Tailored for Trouble: A Romantic Comedy (Happy Pants) (9 page)

Taylor laughed, wondering what the hell Bennett wanted with some silly Cupid cookie.

She went on to read the rest of the story, which explained that the recipe was a family secret and that all of the cookies were baked right here in this St. Helena shop, but that they’d recently expanded distribution to ten cities in very limited quantities.
People wait in line for as long as seven hours to get their mouths on one of these treats that are just as delicious for the soul as they are for the taste buds,
said the article.

Bennett opened the door and hopped in, looking more pissed off than he had all morning.

“Back to the airport, sir?” the driver, a thin man in his forties, asked.

“No, actually, take me to this address.” Bennett handed the man a slip of paper.

“Very good, sir.”

The car pulled out into the street and headed east, away from town.

Taylor hated to ask, but the temptation was too much. Had Bennett gone in search of a “love” cookie and come back empty-handed? Wouldn’t any person in their right mind absolutely need to know that?

“Everything all right?” she asked.

“Yeah, the shop is closed, but I got the owner’s address from one of the staff.”

“They gave you the owner’s home address? How’d you manage that?”

“I asked.”

“Are you sure it’s okay just to show up at someone’s house unannounced like this?”

“I’m Bennett Wade. Not some random stranger.”

Taylor huffed. “Your name isn’t a free pass to invade people’s privacy or go knocking on their doors to do business just because you want something and can’t wait for the store to open.”
How rude!

“But isn’t it?” he said in that deep, smug tone she hated.

Taylor shook her head. “Okeydokey.” This was the perfect moment to start his educational detour, but he seemed to be sabotaging himself just fine. Any business owner in their right mind would chew Bennett out for showing up unannounced like this.

The car traveled down a long straight country road that cut between miles of grape vines. The late morning sun gave off a deliciously crisp light, just perfect for sitting outside and reading a good book or pruning vines, which was probably what her brother Rob was doing at this very moment.

“Do you like wine, Ms. Reed?”

“In my family, we don’t have a choice. My brother works up the road; he’s a viticulturist.”

“I thought you said he was a surgeon?”

“That’s Jack, the youngest of my three older brothers. Rob is the middle of the three; he’s the wine fanatic.”

“And the oldest? What does he do?” Bennett asked.

“Marcus is a semi-pro racecar driver. He wants to go pro, full-time like my father.”

“Your father drives for NASCAR?” Bennett actually sounded excited.

What was the big deal? Just a bunch of sweaty dudes driving around in a circle in really expensive cars. “He’s retired now.”

“What’s his name?”

“Nick.”

“Your father,” he said with disbelief, “is Nick Reed?
The
Nick Reed?”

Taylor refrained from rolling her eyes. She loathed telling people who her father was because then came the twenty questions—does he ever let you drive his car? Can I get a free ticket to the Indy? And then…

“Your mother was Patty Reed, the actress,” Bennett said.

And there’s why I hate talking about my family.
Her mother had died giving birth to her. She didn’t feel guilt about it anymore, but she had for a long, long time. The part that she’d never been able to overcome, however, was how people talked about her mother as if they knew her.
She
didn’t even know her mother so how could they? It was weird, but it made her mad. Then there was the other irksome fact that everyone in her family was a superstar: NASCAR celebrity, actress, surgeon, NASCAR star in the making, and award-winning viticulturist. She was just…Taylor. Ordinary, if not leaning slightly toward the “underachiever” category, a fact she had been acutely aware of growing up. Her brothers and father loved her in their own way, but they didn’t hold back when it came to telling her she wasn’t trying hard enough or being tough enough. Sometimes, around them, it had seemed that being a caring female was a crime. She’d never forget their faces when she’d announced she wanted to pursue Human Resources as her career.

“Yes,” Taylor finally replied. “My mother was Patty Reed, but she died when I was born. I never really met her.”

Bennett gave her a look that was compassionate, but couldn’t be described as pity, which she appreciated. She hated it when people pitied her. Despite the challenge of being the only female in a house full of very manly men, she hadn’t grown up without love. Sure, she wished her mother had been there, especially during her adolescent years, but Sarah and Holly helped fill some of the female void in her life growing up.

“Well,” Bennett said, “that explains where you got your good looks and fast wit.” He looked out his window but didn’t ask anything further.

