by Lissa
He hopped up in the truck as easily as a gymnast jumps on a balance beam. When he disappeared inside the depths of metal and sweet treats, Cass turned and retreated the way she’d come. The cupcake tasted like ash in her mouth and as soon as she rounded a corner, out of view of the truck, she tossed it in the nearest trashcan.
Frustrated and more than a little hurt, she picked up her stride. The more distance she put between The Cupcake Cowboy and herself was a good thing. She hadn’t known what to expect, seeing him. She hadn’t wanted the confrontation to have happened while he was busy and preoccupied, not that he’d given her much choice. When he stepped down from his truck to speak to her, she couldn’t have been more surprised. She knew she wanted him, but being within touching distance had brought it all home just how hooked on him she still was.
He, on the other hand, didn’t seem afflicted in quite the same way.
She stepped into a small alcove just down from the front doors of the culinary college she taught at. She took a few minutes to compose and calm herself before going inside She could do it. She could get through her last two afternoon sessions. After that, well, then she could go home and indulge in a pint of chocolate chunk brownie ice cream.
She could also bake a cake. Maybe even both.
Chapter Two
Jackson set the pastry bag on the counter and flexed his fingers before trying again. He leveled the decorating tip at a forty-five degree angle and applied just the right amount of pressure. The white icing flowed from the end of the metal tool but not in the correct loop design he was trying to trace.
Free form wasn’t his strong suit, but he didn’t suck at it. Not usually. He’d even had Peg draw the outline of what he needed to pipe. The petals of a flower. Just a small flower that would have a little different shade inside the white borders, but even with a guide, the royal icing flowed too loosely and this was the second batch he’d fucked up today.
He cursed and kicked his boot at the underside of the low hung stainless steel workshop-style cabinets. He’d chosen them for their durability and for the fact that he thought they’d look cool inside the truck. He’d been right because today they’d taken a beating. They also hadn’t cost as much as some of the custom cabinets he’d looked at while trying to outfit the inner workings of his mobile bakery. He simply hadn’t had the funds to buy things that weren’t going to last a while and if he had to look at them, they weren’t going to be ugly or just make-do. The metal tool chests added to the industrial feel and were perfect for the tips, pieces, and parts needed for cake decorating.
However, after today, he wasn’t sure he was a decorator or baker. The petals of daisies had been lopsided, stars weren’t pointed, and dots were more like melted chips. Everything he could do, everything he knew about cakes and decorating went out the window after he’d turned his back on Cass. Her visit had thrown him off his game and he hadn’t gotten it back. “Shit.”
“Boss? You okay?”
Jackson grunted. “Yeah,” he said wearily, over his shoulder to Jerome. “I just think it’s time I get out of here for the night.” Jerome was a sculptor, working with clay before coming to work for Jackson. Now his medium was gum paste flowers, chocolate roses, fondant figures.
He’d heard about Jerome from Peg. They were roommates. She said he’d dropped out of art school and was doing nothing more than hanging out in their apartment, depressed and discouraged. He’d wanted to be a sculptor but his teachers hadn’t been too encouraging. Jackson had been curious and had taken a bucket of fondant and a bucket of gum paste to Jerome. He’d been surprised and intrigued, calling it edible sculpting clay. Jackson had seen the way Jerome’s fingers fisted and reached almost of their own accord toward the buckets. Jackson told Jerome that he could keep the small containers and if, on the following Monday, he brought Jackson some sugar flowers, that he’d give Jerome a job.
“We were pretty busy today, yeah? We got this if you wanna bounce. Peg’ll stay and do the piping.”
“Yo!” Peg smacked Jerome on the arm. “Don’t go volunteering me for stuff, dude.”
“Oh stop. You know you’d do it if he needed you to.”
Peg glared at Jerome for a second before nodding. “Yeah, I would. But you can’t go taking liberties like that.”
Jerome waggled his eyebrows. “What liberties can I take?”
