by B. J Daniels
“Promise me you won’t do anything rash,” Laney said. “On second thought, I know you. I’m coming home early.”
“No,” Laci said, wiping at her tears. “You’re on your honeymoon.”
“I’m not unless you promise me you won’t do anything until I get back.”
What was a few more days? Laney was right. It could wait that long. Alyson was dead. Nothing could change that.
Just then she heard a car on the county road to the north. Out the kitchen window she saw Spencer Donovan’s vehicle. She ducked back out of sight as the car seemed to slow as it passed.
Spencer was back in Old Town Whitehorse.
“Laci?” Laney asked on the other end of the line. “I want you to promise you won’t do anything until I get back or I’m getting on the next plane home.”
She hated fibbing to her sister, but she knew that if she didn’t promise, Laney would cut her honeymoon short and do just what she was threatening.
Laci crossed her fingers and squeezed her eyes shut. “I promise.”
Chapter Five
“I WAS JUST getting ready to call you,” Sheriff Carter Jackson said when Laci got him on the line the next morning.
“You found something?” She couldn’t help but sound hopeful. If the sheriff had discovered anything incriminating on Spencer Donovan, then there would be an investigation by professionals. Laci wasn’t foolish enough to believe she could do a better job of investigating Spencer than law enforcement.
“Probably not what you were expecting,” the sheriff said. “I talked to the detective on the case in Hawaii. The autopsy confirms that Alyson drowned. There were no drugs in her system. No sign of foul play.”
“Was she pregnant?”
“No.” He sounded surprised by the question. “Laci, Alyson’s death has been ruled an accident. The case is closed.”
“But what about Spencer? There has to be something in his background—”
“I ran him through our computers. Laci, the man hasn’t even had a speeding ticket in years.”
She couldn’t believe this. “What about his business?” Alyson had led her to believe that Spencer was wealthy. That had to be a lie. “Is he really rich?”
“Rich is a relative term, but he seems to have done very well with his investment business,” the sheriff said. “You aren’t thinking he was after Alyson’s money?”
She wasn’t sure what she was thinking. Maybe that was the problem. She wasn’t thinking at all—just letting her heart rule, as she’d done all her life.
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to hold herself together.
“Other than the one look you thought he gave his bride, what is it about Donovan that has you so suspicious?”
She felt tears burn her eyes. Other than a feeling based on nothing more than a look, there wasn’t anything he’d done or said that would prove him a killer. “There’s really nothing you could find on him?”
“Nothing. I hope the information gives you some peace of mind,” the sheriff said. He seemed to hesitate. “Spencer Donovan stopped by my office earlier. He’d heard I’d been asking about him and his business. I told him it was standard procedure in an accidental death. I’m not sure he believed me, but he was cordial enough about it. I didn’t mention your name, of course.”
“Thank you for running a check on him,” she said, feeling even worse. Carter had to think she was a nutcase.
“Mr. Donovan told me that he’s staying out at the Banning ranch down the road from you. Is that going to be a problem for you?”
“I guess not since apparently there is nothing to worry about when it comes to him,” she said. “Did he mention how long he would be staying?”
“Didn’t say. I would assume at least until after the funeral. He said services are planned at the old Whitehorse Cemetery tomorrow, but I imagine you already knew that.”
The moment she hung up, the phone rang. It was Laney. She told her sister what the sheriff had found out.
“What is it going to take for you to accept that this man isn’t a killer?” Laney asked.
She wished she knew.
“I did get the name of the eyewitness who tried to save Alyson,” her sister said.
“Maybe the eyewitness was in on it,” Laci said as she scrambled to find a pen and paper. “Maybe Spencer hired this guy.”
Laney groaned on the other end of the line. “The eyewitness was a woman. Her name is Joanna Clemmons from Atlanta, Georgia. She was visiting Hawaii on a church conference. Sound like a hired killer to you?”
Laci wrote down the woman’s name, although her enthusiasm had waned. “I’m crazy, aren’t I?”
“You’re just not thinking straight, sweetie,” Laney said comfortingly.
“I thought for sure she might have been drugged. Or maybe pregnant and he didn’t want the baby.”
“You know that if Alyson had been pregnant she would have told you,” Laney assured her. “You two were best friends for too many years. She always told you everything.”
Did she?
Laci wasn’t so sure about that as she made another promise to her sister she had no intention of keeping, fingers crossed, and got off the line.
* * *
“I NEED YOUR HELP,” Bridger said when Laci answered the phone a few minutes later. He’d called her numerous times to see how she was doing.
She always told him the same thing: that she was okay. But he could tell by her voice that she was far from okay. He just hoped now that Spencer was back in town that she didn’t still think he’d killed his bride on their honeymoon.
“I need a chef,” Bridger said. “I’m having a small, invitation-only sampler just to test my proposed menu for the restaurant. The problem is that I’m in over my head. I need help. I’m desperate.”
“As flattering as that is...”
