Sweet Dreams on Center Street (27 page)

“You guys look great,” Charley greeted them. “Now I wish I'd
gotten a ticket.”

“We can smuggle you in,” Cecily offered.

Charley shook her head. “I don't want to risk meeting Prince
Charming. I hope you all do, though.”

Bailey stuck out a foot to reveal a rhinestone-studded clear
acrylic heel. “I'm ready. I've got my glass slipper.”

Samantha just hoped she wasn't planning on giving it (or
anything else) to Brandon Wallace. If she could have picked someone for her
sister she'd have selected his older brother, Eric, who was steady as a rock and
dependable. Of course, he'd have bored Bailey to tears.

What was with them? Why couldn't the Sterling sisters manage to
get it right when it came to men?

She let Charley lead her sisters to their table, a favorite
corner booth by the stone fireplace, while she set out to make the rounds among
the diners. As the face of Sweet Dreams, Samantha knew she had to say hello to
all the people who had anted up for this event. She didn't mind doing that at
all. She was happy to see everyone who was here.

Well, almost everyone. What had brought Blake Preston out?
Since when did he care about chocolate or Sweet Dreams? There he sat at a table
with his grandmother, his mother and a woman Samantha was pretty sure she
recognized as his sister. Mr. Genial Host, whooping it up at what he hoped was
her last supper.

They were going to pull out of this, and once they did they
would pull their account from his First Bank of the Heartless before he could
say, “Your money or your business.”

She started at the farthest end of the restaurant from where he
sat, greeting Lily Swan and her daughter, Ella.

Lily looked like she'd just stepped out of the pages of
Vogue
. She wore a strapless black gown and her
perfectly dyed blond hair had been swept up to show off her long, Audrey Hepburn
neck. Around that neck hung a pink gold chain from which a single diamond
dangled—tasteful but expensive, like the woman wearing it. Lily was somewhere in
her fifties but she looked forty. She still, after all these years, intimidated
Samantha just a little, maybe because Samantha suspected that, deep down, Lily
still saw her as the sneaky kid who'd lifted a pair of earrings from her when
she was new in town and just setting up shop.

“You look ravishing tonight, Samantha,” she said in her aloof
Lily Swan voice.

“It's all thanks to the gown,” Samantha said. “Your daughter
has great taste, Mrs. Swan.” And a generous heart. Ella had given Bailey and
Cecily enough of a discount to save her from a guilt overload over their
sisterly gesture of kindness.

“She does have good taste. In clothes,” Lily said. Samantha
sensed a double meaning in there somewhere. Ah, mother-daughter relationships.
They were complicated.

Samantha smiled at Ella. “You can say that again. Where's
Jake?”

“He's got a gig in Wenatchee,” Ella said.

Jake was a struggling musician so a gig was a good thing as far
as Samantha could tell, but Lily let out a long-suffering sigh and Ella
frowned.

Okay, time to move along. Samantha wished them
bon appétit
and stepped away. Next stop: Pat and
Ed.

He was distinguished in his tux and she was wearing an amber
gown that looked vintage, possibly something she'd had for years. Samantha hoped
when she got to be Pat's age she could still fit into this gown. Maybe she
could—if she stopped sampling so much of her company's product.

Ed saluted her with his wineglass. “Great idea, Samantha. This
is going to be quite a night.”

Yes, it was. “I hope it's not too soon to pronounce our
festival a success,” she said.

Pat nodded. “No other word for it. I haven't seen Zelda's this
packed in ages. I think we've even got some out-of-towners with us tonight.”

Samantha looked around the room. “Oh, I know we do.” Surely
these visitors would tell their friends and next year even more people would
come, snow or no snow.

As her gaze skimmed the room, she suddenly became aware that
she was being watched. Like nails to a magnet, her attention was drawn to the
table where Blake sat holding court—and taking in every inch of her, like some
horny adolescent lounging on a street corner. She told herself he was a jerk and
a Scrooge and the sudden flash of heat searing through her had nothing to do
with attraction. It was simply warm in here.

Seeing that she'd caught him watching, he gave her a quick
wave. She waved in return and then turned her back.

She stopped at six more tables and then there was no avoiding
it. She had to visit his. He stood as she approached and she managed a
smile—polite on the rocks.

It should have turned him into a giant ice sculpture but it
didn't. “You look lovely tonight,” he said to her.

