Babycakes

by Donna Kauffman

  “I heard he bought a place on the north end of the loop,” came the younger voice. “Which means he plans to stay. That has to count for something.”

  “We’ll see,” the older woman said. “We all just want what’s best for the child, but given how Delilah let the Westlakes trample all over her and shove poor Birdie—her own mother—aside like they did . . . I don’t trust this sudden change of heart.”

  “Didn’t you mention something about Morgan being the black sheep of the family? By their standards, anyway. I’ve been so busy with all the craziness leading up to the cookbook release, I’ll admit I haven’t paid as much attention to the local gossip as I usually do. But what I have heard . . . well . . . I don’t know. It sounds like he’s trying to do the right thing. We can at least give him the benefit of the doubt, can’t we?”

  “Oh, he’ll get a warm Sugarberry reception, all right.”

  The younger woman’s tone was affectionate, but with a warning note. “Alva—”

  “Don’t Alva me, Miss Lani May. I don’t have a single say in this.”

  “Other than being Birdie’s closest friend for the past forty or so years.”

  “I just don’t want to see her hurt again. Delilah was a late in life baby for Birdie, long after she’d given up hope of ever having a child. Everyone on this island knew she loved that girl with everything in her heart. What that same child handed her in return . . . and now she’s gone as well . . .” The woman’s voice trailed off.

  Her voice was a bit more wavery when she continued. “I simply couldn’t bear it if that family were to ruin things again. I’ve never met Olivia Westlake, and God help her if I ever do. I have more than a few words for that bitter old prune.”

  “She’s not planning a visit so soon, is she?”

  “Not that I’ve heard, but we need to be prepared. I wouldn’t put anything past that—” The older woman broke off, and Kit found herself leaning closer to the screen door to hear the rest of what she was saying. “Birdie’s been through enough. No mother should outlive her own child. She didn’t attend the funeral, you know. Made the trip to Atlanta in her own time, paid her respects in private.”

  “Probably for the best, but a shame it had to be like that. I’m glad she has you looking out for her, Alva.”

  “She certainly does, and I’ve let everybody know about it, too.”

  “I’m sure you have,” came the somewhat dry, but compassionate response. “And, of course, all of us will be rooting for her and little Lilly to hit it off. Have they reunited yet?”

  “Not yet. Supposed to have a picnic or some such, but Mr. Morgan is taking his time.”

  “Well, given all they’ve been through, maybe that’s not a bad idea. It’s a lot of change in that little girl’s life. And a picnic, whenever it happens, sounds lovely. It’s been so warm this fall. I can’t believe it’s almost November and we’re still having weather in the upper seventies every day. Not that I’m complaining.” Lani laughed. “Neither Baxter nor I are missing those New York winters. Let me know if I can contribute anything to the picnic when the time comes. A few cupcakes could add some smiles.”

  “I’ll mention it to Birdie. She loves your strawberry shortcake cupcakes. That might be just the thing.”

  “Done. Consider it my homecoming gift to Miss Lilly.”

  “Imagine not having seen your own grandchild since the day of her birth. Lilly just turned five, you know.”

  “I heard. Well, I still say we should give her uncle the benefit of the doubt going in. Sounds to me like he’s trying to do what’s best for the child, giving her family, a home, and roots. And, apparently going against that bitter old prune you mentioned, in order to do it. Pretty commendable if you ask me.”

  “I suppose you’re right. He’s unmarried, no kids of his own, you know,” Alva added. “To turn your whole life upside down like that . . .” She gave an audible sigh. “If it were anyone other than a Westlake, I’d be heading the welcoming committee. As it is, I’m still doing some digging. ”

  “On?”

  “Him. For Birdie’s sake, of course.”

  “Of course,” came the dry response. “You’re not thinking of putting him in one of your columns, I hope. I don’t think anyone would benefit, least of all Birdie.”

  “Now, now, I wouldn’t do that,” the older woman said.

