He grinned and brushed his lips against hers. “Care to go for a few more rounds, Mrs. Meers?”
“I’m game if you are. At least sixty more years or so. This has been a wonderful first anniversary.”
The baby started crying, and both Ryan and Erica turned to look. Margaret, with her perfectly coiffed hair and expensive clothes, appeared totally out of her element with little Charla.
“I don’t think she likes me.” Margaret awkwardly held the bald-headed baby up in the air a foot away from her.
“Sure she does,” Erica said. “Just jiggle her against your shoulder. She loves that.”
Margaret did so. The baby stopped crying and nestled her head against Margaret’s neck. Erica smiled at the look of surprised contentment that crossed Margaret’s face. During their heart-to-heart talk over a year ago, Erica learned some things about her adoptive mother. Margaret had been abused as a child and struggled with low self-esteem all her life; she didn’t know how to show love to others. In an uncharacteristic emotional moment, Margaret assured Erica that, despite Margaret’s inability to show it, Erica had been loved and wanted.
The baby fell asleep, and Darrin moved toward Margaret. “Put her in the bassinet. It’s time to leave these kids alone.”
Ryan lifted his eyebrows in Groucho Marx style at Erica, and she giggled.
At the door, she turned to Margaret. “I’m so glad you could come. Of course, you must also come to Christmas dinner at Wes’s tomorrow. We’re eating at one o’clock and then later we’re all going to the tree-lighting ceremony together. Wes has been elected to light the tree this year for all the volunteer work his construction firm has done for the community.”
Margaret seemed uncertain. “Are you sure we won’t be imposing?”
“Oh, no! Stacey asked me to remind you. After all, you’re family, too.”
Ryan agreed as he picked up his plate from a nearby table, where a tabletop fiber-optic Christmas tree rotated in its stand. He took a bite of the last piece of anniversary cake.
Tears glistened in Margaret’s eyes. “Thank you for inviting us. Your entire family is wonderful. It’s amazing to see how much good has come about in all of your lives, despite everything that’s happened. In fact…” She looked at her husband, and he gave a nod. “Would you mind very much if Darrin and I went to church with you tomorrow? I’d like to learn more about this God of yours that you said made it all possible.”
Erica’s heart felt near bursting with joy. “Oh, I’d love for you to come!” She stepped forward to hug the astonished Margaret, who still wasn’t accustomed to physical displays. Margaret gave an uncertain smile then walked away with Darrin, who also got a quick hug first.
“I think she’s coming around,” Ryan said as he moved beside Erica and observed them drive away in their Lincoln Towncar. “I think they both are.”
“Oh, I hope so.” Erica closed the door against the cold and watched Ryan fork another bite of dessert into his mouth. “I’m glad you like the cake. I just wish it wouldn’t have fallen. It was supposed to look like a pinwheel. Not a broken wheel. I guess a cake decorating class will be the next course I take. I wonder if Cynthia’s offering one.”
“Well, no matter how it looks, it tastes great! You’ve improved a lot over the year, hon. But it sure is different. It looks like a child’s cake with all that carnival-like festivity on top—but Christmassy, too.”
“Didn’t I once hear you say something about being a kid at heart?” Erica teased and looked at the slice on his plate. “The semisweet chocolate pieces remind me of the bittersweet memories I had of my childhood. And the crushed peppermint glaze on top?” She snapped a good-sized bit off the red-and-white speckled dark chocolate triangle perched atop the fudge icing.
“Hey!” Ryan laughed in mock protest.
Smiling, she continued her explanation, holding up the chocolate piece. “It reminds me of something Peggy once said about God giving us peppermint dreams—what I think of as a bright future. This cake is symbolic of His sweetening my life and bringing good out of the bad. And giving me His best when I met you.” She gave him a peck on the lips then popped the huge chunk of melting chocolate into her mouth, hitting the outside of her lips and making a mess of herself, giggling.
