by Maggie Ryan
Patrick grinned, already shrugging into his own coat. “Hints are given after a penalty is paid, remember?”
Stepping around him, she retrieved her knit hat and gloves from the pocket of her old coat and pulled them on. “No hint needed. If I’m wrong, at least we’ll get to have something delicious for breakfast.”
When her husband handed her a wicker basket, she giggled. “Now I feel my role is Little Red Riding Hood.”
“You’ll need it to carry your bounty,” he explained as he opened the door for her. “It’s a beautiful day so we’ll walk.”
Despite the snow on the ground and the chill in the air, Phoebe nodded. Ignoring her protests, he had instigated an exercise regimen that included a daily walk. She’d received at least a dozen spankings to adjust her attitude until she realized that not only were the walks making her actually feel physically better, but they almost always ran into others in their community and stopped to chat and catch up on the goings on around the Bend. Even if they didn’t meet a solitary soul, walking hand in hand with the man she’d wed over thirty years ago was still very romantic.
“Too bad it’s cold or else we might have enjoyed some music from the CB orchestra,” she quipped, only to provide the first note herself as his hand connected to her backside.
“Walk faster, or you’ll sing an entire aria by the time we get there. I’m starving!”
They were both beyond hungry by the time they reached the bakery owned by Angela O’Brien. Patrick opened the door after they stomped the snow off their boots. The heavenly aroma of freshly baked treats gave testament as to why the bakery’s name referenced an angel. Several people were milling about, looking into the glass display cabinets, taking the time to make sure they purchased the perfect confection.
Phoebe went straight to the display where cookies were arranged on trays, the sight instantly confirming that her guess had been correct. She giggled as Ange walked over, rolling her eyes.
“It’s about time you showed up,” she groused, giving Patrick’s arm a light punch. “Do you know how embarrassing it is to have to explain to customers that I haven’t lost my skills?”
Patrick rubbed his arm and laughed. He’d asked Ange to help in the game by preparing some chocolate chip cookies. She’d been on board until he’d explained exactly how he’d like to see them in the display. Looking at the tray, he had to admit she’d done an exemplary job. Instead of perfect rows of cookies, these were crumbled and a bit burnt.
Lizzie Mayfield joined them as Ange went behind the counter. “Don’t let her fool you, she’s been telling the story to everyone who comes in. I bet she’s sold more cookies this morning than ever before.” Ignoring Ange’s huff, Lizzie gave Phoebe a hug. “That was a very sweet thing for you to do, my dear.”
Phoebe smiled as Ange boxed up the entire tray for the couple. “What’s romantic is that my pen pal didn’t tell me they’d arrived so broken he had to eat them with a spoon until years later.”
“Hey, even crumbled and burnt, they were still the best cookies we’d eaten in a year. Just opening the bag had every soldier on the floor at my door. They were already jealous that every mail call had at least one letter for me; homemade cookies just ensured that I was a very popular guy that day.”
Ange opened the box. “Just let me trade these out for some fresh ones. I can’t let such a sweet story have a less than perfect ending.”
“No!” Phoebe said a bit too loudly. Giggling, she softened her tone. “I mean, these are just perfect.”
Shaking her head, Ange sighed, mumbling something about her impeccable reputation.
“I promise to keep the boxed closed and not tell anyone you baked them even if I’m captured and tortured,” Phoebe promised, accepting the bakery box and tucking it into her basket.
“How about we make it up to you?” Patrick said, and ordered two of the huge cranberry-orange muffins and two coffees.” Slightly mollified, Ange told them to take a seat, she’d bring their order right over. Once seated at a small table, Phoebe reached across and squeezed her husband’s hand.
“This is so sweet. I can’t believe you remembered that. I spent an entire day baking and never even considered how they would arrive.”
