“Oh what a sweet little shop,” she gushed, laughing at her own play on words. “Perfect name.”
“Hi,” Sam said. “I’m Samantha Sweet, the owner. It’s your first time here, I guess?”
“In this shop. I actually once lived here in Taos. Ages ago.” She turned toward the display cases. “What do we have here?” she said, flicking a long, brilliant orange nail across her lower lip.
Sam caught Jen’s eye and bit back a grin.
Jen, with previous experience at dealing with the rich and snobby, put on her best customer-service manners and began showing the woman some of their more popular treats.
“The amaretto cheesecake is our own exclusive recipe. And the scones are especially nice with afternoon tea. Of course all our ingredients are a hundred percent natural and everything is made from scratch.”
The woman’s glance barely grazed the selection. “Actually, I was only looking for coffee. Black. To go.”
Jen nodded and Sam lifted a cup from the stack and proceeded to fill it. She affixed the plastic cap and carried it to the register where Jen was ringing up the dinky sale.
Tiger lady reached for one of the sample chocolates from the plate near the register and popped it into her mouth.
“Mmm . . .” Her voice went into a little lilt at the end. “Those are good.” She spotted the boxes nearby. “Add one of those to my order.”
She paid with a gold card, gathered the box and cup, then flounced out the door.
“Well, at least she ended up spending a few bucks,” Jen said as they watched the colorful swirl of orange and black get into a Lexus at the curb.
“Taos has all kinds,” Sam muttered, heading back to the kitchen.
The three employees who’d spent their day near the ovens were looking pretty wilted.
“Once those cookies and brownies are done, why don’t you all head home?” Sam suggested. “I can finish up.”
Cathy, the older woman who seemed to have a series of perpetual aches and pains, gave her a grateful look and headed for the coat rack. Becky’s kids were due home from school any minute and that was always her cue to exit. Sandy stood at the sink, washing up the last of the cake pans from the morning’s output, and her efforts put her back on Sam’s gold-star list for the day.
Sam turned her own attention to getting a quick smear of frosting on the heart-shaped cookies and sending them out to the display cases. She set the brownies to cool and unmolded her most recent set of chocolates. From the sales room came the high voices of school kids, in for their daily cookie fix, and shoppers who tended toward the coffee, tea and heavier desserts. Jen’s voice sounded calm and in control, so Sam lost herself in the zone of decorating two more proposal cakes.
By five-thirty it seemed that all was clear. With the other employees gone, Sam had used the last hour to clean up and organize. She took a deep breath and looked around. As much effort as the shop required, this had been her dream for such a long time. Once in awhile she needed to simply stare around her and appreciate that.
She appreciated it right up to the moment when she stepped into a near-invisible dab of butter and her foot went out from under her.
“What happened?” Jen said, rushing into the kitchen. “I heard a crash.”
“Cookie sheets. I guess I grabbed for the table—” Her breath caught as a pain jolted through her hip.
Jen dashed toward her. “Let me help—”
Sam laughed. “Don’t even try to pick me up. You’d break your back.” She rolled to her left hip and got her hands and knees under her. “I’ll be fine.”
Jen backed away, keeping a hand outstretched, just in case.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked once Sam had pulled herself to her feet.
“Yeah. I think I hurt my pride more than anything else.” She took a few steps, just to prove it. “See? All better.” Her right side felt like knives were piercing every joint, but she wasn’t about to admit it.
Jen eyed her boss’s cautious movements. “Maybe I better call Beau to give you a ride home.”
“Nonsense. I’ll take something for it. We were about to close up anyway. Let’s just do it now.”
“If you’re sure . . .”
“Jennifer, cut it out. I’m not a fragile little glass ornament.” She hobbled to her desk and shut down the computer, then glanced around to be sure the oven was off, the refrigerator securely closed.
“Okay, I’ll get the front. You take care and rest up tonight,” Jen said.