“That’s harassment,” she said, wagging her small, slender finger in Jerome’s face.
“All right now. No foreplay in the truck,” Jackson broke in on a laugh. “We’re gonna call it a night. Let’s wrap everything up. The piping can wait.”
Given his lack of focus, Jackson called it an even earlier night than usual for a Thursday. He’d driven them back to the staging lot for mobile eateries Thursday was the one night they closed up before midnight since Jackson spent Friday mornings at the family dairy farm loading up on what would be needed not only for the weekend, but also for the following week.
Jerome hopped out and plugged the truck into the power hook-up that would keep the refrigerators and freezers running so nothing spoiled or was lost during the night. The gravel lot, not far from downtown, housed many of the food trucks in San Antonio. It was basically an old RV lot, upgraded, secured, and maintained.
“You want to get a drink, boss? We’re gonna head over to that new bar down on Crockett. Might do you some good to relax.”
“You mean the Neon something or other? A few doors from The Hard Rock Cafe?”
“That’s the one,” Peg confirmed.
Jackson glanced at Peg as she packed up. She had a full sleeve tattoo on one arm. On the other arm, wrapped around the biceps, was a trio of sugar skulls linked together. She had a dye job which she referred to as Peg’s Pretties. Jackson had never gotten out of her if it was her real hair or a wig. Either way, it suited her and was a conversation piece whenever customers saw her.
Colors were something she had an eye for. When the tinting of frostings came up, she was the go-to in the group.
She was a wiz with airbrushing too, as well as painting. His little company didn’t get many orders for cakes, but they did for cupcake cakes. Peg could airbrush scenes or hand paint them and they’d be nothing like anyone imagined. She was an incredible artist, just as Jerome was, and Jackson was lucky they’d dropped out of art school. When he found Peg, she’d been painting caricatures and river scenes on the Riverwalk.
“Nah. You guys go on.”
“Maybe he doesn’t want to come with us because of the woman who came to see him today,” Jerome whispered to Peg, though loud enough for Jackson to hear.
“Yeah, maybe. You see the way he was looking at her?” Peg teased.
“Ain’t ever seen the bossman look at any woman like that.”
“Okay. Enough you two. I appreciate the concern but I’m just tired.” He dug in his back pocket for one of their business card size mini-brochures. “While you’re out, give this to the bar manager. See if they’d like to stock some of our cocktail flavors.”
“Sure, no problem.
“And if you go see your lady friend, don’t stay out too late. Take her some cupcakes too. Girls like cupcakes.”
“Get,” Jackson snapped, but with little heat behind it.
His crew, though they liked to party in the clubs and bars, were always bright and chipper each morning. They were young and single, from different backgrounds, and hard working. Their artistic talent had been like hitting the lottery. Jackson knew his business wouldn’t be half as successful without them. They were risk takers, true artists, and they were brilliant.
He hopped out of the food truck and locked it up. His pick-up was parked nearby and as he climbed in, Jerome’s comment lingered in his psyche. He wished he could see Cass, but the look in her eyes earlier when he’d so casually dismissed her, haunted him. It wasn’t like him to be so cold, but when it came to her and their history, the way they clashed even while they were so hot for each other… She pushed every damn button he had.
He also knew he owed some of his success to Cass. He hadn’t been lying or stretching the truth when he told her she’d given him the ass kicking he’d needed. She’d told him she didn’t think he was ready. She’d told him she didn’t think he could do it just yet purely on talent and stubbornness alone, but she hadn’t realized it was a sure-fire way to drive him to action. He knew she hadn’t meant to push him into it, but she’d admitted she’d been wrong to address it the way she had. He was making something of himself, and making a strong, solid name for his company among customers and other food businesses in San Antonio.
