The Bad Luck Wedding Cake

by Geralyn Dawson

  So rather than tell him, she’d show him. Now and tonight and for as long as he would let her.

  She took his hand and gripped it tight. Meeting his gaze, holding it, she made him silent promises as she said, “I’ll say what needs saying. You can trust me, Tye.”

  “Trust,” he repeated. “It’s a nice thought. I’m afraid it’s been a heck of a long time since I used the words ‘trust’ and ‘woman’ in the same sentence.”

  “I’m not Constance West, Tye.”

  “I know that.” He squeezed her hand in return. “In fact, you make me think of Jenny.”

  “Oh?” Claire liked the thought of that. “In what way?”

  Tye shrugged. “She’s good for my brother.”

  With that interesting bit of news, he reached out and opened the door to Judge Remington’s courtroom. A clerk met them and escorted them back to the judge’s chambers.

  George and Beatrice West sat in two of four chairs lined up in front of Remington’s desk. “He is five minutes late,” the woman accused. “Take note of that. And why did he bring that woman with him? This is a private affair, is it not, Judge?”

  Tye ignored her as he gallantly took Claire’s elbow and escorted her to one of the empty chairs opposite the judge, then took a place behind her, laying his hands on her shoulders. “Judge Remington, before we get started, have you had the opportunity to meet my bride, the best baker in Texas?”

  Beatrice West gasped.

  The judge smiled. “I saw the morning paper. Congratulations.” Patting his stomach, he added, “I’ve had the pleasure of sampling your German chocolate cake, Miss Donov—I mean, Mrs. McBride.”

  “Mrs. McBride?” Beatrice West blazed an angry glare toward Tye. “What skullduggery are you up to this time?”

  “Didn’t catch a look at the morning paper, did you Bea?” Tye drawled lazily as he took the last vacant seat.

  Obviously threatened by the judge’s goodwill toward the McBrides, Beatrice launched into her attack. Without allowing any break in conversation, she took almost ten full minutes to outline her arguments why Tye wasn’t fit to raise her granddaughters. Accusations shot like venom from her mouth, some true, some false, all of them ugly.

  Three times Claire swelled up with a protest. Three times her husband warned against it by squeezing her hand. They’d known to expect this. The plan called for letting Mrs. West empty out her guns. With Claire on his side, Tye had told her, he didn’t anticipate any fatal volleys.

  Finally she wound down, shot him a vicious look, folded her hands in her lap, and sat back in her chair. George West apparently thought she’d covered it all because he never said a word.

  Judge Remington looked at Tye. “McBride? Care to respond?”

  Tye dragged a posturing hand down along the line of his jaw. Upon occasion in the past, Claire had observed high stakes poker games. Never before had she seen a bet being laid on the table as large as the one her husband now placed.

  Here’s hoping the Good Luck Wedding Dress did its thing.

  “Yes, Judge,” Tye said. “I do. First, let me say I’ll be happy to answer any and all questions you might have concerning the charges Mrs. West laid against me. I’ll go into as much depth as you wish. But as far as I can tell, it all boils down to a few relevant facts.”

  He ticked them off on his fingers. “Number one, my brother entrusted his daughters into my care. He did so with full and prior knowledge of the personal failures Mrs. West mentioned. Knowing all that, he trusted me to keep his girls safe and happy. If I’m good enough in Trace’s eyes, then I should be good enough to do the job from the court’s point of view.”

  Claire glanced at the judge, trying to gage his reaction, but Remington had a darn good poker face himself.

  “Number two,” Tye continued. “In Claire, I have provided my nieces with an exemplary mother figure. She has promised to love them like her own, and I have no doubt that she will. Number three, Emma, Maribeth, and Katrina love me. They want to live with me and my wife at Willow Hill. They do not wish to be ripped from their home and taken to the sinful city of New Orleans.”

  “Wait a minute,” George West roused himself enough to interrupt.

  “And last, but certainly not least,” Tye said, plunging ahead as though West had never spoken, “are the feelings I harbor for my nieces. I love them, Judge Remington. With my heart, my soul, every breath I take. Love. It’s a word, you’ll note, that Mrs. West never spoke.”