Once her assistant’s back was turned, Sam headed for the sink where she drew a glass of water and swallowed four ibuprofen. The leg ached like crazy as she turned out the lights and crept down the two steps to the alley and climbed into her van. By the time she got home she was seriously wondering whether she ought to have an x-ray taken. She gritted her teeth and limped into the house where she shed her coat and backpack. This really could not have happened at a worse time.
An ice pack would help the soreness, but she couldn’t quite work up the energy to fill one. She made it as far as her bedroom, where the temptation was to simply fall into bed, let the painkillers take effect and sleep for the whole night. And she was about to do exactly that when she caught sight of her oddly lumpy, carved jewelry box.
From the day it had come into her possession, months ago, the box seemed to give Sam some extraordinary abilities. One of those abilities had been a healing touch; on several occasions after handling the box, Sam was able to make someone else’s aches and pains go away. And at this moment in time, the person who most needed help in that department was herself.
She picked up the box and sat gingerly on the edge of her bed. As her hands rubbed the curves of the box’s quilted design, the wood began to warm. She placed it on her lap, letting the heat seep through her slacks and into her legs. Within minutes her arms began to tingle, then her legs, a feeling familiar yet vaguely scary.
She lifted the box and set it on the bed. Small cabochon stones of red, green and blue were mounted in the wood, at each little X where the quilted grooves intersected. In its quiet periods, the box was a dull, sour yellowish color, the stones dim and almost colorless. But now, after her touch, the wood glowed golden and the stones winked with brilliant color. She stroked the bright stones then placed the box on the night stand.
“I better rest,” she mumbled. She rolled over to her side, away from the box.
The room was completely dark when Sam woke and it took her a minute to realize that the buzzing cell phone in the pocket of her slacks had awakened her.
“Hey, darlin’, I was wondering if you were coming out here for dinner tonight?”
“What time is it?” She groaned as she rolled over.
“Six-thirty,” he said. The numerals on her clock confirmed it. “Did I wake you up? You sound kinda groggy.”
“Yeah, I guess I was pretty tired.” She scrubbed at her face, left-handed.
“Well, then you should just tuck in and stay there. It’s getting cold out and there’s no point in catching a chill by driving out here.” Some metal implement made a noise in the background and she pictured him in the kitchen. “Although I sure was thinking about having you here in my arms for the night.”
She relaxed into her pillow. That did sound nice.
“. . . and catch you tomorrow,” he was saying. “Go back to sleep.”
The phone went dead in her hand and she was tempted to roll over again but realized that she really needed to go to the bathroom. She sat up and switched on her bedside lamp, noticing for the first time that the rest of the house was dark, too. Kelly must have gone directly from her job at Puppy Chic out to the nursing home. Sam swung her legs over the side of the bed and tested to see how her hip was going to feel with her weight on it.
Surprisingly, there was only a little pain, like a toothache that had subsided to a small throb. She stood, paused, then felt confident enough to walk. In the bathroom she pulled her slacks down and looked at the hip
in the mirror. No sign of a bruise, no swelling. Amazing.
She went back to the bedroom to get out of her work clothes. In her soft robe and warm slippers she felt nearly human again, deciding she should eat a little something. The fridge revealed what she already knew; she hadn’t cooked a real meal at home in days, so there wasn’t much in the way of leftovers. She made a peanut butter sandwich and poured a glass of milk to go with it.
Her backpack lay on the kitchen table, reminding her that she’d intended to look through the investigator’s file that Marla had given her. She took a big bite of the sandwich and dialed Beau’s number. It rang several times before he picked up.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were hurt?” he demanded. “I was just on the line with Jennifer. She called to say that I should go check on you. That you had a bad fall at the shop today.”
Thanks, Jen. “Beau, I feel fine. Yes, I fell, and yes, it hurt like crazy right at that moment. But really, I had that little nap and I’m feeling almost a hundred percent.”
