Sweet Surprise: Romance Collection

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

  “Hope you have lots of peppermint dreams,” Peggy added with a smile.

  “Peppermint dreams?” Erica asked.

  “That’s what I call sweet dreams from God,” Peggy explained. “Dreams Jesus gives to make us happy.”

  After the kids scrambled giggling from the room, Stacey spoke. “Back to Christmas; I’m so sorry you weren’t able to contact us.” Her gaze flew to Wes, who lay stretched out in an easy chair, his stocking feet propped on the matching ottoman. “But trust my husband to omit necessary information, like our phone number.”

  He shrugged. “Hey, I was nervous, too. Give a guy a break.” He winked conspiratorially at Erica, and she felt a pleasant tingle at the bond they now shared. “I guess I should’ve called back when we didn’t hear from you, but I got to thinking maybe you didn’t want to have anything to do with us after all, and I didn’t want to push. Just so you know it, Paula’s planning to visit again sometime before spring. She’s a Realtor in Florida and is married to a pilot. They have six kids, so she won’t be able to get away anytime soon. I hope you can stay with us awhile.”

  “I don’t know. My lease is almost up on my apartment. I guess I could call Margaret and ask if she would send someone to collect my things. But are you sure I won’t get in the way?”

  “Never,” Wes assured. “We’ve got a lot of lost years to make up for.”

  “And we have a nice guest room with its own bath,” Stacey inserted. “Consider it yours.”

  “Thank you.” Erica smiled, touched by their kindness. She was glad to be connected to such a family. “Can I ask you a question, Wes?”

  “Sure, honey. Ask away.”

  The endearment warmed Erica. “I’ve had a disturbing dream since as early on as I can remember. I was wondering if you could enlighten me about any of it.” She told them her dream, noticing how sober Wes grew.

  “Red Baby,” he said gruffly.

  “What?” The words sounded familiar, though Erica didn’t know why.

  “The name of your Raggedy Ann doll. You took it everywhere. Wouldn’t part with it. I don’t know why they wouldn’t let you take it with you that day, unless they couldn’t find it. That’s what you were crying out for. That and Mama.”

  “Then my dream really did happen?”

  He nodded. “Exactly as you told it.”

  Silence permeated the room. Erica, now somber, stared into the dancing fire. Her gaze wandered to Ryan’s sympathetic one and locked.

  Stacey cleared her throat and stood. “Well, those dishes won’t wash themselves.”

  “I’ll help.” Erica started to rise, but Stacey waved her back down. “No, this is your first day here. I had someone else in mind.” She looked directly at her husband.

  Wes interlaced his fingers and cupped his hands behind his head. “You could ask Mrs. Warner next door. She’s got time on her hands now, with her family out of town and all.”

  Stacey’s eyes narrowed. “Mrs. Warner, huh? I don’t know, Erica, he looks mighty comfortable, don’t you think?” Stacey’s lips twisted in a grin as she grabbed a nearby pillow and flung it at her husband’s flat stomach. “To work, O mighty king. Before we ate, you offered to help serve your queen in yonder castle kitchen after the festive banquet—remember?”

  Wes groaned. “Actually, I’d forgotten.”

  “Good thing I’ve got a great memory then,” she replied sweetly. Stacey shot a look between Ryan and Erica, then back to her husband, her eyes widening in emphasis. She couldn’t have been more obvious if she’d pulled Erica out of her chair and shoved her down on Ryan’s lap.

  “Oh, all right,” Wes grumbled with a soft wink at Erica as he followed his wife to the kitchen. “A monarch’s work is never done.”

  An uneasy silence filled the room, broken only by baby Lance’s gurgling conversation with a stuffed giraffe in his playpen.

  “Mommy!” A call came from the hall. “Are you coming to tuck us in?”

  “In a minute, sweetie,” Stacey’s voice sailed from the kitchen, and she giggled. “Wes, stop that!”

  Ryan abruptly stood. “Well, it’s back to the old grindstone for me tomorrow. Tell Wes and Stacey I had to leave, would you? I’ll let myself out.”