And you look like a snake in a
suit.
“Thank you,” she murmured.

“I'm sure you know my grandmother, Janice, but have you ever
met my mother and sister?”

Poor them, related to him. “Thanks for coming,” she said after
he'd finished the introductions.

“Oh, we wouldn't have missed this for the world,” Janice
said.

Janice Lind was one of those women who were the heartbeat of
the town. She volunteered at the food bank and every year her cake won the prize
in the annual Raise the Roof bake-off that raised funds to maintain historic
town buildings.

Their families hadn't moved in the same circles, but they'd
seen each other around for years, and Janice often purchased chocolates to give
away at Christmas. Now here she was with her grandson, the very man who had put
the noose around Samantha's neck. She couldn't know what a foul bastard he
was.

If she doesn't, that means he isn't
broadcasting your misery all over town,
Samantha told herself. That
was something, certainly more than she could say for Del Stone.

“Thank you,” she said to Janice. She couldn't help turning to
Blake. “I'm surprised to see you here. After all, you're a busy man.” Hadn't
Pissy informed her of that?

“I want to do my part,” he said.

“Oh, you're already doing so much,” Samantha said. Then before
he could reply, she excused herself and returned to her table. She wouldn't be
able to eat a thing now. Blake Preston had stolen her appetite.

* * *

“She's a lovely girl,” Gram observed as Samantha made
her way back to the table where her sisters were sitting.

Lovely
didn't begin to describe
her.

“I don't think you have to tell Blake that,” his sister
teased.

He shot a look across the table that plainly said,
Shut up or else.

That mouth of Tess's—she'd spent their entire childhood
torturing him with it, either tattling on him or harassing him. Even though they
were grown up now, little sister still liked to get in the occasional dig. Of
course, if he ever needed anything she'd be there for him in a second and he for
her.

Now it was as if she realized she'd shone a spotlight on
something he didn't want the matchmaking women in his life to see. So, just when
hopeful curiosity was dawning in his mother's eyes, she did her part to throw
them off the scent, saying, “Any man with eyes can see how pretty Samantha
Sterling is.” Then, she couldn't resist adding, “If you like redheads.”

He did.
Thank you, sis.
She had
just spared him from getting prodded with a million questions. Samantha's
business problems were not for public consumption, so it would be difficult to
explain that, in spite of how much he wanted things to be different,
circumstances had made him her archenemy.

Still, when it came to the possibility of a wife and more
grandchildren, his mother was a romantic bloodhound. “You should ask her out,”
she said.

“She's a bank customer,” Blake said, hoping that would close
the subject.

“Half the town is a bank customer,” Gram scoffed.

“I'm not that into her,” Blake lied.

“Here comes our salad,” Tess said. “This should be interesting.
I've never had salad with chocolate mint leaves in it before.”

That put Mom and Gram onto a new conversational track, thank
God. Another thing to be thankful for—none of them were going to the ball. If he
got an opportunity to dance with Samantha he wouldn't have to worry that they'd
spot him with her. He was having a hard enough time convincing her he wasn't the
devil incarnate. He didn't need his family coaching him from the sidelines or
singing his praises. He could fight his own romantic battles.

Except this wasn't a battle. It was World War III. He scowled
at his salad. Chocolate mint leaves, ugh. Way to ruin a salad. In fact, way to
ruin a dinner. There wasn't much here he'd be able to eat, but he'd come anyway,
determined to show his support.

* * *

“You are going to love this dinner,” Bailey predicted
once Samantha had rejoined them.

“I'm dying to try that chocolate pasta,” Cecily said.

Samantha doubted she was going to enjoy anything now that Blake
Preston had ruined her appetite.

Once the food arrived, though, it was a different story. Every
course provided a new sensation for her taste buds. “This is wonderful,” she
told Bailey, who had planned the menu with Charley.

Bailey preened. “Wait till you taste dessert.”

She hoped she had room. At the rate she was going, dessert on
top of everything else could make her evening gown explode right off her.

Just before dessert, diners got an unexpected treat as a man
knelt in front of a young woman and opened a small, black velvet box to reveal a
diamond ring.

The woman's hand flew to her mouth and she nodded and all the
other diners applauded.

“That's so sweet,” Bailey gushed. “Are they locals? I don't
recognize them.”

“I don't think so,” Samantha said.

“I'm going to go find out,” Bailey announced.

