Tempted in the Tropics

by Tracy March

  “Speaking of the Orioles, let’s have some pie.” Mrs. Hawthorne gestured to the server, a middle-aged woman with a pleasant face and short, dark hair.

  “One moment, Mrs. Hawthorne,” the server said timidly.

  A collective eyebrow-raising took place around the table, particularly from Mrs. Hawthorne, who was obviously not used to being put off. Henry stepped in from the hallway with an envelope in his hand. Paige looked at him imploringly and shook her head with a tight, jerky motion, but Henry’s steady gaze was locked on Mrs. Hawthorne. He seemed intent on silently assuring her that the server hadn’t been out of line by delaying her request to begin dessert.

  “This arrived with the pies and your lemon poppy seed loaves.” Henry handed her the envelope. “Miss Ellerbee said it was important, and that you might want to discuss it while she’s here this evening.”

  Mrs. Hawthorne took the envelope from him and looked at it curiously.

  Paige had gone a little pale. “That was before I…” She glanced nervously at Lane. “I didn’t realize there would be so many of us here.” She smiled tightly. “Let’s eat pie and worry about that later, Mrs. Hawthorne. We can discuss it privately.”

  Mrs. Hawthorne frowned, the lines in her face deepening. “Of course not. If it’s something important to you, then it’s certainly important to all of us.” With a steady hand, she stuck the end of her dessert fork under the flap of the envelope and ripped it open, a Miss Manners “don’t” that surprised Lane.

  Paige nervously smoothed her fingers along the draped neckline of her blouse, totally distracting him from wondering what was in the envelope. Instead he imagined his own fingers skimming the smooth, shimmery fabric, the hint of her enticing curves beneath. She stopped square in the middle and absently rolled one of the creases between her fingertips. Lane clenched his jaw and tore his gaze away before anyone caught him looking.

  Mrs. Hawthorne had pulled a sheet of paper and a from the envelope. She took a pair of half-moon reading glasses from the pocket of her jacket, slipped them on, and peered down her nose. “‘Dear Mrs. Hawthorne,’” she read. “‘Since you are a valued Sweet Bee’s customer’”—she glanced up over her glasses and smiled appreciatively at Paige—“‘and one of Dr. Hartley’s “Special Recipe” patients, I wanted to let you know that the program will continue in his absence, yet I will not be provided updated information regarding your needs while that uptight jerk Dr. Anderson is substituting. I apologize for any inconvenience this may cause. We’ll get back to business as usual once Dr. Hartley returns from Europe. Thank you so much for your patience and for supporting Sweet Bee’s.’”

  Lane’s stomach clenched. What the hell? He glared at Paige. She briefly looked him in the eyes for once and winced.

  Mrs. Hawthorne slowly took off her glasses and leveled her sharp gaze on Lane. “Did you have something to do with this?”

  If the whole St. Lucia thing was a matchmaking scheme to get Paige and that uptight jerk together, there was no way she was in on it.

  Chapter Five

  Paige pulled her Mini Cooper into a parking space about a block away from the dress shop where Liza insisted they’d find the perfect bridesmaid’s dress in no time. That would be a fantasy come true for Paige because she hated to shop. Her super-stereotypical female pastime was baking. But today she’d left Cyn whipping up magic at Sweet Bee’s. Cyn was happy to help out, and she was thrilled to pick up the extra hours while Paige would be in St. Lucia. The Queen had done them both a huge favor. Cyn got a break from her, and Paige got a dream vacation.

  The wedding was less than two weeks away, so shopping had become urgent. Paige could hardly be a proper maid of honor without a proper dress. But Liza’s fashion sense was more like nonsense to Paige, so she braced herself for something kind of traditional and vowed to push for something hip.

  No doubt by-the-book Lane would choose something traditional, too, but he had nothing to do with this, and she didn’t care what he’d choose. She wished she could say she’d had a hard time picturing him in all the tropical paradise scenes in her head, but he showed up in every one as if he had some Photoshop superpower. He looked casual and sexy, tan and lean, with a ripped six-pack, relaxed and ready for something spontaneous. But he wouldn’t be looking at her like that any time soon…if ever. Not after what had happened at Hawthorne Manor last night.