  “Sure. Good night.” Erica wondered if she should walk him to the door anyway. Would he try to kiss her if she did? Somehow, she doubted it. Except for yesterday when he’d taken her hand for a few, brief seconds—and later, when she’d fallen asleep all over him—Ryan had kept his distance and hadn’t touched her. Maybe Erica was reading more into the situation than was there.

  The thought discouraged her. Was she falling for him?

  Chapter 4

  E rica cut another heart from the red foil to glue on the poster that would hang in the children’s hospital playroom. She’d been at Preston Corners almost four weeks now, each day bringing her closer to her new family. The one bee in her honey had to do with Ryan.

  Though he’d come over on Monday nights to watch football with Wes and on Sundays to eat dinner with the family, he’d never once asked her out. Erica knew she hadn’t imagined the interested look in his eyes when she’d caught him watching her—many times. Nor his embarrassed flush and uneasy grin before he turned away.

  “Stacey, what’s wrong with me?” Erica tossed the scissors aside.

  Stacey quit sprinkling silver tinsel bits on the glue covering some pink construction paper. “Wrong with you? There’s nothing wrong with you. You’re a born artist, and these decorations are sure to make every child at the hospital smile. I like the goofy faces you drew on the heart people.”

  “I’m not talking about this.” Erica waved a hand over the kitchen table covered with craft supplies. “I’m talking about Ryan.”

  “Ahh,” Stacey said and nodded sagely. “Let me guess. He hasn’t made a move yet?”

  Erica fidgeted. “That sounds as if I expect him to think of me as more than a friend.” She frowned. “But what else am I to assume? He comes over all the time, and we talk. A lot. He acts interested in me, and I’ve caught him watching me a number of times.”

  “Want big brother Wes to ask his intentions?” Stacey lifted her brows in a teasing way.

  Erica blew out a frustrated breath. “Thanks a lot, Stacey.” She didn’t need banter right now. She needed advice.

  Stacey dusted off her hands, producing a shower of shiny silver particles that floated to the table. “Okay, all kidding aside. Remember what I told you on the phone the day Ryan brought you here? That he could in no way be classified as a ravenous wolf, and a more apt description would be a meek lamb?”

  “Yes, but I thought you were joking.”

  “Well, to a certain degree I was. But it’s a known fact that Ryan’s never made the first move when it comes to women, though it wasn’t always like that. In the conversational department, he’s in his element. When it comes to anything else, he backs off. Fast. After his junior year in high school he quit dating, though I’m not sure why. Believe me, Erica, you’re not the first woman I’ve heard complaints from.”

  “He’s had a lot of admirers, huh?”

  “Scads. With a face and body like that, and the fact that he’s a lovable ex-jock with a sympathetic heart and a penchant for listening to problems—for listening at all, for that matter—is it any wonder?”

  “I suppose not.” Erica concentrated on cutting another heart from shiny paper, determined not to let Stacey’s revelation upset her. “So he’s Mr. Perfect. Like in that old Milton Bradley Mystery Date Game where you open the door, hoping to get the smiling guy in the tux?”

  Stacey laughed. “Hardly! I’ve known Ryan as long as I’ve known Wes. He’s a dear, but his place is a wreck. Takeout containers all over the room, discarded clothes slung over chairs. He makes an effort to do a quick cleanup when company calls, but it’s obvious he doesn’t live that way. He needs a woman to pick up after him. His sisters cleaned up his messes while he was growing up. Didn’t do him any good, if you ask me.�
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  “I’ve heard bachelors can be messy,” Erica defended him.

  “Maybe, but there’s more. Sometimes his discussions on psychology can be about as effective as going under anesthesia. Really mind-numbing.”

  Erica didn’t think they were all that bad, and she’d heard a number of them.

  “Basically all I’m saying, Erica, is if a woman weighs the good with the bad and finds she’s willing to put up with all of it, then she’s also going to have to be willing to make the first move.”

  “The first move?” Erica had no experience in that area. Her dates had been simple, usually ending with a kiss at her front door. But she’d never initiated any of them.

  “Yep,” Stacey said with a decisive nod. “The first move.”

  Troubled, Erica lowered her gaze to the table. She noticed a piece of paper lying atop a stack of magazines. A website was scrawled underneath the caption “The Lion Cooks.”

  “What’s this?” she asked.

