A man stood behind the vintage mahogany sales desk, his gray hair curling over his ears, bushy sideburns widening his cheeks, and dark brows pulling together fiercely over the bridge of his nose.
“Ambrose,” Daniel said brightly, “I’d like for you to meet Terrance’s niece, Samantha Sweet-Cardwell.”
Sam stepped forward, hoping that her smile didn’t look as frozen as it felt. No matter—the man only grunted and didn’t offer his hand.
“Ambrose Piggott is manager of the shop,” Daniel was saying with as much positive spin as he could muster. “He knows every inch of it, I’m sure.”
“I’ve worked here forty years, know every little detail of the business, too, I daresay,” muttered Ambrose. “Except for the fact about this niece, which I never heard of.”
Daniel cleared his throat. Sam noticed that Beau was staying quiet as the proverbial mouse in the corner.
“Are the ladies here, Ambrose? Samantha wants to meet them as well.”
From behind a tall wooden bookcase a heart-shaped face, framed by long strawberry curls, peered toward the newcomers. When the young woman stepped forward Sam saw that she was under five feet tall, very curvy, with a ready smile and a sparkle in her green eyes.
“Bridget, this is Samantha,” Daniel said.
“You can all call me Sam.” She extended her hand and Bridget edged forward. Despite her shy approach, her handshake was firm.
“Bridget O’Henry. Pleased to meet ya,” she said, with a slight dip that might have become a curtsy in a more formal setting.
Sam guessed she must be in her twenties, although over the telephone her tiny voice probably made people think they were speaking to a child.
“And . . . oh, here’s Keeva,” Daniel said. “Keeva Blake, this is Saman— um, Sam.”
The middle-aged woman’s quick movements gave her a decisive air. She smiled warmly, showing straight, white teeth in an oval face with such pure skin that it obviously had minimal exposure to the dry air and sunshine Sam’s own complexion had been tormented by. Her dark hair was pulled up in a clip. She wore a dark blue dress with a tan apron. She set a cardboard carton on the counter and wiped her hands on the apron before shaking hands with Sam and Beau.
“So, you’ll be working with us now,” Keeva said, as if it were already arranged.
Sam noticed that Ambrose turned his back at the suggestion. Bridget stood with her hands clasped loosely in front of her, looking at Sam expectantly for an answer.
“Well, I . . . I don’t know.” This was all happening too quickly. “I have a business back home in New Mexico, and a side job as well. I’m a little at a loss . . . But we’ll see.”
Did she imagine that Ambrose growled deep in his throat?
“So, anyway—” Why was it so hard to put a bright note in her voice? “Who wants to show us around?”
Beau shot her a look—us? She smiled at him and tried to convey, Just hang in here with me for a little while.
“Well,” said Keeva, “it’s pretty much what you see here.” She spread her arms and turned to indicate the extent of the shop. “There’s a small back room for extra stock, but we haven’t much in there at the moment.”
“Not much cash in the till, either,” Ambrose muttered.
In other words, don’t be thinking you’ll take an income out of this place. Sam noticed that no customers had come in. Foot traffic outside flowed past the bookshop with barely a glance in their direction.
“Maybe we can put together some ideas for ways to build the business back up,” she said. What am I thinking? I’m in town for two weeks.
Bridget sent a perky smile her way; Keeva looked as if she wanted to say something helpful but couldn’t think of anything; Ambrose grunted and moved a stack of bookmarks from one side of the cash register to the other.
Sam gazed around the room, taking in details she hadn’t immediately noticed. Mahogany bookcases that rose nearly to the ten-foot ceiling ringed three sides of the shop. Quality woodwork. Two heavy tables filled most of the open floor space, piled high with books in haphazard stacks. She couldn’t discern any labeling system or organization for which titles were located where. A feather duster lay on one of the tables, as if someone had begun to apply it but forgot to finish.
An elderly woman walked in just then and Keeva approached her.
