the Kentucky Derby, was Ms. Kitty Duncan with a briefcase in one hand and her bloodhound, The General, leashed to the other.
The sheer level of awe wafting off the audience was enough to make Glory roll her eyes. But the confident gleam in the older woman’s eyes made her nervous. Very nervous.
“A peach hater in power. We can’t have that, now can we?” Ms. Kitty asked, her pearls clacking together with every step as she strode down the aisle, eyes locked and loaded on the judge as though silently dismissing everyone else. “Which is why, with Peg on leave until fishing season ends, I am more than willing to step up and take charge. I already secured us a new Sugar Pull location and have compiled a list of changes that are long overdue, including rezoning of committee responsibilities, updating Sugar Pull entry qualifications, and I’d like to get some opinions of the menu and design theme I had drawn up for Cotillion.”
“Last I checked, this was still my courtroom and my meeting, Kitty,” Judge Holden barked. “Not a damn town hall discussion.”
Ms. Kitty didn’t stop moving until she hit the bench and handed over her new manifesto. One which, Glory was sure, would send Hattie over the edge. Not to mention, somehow exclude Jelly Lou from racing. “Then maybe you should have answered your phone and saved us all some time.”
“Didn’t need to,” Holden said, not even sparing the folder a glance. “I have already appointed a new commissioner.” His eyes went to the defense. “I suggest you stock up on Benadryl, Miss Glory, because I see a lot of peaches in your future. Your first meeting as presiding chair will be a week from Wednesday.”
“Over my dead my body will a woman of her reputation head up an event so treasured by this town and these people,” Kitty said, her hand rising dramatically to include the packed room. “Last time she was allowed to be a part of the pageant, a judge was disqualified, my son was chased out of town, and for the first time in pageant history, there was no crowning ceremony. No Miss Peach.”
Someone from the back of the room gave a hearty, “Amen.”
“This pageant is about inspiring young woman, instilling in them a sense of inner grace and strength—”
“By telling them they need some tool in a tux to feel validated,” Glory heard Cal mumble from his pew. Unfortunately so did Kitty.
“A true Southern belle can’t present herself , now can she?” Kitty skewered him with a look that would make most men cry.
Not Cal—he leaned back, calm and completely in control. “I don’t know, my daughter’s been walking just fine on her own since she turned one.”
“To be escorted by one’s peer is tradition,” Kitty argued. “And we need to maintain our traditions, Mr. McGraw.” Ignoring him completely, she turned back to the bench and flapped a glossy presentation folder in Judge Holden’s direction. “If you read my new guidelines for the Harvest Fest, you’ll see my first order of business is to move the Sugar Pull to my property; that way the tractors can be on display for Cotillion.”
For Glory, Miss Peach had been so far out of her class and social standing, her decision to enter had been a shock to the community. Not only did she lack the daddy for the daddy-daughter dance at Cotillion, she also lacked the upbringing. Walking into Ms. Kitty’s historical plantation home with its dual staircases, circular domed ballroom, and museum-quality décor would be intimidating for any girl. For a girl like Glory, it was like walking into her own personal hell. And that was before she’d been caught with Damon.
“We need someone of strong morals and even stronger spirit,” Kitty went on and Glory was surprised to discover how a simple reference to her character could still cause her to burn with shame. How she felt the overwhelming urge to slip inside the protective bubble of the man sitting a few feet away. “They need roots, your honor, deep
The sheer level of awe wafting off the audience was enough to make Glory roll her eyes. But the confident gleam in the older woman’s eyes made her nervous. Very nervous.
“A peach hater in power. We can’t have that, now can we?” Ms. Kitty asked, her pearls clacking together with every step as she strode down the aisle, eyes locked and loaded on the judge as though silently dismissing everyone else. “Which is why, with Peg on leave until fishing season ends, I am more than willing to step up and take charge. I already secured us a new Sugar Pull location and have compiled a list of changes that are long overdue, including rezoning of committee responsibilities, updating Sugar Pull entry qualifications, and I’d like to get some opinions of the menu and design theme I had drawn up for Cotillion.”
“Last I checked, this was still my courtroom and my meeting, Kitty,” Judge Holden barked. “Not a damn town hall discussion.”
Ms. Kitty didn’t stop moving until she hit the bench and handed over her new manifesto. One which, Glory was sure, would send Hattie over the edge. Not to mention, somehow exclude Jelly Lou from racing. “Then maybe you should have answered your phone and saved us all some time.”
“Didn’t need to,” Holden said, not even sparing the folder a glance. “I have already appointed a new commissioner.” His eyes went to the defense. “I suggest you stock up on Benadryl, Miss Glory, because I see a lot of peaches in your future. Your first meeting as presiding chair will be a week from Wednesday.”
“Over my dead my body will a woman of her reputation head up an event so treasured by this town and these people,” Kitty said, her hand rising dramatically to include the packed room. “Last time she was allowed to be a part of the pageant, a judge was disqualified, my son was chased out of town, and for the first time in pageant history, there was no crowning ceremony. No Miss Peach.”
Someone from the back of the room gave a hearty, “Amen.”
“This pageant is about inspiring young woman, instilling in them a sense of inner grace and strength—”
“By telling them they need some tool in a tux to feel validated,” Glory heard Cal mumble from his pew. Unfortunately so did Kitty.
“A true Southern belle can’t present herself , now can she?” Kitty skewered him with a look that would make most men cry.
Not Cal—he leaned back, calm and completely in control. “I don’t know, my daughter’s been walking just fine on her own since she turned one.”
“To be escorted by one’s peer is tradition,” Kitty argued. “And we need to maintain our traditions, Mr. McGraw.” Ignoring him completely, she turned back to the bench and flapped a glossy presentation folder in Judge Holden’s direction. “If you read my new guidelines for the Harvest Fest, you’ll see my first order of business is to move the Sugar Pull to my property; that way the tractors can be on display for Cotillion.”
For Glory, Miss Peach had been so far out of her class and social standing, her decision to enter had been a shock to the community. Not only did she lack the daddy for the daddy-daughter dance at Cotillion, she also lacked the upbringing. Walking into Ms. Kitty’s historical plantation home with its dual staircases, circular domed ballroom, and museum-quality décor would be intimidating for any girl. For a girl like Glory, it was like walking into her own personal hell. And that was before she’d been caught with Damon.
“We need someone of strong morals and even stronger spirit,” Kitty went on and Glory was surprised to discover how a simple reference to her character could still cause her to burn with shame. How she felt the overwhelming urge to slip inside the protective bubble of the man sitting a few feet away. “They need roots, your honor, deep
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