Patrick grinned. “Well, babe, they did have to travel thousands of miles, but I swear, not a single crumb was left in the bag. And what I said about mail call was true. Before we started writing, I never even bothered going down but once I read that first letter, I never missed another. I can still see my buddies’ faces when my name was called again and again on some days. Believe me, if I’d given out your address, you’d have had a dozen pen pals – but I claimed exclusive rights.”
She felt a rush of emotion as she looked across the table. She’d been eighteen and very much in love, or at least she had thought she was. After accepting a marriage proposal from her high school sweetheart, it had taken her only a month to realize he wasn’t the one for her. Though a good man, the chemistry just hadn’t been there. It had been her mother who had given her the courage to break off the engagement. She’d told her that marriage was too precious to settle for just anyone, and that she’d be doing her young man a favor even though it felt like she was about to break his heart.
When her favorite cousin had been drafted and stationed in Berlin, Phoebe wrote him long letters. This was well before computers or cell phones, and she loved to sit and write news from home, making sure it was uplifting or at least comical. On a whim, she’d asked him in one of the letters if he knew of anyone who wished to write to a blonde-haired, blue-eyed Texan. The next time she received mail with an airmail stamp, it hadn’t been from Keith but had been from his roommate, Patrick. The rest was history. They had corresponded for a year before physically meeting each other when he came home for a furlough. They’d spent a week together, and when he’d pulled her across his knees one evening and given her that first spanking, she’d truly lost her heart. She’d traveled across the ocean to see him again a few months later and by the time she stepped onto the plane, she had tears running down her cheeks and an engagement ring on her finger. Lost in the memory, she wasn’t aware of Ange approaching until a plate with two muffins was placed between them.
“Thanks, Ange, for participating in the game,” she said, as she accepted the cup of coffee. “I’m sorry if our cookies hurt your sales.”
“Honey, I’ve had to refill those trays a half dozen times this morning,” Ange said, her eyes twinkling. “The women swoon when I tell the story and the men don’t dare to let them leave empty handed. Oh, I’m supposed to give you this as well.” She pulled a red envelope from her pocket and laid it on the table. “You’ll have to come back and let me know where the other clues send you. I’m just happy to see your romance is still going strong.”
Promising she would, Phoebe forgot Ange and the other customers existed when a small box was placed in front of her.
“Open this first,” Patrick instructed, as he picked up his coffee.
Inside was a bracelet with a charm that appeared to be a piece of parchment, the edges curled a bit, a small pen charm dangling beside it. Seeing it had been engraved, she looked at it more closely. Your words opened my heart, your love fills my soul.
“Oh, Pat, it’s beautiful,” she managed, though her throat had tightened, and tears threatened to spill over.
Patrick stood and walked to her, bending to kiss her cheek. He took the bracelet, kissed the small letter and then fastened it around her wrist. “You are a beautiful woman, Phoebe Portman. I thank God every day that you picked up that pen."
Sniffling a bit, she gave him a watery smile before picking up the envelope.
Chapter Three
Patrick returned to his seat and took a bite of his muffin, his eyes remaining fixed on his wife as she opened the envelope. He watched the charm swing from the bracelet and smiled. She always gave so much to others, and he’d wanted to give her the best Valentine’s Day ever. So far, it seemed to be going according t
o plan.
Phoebe pulled out the card and read the clue aloud.
Lifting the lid to find an empty space does not negate the stories that took place. Precious possessions may long be gone but lingering memories will always belong. “Oh, this is just a tad tougher,” she said, as she read the verse again.
“Need a hint?” he asked, not surprised when she narrowed her eyes to give him a mock glare.
“You seem awful determined to make me ask for a clue. Don’t think I haven’t figured out your palm is just itching to have me accept a penalty.” At his shrug, she sat back and picked up her own muffin, taking her first bite. “Are there time limits to this hunt?”
Patrick hadn’t truly considered the need for time limits. “Not that I’d planned, but I’m betting Ange wants to close up on time.” He chuckled at her snort. “Let’s say, no more than ten minutes for you to make your first guess. If you guess right, we’re off to collect your prize; if not, well, I don’t suppose anyone would bat an eye to see you bent over this table instead of sitting at it.”
