The Bad Luck Wedding Cake (6 page)

“What?”

She snagged the bottle and carried it to the worktable where Tye had just finished adding the frothy egg whites to the cake batter. “I’m experimenting with this recipe. In honor of your fondness for molasses pie, I shall add half a cup of the syrup to see what that will do to our cake.”

“Molasses to a Snow Cake? Good Lord, gal, you’ll end up with mud.”

“Better in the cake than attached to my name,” she muttered beneath her breath.

“What was that?”

She gestured toward the chair. “Sit back and watch, McBride. A genius is at work.”

Forty minutes later, with Tye leading the way, they sneaked out the back door, headed for a place—anyplace—that didn’t stink quite so bad. Claire dropped her experiment into the trash can behind Murphy’s Hardware. It hit the bottom of the metal receptacle with a clunk.

“Experiments are always trial and failure,” Tye said, shaking his head sadly. “Don’t let it get to you, Claire.”

She smiled at him and said, “Oh, I won’t.” That’s because she didn’t see the experiment as a failure. In her eyes the cake had been a huge success. The Donovan family laundry remained wadded up and stuck away, just where she wanted it.

***

TYE TOOK her horny-toad hunting. He gave her the choice between that and snagging for crawdads, but the minute she heard the word “mudbugs” she went for the toads. Tye didn’t care which they did. All he wanted was to get away from town and the predatory females with their baked-goods bribes.

But he was glad to have the company of a friend. As they stepped across the rangeland south of town, he promised himself he’d continue to consider her just that.
Friend
, and nothing more.

It was a damned difficult assignment.

Even out here in the wide open spaces, with nary a hint of Magic in the air, he felt drawn to her. She was pretty and smart and full of surprises. Most important, she made him laugh. He hadn’t laughed with a woman in so damned long.

Look at her now, her bonnet lost and her eyes bright and sparkling as she knelt facing the sun and holding the horned toad in her palms like a pagan offering. She was downright beautiful, even with her tongue flicking in and out like that “What are you doing, Claire? It’s not gonna talk back to you.”

Wrinkling her nose, she said, “This is the most fascinating animal. I don’t know that we have these down in Galveston. I’ve never seen one before. Look at what he’s done, Tye. It’s like he’s playing dead. See how he’s gone all stiff? That must be a defense mechanism, don’t you think?”

“That, or he likes what you did with your tongue and he’s flirting,” Tye replied, pretending seriousness. When she wrinkled her nose at him, she looked so cute he couldn’t stop himself from adding, “Well he is a horny toad, after all.”

“I can’t believe you said that,” she murmured, a pink blush stealing across her cheeks.

“I can’t believe I did, either,” Tye said, laughing. “Ah, Donovan, you are too fun to tease. Now, put your friend in my burlap bag here and let’s find us a couple more toads. Even though Maribeth is the only one who’ll be interested, one thing I’ve learned from the Blessings is that if you come home with anything, it’d best be three anythings.”

“It was the same way at my house,” she told him, slipping the horned frog into his bag. “Whenever my da made us walnut-raisin muffins for breakfast, he had to be sure to make a number divisible by three because heaven forbid one of us kids would get one more or one less muffin than the others. And only one of us even liked walnut-raisin muffins.”

Tye smiled along with her as they searched the field for another anthill, ants being the main attraction on a hungry horny toad’s menu. While they walked he was pleased to pry a few more details from her about the Donovan family. It had not escaped his notice earlier that she went out of her way to dodge discussion on that subject.

He found he was uncommonly curious about this woman, and as they hunted their pointy prey, he could tell she’d begun to relax her guard. Now was the time to ask about the fiancé. Tye decided to ease into the subject slowly.

“So tell me about your shop. Have you always wanted to be a baker?”

“Always.” She stooped to pick up a shiny rock, then moved it back and forth in the sunlight so that it sparkled. “My da is a baker and he passed on the trade to his children. Recently the boys both opened bakeries of their own.”

“Both of the boys and you.”

She tossed down her rock. “Not exactly.”

Claire picked up her pace and Tye had to hurry to keep up with her. They walked right past an anthill, but he chose not to bring it to her attention. He thought he was getting somewhere. Finally, he put his hand out and stopped her. “Slow down, you’re paining my sore knee.”

