The Baseball Card Boyfriend (Starrycard Creek Bachelors #3)

Chapter 16

Chapter

Sixteen

MAGGIE

What could Christian’s grandfather want to discuss with her—alone?

Maggie peered up at the senior Starrycard, taking a beat to study the man. Rex was tall and burly. A faint scent of tobacco and orange marmalade lingered around him, a peculiar combination that was oddly comforting. His gruff demeanor matched his rugged appearance, but Maggie couldn’t help but sense a hidden warmth beneath his tough exterior.

“You want to talk to me…without Christian?” she asked, attempting to get a read on the man.

“Yes,” he answered, his expression neutral. “I wanted to see how you’re doing with your memory loss, and I also have some Stumble Juice questions.”

She breathed a sigh of relief—thank goodness he didn’t ask about the oral-floral business.

“I’m happy to answer your questions, but there’s not a lot to say. I don’t recall any salient facts about my life, mostly recipes, and I think your grandson would know more about moonshine than me.”

Rex’s gaze softened, the lines on his weathered face deepening with sympathy. “I’m sorry to hear about your memories. I’m sure you’re eager to recall your past.”

She forced a small smile, trying to push aside the twinge of discomfort. “My neurologist said it could take some time. I’m taking it day by day,” she replied, attempting to keep her tone light. “What did you want to ask me about Stumble Juice?”

“Christian’s very private about his distilling. Do you know what he’s been working on in that little room down the hall?”

Oh yeah, she knew. He’d been working her—hard.

“He showed me around the still room, like a tour,” she said, feeling her cheeks heat as she escorted Rex into the kitchen.

No, cheeks, this is not the time!

The man studied her for a beat. “I see.”

She turned on the lights and led him to the table. “Let’s get you settled. There’s a Mason jar with a Stumble Juice batch we tried last night on the hutch. I’ll work on that drink and get you some pie.”

Rex eased into the chair with a sigh. “You’ve got a gentle touch, Maggie. You’re good with people.”

“I like being helpful, but I don’t know how good I am at it,” she answered, donning a vintage apron, another purchase from the antique store.

“I do, and you are good with people,” the man countered, his gruff voice rising with conviction. “I sense that about you. And I can also tell that you’re as sharp as they come. I learned that from your performance in the hearing room. It’s not often Ironside is left gobsmacked. You believe in yourself, kid. That’s not always an easy thing to do.”

She stared at an empty glass. “Maybe it’s easy because I don’t know who I am,” she replied, her voice tinged with uncertainty. It was like she was on a seesaw, teetering between two worlds. One moment, she was convinced that this life—her new life with Christian—was where she truly belonged. The next, she was haunted by the possibility that she had another life waiting for her.

“I think you know who you are, Maggie,” Rex said, and the sincerity in his tone wrapped around her like a grandfather’s embrace.

Her breath hitched as tears came to her eyes. She glanced away and took a moment to steady herself. “I truly don’t, sir. I don’t even know my last name.”

“Enough with the sirs and misters,” he said, pegging her with his steely sage-green gaze. “It’s Rex, and I don’t think a person has to know their last name to know their heart.”

She nodded, not sure how to answer. Instead, she focused on cutting the pie and plating a slice.

“My wife was quite impressed with your baking knowledge,” Rex said, filling the stretch of silence.

Grateful for the change in subject, Maggie covered the pie with plastic wrap and poured the moonshine into a tumbler. “She’s got her own restaurant, right? I saw the boxes in Christian’s fridge. Goldie’s on the Creek?”

“She sure does.”

“Does she bake?” Maggie asked as she returned the top to the Mason jar.

He nodded. “Goldie’s specialties are turnovers and muffins. But I know she’d love to have pie on hand.”

“Would she?” Maggie replied, setting the slice and Stumble Juice in front of the man.

“I believe she would. You should talk to her.”

Wouldn’t that be something! This had to be her path.

The man surveyed the liquid in the glass. “What batch is this from?”

She retrieved the Mason jar, a cloth napkin, and a fork and set the items on the table. “Batch eleven, from last year. November eleventh. There are four more jars in this batch.”

“Ah, Chris’s number. Did you try it?”