  The understated accusation rippled through the room like a water wake. Claire knew Tye had more lined up to say, but that last bit had been extra-effective. Utilizing another good poker strategy, he fell silent, quitting while he was ahead.

  Judge Remington steepled his fingers and brought his hands to his mouth in contemplation. Perhaps sensing a pending defeat, Beatrice leaned forward and snapped, “You can’t believe a word he says. Those McBride boys were always good liars. I don’t doubt this marriage is a lie, too. A tactic to bolster his attempt to hold my dear granddaughters hostage. Don’t allow it to work, Judge. Don’t fall prey to his false charm like my poor, departed Constance, the woman he so wickedly seduced.”

  Remington’s brows arched. “It’s a fair question, McBride. Why the sudden marriage?”

  Claire cleared her throat and spoke up. “My former beau, Mr. Reid Jamieson, refused to accept the fact that I had severed our relationship. Since we already planned to wed, Tye and I decided to advance the date of the ceremony in the hope of finally proving to the man that he and I had no future together.”

  Tye patted her shoulder in support. It was a nice bit of sidestepping, technically the truth. He was impressed.

  “I see,” said the judge. “And where is this Mr. Jamieson now? Could he possibly be a threat to you and thereby the children?”

  “Not at all,” Tye declared. “He has left town and I am certain he will never come back.”

  The judge pinned Tye with a look that said he guessed there was more to this story than stated, then turned and addressed Claire. “So this is a true marriage? It’s not something McBride here cooked up in order to complicate the Wests’ plans?”

  Claire clasped her husband’s hand as it lay upon her lap. In a voice strong and sweet and sincere, she said, “Sir, I love my husband. Exchanging wedding vows with him was a dream come true for me. I will be a good wife to him, Judge Remington. And I will love Emma, Maribeth, and Katrina like my own. You have my word on it.”

  Tye shot her a warm, approving look, then leaned over to kiss her cheek. While there, he whispered in her ear. “I’d like to drag you from that chair and plant a kiss right on your lips. You are as convincing as a spade flush.”

  “Enough of that,” Remington scolded mildly. “You’re making me jealous.” Then he addressed Tye. “Now, what about this nonsense I hear about you thinking your brother didn’t die?”

  Tye nodded. “You said you read this morning’s paper. I discussed this same question with Mrs. Peters yesterday, and she wrote it up today. Did you see her column?” He reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a copy of the article and handed it to the judge. “She made a good summary.”

  Handling the matter in this way had been Claire’s idea. The less lies they actually told the judge, the better, to her way of thinking.

  Remington read the column and a few moments later, following a few more questions and a handful of legal cautions, he said, “Now, this meeting here today doesn’t dot all the legal I’s and cross all the legal T’s, but if the question of the McBride girls’ guardianship comes before my court, I’m telling you now that unless I’m presented with a compelling new argument, I’ll decide in favor of Tye and his bride.”

  Tye burst into a smile as big as Texas as Beatrice lurched to her feet and exploded in argument. Claire tuned her out, her attention caught by the warmth of Tye’s celebratory gaze. She decided that under the circumstances, a kiss wouldn’t be out of order. Actually, the judge probably expected it.

 
More than willing to do her wifely duty, she pulled his head over to hers and captured his lips with her own. She vaguely heard Beatrice say something about filing suit in New Orleans as Remington escorted the Blessings’ grandparents from the room, but she let that worry fly right on by. He pulled her over into his lap and she was lost in her husband’s kiss, afloat in the riot of sensations he brought to life within her.

  When they finally paused to draw a breath, he said, “I swear, you must use Magic for mouth rinse, too.”

  “Oh, Tye, you did it. You won.”

  “We won. That last bit you said…that did the trick. You said it like you really meant it.”

  She pulled away from him then, and stood. If her smile had dimmed just a little, he appeared not to notice.

  “Thank you, Wife,” he said softly, sincerely.

  “You’re welcome, Husband.” She tucked her arm through his and led him toward the door. “Let’s go home and tell the children, shall we?”

