The Bad Luck Wedding Cake

by Geralyn Dawson

  Emma shook her head, her lips dipped in a frown of confusion. “It wasn’t Magic. It was magic. Madam LaRue’s magic. We bought it from her.”

  “Madam LaRue.” Tye dragged a hand through his hair. “I talked to her after you disappeared. She never said a word.” He heaved a heavy sigh and said, “Tell us the rest of it.”

  Katrina lifted her face from Claire’s bosom, and the three girls looked at one another. “Go ahead and tell him, Emma,” the middle sister directed. “Get it over with so he can kill us fast instead of dragging it out.”

  Tye shot Claire an apprehensive look as Emma nibbled at her lower lip. Claire reached over and patted her knee. “Go ahead, honey. Your uncle needs to know the truth.”

  What followed was a tale that left Claire shuddering in fear at the thought of the dangers the girls had faced. Hell’s Half Acre past midnight. A black-arts priestess. A drunken Big Jack Bailey. Lost on the vast prairie west of town. “Oh, my.”

  At one point during the story Tye had leaned against the wall for support. When Emma relayed the part where they pulled the gun on Big Jack, his knees appeared to give out, and he slid slowly to the floor, his head hanging between his knees.

  Emma wrapped up the tale, sniffling as she said, “And now it’s all ruined. Miss Loretta can’t marry you, so you won’t stay here and live in Fort Worth like we want you to.”

  Tye lifted his head. His face looked ravaged. “What are you talking about, Em?”

  “We want you to stay, Uncle. Papa does, too. We heard him tell Mama right before they left on their honeymoon. Papa said he wished you would settle in Fort Worth for good instead of going back to South Carolina when they get home. He said he worried you’d never be truly happy as long as you lived where you fought the War and where you had lots of bad memories. Then Mama said marriage would be the best way to keep you here, and Papa told her he thought that of all the available women in town, Loretta Davis would make you the happiest.”

  Tye rubbed his temples. “So, what you are saying is that the purpose of all this matchmaking nonsense was to keep me living in Fort Worth?”

  The three youngsters nodded, and Maribeth said, “We want you to be happy, Uncle Tye. We love you.”

  Tye let out a groan. “Oh, girls, I love you, too. I just wish you’d have said something. I decided weeks ago to make my home here in Texas.”

  “You did?” Maribeth asked, her voice trembling with hope and wonder.

  “Yeah, I did.” As the three girls’ tears started drying, he continued, “I like it here. I realized I want time to get to know your father again, and I want to be around to watch you three grow up.”

  Katrina wiped her nose on her sleeve and asked, “But what about your sisters and your grandmother. Won’t you miss them?”

  “Of course I’ll miss them, but with rail travel becoming more convenient every year, regular visits will be easy to arrange.”

  “So you are gonna stay? You promise? Even without having Miss Loretta as your wife?”

  “Even without the fair Loretta. I bought some land, girls. I’m going to build a ranch.”

  After a moment of frozen joy, the girls erupted into cheers that all but deafened Claire. They rushed from her arms into their uncle’s, climbing on him, covering him with kisses, babbling about pets and houses and their parents.

  Claire watched with tears in her eyes. Such love, she thought. Such concern and caring. Such…family. How did her own family compare? The Donovans loved her, she knew. They cared for her and were concerned for her. But when was the last time they said it? Had they ever once told her they wanted her to be happy?

  Every morning Claire went down to the bakery. Every morning her father tried to send her home. She’d refuse and they’d bicker about that and a thousand other items for the rest of the workday. Then every evening, because she had put down her foot and refused to leave the cottage, Da had her mother come by and offer yet another reason why Claire should move into the rental house with the rest of the Donovans.

  It was hard to keep fighting, to keep demanding her due. That’s one reason why she’d stopped by Willow Hill this morning. She needed a good dose of Tye McBride’s encouragement.

  Eventually the hugs and kisses amongst the McBride clan slowed, and Tye looked up and met her gaze. “I guess I’m remiss for not asking what brought you to Willow Hill today, Claire. Is there something I can do for you?”

