“We’re just talking hypotheticals,” Flynn reassured her, looking as serious now as his business partner.
Jess patted her baby bulge, soothing both of their ruffled feathers.
“So you’d start with some help,” Slade said. On the wall near the register was a carved sign: Baked with Love from Our Family to Yours. Longing for the bakery became an ache in her chest. “We’ve just done the legwork for you. We’ve handled the negotiations and cleared the path through the city council so that you can apply for a business permit today if you wanted.”
“Well, not today.” Flynn’s blue eyes twinkled. “Today’s Sunday.”
Jessica was feeling overwhelmed. Hope braided with fear and wound around Baby. “I’m flattered you think I can do this, but I’m about to give birth.”
“Right now?” Flynn stood, looking panicked.
Slade drew back, studying her.
“No, not now.” Jess tried to laugh, but failed. “Baby comes in two months. I want this. I do.” She was being offered the chance of a lifetime. The family, Cherry Martin’s family, seemed to be welcoming Jess with open arms. But—the baby squirmed—how could she handle a newborn business and a newborn baby? “I can’t do this now.”
Slade’s business facade softened. “Why not? No time is the right time. You’ll use the same excuse after the baby’s born. And when your child turns one. And when your child starts school.”
The walls seemed to be closing in around her. Voices murmured in her head.
Mom: You’re strong.
Vera: Once the baby comes, things will be harder.
Greg: Take a chance. With me. Right now.
A contraction hit, making her arch in her chair and lose whatever memory of Greg the conversation evoked.
Jess wasn’t the type to ever be offered the glass slipper. She wanted it, though. She wanted this place.
As if sensing she was about to cave, Flynn helped her up. “Let’s take a look around. See what you’re getting into.”
She stood, locking gazes with a woman holding a tray of steaming loaves of bread in another photo. There was a tilt to the woman’s lips that invited the question.
This, her heart whispered.
Could she do this? Have a place of her own? Set down roots and pick up where this family of bakers had left off?
Almost immediately, Duffy’s cynical expression came to mind, the one he wore any time the topic of money entered the conversation. What would he think if he knew she was considering their offer?
Jess followed the two men to the kitchen. It was huge with four wall ovens, an industrial-size refrigerator and a large island.
“We need to turn on the power and ensure the equipment still works.” Slade opened the fridge. “Refrigerators don’t do so well if they’ve been off too long.”
Everything was coated with a thick layer of dust. Above the sink was another family photo. This one showed what looked to be three generations standing around a multitiered wedding cake. Each worker was placing flowers around the edges.
Among a shelf of cookbooks and hardbound ledgers was a binder. Jess plucked it out and flipped it open, sending puffs of dust into the air. It smelled of flour and was filled with yellowed paper, handwritten recipes with notes in the margins.
Charlotte Libby’s wedding cake. Could use more lemon.
Mionetti baby shower cupcakes, 1951. Excellent.
Halloween school carnival cookies. Raised more money than the Lipscomb’s booth. Kid-pleaser.
Jessica carefully closed the antique book. All that history. How would it feel to know so much about your family and your town? In Santa Rosa, she was just another woman in line for gas or groceries. Here, people knew you. They welcomed you to town with hot chocolate and cookies. They checked on you during a storm. They invited you to stay with business propositions that were too good to be true.
The men had already moved on, climbing the rear stairwell. She hurried after them, tracing their footprints on the dusty treads, silently chastising Baby for bouncing on her bladder.
Just a few more minutes, please.
A familiar refrain of mothers everywhere. She heard it often enough from Vera’s customers. She hadn’t imagined she’d use it on her own child, hadn’t realized she was already using it. Her steps faltered. She was failing at motherhood before her baby was even born! Jess should turn around right now.
And then she saw it, a sepia picture of a family gracing the landing at the top of the stairs. The father sat in a chair, cradling a baby. The mother stood behind him, one hand on his shoulder. They were formally dressed—he in a suit with a crisp bow tie, her in a floor-length, shiny dark dress with lace across the bodice. At their feet was the wooden sign now hanging above the front door: Martin’s Bakery.
