What Rachel saw as she entered, however, was a very messy kitchen and a very angry woman.
“Useless! Utterly Useless!” an old woman cried, thwacking a man on the shins with her stick. Shards of glass lay shattered around them, along with a spreading pool of red wine. The door of a fridge gaped open, and a bag of flour had fallen on the floor, as well. Dust floated up like steam.
“Ow! Abuelita, I was only — OW!” The man tried to protect his shins and protest all at once, failing to do either.
“Hey now, folks. What’s going on here?” Although he was on vacation and dressed in a cotton T-shirt and shorts, Scott easily slipped back into the rhythm of his role as sheriff. He stepped gingerly over the shards of glass and planted himself between the pair. He looked bemused but ready to act with decisiveness if pushed.
The woman stopped, panting a little, and raised an accusing finger at the man. “Dios Mio! This idiota just ruined my last bottle of wine! I want his head!” Wisps of white hair flew around her face and a sheen of sweat covered her wrinkled skin. She held one hand close to her chest, almost cradling it. Instantly, Rachel knew she was injured.
“I’m sorry, Abuelita.” The man, who was cowering with his hands above his head, trembled a little more. He was short and paunchy, with a bald spot on the back of his head but, right at that moment, he looked like a terrified five-year-old. “I really didn’t mean to…”
“Basura!” With the other hand, she raised her stick again.
Leon, his eyes narrowing, stepped forward. He put up a hand. “That’s my partner you’re harassing, lady. I don’t appreciate it. Wine can be replaced, you know. It’s not a big deal.”
“I was just looking at it,” the man protested, relieved that someone had come to rescue him. “It slipped. Then she slipped on the wine and I think she’s hurt her hand—”
“Never mind my hand! That bottle was the last of its kind, from my own vineyard back in Colombia. You did this to ruin my cake! I know it! My Valentina could have had the best baker in the USA for her wedding cake, but she knows her roots, she keeps her traditions. She wanted her own Abuelita to make traditional wine cake. And now what? My wine is gone! My cake will be ruined!” The old woman was furious, and her eyes shot sparks.
“Don’t be so dramatic.” Leon scoffed. “I’ll talk to Valentina. We’ll arrange for a new cake.”
“You!” The old woman pointed her stick at Leon now. “You’re the one who made him do this. You never wanted me to bake. You wanted a fancy party with a fancy cake—”
Leon plucked the stick away from the older lady’s hand and held it away from her. “Rule one of being on my island: no pointing sticks at me. Now play nice and I’ll hand this back to you.” There was almost a smile in his eyes as he teased the old woman. Clearly, he thoroughly enjoyed taking charge, perhaps even being a bully.
Rachel gaped at Leon. It was easy to see where Mason got his manners. With a father like that, it was a wonder he wasn’t worse.
“My wine cake.” Abuelita sighed. She looked down at the broken glass and hugged her injured hand even closer to her body. “Ay, ay.” She looked genuinely distressed. “My hand.”
Leon was about to say something more but Scott gave him a warning look. It was a look he’d honed in his years of dealing with drunks and aggressive men on the police force, and it worked instantly on Leon. He handed the stick back to Abuelita, looking a bit ashamed. Then, not satisfied with this new role, Leon turned to the trembling man.
“Tony, what’s the meaning of this?” Leon asked. “Valentina’s grandmother thinks you deliberately broke that bottle of wine. Now is that true?”
Tony shook his head. “I was looking for something to drink, so I came in here. I had the bottle in my hand when she yelled out behind me. I turned around and it just… slipped. I didn’t do it on purpose. I never would! Then she stepped forward and fell down on the wine.”
“There you go,” Leon said. “Case closed.”
Scott put a comforting hand around Abuelita’s shoulders and led her away from the men, sitting her down on a nearby chair. Rachel couldn’t quite hear what they were saying to each other, but from the muffled protests Abuelita gave, followed by Scott’s gentle murmurs, Rachel thought the lady would soon be calm again.
Scott was also a trained EMT, and he looked focused as he ran his fingers gently over Abuelita’s injured hand. He frowned a little.
