Sweet Surprise: Romance Collection

by Wanda E. Brunstetter, Kristin Billerbeck, Kristy Dykes, Aisha Ford, Birdie L. Etchison, Pamela Griffin, Joyce Livingston, Tamela Hancock Murray

Cynthia explained she was the new manager of Taylor’s Bed and Breakfast, pointing up the hill.

  “Yes,” Mary said. “I’ve lived here all my life and know the Taylor family well. I just went into this business as it’s been a longtime dream of mine.”

  Cynthia smiled. “I think fulfilling dreams is important in life. I wish you every success.”

  “How is Rainey doing, anyway?”

  Cynthia tried not to look surprised. Was something wrong with Rainey? And who was this woman who had helped Gabe out?

  “I don’t know,” she mumbled. “We haven’t met yet.” Is there something I should know?

  “She’s been ill, I understand. She’ll come around when she’s on her feet again.”

  “I hope so. She’s bringing me a car, Mr. Taylor said.”

  “Gabe,” Mary said. “We all go on first-name basis around here. And Gabe is one of us, whether he likes to think so or not.”

  Cynthia wondered about the remark as she moved on into the store, admiring the various displays of fresh flowers and a few plants. She wanted to buy everything she saw.

  “I’d like to order fresh flowers to be delivered on Friday.” Cynthia hesitated and looked at Mary’s face.

  “I’ll go with the lilies in that pink tone. They’re so fragrant.”

  “That they are.”

  “Okay, and yes, we deliver, but I’m wondering, is this order for the B and B?”

  “Yes. Is that a problem?”

  “Gabe’s never ordered flowers before.”

  “It’s a must. He’ll agree.”

  “Okay. I’ll write it up.”

  Since Cynthia was walking, she bought only a few things on her grocery list. She’d come again tomorrow. And maybe she’d bring some of her bread or a plate of cupcakes for Mary. She’d make the ones with flowers on top.

  Just as Cynthia started to climb the hill toward the B and B, the sky opened and rain soaked her before she got there. Thankfully she’d had her items in a plastic bag and not a paper one. This wasn’t the usual “mist.” It was going to take some getting used to.

  Chapter 4

  R ainey dropped the car off the following day. If she rang the bell, Cynthia had not heard it. She was busy responding to the online instant message from the cooking guru.

  “We’re going to call your class The Lion Cooks. A little play on words. What do you think?”

  “Sounds fine to me,” Cynthia answered. “I’m looking forward to it.”

  “We’ll start on Tuesday. Is tomorrow too soon?”

  “I look forward to it!”

  Cynthia shut the computer down and went outside to look at the side yard again. She needed to prepare the ground for the bedding plants she wanted. A little color would help immensely. A dusty blue Chevy sat in the driveway, and then she noticed the envelope under the doormat. The keys. But why hadn’t Rainey come in? She looked up the street in the hopes of seeing someone walking, but there was no one. For once the sky was a cloudless blue, and the air felt warm. She went back inside to check on the bread rising in the pans. Soon the kitchen would be filled with the fragrance of rosemary and dill. She’d just turned the oven on when the phone rang.

  “Did you get my e-mail?”

  “Well, and good morning to you, too.”

  “Good morning.”

  “I did.”

  “And?”

  “I’ll mail the amount by the end of the day. Oh, and Rainey dropped off the car.”

  “Good. Did she come in?”

  “No, which I thought strange.”

  “You’ll meet her one of these days. She’s kind of a loner.”

  “I gathered that.”

  “I’m coming down this weekend,” he said then.

  “You are?”

  “Thought you might need someone there.”

  “I know I can handle it.” Her pulse raced, though she told it not to.

  “I’m sure you can, too.”

  That night Cynthia went to the message board, looking for responses from online students. She found several. She didn’t realize how little some of the readers knew.

  “Does it matter what kind of apples I use?” was the first question. “I have these red ones; I don’t know what they are.”

  “I have a can of applesauce, can I use that?” was another.

  And yet another: “Do I need to peel the apples?”

  Then: “My husband prefers peaches. Can I make a crisp with peaches?”