  Even Kit, who hadn’t met the woman yet, wasn’t sure how sold she was on that score, and she didn’t know what the “column” was they were talking about. With the comment about a funeral in Atlanta . . . there was no doubt which Westlakes they were talking about. Even during the trial, she knew the Westlakes had suffered a tragedy when one of the Westlake scions and his wife had died in a car accident. Kit had been too overwhelmed with what was happening to her and her employees—not to mention losing loved ones that way struck a little too close to home—to pay attention, especially when the name Westlake was involved. But . . . she was almost certain that was the situation Alva and Lani were talking about. And that situation had come to Sugarberry, too. Right along with her.

  Crap.

  “What I know is that he’s thirty-two, wealthy, educated, and quite the looker as it happens. So,” Alva said, sounding all conspiratorial, “what I wonder is, why isn’t a man like that married? Must be something wrong with him.”

  The younger woman laughed. “Not everyone thinks marriage has to go hand-in-hand with the rest of that list.”

  “Well . . . we’ll see. If he thinks he’s bringing his playboy ways to Sugarberry—”

  “He brought his five-year-old niece. I hardly think that would be his intent.”

  “Well, those rich folks usually pawn off child care to a nanny, so until we know what’s what, we can’t be certain of anything,” Alva said, sounding quite put out. “And be assured, if it’s there to be found, I’ll find it.”

  “I’m sure you will,” Lani said dryly, “but, if he is a playboy, I doubt he’d have come to Sugarberry. The island isn’t exactly teeming with single women.”

  “Speak for yourself, missy,” Alva said. “Besides, all the rest aside, nice scenery is never a bad thing.”

  The younger woman laughed outright. “Now that’s the Alva I know and admire.”

  Kit knew she’d been standing at the screen door way too long, but her mind was spinning with all the Westlake talk. The doubts she’d had about moving to Sugarberry suddenly tripled. But she could hardly walk away without saying hello. She owed Charlotte that much for going to the trouble to set up the interview. At the brief break in conversation, she rapped on the door without further delay. “Hello?” she called out, over the conversation and the music. “It’s Kit Bellamy.”

  The door suddenly opened and Kit had to lower her gaze almost a foot to meet that of a tiny, senior-aged woman as she popped into view.

  “Well, hello there!”

  “Hello.” Kit smiled fully for what felt like the first time in ages. It was pretty much impossible not to. The woman—Alva, she presumed—barely topped five feet, with twinkling eyes and a welcoming smile, pearls clasped to her earlobes and strung around the starched Peter Pan collar of her lemon-colored blouse, which she’d paired with a moss green cardigan sweater. Pearl buttons, of course.

  All of what you’d expect from a grandmotherly type, except, perhaps, for the hair, which had been teased into a spectacular beehive of curls and waves, and was a rather shocking, unnatural shade of red. Add to that, the entire ensemble had been topped with an apron that was essentially a movie poster for Pirates of the Caribbean—namely its star, Captain Jack Sparrow, as played by the very swashbuckling Johnny Depp. Kit couldn’t help staring.

  Alva followed her gaze, then looked back up, beaming. “I like pirates.”

  “I-I do, too,” Kit stammered.

  “Well then, I like you already.” Alva stepped back and waved Kit inside. “Come on in. Welcome to Sugarberry.”

  Chapter 2

  “ Moggy, where’s the mama turt
le?”

  Morgan Westlake knelt down in the damp sand near the nest of loggerhead eggs, his gaze level with the somber one of his niece, Lilly. “The mama turtle built this nest so her eggs would be safe. Then she had to go back to the water.”

  Lilly looked at the mound, under which an untold number of eggs were nestled. “Will she come back for them?”

  Morgan ducked his chin. Without even trying, Lilly broke his heart every single day. He told himself often that wasn’t a bad thing. She needed him to help mend her heart . . . and by doing that, maybe he’d mend his as well. He looked into her oh-so-serious blue eyes and smiled. “She doesn’t need to come back. When the baby turtles hatch, they will know to head straight to the water.”

  “How do they know?”

  “They just do,” he said, then took her hand as he stood up and brushed the sand from the knees of his jeans. “Sort of like how babies know they’re supposed to crawl.”