“Definitely sprained. At the very least,” Scott said. “Mason, is there a doctor on the island?”
“Valentina’s father is a Doctor,” Mason said. “I’ll go get him.”
“Good. I think she’ll need a splint,” Scott said.
“A splint? You don’t understand, I’m fine! I have to bake the cake for Valentina!” Abuelita protested. She tried snatching her hand away from Scott, only to wince and cry out in pain. Scott winced, too, in sympathy.
“You’re not going to be using that arm for the next fortnight,” Scott said. “I’m sorry, really.”
“But I promised Valentina… my grandchild...” Abuelita looked broken hearted.
“Well, like I said, we’ll just get a cake from the mainland, if necessary.” Leon spoke in his big, bluff voice. “I never liked the idea of a home-made cake for a wedding, to be honest. Might be best, after all. What flavor, I wonder? Maybe pineapple and coconut...”
Abuelita looked crushed.
Rachel stepped forward. “I’ll do it,” she said. “I’ll bake the cake for you. I’m a professional baker so I can follow your instructions exactly. You can even sit right here in the kitchen and supervise me.”
“But it’s your vacation,” Leon protested. “You can’t be expected to work on your vacation. Lets just forget about it. I’ll handle the—”
“Will you really do it?” Abuelita looked at Rachel with hope in her eyes.
Leon rolled his eyes, but Rachel ignored him. “Absolutely,” she said. “I’ll be delighted. Besides, I’ve never made wine cake before. I didn’t even know there was any such thing.”
“It’s Colombian tradition,” Abuelita explained. “We call it the Torta Negra — Black Cake. Every birthday, anniversary or wedding in our country, out it comes. Valentina always loved it, even as a little child, when she wasn’t allowed to have too much. She’s only 1/2 Colombian, you know. Her other grandparents are Irish. But it meant a lot to me that she chose to honor my side of her family by having this cake on her wedding day. I really wanted to make it with the oldest wine from our vineyard but, of course…that’s ruined now.”
“We’ll make up for it somehow,” Rachel said, gently placing a hand on Abuelita’s back. “I promise.”
“Mama!” A dignified man with a white beard and dark, flashing eyes rushed into the room, along with Mason.
“Ah, Edward, my son. Look what happened to your old mama.” Abuelita sighed, holding out her hand.
Edward grimaced. “Nasty. We’ll need to splint it. If the rest of you don’t mind, I can’t work well with a crowd around me.”
“Oh, yes. Of course.” Mason nodded. “Rachel, let’s leave Scott here. I’ll show you to your room. Your father and Valentina are out shopping with her mother and Leon’s wife. They’ll be back in an hour or so, so we can all just meet back here.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Scott nodded. “Thanks buddy.”
*****
Chapter 4
The Happy Couple
Mason led Rachel to her cottage and, instantly, all the stress and tension that had been collecting on the back of her neck grew wings and flew away. The cottage was like a polished pearl waiting just for her. It had a little loft with beanbags and a coffee table, a bathroom with a marble bathtub and a large bed that took up most of the ground floor. Floor to ceiling windows looked out at the ocean and Rachel gave a little sigh of contentment as she admired the view.
This would be a heavenly vacation. Just what she and Scott needed.
Rachel’s sigh turned to a squeak and then a yell as two han
ds snaked around her waist. Turning around, she shoved Mason away forcefully.
“Hey! Ow! What?” Mason squeaked.
“What exactly are you trying to do?” Rachel’s face was flaming.
“You…you were sighing and stretching. I thought…well…” Mason shrugged. “Ok, it was a mistake. Forget it, will you?”
Rachel stared at him. He didn’t seem apologetic in the least. There was a ghost of a smile hiding in his face and an incorrigible look in his eyes.
“You better get out of here before my fist finds your face,” Rachel warned.
“Oh, come on. Don’t be so self-righteous. You were totally flirting with me all day. You jumped at the chance to be alone with me.”
“Are you delusional? I never flirted with you,” Rachel shot back. “I’m here with my boyfriend, if you didn’t notice.”