“I’ll come back later,” Sam said to the others. “We just arrived in town and I need to get my bearings a little bit. For now, please rest assured that I don’t plan to make any drastic changes.”
Bridget visibly relaxed but Ambrose just gave Sam a level stare.
The rain had stopped and the sky was skim-milk white, with hazy shadows beginning to show on the cobbles.
“Daniel, we need to talk,” she said as soon as they’d walked out of sight of the shop. “Where can we grab a coffee?” Or a stiff drink. She caught sight of a large clock on a tall pedestal—it wasn’t even noon.
Beau took her hand. “You two need to talk business. I think I’ll wander back to the harbor and check out the boats for awhile. Meet you back at the room?”
She nodded. His parting kiss reminded her that this wasn’t exactly how they’d envisioned spending their honeymoon. Her thoughts churned as he walked away.
The lawyer led the way toward a bright green door that stood open. Kelly’s Pub was quiet before the lunch crowd came and they ordered coffee and carried it to a table near the windows.
“So.” Daniel Ryan tried to make his voice chipper. “We’ll have a little paperwork to transfer title of the shop to you.”
Sam stared at him—she had at least two million concerns before she could possibly sign anything.
“What on earth was my uncle thinking, leaving me a business to run? I have a business back home. I can’t be two places at once.”
“You have good employees here, Sam. It’ll work out.”
Deep breath. “I can’t just depend on things working out. The employees need leadership—that much is clear from the condition of the place. How will I pay them? The store isn’t exactly bustling with customers.” She felt her voice rise and paused a moment to get control. “I would need to review the financial statements, see if there’s any money in the bank to keep operating . . .”
“I’m sure there are adequate records to allay your concerns,” he said, picking up his mug.
“Where are they? Can I get to them?”
“I imagine they must be in the shop.”
“And who’s going to share them with me? Ambrose Piggott? The man clearly wishes I’d never set foot in there.”
“Ambrose is an oyster, Sam—tough outer shell but a softie inside.”
“Really. Well, you’ll have to offer me some ideas on how I’m supposed to break through that tough shell.”
He swallowed hard, clearly clueless. Had he truly believed that she would be thrilled with this deal?
“Look, I don’t mean to jump down your throat,” she said, softening her voice. “I just . . . I need some ideas. I’m due home in two weeks and that’s not nearly enough time to solve this. I can’t be flying back and forth between countries and letting my pastry shop go downhill while I try to prop up this other one.”
“Let me check our files at the firm. Maybe there were additional records or instructions left with my partner, Mick O’Connor. He was Mr. O’Shaughnessy’s representative for years before I came along.”
It seemed the best he could do. Sam drank her coffee and debated what to do next. When they parted company outside the pub, she started walking. Water had drained off the cobbled pedestrian way and the sun lit some hanging pots of flowers. She strode purposefully until she came to a statue of Oscar Wilde seated on a park bench with another sculpted man. The plaque identified him as Eduard Vilde, an Estonian writer. The two bronze men seemed relaxed and jovial. Sam wished she felt the same way.
Okay, she thought, I can line up some specific steps to take or I can let this whole thing worry me until all the fun is go
ne out of our trip. That was not happening. She wanted to be strolling along the boat docks with Beau right this minute. She made a decision.
Back on Shop Street she stood back and watched the bookshop. Her bookshop. Clearly, she needed help with this situation. She couldn’t operate a business in a strange town, in a foreign country, with no knowledge of the place. She needed the employees’ cooperation and, like it or not, that meant working with all of them, even crusty old Ambrose.
Pedestrian traffic had picked up with the introduction of sunlight and she saw a shopper walk in. Maybe her first impression hadn’t been accurate. She crossed in front of a bright yellow woolens shop and a blue storefront selling quality Irish linens, both bustling with customers. Spiffing up the bookstore would help it draw as much attention as these other places were getting.
