The Bad Luck Wedding Cake (12 page)

Feigning surprise, she reared back in her seat. “Careful there, McBride, you’re sounding like a proper papa. Just think, perhaps by the time your brother comes home, you’ll actually have administered a disciplinary act.”

“Oh, hush,” he grumbled, his mood somewhat dampened. Funny, but the thought of Trace’s return left him feeling a little strange. He truly enjoyed playing father to the girls. But, of course, playing was all it was. Katrina wasn’t his. For years he’d believed a lie, believed that his twin had stolen Tye’s own daughter when he ran away from Oak Grove and disappeared in the wilderness of the West. Only recently had Tye found out otherwise. The knowledge that he wasn’t a father after all was, at times, a bitter pill to swallow.

Claire eyed him thoughtfully, then nodded and changed the subject by reaching for the newspaper. “Other than the battle over private versus public schools, let’s see what else is in the
Daily Democrat
today. Hmm…here’s a pleasant headline: “FIEND ATTACKS AN INVALID LADY IN HER BED, CHOKES HER UNTIL THE BLOOD OOZES FROM HER MOUTH AND NOSE, ACCOMPLISHES HIS DESIGN!!”

“The newspaper’s journalistic style does lean toward the sensational, doesn’t it?” Tye wryly observed.

Nodding, Claire licked her thumb and started turning through the pages.

So much for dampened moods. Now he wanted to mimic her actions with his tongue.

“Well, look at this,” she said, her voice lifting with delight. “It’s an article about my shop. He never even told me he’d been interviewed.”

He
. The word jerked Tye from his sensual haze. She must mean this fella Sundine she’d hired. Scowling, he reached over and grabbed the newspaper away from the baker. He’d heard that Claire had a helper working for her now, another newcomer to town. And to be honest, that was one of the reasons he’d decided to stop by for a soda. Mrs. Moore had mentioned that the Swede usually worked this time of day. And Claire didn’t. He’d wanted to see what this fella Sundine was all about without running into Claire.

So why, when he’d walked in the door and found her instead of him, hadn’t he turned around and left? Why had he ordered a root beer and made himself at home?

She’s a dangerous woman, McBride. A dangerous woman
.

He turned his attention to the story, quickly scanning the text. It was a typical welcome-a-new-business-to-town type piece. Lars Sundine. Lars. Why did that name seem familiar? “This is all about The Confectionary. Why did they interview him instead of you?”

“Because Wilhemina Peters is a woman, that’s why. And Lars is very much a man.”

Tye snorted and continued reading. As he reached the end, his frown slid into a scowl. “He shouldn’t have quoted a sales figure. It’s an invitation to robbery.”

She waved off his concern. “I don’t worry about robbers. Lars is huge. Hands as big as a bear.” With a chuckle she added, “I wouldn’t want to find myself on the wrong end of a rolling pin around him.”

Good Lord, she actually giggled. The sound grated like chalk on a schoolboy’s slate. What was wrong with Claire, acting like a simpering female? She was smarter than that, wasn’t she?

Maybe she’d gotten stupid over the past few weeks. Women had been known to do that for various reasons, and he hadn’t seen much of her since he moved the Blessings back to Trace’s house. Except for the other afternoon, he’d kept far away from Claire Donovan and her damned Magic shop. Except for the Kiss. He’d been up close and personal with her then, by God. The ache in his loins had reminded him of that fact off and on ever since.

Tye yanked his attention away from the memory. “I was under the impression you hired an old man.”

This time she chortled. “Well, you assumed wrong. You’ve seen Lars before, Tye. You spied on us at the railway station, remember?”

His hand jerked, almost knocking over his glass. “The blond fella?”
The one you kissed? On the mouth?

She nodded. “He’s just about your age, and having him around has only increased The Confectionary’s business. Listen to this, Tye.” She leaned forward, her eyes sparkling.

She looked good enough to eat. Tye shut his eyes.

“I had a visit from a gentleman earlier today. He wanted to lodge a complaint. It seems his wife has quit baking her own bread just so she can come down to the shop and drool over the ‘Viking god.’”

“Viking god!”

“It was his wife’s term.”

Tye didn’t like the sound of that. He heard that Claire had hired a man named Sundine, but he’d never made the connection with the railroad station fella named Lars. Stupid of him. He should have put the two Scandinavian names together right away.

Viking god. Damn. “You’d better beware or you’ll shoot your good reputation to hell without even realizing it.” Fort Worth was a lot looser about such things than other parts of the world, but even Texans had their limits. A Viking god working with a beautiful woman was asking for trouble. Especially with all that Magic around.

His gaze flicked over the newspaper article a second time. “They didn’t mention Magic in the article,” he grumbled. “Instead of announcing how much money you made, Wilhemina should have included a warning for unsuspecting sweet tooths.”

