He laughed. “Any chance of you taking a break for lunch? My treat.”
She looked at the stack of order sheets and the cakes Becky had iced, now awaiting her expert touch with the pastry bag.
“Oh, Beau, I don’t see how. I’m really up to my eyeballs today.”
“Okay.” He sounded disappointed.
“Tonight? Maybe I can make dinner at home. I do have a little new information on the Tito Fresques situation.”
He gave the verbal equivalent of a shrug and she felt badly when he hung up. Here they were, getting married in four more days. He must already be feeling like she was taking him for granted.
“Sam?” Sandy waved a hand toward the chocolate on the table, which was setting up far too quickly.
“Oh no.” Sam reached with the spatula to begin spreading it and Beau’s concerns got shoved aside again.
Someone brought a pizza into the kitchen at some point and Sam thought she remembered taking a few bites from a slice. She didn’t actually remember finishing it but when she looked around the room no trace remained.
Jen bustled back and picked up the boxed chocolates that Sandy had organized, and Sam remembered glancing at the clock and saw that it was already after three. Becky had left at some point. She’d saved the tempered chocolate, poured the molds and then had moved on to decorating cakes. Dozens of little fondant hearts lay scattered on the table.
The phone rang and she became busy taking an order.
“Sam? Jen just buzzed—something about a consultation or something?” Sandy almost wrung her hands whenever she had to deliver news.
“Thanks, I’ll be right there,” Sam said, heading for the front, order pad in hand. But the customer had gone.
“It was Ivan,” Jen said. “Reminding you that tonight is Chocoholics Unanimous.”
“Oh no.” Sam closed her eyes and thought hard. “Okay, I can do this.”
There was a chocolate Kahlua cake already baked. She couldn’t remember whether she’d planned for it to go into the display case or if somehow in the muddle of her mind she’d automatically known that the bookstore’s weekly meeting of chocolate fanatics was coming up. She dashed to the back and found her mother’s recipe for Texas Chocolate Frosting. She’d never used this one for the book club, so they would find it new and different. Plus, it was easy.
While the butter and powdered sugar blended in the mixer bowl, Sam chopped pecans and filled the layers with her special chocolate-crunch filling. The nutty, chocolate frosting flowed over the top and down the sides of the cake, leaving little freeform spaces. It wasn’t the most elegant in looks, but it would definitely be one of the better tasting cakes she’d ever made for them.
She stuck it into the fridge while she finished placing the fondant hearts and adding little frosting touches to the four generic Valentine cakes that waited on the table. By the time she carried the Kahlua cake next door to Ivan’s shop, the frigid outside air felt fantastic on her damp forehead.
“Ah, Samantha, is being a wonderful cake for our mystery group,” Ivan raved. “Can you be coming tonight?”
“I haven’t had a chance to read the book,” she admitted. When was the last time she’d had the chance to read any book? She wiped a wrist across her forehead, sending her bangs straight upward. “Things will settle down soon. No more sweet shop holidays for awhile, and then after the wedding . . .”
“Is a busy time. Ivan know this. You come when you can.” He patted her shoulder and she just wanted to collapse into one of his big wingback chairs and pretend that her phone was broken and her shop didn’t exist.
But that wouldn’t do. She thanked him and stuck his check into her pocket, eyeing the table full of bargain books as she walked toward the door.
Back inside Sweet’s Sweets, Sam noticed that Jen had two customers mulling over the displays; everything seemed under control there. The beverage bar was another matter. The coffee carafes were nearly empty, tea selection needed to be replenished and a scattering of stir sticks and spilled sugar certainly must be cleaned up before the afternoon dessert crowd came. She scooped the small items into the trash and reached under the counter for a pack of her special coffee.
Almost on auto-pilot she filled the filter basket and water reservoir and started a fresh pot brewing. She was stooped in front of the storage cabinet, rummaging for the boxes of tea bags when she heard the front door jingle again.
