Miracle in Bellaroo Creek (Bellaroo Creek!)

by Hannay, Barbara

She’d also experimented with recipes for bread, pies, cakes and slices, and she’d made careful notes of timing and quantities. Successes and failures.

  Most recently, Milla had placed ads in the bakery’s window as well as in the general store, and soon she would be interviewing the applicants who’d responded to the two positions she wanted to fill. She was looking for someone friendly and outgoing to help with shopfront sales, and another person, possibly a teenager, to help her each morning with slicing and packing the bread.

  Each day she felt a little more excited, a little more optimistic that she really could do this. And she was touched and encouraged by the number of people who had popped into the bakery to give her the thumbs-up, and to tell her how much they were looking forward to opening day. Already, before the shop opened, she was beginning to feel a part of the town once again.

  Now, Mrs Jones positioned Milla’s baskets on the counter close to the cash register, and said with a coy smile, ‘I don’t suppose that nice American fellow will be coming back for the opening?’

  Milla’s heart thudded at the mere mention of Ed, even though this question was getting monotonous. Almost every day, there’d been someone in this tiny township who seemed to know about Ed. Inevitably they would slip a not-so-subtle question or comment about the nice American fellow who’d made such a stir during his all too brief stay.

  Milla was trying really, really hard not to think about Ed. She’d exchanged a couple of emails with him, and he’d told her that he had strategies in place to avert the initial thrust of the takeover threat. He was hopeful that Cavanaugh Enterprises would remain intact.

  He’d made polite enquiries about the bakery, which she’d answered carefully, without going too over-the-top with her enthusiasm. After their initial polite exchanges, their emails had lapsed, and she’d decided that was totally appropriate.

  They had no reason to write to each other. They lived on different continents, in different worlds with totally different lifestyles. Ed’s hometown was a famous multicultural metropolis with more than eight million people while Milla’s was a tiny rural town at the bottom of the world where the population had only recently crept past four hundred.

  They had nothing in common... Not. A. Thing.

  Apart from a couple of truly sensational kisses.

  And Milla was working very hard to forget about those etched-on-her-mind events. Unfortunately, she’d been unsuccessful so far, but she would have to try harder. She didn’t want anything to distract her from her goals. This was make-or-break time for her business. It was time to be strong. Time to focus on her preparation and planning.

  Of course, now that Mrs Jones had thrown her the difficult question, she was watching Milla carefully as she waited for her answer. Somehow, Milla managed to smile just as she had every other time she’d faced this question.

  ‘Ed won’t be coming back,’ she assured the storekeeper, and, like all the other times she’d said this, she felt a little chunk of her heart chip off and fall away.

  * * *

  Gerry Cavanaugh stood at the plate-glass window in Ed’s penthouse office, grim-faced, hands sunk in his trouser pockets as he stared out at the skyscrapers and busy streets of Midtown Manhattan. ‘So we dodged the bullet,’ he said, without looking at Ed.

  ‘Yes, it looks like we’re finally in the clear.’ Last night Ed had been euphoric when he’d realised that Cavanaugh Enterprises was out of danger. This morning he braced himself for the grilling he knew his father was about to deliver. After all, Gerry Cavanaugh never came to Ed’s office for any other purpose than to point out his son’s errors.

  Still intent on the view, his father said, tightly, ‘You did well, son.’

  Shock erupted in Ed. In thirty-five years, this was the highest praise he’d ever received from his old man. For a moment he was too stunned to speak.

  Fleetingly, he wondered if his father was all right. Could he be ill? Could this be the first signs of senility?

  Ed was still reeling when Gerry turned from the window. ‘But tell me this, Ed.’ His voice was cooler now and yet somehow louder.

  Ed’s brief sense of elation fizzled and died. Here it comes. The iron fist inside the velvet glove.

  Spearing him with his steely, ice-blue gaze, his father said, ‘Why the hell did you think you were entitled to waste so much damn time in Australia?’

  Ed let out his breath on a silent groan. ‘Give me a break.’

