An absolutely clean pan, clean molds, and pure white sugar were the essential elements. She let herself get lost in the work, setting up the molds, cooking the sugar and checking it with the candy thermometer. Watching the instrument reminded her that she needed more practice on her chocolate techniques. Perhaps she could make time for that a little later in the day, she thought as she carefully poured the clear, molten sugar into the molds.
But that never happened. Shortly after lunch—two pizzas brought in and shared among the crew—Kelly called.
“Mom, help! Riki left on an errand and I have an emergency over here!”
The panic in her voice sounded genuine. Sam dropped the phone and dashed out the back door. The grooming shop, like Sam’s own place, had a back door to the alley and luckily it was unlocked. Sam flung it open to the roar of what sounded like a hundred dogs, all barking at once. In the work area, a dozen wire cages lined the walls. The doors to two of them stood open, and the dogs in three others loudly protested their own captivity. A deep metal sink stood to one side, with a spray hose shooting water toward the ceiling.
“Watch out—the floor’s wet!” Kelly scrambled after a sudsy dog with long reddish fur but the animal was far quicker, completely undeterred by the water that pooled over the concrete floor in the work area. As Kelly lost her footing and went down face-first, the dog bolted for the short hall that led to Puppy Chic’s small reception area.
Sam headed after the dog, arms out to her sides to keep her balance.
“You okay?” she asked Kelly as she passed the prone figure.
Kelly pulled herself to her knees. “Not if that dog gets away. He belongs to the mayor.”
“I got him.” Except that the dog was out of sight now. Sam hustled as quickly as she could, following the soapy trail.
From the hallway, she could hear the dog shaking himself vigorously. In the reception room, a medium-sized Sheltie stood, cornered near the glass entry door. A black Lab was giving his best effort to mount her.
“Oh, god,” Sam yelled, “stop that! You dogs, get over here!”
Like they were going to mind her commands.
The wet Irish Setter had flung soapsuds all over the room and now he circled the Sheltie from the other side. Sam reached for him but she might as well have been trying to grab a fish barehanded. None of the dogs had their collars on, but Kelly had grabbed up a leash with a loop in it. She snagged it over the head of the Lab and pulled at him. Toenails screeched across the tile floor and it took all Sam and Kelly could muster to pull him back to the work room.
“That’s his crate,” Kelly said, indicating one of the ones with the open doors. “Somehow he figured out how to open the latch.”
They shoved the Lab inside and slammed the door, double checking the latch.
“We better get that other one—”
A scream came from the front.
Kelly’s eyes went wide. Her feet slithered sideways as she headed for the other room.
Sam was right behind her daughter, and they found a woman standing inside the reception area, clutching a wide-eyed Yorkie to her chest.
“What is—?”
“Give us a minute, ma’am, if you could,” Sam said.
Kelly had looped the snare over the Setter by now and Sam found another one to use on the Sheltie. She held the smaller dog aside while Kelly basically slid the bigger dog across the floor on his wet feet. They disappeared into the back room.
“Sorry about that,” Sam said to the new customer. The sound of a metal crate clanged from the back. “I’ll just—” She tilted her head toward the hallway and started pulling the Sheltie with the cinched-in lead.
Kelly passed her in the hall, her brown curls sticking out at wild angles, her plastic apron askew over her chest. She rolled her eyes as she headed toward the front, and Sam could hear Kelly putting on her best customer service voice as she greeted the stunned woman as if she’d not witnessed anything out of order.
Sam found a crate for the Sheltie, across the room from all the other occupied ones. When she had the little girl securely locked inside, she turned off the spray hose at the sink.
“The lady decided to wait for another day to get the Yorkie groomed,” Kelly said as she walked into the room.
“Gosh, I wonder why.”
Sam and Kelly both dissolved into giggles.
“What on earth—” Erica Davis-Jones’s silhouette showed against the open rear door.