Taylor couldn’t believe he’d paid her a sincere compliment. Or that he’d let the family topic go. No one ever did that. Not ever. They always wanted to dig and pry and know everything.

Well, it’s not like he’s a stranger to actresses and fame.
After all, the guy showed up on the Forbes List each year and the tabloid slash gossip magazines each week with a new perfect ten on his arm.

The town car turned down a dirt road, passing a tractor and several pastures with grazing horses. At the end of the road was a large, two-story, renovated farmhouse with big green shutters and a huge wraparound porch.

“Wow. That’s just gorgeous,” Taylor said. Maybe she should get into the baking business.

“I’ll be right back,” Bennett said, once again leaving her behind in the car. She watched him knock on the door. An older woman with long silver hair pulled into a bun answered with a kind smile.

Taylor watched Bennett’s arms move as he spoke, the woman smiling warmly and listening closely before shaking her head no and closing the door in Bennett’s face.

Taylor chuckled. “Oh. But I’m Bennett Wade,” she said quietly in a low, mockingly deep voice, “coming to grace you with my presence.”

“Sorry, ma’am?” asked the driver, glancing at Taylor through the rearview mirror.

“Nothing. Was just mumbling to myself.”

Bennett scratched the back of his head and started back toward the car.

“No luck, huh?” she said when he got back inside, feeling totally satisfied with herself. Why hadn’t he listened to her?
Oh, I know. Because he’s “Bennett Wade.”

“Says she doesn’t do business from her home, and that they’re all sold out anyway.”

Taylor bet that if he’d asked nicely, the woman might’ve pointed him toward one of the bakeries they shipped to. But of course, he didn’t ask, he demanded and got nothing in return.

“Who is this for anyway?” Taylor asked, wondering what excuse he might come up with to hide the fact he was desperate for a “love” cookie.
Maybe he wants his ex back
.

“My mother. She’s been raving about these cookies and tomorrow is her birthday. I took her out to her favorite restaurant a few days ago and got her a nice bracelet, but I thought I’d send her some cookies too since they’re apparently her new favorite. Honestly, I don’t know what’s so special about them. Robin ate the one my mother sent and said it was just a sugar cookie with a happy face on it.”

The cookie was for his mother? Now she felt bad that he hadn’t gotten one. But…did he realize that his mother was apparently trying to play the matchmaker?

He added, “She hasn’t been herself lately. I thought it might cheer her up.”

Okay. Now she
really
felt bad. He’d literally detoured his entire business trip just to get his mom a cookie.

“Here, let me talk to the woman.” Taylor crawled over Bennett’s lap, realizing the moment she shoved her ass in his face that she could’ve gone out her side of the car and walked around.
Oh well. Let him look at what he can’t have.

“It’s not going to work. That woman is a stubborn mule,” Bennett warned, not seeming to mind the physical intrusion one bit.

“I happen to speak fluent stubborn mule; case in point, you understand me perfectly.”

Taylor approached the porch and rang the bell. After a few moments, the door swung open revealing the same older woman. “Listen here, young man,” she said sternly with a thick accent, “I’ve already told…”

“Hi. I’m so sorry to disturb you, Ms. Luci. My name is Taylor Reed, and I would never, ever dream of doing something like this. But my…uh, friend there—Bennett Wade—he’s kind of an asshole and is used to getting his way. Normally I’d say he deserves to get the door slammed in his face. But he really only wants a cookie for his mother—it’s her birthday tomorrow, and she’s a fan of your delectable treats.” Taylor offered her most winning smile.

The woman quirked a brow while her eyes sized Taylor up. “Did you say Bennett Wade?”

Taylor nodded.

“
The
Bennett Wade?”

“Yeah?” she said in a so-what tone.

“Won’t you come in, dear? You can invite Mr. Wade in, too.” Ms. Luci leaned around Taylor and waved Bennett over.

Sonofabitch!
The high and mighty bastard had been right; he really did get what he wanted by saying his name. He probably just hadn’t gotten the chance to introduce himself when he’d made his earlier attempt.

Bennett exited the car and walked over.

“Mr. Wade, thank you for coming all the way to my home. It’s such a pleasure to meet such an important man. I’m very sorry about before.”

Seriously? This is annoying.

Bennett and Taylor followed Ms. Luci inside.