  “Hmm?” Stacey looked up from spreading more glue on construction paper. “Oh, an online cooking course I thought about taking. It offers dessert-making classes. I can’t now, of course. Not since they called me back to work at the hospital because Janine is going on maternity leave. The drive there is one hour both ways. I won’t have any extra time for cooking classes. But I’m glad the adoption finally went through for Janine. She’s waited a long time for that baby.”

  Erica hoped the unknown Janine treated her child with more love and kindness than Erica had received from her adoptive parents. She fingered the paper, and her mind returned to the Ryan situation. How hard could it be to learn to bake and whip up a few scrumptious desserts with which to tempt him? Margaret had never allowed Erica in the kitchen during her childhood, claiming she didn’t want her to make any messes. Yet at the memory of how enthusiastically Ryan devoured the chocolate-chip pancakes at the restaurant, Erica was ready to give baking a try. Maybe this could be considered a “first move.”

  “Mind if I sign up for the course?”

  “Be my guest.” Stacey smiled. “My great-granny always said, ‘A way to a man’s heart is down his gullet and through his belly.’ And Ryan has a big sweet tooth.”

  Erica smiled at how well Stacey read her true intentions.

  “Auntie Erica? Are you sure you’re s’posed to put that in there?” Peggy’s voice was doubtful. “That’s not what Mommy uses when she makes cookies.”

  Drawing her brows together, Erica studied the empty can in her hand, then gave the child a confident smile. “My online cooking instructor said it’s okay to substitute ingredients we don’t have. So I don’t see why not.”

  Erica felt more at ease with her new family every day, but not enough so that she was going to ask them to buy the required ingredients for her homework recipes. With no car at her disposal, a solo trip to the supermarket was out of the question, as well. Anything she needed and didn’t have she would locate an adequate substitute for, since Stacey had given her free rein in the kitchen. Erica’s high school teachers once labeled her “creative.” Now was the time to put some of that creativity to use.

  She hesitated, feeling as if she’d forgotten something. Had she put in salt? Oh well. A little more wouldn’t hurt, even if she had. Ryan liked things salty, too— like chocolate-covered pretzels. But where was the teaspoon she’d used?

  She looked all over the counter. No measuring spoon. Nor did it show up in the silverware drawer. Which must mean that she hadn’t used the salt yet. Cupping her palm, she studied its middle. That seemed about right for a teaspoon-sized amount. She poured the white grains into her hand and tossed them onto the dough in the bowl.

  Noting Peggy’s uncertain expression, Erica smiled. “It’ll be fine. Wanna stir?”

  Eagerly Peggy nodded and reached for the wooden spoon. After a number of rotations with the utensil, she relinquished the blue ceramic bowl to Erica, who scraped the lumpy batter into miniature mounds on a greased cookie sheet and slid it onto the top rack of a preheated oven. Erica couldn’t help noticing that Peggy didn’t ask to lick the spoon or the bowl. Wasn’t that the first thing kids usually wanted to do?

  A few minutes later, Billy sauntered into the room, a St. Louis Cardinals baseball cap on his head. “Yuck! What’s that smell?”

  Erica frowned. Obviously the kid didn’t like oatmeal. “I’m baking cookies. Don’t worry, you don’t have to eat any.”

  “Good!” The boy grabbed a baseball mitt from the counter and a ball, tossing it in the air as he headed out the back door.

  Peggy tugged on Erica’s sleeve. “Billy’s just mad ’cause he got in trouble today at school and has detention tomorrow.”

  Erica smiled. “I’m not upset. Not everyone likes the same things. And that’ll leave more cookies for us to enjoy.”

  Peggy wrinkled her brow, as though she wasn’t so sure, then walked over to pick up her doll that was sitting in the chair “watching” them. “Will you play house with me?” she asked.

  “Later, okay? I don’t want to risk the chance of me not hearing the timer and having these burn.” Erica looked at the rag doll. “You know…I used to have a doll something like that when I was a little girl.”

  “What happened to her?”

  Erica stared at the painted cloth face a moment, feeling uneasy, as if an old unwanted memory was trying hard to resurface. Hurriedly she looked away and stared through the oven window at the baking lumps of dough. “I don’t know.” Her voice came out hoarse.

