The Bad Luck Wedding Cake

by Geralyn Dawson

  She faintly heard a crash like breaking glass and took it to be the sound of her defenses dissolving. Drinking of her passion, he cast his spell around her, through her, into the very heart of her. She ached for him to hold her tight, and somehow he knew it. He pulled her closer, molding her to him. He was hard, so different from her; his chest a granite cliff against the pillow of her breasts, his arms iron shackles holding her captive.

  And she gloried in all of it.

  Then suddenly he was gone, retreated to the far end of the swing. His mouth, so soft and entreating mere seconds before, now lay set in a thin, angry line. Dazed and confused, Claire lifted her fingers to her kiss-swollen lips.

  “Don’t try it with me, lady,” he growled. “I’ve been down this road before. I won’t play the fool and be tricked again.”

  The swing swung crookedly as he jerked to his feet.

  Swiping his hat off the railing he shoved it on his head and said, “Tell the girls I had to leave. I’ll meet them back at Willow Hill.”

  Before she could muster a response he was gone.

  A cricket chirped from the geranium pot beside the front door as Claire sat in stupefied silence. What in the world had just happened here? What did he mean “tricked”?

  She sat on the swing for a good five minutes before the shock wore off and she started thinking straight again. She considered getting angry at the way he’d kissed and run, but she recognized the reaction. Tye had acted just like her brothers did when something had them spooked.

  A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. She found the idea of her kiss affecting a man like McBride so strongly downright appealing.

  She bent over to unlace her shoes, and kicked them off. With one stockinged foot she gave the swing a push, then tucked her legs beneath her, humming her brother Brian’s favorite drinking song in a low, indulgent voice.

  She felt wonderful. Warm and tingly and happy. He’d made her fly.

  An Irish-Texan witch, he’d called her. Claire leaned her head back against the swing and smiled as she relived his kiss in her mind. He certainly had done his share of enchanting. He’d held her spellbound.

  In a voice that all but purred, she closed her eyes and murmured, “Well, if I’m a witch, then Tye McBride most certainly is a wizard.”

  ***

  IN KATRINA’S bedroom at Willow Hill, Emma practiced flirting smiles in a hand mirror while Kat searched her wardrobe for her hidden hoard of cotton. Maribeth sat on the edge of the bed, her brow puckered with worry as she stared at Spike’s bowl. Abruptly, she stood and plunged her hands into the water and yanked out the fish.

  Holding him up to her face, she chanted, “Spike, Spike, tell us true. Tell us what we need to do. How do we pay for the vase we broke in Miss Blackstone’s front parlor? Should we steal money from Miss Donovan’s bakery?” Maribeth gently laid the perch upon her bedroom floor and waited for it to foretell her future.

  “Oh, put Spike away,” Emma said, lowering the mirror as the fish flopped under the bed. “We’re not going to steal money. Even we aren’t that bad.”

  “That’s right,” Katrina said. “If we did that and Mama ever found out about it she’d cry. I don’t ever want to make Mama cry.”

  Maribeth sighed heavily and, careful of the fish’s prickly fins, lifted him and returned him to his bowl. “I guess y’all are right. I wouldn’t want to upset Mama. Although I doubt it would bother Uncle Tye. I don’t think anything we did would make him too mad.”

  Emma crossed to the window and looked out over the backyard. Beneath the big pecan tree, Ralph nipped at their uncle’s heels while he hammered nails into boards for the tree house Maribeth had requested. “I think Uncle Tye gets mad. He just doesn’t let us know it ‘cause then he’d have to get after us, and he doesn’t want to do that.”

  The wardrobe hinge squeaked as Katrina shut it, then joined her sister at the window, rubbing her nose with a hunk of fluffy cotton. “Do you think Papa knew when he left that Uncle Tye would let us run wild?”

  “He doesn’t let us run wild,” Maribeth protested. “For the most part he keeps real close watch on us. If we get in trouble, it’s our fault, not Uncle Tye’s.”

  Outside, their uncle glanced up and noticed them watching. Katrina returned his wave and said, “I didn’t say it was his fault. It’s really all your fault, Mari. You’re the one who broke the vase when you looked out onto the porch and saw Uncle Tye kissing Miss Donovan.” Frowning, she turned away from the window, put her fists on her hips, and added, “I don’t know why you’re so set in your mind against Miss Donovan anyway. I’ve decided I like her. She doesn’t stink anymore. She makes yummy muffins and she’s pretty and she’s nice when we’re not messing up her kitchen. Uncle Tye likes her. He wouldn’t kiss her if he didn’t.”