“Are you sure? I mean, she really made it sound like you could hardly walk.”
Okay, Sam, this is the perfect time to tell him about the box and its powers.
“Should I come over there?” he asked. “Is that why you called? You need some help?”
“No, actually, I was calling to discuss the Tito Fresques case.” She went on to tell him about the visit to Marla and the folder of notes from the private investigator. “I haven’t had time to read through his report yet, but I had an idea. About those greeting cards Marla believed Tito sent. They were mailed from several different cities. Maybe there’s a way to check on that. Or maybe fingerprints? Would that be possible?”
Her voice must have sounded normal enough because Beau switched off the doting boyfriend voice and went into professional mode.
“Fingerprints on paper can be very well preserved,” he said, “depending on whether the surface is shiny or rough, whether the paper was exposed to heat . . . that kind of thing.”
“Maybe the case could be reopened with proof that he’s been in contact with his family?”
“Darlin’, can I ask what is the point of this? I mean, we know Tito Fresques is not in Taos, probably not in Albuquerque. It’s likely that he really sent the cards. But knowing that doesn’t disprove the original idea that he left his family voluntarily.”
She thought about that for a minute. “I suppose you’re right. I just wanted something concrete to tell Marla.”
“She already believes Tito is alive and well somewhere, and thinking of his family. Nothing we do will change that.”
Darn it, he made a lot of sense.
“I’ll take another look and might be able to reopen the case, but don’t expect any huge breakthrough because of it.”
She sighed. “Okay.” She almost hung up but something stopped her. “You know, something just crossed my mind . . . Assuming Tito were living a normal life somewhere, he can’t be doing it under his real name. If he got a job using his own Social Security number the employer would have to be withholding child support and that money would be going to Marla and his daughter.”
He thought about it for a few seconds. “Not unless the court ordered it. Court ordered child support is treated that way, but since he was never divorced or legally separated, I don’t think . . . Well, I’m not sure. It might be an angle to pursue, but surely Marla would have mentioned to you if she’d tried to get money to support the child, wouldn’t she?”
That was probably true, but the whole thing was a muddle. When Beau changed the subject she put the Tito situation out of her head.
The high protein dinner put Sam into drowsy mode and even though it was barely seven-thirty, she coasted through her bedtime routine and crawled between the covers. When her alarm went off she was still in the same position as when her head hit the pillow.
She rolled over and sat up, feeling a twinge from her injured hip. And although she’d promised herself to get away from using the wooden box’s magic powers to accomplish her work, she knew there was no way she could be on her feet all day at the bakery without some help. She reached for the box.
Once the warm glow had permeated her limbs and sent its energy throughout her system, she rushed through a shower and grabbed her backpack. The hip felt absolutely fine—no pain whatsoever—and it only bothered her for a split-second that she’d used magic to accomplish the miraculous healing.
She arrived at the bakery, went through the normal routine to make things ready for the rest of the crew, then eagerly turned to the real task—making more of the special chocolates. By the time her three kitchen helpers arrived at six, she’d completed crèmes, truffles, nougats, and molded enough hearts in rich dark chocolate to fill at least a dozen of the new gift boxes which should arrive this morning.
“Wow, Sam, these are gorgeous!” Becky exclaimed. “I think you’re doing them as well as Bobul ever did.”
“Have a sample,” Sam said to the three women. “I’m curious what you think about this new flavor I added, the caramel crunch.”
Three pairs of eyes closed in ecstasy. No one thought to ask how she’d managed to make so much chocolate so early in the day.
Chapter 8
Jen reported for work at a quarter to seven and immediately marched into the kitchen with a stern look on her face.
“I told Beau to be sure you went for an x-ray and then stayed home in bed today,” she said, facing Sam over the worktable.
Becky and the other ladies stopped to stare.
“She didn’t tell you guys? She fell last night and really hurt her hip. She shouldn’t be standing on her feet all day.”
