Sunset Bay Sanctuary

by Roxanne Snopek

  “You going to chicken out on me now, Haylee? Can’t take a little kiss? Scared off by a bit of emotional intimacy?”

  “Is that what that was?” Annoyance sharpened her voice. She didn’t want emotional intimacy. “That’s it, Buddy. Time to shake.”

  The dog leaped off the table, shaking a cloud of fur into the air.

  She turned to Aiden. “Last night was a mistake. I can’t say I didn’t enjoy it, but I shouldn’t have gone out to dinner with you. I definitely shouldn’t have . . .”

  “Kissed me?”

  She pressed the heel of her hand against her forehead. “Definitely not.”

  “Why?”

  She thought of the things he’d told her. His son. His marriage. He’d come to Sunset Bay to recover, not to get involved with someone who’d only make things worse.

  Haylee was full up with Sage and the baby to deal with. She wasn’t interested in hurting anyone else.

  “I’ve got a lot on my plate,” she said lightly. “You do, too. Probably better to keep things simple, don’t you think? Now, let’s go take Buddy to the beach.”

  * * *

  Daphne set out the ingredients for the cinnamon buns in the patch of sunshine warming the large butcher-block island. Flour, yeast, salt, brown sugar, butter, cinnamon. Whole milk. Raisins. Pecans.

  Sage had to contribute. And in order to contribute, she had to be trained. Problem was, not only did they have to work around the baby’s schedule, but the girl had no discernible skills. It was as if she’d been raised by wolves. Daphne could have gotten more help from one of Haylee’s dogs, and certainly more enthusiasm.

  “I hate nuts.” Sage adjusted the volume button on the baby monitor, put it to her ear and then set it on the counter.

  “Then don’t eat them.” Daphne got out her dented metal measuring cups and spoons and her favorite long wooden rolling pin.

  “How old is that thing?” Sage picked it up, smoothing her hand along the grain of the wood.

  “Old. My daddy made it for me. A wedding present.”

  “Huh.” Sage put it down. “That’s cool.”

  If Daphne’s daddy had known how she’d end up using that rolling pin, he’d have put it through the wood-chipper rather than give it to her. But Earl had never shown his true colors around his father-in-law. His true colors didn’t start coming out until well after the honeymoon, when he decided that Daphne was a disappointment as a wife, marriage was a disappointment as an institution, and monogamy wasn’t his bag.

  “I’ve never baked anything before.”

  Daphne wasn’t too surprised. Nowadays few parents took the time to bake anymore, or had the interest, or were willing to allow the tempting carbs into their homes. Some families, like the Fioris, she guessed, employed a housekeeper who was in charge of the kitchen stuff and who may or may not welcome kids into their domain.

  “Then this will be a learning experience,” she said. “Read over the recipe while I go find my baking sheets. Keep in mind, we’re making a double batch.”

  As Daphne slipped past the girl, she noticed her frowning at the yellowed newsprint clipping that held the instructions for Sanctuary Ranch’s famous cinnamon buns.

  She took her time in the pantry, rattling and banging through her vast collection of bakeware. Sometimes it felt good to make noise. Thinking of Earl was one of those times.

  They’d put her away for five years for what she did to him and it was worth every second. She hadn’t seen Bryony once since then, a price infinitely steeper than prison. But if she had to do it all over again, well.

  Actually, if she had a time machine, she’d go back to the day she’d first seen Earl’s charming self in the diner, dump a hot cup of coffee in his lap, and embrace unemployment and spinsterhood.

  But no point in going over the past. If wishes were horses, a lot of men would have hoofprints on their jumbly bits.

  And without Earl, there’d be no Bryony.

  “Recipe make sense to you?” she asked, returning with the rimmed pans.

  Sage hunched her shoulders and darted a glance around the kitchen. “I guess. Maybe I should check on the baby.”

  “Little Sal is sleeping like an angel. I can hear her breathing from here.”

  “I don’t want her to bother anyone.”