  Peggy was quiet for so long that Erica looked over her shoulder. The child had left the kitchen, leaving Erica to her thoughts. She wasn’t ready to face the details of her past, whatever they might reveal, and forced herself to think of something more pleasant—like the pleased, adoring look that was sure to be on Ryan’s face when he tasted the cookies she’d spent an hour making for him.

  The doorbell rang, and she smiled.

  Chapter 5

  R yan—what’s wrong?” Erica leaned across the table. “Are you okay?”

  He had the most peculiar look on his face, as if he’d been frozen in time.

  His eyes had widened, and he slowly chewed the large bite of cookie in his mouth as if it were concrete and not crumbs.

  “Nothing,” he mumbled between slow chews, barely moving his lips as he spoke. “Can I, uh, have some water?”

  “Sure.”

  Erica retrieved a small tumbler, filled it, and handed it to him. He slugged it down like a man who’d just spent a week traveling through the desert and had come to his first oasis.

  “Is anything wrong?” she asked when he lowered the cup.

  “No, everything’s fine.” His voice still came out raspy. He set the rest of his cookie on a napkin, walked over to the sink, refilled the glass, drank it down, and refilled it again. “Uh, Erica, what kind of nuts did you use?”

  “The recipe called for walnuts, but we didn’t have any. I read it was okay to substitute pecans, but we didn’t have any of those, either. So I, um, used peanuts.”

  “Ahh. Salted ones?”

  She nodded. “I figured with oatmeal it would work, and you do like salty foods, right?”

  He gave her a strange look. “Sometimes.” He drank down the rest of the water.

  Erica studied her hands clasped on the table. Maybe she had put in too much salt. The teaspoon she’d used had been found on the floor earlier, hidden by the throw rug partially covering it. And the peanuts probably made the cookies even worse.

  “Feel like going to the Dairy Drizzle?” Ryan set the empty cup on the counter. “We could drive down for a couple of large chocolate shakes. My treat.”

  “In the wintertime?”

  He grinned. “That’s the best time of year for ice cream desserts.”

  The man had just downed three glasses of water and was still thirsty for a shake? Those cookies must have really been bad!

  Erica gave him the best good sportsmanlike smile she could muster. “Make mine
a hot chocolate, and I’m with you a hundred percent.”

  Once outside, Erica took a deep breath of the bracing air. It sparked a feeling of playfulness in her. “Let’s walk. It’s only two blocks.”

  Ryan agreed. They moved along the wet sidewalk, which had been brushed free of the powdery snow that dusted the ground. The setting sun was magenta-pink, glowing like a tropical disk that just touched the uppermost tips of the greenish-black pines. Layers of rose-tinged, ivory clouds moved in long, gentle waves around and below the neon sun. To Erica, it looked as if a foretaste of summer filled the sky, while the earth stubbornly retained winter. Just ahead, the forested Ozarks produced a picturesque backdrop, and a church steeple could clearly be seen nestled midway up the snowy hill.

  “I love this place,” she enthused, her breath misting in the cool air. “It’s so small-town Americana, like a Norman Rockwell painting. It’s as if time passed by this small corner of the world and left it ageless.”

  Ryan looked up at the wooded mountains. “We’ve gone so far as to put a computer in the library, but in many respects, Preston Corners hasn’t changed all that much in fifty years. You should have been here for the tree-lighting ceremony at Christmas. It’s a big event the whole town turns out for, and the mayor awards the honors of pulling the switch to the most outstanding citizen of the year. This past December, the privilege was given to sixteen-year-old Twila Miller, for saving a child she was babysitting from his burning home.”

  “Have you ever been given the honors?”

  “Once.” He seemed embarrassed to say it.

  Smiling wide, Erica tugged at her furry coat collar, bringing the edges together. She closed her eyes, absorbing the scent and feel of her surroundings. “I wish I could’ve seen it. In fact, I wish I could stay in Preston Corners forever.”

  “You like it that much?”

  “Oh, yes! I’ve lived in many states, but here…well, I feel like I’ve come home.”

  “Maybe you should stay then.”

  Ryan’s quiet words startled her, and she spun to face him. The snow muffled sound, making it easy to hear a voice, even one spoken in low tones. But she’d heard his words clearly enough, whether he’d meant them to be heard or not.