Bad Boy's Bridesmaid (52 page)

Andrew Maddox wants revenge...

He’s the reason the small community of Saint Christie locks their doors at
night. The tattooed bad boy lives on the wrong side of the tracks…when he isn’t
behind bars.
It was easy to fall for the sexy trouble-maker, and we once planned to start a
new life and family together. But when a fire destroyed my family's candy shop,
Maddox saved me only to be convicted for the arson.
He spent a year in prison, and now he's out. Maddox wants me, and he's
determined to make the baby I promised him.
But the real arsonist still threatens us. The only way we’ll survive is if I
can prove Maddox’s innocence and bring the criminal to justice.
Before the man I love loses his life to revenge.

Bad
Boy’s Revenge

Copyright
© 2016 by Sosie Frost

All
rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof
may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever
without the express written permission of the publisher
except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This
is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and
incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a
fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual
events is purely coincidental.

This
book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold
or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with
another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you’d like
to share it with. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

Cover
Design
: Mayhem Cover Creations

http://mayhemcovercreations.com/

To
L.G.

Bad
boys, bad boys…whatcha gonna do?

Chapter One – Josie

Maybe I was crazy, but the vacant property still smelled
an awful lot like burnt sugar.

I never liked the smell, especially since it was a sign
something went super wrong in the kitchen. Those were the days I’d stay late,
break out the chisels, and chip away chunks of blackened sugar. Life in a candy
shop and bakery created one sticky disaster after another, but I had loved it,
even when the chocolates seized or the soufflés deflated.

The fire didn’t leave me many candy-making opportunities.
Those cookies crumbled a year ago, and I was still sweeping up the mess.

But I swore a smoky scent remained. It wasn’t caramel
sweetness or the accidental drip of cake batter in the oven. This was acrid,
tacky, and charred. It must have been in my head. Nothing remained of the
ashes, fire, or ungodly amounts of sugar the flames consumed.

We had cleared the rubble a year ago, once the state fire
marshal completed his report. Sweet Nibbles, my family’s historical bakery and
candy shop, was gone. Completely. We had only memories now, though the night of
the fire was still a hazy nightmare that trapped my thoughts in the smoke.

A weed poked through the hard-cracked dirt, right where
my walk-in refrigerator used to sit. I plucked it, scaring the whiskers off a
little mouse surveying my property too. At least he stayed outside permanently
now—I lost enough bags of sugar to the greedy little furballs. I never had the
heart to kill them, effectively enabling the first generation of diabetic mice
in the small town of Saint Christie.

A discarded coffee cup from Anne’s Beans rolled over the
grass, and I grabbed it before the mouse dove inside to get his fix. If the
property was all I had anymore, I couldn’t let it look unsightly. My family was
too proud for that.

At least…we were before.

“Heya, Josie!” Benjamin Ducacas’s voice bellowed over the
street. “Good to see you in your old stomping grounds!”

I waved at Benjamin and subtly checked my phone. After
five already? That meant Benjamin closed his hardware shop to become the
unofficial town-crier. Soon enough, everyone within earshot would know I
visited my property.

Benjamin shuffled closer to the lot as he walked—
showcased
—his
prized standard poodle for the town to admire. Or avoid. Probably avoid. The
puffed up prize-winner had a bite worse than his owner.

Benjamin was a bit too curious for his own good.
“Breaking ground yet?”

I rattled the empty coffee cup. “Got some grounds at
least.”

He wagged a finger at me, but I was lucky. He couldn’t
delay his nightly walk with
Jean-Baptise
. Benjamin insisted on a brisk,
full-hour of exercise to benefit the poodle’s waistline. The training regimen
was strict to qualify the dog for the state championship show…though
Jean-Baptise’s preferred path always seemed to lead Benjamin right to Tyler’s
burger stand.

“You’ll be re-building again soon enough,” Benjamin said.
“Mark my words, little lady. We won’t go another Christmas without your
peppermint bark, will we
Jean
?”

The poodle, as always, feigned indifference to my
peppermint bark…but maybe a peppermint howl would earn me a tail wag. I
politely smiled. Once a week someone asked about my grand re-opening, but I had
no real answer, nothing the townsfolk didn’t already know. We needed money to
rebuild, and those were the sorts of secrets everyone had been gossiping for
months. 

Still, Saint Christie’s main street wasn’t the same without
the shop—the quaint historical town grinned like a child missing a tooth. I
wasn’t the same either. I missed the shop. I missed baking.