It wasn’t right that he’d shut Cass down though and accused her of not believing in him. He might be good at what he was doing businesswise, but he evidently sucked at personal stuff. He wanted her, had been into her from the get go and hearing her voice on his voicemails then seeing her at his truck this afternoon, he realized all over again that he still was. She had curves that drove him nuts, and he knew people who would say she was too heavy or overweight even, but her smile and enthusiasm for her work was infectious, and her eyes were clear blue and captivating. He didn’t know if she knew why he wanted her, why he wanted more than just a few stolen kisses in her office after class.
What he did know was that he fucked up good today.
He parked down the block from the townhouse he shared with his sister, Samantha. His designated spot was taken but the walk wasn’t a long one. Sam’s bakery, The Sticky Cowgirl, wasn’t too far from where they lived either.
Urban living suited them and their businesses. It was a far cry from the cattle ranch they’d grown up on. Much as he wished at times that he could have loved living in the country and working the land until his dying day, Jackson loved being in the city too much. The ranch was more of an escape for him now and the weekly drive on Fridays eased his stress and relaxed him.
“Sam?” He called out for his younger sister as he walked in the door. “You home?”
“Yeah,” she called back.
She was in the living room, curled in her favorite chair, an heirloom willed to her from their grandmother. No one else was ever allowed to sit in it, which was just fine by Jackson. It was ugly gold upholstery and musty smelling. Sam was welcome to it.
Two wine bottles sat on the coffee table in front of her. He picked up one. Empty. The second was still half full. “Another offer today?” She was being hounded by a large development firm. They wanted her out of current her location so they could tear it down. She was the lone hold out in a small string of shops adjacent to the Riverwalk. Most storefronts on the river were lease only, but the group she was in, the owner had sold the individual spaces. Sam didn’t want to sell and though Jackson admired his sister’s stubborn streak—it mirrored his own—he wasn’t sure how much longer she was going to be able to hold them off.
“Yep.” She took a long drink from her glass. “About ten grand more than the last one.”
Jackson whistled at the dollar amounts piling up for her store. “How long are you going to fight them?”
“As long as it takes. I want the space I’m in. I don’t want to move or start over someplace else.”
Jackson dropped down onto the couch. It didn’t match the chair, thank God. It was plush and moderately comfortable. Not that anyone other than the two of them ever used it. They didn’t even have a television in the living room. “So then, what’s the plan?”
“To keep fighting.”
The Sticky Cowgirl was Sam’s pride and joy. She’d walked into the shell of a gutted old candy store and haggled her way into walking out with the deed. With help from their father, the ranch hands, and some family friends, they’d cleaned it, rebuilt it, and she’d grown her business literally from the ground up. He’d done the same with his, only minus the help of family and ranch hands. He’d had Sam. There wasn’t a thing inside his truck that hadn’t been touched by his or her elbow grease.
Sam had done extensive research, took some business classes, read everything she could get her hands on about opening a bakery. She found a niche and she was filling it. Jackson took a different route with his cupcake truck. Neither of them were long established in the food business but word was spreading fast.
“I might have to go see Daddy.”
Jackson nodded and bit back a knee-jerk response. He loved his father for sure, but Jock Dawson was the last person Jackson would turn to in a crisis. That was his own issue, though. His feud with his father was nothing to do with Sam.
“I know you don’t want me to, but I don’t know what other choice I have. If I don’t get some major funds in my corner soon to help me fight this thing, I may have to give in to that corporation and well, that flat out turns my stomach. That little shop is mine. I own it. I don’t want anyone else to take it away and destroy it.”
“I know. Going to see him is definitely the lesser of two evils,” Jackson conceded.
Sam nudged his knee with her foot. “Daddy isn’t evil, Jacks. Y’all just don’t see things eye to eye. He was wrong to cut you off and call you ugly names for wantin’ to bake instead of run the ranch, but you’ve made it work. I’m sure if he knew, if he saw first hand the lines of people just waiting for your cupcakes, he’d be so proud. I know Mama’s looking down grinning, wishing she were here to taste-test every one.”
“You always were the one who thought the sun and moon set on him, little sister. He always thought the same of you.”