“Oh, lovely! I’m so happy to see that you’ve made more of the chocolates,” the customer exclaimed. “And heart-shaped boxes—perfect!”
Jen finished ringing up a sale to the older lady who had been there first, then greeted the newcomer. “How are you? Two days in a row. It’s good to have you back.”
Sam turned to see who it was. The woman who’d worn the tiger-print dress and bright orange nails. Today she had fuchsia nails, and a hot-pink dress that came halfway up her slender thighs, under a silver fox coat that flowed around her like Superwoman’s cape. The tousled red hair, amazingly, didn’t clash but seemed to set off the dazzling outfit. Sam felt every grain of the sugar that encrusted her own hair and the flour that inevitably clung to her black slacks by this time of day. She tried to melt into the wall next to the beverage bar but it didn’t work very well.
“Felicia Black,” the woman was saying to Jen, extending her hand. “Now that I’m back in town I can’t seem to stay away from here, can I?”
She picked up one of the heart-shaped boxes of chocolates and hugged it to her way-too-visible chest while she studied the contents of the display case.
Jen glanced toward Sam, who was trying hard for a shred of dignity, to look more owner-like than servant-like. But the minute she picked up the box of sugar packets, intending to pull out a few and place them in the little glass holders on the tables, something slipped. The box practically leapt out of her hands, came open, and sent the little white packets flying.
“Oh, my, how unfortunate,” Felicia Black said. Somehow, she was even taller and thinner than yesterday.
Sam murmured an apology and began grabbing up the loose packets. This was ridiculous! She wasn’t about to let a snooty customer make her feel inferior. She shoved the fallen packets toward the baseboard, set the box on the counter and calmly walked toward the kitchen for a broom. I will not lower myself to sweeping the floor in her presence, she thought. It can wait a minute or two.
But Ms. Black seemed intent on taking forever. She asked a dozen questions about the various pastries, which Jen answered with utmost courtesy. Sam peered around the edge of the curtain. Finally, the customer set the heart box on the counter and reached toward the microscopic purse that hung by a skinny strap over her shoulder.
“I’ve got someone special in mind for these chocolates,” Felicia said. “Have you tasted them?”
Jen nodded and punched some keys on the register. “They’re really good, aren’t they?”
“Better than good.” Felicia lowered her voice. “I think they can make a person fall in love.”
Sam almost pulled the curtain down. Was that what was going on with Kelly and Riki last night? With her married employees who couldn’t wait to get home to their husbands after work?
Jen started to open her mouth, then closed it. She’d noticed the same thing—Sam would bet on it.
“So anyway . . . there’s a special man here in Taos. We dated a few years ago. I thought it might go somewhere . . . permanent . . . but it didn’t. Maybe we were simply too young at the time. Now, however . . .” A grin spread over her perfect features and she raised an auburn eyebrow at Jen. “Now, I think I know how to get him back.”
Jen passed the gold card through the machine and waited for it to process. “Oh? He still lives here, then?”
Felicia sighed. “Yes. He stayed when I left. I couldn’t seem to convince him to try life in the big city.” She signed the slip Jen had set on the counter. “But this time he’ll come. I will just bet he’s not found anyone to compare with me, here in Taos.
”
Jen managed to suppress the expression that would have said, that’s a pretty safe bet.
“You might even know him,” Felicia said. “His name is Beau Cardwell.”
Chapter 11
Sam nearly fell through the split in the curtain. Jen was staring at the back of Felicia Black, her mouth hanging open, as the woman flung the door open and swooped out toward her Lexus.
“What nerve! I’ll—” Sam marched toward the door, intent on grabbing the witch in the silver fur and yanking her off her feet.
“Sam.” Jen said it so quietly that Sam stopped in her tracks. “You’ve got a little—” She brushed her finger across her cheek.
Sam reached up to her own face, wiped at it and came away with a smear of chocolate. How long had that been there? She slumped and turned away from the windows.
“I . . . surely she can’t . . .”