  As Claire opened her mouth to answer, Katrina piped up. “I invited her to go swimming with us today, Uncle Tye. Remember we talked about it?”

  Claire didn’t find his wince reassuring, or for that matter, flattering. She didn’t need to fight this man, too.

  Rising from the sofa, she said, “Actually, I had stopped by to tell Katrina I wouldn’t be able to go after all. I have some family business to take care of. I’d best be leaving now, in fact.”

  He need not look so relieved, she thought, hiding her pique behind a polite smile. She gathered up her purse, grateful she’d left the bulging picnic basket out in her buggy rather than toting the heavy thing up to the house, and turned to go.

  “Hold on,” Tye said, setting the girls away from him and pushing to his feet. “Before you get out of here, I have something I’d like to discuss with you. Do you have a few more minutes to spare?”

  “Well, maybe a few.”

  “Good. Let me get the girls settled and then we can talk. Out on the porch, perhaps? It’s a fine morning.”

  Claire nodded her agreement, and as Tye accompanied the children upstairs, she walked out onto the veranda. It was a gorgeous spring day; warm, but not hot, the air perfumed with the fragrance of roses and alive with the music of songbirds. Strolling around the corner, she took a seat in a rocking chair that looked out onto the rose garden, and tried to relax. What a morning, and it wasn’t even eight o’clock yet.

  She should never have agreed to go swimming with the McBrides anyway. Even though he said he didn’t want her at the bakery to begin with, her father gave her grief when she mentioned she wanted time off. But the girls had caught her with the question during a weak moment, and she’d said yes without giving it any thought. It had been forward of her to agree to spend the morning with the McBrides, out away from town…Thinking she and Tye might find themselves alone together again.…Hoping he might wrap her in his arms again and pull her close…and kiss her…use his tongue like he had…

  The door slammed open with a bang, jerking her from her reverie. Tye stormed out of the house. “Where did you go, Claire Donovan? I want to talk to you.”

  She gawked at the fury in his voice. What in the world had happened?

  “Claire! You damn well better still be here.”

  She froze. Damn well better? He was cussing at her?

  It started as a spark but quickly swelled into a glorious, raging temper. She was tired of being told what to do and not to do. Sick and tired of it. She shoved out of her chair and marched back around the corner of the house, hollering right back at him. “What is your problem, McBride?”

  That shut him up. For just a moment he stood stock-still. She’d have smiled about it had she not been so angry herself.

  Fire burning in his eyes, he slowly reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a bottle. Even as he took an aggressive step toward her, a liquid sense of strength poured into Claire like hot iron into a mold.

  His tone was low and rough. “What’s my problem? You’re my problem, lady. You and that damned aphrodisiac you cooked up.”

  Aphrodisiac? “Not that again.”

  His eyes narrowed to slits. Anger radiated from him in waves. After a long moment, he sucked in a deep breath in a visible effort to gather his control. “When I went upstairs I asked my nieces about the love potion. This danger they lived through? It’s your fault.”

  She blinked. “Excuse me? Did you say my fault?”

  Nodding, he yanked the cork from the bottle in his hands, then shoved it beneath Claire’s nose. “Smell it. Tell us wha
t it is.”

  The familiar aroma rolled past her senses like a song. “It’s Magic.”

  “That’s what my nose told me.”

  “Where did you get it?”

  “The Blessings.”

  “Where did they get it? I didn’t give it to them. And what does Magic have to do with anything?” After a second’s pause, her eyes went wide and she added, “Don’t tell me they intended to bake for you again.”

  She flinched when the bottle came whizzing past her ear and crashed against the wall. The scent of Magic filled the air along with Tye McBride’s curses. “It’s the love potion, damnit. My nieces didn’t steal it. They bought it for twenty goddamned dollars from Madam LaRue.”

  “Madam LaRue?” Clare made the connection then. The love potion they bought that night in Hell’s Half Acre was a bottle of her Magic. “They paid twenty dollars for a bottle of my Magic?”

  “Yep. They spent the other ten on incidentals.” His eyes snapped as he advanced and she retreated. “What sort of profit did the witch make, Claire? How much did you charge her for it?”