The door creaked on its hinges as she entered and she was pleased to see that Ambrose was ringing up a sale, while Bridget talked in her high, small voice with two children whose young mother wanted them to choose books. Sam scanned the shelves until the customers finished and left. She realized that all eyes were on her when she turned around.
“This morning’s events probably came as a surprise to all of us,” she began. “Well, it did for me, anyway. I had no idea that my uncle thought I could handle his store.”
Ambrose’s heavy eyebrows seemed attached at the center; Keeva scuffed one foot back and forth on the hardwood floor. Only Bridget gave Sam her open and undivided attention.
“Anyway. I think we need to talk, to make some plans. Daniel Ryan suggested that I could find the financial records somewhere here in the shop. I’d like to take a look at them. But I assure you all that your jobs are safe. If Uncle Terry needed you here, then I most certainly do.”
The air in the room relaxed a little but no one made a move.
“Ambrose, I will especially need your help. As manager, I’m sure you know more about the business than anyone else, including my uncle. Could you point me in the direction of the files I need?”
He met her gaze steadily. “I’ll get them out. When I have the time.”
From the corner of her eye Sam could see that Keeva and Bridget were frozen in place.
“Okay. Good enough. I’ll come back in the morning—what time do we open?”
Ambrose looked like he planned to say something but, luckily, two women walked in just then so the only word that came out of his mouth was, “Nine.”
Sam sent individual smiles to each of her employees, and to the customers, before she escaped to the street again. She tried to get her bearings, hoping she remembered which of the narrow streets led back to the harbor.
The walk calmed her and she found herself noticing her surroundings. Maybe she and Beau would try authentic pub food later, or perhaps look for a nice restaurant. So far, their honeymoon had consisted of a long car ride following a very long plane trip, with airport food and this morning’s breakfast, which she barely remembered. Uncle Terry’s surprise sort of capped a stressful few days.
She scanned the piers and debated walking the long stretch of dock in search of Beau. They hadn’t tried their cell phones here yet, so she wasn’t sure hers would work but in any case it was among the things she’d left behind in the room. She decided to go there and see if her husband would be along soon.
It took two tries with the key card to get the door open and when she did, the atmosphere in the room seemed different somehow. Music drifted from somewhere, and the air smelled of honeysuckle. The drapes they’d left open were now closed, making the room dim.
“Beau?” she called out.
“In here. Glad you’re back, darlin’.”
She pressed the door shut and turned around.
“Surprised?” he said.
Three lush bouquets stood on the nightstand, table and dresser—roses, lilies, daisies and more. The room-darkening draperies were closed, leaving one small lamp and several candles to softly light the space. Although the small bedside radio didn’t exactly offer stereo quality, it played soft jazz.
“Beau, what did you do?” She giggled as he stepped over to her and trailed little kisses down her neck. His hair was faintly damp and smelled of eucalyptus shampoo.
“I made us a little love nest. I will put out the Do Not Disturb sign and take the phone off the hook and meet you over there.” He tilted his head toward the bed.
She gave herself over to his long and delicious kiss. Now this was how a honeymoon should begin.
Chapter 3
Sam stretched luxuriantly. They’d fallen asleep in a tangle of sheets and sometime during the afternoon she’d pulled up the duvet. Beau’s arm tightened around her midsection, just a little, as he began to waken. At some point he’d blown out the candles and the light in the room was dim.
“I think I’m hungry,” she murmured, “but I can’t decide what I want.”
He kissed her temple, then her neck, down to the shoulder. “Um . . . I could think of something.”
She rolled toward him and they somehow lost track of another half hour.
“What would you like for dinner?” she called out from the bathroom as she aimed the dryer at her hair.
His voice came through but she couldn’t tell what he’d said. Silly to ask a question with a noisy appliance running. She brushed the last few strands and switched off the dryer. A dash of lipstick and hint of blusher and she emerged from the bathroom.
“I’m trying to decide what to wear,” she said. “Where would you like to eat?”