I missed
him
.

No stoves. No counters. No little ice cream corner with
the paisley-striped wallpaper and red, old-fashioned booths. Nothing survived
the fire.
We
had been lucky to make it out. Molten sugar was dangerous
enough making homemade candies. I never wanted to be surrounded by it again. Or
burning walls. Crushed glass. Collapsing stairs.

Odd how only one year had passed since my little slice of
gum-drop heaven got flambéed. Felt longer. Lonelier.

Safer.

“Josie Davis!” A voice shouted over the lot. “You’re on
my property!”

Bob Ragen screamed loud enough for Benjamin to hear at
the corner of the block—that meant the
entire
town would hear every word
that was exchanged.

I retreated three feet even though it was all my property
according to the survey. It appeased the heavy-set grump locking up his
sporting goods store.

“And
keep out
!” Bob pointed a fat finger at me. It
wavered in the air. Must have been five o’clock somewhere long ago. “If I told
you once, I told you a million times, check the goddamned survey—”

His words slurred, but the malice behind them came
through perfectly clear.

“No problem, Bob. I’m leaving now.”

“Good. Stay out.” He grumbled under his breath, shoving
his keys in his pocket. “Your family’s driving down the property values—you
hear?”

I crossed my arms, my cinnamon fingers twisting in the
sleeve of my shirt. “Property values are only low because the store burned
down, right Bob?”

“Sure. Whatever.”

He sneered at me, staring only at the bobbing, ebony
spiral curls cascading over my shoulders. The headband kept them at bay—for
now.

Bob shuffled off the curb, tripping over what remained of
his sobriety. “This town was better off fifty years ago…maybe you ought to
remember that.”

I preferred to think fifty years ago my grandparents
opened their very own business in the town—an instant success thanks in part to
Nana’s secret fudge recipe.

She used maple-glazed walnuts.

Made
all
the difference.

My phone buzzed. The screen read Rayna Insurance, but I
doubted the caller was giving me good news. One perk of having my best friend
working in at the town’s insurance company—at least Delta could answer
questions about settlements and police reports in a timelier manner than her
boss.

“
Josie-Posie
!” Delta achieved a level of hyper I
couldn’t fathom without coffee. I figured she was born without wings. Most of
the town considered her a manic little pixy; the rest of us knew when to swat
her away. “
How’s life in the newspaper business
?”

It wasn’t so great actually. I treaded a thin line
between honesty and hedging, but after today, I fell headfirst into the thorny
bushes.

“It’s…” I shrugged. “I don’t think Sean expected me to
work there for a whole year—even part-time. He’s a saint for giving me the job,
but…it doesn’t feel temporary anymore.”

Delta’s sunshine faded. “
Need some wine
?”

“I’d rather make some chocolate.” I kicked the patch of
grass that was once my stainless steel counters. “Or one of my giant cinnamon
rolls. Or…or that vanilla bean ice cream with the butter-rum topping…”

“
You’re giving me cavities over here
.”

“Dentists loved me.”

“
Believe me, no one is more upset about losing your
candy store than Dr. Thomas
.”

Except me. Except Granddad. Except the rest of the town
who ran out of charity only a week after the fire—once the borough peeked in
the sewer and saw all re-hardened chocolate clogging the sanitary system. Then
the only solace the town received was that justice had been served.

The fire was no accident, but the man they jailed for
arson was completely and totally innocent.

A year had passed, and I was no closer to finding the
truth. Unfortunately, the legal system didn’t overturn sentences on a
hunch
,
even in Saint Christie. It wouldn’t be safe for any of us until the real
criminal was behind bars.

Delta sighed. “
Twenty minutes before I can head out.
Want to meet me for a drink
?”

“Not tonight.”

“
Got a hot date
?”

Hell no. My last flame was hot enough, and I still burned
myself on the embers that remained.

“Not exactly. I have…I have a job. Kinda.”

“
Oh! Someone order a cake
?”

“Cookies.”

“
Yum. What’s the event
?”

I wasn’t proud of it, but money was money…even if it came
from
him
.

“Nolan Rhys hired me to bake cookies for his campaign
fundraiser.”

The connection crackled, and Delta must have slapped her
hand against the console to take me off speakerphone. I held the phone away
from my ear, anticipating her screech.

“
You’re
baking
for him
?”