  ***

  OUTSIDE THE courthouse, while Claire paused to accept felicitations on their marriage by a few of her customers, Tye turned his thoughts inward. His eyes half-closed, he searched his heart for his brother’s presence. Finding him, linking in his mind, he sent a silent message. Don’t worry. They are safe. I’ve seen to it and I’ll keep on seeing to it. Until you get home, Brother. Until you get home. I won’t betray you this time.

  ***

  AFTER THEIR one-night honeymoon Claire and her husband returned to Willow Hill, the Donovans departed, and Mrs. Wilson went back to working days at Trace’s home and spending nights at her own. The McBrides’ patchwork family settled into a pleasant routine. After getting the girls off to school Claire and Tye would both go down to The Confectionary where she would help with the baking while he held meetings in the upstairs apartment with her father and brothers and suppliers and builders as they planned the construction of their Magic Factory.

  After the wedding, business at The Confectionary rebounded, and soon all of Fort Worth was talking about how the Donovan’s Magical Wedding Cake legend had once again come true. Obviously Claire’s wedding to Reid Jamieson had never been meant to happen. True love won out in the end. When “Talk About Town” quoted Emma as saying that the McBride-Donovan partnership had turned a Magical Cake into a Good Luck Wedding Cake, the bakery’s success was assured.

  The Wests’ continued presence in town did paste a pall over the days. Beatrice was a dog with a bone, and every day brought another threat or attempted legal maneuver. Tye fended each one of them off, but everyone in the family looked forward to the day Beatrice gave up and went home. The Blessings added that hope to their nightly prayers.

  On the afternoon of Mrs. Wilson’s day off, early in the second week of married life, Claire slid the last tray of molasses cookies into the oven at Willow Hill and sighed. “Finally,” she said gratefully, rubbing the small of her back. “If I’d known you girls would take to baking with so much zeal, I’d have had this lesson down at the bakery. My oven holds double the amount of this one. We’d have finished much sooner.”

  “Nah,” Maribeth said, cookie crumbs clinging to her lips as she munched happily on the fruits of her labor. “We would have wanted to make even more stuff. This has been fun.”

  “That’s right.” Katrina gleamed a molasses smile. “And eating is the funnest part.”

  Emma held out a plate with a sampling of their baked goodies artfully arranged. “Can we take this to Uncle Tye now? I think his meeting is over. I saw Mr. Hayes leave Papa’s office when I went upstairs to change my clothes.”

  The unfortunate recipient of a buttermilk spill, Emma had returned to the kitchen a few moments earlier. Claire listened to the news of the visitor’s departure with interest. Hayes was the third architect Tye had interviewed to draw plans for the ranch house he intended to build. From the brevity of the meeting, Claire guessed he’d soon be talking to architect number four.

  Claire wondered when her husband would realize he’d never find a professional as talented as his brother. In his mind, anyway.

  Not that she cared. She was happy living at Willow Hill. She was happy, period. Each day of their marriage brought them closer, each night strengthened the bond slowly growing between them. This morning when Tye collapsed on their bed following a particularly physical bout of lovemaking, he’d smiled at her so sweetly, so lovingly, that all thought had flown from her mind and left her stuttering for words. Claire had begun to hope that in time, he might actually let down his guard and come to love her.

  “Auntie? Can we take him the cookies?” Emma said, her tone suggesting she’d repeated her question a number of times.

  Claire wiped her hands on her apron. “Of course. Let’s go find your uncle, shall we?”

  They had to look a few minutes, but finally located him on the second-floor front veranda, busy replacing the porch rail spool Ralph had chosen for a chew toy. They all sat, drinking milk and eating cookies while Tye shared the details of his meeting with Claire. “Getting the house built is going to take longer than I’d figured.”

  “Don’t worry about it, Tye,” Claire replied. “I think—”

  “Look at this,” Emma interrupted, standing at the railing and pointing toward the bottom of the hill.

  Katrina’s eyes went round. “Look at all the people!”

  “Are we having a party?” Maribeth asked. “It’s a good thing we baked those cookies.”

