eyebrow. “Something where I can earn enough tickets to throw a pie in your ugly mug.”

“Scarlett,” Harper exclaimed, “stop being so rude!”

Rigby’s eyes widened and then he laughed. “All right. I’m game. Let’s see what you can do.”

* * *

Rigby was surprised at how swiftly the familiar spark shot up between him and Scarlett. The girl had torque. She was plowing through the fair events with a fervor worthy of a star player, determined to amass enough tickets to pie him in the face. He was starting to hope she’d win. After all, if he had to get a pie in the face, he’d rather it be thrown by Scarlett. He’d not meant to compliment her out loud earlier at the pavilion, but the words had slipped out of his mouth. She was stunningly beautiful with her fluid sheet of glossy, chestnut hair and expressive, big brown eyes as tempting as chocolate truffles. And when she smiled, her dimples showed. A little over five feet tall, she was petite and flowerlike, curving in all the right places. But it was more than just good looks that drew him to her. She was wicked smart and feisty as a hornet, quick to put him in his place when he needed it. Yet, she had an element of culture and grace so indicative of a true Southern Belle. Even when she cut him down earlier, she’d done it classily with a trademark smile. How well he remembered the way her hair fell over her slender shoulders when she tipped her head, the crinkle that formed in the center of her forehead when she was deep in concentration, how soft her lips felt against his as they kissed, and how nicely she fit in his arms. Scarlett had made him want to be a better man. Everything went great between them, right up until she rejected him. He’d wondered earlier if she’d still be beautiful, thinking perhaps he might view her differently now that he’d been out in the world. Ha! The joke was on him. Scarlett could hold her own on any platform. He shrugged off the thoughts. He’d come to Clementine to lick his wounds and recoup. Harboring old feelings for Scarlett Foster would do just the opposite. She was engaged to Vernie Stanley. Where was he tonight? Rigby assumed he’d be glued to her side. If Vernie had an ounce of sense, he’d never let Scarlett out of his sight. She was the genuine article, and Rigby was sure all the hot-blooded males in Clementine under the age of forty were vying for her attention.

“That was good. Care to try it again, pretty lady?” Rigby was unprepared for the surge of protective instinct he felt when the booth operator scoped Scarlett up and down with the eye of a practiced hunter assessing his next target. He gave her a smile, reeking with innuendo.

“You bet ya’,” Scarlett quipped, tossing her glossy hair. Rigby could tell she was oblivious to the way the tatted-out bad-boy was ogling her. Probably because it happened so often.

Harper sighed loudly. “You’ve done it five times already. How many more times are you gonna do this?”

“As many times as it takes to get a high score,” Scarlett countered, squaring her chin as she gathered up the rings.

The man winked at Scarlett. “She’s persistent. I like that.”

Rigby clenched his teeth as he caught the man’s eye, giving him a warning look that said back off.

The man blinked rapidly, then drew back. From that point on, he was so professional he bordered on curt.

As they left the ring toss booth, Rigby moved closer to Scarlett. “So, do you think you’ve earned enough tickets to win the day, yet?” It was kind of flattering how hard she was working to throw the pie at him.

She drew her lips together. “Nope, I think we need to go back to the rifle shoot.”

Harper groaned. “This was supposed to be a fun night. You’re turning it into some kind of settle-the-score thing with your old boyfriend.”

Scarlett flinched, her face going a deep red. “This has nothing to do with what happened between me and Rigby.” She gave him a scathing look. “We’re ancient history.”

Her hostility took him off guard, especially considering she’d been the one who ended their relationship. Interesting. Did that mean she still cared? The notion was intriguing.

Harper turned to him. “Can you please try and talk some sense into her?”

He held up his hands. “Hey, I’m just along for the ride.”

“Of course you are,” Scarlett snapped.

Rigby chuckled. “O—kay, not sure what crawled up in your drawers, darling.”

Harper hiccuped a giggle, then stifled it with her hand. She looked at Scarlett. “Sorry, but that was funny. You’re taking this competition thing a little too far.”

Rigby feared for half a second Scarlett might blow up and storm off, which would be a real shame because he was enjoying spending time with her—enjoying it more than he’d enjoyed anything in a long time. Thankfully, she let out a long breath instead.

“You’re right, it’s been a long day. I don’t know what I was thinking.” Her shoulders sagged. “I need to be getting home.”