“All right, you!” Ryan set his plate down and grabbed her hands before she could wipe away the streaks. He bent toward her, trying to dart light licks to her cheeks to get the chocolate off her face—while she shook her head from side to side to evade his silly efforts, laughing like a child being tickled. A few hit their mark—when suddenly, his mouth targeted hers, and he gave her a long, delicious kiss that made Erica forget all about childish games.
“The baby’s asleep,” he murmured.
“Mmm,” she agreed with a smile, her arms still looped around his neck.
Ryan kissed the sensitive spot near her ear. “One last thing, before I forget all about that cake, Mrs. Meers. What were those nuts you used? They had a strange flavor I’ve never tasted before.”
Erica let out a nervous, uncertain giggle, and Ryan straightened to look at her. She lifted her brows sheepishly. “Um…nuts?”
He released a heartfelt groan. “Never mind. I don’t want to know.”
She let out another giggle, and bending down, Ryan captured it with a kiss.
DARK CHOCOLATE ’N’ PEPPERMINT DREAM CAKE
A fun “cake makeover” to add zip to any plain cake, Erica and Ryan’s anniversary cake is good for all occasions. A chocolate-lovers’ dream, it’s been a favorite in our family for years.
1 box cake mix (chocolate or white)
1 can chocolate fudge frosting
1 (8 ounce) bag semisweet baking chocolate chips
Several pieces hard peppermint candy, crushed
½ cup slivered or sliced almonds (optional)
Bake cake according to directions on box. Cool and frost. Sprinkle with nuts if desired. Melt semisweet chocolate using low heat. Spread evenly over cookie sheet covered with waxed paper and freeze. After 5 minutes check chocolate. It should be firm enough to score, but not totally solid. Using a round inverted cake pan as a guide, cut a circle in the chocolate toward end of cookie sheet, then score the circle as if cutting a pie, making 8 triangular “pieces.”
Score remaining chocolate by making 2 parallel lines approximately 5 inches apart (or height of cake). Within those lines, make cuts 2–3 inches apart, so that you end up with a row of rectangles. Repeat above steps for next row. When all chocolate is scored, refreeze.
Once chocolate is solid, carefully break along scored lines. Spread triangles on top of cake at slight angle, to resemble a pinwheel, with only one long edge digging into frosting.
Use rectangles to “fan” around side of cake, anchoring edges into frosting. You should end up with a 3-D effect. If chocolate begins to melt, freeze until solid, then resume decorating. Sprinkle crushed peppermint over top and sides of cake.
Cover cake and store in refrigerator. (The peppermint will slightly melt to give a glazed effect.)
*Warning: This cake mysteriously disappears overnight when chocolate-lovers are in the house.
CREAM Of THE CROP
by Tamela Hancock Murray
Dedication
To Daddy
A sweet man who loves sweet treats
Chapter 1
G wendolyn Warner opened the heavy door to the office marked EXECUTIVE SUITE. She was greeted by a large desk situated toward the back of a plush room. Each wall was decorated with framed ads for DairyBaked Delights’ products. On either side of the desk and behind it were doors labeled with the names of the president, CEO, and vice president. The chief executive officer’s door remained ajar.
She looked at the business card in her hand. Rhoda Emerson, Chief Executive Officer, DairyBaked Delights. The person she was supposed to see. She looked at the sign once more and confirmed she was in the right place. Good. At least she wouldn’t be late for her interview. This job was too imp
ortant. She couldn’t blow her chances by being late. She had to appear smart, creative, self-assured, and capable.
No one was sitting behind the desk, so Gwendolyn decided to settle in one of the two red upholstered chairs with a magazine and wait to be called. She had arrived fifteen minutes early, as was her usual method.
In her best effort to look nonchalant, she retrieved a woman’s magazine from her black leather tote. The cover promised articles revealing how to drop ten pounds in two weeks and how to create fabulous desserts, along with photos of the latest celebrity hairstyles. None of these items interested her. Gwendolyn wanted to study the photographs inside. Besides, she had to do something except sit on the edge of the seat, legs crossed at the ankles, hands holding on to her knees for dear life. No, she couldn’t afford to look too anxious.