She sat in the chair beside him. “Yes, it’s smooth and complex. The wildflower honey and molasses stood out to me. Subtle sweetness with a bite.”

Rex took a sip and closed his eyes. “Stumble Juice always brings me back in time. My grandmother Delilah, and grandfather Nathan Starrycard, started making Stumble Juice during Prohibition. Delilah was a naturalist and knew her plants,” Rex continued. “She came up with the original recipe. My parents, Tristan and Lavinia, tinkered around with the old still, but my dad was busy with the shop, and my mother was the mayor. Once booze wasn’t illegal, the need to produce Stumble Juice ended, and we put away the old equipment. Did Chris mention our family’s history to you? I could talk for hours.”

“He did. After we left the hospital, he gave me a quick tour and even drove by the Starrycard Creek Paper Company.”

Rex’s eyes lit up as he took another sip, gesturing toward a nearby artifact with his glass. “Did he tell you about the mountain lion’s tooth?”

“Yes, it’s quite a harrowing story,” she replied, a small smile tugging at her lips.

Rex’s expression grew more animated, a rough chuckle escaping him. “Kathleen Conners and Seamus Donnelly were two tough motherfuckers, pardon my French,” he said, finishing his moonshine and pouring another splash into his glass.

“It certainly sounds like it.”

Rex lifted the glass to his lips again, this time drinking slowly, savoring the flavor as if it were a connection to his past. “My family wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for the Donnellys. Christian looks like a Starrycard man with dark hair and green eyes. A handsome devil like me,” he added with a wink, his eyes twinkling.

She couldn’t help but chuckle at that, appreciating the resemblance between the generations.

Rex poured another inch of moonshine into his glass, his voice turning more reflective. “But Chris has a lot of Donnelly in him. He can be fiercely bull-headed and won’t stop until he achieves what he set out to do. But then there’s a softer side to him, the artistry when it comes to distilling. Fiona Donnelly was an artist.”

“And baseball, from Michael Donnelly, Fiona’s older brother,” Maggie added before she could stop herself.

Rex watched her closely. “He told you about Michael?”

“He did.”

The man sipped the moonshine and nodded. “I need to ask you another question, and I’d like the honest truth, even if it isn’t pretty.”

“If I can help you, Rex, I will.”

“How is Christian? It takes a lot for a crusty old fart like me to worry, and you may be the only person who knows what’s going on inside his head.”

She relaxed. That was an easy question to answer. “Your grandson is a remarkable, kind, and generous man, and I…” She traced little circles on the table, the kind that Christian made on her back and hand. “I think Christian and I were supposed to meet—to be there for each other, to take care of each other.”

“And how’s he doing with this?” Rex asked and tapped the Mason jar.

“He mentioned he’d been overdoing it. He told me about the last three months, but I believe he’s turned a corner,” she replied, hoping her words would provide the man with comfort.

Rex stared out the window at the mountains bathed in a dusky purple light. “Goldie believes the same thing. I might look tough on the outside, but nothing can turn me into a puddle of blubbering mess like the love for my family. I was an only child. Every Starrycard was until my son and Maeve blessed us with six grandchildren, and now we have a great-granddaughter. I don’t mean to get sentimental. Blame it on an old man indulging in a touch too much of the hooch. I just want the kids to be okay,” he said, his voice a rasp of a sound as his gaze grew glassy.

She needed to lighten the mood.

“Do you know how I’m absolutely positive Christian’s doing better?” she asked, injecting a bit of cheerfulness into her tone, hoping to steer the conversation in a brighter direction.

Rex’s gaze sharpened with a curious glint. “How?” he replied, his voice steadier now, the heaviness lifting just a bit.

“I taught him how to use his fancy washing machine yesterday. He single-handedly washed the bedding from every bedroom and these napkins. What else could you ask for in a man? Stick a fork in Christian Starrycard. He’s done. He’s good,” she added, biting back a grin as she held his gaze.

Rex looked her over, then chuckled, a sly smirk curling the corners of his mouth. “You are good with people, Maggie. You seem to know what they need,” he replied, then peered out the window at the darkened sky and exhaled a slow breath.

