"I can't promise. But I will certainly give it a lot of thought."
"Good," Emily said. She pulled an unresisting Sugar into the shadows of the tree-lined walk. "Something to think about then."
Like all their kisses, it was hot and sent tingles through Sugar of a kind she'd only ever read about in books. It was shockingly good, and for a full minute Sugar didn't think about anything but the sweet promise of Emily's mouth.
Emily released her with a sultry laugh. "Oh, I'm going to be thinking about that for a long, long time."
"Me, too," Sugar admitted, even though at the very end of the kiss it had felt like a kind of good-bye.
"I hope things go well for your grandmother."
"Thanks. Having me to rely on is helping her relax. At her age, her frame of mind plays a big role."
Emily stepped back into the circle of the streetlight, and the soft glow made her look lovelier than ever. "Let me know how it goes."
Sugar opened the Jaguar's door for Emily. "I will. Thank you for coming to see me. I was really troubled by the way it seemed we were parting."
"So was I. This is much better."
Sugar waved and turned to go into the house but paused, frowning. Now that her nerves were settling she recalled that while she was kissing Emily she'd heard a rumbling truck go by on the street. Now a large silver truck was parked just up the block.
They had been standing in the shadows, but it was doubtful Charlie hadn't seen tliem. Why the thought that Charlie had seen her kissing Emily would fill her with such dismay was a complete mystery. But the driver of the truck couldn't have missed them, and it was Charlie vaulting with such ease from the cab. She walked toward the waiting Sugar with something under her arm.
"Hi." Sugar tried to sound casual. Charlie was wearing black
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jeans, well-loved and broken-in cowboy boots and a white Western-style button-down shirt. She looked like she'd dropped off a poster for line dancing. Sexy, erotic, hot, downright naughty line dancing. Sugar shook herself. It was just the aftereffects of Emily's presence that had her thinking such thoughts.
"I just have something to drop off, but I didn't want to disturb your ... romantic good-bye." She handed Sugar the parcel. "Oh." Inside the bag was a fishing creel. "You found it." "Yeah, and he won't miss it before the party." "This is wonderful. I can make a nearly exact replica." "Good, I'm glad it'll help. See you Monday, then." Charlie was half turned back toward the truck when Sugar said, "Would you like to come in for tea? My grandmother will be want¬ing a cup and would be glad to see you."
"No, thanks. I need to get going." Charlie continued walking, leaving Sugar feeling thoroughly snubbed.
What rotten timing, Sugar thought. She couldn't exactly run after Charlie and explain that it had only been fond emotions with Tree and merely hot, endless sex with Emily and not even that any¬more. More importantly, why would she tell Charlie that, and why on earth would Charlie care? Why did she care what Charlie thought of her? She could kiss anybody she wanted. And what about that blonde Charlie had been with the other night?
Thoroughly vexed, she stomped back into the house. Charlie hadn't even noticed her hair.
Sunday passed quietly. Bridget took Gran out to lunch after church but Sugar begged off, as she needed to perfect a wicker weave. Losing herself in her work was a welcome distraction from resentful thoughts of Charlie. She'd see Charlie the next day and butter wouldn't melt in her mouth. Why Charlie Bronson thought she had any cause at all to look in on Sugar's love life was beyond Sugar's comprehension.
The vanilla-bean cake layers, six in all, had been halved, layered
with the coffee-chocolate ganache and stacked. The creel had been easy to sculpt. It sat, wrapped in plastic, on the lowest shelf of Gran's fridge. She would be glad of the industrial refrigerator she'd ordered to rent when it was delivered tomorrow morning. Even though she no longer needed its capacity for the large contest cake, future orders would need the long shelves.
The icing, however, was proving as difficult as the cake had been easy.
With most projects where a high texture was prominent, it was possible to use a piece of fabric to create traceable contours in the fondant. Linen worked wonderfully. If a fabric was linty enough to leave behind traces, she'd found she could press it through plastic film, even though some of the definition was lost.