“You wouldn’t!”
“Oh, babe,” he said with a grin, lifting his hand and flexing it a few times before turning his wrist to look at his watch, “You’ve got about eight minutes before you see just how much I would.”
“That’s not fair,” she protested. “You just made up that whole time limit thing! I want the entire ten.”
“Keep whining and you’ll get at least ten,” he teased, and loved the way she blushed, her eyes darting about the bakery.
“Okay, okay, give me a minute,” she said, rereading the clue.
“I’ll give you eight.” He chuckled again as she shot him a look that normally would have his hand on her rear, but he knew she was just caught up in the game. Finishing his muffin, he sipped his coffee, making a big show of checking his watch every few minutes.
“Stories long gone but memories remain,” she mumbled. Evidently that didn’t trigger a memory as he watched her brow furrow. She tapped the card against the table, the movement causing the charm on her bracelet to jingle. When she lifted her eyes, he was pretty sure his palm would remain unsatisfied at least for a while.
“The clue is in the ‘lifting the lid’,” she said, slipping the card back into the envelope and dropping it into her basket. She sat back in her chair, picked up her muffin and took several bites as if she didn’t have a care in the world. Looking at his watch, he finished his coffee.
“Thirty seconds.”
His wife swallowed, took another sip of her own coffee and then stood. “I feel like shopping,” she said as she pulled on her gloves before picking up her basket. “Care to join me?”
Patrick stood and walked to the register to settle their bill. Ange took his money and smiled. “Where are you two going now?”
“Auntie Q’s,” Phoebe said.
“Ah, looking for a new spanking implement?”
Loving the look the statement caused to appear on his wife’s face, he tucked his wallet back into his pocket. “Now, there’s an idea.”
Phoebe blushed when she felt his hand move to give her bottom a squeeze. “Let’s just say that’s not exactly what I’m searching for.” The couple left as Ange wished her good luck. Walking down the street, hands clasped in each other’s, Phoebe leaned her head against his arm. “I still can’t believe you went to all this trouble.”
“Having fun?” he asked, leaning down to drop a kiss on top of her head.
“It’s been incredible,” she said, lifting her arm to gaze at the bracelet.
They were both smiling as they entered Auntie Q’s Antique shop. Its owner, Quincy Lauder, was a woman in her sixties whose passion was not only things of old, but also all things kinky. Her shop had a huge selection of antique paddles. The collection, strewn about the store on old dressers, stools, chairs or hanging against the wall, might have caused a few raised eyebrows outside of the Bend, but were both a source of amusement as well as chagrin when purchased by the town’s residents.
Quincy stepped out from behind an antique wardrobe as the door opened to let in a gust of frigid air. “Good morning,” she called. “What a nice surprise to see you both. Have anything particular you're looking for?”
Patrick didn’t answer, watching his wife’s face as she attempted to conceal the fact that maybe she’d guessed incorrectly. Not being greeted as if expected, had her looking up at him, her eyes showing a glint of doubt. Letting her off the hook, he gave her a smile and a nod. She had such an expressive face, it was obvious when she stopped worrying about her behind and began thinking about what she needed to find.
“That’s not funny, Quincy,” she said, as she walked to the woman to give her a hug. “You almost had me running to avoid a penalty.”
“Whatever do you mean?” the older woman teased as she hugged Phoebe. “Heck, what’s the fun in playing if there aren’t a few risks?”
“Easy for you to say,” Phoebe teased back, one hand dropping to rub her backside. “My dear husband keeps warning me of penalties and I must say, your merchandise would make it far too easy unless I gave him a good run for his money.”
“I’m quite sure he wouldn’t mind chasing you,” Quincy said. “And I’m almost just as sure you wouldn’t really mind being caught.”
