by Debbie Mason
And he hadn’t said a word to her about the changes, other than to slam her decision to keep the bakery and stay in Christmas. “So when did she decide to move on?”
“Well, I, ah, might’ve had something to do with that. Now, don’t go getting your shorts in a twist. You would’ve told her the same thing. You heard Dr. McBride the other night. In the last few months, she’d lost a lot of weight. Her father’s a general, she knows the score. I think she’d finally admitted to herself that you weren’t coming home. Leave it to you, flyboy, to beat the odds.” He lifted a shoulder. “I told her to let you go, and no, it wasn’t about me. It was about her.”
Sawyer was right. In his place, Jack would’ve told her the same. And while it wasn’t easy to hear his best friend had feelings for his wife, who knew how much more difficult it would’ve been for Grace without Sawyer to lend his support. “Thank you for being there for her,” he said gruffly and extended his hand.
Sawyer grinned. Instead of taking Jack’s hand, he got him in a headlock and gave him a noogie.
“Okay, enough already. I’m going to puke.” Jack reached up to break his hold and they ended up rolling around on the porch.
“Are they fighting again or playing?” Jack looked up to see Fred ask Ted, from where they watched in the doorway.
“Playing, I think,” Ted answered, adding, “Boys, you better watch…”
Sawyer and Jack hit the porch railing and rolled right through the rotted posts. They fell off the porch, landing in the weeds.
They looked at each other and grinned. “Just like old times,” Jack said.
“Yeah.” Sawyer punched him in the shoulder. “Good to have you back, buddy.”
“Good to be back, dickhead.” Jack punched him in the arm.
Fred waved them in with a hammer. “Don’t want to interrupt the reunion, boys, but there’s work to be done.”
“I guess we better get in there or they’ll report us to Gage. I was late, and you were later. They’re making us put in overtime,” Sawyer said.
Jack looked up at the Pepto-Bismol-pink eyesore. “They should just tear the place down.” He never understood why people would tie themselves to a house. As far as he was concerned, they were money pits. He dug his phone from his pocket. “I’ll be in in a minute. I have to call Grace, let her know I’ll be late for dinner. Although, after this morning, she may have withdrawn the invitation.”
Sawyer frowned. “What happened?”
Jack figured he might as well tell him. He was going to hear about it anyway. So he did. He told him everything—about Maria, about Grace kicking him out of the apartment, and about the shitshow at the bakery earlier.
Sawyer whistled when he finished. “You’ve got a tough road ahead of you, buddy.”
“What do you mean?”
“You and I both know how amazing Grace is, but someone did a number on your wife. Don’t take this the wrong way, I know it’s not like you had any control over it, but the fact you forgot her and little Jack didn’t help. And after what you told her about you and Maria, you’re going to have a hard time convincing her you weren’t in love with the woman. The sooner you get Maria out of town, the better. Once she’s gone, the odds of winning back your wife are good.”
Good wasn’t good enough for Jack. He had to figure out a way to strengthen the odds. “Since you know my wife so well, how about you give me some help winning her back?”
“You’re killing me, man. Have some pity on a guy and give me time to fall out of love with her.”
“You really are a dickhead, you know.”
Sawyer grinned, then looked up at the house. “If you’re serious about winning her back, you should buy this place for her.”
“Did you hit your head when you fell off the porch? I don’t want a house, and even if I did, it sure as hell wouldn’t be this one.”
“Too bad, because your wife wants one. She always has. And I hate to tell you, buddy, this is the one she wants.”
“You can’t be serious. How do you figure that?”
“Haven’t seen a sugar plum cake yet, have you?”
“No.” And after learning about Grace’s sugar plum wish, he wasn’t sure he wanted to. “But I couldn’t get Nell and Madison to shut up about them yesterday.”
“Well, we’re here on Sugar Plum Lane, and your wife owns the Sugar Plum Bakery and puts a pink Victorian on all her sugar plum cakes. Sensing a pattern here?”
“Yeah,” he muttered, like staying in Christmas, buying a house that looked like it belonged in a horror movie wasn’t on his bucket list. But it sounded like it was on his wife’s, and at that moment, Jack would do anything to win her back. “How much do you think it’ll go for?”