Wicker was proving a challenge. Not having any idea how clean the creel was, she immediately opted for plastic film to protect her fondant. But the film blunted too much of the wicker's outline. It was a pretty enough pattern, but it wouldn't look like wicker.
She wanted this cake to be perfect, so after several frustratingly unsuccessful attempts she went to the crafting store to look at the painting tools. She bought several decorative rollers used to make designs in wet paint. One of them would probably do the trick.
Gran still wasn't back by the time she got home again, and feel¬ing a bit restless, Sugar left a message for Noor. Noor didn't call back, but when Gran got home they all spent some time with Bridget selecting a housecoat to wear in the hospital to cover those chintzy hospital gowns. Then they fussed about how to relocate a few pieces of furniture to clear a better walking path.
"I won't be on my feet for weeks," Gran said. "There's plenty of time to decide all of this."
"But if we think about it now, when the time comes you'll have had a chance to reflect on it." Bridget was a calming influence and Sugar would try to convince Gran to let Bridget visit. "I'll ask my Eddie to help you move furniture."
"The hospital rental company said the people who deliver the bed will move a few things, including the old bed. That'll happen this Thursday while Gran's still in the hospital." They'd deliver the
bed at about the time Sugar would have been presenting her entry to the judges. Stop that, she told herself. There was no point wish¬ing the milk wasn't spilt.
She went back to working on the fondant. The paint roller with a basket-weave design was going to work, but it didn't create enough high and low to pass as wicker. She'd have to roll the fon¬dant while on the marble, drape it over the cake and then deepen the pattern with a knife. She'd done it before. It was time-consum¬ing, to say the least.
On Monday morning she opened her bleary eyes, her mind already spinning with the full details of the day. The refrigerator was supposed to be delivered at eight. Gran needed to see her own doctor again by ten. Since she wouldn't be up to baking for several weeks, Gran was determined to spare Sugar as much baking as possible by stocking up and freezing banana breads and pound cakes for the shelters.
While they baked there was going to be a precise and detailed lesson on the ins and outs of the Harvest Fair planning. Sugar knew that Bridget and others knew the details of when to place ads to encourage crafters to rent booth space, and where the rental contracts were kept, and was confident Gran's recovery would allow her to see to most of them. But it was also clear that talking about them relieved Gran from worry.
By three o'clock, Sugar needed to deliver the cake to the fire station near where she used to live, which meant she needed to be done with it no later than one to allow for a hour's firming up in the refrigerator. The basic creel was complete, but the leather lid and ties were yet to be done, and she wasn't happy with her first attempt to replicate the beloved fishing lure.
To start the day off to a really grand moment, she called the Seattle Eats organizers to withdraw her entry. At least she only had to speak to an answering machine, but it still hurt like hell for a few minutes.
Feeling tired and cranky, she expected the worse when her cell phone rang for the first time.
"Go buy yourself a laptop," Patricia said cheerfully.
"Why?"
"Because I think you can afford it now. I've got a fax of the insurance company's check. If you're willing to sign a nondisclo¬sure agreement and that you agree they don't owe you dime but are giving you twenty-five thousand dollars out of the goodness of their he
arts—"
"Holy shit!" Sugar groped for a chair. "Say that part again."
"Twenty-five thousand dollars." Patty sounded exceedingly smug, and for once Sugar could not blame her at all. "But remem¬ber, after taxes and the firm's cut you're only going to see about half of that."
"Patty, still... my goodness. It hardly seems fair that the house burned down and I'm better off financially."
"As Gran would say, the Lord works in mysterious ways. I take it you'll sign? It's a decent offer. Basically, they're afraid that you'll sue, claiming they ought to have discovered the illegal rental and the lack of building permits, and therefore in some way prevented the resulting losses to you. This is chump change to make a suit go away, but I know you don't want this to drag out."
"I don't. Of course I'll take the money. It's ... a shock." She could buy a laptop today. And a printer. She could even start look¬ing for commercial premises to rent for the busy holiday season. If the season was lucrative, a new car could be in the works without having to take on much debt. Don't get ahead of yourself, she warned. Money in the bank could sit in the bank. It didn't need to be spent today. There was plenty of time for that later in the week.