For a minute, perhaps two, they didn’t utter a word. But the silence between them wasn’t strained or uneasy. It was a serene quiet, a moment filled with an unspoken understanding.

“Do you care about Christian?” Rex asked, his tone serious.

Maggie felt her heart skip a beat. The directness of his question caught her off guard, but she knew the answer without hesitation. “I do,” she replied, her voice firm but soft, the truth of it resonating deeply within her.

Rex relaxed at her words, his shoulders easing as he settled into the chair. Another comfortable silence lingered for a moment. “Guess how long it took for me to fall in love with Goldie?” he asked.

Maggie blinked, surprised by the sudden shift in their conversation. She hesitated, trying to gauge the right response. “I don’t know. Maybe a month?”

Rex gave a small, knowing smile as he drummed his fingers on the table twice, the sound punctuating the pause. “That long,” he said, his voice tinged with amusement.

“Two seconds?” she asked, her tone incredulous, but despite barely knowing the man, she knew it was the truth.

“Probably more like point two seconds. She came into the shop with her father. They were in Starrycard Creek for the summer. And just like that, I knew she was the one.”

Maggie rested her chin in her hand. “How did you know? Was it a feeling?”

“Grab yourself a glass, and I’ll tell you. I don’t like drinking alone.”

She rose and returned with a tumbler. With a practiced motion, Rex poured her a measure of Stumble Juice.

She lifted the glass to her lips and took a sip. “All right, let’s hear it. I have the strangest feeling that I might be a sucker for love stories.”

“This is a good one. I was in the front of the shop, and Goldie walked in like something out of a dream.”

“A dream?” Maggie repeated.

“Yes, ma’am. She caught me staring, which wasn’t like me. I wasn’t interested in dating or marriage. It’s funny because the locals here say that love is always in the cards in Starrycard Creek, but I was focused on the company and helping my family keep the paper business and town profitable. Then that fierce woman strolled in and caught me gawking at her.”

“And was it love at first sight?” Maggie asked, a warmth enveloping her that had nothing to do with the moonshine in her glass.

A rosy glow lit the man’s weathered face. Deep laugh lines formed at the corners of his eyes as he smiled. “I was all googly-eyed. Goldie…not so much. She twisted that beautiful face of hers into one hell of a scowl, pinned me with those blue eyes, and said, ‘Take a picture, creep. It’ll last longer.’ Good God, I was done for after that. I followed her out of the shop and told her I was going to marry her.”

“Love at first sight—for you,” Maggie said with a giggle.

“Indeed.”

She watched the man who appeared momentarily adrift in the past. His story resonated deeply with her, stirring something within. A memory? Did she know of a love like this? Had she experienced something similar?

“That’s how it is for Starrycard men,” Rex continued, pulling her from her swirling thoughts. “When love hits, it rocks us to our core. Now, that doesn’t always mean we don’t muck it up before we get the girl. I had to climb a mountain in Peru and sleep in a barn with alpacas to get Goldie back.”

She smiled, imagining Rex trying to sleep in a barn was both amusing and endearing. She took another sip of her drink, savoring the warmth of it. “I get the feeling you’d climb ten mountains for your wife,” she replied, her voice laced with admiration.

He shifted in his seat. “Not with these old hips. But when I was a younger man, back when I fell ass over elbow in love with the woman, yes.” He leaned in, green eyes twinkling. “But thank Christ, it was only one.”

She laughed, enjoying his company. But it was more than that—an odd inkling and a strange familiarity she couldn’t quite place. Could it be a locked-away memory? She wasn’t sure. Whatever it was, though, it brought her peace.

“Like I said, Christian is a unique mix of Starrycard and Donnelly,” the man continued. “When he decides what he wants, there’s no stopping him. No matter how great the dream. He wanted to become a major league ballplayer—lots of children do. But even when he was a knobby-kneed kid, I knew he’d make it happen. He’s got a tattoo. It says, give what you love everything you’ve got .”

She gestured toward the mountain lion’s tooth. “From Seamus.”

“That’s right. But I was worried he’d be lost to his regrets, to his demons. But after talking with you, Maggie, I agree with you. I believe fate brought you here, and maybe even a wish written on Starrycard Creek paper.”