No, Rigby wanted to counter. Blast Harper for throwing it in Scarlett’s face and ruining everything.

Harper caught Scarlett’s arm. “Oh, no. You can’t leave. Not with your sweet potato pie in the auction.”

“You can take my place, share the pie with whomever wins the bid,” she said dully.

Rigby had to think fast to come up with something to make her stay. His eyes caught hers. “You’re really leaving?”

“Yeah.” She offered a slight smile. “I figure I’ve made a big enough fool of myself for one night.”

“That’s too bad,” he mused. “I never pegged you for a quitter.”

Her brows drew together as she lifted her chin. “I’m not quitting, I’m just tired.”

He folded his arms over his chest. “Uh, huh, you keep telling yourself that.”

Her eyes sparked. “You have no right to judge me.”

He smiled inwardly. It had always been easy to get a rise out of Scarlett. This was the girl he remembered—the fighter that refused to give up. “I’ll make you a deal.”

Wariness crept into her eyes. “What?”

“Let’s go back to the rifle target booth. If you win, I’ll let you have all the tickets I’ve earned to add to yours. But if I win, I get to throw a pie in your face.”

“What?” she scoffed. “That doesn’t even make sense.” She wrinkled her forehead. “Your tickets don’t count since you’re the one who’s getting the pie in the face.”

He reached in his pocket and pulled out a wad of red tickets. “The last I checked, tickets were tickets. These will count just like everyone else’s.”

Harper laughed. “He makes a good point.”

Scarlett looked like she might go along with it, but then shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

He leaned forward, locking eyes with her. “Are you chicken?” he taunted softly, making clucking sounds.

She started fuming. “Never,” she said fiercely.

A jolt of adrenaline shot through Rigby. Sparring with Scarlett was as exhilarating as running for a touchdown. “All right, Lettie, let’s do it.” She jerked slightly at the mention of the nickname he used to call her. She joked that he was the only one who’d ever called her that, and judging from her startled reaction he guessed that still held true. For a split second, he worried the familiarity might cause her to leave, but she straightened her shoulders and met his gaze.

“What’re we waiting for? Let’s do it.”

* * *

Even though Rigby was constantly in the limelight with his job, living in Tampa gave him a sliver of anonymity. The neighbors in his million-dollar, gated community were successes in their own rights, and left him alone for the most part. But here in Clementine, he felt like the only catfish in a very small pond. It was flattering that people thought so highly of him, as well as a little stifling. All night long, people stopped him wanting to talk about the Titans. He could tell it was on the tips of their tongues to ask about his suspension; and even though they were too polite to mention it point blank, he knew their tongues were wagging behind his back. It was the Southern way. When he, Scarlett, and Harper were at the rifle target booth a guy monopolized his attention. He attempted to make small talk, to the point where Rigby knew he either had to end the conversation or Scarlett would give the man a piece of her mind. He chuckled to himself. Scarlett was something—lots of spirit packed in that tiny body. Dynamite comes in small packages.

Scarlett was a good shot, almost as good as Rigby. It hadn’t been too difficult to pretend she’d really beaten him.

Rigby glanced at the gathering crowd as Paul Tate the town mayor motioned for him to join him at the podium.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the Mayor began, “every year, we select one of Clementine’s most notable citizens to have the great honor of getting a great big, tasty pie thrown in his or her face.” A few chortles went through the crowd, followed by applause. He held up his hand to quiet the audience. “This year, we have Clementine’s very own Rocket Breeland, starting quarterback for the Tampa Bay Titans, here with us.” The applause was deafening.

Rigby smiled, nodding and waving. His eye caught Scarlett’s. He grinned and she returned a tentative one of her own. For a moment, the roar of the crowd faded into the background and it was just the two of them. The years seemed to peel away and he remembered those Friday nights on the football field when he’d search the crowd to find Scarlett. Just knowing she was there, rooting for him, gave him motivation to soar. She was so stunningly beautiful he could hardly think straight. Her hair was curled, framing her delicate face in soft, voluminous waves. She was dressed appropriately for a country fair in a solid shirt, jacket, jeans, and turquoise cowboy boots.

“As you know, the person who earns the most tickets from the booth events gets to throw the pie. Our judges have tallied the tickets with our reader machine, and the lucky winner is none other than Scarlett Foster.” The Mayor waved a hand. “Scarlett, come on up here.” More clapping as Scarlett stepped up.

“Okay, y’all—in the spirit of good, old-fashioned fun, shake hands.”