"You'll also get your deposit back from that ass. I'll see to that, gratis."
"Geez, Patty, thank you. Have I told you lately you are a fan¬tastic attorney?"
"No, but feel free to bring me something tasty to eat someday."
"That's a deal." She knew of Patty's predilection for sour lemon squares, and Sugar thought she made them as well as their mother
had. "Hey, I wanted to tell you that Gran's surgery is tomorrow. I meant to send you all a note. It got moved up. Isn't that a lucky thing?"
"Quinn knocked me in the head over the weekend, and yeah— it's a good thing it's so close. I'm glad you're there."
Sugar felt a definite lightening of her spirit. It was nice to be appreciated, even though she knew Patty's opinion ought not matter so much to her. But Patty was her big sister. No matter what, she always would be. She'd hoped to wave a competition medal in front of Patty's surprised nose, but this result was so much more satisfying.
She gave Patty the hospital details, and Patty said she'd send a note off to Quinn and Rose with the information. When she rang off, Sugar danced through the house with the big news for Gran.
"I think you should treat yourself to something nice to go with that hairdo," Gran announced. "Maybe after you've delivered that cake."
"The cake I need to finish," Sugar said enthusiastically. She practically bounced back to the kitchen, her tired eyes and weary back forgotten. She took the perfect loaves of pound cake out of the oven to cool. They'd drop them off on the way home from the doctor's office, giving Sugar a chance to meet the various shelter personnel. Busy day—it no longer mattered.
Of course by three o'clock Sugar ached all over. She'd been going nonstop, including a last-minute inspiration for producing the alabaster sheen on her edible fishing lure. Feeling harried and disheveled, she arrived at the firehouse with minutes to spare. She'd forgotten her chef's apron but supposed since it was an informal gathering it hardly mattered. A vaguely familiar fire¬fighter was anxiously waiting for her so she had to be content with a quick pat to her hair in the rearview mirror. His uniform pro¬claimed him Ralph.
"Hey, you're the lady with the oven fire, aren't you?" He waved her in through a rear door, after inquiring if she needed help lift¬ing the cake.
Knowing best how to manage the platter, Sugar had assured him she was fine. "That's me. This is really my way of saying thank you to all of you."
"I have to admit I'm looking forward to seeing it. Charlie's been on about it for the last week. She's got her dad distracted in the back. He's got a going-away thing later at the administrative office, but this is just for us guys, in his old stationhouse where his daugh¬ter now holds down the fort."
Sugar noticed lookouts a-plenty as she slipped through open doors to the communal dining room. There were paper plates and stacks of presents, one of which was obviously a fishing rod. Sugar grinned to herself, pleased that her creation would fit so well with the party's theme. She quickly unwrapped it, blushing with pride at the exclamations of the men gathering around to look.
"I can eat that?"
"Not all of it, you slob."
"That's amazing. Looks like the real thing."
Sugar whacked a hand that seemed to be aiming for a taste of the icing. "Touch it and die. I haven't taken photos yet."
They cheerfully gave her enough room to take a couple of long shots, then urged her to stay when she normally would have left them to enjoy the surprise. It didn't take much pressure. She wanted to see the look on Charlie's father's face when he saw the cake. Okay, she admitted honestly, she wanted to see the look on Charlie's face as well.
She didn't have long to wait.
"I think I left my coat in the mess," Charlie was overheard saying. "Help me look, would you?"
"Sometimes I think you'd lose your head if it wasn't tacked on—
A hearty yell of "Surprise!" led to a rousing chorus of "For He's a Jolly Good Fellow." Sugar kept to one side, partially obscured by
a pillar. She wasn't sure at all that Charlie had seen her as she led her father toward the presents and cake.
"Oh, this wasn't necessary. You guys are too much." Sugar was struck again by how much Chuck and Charlie Bronson resembled each other. Chuck's eyes were alight with humor as he surveyed the table. "Is that my old gear? I wondered why you were digging around in the garage last week."