  Cynthia replied:

  You can use any apples; it’s just that Granny Smiths are the best for cooking.

  Applesauce is not going to work. You need fresh apples. And, yes, please peel them.

  You can make peach crisp. Ripe peaches would be the best, but canned can also be used. Use half the sugar, though.

  Quick breads are next. I hope you have loaf pans. If not, buy one or two now. Buy the regular size, not the small ones.

  Bon appétit!

  Cynthia Lyons

  On Wednesday Gabe phoned again. “What is this huge floral expense?”

  Cynthia braced herself. “A bed-and-breakfast should have fresh flowers to greet the guests, and a bouquet in their room. It sets forth the right ambience.”

  “And I say the view is what brings them there—and will bring them back.”

  “I know. That, too.”

  “Maybe you’d better run things by me before you buy.”

  “Okay. Sure.”

  Rainey came over the next day. She knocked first and then opened the door. “Hello, anyone here?”

  Cynthia dried her hands—she’d been peeling veggies to add to a stew that she’d be eating the rest of the week. “Yes, I’m here. In the kitchen.” She held out her hand to a young woman who was tall and had broad shoulders but looked about the same age as Cynthia. She knew immediately who it was.

  “Hi, I’m Rainey.”

  “You should have just come in—you must know this place better than I do! I’m Cynthia and so glad to meet you.”

  “Mary said you were hoping I’d stop by. Been sick, but feeling better now.” Her eyes swept over the room, and Cynthia knew Rainey was noticing she’d moved some things around.

  “It’s different,” Cynthia said. “I hope you like it.”

  “Yes, it’s just that Gabe doesn’t like change. Has he seen it yet?”

  “No, but I guess he will on Friday. He said he’s coming down.” Cynthia gestured toward the kitchen. “Come on in, and I’ll put the kettle on for tea, or whatever you’d like. There’s cola in the refrigerator.”

  “You are a dynamo,” Rainey said, “and I’ll have tea.”

  Cynthia pulled out a kitchen chair and put the heat on under the kettle. “I like to keep busy, that’s true.”

  “Gabe was lucky to find you.”

  “I am lucky the B and B needed a manager, and I couldn’t have found a more beautiful spot.”

  “Astoria is wonderful. We who live here tend to take it for granted.”

  “Can’t get used to the rain, though. I mean it’s summer! Look at the clouds—and they just hang over, making it cool and damp.”

  “It’s always been that way. You just get used to it.”

  “Maybe you do, but I must admit I miss the sunshine in California.”

  “And the busy freeways, the fires, and floods?”

  “You’re right. Tell me, did I hear that you and Gabe went to school together?”

  Rainey’s long, slender fingers wrapped around her cup of tea. She lifted it to take a drink then lowered it onto the saucer. “I have known Gabe since kindergarten. Our mothers were best of friends.”

  Cynthia wanted to ask if they had been boyfriend and girlfriend, but didn’t.

  “Yes, I loved him. Might as well tell you now, as you’ll hear it through the grapevine. I know he loved me once, but his dream was to move on to Portland and begin his business there. Astoria is too small.”

  “Maybe he will change his mind.” Cynthia squeezed a spot of le
mon into her tea.

  “No, there’s Natalie now. She has him wrapped around her finger, as the saying goes. She’s not right for him, but he can’t see it. She smells of success, and that’s what he’s looking for now.”

  “And what do you do?”

  “Teach. At the grade school. Music and art.”

  “That certainly sounds successful to me.”

  “Small time, though. Small school. No challenge. But I like it here. Don’t imagine I’ll ever move. At least I don’t have the inclination now.”

  Later, over a bowl of beef stew, Cynthia thought of the wistful look on Rainey’s face. She loved Gabe. When she spoke of him, her eyes lit up, but she’d accepted the fact that what they once had was a thing of the past. Just as Cynthia realized her first boyfriend had left her behind. First love was intense and could be so crushing.

  Cynthia went over her notes for the second online class. Quick breads. She had posted a request for favorite comfort foods. She knew she’d get things like mashed potatoes and macaroni and cheese, but when she asked specifically for desserts, chocolate in any shape or form topped the list, but pudding was second. And there were so many kinds of puddings.