“That guy? Small Town Joe?” Mason snorted. “Come on. You’re Ryan’s daughter. Surely you’re classier than that.”
That was it. Insulting her was one thing. But insulting Scott? Mason had just crossed the line in a very serious way. “Ok. I’m going to count to three,” Rachel said, raising her hands. She felt like all the stress and tension had come back tenfold. Mason had destroyed her little moment of peace.
“I’m out of here. Jeez. Relax. Women these days…” Mason slipped out, clearly unfazed, and Rachel shut the door hard behind him, locking it for good measure. The waves were still gently lapping against the shore and the sea still looked bright and inviting. But Rachel sighed and flopped face-down on the bed.
This day couldn’t possibly get any worse, could it? She checked the time — 3 pm. Great. Just great. The day hadn’t even started yet, really. The vacation stretched out in front of her, long and dreary, as she imagined meeting her father and his fiancé. Mason had said they were out shopping. Typical. Valentina probably had no qualms spending his money…
There was a sharp knock on the door and Rachel jumped up. Scott scooped her up in a hug and kissed her hard.
“Hey.” She laughed, cheering up instantly by his touch. She curled her fingers around his cheek and petted it softly. He looked down at her with an infinite tenderness.
“Have I ever told you how adorable you are?” Scott asked. “I love how you rushed to help Abuelita instantly. She cheered up so much once you made that offer.” Scott placed more kisses on her cheeks and down the side of her neck. “Are there superhero bakers? There should be.”
“Oh, cut it out.” Rachel squealed with laughter and delight as he continued his kisses. “How is she?”
“She’s planning to rest. But she asked me to send you over to her cottage later today,” Scott said. “And she said thanks again.”
“She shouldn’t have. I wasn’t lying earlier. It’s always a pleasure to bake, and learning an authentic Colombian recipe will be so cool. I should be thanking her.”
“Well, we can figure out who should thank who later,” Scott joked. “For now… I think someone needs a little bath.”
“A shower? Yeah, I was about to get in—”
“Not shower. Bath.” Scott had a crazy sort of glint in his eye that Rachel hadn’t seen before. Lifting her suddenly, he cradled her in both arms and walked out of the cottage, toward the ocean.
“What are you…Scott Tanner! Put me down this instant!” Rachel exclaimed. He was running to the ocean now and his smile looked more like a pirate’s than it ever had before.
“Sure, I will,” Scott said,.“But not here. Just a few steps more.”
Laughing, she punched him lightly on the shoulder, knowing it would have no effect. “I’m warning you—” she said. “You’ll regret it.”
“Will I?” He waded waist deep into the water and, with a little whoop, he dropped her in. Rachel kept her hands linked around his neck and dragged him down with her. They both tussled about underwater, then emerged laughing like happy children.
“I’ve been wanting to do that ever since we stepped out of the plane,” Scott said, bobbing next to her. He floated with his arms extended and took a deep breath. The water was calm and the temperature just right — not too warm, not too cold.
She smiled and floated beside him, her fingertips just touching his. That feeling of peace was returning to her as she lay on the water. The sun was warm on her face while the rest of her body, slightly submerged, was pleasantly cool. Above her, a seagull lazily swept past, one eye on the water in case a tasty meal should appear.
Life should be so simple, Rachel thought. Imagine if I were a bird, just floating in the air, eating when I’m hungry, sleeping when I’m tired. No thoughts, no worries, no fathers that marry inappropriately young women…
“Penny for your thoughts,” Scott said, his voice chocolately smooth and slightly sleepy.
Rachel gave a little yawn. “Just that I’d like to do this forever. Lay with you in the water like this, no thoughts, no worries.”
“I’d get bored after an hour or so,” Scott said. “I need wine cake in my life now that I’ve been told it exists.”
Rachel laughed. “Gluttony is a sin, you know.”
“It’s my one sin and I’m proud of it.”
“Pride is a sin, too.”
Scott sat up and splashed water on her.
“Hey!” She spluttered a little and then splashed some back. “What was that for?”