  “Won’t the baby turtles be cold?”

  “They have that nice shell keeping them warm.”

  Lilly seemed to think about that for a moment, then nodded. “Can we come watch them when they get borned?”

  He smiled. “That would be pretty cool. But from what I understand, they hatch at night.”

  Lilly immediately looked alarmed. “Then how will the find the water?”

  Morgan crouched back down again, but kept hold of her hand. “Well, that’s one of the things the researchers here are trying to figure out. They think it’s because the moonlight reflects on the water and makes it sparkle.” He knew the commonly held belief was that hatching at night enabled the babies to stay safe from as many predators as possible. But that was the last thing Lilly needed to be concerned about.

  “It would be better in the sun. Then they can see the water by their selfs.”

  “That makes sense to me, but if they only hatch at night, then there must be a pretty good reason. That’s why I’m going to help Dr. Langley get more grant money and donations. Then he can grow this research facility and find out more about why sea turtles do what they do.”

  Lilly thought about that as Morgan straightened again. Her hand tightened on his and he looked down at her upturned face. “Maybe they’re scared—because they don’t have a mama. So they come out at night when no one will see them.” She tugged on his hand. “They aren’t scared of the dark, are they?”

  Morgan began to rethink his great idea about showing Lilly the egg mound. He’d thought it would be educational and interesting. He hadn’t meant to give her something else to worry about. “I think maybe they’re excited. After all, they get to go for their first swim.”

  Lilly’s worried frown smoothed a little. “I like to swim. Miss Pam teached me.”

  “I like to swim, too.” Morgan recalled his own swimming lessons, though he’d been younger than Lilly. His swimming instructor had been Mr. Hans. He and Asher had learned at the same time, even though he’d been a year-and-a-half younger. He’d been trying to catch up to his older brother pretty much from the moment he understood he had one.

  “Who will teach the turtles to swim?”

  “Well, I think they’re all pretty good swimmers by nature. Remember how I showed you the pictures with their funny feet? Shaped like little paddles?”

  “Paddle feet.” She nodded, then smiled at that.

  Just like that, his whole world smiled, too. “Yep.”

  “Why do they swim at night? You’re not ’posed to swim in the dark.”

  He swung her around, and made her squeal. It wasn’t often he heard that sound from her anymore. “Unless you have paddle feet. Then you can swim all the time.”

  “I want to be a paddle feet!” She let out a laugh, and he hugged her. He didn’t know exactly what it was going to take to heal his heart, but hearing her laugh again was a pretty good start. He needed to figure out how to give more of them to her in return.

  “Moggy, you’re crushing me,” she said with an exaggerated gasp only a five-year-old could pull off with any real credibility.

  “Sorry.” But he was still smiling as he kissed the top of her head. He carried her through the dunes on the sand-swept path, back to where he’d parked the car, then set her down next to his Range Rover.

  He opened the rear passenger door and helped her climb in and get strapped into her seat. He kissed her on her forehead and tugged a lock of her dark hair, then ducked his tall frame back out of the SUV. He was about to close the door when he noticed Lilly was looking back at the dunes.

  He glanced in the same direction, but didn’t see anything. When he looked back at her, her serious face was back. She kept staring at the dunes.

  “They’re going to be okay, Lills.”

  She looked up at him almost defiantly. “Promise?”

  Morgan’s heart squeezed again. “We’ll talk about it with Dr. Langley.”

  “He has the turtle fa . . . felicity?”

  “Facility. Research center. He’s in charge of taking care of the turtles here on the island.”

  “Will he help them swim like Miss Pam did . . . after they’re borned?”

  “That’s why he’s here.”

  “They won’t be scared of him?”

  “You weren’t scared of Miss Pam, were you?” He thought again of Hans, and realized maybe he shouldn’t have asked that. Hans had been pretty imposing.

  Lilly shook her head. “I liked her. But I was scared of the water.”

  “Then Miss Pam helped you, and you liked the water, too, right?”

  She nodded.

  “The turtles won’t be scared with Dr. Langley. You can usually tell when people want to help you.”