  Puddings. They were a favorite with the pioneers. Simple; not too many ingredients, usually something they had in the pantry. If you have four ingredients, you can make several puddings.

  The phone rang. A reservation for a month away. After marking the calendar, Cynthia mixed up batter for cupcakes. She’d purchased a large mixer with a stand the second day after taking the job. She couldn’t live without a mixer that whipped up things in one minute instead of taking ten. She didn’t put that on the charge; she’d take it with her wherever she went. The way things were going, Gabe might look for someone who didn’t care what the B and B looked like and had no designs to improve it.

  Cynthia wasn’t into clothes and jewelry, but she insisted on having comfortable, beautiful surroundings—like the bedroom she was supposed to sleep in. It had drab beige walls, white curtains, and a white bedspread with a pink fringe. She hated the whole room. She ordered a new throw rug for beside the bed; a colorful patchwork quilt, pillows with shams, and a dust ruffle; curtains in a cozy, warm lilac; and found a picture for the wall over the bed. It was a small child on his knees beside his bed, reciting: “Now I lay me down to sleep…” A Monet print with irises was on the opposite wall. Now she could sleep here. She put down her expenses, not charging for the two paintings.

  Gabe called the next morning. “What’s this quilt, ruffled sham, and curtains expense? I thought all the rooms were fine the way they were.”

  “That’s for my room.”

  “Your room! Who is going to see your room?”

  “I am,” Cynthia said, trying to keep her cool.

  “Surely your walk-through with guests does not include your room,” he said, as if not hearing her.

  “Of course my room is off limits, but I cannot sleep in an all white room! Makes me think of a hospital.”

  “Seemed to be okay for Rainey—”

  “Perhaps you should hire her back.”

  “She can’t work now. She’s a teacher.”

  “Well, I’m sorry, but I had to make a few changes, and I thought you’d understand.”

  “Within reason, yes.”

  “Tell me what amount that might be.”

  There was a long silence, and she could hear him leaning forward in his chair and then the sound of shuffling papers. “I have no set amount, Miss Lyons, but just within reason.”

  “So the Persian rug I ordered for the front hallway is not within reason?”

  “Persian rug? In the hallway? Isn’t that where the forest green rug is now?”

  “Yes, but it’s stained and half of the fringe is missing.”

  “Miss Lyons, I think I better go over the place with you so I can see for myself how many changes you want to make.” He cleared his throat. “And it just might be possible that I can get a better deal on prices. Did that thought ever occur to you?”

  “Oh, I’m a bargain hunter, Mr. Taylor. A dear lady in Mary’s church made the quilt. We bartered.”

  “Bartered?”

  “Yes, I’m baking bread for her son’s restaurant. You know that cute, cozy one down on Marine Drive?”

  There was another long silence. “How about the curtains?”

  “Made by another friend. I had to supply the material, so that’s the expense you see.”

  Cynthia heard Gabe’s chair scrape again, a deep sigh, and then a voice that sounded clipped. “I will be down this Friday.”

  “I can handle it. Really I can. Don’t you trust me?”

  Another pause. “It isn’t that. I just need to know what else you want done. It needs my approval. It is my house, after all.”

  “Will you be here in time for dinner?”

  “Dinner?”

  “Yes. I can cook for two as easily as one.”

  “Well, I hadn’t thought about it. What time would dinner be?”

  “After the hors d’oeuvres.”

  “Okay. Sounds good. What will you cook?”

  “I don’t know yet. Is there anything you cannot eat?”

  “Just liver.”

  “It won’t be that as I don’t care for liver, either.”

  Cynthia pored over her recipes that night and decided on the salmon chowder. She’d also make her parsley breadsticks and apple crisp for dessert. It’d make a well-rounded meal.

  Should she invite Rainey? That would be a pleasant surprise for Gabe, and it might be nice to have an ally—that is, if Rainey agreed with Cynthia’s plans.