  ‘Give you a break? Are you for real?’ Now the anger flared, as fierce and volcanic and familiar as ever. ‘You took a damn break, Ed. You decided to give yourself an entire week’s break, holed up in Sydney. You were supposed to be running this company and you turned your damn phone off.’

  ‘Look, I know it was a mistake to turn off the phone.’ Ed spoke quietly, in his most placating tone. He was in appeasement mode now, a role he was well and truly used to. ‘I regret turning that phone off. I probably regret it more than anyone. But I wasn’t having a vacation in Sydney. You know I went down there to find Milla. And when I found her, I discovered that she needed help. Our help. She got a raw deal from Harry. She’d lost her baby. To be honest, I was worried about—’

  ‘I thought she rejected our help,’ his father interrupted.

  ‘Milla rejected Harry’s money,’ Ed said quietly and evenly. ‘That’s not quite the same thing.’

  His father didn’t look convinced.

  ‘Another point,’ Ed continued. ‘Milla’s not in Sydney. She’s gone back to her hometown. A tiny little place in rural New South Wales.’ He watched his dad with narrowed eyes. ‘I thought you might understand that. After all, you grew up in a small country town.’

  ‘I don’t see how it’s relevant.’ But despite the snapping retort, his dad looked uncomfortable. A dark stain crept up from his shirt collar.

  Ed had never really understood exactly why his father was reluctant to acknowledge his country roots. He must have had a happy childhood, growing up on the farm with loving parents, and yet, as far as Ed was aware, his dad had only gone back for one or two Thanksgivings or Christmas gatherings, and then, sadly, for his parents’ funerals.

  Gerry Cavanaugh had embraced the big city life and he’d poured all his energy and focus into his business. And he’d made it clear that he expected Ed, as his eldest son, to follow in his footsteps.

  It wouldn’t be wise to mention Milla’s bakery, Ed decided now. Remembering his own reactions when he first heard about her plans, he knew he couldn’t expect his father to remotely understand.

  ‘So I assume I can trust you to stay at the helm?’ His father’s voice carried an all too familiar sarcastic edge now. ‘There’ll be no more rescue missions down under?’

  ‘No, of course not.’ Ed made a show of checking the time.

  ‘Yes, I’m going,’ his father growled. But he didn’t move. He cleared his throat and looked suddenly, uncharacteristically nervous, almost red-faced. ‘By the way, Ed. I guess I should tell you. I’m getting married in a couple of weeks’ time.’

  He didn’t add the word again, even though this was Wife Number Four. It wasn’t easy for Ed to manufacture the appropriate degree of surprised pleasure, but he managed. ‘Congratulations.’

  ‘I guess you should come to dinner,’ his dad said gruffly. ‘To meet Maddie.’

  ‘Maddie?’ Ed frowned. This was a new name. Last he’d heard, his father was dating a former flight attendant, half his age, called Cindy.

  ‘Madeleine Brown. She’s...a widow.’

  ‘Right,’ Ed said, intrigued. ‘Thanks. I—I’d like to meet her.’

  ‘Friday at Spiegel’s, then. Eight o’clock. You’ll bring Caro, I suppose?’

  ‘Ah, no... I don’t think so.’ Ed dropped his gaze as he shrugged. ‘There’s been a parting of the ways.’

  ‘Well, well...a
nother one bites the dust.’

  Ed was tempted to snap back that at least he hadn’t made a habit of marrying the wrong women; he’d merely dated them. But he kept his counsel, and to his relief his father strode off, leaving him in peace.

  Peace was a relative term, of course, suggesting a certain lack of restlessness. Truth to tell, Ed had been decidedly restless since his return from Australia.

  He’d found the hours spent behind his desk or locked in boardrooms were ambushed by memories of that little bakery in Bellaroo Creek. All kinds of unexpected images had leapt into his focus. He would see Milla’s hands, pale and distractingly graceful, even when she was busy with a rolling pin. Remembered her happy smile or her small frown of concentration as she made a lattice pattern with pastry strips over cherries.

  He’d remember driving with her through the countryside in the moonlight. Her smile against a backdrop of endless fields of golden wheat. Hell, he’d even called in at a local bakery on Columbus Avenue and tried to peek out the back to see how they’d set up their machinery.