“She can’t be for real,” Jen said. “And she darn sure won’t get Beau. He’s in love with you.”
Sam straightened her shoulders.
An SUV pulled up to the curb as Felicia’s silver Lexus drove away. Sam quickly scooped up the rest of the spilled sugar packets and ducked though the curtain as another customer opened the door. In the small restroom at the back, she took a hard look in the mirror. A faint trace of the chocolate smear remained, and the short layers of her hair stuck out at odd angles. She didn’t remember running her fingers through her hair earlier but she must have, while her head was all sweaty. A blob of red frosting had landed on the white baker’s jacket, smack on her right boob, in addition to the normal-enough smudges that she half expected to always be there.
“I’m such a disaster,” she wailed at herself in the glass. Her eyes began to well up. I have to draw the line at this, she thought. I cannot walk back out there and let my crew see me with red eyes. She grabbed a paper towel and wet it, ridding herself of the smears and sugar granules. The jacket would have to go into the wash, but luckily she’d brought a spare one for precisely this reason. She reached into the medicine cabinet and found her hairbrush, worked with the graying layers until she didn’t look quite so ridiculous. She stood up straight, raised her chin, and walked out to the kitchen to change her jacket.
The writing on the order sheets dimmed in front of her eyes and the normal bustle of the kitchen went unnoticed. Should I warn Beau about Felicia Black? Tell him she’s back and looking for him? She set the pages back on the desk. When they’d started dating they used to sit under the stars, talking about their lives, getting to know each other. Beau had already told Sam that he’d dated beautiful women, that he’d in fact been married to a former model for a few years. When she’d compared herself to them, Beau assured her that the glamour life and the beautiful, self absorbed women were of no interest to him.
His simple roots on a ranch and the fact that he’d settled into basically that same life in his adult years reassured her that despite the fact that glamorous women tended to latch onto him, he genuinely did not want their lifestyle. Felicia Black had, no doubt, chosen Beau because they would look so good together, but did she really know him? Would she ever be content to wake up day after day in his log house and help him feed the horses on frosty mornings? Sam formed a picture of the redhead in her high heels and fur coat trudging through spring mud and scooping up oats for a horse. The image was so comical that she caught herself chuckling.
Beau loved her. He was the one who wanted to get married without a long engagement. He’d never done anything to make Sam believe otherwise.
So there, Felicia Black. You won’t get him.
Sam dimly became aware that someone was speaking to her.
“. . . closing up now?” It was Jen. Sandy and Cathy had apparently already said goodbye, although Sam barely remembered their leaving.
“Sure. Can you make sure the tables and beverage bar are ready for the morning?” Sam said.
“I did. Everything’s in good shape.” Jen pulled the sleeves of her wool coat over her arms. “Sam? About earlier?”
Sam looked up.
“I would have done the same. If somebody like that threatened to get my man. I know, Michael and I are still really new together . . .”
Less than a week, if Sam recalled.
“But I’d still claw her eyes out.”
Sam couldn’t help it—laughter welled up at the image of the polite and diminutive Jennifer clawing anyone’s eyes out. The mood was contagious and Jen gave in to giggles, herself.
“I know, crazy huh?” She finally said, wiping her coat sleeve across her eyes. “I’m much more likely to be a sneaky poisoner.” She straightened her shoulders and buttoned her coat. “Okay, reality check. You know I’m kidding about all of this, right?”
They both laughed and Jen headed for the door.
With the bakery quiet at last, Sam concentrated on rechecking the status of the upcoming orders. Including her own wedding cake. She stared at the sketches for a few minutes. As much as she and Beau wanted to share their lives together, the real test was all the ceremonial hoopla which, no matter how simple you wanted it to be, invariably became complex. Cake, dress, flowers and invitations had taken over most of the last month. The crush of new business had kept her sidetracked all week. When had she lost the focus that she simply wanted to be Beau’s wife?