“I didn’t know you have a sore knee.”

“I don’t, but I will if we keep running. So what’s the deal, Claire? Is The Confectionary not yours after all? Are you getting it set up for one of your brothers?”

“Absolutely not” She whirled around and started walking back the way they’d come. This time she saw the anthill and stopped. “Shh. Don’t scare away the frogs.”

Tye didn’t care about hunting horny toads anymore; he was searching for answers. “The fiancé then? Is he going to run your shop?”

“I’m running The Confectionary. It’s not part of the Donovan Baking Company. It’s my shop and no one else’s. It’s my dream and I’m not letting anyone take it away from me. Especially not a pretty-boy banker’s son.”

Now that threw Tye for a loop.
Pretty-boy banker’s son?
Before he could figure out what to say, she’d dived for another toad. “Ooh,” she said a moment later, staring down at her hands.

Tye reached for his handkerchief. “They can squirt blood from their eyes when they feel threatened.”

“Handy little characteristic, I guess.” She deposited the horned lizard in the sack, then accepted Tye’s handkerchief to wipe her hands.

“Are you feeling threatened, Claire? Is that why you won’t tell me your story?”

Her tone was as dry as West Texas in July. “Look in my eyes and figure it out, McBride.”

He laughed. He couldn’t help it “Don’t squirt me, friend. Talk to me. That’s what friends are for, you know, and I’m thinking you can use one. You helped me today. Now let me help you. Who’s this pretty-boy banker’s son?”

“Reid Jamieson.” She spat the name like a curse. “Now leave it alone, Tye. If you’re my friend you’ll leave it alone. I don’t want to talk about this. It won’t help anything.”

“Sure it will. Believe me, Claire, I have plenty of experience in keeping painful troubles bottled up inside. Let it out. It’ll be good for you. Besides, you’ve got me curious as a calf in a new pasture.”

“Well” She drew herself up straight and cracked her words like a whip. “Heaven forbid you don’t get your way. You’re a man, aren’t you, and men’s needs and wants and wishes always come first.”

“Whoa now, Claire.”

She didn’t
whoa
. The words poured out. “I didn’t love Reid Jamieson and I couldn’t go through with it. I’m sorry for the embarrassment I caused the family, but they should have listened to me. I told them and I told Reid. The very day of the wedding I went to him and told him I couldn’t marry him. If he showed up at the church and waited at the altar, well, it’s his own fault.”

If Tye were a horny toad, he’d have squirted blood from his eyes that very minute. Being a man, he settled for backing away.

“You said you left your fiancé in Galveston. Do you mean, left him at a
church
in Galveston? At the
altar
of a church in Galveston?”

She tossed her hair over her shoulder. “With a boutonniere in his buttonhole.”

“So you ran away from home?”

“No.” She stared at him as though he were stupid.

He couldn’t argue with her.

Her eyes burned like a blue gas flame. “I left home. There is a difference. I took my half of my dowry and all my jewelry and set out to build a new life and a new business. This is my life I’m living, not my brothers’ lives or my da’s life or my mother’s life. Mine. My talent is mine, my business is mine. My independence is mine. And no one is going to take it away from me. I don’t care if he owns every bank in Texas.”

“Jamieson owns every bank?”

“I don’t know,” she scoffed, disgusted. “I didn’t mean it literally.”

“But you did mean that you
left
your fiancé. So you’re not really engaged. You’re not taken.”

“That’s exactly my point.” She threw out her arms. “There shouldn’t be any
taking
in marriage. It should be all
giving
. Nobody is ever going to take anything from me. Not ever again.”

With that, she turned and flounced back toward the buggy. Tye opened the burlap bag and stared down at the two horned lizards imprisoned inside. “She’s not engaged, but she’s a lady. Goddamnit, she’s
not
safe.”

Tye took a step to follow Claire, but then he stopped. He thought about the woman waiting for him in the buggy and the women waiting for him back in town.

He thought of the woman lying in a grave in South Carolina. Constance West McBride, his brother’s first wife, his nieces’ mother. The lying, deceitful bitch. God curse her soul.

He knelt on one knee and opened the bag on the ground, releasing the sand-colored toads. As they darted off into the brush, he muttered, “If not for the Blessings, I’d run away with you.”