“What?”

Tye shrugged. “Nothing. Never mind.”

He didn’t want to go into his theory about Magic and aphrodisiacs again. To be honest, he wasn’t sure he really believed it himself. After his up close and personal taste of Miss Claire Donovan, he’d come to suspect the magic wasn’t all in the Magic.

He’d dreamed of the woman every night since their tête-à-tête on her front porch. Hot dreams, steamy dreams, erotic dreams. He’d wake up in the dark, hot and hard and hungry. On two separate occasions he’d actually risen from his bed and dressed, intending to go to her and deal with the ache that plagued him constantly.

Thank God he’d recovered his good sense before he ever left Willow Hill. Now if only he could do something to stop the damned dreams. Tye couldn’t remember the last time a woman’s kiss had affected him this strongly.

Well, he could too remember the last time it had happened. Constance. That’s what had him scared half to death. The biggest mistake he’d ever made involved a woman who had stirred his blood then like the baker did now.

He had to stay away from Claire. Completely away. Maybe he’d get lucky and those brothers of hers would fetch her back to Galveston. With that cheery thought in mind Tye lifted his drink to his mouth and drained what was left in one sip.

“So,” Claire said, rising to refill his glass. “What else is new up at the castle?”

“Castle?”

“That’s where lords and ladies live, right?

Tye eyed the glass and pictured the pleasure of throwing the soda in her face. “You’re a real comedian, you know it, Claire?”

She laughed. “I’ll tell you something funny. I heard that Wilhemina Peters plans to research your family tree and publish it in the
Daily Democrat
.”

“What? For God’s sake, why?”

“Community service, I imagine.”

Tye snorted and doused his groan with a shot of root beer. Anxious to change the subject, anxious to leave, he pushed to his feet.

“You want to hear something even funnier than that?”

“Not really, no.” He figured from the impish gleam in her eyes she intended to tell him anyway. She did.

“Loretta’s not the only one Maribeth will need to beat. I’ve signed up for the spelling competition, too.”

It’s bad luck to pickle peaches on a Wednesday
.

CHAPTER 8

STALE AND TOO MANY people filled the ballroom inside the Cosmopolitan Hotel as the minutes ticked toward seven o’clock and the beginning of the monthly meeting of the Fort Worth Literary Society. Standing beside the refreshment table, Claire eyed the cookie tray she’d provided and mentally juggled her baking schedule for the following morning. The caraway cookies had disappeared fast. She should slot a batch of them between the hickorynut cake and the Nun’s Puffs.

A stream of fresh air caressed her cheek, and she glanced up to see Tye McBride in the process of opening a window. Her eyes widened with appreciation as she got her first look at the Menaces’ guardian dressed up in a coat and tie. The cut of his dark gray jacket emphasized the breadth of his shoulders while the jade-green glimmer of his vest complimented the color of his eyes. He was, she thought, a breathtaking man.

And he kept her off balance. The man ran hot and cold and she never knew which to expect. Friend one day, not the next. Kissing her one day, ignoring her the next. It made her dizzy. He made her dizzy.

And for a woman who claimed no interest in attracting the attentions of a man at this particular time in her life, her thoughts drifted in his direction an inordinate amount of time.

Claire lost patience with herself because of it. How foolish could she get? Other than his hesitancy to discipline the Menaces, he reminded her to a great extent of her very own father. Charming, handsome. A steam locomotive when it came to getting his own way.

Just what I need. Might as well have stayed in Galveston and married Reid as get tangled with the likes of Tye McBride
.

As if he had felt her scrutiny, his head twisted and their gazes met and held. Nerves danced along her spine. All her self-cautions melted like butter in sunshine when they communicated silently across the crowded room.

Claire.

Hello, Tye
.

He gave her a sweeping look of appreciation.
You look beautiful tonight
.

She smiled at him, feeling flattered and shy and a little flirtatious as, once again, she recalled their kiss. She wondered if he somehow read her mind because he slowly crossed the room toward her, his gaze never leaving hers. Though laughter and conversation swirled around them, they might as well have been the only two persons in the ballroom when he stopped before her and said, “Ready for the big contest, Miss Donovan?”

She cleared her throat. “Actually I’m more interested in the literary discussion that comes before it.”

He nodded and casually reached for a sweet from the refreshment table. Claire caught her breath as his hand hovered over Loretta Davis’s macaroons, then bypassed her own tray in favor of Wilhemina Peters’s chocolate cake. But as he lifted the plate from the table, he apparently changed his mind and chose a ginger cookie. One of Claire’s ginger cookies.

Satisfaction washed through her even as she wondered why such a little thing as his choosing one of her goodies from a table full of anonymous desserts pleased her so much. Then, because she’d become so confused, she did something totally out of character. She started to babble. “I met Reverend Leach’s wife tonight. She’s a very kind woman. She’s made me feel quite welcome. She’s invited me to attend the Ladies Sewing Circle. I think I’ll go.”