  Paige had written the letter to get a reaction from Mrs. Hawthorne about Lane’s refusal to work with her—but not with him there. She’d had no idea he was on the guest list. Her stomach sank as she flashed back for about the fiftieth time to the glare he’d given her when Mrs. Hawthorne read the Sweet Bee’s letter.

  He really had no reason to be angry. Sure, she’d called him an uptight jerk. But that was the truth, and really a minor detail considering she was just trying to help her customers—his patients!—and he wasn’t. When he’d explained his reasons after Mrs. Hawthorne called him out, it had sounded more like him being detached or covering his own ass, neither of which Paige understood.

  “I’m determined not to interfere with Uncle Pete’s administrative processes or inconvenience patients by requiring them to fill out additional legal forms that might come under scrutiny,” he’d said, all official. “I’d also hate to confuse patients by interrupting their continuum of care.” That had sounded like a fancy medical excuse to Paige, but Sylvia seemed to buy it without question.

  He’d argued professionally and convincingly, looking each person there in the eyes at some point—each person except Paige. She had gazed at him flatly during his entire speech, waiting for her opportunity to scald him with a glare. For his finale, he’d said, “It really shouldn’t affect too many patients, and things will revert to normal as soon as Uncle Pete gets back.”

  Paige had heard that one before. At that point, she’d lost her appetite for pie, which literally might’ve been a first. Everyone at the table had agreed with Lane, while still commiserating with Paige, as they ate dessert.

  “It’ll all work out,” Sylvia had said to Paige, who half expected the others to join hands and start singing “Kumbaya.”

  None of them had any idea what the loss of any business would mean to her and the future of Sweet Bee’s. She’d chosen not to clue them in because Sylvia and Liza would’ve immediately offered financial help, and there was simply no way Paige would accept it.

  Now, she’d had some time to make sense of the crazy that had gone on during that dinner, without the stress of sitting across from Lane, knowing he would be crashing her St. Lucian holiday. Clearly there’d been a conspiracy to set up the two of them, as ridiculous as that was in light of things. She wondered whose genius idea that had been—certainly not Lane’s—and she intended to find out.

  She hurried up the busy block in downtown Baltimore, shivering in the cold despite her heavy coat. It was hard to believe she’d be in the tropics soon, wearing a bikini and soaking up the sun. The chilly wind practically pushed her down the sidewalk as she scurried toward the upscale dress shop, flung open the door, and found Liza waiting inside.

  It had been a couple of months since Liza had gotten engaged, but she still had that drunk-with-happiness look on her face that Paige hoped never went away. After Liza’s former fiancé had died a couple of years ago, Paige worried that Liza’s grief might never allow her to fall in love again. Then she’d met Cole, her Prince Charming in a baseball uniform.

  “Seven days and counting.” Paige hugged her tightly, catching a whiff of Liza’s signature wildflower scent. Every once in a while, Paige would spritz on perfume, but her signature scent was “kitchen.”

  “Can you believe it?”

  “No.” Paige couldn’t believe half the stuff that was going on in her life right now. “It’s so fast, but I like that. No time to get too stressed about anything.” Except having Dr. Uptight on the trip. She considered making it her personal mission to tempt him to loosen up.

  “Exactly. And I’ve picked out a no-stress
dress for you, too.”

  Paige scrunched her nose. “Please say it’s not orange.” Liza was a die-hard Orioles fan, and most of her wardrobe was black and orange.

  Liza shot her a determined look. “The one I want you to try on is actually burgundy. If it fits, we’ll order it for you in orange.”

  Paige struggled to keep a straight face because clearly Liza was serious. She didn’t want to hurt her feelings, but orange? “For real?”

  Liza nodded. “It’s bright and tropical. Perfect for an island wedding.”

  Perfect if you want your maid of honor to look like a carrot stick.

  “Cole’s down with me wearing Orioles orange at his wedding?” Paige asked.