Patrick laughed from where he’d been leaning against the counter, drawing his wife’s attention back to him. He held up his wrist and tapped his fingertip against the face of his watch. He figured Quincy was just a bit surprised when her customer did run – but only to the back of the store where several trunks were displayed.
Following her, the two watched as Phoebe opened one after another in search of her next clue. Patrick shook his head in amusement as her frantic search slowed when she opened a trunk to find it filled with old books, the slightly musty smell not keeping her from picking up volume after volume to read the titles. Given the amount of books in the trunk, and her intense love of reading, he feared they could spend all day in the store before she’d checked out every title.
“Honey, you might want to check your clue,” he suggested.
Putting down the book she had just opened, she seemed to remember why they were here. “That doesn’t count as a hint does it?” she asked as she lowered the lid of the trunk. “You didn’t say there was a time limit looking – just guessing.”
Patrick shook his head again. His wife had a way of attempting to twist things around a bit but he had to admit she was right. “No, not a hint, just a suggestion. Take all the time you want, as long as you don’t complain when we’re trudging through the snow in the cold and dark later.”
His wife sat back on her heels, her eyes once more scanning the store. Having looked into most of the trunks, she finally stood. “Excuse me,” she said politely as she moved around them. She was looking for other trunks when another customer entered and Quincy went to offer her assistance. Hearing a familiar voice, Phoebe looked up to see her husband shaking Grant Taylor’s hand. He gave her a grin and walked towards her.
“Picking your own Valentine’s gift,” he said, grinning as he picked up a large oval hairbrush off a table by her side. “Need some suggestions?” He tapped the back of the brush against his palm.
“No, thank you,” she said, blushing. She turned away and then turned back and smiled. “But, thanks for moving that… that old thing.”
They all watched as she dropped to her knees. The table was really an antique wooden trunk, complete with leather straps and brass latches. As she started to lift the lid, Patrick stepped forward to help, pulling open the heavy lid.
“Got it!” Phoebe said, as she removed the tray inside the trunk and set it aside. Beneath it lay a small white box and another red envelope. Her smile showed her joy in solving the clue as she replaced the tray. Patrick lowered the lid and smiled.
“Providing customers with added incentives to shop?” Grant asked.
“Only to those men who make an effort to be so romantic,” Quincy said, befo
re explaining that Phoebe was going on a scavenger hunt, with clues and prizes hidden all over town.
“Wow, that’s pretty incredible,” Grant admitted, still holding the brush in his hand. He sighed and put it down on another small table. “How about you help a guy out and suggest something you think Lainie might enjoy? I sure don’t want to hear that I’m less romantic than Pat.”
Quincy took his arm and led him to the display that held antique jewelry. Patrick chuckled as he heard Grant moan, but then turned his attention to his own wife. “Remember our first anniversary?” he asked, as he took the envelope from her so she’d have both hands free to open the small box.
“Yes. We were going to go to the movies but when we got to the mall, we discovered they’d turned all the corridors into stalls. There were all sorts of vendors displaying crafts and antiques. This gorgeous old trunk was on display and the man told us how his wife had found it buried in some old barn, lost and forgotten. He refinished it and said it needed a new home, one where it could be filled with items that it could keep protected.” She paused and he picked up the tale.
“He was a character and a darn good salesman. You were hooked from the moment he said he’d like to be there when items found in it a hundred years later would have people wondering who they’d belonged to, what stories they would tell. We never made it to the movies that day but that trunk is still holding memories.”
She nodded, her hand swiping a tear from her cheek before she gave him a wobbly grin. “It was the perfect first anniversary gift.”
“It still is.” He kissed her cheek, his lips removing the tear. “Don’t cry, sweetheart.”
“I can’t help it,” she said with a shaky laugh. “God, this is just so romantic.” She giggled, looking to the front of the store where Quincy and Grant were both watching her, smiles on their faces. “Remind me to make sure we empty that trunk before we get too old and forget.”