Plant a penny when the dogwood blooms to avoid bad luck
.

CHAPTER 5

HER TEMPER STILL HIGH the following day, Claire chose to bake up a batch of Swedish rye bread. Slathered in butter, it was her favorite hot-out-of-the-oven treat. The aroma of the baking bread soothed her, and the subtle blend of anise and fennel delighted the tongue.

This particular day the task served another purpose. The physical effort of kneading the dough was a great way to work off her anger.

She had six loaves baked and muffins in the oven when a fist pounded on The Confectionary’s front door. “Catherine Claire, are you in there?” a man shouted.

The flour barrel lid slipped from Claire’s hand and clattered to the floor. She closed her eyes.
How in the world did they find me?

“Catherine Claire Donovan, you open this door this minute!”

Lars
. She’d recognize that voice anywhere. Oh, damn. She’d been discovered.

Her hand trembled as she lifted the lid and replaced it. Wiping her suddenly damp palms on her apron, she walked toward the outer door. Sure enough, on the other side of the doorway stood the tall, blond, angelically handsome Lars Sundine. He was her brother Patrick’s best friend. Her friend, too. For years Lars had been like a third brother to Claire. He also had been the only one who listened to her protests about the marriage to Reid.

Claire closed her eyes. How did the family find me so fast? She said a silent prayer, turned the lock, and opened the door.

“Well at least you had it locked,” he said, his tone as sharp as her favorite paring knife. Tall and broad, with big, meaty forearms and hands, he seemed to fill the vestibule to overflowing. He wore a mustache and a scowl mean enough to scare a coyote off his kill. “Ah, Clary, do you know what you’ve done? I have half a mind to put you over my knee and give you the whipping you deserve.”

Like a flash fire, her anger ignited. She wasn’t going to stand there and be harangued in her own bakery.

“Try it and lose a hand,” she replied, slamming the door in his face. She whirled around, ready to march back into her kitchen, knowing he’d follow right behind her. When he didn’t, she paused. She waited in the middle of her shop for a full minute, and still didn’t hear his footsteps. Pursing her lips, she retraced her steps and slowly opened the door. What she saw brought a lump of emotion to her throat.

The big, burly Swede stood in the vestibule with tears overflowing his sky-blue eyes and rolling down his cheeks.

“Lars?”

He swallowed hard. “Damnation, Clary. We’ve all been so scared. Come here.” He tugged her into his arms and squeezed her tight. “Thank God you’re all right. I could kill you for running off like that. How could you do that to the people who love you?”

“Love me?” she replied. “If they loved me how could they force me to marry Reid?”

His expression gentled. “Ah, Clary. I love you. You know that. C’mon, offer me something to eat and drink. It’s been a long day and a very long trip.”

“How did you find me, Lars?”

He reached out and tucked a stray curl behind her ear. “I remembered how you talked about railroad terminal towns and how they’d be a good place to build a business because they were new and fast-growing. I figured Fort Worth was far enough away from the Donovans, but not too far away for a girl leaving home for the first time. It was a hunch that paid off. I got to town late last night and tracked you down real fast. Folks around here are anxious for The Confectionary to open.”

“Good.” Claire couldn’t help but smile at that.

Ten minutes later they were seated around her kitchen worktable drinking strong black coffee and nibbling on molasses cookies. Lars swallowed a bite, studied the cookie in his hand, and observed, “You’re a dash short on ginger. Maybe a scosh too much cinnamon, too.”

“They are just perfect,” Claire shot back.

That started a debate over Claire’s baking skills that lasted a good five minutes. After that, the conversation segued into the Donovan family and the state of everyone’s health and happiness. For the moment, the subject of Claire’s former fiancé and aborted wedding was studiously avoided, a fact she very much appreciated.

While Lars relayed Patrick’s latest escapade at a recent horse race, he moved his head and winced in a way that caught Claire’s attention. She studied the man. His bloodshot, droopy eyes displayed evidence of more than weariness from travel or worry. He’d obviously had a late night. Wordlessly, she rose and walked over to her cache of Magic. She grabbed a bottle and a spoon and plopped them down onto the table in front of him.

He eyed her offering then rubbed his forehead. “Ah, Clary, you are an angel of mercy.”