“They’re auctioning it off, but my guess would be around two fifty once the renovations are done.”
“I doubt the bank would approve me for that much.”
At the roar of an engine, Sawyer glanced over his shoulder as a red Mustang squealed in behind Jack’s Harley. “Too bad, but at least you’ll be able to take care of the Maria problem.”
Jack shoved his hands in his jeans pockets. Sawyer was right. After what she’d pulled at the bakery, it was time for Maria to leave town.
“Looks like the lady’s on a mission,” Sawyer said.
“Jack,” Maria called out, slamming her car door. “I’m glad I found you.”
“What’s up?” he asked as she picked her way along the stone path toward them.
She glanced from him to Sawyer and extended her hand. “Hi. Maria DeMarco.”
“I know who you are,” Sawyer said, giving her an unfriendly, assessing look. A couple of awkward seconds passed before he relented and took her proffered hand. “Sawyer Anderson. Grace’s best friend.”
Jack rubbed a hand over his mouth to hide his grin. Maria gave Sawyer a tight smile, then said, “Jack, I need to talk to you about something.”
“Yeah, I need to talk to you, too.”
She shot Sawyer a buzz-off look. It didn’t work, which suited Jack just fine. “Maria?” he prompted.
“Oh, right,” she said, obviously flustered. “I just got a call from my publisher. They want the completed manuscript by July fifteenth. I really need your help with this, Jack.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea. Not after what you pulled today. My wife—”
“Please don’t say no.” She gave him a desperate look. “I’m getting a seven-figure advance. I’ll pay you fifteen percent to consult on the book.”
Jack was about to say no, when Sawyer gestured toward the house. “You might want to think about her offer before you reject it out of hand, buddy.”
Chapter Sixteen
Are you sure you don’t mind?” Grace asked Skye as they loaded up the afternoon’s deliveries in the van. Stu had stormed from the bakery after the press conference, accusing Grace of being just like his wife. He didn’t give her a chance to explain. Instead, he roughly shoved the van’s keys at her and quit.
Grace was grateful that Skye had stuck around when Madison left to drop off little Jack at the sitter on her way to a meeting at the town hall.
“For the last time, no, I don’t mind,” Skye said as she got in the white van. “Now go talk to your husband.”
“Thanks, Skye. I will.” Hopefully he was in the mood to listen.
She hadn’t heard from him since she’d lost it in the bakery, and he hadn’t responded to her phone calls and texts. Her cheeks heated at the memory of how she’d acted. Yes, her rat fink sister-in-law and Maria had pushed her beyond her limits, but Grace should’ve known better and kept her temper in check. She couldn’t lose Jack, not over a misunderstanding. And that’s why, after her last attempt to reach him, she decided to head to the house on Sugar Plum Lane and explain to him face-to-face.
It would’ve been hard enough for him to hear that she’d said good-bye to him that night, but to hear it in the way that he had, in the middle of a press conference with everyone looking on, m
ust’ve been unbearable. There was nothing he valued more than honesty—honesty and trust. A small part of her rebelled at the thought he expected her to trust there was no longer anything between him and Maria. A woman who with every look, with every action, said she wanted Jack and she intended to have him.
Grace’s pulse kicked up at the thought, and she opened the door to the bakery, calling out to the pretty brunette with the purple streaks in her hair. “Desiree, if you’re okay, I’ll leave now. I should be back in about an hour.”
The twenty-four-year-old looked up from spraying the display case with glass cleaner and took in the two teenage girls sitting at the table by the window. “Shouldn’t be a problem.”
But it was. And five minutes after searching the apartment from top to bottom, Grace returned to the bakery.
Desiree lifted a pierced brow. “How come you’re back so soon?”
“I couldn’t find Jack’s keys to the truck.” She tried not to think of him tearing up the mountain roads on his bike. She’d been worried ever since she’d seen him take off on his Harley, looking big, bad, and very mad.
“You can borrow my bike if you want,” Desiree offered.