  Two more guests registered for Saturday, Sunday, and Monday nights. This would make Gabe happy. He might forgive her the expense of the Persian rug. She found it at a secondhand store but hadn’t told him that. He’d find out soon enough. Anything was an improvement over the green thing that had been there forever. Of course it matched the heavy green velvet drapes at the bay windows. No amount of cleaning, shaking, or pounding had helped. They had to be replaced.

  Cynthia hummed as she made a list of ingredients she needed. The salmon chowder had been a favorite when she’d catered. Not that it was the main dish, but many people preferred a chowder or soup instead of salad. It worked especially well when she offered a tray of cut-up veggies and some nice dip or spread. She decided to include hummus, as well.

  Rainey declined the invitation when Cynthia called.

  “I have a faculty meeting—yeah, I know. Weird time to have it on Friday evening, but nobody on this board is normal.”

  “If you can get away, come for the snacks and dessert.”

  Gabe had told her from the first that there’d be no wine served. “I prefer nonalcoholic drinks,” he’d said. “If guests have to have that glass of wine, they can go elsewhere to have it.” Cynthia agreed with this reasoning.

  At three, Cynthia was ready for her guests. The guest book lay open and waiting for people to sign. She’d found a wonderful fancy pen with a long feather. The rooms were clean; the house smelled of fresh bread. Soon it might smell like salmon, but that was okay. There was no better smell than that of onions cooking with a wonderful fish or beef.

  Cynthia sat on the front porch in the chair looking out over the view. A barge went down the river, and she wondered what it would be like to have the job of navigating a barge up and down the waterway. She thought it would be boring but supposed the people who ran it loved the river and could not imagine working on land.

  Gabe arrived before the guests from Missouri. She waved and then stopped. Someone was in the car with him. Had he mentioned he was bringing anyone? No, she was sure not. It was probably the girlfriend Rainey mentioned. That was fine. Cynthia would see what her ideas were on what was needed in the house. She might want Gabe to spend even more money.

  They got out of the car, and Cynthia went down the steps to greet them.

  Chapter 5

  C ynthia watched while Gabe went arou
nd and opened the car door. A long-legged woman emerged and stood with her long, golden hair gleaming in the sun.

  “This is Natalie,” Gabe said. “Natalie, this is Cynthia Lyons, the new manager of the B and B.”

  Cynthia offered a hand to the graceful woman who towered over her. Natalie wore a stylish suit with a diamond pin in the lapel.

  “I’ve heard a lot about you, and you’ve been here less than a week?”

  “Yes, that’s right.” Cynthia looked back at Gabe, who appeared suddenly uncomfortable.

  “Cynthia is a caterer, also,” Gabe offered.

  “Yes, darling,” Natalie trilled, “you told me that on the way here.” She turned and looked at the old Victorian house. “So this is the place I’ve heard so much about.” She smiled dryly again. “Gabe’s been raving about the B and B for so long. I finally had to see the new diva who is changing everything and giving him a headache.”

  Cynthia felt her composure slip. Does this woman have a knack at making one feel bad, or what?

  “Yes, well, I’ve done what I can.” Cynthia walked around to the side of the house. “I put in a new flower garden—petunias, pansies…What do you think?”

  “I prefer roses,” Natalie said, “not that I’ve ever planted any. I’m far too busy with my consulting firm.” She studied one long fingernail. “I hear roses are a lot of work.”

  Gabe looked at the riot of color and nodded. “Petunias are what Grams always planted. How did you know?”

  Cynthia smiled, glad that Gabe had taken time to look at the bright spot. “I didn’t, but I was told by the local nursery person that petunias thrive here.”

  “When do we see the house?” Natalie asked, walking up, linking her arm with Gabe’s. She gazed at him with a look Cynthia couldn’t quite decipher. It definitely was not adoration.

  “Yes, let’s go inside,” Cynthia said, leading the way as if it were her own house. “I’ll put on the kettle for tea or make coffee. We can have a snack now or wait for the guests.”

  “I say let’s have a tour first and then decide,” Gabe said.

  “You know, darling, I really don’t want to stick around to wait for guests. After the tour, I’d like to go to that place on the waterfront. It’s highly recommended in the cooking magazine I subscribe to.”