“McKenzie and Goldie’s wish? McKenzie mentioned the wishing wall paper.”

“Perhaps, but I was talking about my wish for Christian. He’d dreamed of becoming a major league ballplayer, and he made it come true. My wish for him was that his life of dreaming big didn’t have to end. My wish was for him to have another dream come true.”

Wow.

Rex couldn’t have known about Christian’s actual dreams—dreams of her. Still, it felt like a sign.

“I want that for him, too. I want it very much,” she said softly, her heart swelling with emotion. She wanted to tell Rex about how his grandson made her feel like the center of his world. She wanted to thank him for helping to shape the man who loved her wholeheartedly, without games or doubt. She wanted to declare Christian the love of her life, but she wasn’t ready to speak those words—not before she said them to him. She exhaled a slow breath, and instead of revealing her feelings, she slid the plate toward him. “Try the pie. Pie always makes everything better.”

Rex looked at her, almost as if he could read her mind. He smiled a whisper of a grin, then picked up the fork and took a bite. The man’s pensive expression vanished. His bushy eyebrows shot toward his hairline. “I’ve never tasted anything like it,” he remarked, inhaling another heaping forkful.

“It’s ricotta pumpkin pie,” she said, pleased at his reaction.

“Maggie, this is spectacular,” Rex gushed, heartily tucking into the slice.

“You’re letting this old loafer eat pie while we exercise?” Judge Ironside balked as he headed toward them with Christian and two others in tow.

Rex finished his last bite and gestured to the lot. “Maggie, you know cranky old Ironside. May I introduce cranky old Judge Wolcott and old Judge Haynes—still cranky, but the least cranky of this bunch of senile codgers.”

“Takes one cranky old bastard to know a cranky old bastard,” Ironside tossed back with a twitch of a grin. “Wolcott, Haynes,” the man continued, “this is the pie lady and possible felon, Maggie, last name to be determined.”

She had to hold back her laughter.

The men were a riot.

With his tall, slender frame and neatly combed silver hair, Judge Wolcott wore glasses that gave him an air of authority. Judge Haynes appeared to be his counter. The man was round and bald, his tanned face lined with wrinkles. His gray mustache twitched as he smiled, and his kind brown eyes radiated warmth.

“You’re judges, and you bake?” Maggie asked, standing to shake the men’s hands.

“Does one preclude the other?” Wolcott pressed, narrowing his gaze.

Yikes!

Her mouth flapped like a flounder. “No, sir, I’m delighted to meet you and welcome you as a baker.”

“And this must be Maggie—the mystery woman of Starrycard Creek,” said a young man with a rich Italian accent, flashing a wide grin as he jogged into the kitchen, his olive skin smooth and glowing.

She couldn’t help but do a double take. Despite the cool fall day, when everyone else was wearing track pants, this man wore the tiniest neon orange shorts she had ever seen. His thighs bulged from the spandex like overstuffed sausages about to burst. Before she could blink, he took her hand and kissed her knuckles.

“Um…hello,” she said, not sure of how to react to the exuberant man. She caught Christian’s gaze, and he scowled, clearly not amused.

“I am Nico Romano,” the man wearing tiny shorts cooed.

“Are you part of the culinary club?” she asked. The guy had to be closer to Christian’s age—a good fifty years younger than the other three members.

“Nico’s not in the culinary club. Nico drove us here. He’s been teaching the mobility class at the senior center until they find a permanent instructor,” Ironside explained.

“Unfortunately, I cannot stay. I must leave Starrycard Creek immediately. My flight to Italy departs in a few hours,” Nico added.

“I hope everything is all right,” she said, trying to focus on the guy, but those shorts were something else .

“It is a joyous occasion. My sister had a baby, and I am a zio , an uncle. But I always have a moment to savor the beauty and alluring magnetism that you, Mystery Maggie, exude.”

She chewed her lip. Was this a joke? “Well, congratulations on becoming an uncle.”

“Yeah, you’ll love it, man. Let me get the door for you,” Christian said, his gaze laser-focused on her hand clasped inside Nico’s.

“Not yet, Christian Starrycard,” Nico replied, tightening his hold. “I smell something. Is that ricotta cheese?”