"Nope, Dad, it's not." Charlie was grinning ear to ear. "Look again. I'm damn sure that's a cake."
"You're kidding."
"Somebody get a knife!"
When Charlie poised to cut the cake square down the middle Sugar could stand it no longer. "Please let me do that," she called out as she emerged from the little nook where she'd gone unnoticed.
"I wondered if you'd let me hack at your cake," Charlie said. Though her eyes were filled with delight, there was confusion there when she looked at Sugar. "It's really wonderful. Dad, this is the woman who made the cake for you."
"Miss Sorenson, I remember you. I didn't realize you were plotting with my daughter."
A voice from behind her muttered, "Plotting's A new word for it if I know our Charlie."
There was laughter and Sugar fought back a blush. Did Charlie have some sort of reputation for sleeping with women she'd been out rescuing?
"Shut up, Ralph." Charlie bowed slightly, offering the knife handle over her arm. "Milady."
"An upright cake," Sugar said in her best imitation of Julia Child, "must be cut from the corners if one wishes to avoid disas¬ter." She smoothly sliced away the edge where the faux lure rested, plated it quickly and offered the result to Charlie's father. "Congratulations. Working with this lot I'm sure you've earned your retirement."
There was a shout of good-natured laughter, and slices of cake were quickly passed around.
"Aren't you going to have some?" Charlie took the last piece Sugar cut, pausing with the fork halfway to her mouth. "Please do."
"I usually don't. I've tasted it along the way. But, yes, I'd like that." She abruptly felt teary, wondering if there was any way she and Charlie could get back to a better footing. Something about her was as easy to be around as Tree, and as exciting to fantasize about as Emily. A safe authority figure, she reminded herself, and she had to fight back a giggle.
Safe.
Right.
There were only a few pieces of cake left, and haggling over their dispensation had begun when Chuck was urged to open his gifts.
"I have to say, this was unexpected." He touched the package nearest him. "And unnecessary. You are the finest house I've ever had the pleasure to work with. Since I've got you all here, and she can hardly bolt out of the room, I also want to say how proud I am of my daughter. Most of you have watched her grow up and so have I, and I think she's one of the finest we've got. S
he's going to make a damned fine addition to the arson squad."
Charlie's cheeks were stained with color as she gazed proudly at her father. A tear trickled down one cheek, but she ignored it. "I'll miss working with you, Pop. But I'm looking forward to the fish¬ing. Now get busy and open some presents."
Later, Sugar wasn't sure when she realized something was wrong. She didn't know Chuck well enough to recognize the odd way he patted his chest, but by the time she realized that the gri¬mace of pain wasn't temporary, everyone around her was starting to move. She had the sense to get out of the way.
The table was shoved unceremoniously aside. A radio call for paramedic support was already being made and Charlie was out of the room in a matter of seconds. She returned before Sugar could make sense of anything, rapidly going through her father's coat
pockets. "I've got it, I've got it," she shouted, passing over some¬thing that looked like a pen to one of the men leaning over Chuck.
Chuck was breathing in great gasps, his face contorted in pain. "Charlie, Charlie," he'd been repeating, then he simply stopped. Stopped moving, stopped breathing.
"He's arresting." Ralph pushed chairs over to clear space and Chuck was lowered to a prone position. "There's no response. Beginning CPR. Charlie, get out of the way!"
In the distance, Sugar could hear a siren's wail, and it was like the afternoon of the fire all over again. She was a helpless bystander while emergency personnel made decisions so quickly she couldn't follow what they were saying. Charlie was hurriedly describing something to one of the paramedics, and Chuck, a mask now over his still, lifeless face, was already being lifted on a stretcher. It seemed like only minutes had elapsed from the first indication of Chuck's distress to the sight of the ambulance door closing on the tableau of Charlie leaning over her father, one of his hands in hers.
Sugar turned to Ralph. "What happened?"
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