  At the oddest moments, he would remember driving out to a barbecue at sunset when the sky was lavender and the wheat fields were pink and gold.

  Too many times, he remembered Milla’s farewell kiss, the sweetness of her lips, the soft green of her eyes, shiny with tears.

  And then there was another thought, one that would have been inconceivable before he left for Australia. The thought shocked him, and he would never admit it to anyone. He could barely admit it to himself. But there were times while he was fighting to save his company when he’d wondered if the takeover would, in all honesty, be such a devastating disaster.

  While Ed might have lost his job, he could have fought to save his employees’. In reality, a takeover might have left them better off. And he would have relinquished a shedload of responsibility and hard work. He would have been free to look at other options. New horizons. He’d even begun to understand why Harry had rebelled, and for the first time he was feeling less certain.

  These were truly crazy thoughts, of course, and Ed had begun to wonder if the long plane journey hadn’t shaken a screw loose.

  * * *

  Milla was standing on the footpath outside the bakery when her phone rang. ‘Good morning,’ she answered, smiling broadly. ‘This is Bellaroo Bakery. How can I help you?’

  ‘Hi, Milla.’

  Zap!

  At the sound of Ed’s voice, a massive jolt almost lifted her from the ground. She had to take a calming breath before she could answer. Why was he ringing? Not another problem, surely?

  ‘Hi, Ed.’ Her heart was racing and she was breathless. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Fine, thanks. And you?’

  ‘Terrific.’ She had to stop to take another breath. ‘Everything’s falling nicely into place here.’

  ‘Pleased to hear it. So what’s the latest?’

  ‘You—you want details?’

  ‘Sure. If you have time... I’d love to hear how the bakery’s shaping up.’

  And, heaven help her, she wanted to tell him. ‘Well...right now, I’m admiring a lovely new sign above the shop. The name’s freshly painted in dark green on a cream background, and the writing’s slightly curly and olde worlde. I love it.’

  ‘Sounds neat. And you’re still using the old name, Bellaroo Bakery?’

  ‘Yes. I played around with other names. Heidi suggested Bun in the Oven, which is cute, but it reminded me too much of...’ Milla swallowed uncomfortably. It still hurt to talk about the baby.

  Ed made a soft sound of sympathy. ‘So when’s the opening day?’ he asked.

  ‘Next Monday.’

  ‘Wow. So soon.’ After a slight hesitation, Ed asked, ‘Are you excited?’

  ‘Yes, I am rather.’

  ‘Nervous?’

  She laughed. ‘Very.’ But before Ed could start worrying about her doing everything on her own, she hurried to reassure him. ‘I’ve hired help, you’ll be pleased to hear. I have two young mothers working half a week each, and they’ll be in the shop, looking after the sales. And when they’re not working, they’ll be minding each other’s babies.’

  ‘OK. That sounds like a good arrangement.’

  ‘I was thinking about someone to help with slicing and bagging, but I’m thinking I might only slice about a quarter of the loaves to begin with, and sell the others as whole loaves. I’m going for a more old-fashioned, wholesome product.’

  ‘Yeah, I think that could work. People often associate tradition with quality.’

  ‘That’s what I’m hoping. If I need to do more slicing and bagging, I can. Sherry’s young brother Ethan is interested in working for an hour in the mornings.’

  ‘Good plan.’ After a beat Ed asked, ‘And who’ll be helping you with the baking?’

  Milla and Ed had discussed, or rather argued about, this when he was here. Even though he couldn’t see her now, Milla squared her shoulders. ‘I think I’ll be fine on my own.’

  ‘You think,’ Ed said with soft emphasis.

  ‘I know I’ll be fine.’ Now she lifted her chin.

  ‘Those massive bags of flour won’t lift themselves.’

  ‘I’ll be OK, Ed.’

  ‘Don’t forget, your mother had your father’s help, Milla.’

  ‘I’m starting on a much smaller scale.’

  ‘That’s something, I guess.’

  ‘Please don’t start trying to boss me long distance.’

  ‘I won’t. I promise.’ His voice was gentle now. ‘I’ll just be concerned at long distance.’