“That’s a great idea. Thanks.”
* * *
Fifteen minutes later, Grace realized accepting Desiree’s offer had been a bad idea. Her breath sawed painfully in and out as she pedaled up the hill, sweat dripping into her eyes. She swiped a hand across her brow, then pulled her pink ruffled, sleeveless blouse from where it stuck to her chest. She hadn’t realized how out of shape she was until now.
A relieved breath pushed past her dry throat upon reaching the top of the hill. Then noting the steep descent, she groaned, “Oh no.” So much for taking the shortcut to Sugar Plum Lane. With a light squeeze to her brakes, she stopped pedaling and prayed. She sailed down the hill like a four-year-old who’d had her training wheels removed for the first time. At Grace’s squawk of panic, two older women toddling up the sidewalk stopped to look at her.
From behind came the roar of an engine, and Grace nervously edged closer to the curb, veering to the right to avoid getting hit when a red Mustang zoomed past her. The bicycle’s tire bounced against the sidewalk at an awkward angle, causing an out-of-control wobble. Grace lost her balance, and both she and the bike toppled over.
“Are you all right, dear?” the older woman with blue-gray hair asked, shuffling to her side.
“Yes, thank you,” Grace said, as she levered herself up on her hands and knees, wincing at the sharp sting in her palms.
The woman’s friend righted the bike while Grace unsteadily came to her feet. “Hooligan. We should call the sheriff,” the stern-faced woman muttered, scowling after the Mustang that turned onto Sugar Plum Lane.
The woman was right. They should call Gage, Grace thought as the car took the corner at a dangerous speed. She went back to brushing off her black pants and winced. The left knee was torn, and there were dark streaks where she’d wiped off the dirt. She turned over her hands to discover they were scraped and bleeding. Pulling tissues from their purses, the older women made sympathetic noises. With their help, Grace cleaned herself up. Five minutes later, she’d set herself to rights and thanked the two women, inviting them to stop by the bakery anytime for a complimentary coffee and cupcake.
Grace walked the bike to the bottom of the hill, then got back on, releasing a pained yelp when she tightened her grip on the handlebars. This, she decided, was one of the worst ideas she’d ever had. The feeling increased tenfold when she turned onto the tree-lined street and saw the red Mustang parked in front of the pink Victorian. Maria, who still had on the sexy white body-hugging halter dress, stood with Jack and Sawyer in the front yard.
Grace’s gaze dropped self-consciously to the old-school blue metallic bike and her conservative clothes. Well, it wasn’t as if she could wear a dress while riding a bike, now, was it? she thought peevishly, putting on the brakes. She got off the bike and started toward them. Jack said something to Maria, and the gorgeous brunette tossed her long hair like a model in a shampoo commercial. Grace pictured what her own sweat-dampened hair must look like beneath the pink Hello Kitty helmet, and lost her nerve. She went to wheel the bike around before they saw her. At least Jack was safe. She’d call him once she got back to the bakery.
Then she heard his low, raspy laugh, and a spurt of temper overcame her self-consciousness. She spun the bike around. He wouldn’t be laughing when he found out that Maria had run her off the road. Dragging in a going-into-battle breath, she straightened her shoulders and strode down the sidewalk to the house. Sawyer saw her and nudged Jack.
Her husband glanced over his shoulder, his gaze moving from the bike to her head. His lips twitched. “Hey, I was just going to call you,” he said as he started toward her.
Sure he was, she thought, with a hard kick to the stand. She went to meet him on the path, then remembered she had on the stupid helmet. She didn’t know which was worse, leaving it on or taking it off. She took it off. “I’ve been trying to call you. I was worried about you.”
He opened his mouth, then frowned. “What happened?” Crouching in front of her, he gently moved the torn fabric to check out her knee.
“Maria ran me off the road.”
He blinked. “Come again?”
She told him what had happened, and he came to his feet. Aiming a censorious look at Maria while placing a protective hand on Grace’s shoulder, he said, “You ran my wife off the road?”
Sawyer, who’d overheard the last part as he came to join them, lobbed an accusatory stare in the other woman’s direction.