Absorbed in her magazine, Gwendolyn startled when a male voice boomed from behind the president’s door.
“I never authorized hiring a new photographer for our ad campaign! We could save money by using old file photos.”
Save money? She clenched her teeth. Uh-oh. Maybe she wouldn’t get this job after all.
A calm, steady reply came from a female voice. “But this photographer comes to us with fine references, education, and credentials. And since she’s just started her own studio, her fees should be very reasonable.”
“Using old file photos would be even more reasonable,” the man snapped.
Shaking her head, Gwendolyn decided she would vote this man least likely to suffer a stomach ulcer from suppressing his emotions.
“I’d like to know who decided to override my authority in this matter. I thought I was supposed to oversee all ad campaigns,” he bellowed.
Gwendolyn’s chest tightened. What is this? With my background, I thought that I’d be a shoo-in to photograph the new DairyBaked Delights ad campaign. Anxiety clenched its ugly grip around her midsection.
“Sebastian, I suppose I did. But I wanted a new photographer, and so I made the decision,” the female voice answered, still maintaining calm.
Sebastian. Where have I seen that name?
She looked around the room and read the name on the door in the back of the room. Sebastian Emerson, Vice President.
A small gasp escaped her lips. So the VP didn’t want anything to do with her? How could she conquer such a formidable adversary? Her interview prospects for this job seemed to be waning quickly.
Heavenly Father, I pray it’s Your will for me to get this job. If it is, let this Sebastian man see that he needs to support me in my work. In the precious name of Your Son, amen.
She knew her prayer was selfish, but she felt that such a desperate petition was needed. If she didn’t get this high-paying assignment, Gwendolyn would have to admit to her brother that she couldn’t make a living on her own as a photographer.
Through years of hard work and sacrifice, Bruce, who was fifteen years her senior, had established a successful photography studio. Gwendolyn had been his assistant since high school. At first, Bruce was proud that his kid sister was part of his business. Gwendolyn was a miracle baby, born in her mother’s forty-fifth year. By that time, Bruce was a teenager and had become accustomed to his status as an only child. With so many years between them, Bruce had always been protective of her, but he never related to her as an equal.
Still, she had imagined he would be proud when, after discovering a love for photography in his studio, she announced that she wanted to follow in his professional footsteps. But when she left Northern Virginia to earn her degree in photography at a small college in the southwestern part of the state, Virginia Intermont College, his lack of enthusiasm was palatable. He preferred not to talk about her studies, except to remind her how many years he had worked to establish himself in a brutally competitive field. He was worried about how she would pay back the college loans. A reasonable worry, to be sure, since her field was so uncertain. But he had succeeded without a university degree. She had hoped that, in time, he would come to consider her an asset, someone who could partner with him in his work. Instead he regarded her as a rival, sending her on the least desirable assignments and booking her portrait sessions on the times he knew she had a Bible study or a church choir rehearsal scheduled. After three years of trying to prove herself, she knew she had no choice but to strike out on her own. Her decision magnified Bruce’s feelings that she was nothing more than a competitor to be squelched. If Gwendolyn failed and had to beg him to take her back, he would be sure to make her life even more miserable.
Failing was not an option she wanted to contemplate. She had to succeed.
A female voice brought her back into the present. “I’m the one who authorized the new hire.”
Gwendolyn glanced again at the sign on the door and confirmed that the office belonged to the CEO. Rhoda Emerson, the woman she was scheduled to see.
“And your father agrees with me,” Mrs. Emerson said.
Your father? So Sebastian is Mrs. Emerson’s son. Maybe I can win this one after all. She felt a smile of triumph form on her lips.
She could sense from his persistence that Sebastian wasn’t going down without a fight. “I thought we would just use the outtakes from our last photo shoot. The ones that Ebba took.”
“No. I let you have your way last time, but not now. Even the best of Ebba’s remaining pictures aren’t what she would want to appear in any DairyBaked Delights ad. I won’t hear of it.”
“Ebba was the only one who could handle Pansy,” Sebastian pointed out.