They’d started the bakery with a baby in their arms. A sign, literally, that Jess and Baby would be welcome here.
Flynn was laughing when she reached the top floor. “I’m surprised it’s in such fine shape.”
Sturdy hardwood floors. Walls smoothly plastered and painted a pale pink. A small kitchenette with plain white cabinets and small glass knobs. The countertop and sink were both stainless steel. It was a working family’s apartment. Cozy and serviceable. Home.
“This is what a good roof does for a place.” Slade opened the refrigerator in the small kitchen. “No mice, either.”
The two men high-fived, taking credit for something they seemed to have no part in, but were happy about.
Jess moved past them to check out the bathroom. The tub, toilet and porcelain pedestal sink were pink. The walls had been tiled with ceramic pink squares. The floor had been done with round white tiles interspersed with pink ones set in a flowery pattern.
“Well.” Slade sounded like the deal was a sure thing. “What do you think?”
If she’d learned anything from Duffy, it was not to take things at face value. “What’s the catch?”
“There is no catch.” But Slade crossed his arms when he spoke, going into business mode.
Was he getting annoyed with her? Was she missing something? Or was she ruining everything? There were no photographs on the walls up here. No reassurance from the past. She was on her own.
Jess mirrored Slade, crossing her arms. She upped the ante by arching a brow.
“Hang on.” Flynn stepped between them. “Full-disclosure time.” He smiled, but it wasn’t a smarmy smile. It was a guy-next-door, nothing-to-hide smile. “I promised my grandfather before he died that I’d continue his work—in bringing people back to Harmony Valley. We brought in the sheriff—”
“Nope. Your grandfather invited him,” Slade pointed out drily.
“We got the vet to—”
“Nope,” Slade interrupted again. “Doc recruited him.”
“Okay. How about the Lambert twins?” Frustration frosted Flynn’s voice.
Slade chuckled, and that chuckle loosened him up. His arms uncrossed. His lips curled upward. His voice brimmed with guy-ribbing humor. “I’ll give you the twins, but only when they finally do more than talk about moving here.”
“Uh...guys?” For the second time that day, Jessica broke up a man-fest.
Flynn was immediately on-call intense. “Are you in labor? Do we need to go to the hospital?”
“No. Two more months, remember?” She’d like to think it was Duffy’s ill-fitting clothing that gave the impression childbirth was imminent, but she was afraid she was just plain large.
“Then we’ll get to the heart of things.” Slade had on his deal-making face. Eyes that noted everything. Lips curled in a crocodile smile. If she chose poorly, he’d eat her in one bite and destroy her dreams in another. Chomp. Chomp. “We want you to move to Harmony Valley. Without people willing to make their futures here, the town will die.”
“That’s your closing line?” Flynn rolled his eyes with schoolboy levity. “Here’s mine. We’re pushing this year to bring in more people than ever. El Rosal offers breakfast, but it’s egg-and-potato fare. You’d have very little competition for coffee and pastry. I’d love to order my wife a birthday cake here. I’d love to stop by in the morning for espresso and a doughnut. I’m sure others would, as well.”
The pressure to say yes was nearly overwhelming. But was it the right choice for Baby? She couldn’t simply walk in one day and be open for business the next. She’d need things. And right now she needed to spend on Baby, not bakery.
“There’s no espresso machine. And...” She felt her cheeks heat. “Espresso machines are expensive.”
Flynn looked to Slade.
Slade sighed. “Good coffee is hard to come by in this town. I suppose we could—”
“You’ll do no such thing.” Jess cut him off, the door to resentment banging back open. “If I take you up on your offer, I won’t be nickel-and-diming you. I’ll pay for things myself.” How was another question. Her savings were a meager five months old. “But I can’t see moving here. What about day care? What about the school system? What about a medical clinic?” All the things that should be more important to a new mom than inheriting a bunch of recipes or photos of strangers on the wall.