“I didn’t run anyone off the road.”
“Yes, you did, and I have witnesses. But at the speed you were going, I was probably just a blur, and you didn’t notice me.” Or maybe she thought it was a good way to get Grace out of the picture once and for all.
“I was going pretty fast,” the woman admitted with a nervous glance at Jack, “so I guess it’s possible, but I honestly didn’t see you.”
Grace snorted inwardly, because she’d never snort out loud.
Maria continued, “I’m sorry if I ran you off the road. I hope you weren’t hurt.” Grace had to admit, she appeared to be genuinely sorry.
“Not badly, no.”
Rubbing his thumb over her collarbone, Jack angled his head. “You sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine. But I…” She glanced from Maria to Sawyer. “I really need to talk to you.”
He turned Grace to face him and lifted his hand, smoothing back the hair plastered to her cheek. “I know why you did what you did. Sawyer told me everything,” he said, his voice low and gentle.
Maybe not as low as she thought, because Sawyer gave Grace a conspiratorial wink, and Maria’s eyes narrowed. Grace sent Sawyer a grateful smile before saying to Jack, “You’re not mad at me anymore?”
“No.” He kissed her forehead. “Not at you.”
Maria moved closer, extending her hand. “We haven’t been formally introduced. I’m Maria DeMarco.”
Like I don’t know who you are, lady. Grace snorted. Oops. She cleared her throat and took the woman’s hand. “I have allergies.” The corner of Jack’s mouth quirked. “Grace Flaherty.”
“I’m sorry we got off on the wrong foot. I’m sure you understand, given the circumstances, that I was just trying to protect Jack.” Maria smiled up at him then returned her attention to Grace, giving her an expectant look.
Did she actually expect her to apologize? Yeah right. “Of course I do. Jack’s the type of guy who brings out every woman’s protective instincts. Goodness knows, a six-foot-three man carrying two hundred and ten pounds of lethal muscle needs all the protection he can get.”
Jack’s brows shot up. The sweet smile Grace gave him faltered when she caught Maria eyeing all those muscles before she twisted her gorgeous face in a hurt expression.
“Grace, I think…” Jack began, looking uncomfortable.
Sh
e frowned. He can’t be serious? The woman sabotaged her at the press conference and ran her off the road.
“Don’t get angry with your wife on my account,” Maria intervened, rubbing his arm.
Grace fought back the urge to rip the woman’s red talons from her husband’s bicep. Instead, she searched Jack’s face. What was Maria talking about? He wasn’t angry. Embarrassed, maybe—which was ridiculous, he had no reason to be, not on her account.
She returned her attention to Maria, who continued speaking. “I totally understand where Grace is coming from. I just hope that you won’t let our petty differences interfere with Jack working on the book, Grace. He doesn’t deserve to lose out on a fabulous opportunity because you feel threatened.”
Petty… threatened… Grace fumed, then focused on the important part. “What book are you talking about?” she asked at the same time Jack said, “Maria, I told you I wanted to talk to Grace before I gave you my answer.”
“Your answer on what?”
“Maria asked me to consult on her book.”
Sawyer, who’d remained quiet up until then, must’ve noticed the shocked expression on Grace’s face, because he said, “Maria’s offered Jack a lot of money to consult on the book. I think he should do it.”
It wasn’t a secret that they could use the money. But she’d bet her last dollar Maria DeMarco wanted more from Jack than help with her book. Honestly, Jack and Sawyer were clueless if they couldn’t see through the woman. Then again, most men acted like idiots around a beautiful woman. And Maria DeMarco was beautiful.
Grace wasn’t about to let the woman think she’d pulled the wool over her eyes. She’d have to be some kind of masochist to let her husband work with Maria. No, it was time to nip this in the bud. “I’m not sure what petty differences you’re referring to, but Jack has a lot on his plate right now. He’s very busy doing volunteer work for Gage, and I’m busy with the bakery. Taking on a project like this would interfere with our family time. And money isn’t an issue. The bakery’s doing very well.”
“I’m sorry, are you saying Jack can’t work on the book with me?”