Pansy. That must be the name of the cow.
“I’m sure this photographer will do just fine with Pansy,” Mrs. Emerson argued. “I’ve been assured there will be no problem.”
Gwendolyn swallowed. Her experience with animals was limited to the pets little children would bring in to Bruce’s portrait studio to be photographed. Their owners usually took care of them.
Lord, please help me!
“He’d better be good with animals. Pansy has been our symbol since the company started.” Even though she’d never met him, Gwendolyn could almost see Sebastian folding his arms across his chest. “I’m not giving Pansy up for anybody.”
“No one is asking you to. And you may as well know now, the photographer is not a he. It’s a she. Gwendolyn something or another,” Mrs. Emerson answered.
Gwendolyn wrinkled her nose. Some ally, if she couldn’t remember her last name.
“And I’m sure she’ll know what it takes to reach the next generation,” her ally continued. “When I was young, there weren’t so many choices. Now everyone has so many options in every area of life. That includes what type of commercial baked goods to buy. Not only do we have to compete with traditional bakeries, but many grocery stores have their own top-notch bakeries as well. Not to mention the big mail order bakeries. And all of them use every possible medium to remind consumers how many choices they have.”
“You forgot to mention the biggest new kid on the block—the Internet,” he reminded her. “Why do you think I recommended that you ask for Internet rights to the photos?”
“Oh, the Internet. Yet another thing I have to worry about.” Gwendolyn heard Mrs. Emerson sigh. “How will I ever reach kids today?”
“You can start by not referring to young adults as kids.” Sebastian retorted. “I know this is a new generation. But must we be like everybody else and use blatant sex appeal to sell our product? The people who buy our products respect us for not pandering to the lowest common denominator. We don’t want to lose our base of established customers!”
Blatant sex appeal? No one had told Gwendolyn that the shoot would have anything to do with sex appeal. All she knew was that the ads would involve a cow and some baked goods. Even though creativity was her business, Gwendolyn had a hard time picturing an ad with a cow and a cake as being sexy.
A feeling of grudging admiration for Sebastian welled up inside her. At least he tried to hold on to some standards.
At that mome
nt, a chubby matron who Gwendolyn surmised was the executive secretary entered from the hallway. Spotting Gwendolyn, she hurried to close Mrs. Emerson’s door before setting a stack of paperwork on her desk. “May I help you?”
She stood. “I’m Gwendolyn Warner. I have an appointment with Rhoda Emerson.”
“Oh. So you’re the photographer. Sorry to keep you waiting. I had to step out of the office.” The matron looked more embarrassed than the situation warranted. Perhaps she knew Gwendolyn had overheard an argument. “Uh, I’ll let her know you’re here.”
“Thanks.” Still wanting to appear calm, Gwendolyn returned to her seat.
The secretary quickly entered the CEO’s office and then emerged a few moments later. She gave Gwendolyn a brief nod. Gwendolyn’s heart began to hammer. What will I do if they decide not to hire me? Oh, I can’t think of that now.
Fixing her face into a pleasant mask, Gwendolyn set her shoulders straight, smiled politely, and swept into the CEO’s office with the confidence that had served her well during many interviews and difficult photo shoots.
Gwendolyn had taken care to appear in dressy pants, flat shoes, and a crisp white cotton shirt that bespoke a healthy pride in appearance yet told onlookers that her clothes wouldn’t encumber her work.
Gwendolyn knew she had made the right decision to wear her favorite gray wool trousers when she saw Mrs. Emerson attired in a soft but businesslike suit the color of charcoal. Short but loose bleached-blond curls and soft makeup gave her a youthful appearance but did not quite camouflage the fact that she qualified for senior citizens’ discounts. Though Gwendolyn had heard Mrs. Emerson could be tough, she sensed the older woman possessed a gentle side behind her businesslike veneer.
Gwendolyn scanned the office, in search of her antagonist. He was nowhere in sight. An interior door offered a clue as to how he had made his escape.
Sweet Surprise: Romance Collection Page 27