  She felt the edge of the rocker against the backs of her legs and she sank down into it in shock. Her Magic? Sold as a love potion? “I didn’t sell it. I’ve never met Madam LaRue.”

  “You’re lying.”

  The accusation rankled. She lifted her chin and glared up at him. “No, I’m not. Don’t you dare say I am.”

  He shoved at the chair with both hands then backed away, speaking in a low, angry tone. “Madam LaRue sold my nieces this bottle of your Magic. Even if you are telling the truth, and you didn’t supply her with the stuff, you are still responsible for its existence. Just like you’d be responsible if any lasting harm had come to my nieces as a result of this mess. And it could have happened that way so easily.”

  He braced both hands on his hips and ground out through clenched teeth, “Hell’s Half Acre. In the middle of the goddamned night.” Claire gasped a breath as he plowed on. “Are you familiar with the types of amusements that take place in that hellhole after midnight? They could have been murdered or drugged or raped. It happens every night in that end of town. And some men—some monsters—they like little girls. Think about that, Claire.”

  “Dear Lord.”

  “Makes a person’s fingernails sweat just to think about it, doesn’t it? Reckon we should be grateful Big Jack kidnapped them. Of course, none of it would have happened if not for your witches’ brew.”

  Claire shook her head, nonverbally denying his accusation while she tried to figure just who tins Madam LaRue was and how she got her hands on a bottle of Magic. Her family couldn’t have done it. The Donovans had only just arrived in town the night of the spelling bee.

  One possible answer occurred to Claire. The Galveston store had been burglarized a couple of years ago. The Donovan Baking Company lost almost thirty bottles of Magic. Could at least one of them somehow have made its way to Hell’s Half Acre?

  Possibly. It was common knowledge that stolen goods were offered for sale all over the Acre. People like Big Jack Bailey didn’t quibble with acquiring ill-gotten gains. She glanced at Tye and asked, “Now that you know the truth are you going to have Bailey arrested?”

  “Arrest Big Jack?” Tye’s mouth twisted into an ugly imitation of a smile. “I could. But then I’d have to have you arrested, too, wouldn’t I?”

  “Me?” Claire pushed to her feet once more. “Look, McBride, I told you I didn’t do anything. I didn’t sell any Magic to anyone. I do have an idea, though, about how that bottle might have ended up at this Madam LaRue’s.”

  He dismissed the notion with a wave of his hand. “It doesn’t really matter how she got it, does it? You are the one who cooked up that poison to begin with, so the responsibility comes back to you. You are the root of all this trouble.”

  His scorn rocked Claire, but before she could defend herself, he pressed on, ticking each point off on his fingers. “We have the Blessings’ near-miss with serious danger. We have Loretta Davis throwing away her life on a pretty-boy bun-maker. No telling what other misery you’ve caused that we don’t know about yet. I don’t doubt you’ve ruined at least one or two marriages since you came to town.”

  Claire’s mouth bobbed open and shut like a fish out of water. She couldn’t believe what he was saying. “Let me get this straight, McBride. Are you saying I’m responsible for your nieces’ misbehavior? That I’m responsible for Loretta having run off with my friend?”

  “Yes, I am. He drank the doctored tea and boom—” Tye snapped his fingers “—they run off and tie the knot.”

  Claire blew a frustrated breath. This was the biggest bunch of foolishness she’d ever heard. “Where did you get this stupid idea that Magic is an aphrodisiac anyway?”

  “Don’t try to deny it.” He folded his arms and glared at her. “Hell, one whiff of that stuff is more potent than hundred-dollar French perfume.”

  Claire threw out her hands, scaring away the mockingbird that had just landed on the porch rail. “That’s just ridiculous, Tye. Magic is an extract, like vanilla. It’s a food additive, that’s all. Adding it to their tea did not make Lars run off with Loretta. That’s pure silliness.”

  “The hell it is. Maybe it doesn’t affect everyone that way, but it damn sure does some of us. I know. Believe me, I know. And I’m telling you, good ol’ baker Lars got his buns warmed when he got a good dose of Magic.”

  Claire wanted to scream. “If Lars’s buns were the least bit warm it was because Loretta Davis had been eyeing them for weeks. It had nothing to do with Magic.”