“Bailey Sterling, girl detective,” Samantha said, shaking her
head as their sister swirled off.

“Well, he did propose in public,” Cecily pointed out. “They're
probably excited to share it with someone.”

Sure enough. Bailey had barely introduced herself when the
three fell into an animated conversation, and Bailey was buzzing with excitement
when she returned to the table.

“They're from Seattle,” she reported. “They came up just for
the festival. How cool is that? And guess what?”

“They want you to be a bridesmaid,” Samantha said.

Bailey frowned at her. “Very funny.”

“What?” Cecily asked, playing along.

“She saw the lost bride. They went on one of those guided hikes
and she actually saw the bride.”

“That's just a legend,” Samantha said dismissively.

“But she saw the bride and now she's engaged,” Bailey insisted
as if that settled everything.

“It's a fun story, but that's all,” Samantha said. If it
worked, she'd have had the perfect man proposing to her tonight, preferably one
with lots of money.

Bailey sighed. “Sammy, sometimes you are a real doo-doo dump
truck.”

Fortunately, their dessert came and Bailey got distracted and
the subject of the lost bride was abandoned.

But Samantha was now stuck with a vision of some faceless man
(who looked like a tackling dummy in a suit—Blake Preston, aack!) slipping a fat
diamond on her finger.
Some things are better than
chocolate.

No! Get out of my head.

But leave the chocolate.

Chapter Twenty-Three

The most wonderful thing about love is the mystery and surprise
of it.

—Muriel Sterling,
Knowing Who You Are:
One Woman's Journey

C
ecily had seen the work in progress as her
mother and Kevin and Heinrich created their gala event setting and been
impressed by her mother's creativity, but seeing the finished product when she
and her sisters entered Festival Hall made her jaw drop. The place had been
transformed from an empty hall to a ballroom fit for a queen. White and gold
ceiling drapes set the tone for elegance and, from all the tables along the side
of the hall, magenta votive candles cast light on globe vases filled to
overflowing with white roses. The chairs at the tables had been draped with silk
grapevines. Votives and vines adorned the punch table, too. In strategic corners
of the room, tall floor vases held branches and white flowers. The stage was a
swirl of fabric and more floor vases and flowers, hiding the disk jockey, and a
few people were already on the floor slow-dancing to music that seemed to float
at her from all directions—Nat King Cole and his daughter, Natalie, crooning
“Unforgettable.”

Like this night would be for her sister, she hoped. Samantha
had just donned her mask, a black-and-gold carnival mask Cecily had found for
her in L.A. that let her hazel eyes peer out mysteriously. And she was grinning
from ear to ear.

Samantha had worked so hard to make this weekend happen she
deserved to savor the moment of success. Cecily couldn't shake the nasty feeling
that the festival wasn't going to save them but she wasn't about to mention that
to her sister. There was no sense in depressing her. She was out of fingernails
to chew.

Bailey put on her mask and immediately skittered off to see an
old friend and Samantha got waylaid by Ed York (hard to mistake that tall,
skinny bod), so Cecily was left on her own to wander the edges of the hall,
taking in the sights and sounds. For the next half hour she watched as eager
dancers flooded in the door. How many tickets had they sold? Were they going to
have more people in here than the room could hold? If they did, she hoped Fire
Chief Berg didn't notice. He'd purchased a ticket so he was probably here
somewhere.

Now the music had picked up to something a little faster,
“Somebody Like You” by Keith Urban. Bill Will came up to her, all duded up in a
cowboy shirt with pearl buttons and his best black jeans. He'd exchanged his
cowboy hat for some goofy evil court-jester mask with a skull for a face.

“How about a dance?” he asked.

She barely had time to say, “Sure,” before he swept her off
into a fast country two-step.

What he lacked in grace, Bill Will made up for in enthusiasm,
nearly taking out any dancers who happened to be in his path as they made their
way around the floor. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea.

Then he stepped on her gown and she felt a rip. This really
hadn't been a good idea.

“Shit,” he muttered. “Gosh, I'm sorry, Cec—I mean, mystery
lady. Damn.”

She patted his arm. “It's okay, Mr. Jester. It could happen to
anyone.”

“Not to me. But hey, I'm used to dancing with girls wearing
shorter dresses.”

She just bet he was. “I think I've got a safety pin in my
purse.” Thankfully, she'd come prepared.