“It is. I baked a ricotta pumpkin pie.”

The man dropped to his knees as if he were about to propose. “You look like an angel, and you bake pies with cheese from my homeland!”

“Yeah…what a coincidence,” she said, still not sure if this guy was for real.

“If I did not have to leave, I would invite you to dinner to tell you about how I learned to make ricotta cheese with my grandfather in a Tuscan village from the milk of the goats that roam the countryside.”

Christian cleared his throat, a blush rising from his neck. “Gotta save that gem of a story for another day, Nico. We don’t want you to miss your flight, and you can let go of Maggie’s hand, like right fucking now.”

Nico grinned, undeterred and quite oblivious to Christian’s discomfort. “But it is a beautiful hand, Christian Starrycard. A strong, slim hand that must be celebrated. If we were in my village, it would be very good for gripping a goat’s?—”

Grrrrr.

Maggie gasped. Was Christian growling?

No, it was Lucky, or maybe both Christian and the dog were growling.

Lucky bounded into the room, baring his teeth. The dog locked onto Nico and sprinted straight toward him.

Grrrr. Woof, woof, woof!

“Atta boy,” Christian mumbled under his breath.

She tossed a chiding look his way. Nico was harmless. Christian had to know that.

“Lucky, we don’t growl at our guests,” she said sternly, eyeing the pup and hoping Christian would get the message, too.

Nico released her hand and took a step back. “ Aspetta un attimo! Hold on a second. I remember you, Lucky the Dog.”

What?

“You know this dog?” she asked as she stroked the pup’s head.

“I do. I was on one of my forty-mile kayaking and twenty-mile run workouts. I like to head south this time of year. You see, bella , I supervise the watersports program here in Starrycard Creek, and that requires I remain in peak physical condition, as you can observe from my well-defined calves and thighs.”

“We get it, man. We can see your definition. How do you know Lucky?” Christian pressed.

“Did you see the dog when you were out exercising?” she asked.

Nico’s expression grew somber. “Yes, a terrible story. I was far from Starrycard Creek when a car pulled over. It kept rolling, and then the person inside pushed the dog out. The poor animal hit its head on a large rock and started bleeding. Then the car sped off. It was an older car. I got a picture, but the quality is poor. The plate said boned her .”

“ Boned her ?” Christian repeated.

Maggie caught his gaze, a silent question passing between them. Clearly, something had been lost in translation.

“Yes, here is the picture. Unfortunately, it is blurred because I was running while I took it,” the man said, holding out his phone. The image revealed a blur of red with a B and an O on the plate—the only readable letters.

“Oh, Lucky, you’re safe now,” she said, kissing the pup’s head above his little scar.

“Hey, boy, we’ve got you,” Christian added, coming to the dog’s side and scratching between his ears as she continued to pat his back.

Nico tried to pet Lucky, but the dog rebuffed him with a sharp woof. Nico raised his hands defensively. “I’m no threat to you, Lucky. I see you have your people now, and they care deeply for you.”

“We do,” she said.

“Yeah, we do. Absolutely,” Christian agreed.

“I tried to catch the frightened pup,” Nico explained, his voice tinged with concern. “That’s when I saw his name on the collar. But he ran, and I lost him in the woods.”

Her heart ached at the thought of the poor, scared dog. She looked down at Lucky and gently stroked his head. “He was unwanted,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Nico nodded. “Yes, sadly, that appears to be the case.”

Her breath caught in her throat, overwhelmed by the idea of anyone not wanting such a sweet creature. “Well, you are so very wanted here,” she said to the pup.

“Starrycard Creek is your home,” Christian added, lifting his gaze from Lucky to lock onto hers. “It will always be your home.”

Tears pricked Maggie’s eyes as a wave of gratitude and love washed over her, the emotions almost too much to contain.

Before she could respond, Ironside’s voice cut through the emotion, his tone stern. “And Starrycard Creek also needs to become the home of the winners of Donnelly Days pie-making contest.”

“Of course,” she replied, giving Lucky one last pat on the head, and then stood.