“I hate to waste a spoonful of Magic curing the hangover you undoubtedly picked up in the Acre, but I can’t stand to see any animal suffer.”

“The Acre?” His brow furrowed with his scowl. “What do you know about Hell’s Half Acre? How do you know about it?”

“How is it you found the Acre before you found me? That’s what I want to know.”

“Claire,” Lars warned.

She rolled her eyes. “How do I know about the Acre? I stage dance at the Green Parrot every Friday and Saturday night. You should see my costume. The stockings are—”

“Catherine Claire!” His eyes narrowed dangerously.

She sighed. “I live in this town. I’m aware the Acre exists. That doesn’t mean I have to frequent it.”

“You shouldn’t know about it at all. You shouldn’t be here. You won’t be here for long.” Lars slapped his hand down on the table. “Go pack your bags, Claire. You are coming home with me. If we hurry, we can catch the afternoon train.”

This was it. Time for pistols at twenty paces. “No,” she said firmly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“You have to.”

“I do not.”

“But your mother and father—”

“Tried to make me marry a man I do not love.” She shoved to her feet. “It’s been wonderful to see you. Please take my love back to Mama and Da along with my apologies for any embarrassment I have caused them, but that is all you are taking back to Galveston. I am an adult I make my own choices and I choose Fort Worth to be my home now. This is where I’m building a new life, the life
I
want. Not the life Da wants for me.”

Lars sat back in his chair and frowned. “I knew you’d be stubborn about this. Guess I’ll have to give you the letter.”

“What letter?” Claire asked, her stomach tensing.

“From your father.” Lars reached into his jacket and removed a folded sheet of paper. “Just in case I found you.”

Lars tossed the page into the middle of the table, and the brightness seemed to fade from Claire’s day. Staring at the paper, her mouth went desert-dry. Emotions she couldn’t name and didn’t want to face bubbled like hot tar in her gut. “What’s in it?”

Lars reached out and squeezed her hands. “Read the letter, Clary. It’s a serious situation. Your family needs you.”

It was a knife to the heart. If her family truly needed her, how could she deny them help? The paper felt cold beneath her fingertips. She felt cold beneath her skin. “I couldn’t marry Reid, Lars.”

“I know it seems that way.” He tucked a stray curl back behind her ear. “But he’s a good man, Clary. He will make you a fine husband.”

Will make you
. Not
would have made you
. Claire winced.

Lars had listened to her feelings about Reid. He knew how she felt. For him to say what he said now…well…

Claire’s heart dropped to her stomach. For a minute, or maybe an hour, she sat staring at the letter. Finally, she muttered a curse and broke the seal.

Paper crackled as she unfolded it. Quickly her eyes scanned the page. “No. I can’t believe this!”

Lars moved to stand behind her. He laid his hands on her shoulders and gave her a supportive squeeze.

“You know what’s in here?” she whispered.

“About the rumors.”

Scanning the sentences that repeated the newspaper headlines, she read aloud, “The Not-So-Magical Wedding Cake. Donovan’s Cursed Cakes. The Death of a Legend.” Claire’s hands started to tremble and she glanced up at Lars. “All because I didn’t marry Reid?”

“You know how your father likes to make every effort serve double duty,” Lars replied, shrugging his shoulders. “Before we learned you had left town, he invited the Gazette to the reception hall and made a big production over your cake. So, when the wedding didn’t happen, the paper naturally wrote the story.”

“About a wedding cake whose magic has turned into a curse because of a single canceled wedding?” Claire exploded. “That’s as ridiculous as the whole legend itself.”

“The legend is what made your family’s livelihood for the past few years, girl. The legend is what put clothes on your back.”

“Well, I’m putting my own clothes on my own back now, thank you very much.” Claire took a deep breath and told herself to calm down and be strong. “I’m sorry for the bad publicity, but this is Da’s mistake. Patrick’s, too, for creating the legend in the first place. It’s not my fault.”

She nudged the letter. “Papa doesn’t say what he wants.”

“You know what your father expects,” Lars replied. “You know what you have to do.”

She shook her head. “No. I won’t marry Reid to solve a legend gone awry. Besides, it’s too late for that. I stood him up at the altar. He wouldn’t marry me now.”