  Claire glanced at the drive, then toward her husband. He appeared as perplexed as she. “I count five wagons and there must be thirty horses. Are we having a party, Tye?”

  “Not that I know of,” he replied, frowning.

  The five of them lined the veranda, peering out at the gathering crowd. Katrina said, “I don’t think anything bad has happened, do you? Look, most everyone is smiling.”

  “Uh, oh,” Maribeth groaned. “There’s Mrs. Peters. She’ll turn us in to the truancy deputy, you just wait and see.”

  “Could it be a shivaree, Tye? A couple weeks late and the wrong time of day for it, I know, but what else…?” She allowed her voice to trail away when she heard Emma’s soft gasp and saw Tye’s grip clamp like a vise around the rail.

  “Good Lord,” he murmured.

  Tears spilled from Emma’s eyes and began to roll down her cheeks. “Uncle Tye?” she begged in a little voice.

  “What!” Maribeth demanded. “What is it?”

  “The second wagon,” Tye replied in a raspy voice. “Son of a…” He stopped and cleared his throat. “Girls, quick. Look at the second wagon!”

  If a ladybug lands on your right arm, you will have good luck.

  CHAPTER 19

  THE TWO YOUNGER GIRLS strained forward, then Katrina let out a long, high-pitched squeal. Maribeth didn’t take time to make noise; she whirled and dashed into the house. Claire squinted toward the crowd, trying to identify the source of the excitement while Emma repeated, “Uncle Tye? Please, is it true?”

  His hand shook, Claire saw, as he oh-so-slowly lifted it in a wave. “Yeah, 1adonna’, I do believe you can believe this.”

  When a figure—a man—stood in the bed of the second wagon rolling up the hill and returned Tye’s wave, Emma moaned and melted, sinking to her knees, tears streaming down her face.

  “Emma!” Claire moved toward her, but Tye reached the child first. He looked haggard, yet joyous, as he scooped young Emma into his arms and exited the veranda without a word to his wife.

  Taken aback, she turned once again to the commotion brewing in the front yard just in time to see the man jump down from the wagon and hit the ground running.

  At the same time, Katrina and Maribeth burst down the front steps.

  The man’s arms reached, opened wide, and even before his hat flew off revealing an extremely familiar face, Claire realized who it was. He dropped to his knees, arms outstretched, as Tye stepped into view and set Emma down so she could run with her sisters.

  Tears stung Claire’s ey
es at the sound of the most beautiful music in the world—the McBride Menace’s joyous voices lifted in the cry of a single word: “Papa!”

  Trace McBride had come home.

  And judging by the size of the stomach on the woman who approached the blubbering father-daughter foursome, he’d brought his Jenny home with him.

  Claire observed the reunion through blurry eyes. She smiled as Tye wrapped his sister-in-law in a hug. Her breath caught on a sob when the identical brothers shook hands, hesitated, then pulled each other into an embrace.

  “Thank you, God,” she prayed, wiping her eyes and smiling and trying to ignore the worry pricking at her brain. The McBride family celebrated below while she stood apart. Alone. Very much afraid she had just run out of time.

  ***

  HALF AN hour after his brother’s arrival, Tye leaned against the doorjamb in the parlor, his arms folded, a sappy grin on his face as he watched the Blessings demonstrate Spike the fortune-teller fish’s amazing capabilities.

  Jenny lay stretched out on the sofa, her feet propped up by three pillows—one from each daughter—while Trace sat on the floor in front of her, all but covered up in ecstatic little girls. And a dog. And, when Spike did a double-left flop, one out-of-water fish.

  The laughter in the room was sweet enough to steal the tart from one of Claire’s rhubarb pies. Tye remained silent, however. He doubted he could force so much as a sigh past the boulder-sized lump in his throat.

  Emma, especially, stayed plastered against her papa. It was she who finally turned the tide of the conversation away from the girls’ activities of late with the questions Tye himself had been burning to ask. “Where were you, Papa? Why didn’t you come home? They told us you drowned and that was a very horrible thing. Uncle Tye told us you were all right, that he felt your connection, but still it was…hard.”