“You will?” Tye’s lips twitched with amusement. He tossed a quick look across the room to where his nieces stood conversing with their housekeeper and two other women. One of the ladies raised a hand and wiggled her fingers flirtatiously as she mouthed,
Hello, Lord McBride
. He smiled sickly, then turned back to Claire. “I swear these people would bow to a donkey if he had a title.”

They shared an honest grin. Then he brought the cookie to his mouth for a bite and as he chewed, all sign of good humor bled from his face. His eyes narrowed to slits. “This tastes like heaven. It’s yours, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Claire preened.

A look of dismay flashed across his face, and he gave a soft groan. “I didn’t think. I’ll be paying for this all night.”

She halted mid-preen.
Of all the nerve
. “Ginger gives you indigestion, Lord McBride?” she challenged.

“No, Miss Donovan. Your Magic gives me a…” He paused and raked his fingers through his hair. “Never mind. Excuse me, I need to check on my girls.” He turned away from her, then hesitated. Glancing down at the cookie in his hands, he softly muttered, “What the hell.”

He popped what was left of the sweet into his mouth, then snagged a second cookie from the tray. “You know what, Claire? Sometimes a fella simply lacks willpower. You sure look pretty in that dress.”

Claire sensed that something more than the tasting of a treat had just transpired but before she could make sense of it, the meeting was called to order. Claire took a seat. After a brief welcome, the president asked the secretary to read last month’s minutes. Roll call followed, as did committee reports and dispensation of both old and new business.

Finally the evening’s exercises began. Readings, songs, and dialogues were followed by a short debate and announcements of this month’s spelling bee participants. A hum of interest followed Claire’s name. An outburst of clapping from the McBrides trailed Maribeth’s.

During the short break that ensued, the membership scrambled to the treasurer’s table to place their bets on the outcome of the contest. Unaccustomed to the gamblers’ atmosphere so prevalent in Fort Worth, Claire observed the proceedings with wonder and mentioned her surprise to the woman seated beside her, Loretta Davis.

“The people of this town would bet on the sun coming up if the odds were right,” the young woman replied. “We’ve raised good money for needy charities by bringing the betting out of Hell’s Half Acre and into our meetings. If someone must profit from vice, better the orphanage or another charity than the sin dealers down in the Acre.”

As Claire nodded her agreement, she again felt the prickle of awareness she’d noted off and on throughout evening. Tye McBride was staring at her again.

It was almost a relief when the president called the spelling contestants to take their places at the front of the ballroom. Claire found herself sitting at such an angle as to observe both Maribeth McBride, seated four places to her right in the competitors’ line, and the other Menaces, who sat beside their uncle in the second row from the front.

Within minutes Claire realized the girls were up to some sort of shenanigans. The squirming…the pointed looks. The winks. Claire recognized the signs because she’d walked in those Menaces’ shoes not too terribly many years ago, herself. “Calamity Claire,” she mumbled, biting the inside of her lip to keep the smile off her face. She’d agreed to participate in this spelling bee for the sake of business. Now she wondered if it might prove to be the entertainment highlight of her week.

Especially since it was obvious Tye hadn’t a clue that the letters rumbling through his nieces minds spelled t-r-o-u-b-l-e.

***

SOMETHING WAS up.

The early rounds had whittled the contestants from twelve down to only four. All around Tye spectators shifted to the edges of their seats as tension built. But despite the fact that their sister stood a good chance of winning, Emma and Katrina looked bored.

Something was definitely up.

Tye sat with his arms folded, his head cocked to one side as he focused his gaze on Maribeth, who waited for the secretary to call out her word. For the most part, he could understand her success through the first five rounds. She was a smart girl, true, and the Society’s practice of taking its word list from works of Shakespeare had given her a focus for her preparatory study. That could explain Mari’s knowledge of the proper spelling of such unfamiliar words as “burdocks” and “samphire.” But nothing would explain the almost apologetic smile she’d given Loretta Davis when she’d rattled off “servile.” Maribeth was the only child up there. She should look at least a little nervous. Instead, she beamed total confidence.

“Something is rotten in Denmark.”

“What’s that, Uncle Tye?” Emma asked. “What do you mean something is rotten in Denmark?”

A man seated behind them tapped Tye on the shoulder. “You muddled the quote, son, and besides, that’s
Hamlet
. This month is
King Lear
.”

Tye flashed him a brief, impatient smile, then leaned toward Emma and lowered his voice. “Did y’all somehow fix it so your sister would win?”

Emma’s eyes went wide with innocence. “How would we do that?”

That’s what he wanted to know.

Katrina added, “
Why
would we do that?”