  “It’s not that anything is wrong with Miss Donovan. It’s just that she’s not as right for Uncle Tye as Miss Loretta,” Emma explained, propping her bottom on the windowsill.

  “Why not?”

  Maribeth pressed a kiss against Spike’s bowl, then said, “You know, Kat. Remember what we heard when we snooped on Mama and Papa that day? Remember how Mama said the best way to get Uncle Tye to stay and live in Fort Worth is for him to marry a local girl? Then Papa said Loretta Davis would be perfect for Tye, and Papa ought to know ‘cause he and Uncle are twins.”

  “But Papa didn’t know Miss Donovan,” Katrina protested, scowling at her sister.

  “Did too. He rented her his building and Mama’s old house.”

  “But he never tasted her muffins. He never saw her save our lives. He never watched Uncle Tye kiss her.” Katrina folded her arms and stuck out her tongue at Maribeth.

  “You two hush,” Emma said. “Bickering amongst us doesn’t solve anything. The fact is, Katrina, Papa and Mama agreed that Miss Loretta is the one for our uncle so we can feel good that she is the right choice.”

  “I don’t think Uncle Tye feels too good about Miss Loretta, though,” Maribeth said glumly. “I don’t think he’s sweet on her at all. I’ve never seen him look at Miss Loretta like he wants to kiss her. That’s how he looks at Miss Donovan all the time.”

  “That’s what worries me most,” Emma said. “Miss Donovan loves that beautiful Mr. Sundine. We heard her say so herself.”

  “I’m not sure she meant arrow-through-the-heart love,” Maribeth said. “She did say something about his being a brother.”

  “We couldn’t hear that part good and, besides, it makes no sense. Look at how gorgeous Mr. Sundine is. I’d love him myself if I were older.” Emma slowly shook her head. “No, I don’t think we can champion Miss Donovan. If we try to make a match with Uncle Tye and Miss Donovan, and he falls in love with her but she doesn’t love him back because she already loves Mr. Sundine, then Uncle Tye’s heart will be broken and he’ll go home to South Carolina for sure. I don’t know about you, but I’m not willing to risk it.”

  Katrina sniffed. “Miss Donovan would be stupid to love Mr. Sundine instead of Uncle Tye. Uncle Tye’s the very best there is. Except for Papa, of course.”

  “Well, I don’t think Uncle Tye is all that sweet on Miss Donovan after all now that he’s kissed her,” Maribeth observed. “You saw how he marched away from her as soon as it was over. He didn’t look happy. Plus, he was so very grumpy last night after supper.”

  “That’s right,” Emma agreed. “He only played one game of poker with us.”

  Katrina obviously wasn’t ready to give up. “He was grumpy because he lost the game.”

  “He always loses, Kat.” Emma wrinkled her nose, disgusted with the argument. “He loses to us on purpose, haven’t you figured that out yet?”

  “He does?”

  “Yes, he does. Uncle Tye likes being sneaky. Look at the etiquette lessons. I thought for sure we had worked it so he would hire Miss Loretta to teach us.”

  “Instead he hires our schoolteacher,” Maribeth grumbled. “It’s not like we don’t get enough of being with Miss Bl
ackstone at school.”

  All three girls nodded glumly, then Emma continued, “I’ll tell Uncle Tye tomorrow we want to quit the etiquette lessons. He won’t tell me no about that. But we’ll still need to come up with money to pay for the vase. I don’t know about y’all, but I don’t cotton to Uncle Tye’s suggestion we work in the convent laundry for Sister Gonzaga in order to earn the price. Also, we need to come up with another good plan to throw Miss Loretta and Uncle Tye together. Mama and Papa will be back from their trip soon, and unless Uncle Tye is married to Miss Loretta, he’ll go back to South Carolina. We’re running out of time, sisters.”

  “I agree,” Maribeth said. “But what can we do about it?”

  Emma stared at her sisters. “I think we have no option but to use our secret weapon.”

  Katrina gasped. “You mean, Madam LaRue?”

  “I’m afraid so.” Chewing on her lower lips, Emma looked at Maribeth. “We could use our spelling bee plan and pay for both the vase and Madam LaRue. What do you think?”