He nodded, making the pointed ends of his jester mask bob like
big puppy ears, and she left him, probably with a beet-red face. There was
another advantage of a masked ball. No one could see your embarrassment.

She managed to repair the gown with a couple of safety pins and
went back to the perimeter of the party. It was safer to watch. Just as Bryan
Adams began singing “When You Love Someone,” she became aware of a large man in
a
Phantom of the Opera
–style mask approaching.
Luke.

“How's the dress?” he asked.

“Have you been watching me?” she teased.

“Busted. It's a slow dance. I promise not to make the rip
bigger.”

He held out a hand. It would have been rude not to take it so
she did and let him lead her onto the floor. He put an arm around her, drew her
gently to him and started them swaying. She felt the needle move on the
zing-o-meter. Well, dancing this close to a hard male body, she'd have to be
dead not to feel anything.

“You know, you're enough to take away a man's breath,” he
said.

“Luke, I'm not here looking for anything. After the festival…”
What? She'd be gone. There wasn't anything here for her.

He smiled. He had a nice smile. “I wasn't looking for anything
when I met my wife.”

Oh, boy. She didn't like the way this conversation was going.
“You're a nice man, Luke.”

“So, I've been told. You looking for a bad boy, Cecily, is that
it?”

“I told you, I'm not looking for anything.”

He rubbed a hand up her back, sending a slow warmth pouring
through her. “Does that mean you're not open to stumbling onto something
good?”

“I…” Why was her mouth suddenly dry? “We wouldn't be a
match.”

He nodded slowly. “You know about those things, of course.”

“I do,” she said defensively.

“Tell you what. Let's make a deal. I won't push you but if you
decide to stick around, you give me a chance to change your mind. Fair
enough?”

“Not fair to you.”

“I can deal with it,” he said easily.

He pulled her just the slightest bit closer, making her very
conscious of the fact that he was a male and she was a female. Then he put them
into a slow spin and she was aware of her gown flaring out, of a strong arm
around her, keeping her from falling backward, of the glimmer of candlelight and
the soft wash of a love song. And a little voice whispered,
You could come home to stay.

* * *

Samantha saw him moving toward her from clear across the
room. He wore a black tux and a Venetian mask that covered his whole face. Of
course, there was no disguising that big, football-player body. He didn't look
like a banker as he walked toward her—more like James Bond on steroids—and the
sequins in the mask glinted in the candlelight. She didn't want to dance with
him. Yes, she did. No, she didn't.

You have to be polite,
she told
herself, settling the issue, so she stood there and tried to calm the ridiculous
fluttering in her chest. “Hello, Blake,” she greeted him.

He shook his head. “This is a masked ball, remember? Nobody
knows anybody. I'm just a man who wants to dance with the most beautiful woman
here.”

Garth Brooks started crooning “To Make You Feel My Love” and
before she could say anything more, Blake had hooked an arm around her and
pulled her against him, turning her insides to lava.
Some
things
are
better than chocolate.
Oh,
jeez.

Keep your mind on business.
“The
ball is a great success.”

“I don't want to talk about the ball,” he said, his voice low.
“I don't want to talk about anything. I just want to feel you.”

She could certainly feel him and he felt good, all muscle and
male energy. She was going to go limp and slide down into a puddle here on the
floor.
Get a grip, Samantha.

That wasn't hard to do when she remembered the position she was
in with the bank. “Nicely said, considering the fact that you're about to put me
out of business.”

“I'm not your enemy, Samantha, no matter what you think.”

She looked up at him. “Really? You could have fooled me.”

He heaved a sigh. “Believe me, I don't like this
situation.”

“Neither do I,” she said, drawing back to put some distance
between them.

“Just for tonight, just for this one dance, let's forget about
business,” he said softly.

Forget about her family heritage, her future and all the people
depending on her simply because he was dancing with her. What did he think she
was? She knew what
he
was. The fire inside her went
out with a hiss. “You really have your nerve. I'm about to lose everything and
you expect me just to waltz around the floor in a daze with you.”

“Samantha.”

“That's not a Lone Ranger mask you're wearing and I can't be a
hypocrite and dance with you,” she said.

In fact, she couldn't stay here and enjoy herself now. Every
smile she managed would be fake. The song wasn't finished yet, but she pulled
out of his arms and left the dance floor, anyway. The room was a kaleidoscope of
color and beauty but all she saw was her future, dark and looming. She snatched
her coat from the table where she'd put it and ran from the hall, the day's
successes now nothing but ashes in her mouth.