  “It’s kind of a consolation.” Liza pulled a cute yellow minidress from a nearby rack and studied it. “He feels a little bad about the Nats beating the Os in the World Series, so he said we could use Orioles colors for our wedding. Mom and Dad are so excited.”

  “I’ll bet.” Paige forced a smile and tipped her head toward the yellow mini. “Cute for your honeymoon.”

  “That’s what I was thinking.”

  “You should see if they have it in orange.”

  Liza browsed through the racks as they made their way back to the dressing room. “I hope the dress will fit, and we can make this quick and painless.”

  “That’s more than I can say for that stunt you, Sylvia, and Mrs. Hawthorne pulled at dinner last night.”

  “What stunt?” Liza’s eyes went all wide and innocent, but Paige didn’t buy her act.

  “The little matchmaker game y’all are playing with me and Dr. Dread.”

  Liza lowered her eyebrows. “Dr. Dread? That pink dye must’ve seeped into your brain. Lane’s a great guy—more like Dr. Dream with those eyes and that hair. He could resuscitate most women just by looking at them.”

  “Whatever.” But Paige couldn’t stop imagining his eyes, focused on her. And his hands, with his long, ringless fingers, all over her, too. “The only thing that’s going to need resuscitating is my business if he doesn’t butt out of it.” She winced. When would she ever learn to keep her mouth shut? Next thing she knew, Liza would whip out a stack of hundreds and insist Paige take the money.

  “His argument made sense,” Liza said. “But I understand where you’re coming from, too.”

  Paige’s insides knotted. Was anyone totally on her side?

  Liza must’ve seen the question on her face. She squeezed Paige’s hand. “I promise Sweet Bee’s will be okay. If you remember that, then maybe you can look at Lane and think about beef instead of muffins.”

  Paige scrunched her nose. “You did not just say that.”

  Liza grinned. “Okay, it was lame. But most women would practically die to get a thorough exam from a doctor like him.”

  “I’m not most women.” Paige knew she was being stubborn, but she couldn’t help herself.

  “Wait till you hear him play the guitar,” Liza said. “It’s totally swoony.”

  “Yeah. I’m forever swooning over classical music.” Paige rolled her eyes. “Figures.”

  They made it to the dressing rooms and Paige tried on the dress Liza had picked out, surprised that it was stylish, short, and strapless. It was a shame to ruin all that goodness by making it the color of a pumpkin. But it was Liza’s wedding, and Paige wanted every little detail to be exactly what Liza pictured. She put her winter clothes back on and headed to the checkout, where Liza had already taken care of ordering the dress to be rush shipped to St. Lucia.

  They stepped away from the counter and Paige said, “You haven’t denied that you’re trying to set me up.”

  “And I’m not going to.”

  “Why not one of Cole’s friends? Lane Anderson and I aren’t the least bit compatible.”

  “Sure you are.” Liza looked Paige in the eye. “My mom thinks so, too, and I kinda trust her with the matchmaking thing right about now. She managed to get Cole and me together.”

  Paige hadn’t thought of that.

  “And she believes Lane is perfect for you,” Liza said.

  “That’s frightening. We couldn’t be more opposite,” Paige argued as she tried to hide the excitement swirling through her. Sylvia thinks he’s perfect for me?

  Liza frowned. “C’mon. You don’t have to marry the guy. You don’t even have to date him if you don’t want to. Just give him a chance to get to know you. What have you got to lose?”

  …

  Paige hurried back to Sweet Bee’s to relieve Cyn, who had to run some inane errand for the Queen.

  “Everything’s done except the dishes,” Cyn said. “Since the day’s almost over, I took the pleasure of putting an X on the calendar.”

  Paige stepped over to the bulletin board and smiled at the big red X. The day after Lane had come to the bakery and started trouble, she’d announced to Cyn that they’d mark the days, counting down until he got the heck out of town and things could go back to normal. “One more down, too many to go.”

  What really got Paige was the empty space next to the calendar where she and Cyn used to post the notes from Dr. Hartley with a smiley-face tack. “How was business today?”