She set the cake sketches aside and went online to place her supply order. That accomplished, she shut down the computer and pushed her chair up to the desk. A quick survey of the sales area showed everything neatly organized, the night lighting casting a warm glow on the front window displays. A Bakery of Magical Delights, said the slogan on the door. She smiled and sighed.
Despite her aching muscles and the months of work it had taken to get the pastry shop up and running, Sam knew she wouldn’t change a thing. She still loved creating beautiful things to brighten people’s lives. Even with its frustrations, she felt so happy that she’d begun to master the techniques of making her fabulous chocolates. And once things quieted down this spring she intended to work on new designs, some signature chocolate pieces that she might be able to sell online as well as here in the shop.
Now all she had to do was stop by the supermarket and grab a few items for dinner. She’d decided to make one of Beau’s favorite pasta dishes, something she’d invented by accident a few weeks ago, with chicken and vegetables in a creamy sauce. Picking up the fresh veggies was her final errand. But her phone rang just as she was starting the truck.
“Darlin’, I’m sorry I have to take a rain check on dinner tonight.” His voice sounded a little edgy.
“Oh—what’s up?”
“Just work stuff. But I can’t break away anytime soon.”
A surge of disappointment.
“Sam? I love you.” This time his voice definitely had a strained quality. But when she started to reply, he’d already hung up.
Damn. The nice dinner would have been her perfect opportunity to warn him that Felicia Black was back in town. She’d envisioned Beau across the dinner table, the pasta dish, a nice wine, having a few laughs over the silliness of this piece of fluff thinking she would just move right in and win him back. She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel then put the truck in gear. Not much she could do about it now.
Traffic around the plaza was sparse and Sam waited at the light.
What if Beau already knew Felicia was in town? What if she’d found him and . . . No. The idea that he’d canceled their dinner because of his ex-girlfriend . . .
She caught herself thinking about swinging around the corner to be sure his cruiser was at the office. When the light changed she turned left.
Sam . . . what are you doing? This is so high school. You love the man. You trust him completely. He has never lied about anything—the guy is the epitome of honesty and integrity.
She turned in at the first alley and used it to circle the block and head for home. Even though she knew she could trust Beau, she was absolutely certain that she could n
ot trust Felicia.
Chapter 12
Thoughts raced in turmoil as Sam drove home and walked into the dark house. Kelly was either reading stories at the nursing home or was out with Ryan again. Remembering the romantic effects of those chocolates wasn’t helping Sam’s peace of mind any. Felicia had bought the largest heart-shaped box in the store today and plainly stated her intentions to get Beau back. If he ate them, the tiger-lady’s plan just might work.
Tossing her backpack on the table and hanging up her coat, Sam debated. Taking any action at all would make Beau think she didn’t trust him. But not taking action could be disastrous. She felt as if a low voltage current was racing through her veins as she changed out of her work clothes. The wooden box stared at her from the dresser top, but this was one time when Sam couldn’t think of a single way in which the box could help her.
She stared around her bedroom, at the unfilled packing cartons and at the closet where she’d begun going through her clothes and getting rid of things she no longer needed, donating them to the thrift shop and generally clearing the clutter of the old life in order to start the new. They’d planned on spending the weekend moving her things to his house. Not everything, as Sam would leave the furniture and a lot of the kitchen gear for Kelly. Beau had said nothing of changing that plan, and Sam would not let negatives sneak into her thinking. She gave the carved jewelry box a stroke for luck and turned toward the kitchen.
Her cell phone lay on the table, in the little pile of things she’d pulled from her pockets. She picked it up and composed a text message before she could talk herself out of it: Don’t eat any chocolate. Will explain later. She hit the Send button and dropped the phone to the table. For better or worse, she’d interfered with fate.
*
A rough night caused by man-worries had not happened in Sam’s life in many years and she wanted to refuse to believe that was the reason she woke approximately every hour on the hour and why, now at three-thirty, she felt resigned to being awake.
Sweet Hearts Page 8