She speed-walked back to her condo, drawing inquisitive stares
from tourists. No wonder. She looked like a lost prom queen.

She was all the way home before she remembered that she'd never
told her sisters she was leaving. Eventually, they'd realize she was missing and
look for her, so she called Cecily's cell and left a message that she wasn't
feeling well. Then she got out of her ball garb and into her jammies and went
straight to bed, where Nibs was happy to join her.

“What am I going to do?” she asked as she scratched his
chin.

Sadly, Nibs had no solution.

She slept little that night, mostly lay awake thinking of all
the people on her payroll, all the families who'd put their faith in Sweet
Dreams. Had Blake really meant what he said? If he wasn't her enemy, then
couldn't he be her ally? That thought brought her full circle to her original
hope. Surely if she paid a big chunk on that bank loan he'd find a way to extend
it.

It was a slim hope but it was the only one she had, the only
solution her exhausted brain could come up with. She got up in time to see the
sun rise over the mountains in a wash of orange and gold. A new day.

She made herself some oatmeal and then took a shower and felt
better, so much better that she went out for an early-morning run along the
Riverfront Park path. The morning was crisp and clear, a perfect day. Coming
home she heard Gerhardt Geissel blowing his alpen horn over at Gerhardt's
Gasthaus, his normal weekend ritual. Later in the morning, the church bells
would ring at Icicle Falls Community Church, calling residents to prayer. By the
time the bells rang, she'd be working the Sweet Dreams booth, praying like crazy
that they'd sell a fortune in chocolate.

Her cell phone rang at nine. Cecily. “I called to see how
you're doing. Are you still sick?”

“I'm fine now.” And determined once more. After all, what other
choice did she have? Quitting wasn't an option.

“You sure? 'Cause Mom and Bailey and I can work the booth if
you don't feel well.”

“No, I'll be there,” Samantha said. “How was the ball last
night?”

“A raging success.”

“I hope Bailey didn't go wandering off with Brandon Wallace.”
She should have stayed to watch over her sister.

“She didn't wander off with anyone. Anyway, too many other men
were keeping her busy on the dance floor for him to have much access to
her.”

“That's a good thing,” Samantha said. “And how about you? How
many men did you dance with?”

“I lost count.”

“Anyone in particular?” Samantha had seen how Luke Goodman
looked at her sister. Cecily would be a fool to pass him up. Of course, when it
came to her love life, Cecily had no sense. Why was it a woman couldn't ever see
what was right in front of her face?

“No,” Cecily said airily. And then, before Samantha could pry
further, she added, “So, Mom says she'll meet you at the booth at ten. I'll show
up at one with Bailey.” End of conversation.

“Okay,” Samantha said, taking the hint. She didn't know why she
was poking around in her sister's business, anyway. She had enough on her hands
with her own.

She drank a cup of coffee and then walked out the door. Center
Street was already full of people, many of them wearing crazy Cat in the Hat
stovepipe hats and other creative headgear from the Mad Hatter. She passed young
families, groups of girlfriends obviously enjoying a girls' weekend and couples
strolling hand in hand. The ice rink was doing a brisk business, too, with lots
of children and teenagers skating in wild circles around the more sedate older
people. This was how Icicle Falls was supposed to look, and she'd helped make it
happen.

She was smiling by the time she got to the Sweet Dreams booth,
and she kept the smile all morning as she and her mother took money and handed
out chocolate bliss. The crowds continued to swell.

“I think there are more people here today than there were
yesterday,” Bailey said when she and Cecily showed up to take over the
booth.

“The more, the better,” Samantha said. “We're low on inventory.
I'll run over to the shop and get it.”

What a wonderful errand to be running—off to get more
chocolates so they could sell more and make more. Oh, yes, there was hope. There
was always hope. Never give up, never give in.

She was halfway down the street when she spotted him. Her smile
fell off and her heart plummeted into her boots. This was how Little Red Riding
Hood felt when she stood by her granny's bedside and realized that the granny
with the big teeth wasn't really Granny.
The better to eat
you with, my dear.
Trevor Brown strolled along the street with the
other bank snake, what's-his-name, hands in his pockets, surveying the whole
party like a king observing his subjects. Of course he was up here spying,
probably figuring he'd organize a festival, too, once he owned her company.