“You need to get to your baking, and I must be off,” Nico announced. “Goodbye, my mobility friends,” he said to the judges, then pegged her with his gaze. “Until we meet again, Mystery Maggie.” He reached for her hand, but Lucky’s low, menacing growl returned. “Lucky doesn’t appear to want to share you,” Nico said, taking a few steps back.

“Damn right, he doesn’t,” Christian said under his breath.

“What was that, Christian Starrycard? Did you say something?” Nico asked warmly.

“Door’s right this way,” Christian said, leading the man toward the front of the house.

“Let’s get to work,” Judge Ironside barked. “I know you said my bourbon pumpkin pie wasn’t a winner, but I thought if we tweaked a few ingredients, it could be our ticket to beating the Dennison seniors and taking first place.”

Maggie shook her head. “No, we need to start fresh,” she said firmly. “But first, we’re having pie for dinner. Pie makes everything better, and you should never bake on an empty stomach. Also, we’re eating at the island, and we’re standing.”

Ironside balked. “You want us to stand and eat pie?”

She smoothed her apron and rested her fists on her hips. “You’re in charge in the courtroom, Judge. But in the kitchen, I’m the boss. And if you want to indulge in Stumble Juice and come up with a winning recipe, you’ll join me here,” she said, taking the Mason jar from the kitchen table and placing it squarely on the island. “This is the heart of the kitchen. This is where the baking magic will happen.”

Ironside glanced between Haynes and Wolcott, then leaned in slightly, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret. “I told you. She’s a real ballbuster when it comes to pie.”

She caught the mischievous glint in his eye and couldn’t help but smile at the comment. Judge Wolcott, however, seemed to take it in stride, resting his hands on the island. “Are you sure you’re not a judge, Maggie? You have the temperament,” he remarked, his tone light but with a hint of seriousness.

She shook her head and chuckled. “I don’t think so, sir. The only things that have come back to me are pie recipes.”

Judge Haynes tilted his head, curiosity in his eyes. “You really do have amnesia?” he asked, his voice softening as if he hadn’t fully grasped the extent of her situation.

“Yes, but it doesn’t seem to have affected my ability to bake and recall pie recipes. I’ve filled nearly an entire notebook with them.”

Haynes frowned, his bushy mustache twitching with discontent. “And we really have to stand?” he pressed, his pout becoming more pronounced.

She set the rest of the pies on the island, carefully arranging them before turning back to the judges. “Just to eat. Then you’re welcome to sit on one of the stools.”

Wolcott raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Why?” he asked, his tone a mix of curiosity and skepticism.

She paused. “I have a hunch that standing and eating will help us,” she said, unsure of why it felt important, but trusting her instinct that it was a necessary part of the process.

Christian returned to the kitchen and patted Haynes on his back. “A little standing will do you good, Judge. And you need to walk at least twenty minutes a day to build up strength in your ankles.”

“Pie for dinner. That’s marvelous,” Rex boomed. “But if Goldie asks, I had a kale salad with extra kale and a side of kale. And let’s hit the hooch.”

“The pies do look delicious,” Haynes said, his gaze dancing over the freshly baked pies.

Christian came up behind her and pressed his hand to her back. “You handle the pie, TBD, and I’ll take care of the Stumble Juice. Does that work?”

“Deal,” she said as his hand lingered. She looked into his eyes, wondering how she’d lived her life without this man.

At ease in the kitchen, she cut the pie and served everyone a slice. “We’ll start with the ricotta pumpkin pie. Take note of the crust. I used your recipe with the ground pi?on nuts.”

She watched with bated breath as they took their first bites.

“Damn, this is good pie,” Wolcott exclaimed, breaking his stern character.

“I agree, and I’m ready for seconds,” Haynes chimed, seeming to forget about his issue with standing.

“Let’s get everyone started with a little Starrycard Creek moonshine,” Christian said, serving up generous portions.

“I wonder if this ricotta pumpkin pie could win us the blue ribbon,” Ironside mused, taking a break from pie consumption to drink his Stumble Juice.

Maggie eyed the last slice of pie on the antique ivory pie plate. “It’s a solid recipe, and the flavors are spot-on, but I don’t feel that it could win.”

“Pie gives you a feeling?” Haynes asked, curiosity dancing in his dark eyes.