“You are his only son and it’s not about sibling rivalry here or who he loves more. Daddy just didn’t understand, Jacks. You’re a rancher’s son. His only son. He probably never imagined you’d want something different, no matter what Mama said.”
“I don’t think he’ll ever understand and what’s more, I don’t think he wants to.”
“Like father, like son,” she scolded him. “You’ll never know ‘til you try.”
“Right.” Jackson didn’t see that happening anytime soon. “You plan on finishing the bottle?”
“Nah.” Sam set her glass on the table with a tiny clink. “I’m exhausted Seeing that man just…” She shook her head and stood. She wobbled slightly on her feet but caught herself before Jackson could move to help steady her.
“Just what?”
“I can’t believe I’m going to say this.” She pouted. “I like him.”
Jackson did a double take. “I thought you hated him.”
“I know,” she whined miserably. “I like him even though I hate him. He’s cute and I bet he’s funny when he’s not all stuffy business and trying to ruin my life.”
“You’ve got a crush on the man trying to buy you out.” He hooted and slapped his leg. “Well, ain’t that somethin’.”
Sam buried her head in her hands and moaned. “I know. It’s awful.”
“No more so than me still having a crush on my pastry arts instructor after months of not seeing her or talking to her. After months of being angry. It was time to get over it. Yet at the same time, that anger had kept him focused, pushing ahead.
Cass’ reaction hadn’t been bad compared to his father’s. Going to her looking for validation immediately after the blow up with Jock though, probably hadn’t been one of Jackson’s better ideas.
“Cass?” Sam looked up with a sharper gaze than Jackson would’ve thought possible after downing a bottle and a half of wine. She dropped back to the chair. “I haven’t heard you mention her name in a while. What has you thinking about her? Finally coming to your senses, big brother?”
Jackson rolled his eyes and grudgingly nodded. “Something like that. She came by the truck today and apologized.”
“Good.” Sam shook her head as though she hadn’t heard right. “Wait. What? What did she have to apologize for?”
“I know. I —”
“Well,” Sam cut him off with a flip of her hand. “Maybe now you can forgive her for being sensible and logical, and get on with whatever it is you want to do with her.”
Jackson ignored t
he sarcasm in his sister’s statement and picked up the half-full wine bottle. “There’s not going to be anything.” He took a long swallow. It was sweet, Sam’s favorite. And red. His favorite. He didn’t care too much for dry wines and he didn’t like heavy cloying wines. He actually preferred beer, but since the wine was already open…
“Why not? Did you give her a little exposure to that incredibly generous attitude of yours, a little glimpse of that chip on your shoulder? You said she admitted to being wrong.”
Jackson acknowledged Sam’s comments by leaning his head back and closing his eyes. In his head, he could see Cass and the stricken look on her face when he turned away.
“I still want her, Sam.”
“Then why are you sitting at home? You should go by the school or go by her place and fix things. Hell, Jacks. The least you can do is call her.”
“You don’t have to be right all the time, you know.” No sooner were the words out of his mouth, and there was a knock on the door. Brother and sister looked at one another. Jackson shrugged. “I’m not expecting anyone. Peg and Jerome are out.”
“Me neither.”
“Maybe if we ignore it,” he suggested.
“Yeah right. I’m the tipsy one so you’ll have to answer it. I’ll have a hard enough time getting upstairs to my room that —”
“That what? You can’t open the front door as you walk by it?” Jackson laughed, but got up to answer the insistent knocking. “Cass?” He was surprised and confused and thrilled to find her standing on the doorstep. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m not sure.” Her words, her tone, her demeanor all appeared uncertain. “I…” She sighed, straightened after a moment, and looked at him sternly.“Truth is, I didn’t like the way things were left today. I know it’s late, and that I shouldn’t intrude on you at home, but I never know when to catch you. Your truck is nowhere to be seen on the street tonight, so I took a chance that I’d find you here. I have things I need to say.” The more she talked, the faster the words came, as though afraid he was going to send her packing. Again.