  The pans landed on the counter with a clatter. Daphne put her hands on her hips. She knew what this was really about and she’d held her tongue too long already. Sage needed reassurance, badly, and since the person she most needed it from was running scared, Daphne would have to step in.

  “Sal’s not bothering a soul. She can scream down the house if she wants. We’re happy to have her here. Happy to have you both here.”

  “Right.” Sage sniffed and picked up the recipe. “What do you want me to do?”

  Damn that Haylee. Daphne loved her to death, but that girl needed an attitude adjustment. She had barely come into the main house since Sage’s arrival and she’d cleverly managed to be unavailable whenever Sal needed holding. “You homesick?”

  Sage looked up, startled. Then with a puff of air through her lips, she attempted a laugh. “No, Daphne. I’m not homesick.”

  “You must be missing your mama, at least.”

  Sage stared back at her. “I thought we were baking.”

  The resemblance was stark and sudden. “You got Haylee’s stubbornness, I see,” Daphne said. “That’s good. You probably got her strength, too.”

  Again, Sage snorted a humorless laugh. “Oh goody. Now you’re going to tell me how awesome she is.”

  “Tread lightly, child.” Daphne cut a chunk of butter off, slapped it onto a pan and shoved it at Sage. “Smear this around. You want to bake, we’ll bake.”

  Sullenly, Sage followed Daphne’s instructions, measuring lukewarm water to start the yeast, scalding milk, melting butter.

  “Add four of these to the liquid mixture,” Daphne said, handing her the egg carton.

  It took two extra eggs and several minutes of fishing broken eggshells from the bowl but Daphne could tell Sage was trying hard.

  “Now what?” Sage looked at Daphne and for a moment, she might have been Bryony at age five, standing before her father, begging for just a single word of praise.

  Daphne cleared her throat. “Good job.” She set the mixer on high and let the sound drown out the memories. She’d done the right thing, for Bryony. She just should have done it a decade earlier.

  What did Sage need? And how much could Daphne help, when it was Haylee’s attention the girl craved?

  Together they kneaded their mounds of dough, Sage pushing and turning as Daphne directed. Then they rolled out the dough into a long, thin rectangle. Then came the butter, partly melted to spread in a rich golden glaze. Brown sugar next, the deep, dark, crunchy stuff that held the slightest hint of molasses in it. A handful of chopped pecans on Daphne’s roll, raisins for Sage.

  “Now, as soon as you’ve washed your hands, we’ll sprinkle on the cinnamon.”

  The smell was heavenly, as it always was. Huck would be drooling into his beard. The girl would get some desperately needed positive reinforcement, and the joy of creating something that other people appreciated.

  She rinsed off the rolling pin, dried it with a paper towel, and hefted its solid weight in the palm of her hand. Haylee would say something nice. Daphne would make sure of that. She could be very convincing when necessary.

  “How’s that look?” Sage surveyed the length of dough uncertainly.

  “Perfectly perfect. Now, we roll them, from the bottom up, like this. Give it a little stretch, that’s right. But try not to break the dough. There you go, that’s it.”

  They wouldn’t be the best-looking pastries, but they’d taste just fine and the important thing is that Sage would feel the pride of accomplishment.

  “Now we slice the dough into four dozen rolls, and set the pieces on our buttered baking sheets.”

  Sage carefully watched Daphne, before slicing into
her own.

  “Lovely. Now we cover them with parchment paper and let them rise. Good job, Sage. We’ll use this time to clean up and while we’re at it, why don’t you tell me why you ran away from home?”

  The panic on Sage’s face was almost comical. But it shifted quickly into that of a trapped animal, desperate to escape and determined to do whatever was necessary to stay alive.

  “I don’t have to tell you anything.”

  “Honey,” said Daphne, taking her by the shoulder. “I’m a woman of many skills. There’s no need to run, there’s no point in lying, and if you go all feral on me, I’ll tie you up and let you simmer in your juices until you calm down. Believe me, I know all about dysfunctional families.”

  “You’re so full of shit,” said Sage.