Scarlett thrust out her hand. When Rigby clasped it, a spark ran through him. Her eyes widened like she’d felt it too. She tried to pull her hand away, but Rigby held onto it tugging her closer. “Give it your best shot.”

She smiled, showcasing her dimples. “Oh, don’t you worry, Rocket, I intend to.”

Whenever Scarlett called him Rocket, he felt like it was a jab. Rigby stepped behind the wooden cut-out and placed his head in the hole. Something about this whole thing was a little too reminiscent of the Puritan towns where people were placed in the stocks. Several people stepped up to snap pictures, including the photographer for the local newspaper. It was only then it occurred to Rigby that he probably should’ve talked to Monroe before agreeing to this. As his agent, Monroe was particular about what he let get out to the press. Oh, well. Too late now. At least this was good PR.

The Mayor handed Scarlett a pie. “Folks, this is a first. This lemon meringue pie is one Scarlett donated.” He clucked his tongue. “And let me tell you, if you have to get a pie in the face, this is the one you want. It’s my favorite … and one of the reasons my wife has to keep letting out the waistband of my pants.” This brought a few laughs. “Okay, Scarlett. It’s showtime.”

Excitement buzzed through the crowd as Scarlett stepped up to him, her brown eyes sparkling. Rigby grinned. “You’re not really gonna throw that at me, are you?”

She chuckled. “My only regret is that I have just one.”

Rigby laughed, loving her spunk.

Mayor Tate brought the microphone to his mouth. “Let’s do a countdown, shall we? Ten … nine … eight …”

Rigby started counting along with the crowd. “Three … two …” He braced himself as Scarlett pressed the pie into his face.

The crowd went wild, cheering and clapping.

Rigby blinked, trying to see. His instinct was to use his hands to wipe away the pie, but the only way he could do that was to remove his face from the hole. He moved to step back.

“Wait,” the Mayor ordered, “stay right where you are.”

Rigby paused, not sure what was coming next. He licked his lips. The pie tasted good, which was no surprise. Scarlett was a master chef.

“Okay, folks, we’re starting something new this year. In a show of friendship, the person who threw the pie … in this case, Scarlett … will step up and kiss Rocket.”

Even though Rigby’s vision was blurred from the pie, he could still see the shock on Scarlett’s face. Murmurs mingled with cheering, and a few wolf calls circulated through the group.

“Come on, Scarlett,” the Mayor said, his voice brimming with anticipation. “Don’t be shy. You can kiss him on the cheek if you’d like.”

Old Mayor Tate was milking this for all it was worth. The former golden couple—pro player and restaurant owner. Rigby could only imagine what the next headline of The Clementine Weekly Reporter would read.

“Kiss him on the lips,” someone yelled. Then a chant broke out. “The lips … the lips …”

Scarlett’s face was flaming as she stepped up.

Rigby realized with a jolt that he wanted a kiss from Scarlett—wanted it badly, but not like this. She looked like she wanted to shrivel up and crawl under the nearest picnic table. “I’m sorry, I had no idea this was part of the plan.” A wry grin twisted over his lips. “Just kiss me on the cheek and get it over with.”

Something shifted in her eyes as she cocked her head. “You don’t want me to kiss you?”

“Yes, I mean no.” He chuckled. “You just look so mortified, like you’re about to have a coronary.”

She let out a harsh laugh, straightening her shoulders. “I am not the least bit mortified by the prospect of kissing you, Rigby Breeland,” she huffed, enunciating every word. “It’s not like I haven’t done it plenty of times before,” she muttered under her breath, leaning in, pressing her lips to his as the crowd went wild.

Rigby was unprepared for the adrenaline that raced through his veins like liquid fire when her lips connected with his.

She drew back, a triumphant look on her face. “There.”

“Is that the best you can do?” he murmured low enough so that only she could hear.

Her jaw went slack as she stepped back, her cheeks blazing. He could tell he’d taken her completely off guard. He probably shouldn’t have razzed her about the kiss, but it was too good of an opportunity to pass up. She was so darn fun to tease.

“Thank you, Rocket and Scarlett. Everyone give them a big round of applause,” the Mayor said. “We’ll now proceed with the baked goods auction.”

Rigby stepped back removing his face, as a woman he didn’t recognize offered him a towel to clean his face. Spending a few weeks in Clementine was turning out to be more promising than he’d expected.