  Don’t do that either. Forget about me. Hopeless tears stung. She said quickly, ‘I thought you must have rung because you had news to share.’

  ‘I do have news, actually. My father’s getting married again.’

  ‘Oh.’ It was hard to respond to this with enthusiasm.

  ‘I’m meeting the lucky lady tonight over dinner at Spiegel’s.’

  ‘Spiegel’s? Nice. I’m treating Heidi and Brad and the kids to dinner here.’

  ‘Sounds like fun. Say hi to them from me, won’t you? You’ll have a great evening.’

  ‘I hope we will, Ed. I know it’s a bit stark in the bakery, but I’ll fill a few jugs with greenery and I’ll have some music going. Some wine. Candles to relieve the bareness. It’s really cold here at the moment, so I’m making minestrone soup and ciabatta bread.’

  ‘You know how to make ciabatta?’ He sounded incredulous.

  Milla laughed. ‘I’ve just taken a big round loaf out of the oven and it looks great. Remember when we went to that organic farm near Parkes, and I told you about the three months I spent working on an organic farm in Italy? Well, the family ended up sharing their four-hundred-year-old recipe.’

  ‘You must have charmed them.’

  ‘I think they were charmed by the fact that my parents were bakers. And I made them my stuffed olive bread.’

  Ed’s soft groan vibrated in her ear, vibrated all the way through her.

  ‘I want to be there tonight,’ he said.

  I want you to be here, too.

  She knew it was crazy, but she imagined Ed with her friends gathered at her table, imagined his dark, handsome face lit by a happy smile as he chatted with Heidi and Brad, as he charmed little Lucy, as his gaze met Milla’s across the table.

  Then reality crashed back. She sighed.

  ‘I’ll be thinking of you all,’ Ed said softly, in a way that made goosebumps break out on her skin.

  Don’t think about us. You’re making this impossible. Tears filled her eyes and it was only as she began to swipe at them that she realised she was still standing outside her shop and people were watching her.

  She hurried inside, closed the door. ‘We shouldn’t be talking li
ke this, Ed.’

  There was a long silence.

  ‘You’re right,’ he said, and gave a heavy sigh. More abruptly, he added, ‘Anyway, I have to go.’

  ‘Thanks for calling. I hope you enjoy the dinner tonight. Pass on my best wishes to Gerry.’

  ‘I will, thanks. And all the best to you for Monday morning. I’ll have to work out the time difference so I can think of you getting up at three a.m.’

  ‘I’m sure I’ll appreciate your thoughts.’

  He said goodbye.

  ‘Goodbye, Ed. Take care.’

  ‘You, too.’

  Milla closed the phone and set it on the counter. She felt empty, like a flaking husk of wheat after the grain had been removed. Ed shouldn’t have called her. He shouldn’t have made her think about him, and he certainly shouldn’t have let her know he was thinking about her.

  It was time to forget.

  She was moving on. This was supposed to be the start of her post-Cavanaugh life.

  * * *

  Madeleine Brown, his father’s new fiancée, was sitting alone when Ed reached their table at Spiegel’s.

  ‘Your father’s been delayed,’ she told Ed, ‘but he shouldn’t be long.’

  To Ed’s surprise, Madeleine was older than his dad’s previous wives, and not nearly as glamorous. But she had the loveliest warm brown eyes, and, despite her unruly, pepper and salt curls and her noticeable wrinkles, her smile was utterly enchanting. Ed liked her immediately.

  ‘Call me Maddie,’ she said as they shook hands.

  ‘I’m very pleased to meet you, Maddie.’

  ‘You won’t remember me, but I’ve met you before, Ed.’ Maddie’s dark eyes held a charming twinkle. ‘You were only a small boy. I was home for Thanksgiving, and I called in at your grandparents’ place and met you and your mom.’

  ‘Are you from Michigan?’ Ed asked in amazement.

  ‘Born and bred,’ she responded with a smile. ‘I grew up on the farm right next to your grandparents.’

  Shock stole Ed’s breath. He was completely blindsided. When he could eventually speak, he felt he had to clarify this astonishing news. ‘Are you telling me that you and my father were neighbours?’