  “You kiss your baby with that mouth?” said Daphne.

  She muttered another epithet under her breath.

  “Okay.” Daphne slapped her hands against her thighs. “It’s going to be like that, is it?”

  She took the girl’s shoulder firmly this time and pushed her down into the chair.

  “You know the rules about language here. You can be as potty-mouthed as you like when you’re living elsewhere, but when you’re in our lodge, our garden, our kennels, our stables, our yard, or anywhere else where anyone but your own little self can hear you, you will keep a pristine tongue in your head.”

  “That’s fucking bullshit.”

  “You’re not exactly overflowing with options,” said Daphne. “Right now, you’re here, in my kitchen, making cinnamon buns and if I decide to enforce the fucking rules, you are shit out of luck.”

  Sage gaped at her. “But you said—”

  “Honey, you’re really not paying attention.”

  “I’m telling Olivia!”

  “Feel free.”

  “Is this a foster home or a prison?”

  Daphne clapped the rolling pin lightly against one palm. It really was a lovely piece of equipment.

  “Trust me, grasshopper, I’ve been in prison and it’s nothing like this.”

  Sage narrowed her eyes, calculating. “You’re lying.”

  “I wish I was.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I killed my husband.”

  A beat passed. “You did not.”

  “Ask Olivia. It’s no secret.” Daphne sighed. “Look, honey, I’m just letting you know that the skeletons lurking in your closet can’t be worse than mine. So you might as well tell me what’s going on.”

  “Why . . . why’d you do it?”

  The past rose up around Daphne like a dust lifting in a room no one had set foot in for years.

  Why’d she done it?

  Because she’d been blind. Because she’d pretended for too long. Because sometimes a woman can do things for her child that she can’t do for herself.

  Because she’d finally had enough.

  “He was about to do a very bad thing.”

  “What?”

  Daphne reached out to stroke the girl’s hair, grounding herself in the present. Sage flinched, but allowed it.

  “He was about to hurt someone. A girl, younger than you. I couldn’t let that happen. So I stopped him.”

  She watched as the color leached out of Sage’s face.

  “You actually murdered him?”

  Daphne breathed deeply, accessing the power she’d discovered in the gyms and studios and dojos. Pay it forward, she reminded herself.

  She gave the rolling pin another pat and leaned her head toward Sage. “Technically, it was ruled involuntary manslaughter. I’d had a rough week. Killing him made a terrible mess on my floor and did a number on my social life to boot. I don’t recommend it.”

  Sage’s gaze went to the door, as if contemplating escape. She probably didn’t know whether or not to believe Daphne and that was just fine.

  Daphne let her smile fade. “When things are at their worst, and you need a hand, it’s a good idea not to bite the one outstretched in your direction. When you’re ready to talk, Auntie Daffy is here for you. No pressure. I’m just saying.”

  * * *

  If Sage had to spend another minute in the kitchen, she was going to explode. She looked longingly out the wide west-facing window she’d just finished polishing. She hadn’t been indoors this much for a long time. She certainly hadn’t done this much cleaning, ever. Daphne was a never-ending source of scut work. Wipe the counter, sweep the floor, wash the soup pot, check the pantry for number ten cans.

  What the hell was a number ten can, anyway?

  The urge to run, to get away, had been growing again lately. Meeting Haylee had been about as disappointing as she’d expected and everyone seemed so . . . content here. Even the guys, Tyler and Duke, looked like they belonged.

  Sage didn’t belong.

  But being here was good for Sal.

  She still didn’t know what she was going to do, but for now at least, she could relax a bit while she figured things out.

  And working in the kitchen, much as she hated it, allowed her to stay near enough to hear every squawk from the baby monitor.

  It was squawking right now, damn it.

  She hustled to her room, leaned down and scooped her daughter up under the arms. Even in the two weeks since she’d been born, she’d grown plump like a little sausage.

  Sage couldn’t help but feel a burst of pride. Every ounce on that kid’s body came straight from her, and only her. Daphne had brought her some weird tunic-type shirts with slits on the chest, so she didn’t have to hike up her top and get half naked every time the kid got hungry.