She cut a slice of the espresso pumpkin pie and set it onto Judge Haynes’s empty plate. “Oddly, it does. Unfortunately, none of the recipes I’ve remembered feel right for this competition. We’re missing something.” She peered at the array of pies and drummed her fingers on the table.

“What are you thinking, Maggie?” Christian asked as he added another splash of Stumble Juice to the men’s glasses.

She retrieved her notebook, turned it to a fresh page, and studied the judges. “Do you mind me asking how you gentlemen started baking pies?”

Wolcott looked between the men, then held up his tumbler. “Stumble Juice.”

“Stumble Juice? I wasn’t expecting that,” she replied, jotting the name of the moonshine on the blank page.

“This story goes back generations. You’ll need to refresh our glasses, Christian,” Judge Ironside said, his cheeks growing rosy from the alcohol.

“Coming up,” Christian replied, attending to the men’s tumblers.

Judge Ironside held up the glass and concentrated on the moonshine. “Our grandparents and our late wives’ grandparents had an interesting relationship with Nathan and Delilah Starrycard during Prohibition.”

“Define interesting?” Christian said, settling in beside her.

A sly twitch of a grin graced Ironside’s lips. “The illegal kind of interesting,” Ironside replied, catching Rex’s eye.

“What?” Christian balked.

Maggie leaned forward. “This just got very interesting.”

“Nathan and Delilah produced and shared the Stumble Juice with others during Prohibition. I know that. Was there a coordinated operation to distribute it?” Christian asked, looking to his grandfather.

“We keep this quiet. But yes, there was, my boy,” Rex answered, helping himself to another splash of moonshine.

“How did it work?” Christian asked, wide-eyed.

A devilish glint twinkled in Wolcott’s eyes. “Our grandfathers and our wives’ grandfathers were bootleggers and…” He looked to Haynes.

“Judges in the surrounding counties,” the rotund man supplied, rosy-cheeked like the rest of the group.

“They were judges breaking the law?” Maggie asked.

Ironside nodded. “It was the twenties and early thirties, and this was a much wilder West back then, young lady—or at least, that’s how my grandparents would tell the story.”

“Mine, too,” Rex chimed.

“Mind you,” Haynes added, “these old-timers—that you’re forcing to stand and eat pie—were born in the forties, so some of the folklore may have been embellished when it was shared with us.”

“Let’s hear it,” Maggie said, her voice tinged with excitement.

Ironside’s stern expression softened. “I wasn’t kidding about it being the Wild West. Many unsavory characters were trying to control the flow of moonshine into Colorado—men willing to murder and bribe to keep their operations running.”

Wolcott nodded. “Our grandfathers believed that if they oversaw the import of moonshine into their counties, that would keep out criminals looking to expand their enterprise.”

Maggie served each man another slice of pie. “How did you move it?”

“Paper,” Rex supplied.

Ironside nodded. “Counties need paper to function, and even back in the twenties and thirties, everyone knew Starrycard Creek was the place for that. It was the perfect cover.”

“No one suspected anything?” Christian asked.

“There was nothing to suspect,” Wolcott answered. “They completed the transactions during family vacations. Our grandfathers were commended for picking up the paper and envelopes the county offices needed while they were on holiday with their children and spouses.”

“What looked like an innocent gathering of friends and families coming together a few times a year to pick up paper supplies was an operation to quietly get the Stumble Juice out of Starrycard Creek without attracting attention,” Ironside added.

“And they took it another step further,” Haynes continued. “They’d come during Starrycard Creek festivals and take part in the activities. Our grandmothers and mothers would always enter the pie-making contest during Donnelly Days.”

“So, your grandmothers and mothers were bakers,” Maggie repeated, fascinated with the people and their history.

“Indeed, they were,” Ironside agreed through a bite of pie.

“And…felons,” Maggie teased, earning her a cheeky grin from the man.

“When Prohibition was repealed,” Ironside said, wiping the corners of his mouth, “the bootlegging part of our grandparents’ lives ended. But our families continued to meet up in Starrycard Creek, and it’s how we met and fell in love with our wives.”