  “It has everything to do with Magic. You said it yourself: They carried on at The Confectionary—the scene of the crime.”

  “He worked there.”

  “That’s obviously not all he did there, now is it?”

  Now she wanted to hurt him. She wanted to punch him in the stomach like she used to do to her brothers when they all were young. “You are so hardheaded, Tye McBride.”

  “Yeah? Well my head’s not the only thing that gets hard when your damned Magic is involved. Admit it, Claire. It’s an aphrodisiac. And you and your family are using it against the citizens of this good town. You should be in jail.”

  “And you should be in a hospital for mental patients. Aphrodisiac,” she said scornfully, whirling away from him. “I thought you were an intelligent man, but obviously I was wrong. No wonder those Menaces have you wrapped around their little fingers. If you believe this, you’ll believe anything. I swear I’m beginning to think your brother made a huge mistake when he left you to care for his children.”

  She regretted her words as soon as they left her mouth. All the fire seemed to drain from Tye’s body, replaced by an icy chill she recognized as infinitely more dangerous. Long seconds passed silently before he spoke again. “Don’t you think I know that? Only days ago the Blessings dodged a bullet on my watch.”

  Fear of what might have been carved furrows in his brow, and icicles dripped from his tongue as he swore. “If your Magic had hurt them, I’d have made you pay.”

  Claire started to shiver, but she knew she was innocent, so she didn’t back down. “Why are you doing this, Tye? You can’t truly believe…”

  His mouth twisted into an ugly smile. “What I can’t believe is that I thought you were different I was wrong. Emma called it. She saw it. You’re just like her, like Constance.” He laughed then, and the sound was chilling. “Constance. Medusa. A Borgia bride. Eve from the Garden and Claire Donovan. I swear, you women are all alike.”

  “Tye, listen to me.”

  But he was beyond listening. Though he looked straight at her, he seemed to be lost in the past. He stepped forward, backing her up against the veranda’s railing. “Lying and luring to get what you want. It doesn’t matter if you destroy those who get in your way. It doesn’t matter if you tear families apart and turn brother against brother. As long as you get what you want. As long as you make your unholy dollar. It doesn’t ma
tter if it’s twenty dollars or a damned fortune. God, I hate you all.”

  What was going on here? Claire wondered. She made little sense of his irrational speech, but the venom in his voice rocked her. More was happening here than a misguided opinion about the power of Magic. She’d never seen Tye like this. She’d never imagined he had this…nastiness inside him.

  Claire shivered at the raw, ugly emotion painting the face of the man she’d so admired. She took a step sideways, intending to scoot by him. “There is obviously no reasoning with you at the moment. I’m going home now. We can discuss this further once you’ve calmed down.”

  “Oh, you’re not going home, Miss Donovan,” he drawled, reaching out and grabbing her arm as she attempted to walk past him. “Not until I’ve finished saying my piece.”

  She waited, biting her tongue to keep from railing back at him and dragging this meanness out further. Instead, very quietly and with great control, she said, “All right. What do you want to say?”

  He opened his mouth to speak, then he paused, faltering, a look of confusion darting across his face. He dropped her arm as though it had burned him. “Hell. I don’t know. I don’t know what I want” Looking over her shoulder, he grimaced. “That’s a lie. I do know what I want, and that’s the problem. It’s you. I want you. Even after all this.”

  He raked his hand through his hair. “Go on, get out of here. Go home and stay away from me and mine, Claire. You are the problem. You and your damned Magic. You are both dangerous as hell.”

  ***

  ANGER FUELED Claire’s footsteps all the way from Willow Hill to the bakery. Outside the building she paused and stared above her at the sign that read DONOVAN’S CONFECTIONARY. Then she started to laugh. Softly, hollowly. The repainted sign symbolized so much. None of it was particularly good.

  Inside the shop, she found her mother at the corner table sharing a cup of tea with her father as was their habit during the midmorning lull. So it had been for as long as Claire could remember. Her mother would drop whatever business she’d been doing at home and rush to have tea with John Donovan, always at his convenience. This morning, the midmorning lull suited Claire’s purposes just fine.