“Laci, I need you. And I think it’s time you got back to cooking.” He could hear from her surprised intake of breath that she hadn’t expected him to know that she’d been so upset she couldn’t even cook.
“How did you—”
“I can’t do this without you. I can drive down and pick you up—”
“No. What are you making?”
He smiled to himself, knowing once he told her, he’d have her. He rattled off his menu.
“You don’t want to make that for dessert. Not with it supposed to rain this afternoon. I have a chocolate flourless torte that would be perfect.” She sighed. “I’ll be there in an hour. I’ll stop by the store and pick up what I need to make it.”
He breathed a silent sigh of relief. “I owe you.”
“Yes, you do. Wait until you get my bill.”
* * *
LACI STOPPED BY the grocery store to get what she needed to make her flourless chocolate torte, grateful to have something to do. But, in truth, also looking forward to spending time with Bridger.
The local grocery was small, the aisles narrow, but she found what she needed and pushed her cart into the checkout line.
“Excuse me.”
Laci heard the male voice, recognizing it at the same moment a chill raced up her spine.
“Laci?” Spencer asked from directly behind her.
She turned, afraid of what she was going to say. She’d thought about coming face-to-face with him. All she could think about was clawing out his eyes, screaming obscenities at him.
But when she saw his face, she did neither. His dark eyes were sunken with dark circles under them. He looked horrible. She hadn’t expected this, and even while she told herself this could be part of his act, she felt for him and the pain she saw in his face.
“I’m so sorry about Alyson.” Her words surprised her. She sounded so civil.
H
e nodded. “Thank you.”
She turned back as the cashier announced her total. Laci’s hands were shaking as she pulled the money from her purse and paid for her groceries.
“If you wait, I can help you out with those,” Spencer said behind her.
“That’s all right. I can manage,” she said, not looking at him.
“See you around, Laci.”
She stumbled from the store, shaken. Was it possible she was wrong about Spencer Donovan?
Opening her car, she put the groceries inside and, unable to help herself, glanced back toward the store.
Through the large plate-glass window she saw him at the checkout. He was paying for his groceries, but as if feeling her gaze on him, he turned in her direction.
Their gazes locked and he smiled, but the smile never met his eyes.
* * *
ONE LOOK AT her and Bridger knew he’d done the right thing dragging Laci into town. He tossed her an apron, biting his tongue to keep from asking how she was holding up. The way her fingers trembled as she tied on the apron said it all.
Laci had left her recipes in the kitchen at his restaurant the other day. He’d tried her flourless chocolate torte, trying to read the changes she’d made in the margin.
It had turned out all right, but he really wanted to taste hers. Somehow he knew it would be better than what he’d made even following her recipe.
“What do you need me to do?” she asked, stepping to the sink to wash her hands.
“I tried your torte recipe,” he confessed. “I would like to taste it after you make it.”
She smiled over her shoulder at him, what he suspected was her first smile in days. “What makes you think mine will be better?”
“Just a feeling,” he said with a laugh. Just like the feeling that he’d called her in the nick of time. He could see the grief on her face. She looked thinner, her eyes rimmed red, her face pale.
He went to work on one of the entrées and left her to it. They cooked in silence. He watched her come back to life slowly as the kitchen filled with the sweet scents of rich, creamy butter, chocolate and raspberry.
He relaxed into the pleasurable work, the only sounds that of pots and pans and wire whips and wooden spoons and the occasional ooh or aah as one of them tasted their work of art.
The kitchen was warm and safe, just as it had been when he was a child. His mother had taught him to cook. His father had taught him to ride a horse and fish.
Both of his adoptive parents were now gone. His father from a heart attack seven years ago. His mother finding peace six months ago after a long battle with cancer.
She’d given him one final gift: the truth. Since then, he’d often wondered why he hadn’t known he was adopted. Or even suspected it. How was that possible?
A door opened and closed. A female voice called, “Hello?” as cowboy boot soles thumped across the wood floor of the restaurant into the kitchen at the back.
As if conjured up from his thoughts, his twin, Eve Bailey, stopped in the doorway.
“So you’re really doing this,” she said. Like her sisters and mother, Eve was all cowgirl. She wore jeans, boots and a Western shirt. But recently he’d noticed she was wearing makeup and fixing her hair differently. He suspected it was for the same reason Sheriff Carter Jackson was spending more time down in Old Town Whitehorse. There appeared to be some old-fashioned courting going on.
Bridger was glad to see it. He’d seen the way Eve’s eyes lit when the sheriff was around.
“You got the invitation for tonight, didn’t you?” Bridger asked. “I reserved a table for you.” He didn’t add that the sheriff had already called to reserve his best table. Wouldn’t it be something if the sheriff popped the question tonight?
“Hi, Laci,” Eve said.
Laci had been so involved in her cooking she hadn’t seemed to have heard Eve come in.
“I assume you two know each other?” Bridger asked. He and Eve were older than Laci, but both women had grown up in Old Town Whitehorse, and as small as that community was, they probably knew each other’s life histories.