“What a story,” Maggie said, a warmth enveloping her.

“Look at that, Ironside. You’ve made her starry-eyed,” Rex observed.

Judge Ironside removed an old photo from his wallet and passed it to her. “That’s me with my wife, Bess. Old Wolly with Meaghan, and Haynes standing beside Cynthia. Our wives continued the tradition of entering the pumpkin pie-making contest. They were excellent bakers.”

“Our wives worked as a team and had several titles under their belt,” Wolcott explained. “But we weren’t much help with the baking back then.”

“Better at eating,” the rotund Judge Haynes said, patting his belly.

Maggie took in the image of the younger versions of the judges and their lovely, smiling wives.

“A little over a decade ago, we became widowers within a few months of each other,” Ironside said, his expression hardening.

Maggie passed the photo back to the man. “That must have been difficult.”

“It was. We lost touch. Our wives were the ones who made sure we weren’t hermits. But five years ago, we turned up in Starrycard Creek for Donnelly Days,” Judge Haynes explained.

“We took it as a sign,” Wolcott added.

“People do that a lot around here,” Rex said, signaling for Christian to freshen the glasses.

“We ran into Rex, and he hooked us up with some Stumble Juice. He told us that you’d started making it, Christian. After getting well and truly drunk, we decided we’d honor our gals and start entering the contest. Haynes and I moved to the area, and old Ironside just got himself a place in town,” Wolcott continued.

Haynes took a bite and hummed his satisfaction. “Baking makes us feel closer to them.”

“And that’s why we have to win. This year, the contest falls on what would have been my sixtieth wedding anniversary with Bess. But those Dennison seniors are sneaky bastards,” Ironside grumbled.

“Crustgate,” Wolcott added, jaw tight.

“Crustgate? I don’t understand,” Maggie said, sharing a look with an equally perplexed Christian.

“We’re pretty damned sure the Dennison seniors used store-bought pie crust while claiming they were homemade,” Ironside answered.

“And let’s not forget the infamous sugar switch-a-roo incident, where they replaced our high-quality cane sugar with some cheap artificial sweetener. They’ve got a knack for these underhanded tricks,” Judge Wolcott hissed.

Haynes finished off his tumbler of moonshine. “Or you bought the wrong sugar, Wolly.”

Wolcott’s glasses slipped to the tip of his nose. “Never, Haynsey! It had to be them.”

“They’re always up to some shenanigans, whether it’s adding extra decorations to their pies after the judging starts or having a professional baker ‘consult’ on their entry. This year, we’ve got to win for Bess,” Ironside added, conviction coating his slightly slurred words.

It was time to ease up on the hooch.

“Then we’ll win,” she said, holding the man’s gaze.

“How?” Judge Haynes asked, his expression a perfect match to the other judges’ gloomy faces.

Oh, no! This would not do.

“Gentlemen,” she said forcefully, channeling something peculiar, but it felt right. “It does us no good for you to be a bunch of Mister…Mister Cry-In-Your-Pies. Our pie entry needs to be unique. It must evoke this place and your history. And we need something no one else, not even the sneaky bastards in Dennison, can replicate.” She eyed her judges. They required more—a rallying battle cry. She might as well take advantage of their boozy state. “Come on, fellas! Can I get a hell, yes, we’re gonna do this for Bess?”

For a long, nerve-wracking beat, the judges stared at her.

“Hell, yes!” the tipsy judges finally cheered, clinking their glasses. “Let’s crush those sneaky bastards for Bess!” they whooped with Rex getting in on the toast as the men continued their rallying cries.

With a heart full of relief, she smiled amid the excitement and as if something on the wind was calling. She looked out the window. Dusk had given way to a clear, dark sky dotted with a sea of stars. She sighed deeply, observing the beauty, then let her gaze settle on Judge Ironside’s photo, still resting on the counter. And that’s when it hit. “That’s it,” she whispered, the relief in her heart turning to euphoria.

“TBD,” Christian said softly, keeping his voice low beneath the seniors’ chatter, “what’s brewing in that pretty little head of yours?”

“I’ve got it, Christian,” she replied, her voice brimming with conviction. “I figured out the recipe. I know exactly how we’re going to win.”