  “Like you helped me after mama and daddy went to heaven?”

  Everything in Morgan went utterly still. It was the first time she’d mentioned them since . . . well, since shortly after she’d been told about the accident. That had been nine months ago.

  “Yeah,” he managed, though how he did it over the fist-sized lump in his throat he couldn’t have said. “Exactly like that.” He leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. “How about if you go see Dr. Langley with me? Maybe he can show you some of the turtles he’s taking care of in the research center.”

  Her far-too-wise and wary gaze settled on his. “Real turtles?”

  “Just like the ones that are inside those eggs on the beach.”

  “Yes, please,” she replied, almost too politely.

  It had Morgan glancing at her again as he straightened. He recognized that restrained note in her tone.

  Her eyes were shining with delight, but she sat, ankles crossed, hands in her lap, and when she’d replied just then, she’d sounded like . . . his mother. Not that there was anything wrong with proper manners. He was all for folks being polite to one another. But a kid should, at heart, be able to relax and be a kid. Especially this one.

  It was precisely why he’d left Atlanta at the first acceptable opportunity, though his mother and he had differed quite vociferously on what constituted acceptable.

  “Okay.” He climbed in the front seat and started the engine. Smiling at her in the rearview mirror, he gave her a wink and pushed thoughts of Olivia Westlake and that battle royal from his mind. “It’s a date.”

  Lilly settled back in her seat, seemingly content. For the moment anyway.

  He’d come back from Colorado for the funeral and to take on his legal role as Lilly’s guardian. Asher and his wife Delilah had chosen him as Lilly’s godfather right after her birth so he wasn’t surprised they’d named him as her guardian in the unlikely event anything happened to them both.

  He’d taken his godparent role happily and seriously and had made an extra effort to fulfill it, despite the geographical distance. But being the fun uncle was a world apart from being a full-time parent.

  He’d stayed on at the family compound in Atlanta until after Lilly’s birthday, but they’d been completely on their own, one-on-one, for the past month. He was still in the di
scovery phase of learning how many questions one little girl could ask. She’d had a staff of people to keep up with her, and he was swiftly realizing even they might have found it a daunting task.

  Of course, being the insatiably curious sort himself, he rather liked and admired that trait in her. Though his rigidly formal family would have begged to differ, he’d always thought asking questions about any and everything was the best way for a person to figure things out. So much so, he’d made a career out of it.

  He might know zip about child rearing, and a lot of what lay ahead was terrifying if he thought about it too much, but he knew there were certain things he wasn’t going to do. He wasn’t going to squelch a child’s curiosity or stifle her unique voice, her desire to learn, to grow.

  “Moggy?”

  “Yeah, sweet pea?”

  “How did the turtles get inside the eggs?”

  He choked on a short laugh. And you were saying, smart guy?

  Morgan ripped the tape off the bottom of another moving box, flattened it, and added it to the stack. His place on Sugarberry was smaller than the cabin-style A-frame he’d had in Steamboat Springs, but mostly what he missed was the big storage shed he’d had out west. Despite the fact that winter was almost upon them, he had a lot of winter-related gear he wasn’t going to need on the far more temperate Georgia coast, and the small garage he had now barely held his truck. Maybe he’d rent a storage place over the causeway in Savannah. He’d originally planned on finding office space there, too. It was only a twenty-five minute hop from the island, not a bad commute. Lilly would be in school most of the time, once he got her enrolled, and by the time the following summer rolled around, he’d have something worked out for when she wasn’t.

  He was already in talks with another facility farther down the barrier island chain, on Jekyll Island, to help with some adjunct legal work they needed, when the research center thing had sort of landed in his lap. He and Lilly had only officially moved into the cottage a few weeks ago, but he was already finding a deeper connection to the island than he’d anticipated. He’d decided to relocate to Sugarberry because of Lilly’s maternal grandmother—well, both grandmothers, just in different ways—and because it was as close to the way of life he’d sought out and found in Colorado as he could find and still keep Lilly surrounded and supported by what family she had left.