  Mari scrunched up her face in thought and scratched her head just behind her left ear. “The spelling bee. I don’t know, Em. Like Papa sometimes says, that’s heavy artillery. It could backfire on us.”

  “True. But, like Papa also says, if a person wants something bad enough, sometimes he’s simply got to take a chance. Remember, we robbed a train to help Mama before she married Papa. The spelling bee plan isn’t any worse than that.”

  “Yeah it is,” Maribeth protested. “Remember how upset with us Papa was after the train incident? Remember what he said about stealing? Why, if we were to get caught doing the spelling bee plan, he’d sure as a Sunday sermon kill us.”

  “We won’t get caught,” Emma assured her. “Not this time. And besides, Papa isn’t here, and Uncle Tye wouldn’t do anything to us even if we deserved it.”

  Maribeth nodded, then turned to Katrina. “What do you say, Kat? For this to be a success, we have to work together.”

  “I still say there’s nothing wrong with Miss Donovan, but I do like Miss Loretta and I love kitties because I’m Papa’s Katie-Cat I reckon dealing with Madam LaRue is worth Uncle Tye’s happiness. I’m a little scared of the spelling bee plan, though. How about we talk it over with Spike?”

  As one, the three girls turned to stare at Spike, the fortune-teller fish, swimming placidly in his bowl.

  ***

  THE KISS haunted him.

  The Kiss replayed itself nightly in his dreams, stealing the rest from his slumber, causing him to awaken tired and grouchy more mornings than not. Tired and grouchy and horny as hell.

  He needed a woman. If he had any sense at all, he’d visit Hell’s Half Acre and partake of one of the physical pleasures for sale within its confines. But he didn’t. When it came right down to it, he didn’t want a whore. He didn’t want black and white. He wanted gray this time. Gray, all wrapped up in a package of sunshine and laughter and Magic.

  He wanted Claire. Damn him for a fool.

  After the Kiss he stayed away from her for a week. Then one day, unaccountably, his feet carried him right into her shop.

  And now here he was sitting at a table in The Confectionary sipping on a root beer as he debated an editorial in today’s Daily Democrat with the sorceress herself.

  I don’t have the sense God gave a horned lizard.

  He couldn’t say why he’d stopped by the bakery after helping Mrs. Moore rearrange furniture in Fortune’s Design. He couldn’t say why he was enjoying the debate so much, either. But he was. Claire Donovan was sure something else. Despite being a newcomer to Fort Worth, she was obviously quite civic-minded. She certainly demonstrated an interest in local affairs and a good grasp on the politics of the town. Plus, the woman loved to argue.

  Tye enjoyed the intellectual stimulation himself. He found it helped keep his mind sharp, a critical component to a man whose primary job at the moment was riding herd over the McBride Blessings. He’d be glad when the ranch was up in operation. As things stood, he didn’t feel like a rancher, but he couldn’t honestly call himself a planter anymore. Be damned if he’d list babysitter as his current occupation. Still, that was better than the title some folks around here wanted to pin on him— British Lord with Money to Burn.

  Claire thumped the glass top of the display case with her little fist. “The system is essential if this town ever wants to be more than just a frontier outpost. Just yesterday one of my customers told me a survey taken a couple of years ago found that a full third of Fort Worth’s youngsters can’t read or write. Private schools simply aren’t doing the job.”

  Tye wanted to lick his lips at the picture she made. Instead he arched a brow and drawled, “Careful you don’t break your case, there, gal. Can’t sell crullers filled with glass. And listen closer to me next time. You misunderstood what I said. I’m not against public schools. I think the city should offer its children a public education. All I said was that Trace’s girls have done well in private school.”

  Warming to his subject, he leaned forward. “Why, you should see Emma do arithmetic. She’s so fast she all but burns up the chalk. And Maribeth, she can spell like no other nine-year-old I’ve ever seen. She’s even entered in the next monthly spelling bee the Fort Worth Literary Society holds.”

  “I’ve just joined that society,” Claire replied, rearing back in surprise. “I understood they implemented the spelling bee a few months ago in order to raise funds. I have to say I’m surprised to hear that Maribeth is entered. I was under the impression that the contest was just for adults.”

  “No.” Tye shook his head and took a sip of his drink. “Emma asked the group’s president. He checked the bylaws and found no rule saying a child couldn’t enter, so he told her to go ahead.”