He’d donned his standard outfit—jeans and a flannel shirt. “You can eat in that robe if you want to. We’re dining in, and it should arrive . . .”
He glanced at his watch but a tap at the door answered the question.
Sam edged aside as the waiter wheeled a linen-draped table toward the window. Beau directed the delivery, set two chairs beside the table, and once again marveled when the man didn’t wait around for a tip.
“What’s this?” She eyed the covered plates and crystal bowls of condiments.
“Salmon, freshly caught and lightly grilled.” He lifted one of the lids. “Potatoes, some sliced veggies . . .”
Sam felt herself salivating. There were crisp salads and something decadently chocolate on separate plates.
“I guessed that a white wine might be the thing,” he said, picking up the dewy bottle that the waiter had opened for them.
“Wow. You just might be a keeper.” She winked as she took her seat.
The fish was wonderful and the vegetables perfectly cooked. They ate in silence for a few minutes, until Beau set his fork down.
“I could inhale this,” he said. “Better pace myself. So, how did things go with the attorney after I left?”
She sipped at her wine. “I think he basically had the impression that he would take me by the shop, get me to sign papers which would transfer it to me, and then he’d be back at his office before lunch.”
Beau raised his eyebrows.
“I didn’t sign anything. How could I? The place looks like a money pit to me. A dusty, drab old money pit. I can’t possibly run a store here while I’m keeping Sweet’s Sweets going back at home. I’m used to being very hands-on with my business. I’d have to turn it entirely over to the employees here and hope for the best because I know nothing at all about running a bookstore.”
“True. Maybe Ivan could give you some pointers.”
Ivan Petrenko, the quirky Russian who owned a bookstore next to Sam’s bakery in Taos, did seem to manage to keep his little place going despite his complaints that big chain stores and the Internet had drastically changed the world of bookselling since he got into it. Maybe she could get some ideas from him.
“All I know is that I can’t put any money into it. If O’Shaughnessy’s doesn’t at least generate enough to pay the employees and support itself, all I can think to do is shut it down.”
“Old Ambrose isn’t going to love you for that.”
“No. But o
ld Ambrose doesn’t exactly love me anyway. Did you see that scowl?” She speared a julienne slice of carrot. “At least I finally understand why Uncle Terrance decided to leave the entire inheritance to only one heir. Can you imagine me trying to divide this with my sister, much less include the cousins? It’s a nightmare.”
“I suppose you could sell off the inventory and maybe net enough for another trip back here to close the deal.”
Sam nodded thoughtfully but that answer didn’t feel right either. “I suppose I’ll think of something.”
* * *
By morning, Sam found herself chafing at the unanswered questions.
“If nothing else, I have to get in there and see the financial records,” she told Beau as they took the elevator to the lobby.
“Do you want my help?”
“You don’t have to come along, unless you really want to. With luck, maybe there are a few file folders I can bring back with me, something I can go through in the room this evening.”
“Maybe I’ll look into renting a car so we could take a drive down the coast, or find out what kinds of historic places are around here.”
They stepped out into a brisk breeze and zipped their jackets. The boats in the slips were bobbing merrily and Beau slowed his pace to watch them.
“Give me the morning at the shop,” she said, “then we can meet up and have a tasty pub lunch and figure out how we want to spend some tourist time.”
She gave him a quick kiss and headed across the street. The narrow sidewalks and winding streets felt a little more familiar today, and the absence of rain would—Sam hoped—make her new bookshop look more appealing. By the time she entered Shop Street and located the correct stone building she realized it would take a lot more than good weather to help the old place.
“Good morning, everyone,” she said as she walked in.
Bridget’s cute smile beamed at her from the back of the room. Keeva must have just arrived—she was taking off her heavy sweater. Ambrose, behind the sales counter, only grunted.
“Could we have a little meeting before customers arrive?” Sam asked.
7 Sweets, Begorra Page 2