That particular question had him shivering in his boots. “I don’t know. I have to admit, however, I’m surprised at how well Mari is doing. She’s staying right with them, and I’m beginning to think she might win. She’s got that air about her.”

The two girls shared a look, then Emma offered an angelic smile. “She badly wants to win. In a weak moment Maribeth promised Sister Gonzaga she’d donate half of tonight’s pot to the church. I don’t know about you, Uncle Tye, but I don’t fancy telling Sister the money isn’t coming.”

Tye dragged a hand along his jaw and studied his niece. Was Emma telling the truth? Perhaps. Sister Gonzaga could put a squeeze on a person like a lasso. Still, those cherubic expressions made him suspicious.

“Maribeth might not win, you know,” he said, stretching out his legs and crossing them at the ankles. “It’ll be hard to beat Miss Davis. Too, the Reverend Littleton looks like a speller to me, and Miss Donovan appears plenty confident. This could be a real horse race.”

“Horse race! Silly Uncle Tye.” Katrina stuck her hands beneath her legs and started rocking. “This is the most exciting spelling bee I’ve ever been to. I’m so nervous.”

Nervous, hah. Like a fox slipping into a henhouse was nervous, maybe
.

The sergeant-at-arms rang a bell signaling for quiet, and round six of the Fort Worth Literary Society monthly spelling bee commenced. Twenty minutes later, Reverend Littleton, so distracted by Loretta’s previous word, “codpiece,” fouled out by forgetting the K at the beginning of “knave.” Now only Maribeth, Loretta Davis, and Claire Donovan remained. Tye couldn’t keep his gaze off the baker.

The woman glowed—glittered like a fire on a moonless night—her eyes alight with a hint of impishness that appealed to the devil in him.

He didn’t want to be attracted to Claire. She was Magic and mischief all wrapped in a package pretty enough to raise steam on an icy heart. On his heart. She made him yearn for something he had not the right to want.

The voice whispered through his mind like the devil’s own temptation.
Why don’t you have the right? She’s not engaged. She doesn’t belong to another man. Not any longer. Nothing is stopping you.

Bitterness washed through him. Yeah, something was too stopping him. Claire herself. That was the tangle in all of this. That’s why he didn’t have the right.

If Claire Donovan was an honest lady, a truly good woman, a special woman like the one Trace married, then she deserved a better man than him. If she was as good as his senses were telling him, then she deserved a man without the ugly baggage he toted around. She should have someone whole, someone whose heart wasn’t dead. Someone who could love her like she deserved to be loved.

That man wasn’t him.

Tye watched her, wanted her, and regretted it as she hesitated over a word. When her teeth nibbled at her bottom lip, his own teeth ached to do the same. The entire ballroom held its collective breath until she properly ended the word “ratsbane” with an NE rather than an A-I-N. Tye rubbed his eyes, determined to focus in on his niece and no one else.

Two words later, and to the spectators’ surprise, Maribeth vanquished Loretta Davis, leaving victory in the grasp of either the child or the baker. With such a unique development in the offing, the president of the Society called for an intermission in order to allow the membership an opportunity to place additional wagers.

With the pause in action, Emma and Katrina rushed toward their sister. Tye leaned against the wall and folded his arms, studiously looking anywhere but at Claire.

And so she caught him by surprise when she appeared in front of him. Her eyes shimmered and her grin lit up the room. She had that impish, mischievous look about her that had him bracing himself as she leaned over and whispered, “Don’t look now, McBride, but your niece is cheating.”

Dammit, he’d guessed right. While he would have liked to have asked Claire how she figured it out—Tye himself was still in the dark—he felt obliged to take Maribeth’s side. “That’s a fine thing to say, Miss Donovan. Sounds like sour grapes to me.”

“Not at all. I have no intention of spreading the fact around. However, since you are currently acting as her guardian, I thought you should know what is happening.”

Damn right he needed to know what was going on, and he itched to ask Claire for the details. His problem was he couldn’t come out and ask without admitting he doubted Maribeth’s honesty, and he wasn’t about to do that. He settled for silently encouraging Claire to continue when she observed, “The girls are clever, I’ll give them that. I’d like to know how they got a list of the words being used tonight.”

The word list
. Tye’s gaze drifted toward his nieces. Yep, it made sense. Mari couldn’t have memorized an entire play, but she could file away a list of words with relative ease.

Claire continued. “What are their plans for the prize money? Have they mentioned it to you?”

It was a question Tye wanted answered himself. He simply didn’t buy the Sister Gonzaga explanation. Rather than trying to defend his charges, he went on the attack. “You act like Maribeth has already won. Do you plan on throwing the contest? Now that
is
cheating, Miss Donovan.”

The grin she flashed was downright naughty, and Tye froze like a birddog on point when what felt like every drop of blood in his body rushed to his loins.