Sam looked around the room. “It wasn’t all that bad. Surprised me when it happened, but no real damage. See? I’m fine.” She stepped away from the table and walked across the room and back. “It really doesn’t hurt.”
The others turned back to their work, but Jen gave Sam a long hard stare. “If you say so,” she finally said. “But if it starts bothering you at all . . . Sam would you just please take care of yourself.”
Sam offered a hug. Jen had been her first employee and they had a special affinity. It was natural for her to worry the most, Sam decided.
“Here, have one of the new chocolates. The girls gave them a big thumbs-up.”
She glanced toward the bake oven, where Sandy and Cathy were giggling over something. Becky was working at making risqué replicas of male body parts for a bachelorette party order, a drifty smile on her face as she handled the modeling chocolate—perhaps a little too enthusiastically.
“Becky! Come back to earth.”
Becky dropped the piece she was working on. “Sorry, Sam. For some reason I was just—” She flushed crimson. “Oh, never mind.”
Sam pulled out an order form for a child’s birthday party and reminded Becky that she needed to finish that one before noon, diffusing her embarrassment.
Jen, meanwhile, had carried the boxed chocolates out front, along with a plate of sample pieces. Soon, Sam heard the jingle of the bells at the front door and knew the morning customers were beginning to arrive. She immersed herself in decorating two more of the proposal cakes, thinking all the while that she wished she’d had time to read through Marla’s private investigator’s notes last night.
When she finally got the chance to step out to the sales room to check on the display cases and coffee carafes, she realized that the sky had clouded up with that all-over white that meant snow.
“Winter’s coming back,” she said, half to herself and half to Jen and the man who stood at the counter.
A silly laugh erupted from behind her and she turned to see Jen flirting outrageously with the male customer. A bag of pastries sat near the register and he seemed to be in the process of choosing more. Obviously, the giggles and dimpled smile were helping Jen’s sales technique. Sam smiled and checked to be sure they weren’t running low on teabags.
The door jingled again as Sam finished
wiping up the small blots of coffee and sprinkles of sugar that inevitably accumulated wherever people served themselves beverages.
“Cute, huh?” Jen said, staring at the retreating back of the man who’d just left.
“Looked like a good customer. Is he a regular?”
“No. It’s the first time I’ve seen him here.”
Sam grinned at her assistant. “He seemed pretty taken with you.”
“Maybe so. He asked me out tonight.”
“Really.” Sam so wanted to caution Jen—all the usual ‘be careful on a first date’ stuff—but it really wasn’t her place. “Well, have a good time.”
She looked up to see Kelly’s little convertible pull up to the curb next door at Puppy Chic. It lurched to a halt and out came Kelly, her curly brown hair looking a bit more frazzled than usual. Instead of going right into the grooming shop, Kelly headed toward the bakery.
“Ohmygod, Jen, you won’t believe what I did last night,” she said, her breath coming in white puffs on the cold air. She screeched to a halt when she spotted Sam.
“Oh?” Sam said. “No, you know what? Unless it was something illegal, it’s none of my business.” She sent a smile toward her daughter and walked into the kitchen.
I’ll just pry it out of Jen later, she thought as she pulled a tub of cookie dough from the fridge.
Some harried whispers trickled through the curtain and the shop bells chimed again a minute later.
They’re both adults, both entitled to love lives. Sam’s eyes scanned the kitchen, noting the perky smiles on the other three women, the faint sense of pheromones floating through the air. What on earth was going on here?
By five o’clock, all her kitchen staff were hinting that they needed to get home to their husbands—early dinner, favorite TV show, got to get the kids to bed early . . . and Sam knew something was up. Was it only because Valentine’s Day was coming up—all the hearts-and-romance stuff at the shop?
She let them go early, still feeling pretty energetic herself and well into the final touches on one of the larger wedding cakes. She enjoyed the quiet for awhile, lost in the concentration required for old fashioned piping work.
Sweet Hearts Page 6