“What’s going on up here?” Duffy appeared at the top of the stairs, looking wet and stormy, drowning the promise in the place.
“We’re trying to convince Jessica to start a bakery in town,” Flynn said. “All she needs is a little backing. You’d like hot pastry and great coffee every morning, wouldn’t you?”
Duffy didn’t answer. He moved into the room, a bottle of water in his hand. He studied Jess with wintery caramel eyes. She knew caramel could cool and harden, but she preferred it warm and soft.
“She’s a tough negotiator.” Slade nodded to Jess. “And just so you know, Jessica, we’re working on your concerns. We’ve been trying to recruit a doctor. We recently had a nurse practitioner named Patti retire here. For now, the nearest schools are thirty minutes away. Our schools should reopen by the time your child is ready for kindergarten. And there are dozens of retirees in town who would love to take care of a baby.”
Duffy’s expression turned as dark as the thunderous skies were last night. “Did she ask—?”
“No!” Jessica cradled her baby bump, feeling chilled, and not from her wet clothes. “I was standing on the street looking in the window when these two pulled up.”
Flynn gave Duffy a questioning look that went unanswered.
“No, she didn’t ask, Duffy. Agnes told us about her.” Slade shed his business persona and took both of Jessica’s hands in his. “You could be your own boss here. As a master baker, you’ve probably dreamed of having your own place. All we ask is that you think about it.”
The two men led her and Duffy downstairs. Jessica wanted to pause in the kitchen and soak it all in one last time, but Duffy was telling them about the fallen tree in the Parish Hill vineyard and was already moving toward the door. The family watching over the apartment above, the women who’d filled the bakery with love and pastry. She should have known she couldn’t belong here.
Outside, she took a final glance at the plate-glass window, but before she could say a word, a helicopter landed over in the town square. Flynn locked up.
“Rutgar’s wound was that bad?” Jess huddled deeper into Duffy’s rain slicker. Her wet clothes were starting to bother her. Or perhaps it was that she was going to walk away from this opportunity.
“He’s got a concussion and needs to be under a doctor’s care.” Duffy’s tight response made Jess want to leave Harmony Valley and never return.
Baby deserves this chance.
But not if it meant alienating Baby’s uncle. Providing a family for her child was more important than Jessica’s dreams.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
DOUBT ATE AT Duffy’s insides like a famished man at a Chinese buffet.
Doubts created by the specter of Greg. Doubts he didn’t think he should have about Jess. Doubts that feasted and hollowed him out until the only thing he could trust was the fact that Greg was dead.
Had Jessica’s entire visit been a setup for this?
Stranger things had happened. The only reliable part of Duffy’s life right now was the continuous rain.
Flynn and Slade went to see how Rutgar was doing before he was airlifted out, leaving Duffy and Jess beneath the bakery’s awning.
Duffy handed Jess a bottle of water. “Should I have gotten you something more celebratory?”
“You think I’m scamming them?” Her voice rose above the helicopter rotors, high and tight. “Like Greg would do?”
“This has nothing to do with Greg.” Or cons. Or lies. Or... Duffy stared into Jessica’s dark eyes, sparking with indignation. She wasn’t Greg. So why was he upset with her?
“It has to do with Greg and something.” A bit of the flame in her eyes died. He had to strain to hear her words. “But it has nothing to do with Greg and me. I won’t take money from you or your family.”
“You seemed more than ready to take theirs.” The hurt and accusation clung bitterly in his mouth. What was he doing? He liked Jess. “We’ll talk about this later.” When he’d had time to think, to be more rational and less reactive. He hurried toward the helicopter at a pace she couldn’t match.
“I’m taking Nate up on his offer to sleep at the jail tonight. Or over at Eunice’s. They don’t think I’m a swindler.” Jess breathed heavily behind him. “Wait up, dang you. I want to say goodbye to Rutgar, too. Baby doesn’t run like that.”