“Oh, gosh, Riki, I am so sorry!” Kelly grabbed up a mop that Sam hadn’t noticed before. “We had a little mishap . . .” She began mopping at the pool of water.
Sam mouthed an apology to Riki and then headed back to the pastry shop. And she’d thought life as a baker got a little crazy at times.
By that evening, when Kelly walked into the house, the whole incident had taken on tall-tale proportions. Sam had hoped to have quiet time at home to work on her chocolates, but two people had already called to ask about the riot at the dog groomer’s place and Jen said it was all the bakery customers could talk about all afternoon.
“Yeah, a few people said they’d heard that dogs were getting away and running all around the plaza,” Kelly said. “Riki had her hands full, explaining that her shop really is a safe place to bring your dog.”
“Sheesh, I hope that one witness doesn’t cause her to lose too much business. It’s amazing how much harm an old gossip can do.”
“Nah, you know Riki. She was a little peeved with the owner of the Sheltie for bringing the dog when she was in heat. Riki has a rule about that and the woman didn’t tell her. But by the time she finishes telling the story in that cute accent of hers, everyone actually gets a good laugh over the whole thing.”
Sam handed Kelly a truffle she’d made. “What do you think? Honestly.”
Kelly took a bite and let it rest on her tongue. “Well, it’s not Bobul’s. Sorry, Mom. It’s good. Really. Creamy and tasty.”
“But I don’t know about selling them in the shop,” Sam said. “People got used to a pretty high standard when he was there at Christmas. I’m afraid these will disappoint.”
Kelly pursed her lips and nodded. “You’re right. They’re almost there . . . but not quite.”
Sam couldn’t take the chance of losing customers because they thought the quality had gone downhill. It wasn’t worth the risk. She stared at the rack of truffles she’d just finished.
“They’d make nice favors for the wedding,” Kelly suggested. “Or I could take some to the nursing home. The old folks love their sweets.”
Sam stared at her. Who is this girl who’s always thinking of others? Ever since her experience with Beau’s invalid mother she’d loved spending time with the elderly. Even if she had to mush up the candy and spoon feed it, Sam knew her daughter would do so, happily.
Kelly went to the refrigerator and pulled out the makings for a sandwich. It had become her routine a couple nights a week, to eat something quick at home and then go spend the evening at the nursing home reading stories and holding withered old hands. When Kelly carried the sandwich into the living room to watch one of her reality shows while she ate, Sam began the kitchen cleanup.
She’d tried everything with this chocolate venture, including handling the mystical carved wooden box—a gift from a purported witch that seemed to give Sam special abilities. Although her chocolate making had definitely improved over her early efforts, something was still missing. She ran hot water into the sink, dunking her pans and bowls beneath the sudsy surface, sending a silent plea out to the universe at large. What will it take for me to get this chocolate-making right?
A knock at the back door disrupted her thoughts.
“Hey beautiful,” Beau said, stepping in and depositing a grocery bag on the counter. While he slipped his jacket off and hung it on a hook near the door, Sam peeked inside. He’d brought a roasted chicken, salads and rolls from the deli counter at the supermarket. It smelled heavenly, the meaty scent a welcome break
from the sugary smells that surrounded her all day.
They indulged in a lingering kiss until Sam became aware of Kelly’s presence.
“Sorry, you two,” she said, “but I need to get to that door.” She picked up the small paper sack into which she’d put some of the truffles, and pulled her hoodie from the wall hook. “Off to see the oldsters. You guys behave while I’m gone.”
“It’ll be nice when I have you all to myself,” Beau said, watching Kelly get into her car and back out.
“Sorry. I should give her a little lecture about lecturing us,” Sam said.
“Ah, it’s not that much longer. She’s a cute kid, and she was so good with Mama.” His voice tightened.
Sam turned to the cupboard to get plates, giving him a moment as she bustled around with flatware and napkins.
“You know . . . you can move into my place any day now,” Beau said, coming up behind her as she pulled the food cartons from the bag and set them on the kitchen table.