“For being sassy.” Scott grinned. “And this is for being ridiculously cute.” He splashed her some more.
She dove under the water and attacked his legs, sweeping them out from under him.
They got out of the water an hour later, when their fingers had begun to wrinkle. Their clothes were heavy with saltwater and sand scrunched between their toes as they headed back to the cottage. Rachel stretched out a hand and linked it with Scott’s, feeling totally content and a little bit hungry. As if reading her mind, Scott said, “I think I have some chips in my bag.”
“Oh, please no. Let’s change and go to the main house again. Maybe we’ll find something there.”
“Just as long as it isn’t Abuelita’s last bottle of wine. She may kill us!” Scott joked. “Do you believe Tony? That he didn’t mean to?”
“I do,” Rachel said. “I mean… Tony looked harmless. If Leon had done it on the other hand…I wouldn’t be so easily convinced that it was an accident.”
Scott nodded. “My thoughts exactly. Leon was a little too rude to Abuelita, and a little too insistent that he’d handle the cake himself.”
“Kind of strange, isn’t it? After all, it’s not his wedding,” Rachel said. “Why should he care?”
“I know that type,” Scott said. “They love poking their noses into other people’s weddings, taking charge. You saw how he rolled over Mason and made sure he got his own DJ, too. Your father should make sure he doesn’t end up in Leon’s dream wedding.”
“My father can definitely handle himself.” Rachel laughed. Then she frowned. Wasn’t that why she was here? Because she thought her father couldn’t handle himself in this one case?
They rounded the corner to their cottage, still hand in hand, and stopped suddenly. Rachel’s father and his fiancé stood at their doorstep, a big bouquet of roses in hand. Rachel found herself suddenly frozen, squeezing Scott’s fingers tight.
Her father stood still for a moment, his eyes raking over Scott,and then Rachel, taking in their soaked clothes, the day-old stubble on Scott’s chin, and the sand clinging to their bodies. It was Valentina who broke the silence. Holding out her arms, she advanced, crying out, “Rachel! I’ve heard so much about you! It’s so good to finally see you!”
Rachel smiled at her, trying not to give away the nervousness and displeasure she felt. So this was her father’s soon-to-be-bride. Interesting.
In person, she looked like she was in her early twenties instead of her thirties. Her make-up was impeccable, her nails were perfectly done in a kale-green shade, and her hair bounced above her shoulders as if it were an enthusiastic puppy.
She embraced Rachel and engulfed her in a cloud of perfume. Then it was Scott’s turn to be embraced and have his hand shaken. All the while Rachel’s father just stood there.
Finally, he stepped forward, too, clearing his throat. “Rachel.” He handed her the bouquet and gave her a brief, but loving, hug. Turning to Scott, he held out his hand.
“So, this is the sheriff I’ve heard so much about,” Ryan Rowan said. “We’ve got a lot of catching up to do, son. Come on inside, let’s make some coffee.”
His words were friendly and so was his body language, but Rachel knew her father. She knew when he was going into his overprotective mode. Underneath his friendliness lay a sharper edge. She looked sideways at Scott and he dropped her a wink as though he were perfectly aware of it, too, and ready to handle anything.
*****
Chapter 5
Coffee & Questions
The little kitchen unit inside the cottage held a single microwave, a stove and a shelf for cups and saucers. Valentina placed a cardboard box upon the counter and opened it up, revealing a large, golden brown pie with a lemon garnish.
“Key lime pie,” Valentina declared. “Your father told me you’re a baker. I’m not. I think my kitchen is traumatized by my attempts at cooking. But, anyway, I thought you’d definitely like to try some authentic Florida pie. Its from this iconic bakery out in—”
“Now, now, Val. Breathe. Give her some space to breathe, too.” Ryan slid up behind Valentina, put his arms around her waist and kissed her on the neck gently. Rachel had to contain the urge to scrunch up her face and say, “Puke!”
“Sorry.” Valentina gave Rachel a little grin. “He’s right. My mouth becomes a motor when I’m nervous. And I…am…nervous. I know our wedding came as a surprise to you...”
Weddings & Wine Cake Page 2