“I refused him. Twice. But…then he offered double what
the job was worth.”

“
Why would you
ever
work for him? Tell that
asshole to send one of his assistants or trained monkeys to the store for some
Oreos
.”

If only. I had almost been one of his assistants. It
would have paid more than my part-time job piecing together ads and answering
calls for the Saint Christie Reporter, but I swore a year ago I’d never
entertain any offer from Nolan Rhys again.

But…that was before the insurance money dried up. Before
Granddad got sick.

Beggars could be choosers only until they were
responsible for someone else who required more help. A year ago, I would’ve
baked ten dozen cookies into ash and delivered a sack of cinders just to spite
Nolan. Unfortunately, a thousand bucks sounded good. We needed everything we
could get, especially since Granddad wasn’t getting better, and the nurses at
the assisted care facility warned he might never come off the oxygen.

“It’s a paycheck,” I said. “Besides, it’s still good
publicity. Everybody will be at his damn rally, and they’ll all be hungry. It’s
like…an advertisement for the graduation parties coming this spring. I can
remind people that I freelance.”

“
Freelance bake
?”

“Sounds better than
I’m desperate and come with my own
sprinkles.
”

“
But Nolan
?” Delta’s tone shifted to that motherly
warning she gave me when she thought I was being naïve. “
He’s still trying
to get in your pants
.”

Gross. “He won’t.”

“
He’s not bad looking
.”

“He’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing.”

Delta snorted. “
Clothing he wants to strip
.”

“I won’t trust him, but I’ll take his money. Lord knows
he has more where that came from.”

“
And then what
?”

Easy. “And then we hope the check clears before I prove
he burned down my candy shop.”

She sighed, but she pulled the phone away like I wouldn’t
hear it. Her voice softened.

“
Josie, Nolan didn’t set the fire. The police proved
it, the fire marshal proved it—
”

“He didn’t do it
himself
.” I wasn’t a fool. “He
has the money and the connections to hire someone to do it for him. Hell, you
know who his family is, where they get their money—”

“
That was a long time ago. Times have changed. Nolan’s
an egotistical asshole, but he’s running for state representative. His family
bought the town fifty years ago, but they’re…legit now. Why would he risk his
political career to destroy your store
?”

Delta had been my best friend since kindergarten, but
some things I couldn’t share with her. “He punished me because I refused his
offer last year. He wanted more than the property; he got off on the thought of
a little
ebony
princess hanging on his arm.”

“…
He didn’t actually say that
.”

“During his
proposal
. He happens to like that I’m
the most…unique woman in town.”

“You mean the darkest.”

“Yep.”

Delta grumbled a profanity. “Well…even if he’s a creeper,
he didn’t burn down your store.”

“I know it was him,” I said.

“Josie—”

“I’ve got almost all the proof I need to come forward—”

“This isn’t about Nolan.” Delta interrupted me. “You have
to get over Maddox.”

And it circled back. Like it always did.

The shop was only one part of my frustration. I missed
the candy and the cookies, the dozens of shiny baking sheets, and the framed
picture over the register—me as kid with Granddad, Nana, and an ice cream cone
four scoops too big.

My throat tightened. I pretended it didn’t. I wasn’t
talking about Maddox in the middle of the ruined lot, surrounded by the entire
town of Saint Christie as they walked their dogs and greeted neighbors and
spread rumors after a long day of gossiping at work.

According to the town, Maddox was a criminal—a walking,
talking, tattooed curse. When he visited, all of Saint Christie locked their
doors at night. Single women crossed to the other side of the street, and the
police—as well as every old lady peeping through her blinds—kept a close eye on
him.

To them, he was the reason my shop was gone.

To me, he was the only man I ever loved.

“It’s getting late,” I said. “I’m gonna get started on
the cookies. Nolan wants them hand-delivered the day after tomorrow.”

“
You’re not going to his house
?”

I knew better than that. “He agreed to meet me for
coffee.”

“
Do you need any help
?”

The last time Delta entered my kitchen she accidentally
baked a knife into an apple pie, broke the handle of my best copper-bottomed
pan, and melted the groom topper on the Miller’s wedding cake with a Crème
brûlée torch I specifically hid from her. Delta swiped a Lego man from her kid
brother to replace the plastic figure, but it just wasn’t as elegant.

“I’ll be fine,” I said. “I like baking on the weekends. I
like baking any time.”

“
Freak
.”