She’d taken a few things out to his big log ranch house, basically an overnight bag and couple of changes of clothes, but the task of really moving there—packing up her kitchen stuff and emptying the garage of more than thirty years clutter . . . the task seemed monumental. Of course, she reminded herself that she didn’t really have to move absolutely everything right away. Kelly would continue to live in Sam’s house. She’d even talked about buying the little place, rather than having Sam sell it to a stranger. So far, it was more speculation than a real plan, and since their engagement at Christmas Sam had found herself with very few spare minutes to think about it.
Beau’s hands ran down her arms and he paused, picking at something that was stuck to the sleeve of her baker’s jacket.
“Oh gosh, I didn’t even change—” Sam reached for the dried gob of cake batter on the sleeve. “Let me just—”
“I don’t mind,” Beau said, but she was already on the way to her bedroom.
“Just find a bottle of wine. I think there’s white chilling in the fridge or some kind of red in the lower cupboard. I’ll be right back.”
She kicked aside an empty cardboard carton, stripped off the baker’s jacket and tossed it into the hamper, followed by the black slacks that comprised her working wardrobe. She felt remiss in not making more effort to dress nicely for Beau in the evenings. Once she’d moved into his place, she resolved, she would be home for dinner every night and she would be dressed in something that she hadn’t worn all day long. A vision of the long drive from her shop out to his house flitted through her mind. No more five-minute commute to her little place. She tamped down the thought while she pulled a silky blouse from the closet and buttoned it.
She had a pair of amber earrings that went perfectly with the blouse, and she reached for the carved wooden box that held her small jewelry collection. She’d come in here when she got home a few hours ago, purposely handling the box, hoping for some of its energy to pass on whatever mystical skill she needed to make the perfect chocolates. The energy was there, but somehow the skill didn’t come. She raised the lid of the box again. The dull brown wood began to glow slightly at her touch.
She’d still not found the right moment to tell Beau about its magical powers. When was the right time to tell your fiancé that you may have inherited abilities from a genuine witch? She had told him a little of it, back when Bertha Martinez gave her the box. On one of Beau’s cases, she’d seen invisible fingerprints in a strange plant substance. But he’d never quite put together the fact that she also sometimes used the box’s powers to boost her energy, to impart a healing touch, to occasionally see auras. Now she had to tell him. Before the wedding.
“Whatcha doing in here? Dinner’s getting cold.” From the doorway, his voice startled her.
She pulled out the amber earrings and held them up. “Just getting these.”
Chapter 3
Sam continued to fret over the secret she’d withheld from Beau, but he filled the time talking about his day and satisfying his hearty appetite with gusto. She picked at a drumstick and nibbled bites of the macaroni salad that she normally loved.
“Beau?” she said as they began clearing the dishes. He put them into the dishwasher while she scooped coffee into the filter basket and started the machine. “Beau, there’s something—”
The kitchen phone rang, startling her. As she reached for it, she noticed Beau eyeing the truffles she’d made this afternoon. She pulled a small plate from the cupboard and gestured for him to choose their desserts while she reached for the handset.
It was Delbert Crow, her contracting officer for her other job. Before Sam had the money to open Sweet’s Sweets, when baking at home wasn’t providing quite enough income she’d been forced to look for gainful employment. And that had come in the form of a contract to take care of properties where owners were in default on their mortgages. Some special program that involved the Department of Agriculture. Sam wasn’t too clear on the details of how it worked, only that her duty was to break into the houses, if necessary, clean them up, maintain the yards, and get the places ready for sale—basically, jump whenever Delbert called.
She tensed at the sound of his voice. This was one week when she really didn’t need any extra duties. She caught Beau about ready to pop a whole truffle into his mouth.
“Those are pretty rich,” she whispered.
“What, Ms Sweet?” Delbert Crow asked.