  Claire pursed her lips. He wanted to run his thumb across them. She said, “I’m told Miss Loretta Davis wins the contest every month. How does Maribeth feel about losing? Is she competitive?”

  “That might not be a problem,” he replied, shrugging. “Mari’s been studying like she means it. I won’t be a bit surprised to see her do well.”

  Claire poured herself a cup of coffee, then brought it to Tye’s table. Sitting down, she said, “I guess she has plenty of time for it now that etiquette lessons have been canceled.”

  She smelled of marshmallow and Magic. Grimacing, he took a sip of root beer. “I hope Miss Blackstone’s feelings weren’t hurt. But once Emma told me they would be too nervous to continue, I didn’t see any sense in taking more lessons.”

  Claire laughed softly. “Believe me, Letty’s feelings were far from hurt. Unlike her vase.”

  “Hey, now.” Tye was affronted. “I paid for that vase. And I’m even gonna make the girls work to earn off the price.”

  Feigning surprise, she reared back in her seat. “Careful there, McBride, you’re sounding like a proper papa. Just think, perhaps by the time your brother comes home, you’ll actually have administered a disciplinary act.”

  “Oh, hush,” he grumbled, his mood somewhat dampened. Funny, but the thought of Trace’s return left him feeling a little strange. He truly enjoyed playing father to the girls. But, of course, playing was all it was. Katrina wasn’t his. For years he’d believed a lie, believed that his twin had stolen Tye’s own daughter when he ran away from Oak Grove and disappeared in the wilderness of the West. Only recently had Tye found out otherwise. The knowledge that he wasn’t a father after all was, at times, a bitter pill to swallow.

  Claire eyed him thoughtfully, then nodded and changed the subject by reaching for the newspaper. “Other than the battle over private versus public schools, let’s see what else is in the Daily Democrat today. Hmm…here’s a pleasant headline: “FIEND ATTACKS AN INVALID LADY IN HER BED, CHOKES HER UNTIL THE BLOOD OOZES FROM HER MOUTH AND NOSE, ACCOMPLISHES HIS DESIGN!!”

  “The newspaper’s journalistic style does lean toward the sensational, doesn’t it?” Tye wryly observed.

  Nodding, Claire licked her thumb a
nd started turning through the pages.

  So much for dampened moods. Now he wanted to mimic her actions with his tongue.

  “Well, look at this,” she said, her voice lifting with delight. “It’s an article about my shop. He never even told me he’d been interviewed.”

  He. The word jerked Tye from his sensual haze. She must mean this fella Sundine she’d hired. Scowling, he reached over and grabbed the newspaper away from the baker. He’d heard that Claire had a helper working for her now, another newcomer to town. And to be honest, that was one of the reasons he’d decided to stop by for a soda. Mrs. Moore had mentioned that the Swede usually worked this time of day. And Claire didn’t. He’d wanted to see what this fella Sundine was all about without running into Claire.

  So why, when he’d walked in the door and found her instead of him, hadn’t he turned around and left? Why had he ordered a root beer and made himself at home?

  She’s a dangerous woman, McBride. A dangerous woman.

  He turned his attention to the story, quickly scanning the text. It was a typical welcome-a-new-business-to-town type piece. Lars Sundine. Lars. Why did that name seem familiar? “This is all about The Confectionary. Why did they interview him instead of you?”

  “Because Wilhemina Peters is a woman, that’s why. And Lars is very much a man.”

  Tye snorted and continued reading. As he reached the end, his frown slid into a scowl. “He shouldn’t have quoted a sales figure. It’s an invitation to robbery.”

  She waved off his concern. “I don’t worry about robbers. Lars is huge. Hands as big as a bear.” With a chuckle she added, “I wouldn’t want to find myself on the wrong end of a rolling pin around him.”

  Good Lord, she actually giggled. The sound grated like chalk on a schoolboy’s slate. What was wrong with Claire, acting like a simpering female? She was smarter than that, wasn’t she?

  Maybe she’d gotten stupid over the past few weeks. Women had been known to do that for various reasons, and he hadn’t seen much of her since he moved the Blessings back to Trace’s house. Except for the other afternoon, he’d kept far away from Claire Donovan and her damned Magic shop. Except for the Kiss. He’d been up close and personal with her then, by God. The ache in his loins had reminded him of that fact off and on ever since.