“Yes he would. He told your father he would.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

She couldn’t believe it. “Why? It makes no sense. He doesn’t love me.”

“He says he does.”

“Well I don’t love him.”

“Then you shouldn’t have pawed him in the kitchen!” Lars snapped.

Claire gasped and tears pressed at the backs of her eyes. In a low, hard voice, she said, “It wasn’t like that. Nothing happened. I have tried to tell my family the truth about that night many times. That all of them, and you, Lars, choose to believe him over me offends me more than I can say.”

“All right, Clary.” He returned to his chair, took his seat, and folded his arms. “Tell me again about that night in the kitchen. Convince me why it’s not in your best interests to marry Reid.”

“You have more nerve than a toothache, Lars Sundine. I owe you no explanation.”

“Sure you do. I may not be a brother by blood, but I am by love. My advantage is I don’t have the Donovan hard head. Talk to me, Clary. I’ll listen.”

She sighed heavily, then acquiesced. She told him how Reid made the innocent doctoring of a cat’s scratch appear like an interrupted seduction to her father. She explained how, time and again during their engagement, he had disregarded her wishes and requests. She gave examples of instances when Reid categorically refused to give any consideration to how his actions would affect her.

She finished by saying, “Marrying Reid Jamieson would be like losing myself. I can’t live that way. Did you ever hear the story of how my mother wanted to be a teacher? Da didn’t want her to do it, so she didn’t. Not me. I won’t give up my dreams for any man. I won’t give up my life here in Fort Worth where I’ve invested in a business. Invested in myself. I can’t lose it all.”

Lars nodded. “You make a good case. I’m convinced. But you need to tell these things to your family. You need to face your parents. You know you do. It’s not right for a daughter to run off like you did. I’ll take you home, and you can talk it over with them.”

“I am home. Fort Worth is my home now.”

Lars raked his fingers through his shiny blond hair. “You’re sure about that? No doubt in your mind?”

“I’m sure.”

He drummed his fingers on the table for a moment, then asked, “Do you have anyone helping you here? An employee?”

She shook her head. “I can’t afford it.”

More drumming of the fingers. Abruptly, he said, “Millicent threw me over.”

“No,” Claire replied, dismayed.

“Yes. Now she’s sweet on Ronald Warfield.”

“Ronald Warfield. You’re kidding.” Claire was shocked. Millicent Ayers and that Ronald Warfield? “The shipping magnate’s daughter and a ferryboat hand? Talk about a mismatched set. Don’t worry, Lars. It will never last.”

“Long enough to get engaged.”

“No!”

“Yes. It’s making it tough for me to keep working at the shipping company. It was nice to get away to come looking for you.” He glanced down at his fingernails and casually added, “I’m thinking a move might do me some good, too.”

Claire caught on right away. “I can take care of myself, Lars. I don’t need a keeper.”

“I wouldn’t be such a fool as to think so. No, Clary, I’m thinking we could help each other out. I’m a good accountant. If I could find a position here in Fort Worth—at a bank, perhaps—I could help you in the mornings some with the baking, just like I do for Patrick now. I don’t interfere with his business. You know that I wouldn’t interfere with yours.” He paused a moment and his tone grew serious. “I need away from Galveston, too, Clary. I cared a lot about Millicent.”

Claire smiled and reached for his hand, giving it a squeeze. “I love you, Lars. Of course you can help me in The Confectionary—as long as you work for the same wages Patrick pays.”

He squeezed her hand in return. “You know, Clary, I always have found your cinnamon buns to be superior to Patrick’s.”

“Well I should hope so,” she replied with a sniff. “You can consider it a raise, then. All the cinnamon buns you can eat in exchange for your help around the bakery.”

“So,” he said, standing. “I guess we’d best get moving if I’m going to catch that train.”

Confusion coursed through her. “The train? You’re going back?”

He nodded. “They have to be told, Claire. They’re worried sick. I want you to write an answer to your da’s letter.”

Groaning, she propped her elbows on the table and rested her head in her hands. He was right. She knew it. “Lars Sundine, you might as well change your name to Donovan. You are as big a pain in the behind as any other brother of mine. I have paper and a pen on the counter out front. Bring it to me and I’ll write your stupid letter. You know what, I can’t wait to go home. This has been a very long day.”