  Cyn shook her head. “We had a few walk-ins, and Mrs. Kip came to pick up her last Special Recipe order and to say good-bye.”

  Paige’s heart skipped a beat. She’d lost another customer—and a friend. It seemed to be happening faster and faster lately. “Aw, I’ll miss her. I loved her stories. Remember when she sprayed bathroom cleaner in her hair, thinking it was hair spray?”

  “She had no idea until it puffed up like a giant marshmallow.” Cyn laughed, and Paige couldn’t help but laugh, too.

  “She’s going to live with her daughter in Pennsylvania, right?”

  “Yep.”

  Paige sighed. How were she and her dad ever going to make it with so many people leaving and so few moving to Maple Creek? And with Lane interfering with the Secret Recipe program, she probably wouldn’t get a new customer to offset the business she’d lost from Mrs. Kip.

  Her only hope right now hinged on the annual Maple Creek Valentine’s banquet coming up next month. “Did you hear they’re going all out for the Valentine’s banquet this year?”

  Cyn scrunched her face. “I’m afraid to ask what ‘all out’ means.”

  “Just that they’re giving everyone a take-home favor.”

  “Man,” Cyn said. “Think we can handle all that excitement?”

  “Mrs. Barker suggested a box of conversation hearts.”

  “What’s the difference between those and sidewalk chalk?”

  Paige shook her head. “They’re the same thing, just shaped differently. Maybe I should put in a bid to bake petits fours for everyone.”

  Cyn’s eyebrows jumped up near her hairline. “That’s a heck of a leap from sidewalk chalk to petits fours. Their budget’s pretty near nonexistent. Think they’d spring for something like that?”

  “I doubt it.” But Paige couldn’t help imagining how much money they’d make selling hundreds of petits fours. She wasn’t going to tell Cyn that getting that Valentine’s banquet order might be the one thing that would save her business. She believed in her mom’s magic, but right now, she needed a miracle.

  Chapter Six

  Lane decided to take a brisk walk on his lunch break and head over to the Ruritan Hall where the Red Cross was doing a blood drive. At least half of his patients this morning had mentioned they were planning to donate, and he’d decided to join them. No one needed to convince him how important it was to have a sufficient supply of blood on hand—especially in emergencies.

  It was only about a half mile walk, but it was so freakin’ cold out he decided to go to Sweet Bee’s for a cup of coffee to drink on the way. The bells on the door jingled as he stepped inside, wondering if he wanted the coffee or if he really wanted to see Paige? And what kind of sense did that make, considering what she’d written in her letter to Mrs. Hawthorne? Maybe he felt a little
guilty that he might be negatively affecting Paige’s business and figured he should contribute to it somehow. He walked up to the counter, eyeballing the doorway to the kitchen as a tall brunette whisked out and came to the counter.

  Not Paige. He wasn’t sure if he was disappointed or relieved.

  “Help you, sir?” She wiped her hands on her apron as if she’d just washed them.

  “Small coffee, please.”

  “Comin’ up.” She ducked back into the kitchen and quickly returned with his drink. “You’re the new doctor, right?”

  “Lane Anderson.”

  “I’m Cynthia, but most people call me Cyn.”

  Lane nodded. “Cyn, huh?”

  “It suits me better.”

  “Got it.” Lane paid for the coffee and gave her a tip. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Thanks, man,” Cyn said. “Guess we’ll see you around, considering you’re right next door.”

  “Sure thing.” He headed outside, not the least bit surprised that Paige employed a girl named Cyn.

  Lane walked to the Ruritan Hall, braving the cold with his coffee, and thinking warm thoughts about being in St. Lucia over the weekend—with Paige.

  He’d started to second-guess his theory that he was being set up with her, because he hadn’t even seen her since the fateful dinner at Hawthorne Manor several days ago. If she were the least bit interested in him, wouldn’t she have…what? Apologized? He hadn’t made any moves, either. Maybe part of him was just hoping—and he was certain which part. But the invitation from Sylvia and Liza might truly have only been about him playing his guitar at the wedding.