“Nothing. Just finishing dinner here at home.” She’d often wondered if the contracting officer had any sort of a life. He worked out of an office in Albuquerque and called at the most inconvenient times. She’d never met him face-to-face but pictured a curmudgeonly older guy who drew big red X’s on a calendar to mark the countdown to his retirement. She forced her mind back to what he was saying.
“. . . start the spring cleaning?”
Her brain raced to catch up. Something about the unseasonably warm temperatures they’d enjoyed recently. It happened nearly every February, a few days of such glorious weather that everything—including a lot of the fruit trees—believed it to be the end of winter. Then, unfailingly, wham—another stretch of freezing conditions. Whatever some fat old groundhog back East said didn’t matter, the familiar pattern was how New Mexico seasons were destined to play out.
“All my properties are securely winterized, Delbert,” she said. “I check on them every couple of weeks, but there’s no point in doing any real landscape work or turning the water systems back on until we know we’re past the hard freezes.”
He grumbled a bit when she reminded him that she would be on her honeymoon until the end of the month. And don’t bother me until then. But what she said was that she would call him when she returned.
By the time she’d hung up Beau had poured mugs of coffee and carried them into the living room, where the TV set was tuned to college basketball.
“I hope you don’t mind,” he said. “It’s one of the few broadcast Lobo games I’ve gotten this season.” He scooted over to made a space for her and tucked his arm around her shoulders when she sat down.
She nibbled at a truffle and sipped her coffee. No point in insisting that they talk about what might well turn into an awkward subject; she put thoughts of the magical wooden box out of her mind and savored her dessert. Now if she could just figure out how to re-create Gustav Bobul’s techniques in chocolate.
*
Four-thirty in the morning always came way too early for Sam. Even with months of practice, there was always that moment when she felt tempted to roll over and bag everything until nine. It was the one aspect of opening a pastry shop that she hadn’t really taken into account. She slapped at the button on her clock to shut off the obnoxious electronic beep.
Turning on the bedside lamp, she rubbed at her eyes and wondered how Beau would take to the new routine in his life. Being a rancher at heart, he probably wouldn’t view the pre-dawn wakening as anything unusual. She groaned her way across the room and slipped into her work at
tire more from habit than by conscious thought. Twenty-five minutes later she was unlocking the bakery’s back door, switching on lights, and turning on the large bake oven that would labor all day without complaint.
Mixing and baking the shop’s usual morning offerings had become second nature. Muffins, scones, crumb cakes and turnovers came out of the oven as if they’d put themselves there in the first place. While Sam performed the routine tasks, her mind zipped ahead to the specialty cake orders for the day. Coming up with a variety of different proposal cakes for the town’s prospective grooms had proven to be a challenge. More often than not, the guy placing the order had no clue what he wanted, other than to wow the girl into saying yes so he would have an unlimited supply of early morning sex. Most of them simply wanted a fitting accompaniment to the nice meal, which was then going to be followed by a ring and the question.
She sprinkled a cinnamon brown sugar mixture over a coffee cake and glanced at the shelves where her food colors and supplies were organized. One of her customers had dropped a hint about his girlfriend loving the delicate flower, forget-me-nots, and Sam already a picture in her head for that design, coating the cake with chocolate fondant, which would contrast nicely with the pale blue flowers. She put the coffee cakes in the oven and set the timer.
Another man wanted to go very traditional with hearts and flowers. Sam envisioned white fondant with very tiny piped red hearts around the sides and top border—maybe some string work to make the little hearts flow together, then piped red rosebuds surrounding a raised dome where he would place his ring. She pulled cake layers from the freezer and set to work.
The morning drifted by, Sam only dimly aware of the other girls arriving and starting their duties. Sandy and Cathy reviewed the orders and went to work baking the correct number of layers in the correct sizes. Becky oversaw the pastries that came out of the ovens, helping Jen to keep the display cases filled, coming back to her own favorite task of making flowers for the cakes. She brought the red rosebuds, sixteen of the delicate things, out to Sam, who placed them around the base of the hearts-and-flowers cake.
Sweet Hearts Page 2