He slowed down. Stopped. Faced her and his jumbled emotions.
Her cheeks were flushed. Her hair damp at the temples where her hood had slipped back. There was pain in her eyes.
That pain. It lanced the hold he had on his anger. “I’m trying not to let years of experience with my brother, of his lies and betrayal, reflect on you. But it’s hard.”
“I understand,” she puffed, still trying to catch her breath. “I’d rather provide Baby with family than a bakery. If it makes you feel better, I’ll sign a document releasing all claims to Greg’s money.”
It would erase his concerns. It would allay his mother’s fears. But it wouldn’t be the right thing to do. “If you want to be part of this family, we shouldn’t need a document.”
“But it would prove you could trust me.” She glanced over her shoulder at the bakery, and then back at him. “Do you know what I thought when I looked in that window? I wished I could have been part of their family. While Flynn and Slade were talking about rents and fixing things up, all I could think about were the generations of bakers that had brought that place to life. I wanted to be one of them.” She wiped at her nose. “I have no idea who my grandparents are or what they did for a living. My father is a blank space on my birth certificate. And my mother...is gone. I have no heritage. Not even a brother who was a sneak and a thief.” Her voice had become a ribbon of hurt, one that curled around Duffy’s heart and tugged, ever so gently. “I’m like one of those trees up on the hill we saw today. Alone. Upturned. Unwanted.”
The helicopter took off. The decibel level dropped to a guilty ringing in Duffy’s ears.
He’d never encountered such raw emotion so innocently tossed out into the air. His family tended to deal with things quietly, privately, buttoning emotion into a back pocket where no one could see it. He wanted to tell her she wasn’t unwanted, but someone must have stuffed cotton down his throat. He couldn’t say anything.
“I would love to have a business like that.” Her words were stitched hoarse with longing. “Somewhere to call my own.” She stared at the bakery a few doors back. “But you’d always believe that I’d come here to milk you of cash. And yo
u might look at my child and see that brother you hate so much.” She walked past him toward his truck.
He was the one hurrying to catch up this time, because the sincerity of her words smothered the suspicion he’d been trained to feel when it came to money and unexpected financial deals.
She was muttering to herself. “I need... I really need...”
“A drink?” Duffy said. “I gave you the water.”
She stopped and stared at him, cheeks flushed, eyes watery. “I really need to bake. It calms me.” She kept staring at him, her gaze delving deep, peeling back layers of suspicion and betrayal, until she came to the place inside him that understood her, that took notice every time he learned something new about her. And in that stare, he heard her unvoiced question: Can I bake at your house?
He nodded. “You bake. I’ll cook dinner.”
The tension in her evaporated, from the lines around her eyes to the set of her shoulders. “You make it very hard to stay mad at you.”
Duffy opened the truck door for her and held on to Jessica’s hand as she climbed in. It was a warm hand, a strong hand. He was reluctant to let her go.
* * *
“WHY DO YOU want to own a bakery?” Duffy’s words filled his galley kitchen and Jessica’s head.
She’d been blending oats with flour and sugar. Her wooden spoon fell into the bowl as memories assailed her.
This is a perfect opportunity for you, Jess. You’ll be your own boss. Greg’s voice tinged with a hint of I-know-best.
Duffy was browning pork chops in a pan. He turned to face Jess, concern in the slant of his eyes. “What is it? What do you remember?”
She held up a shaky hand, trying not to stop the flow of memories.
Isn’t that what life savings are for? Creating a life? Greg’s voice, loud and annoyed.
She reacted now as she had then, with gut-clenching dismay. Her hand sought Duffy’s. “Greg asked me for money to start a bakery. He and I were going to be business partners.” She’d worked in bakeries until she’d entered culinary school and had worked nights at the same time, preserving a sizable chunk of her savings.
A Memory Away Page 10