  Ugly as curtains in an old folks’ home, those shirts were. But better than providing a peep show eight million times a day.

  She took the baby to the great room and settled down in the couch in front of the window, using the cushion to raise the baby in line with her boob.

  She gasped as the baby latched on, powerful as a vacuum. But within moments, her breasts tingled and she started to relax. The kid’s jaw worked so hard, sweat broke out on her downy little brow. It took a lot of energy, apparently, to stay alive.

  She felt powerful, primitive, a warrior, an animal in human skin. But then, humans were mammals, weren’t they?

  She was too tired to go through the mental machinations. She’d had no idea how often babies got up in the night.

  She switched sides awkwardly, getting sprayed with a warm liquid belch in the process. But the baby nursed her fill and then, just like that, she was out cold, her head lolling, her mouth twitching, a drop of bluish milk leaking from the corner.

  Sage put her into the spare bassinet in the corner, then tiptoed back to the kitchen. Would the baby monitor work if she took it with her outside? Or should she just go? Daphne was due back any minute. She could leave her a note.

  She had to get out of here, had to clear her head.

  She wanted a cigarette too.

  The door by the garage slammed and she heard the cook’s heavy footsteps.

  “There you are.” Daphne had bags of groceries in each arm. “Here, put these away.”

  “Olivia told me I have to take a walk outside every day,” she said quickly. “Is it okay if I slip out now? Can you watch her? I just fed her and she’s sleeping.”

  “Fine,” said Daphne, with a long-suffering sigh. “Leave the heavy lifting to the woman with arthritis, that seems fair.”

  Daphne’s arthritis came and went as was convenient for her, as far as Sage could tell.

  As she walked quickly down the path, she wondered if the story the cook had told was true, about having been in prison. Dressed in her apron, up to her elbows in flour, Daphne didn’t look like an ex-con. But Sage had seen the woman punching a heavy bag in the basement. There were muscles on her muscles and when she roundhouse-kicked the bag, the thing nearly swung off its chain.

  Huck caught up to her on the way past the stables.

  “Hey, Sage,” he said, sliding his knitted cap off. “How’s the
baby?”

  He had a package of cigarettes rolled up in his sleeve. “Fine,” she said. “Question for you. What’s with the doilies?”

  She gestured to the cap now crushed in his hand.

  “Fashion statement. You should understand. What with the hardware and all. Something I can help you with?”

  She bit the edge of her lip, where the ring felt like it was getting infected again, and changed direction, heading for the pasture and the valley beyond.

  “Nope. Just going for a walk. You wear them to please your granny or something?”

  Huck laughed and fell into step beside her. “Nope. A walk to where?”

  “I don’t know. Town. The beach. Hey, can I bum a smoke?”

  He laughed. “How about some ice cream instead? I’ll show you a place.”

  She turned to look at him. “Don’t you have to work?”

  He shrugged. “I’ve earned a break myself. Come on.”

  “It’s okay. I feel like being alone. You sure about that smoke? I promise I won’t tell.”

  “Olivia doesn’t allow smoking.”

  She pointed to his sleeve. “So why do you have them?”

  “I keep ’em,” Huck said. “I don’t smoke ’em. And I sure don’t give them out to minors.”

  Huck cut through a small stand of bushes, ducked around a weathered fence, and suddenly, they were on an old path, maybe made by deer, that cut straight down the valley to the town.

  She turned to look up at the ranch.

  “Can they see us from up there?”

  “Only in winter. We’re shielded by the leaves now. Why? You planning on doing a runner?”

  Ah, she thought. So that’s why he was here.

  “I don’t need a babysitter, you know.”

  “If you say so.”

  The final descent was steep and Huck held out his hand to help her. He had heavy calluses, and a firm grip. When he held something, it was secure.

  “You spent any time in town?” asked Huck.

  “You mean, between hitchhiking to the ranch and having a baby? No. It’s been a busy month.”