“What did you say earlier about that ‘free pass,’ Ms. Reed?” Bennett whispered to Taylor from behind, taunting her.

She shrugged. She would not give him the satisfaction of saying he was right.

“Well, thank you, Ms. Reed,” he whispered. “Whatever it was you said, the point goes to you this round.”

“Didn’t realize we were keeping score,” she whispered back.

“What’s the purpose of living without winning?” he retorted.

They entered Ms. Luci’s traditional country-style kitchen—white cupboards, big butcher-block counters, ceramic rooster ladle holder, and an oval table in the corner large enough for eight—but with top of the line professional appliances, including several banks of ovens.

“Who are they?” An older man was seated at the table. He had leathery, sun-beaten skin and an enormous mustache and was wearing a turquoise cowboy hat and red cowboy boots. One eye protruded slightly and moved out of sync with the other while he studied them.

Then, something moving near his feet caught Taylor’s attention.

“Oh. It’s a…pig,” Taylor said. “In the…kitchen.” She seriously hoped they did all of their baking at the shop.

The pig gave a loud snort.

“No,” Ms. Luci said, shooting a caution-filled glance at Taylor. “That is Muffin Top, Sebastian’s dog.” She winked.

“Uh…” Taylor glanced at Bennett who had on a poker face. How the hell did he do that? Zero reaction to this strangeness. Zero. “Sorry. It’s a…very nice dog?”

“Sebastian,” said Ms. Luci, “this is Taylor Reed and Bennett Wade. They’ve come for a cookie.”

“We just shipped out the last batch to Houston,” he said. He also had a thick accent. “We won’t have more until—”

“Sebastian,” Luci interrupted sweetly, “be a dear and go into the pantry. Bring me out the tins I’ve set aside for the Sunday brunch we’re giving.”

Sebastian’s one big eye got bigger. It was not pretty. “But those are for—”

“Now, you know I made a few extra,” she said. “So we’ll just borrow one and—oh—can you grab those chocolate nutty wafers, too? They’re in the red tin next to the jams.”

Grumbling something about “puercos” and “mujeres” Sebastian disappeared behind a door at the far end of the kitchen next to the refrigerator. The pig just sat there staring at Taylor as if waiting for a treat.

Ms. Luci leaned in and whispered, “Sebastian was kicked in the head by Miss Happy Pants, our horse, so we try not to upset his pig—it thinks it’s a dog.”

That makes…well, no sense, but okay.
And now she was wondering if the horse was named after the café or if it was the other way around. It was a pretty unusual name for a bakery. And a horse, too, now that she thought about it.

She made a quick mental note to Google the café again later.

“Sure. No problem. It’s a dog. By the way, your home is lovely, Ms. Luci,” Taylor said.

“Thank you, dear. I spend winters at my ranch down in Tecate, Mexico, but this is our home from spring until our gran fiesta in July.”

“Oh, that sounds lovely.”

“It is, my dear. A thousand people come from all over the world for my party. In fact, I think you should both come.”

“We couldn’t impose, Ms. Luci,” said Bennett firmly.

Luci narrowed her dark eyes at Bennett, then reached into a drawer next to her sink, pulled out an envelope, and shoved it at him. “I. Insist,” she said coldly.

Bennett looked at the invitation. “I’m not sure that July is—”

“You want cookie. You come to party,” Ms. Luci added.

Taylor so loved, loved, loved this very strange woman.

“We’d be honored, Luci.” Taylor snagged the invitation. “Both of us.” She looked at Bennett. “Wouldn’t we?”

Bennett looked at Ms. Luci. “Listen, I am a charitable man.” He reached for his cellphone. “I’ll have my assistant Robin send you a check and add a thousand to it for your trouble, or for your fundraiser or whatever you need.”

Taylor watched the indignation sweep over Luci’s face.

Uh-oh. I think you just lost your cookies, big boy.

“I see why you have a black eye,” Luci said.

“Meaning?” he said.

“Meaning, child, that your money is no good here. And the price for my baked goods just went up.”

Taylor held back a chuckle.
Looks like Bennett finally met his match.

Bennett stared at Luci expectantly as Sebastian emerged from the pantry with two tins.

“Here they are, Luci…” He trailed off as he noticed the two forces of stubborn nature at odds with each other across the kitchen island. He set down the cookies, and his one big eye moved back and forth between the two. “Did I miss something?”