“Of course,” Laci said and laughed before saying hello to Eve, then going back to her cooking.
Bridger was just getting to know the town and the people. He felt as though he was thirty-two years behind even though it was the only reference spot he had in his search for his birth mother.
Eve talked for a few minutes about the weather, her new horse, the price of hay. She seemed to be avoiding mentioning Alyson’s death, her eyes flicking to Laci’s thin back as the younger woman continued to cook.
Bridger walked Eve out to her pickup.
“Is Laci all right?” Eve asked. “You know Alyson Banning was her best friend.”
He nodded. “She’ll be all right. It just takes time.” He could feel Eve eyeing him.
“I’m glad you stayed around,” she said as they reached her truck and she started to open the driver’s-side door.
“Me, too.” He wanted to apologize again for being such a jerk when he’d first come to town. He’d thought Eve Bailey was in on the cover-up involving his adoption. He hadn’t realized how wrong he could be.
His mother had told him about the phone call in the middle of the night. His adoptive parents had driven all the way to Whitehorse and waited in the dark, wintry cold at the cemetery. They’d almost given up when an older woman had appeared out of the snowy darkness with a bundle.
Inside had been a baby and a new birth certificate that would make them the birth parents.
Only there’d been a mix-up. They’d been given the baby boy—but the wrong birth certificate. The birth certificate was for a little girl named Eve Bailey who’d been born the same night at the same time. His fraternal twin sister.
What he and his twin had in common was their quest to find their birth mother. But unlike him, Eve believed the answer was lost forever with Pearl Cavanaugh’s stroke.
“You do realize that Laci is Pearl Cavanaugh’s granddaughter, I assume,” Eve said.
It was eerie the way she often knew what he was thinking.
“That isn’t what this is about,” he said.
She cocked a brow at him, no doubt remembering how driven he’d been to find out the truth just months ago. Not that things had changed. He was just going at it differently, he told himself.
He planned to charm them with his culinary craft. Seduce them with food cooked with his love and care. Show them he wasn’t going anywhere until he got the truth. And eventually he would get what he was after. He hoped.
Eve was one of them, an Old Town Whitehorse resident, and she hadn’t been able to get to the truth. Was he kidding himself that staying here was the answer?
“Laci loves to cook almost as much as I do, and I needed a cook. It’s that simple.” He wished.
Eve was still giving him the eagle eye. “So she’s working for you?”
Was she? “I hope so.” It was true. The kiss aside, he needed her expertise. She’d had some good suggestions about the menu, and the woman could cook. As long as he didn’t let her distract him, everything would be fine.
“Do I say break a leg or what?” Eve asked.
“Good luck will do,” he said and grinned at her. “You look nice. Date?”
“Uh-huh.” Eve glanced away, shy when it came to Carter.
He smiled. “Carter’s a good man.”
She cut her eyes to him. “You’d better get back to your cooking.”
“Eve...” he said, feeling a strange lump in his throat. So many times he’d regretted telling her he had no interest in getting to know her. His own twin sister. He’d been angry.
Since then, they’d made a pact to keep their relationship a secret. At least for the time being. There hadn’t been enough ev
idence to expose the Whitehorse Sewing Circle, and telling everyone would only open up the whole sorry mess. “I’m glad you stopped by.”
* * *
LACI BREATHED IN the scents of the kitchen, glancing around, grateful that Bridger had called her to help.
Not that she didn’t know what he was up to. He was too smart to make anything for dessert that could be affected by damp weather. He just knew that she needed this and had come up with an excuse to get her down here.
Still, it surprised her that this man she’d only just met knew that the one thing she needed most right now was to be cooking.
Under normal circumstances she would have balked at such obvious manipulation. But the truth was she needed to lose herself for a few hours. She was beginning to question her own sanity since from all appearances Spencer Donovan was no more a killer than she was.
And yet her instincts told her she was right. Alyson had been murdered. And she was the only one who knew the truth.
She heard Bridger come back into the kitchen as she slid the tortes into the oven and set the oven timer.
“I couldn’t have done this sampler without you,” he said behind her. “Thank you. You saved my life.”
She nodded without turning around as she put her recipes away. She was the one who’d been saved and they both knew it. Getting ready for his invitation-only sampler night had kept her so busy she hadn’t had time to agonize over Alyson’s death. Or what to do about Spencer Donovan. As if there was anything to do.
She just hoped her tortes turned out. She loved cooking here with Bridger, but she’d been too aware of him this time. She just hoped she hadn’t left anything out of the recipe. One thing was for sure—she couldn’t take the chef job he’d offered her, even if she was tempted. She couldn’t work this close to the man. And just the thought made her a little sad.
* * *
BRIDGER HAD STOPPED just inside the kitchen door, watching Laci as she slid the tortes into the oven and set the timer, then began putting away her recipes.
She had a dab of flour on her cheek, her face a little flushed from the heat of the kitchen, her eyes bright and shiny. He’d never seen a more beautiful, desirable woman.
