The Sticky Cowgirl (Lone Star Sweets, Book 2) (2 page)

“I don’t have employees.”

“Then what are they?”

“They go to the culinary school. This is part of a new hands-on training class.”

“New?”

“New.”

Samuel considered her for a moment longer. He couldn’t help but wonder what she was playing at. What did she mean by new? New, new? An experimental thing? Or was it just a ploy to keep him at bay?

They stared one another down for a few long, drawn out seconds before she nodded curtly and turned on her heel, disappearing into the kitchen.

Several people stared at him. He still held the box of what was likely the only nice thing she would ever give him. He nodded and tried to smile at those around him, but probably didn’t carry it off well. He would take her refusal back to the board. They would want to move on it legally and as much as he hated that thought, they didn’t have any other choice but to force her out.

He maneuvered through the crowded bakery and out the front door. He tried not to think about the fact that the condos they were planning to build would erase the smell of homemade pastries from this section of the downtown area and erase a thriving piece of her childhood memories.

In an otherwise deserted area, thanks to his company’s money, Samantha Dawson’s sticky bun shop was the only bright spot of color and chatter along this stretch.

He glanced around the front of The Sticky Cowgirl with its bright white and lemon yellow awning and sign that looked hand carved and carefully crafted. The metal tables and chairs, liked ones found years ago outside cafes were painted the same shade of yellow. She’d created a cheerful atmosphere and a warm welcome.

“Damn,” he whispered to himself. He didn’t want to know all this. He didn’t want to see her as a person or as providing something valuable to the people who patronized her shop. That would only make things harder on him. She’d been right earlier when she said it was easier for him to see numbers, to never see the humanity.

Samuel closed his eyes and took a deep breath, opened them again and started walking, but not before he opened the box he held and cut through the pastry with the fork she’d given him. He should toss it into the trash, but he couldn’t. It was a gift and she’d seemed genuinely puzzled that he’d never had one before.

The sugars melted on his tongue. The dough was perfect, or what he imagined was perfect in terms of dough. The flavors all blended together and as he swallowed, a slight hint of orange tickled his throat.

He’d never tasted anything like it and couldn’t resist another bite and then, another until it was gone. His mother would be appalled by his eating from a cardboard box with a plastic fork while standing on the river walk, but it had been heavenly and he hadn’t been able to stop.

He had a feeling he’d have been that way with the Samantha too, if they’d met under different circumstances. He wiped his mouth with a napkin, also given to him by Samantha Dawson and tossed it, the box, and the fork into a recycle bin. With one front of the other, a single thought floated repeatedly through his head: Sometimes business sucked.

Chapter Two

Samantha told him she needed to get back to work. She hadn’t lied, but the second he was out of the store, she hadn’t been able to resist rushing to the front window. She figured he’d just walk away, but had been surprised to see him stop a few feet from the entrance and turn. She ducked quickly out of sight so he wouldn’t catch her watching. That her customers were looking at her oddly didn’t phase her one bit.

When she chanced a peek around the edge of the window frame, it was to witness his shoulders slumping and him walking away. Why did he look dejected? But he stopped again almost immediately and took a bite of the sticky bun. He hadn’t stopped eating until it was all gone and though she couldn’t see his face, she knew he’d enjoyed it, knew he’d been smiling with pure pleasure as he ate it. She’d watched enough of her customer’s faces to know how people reacted the first time they tried her grandmother’s recipe.

There were parts of it she’d changed to make it her own, like removing the nuts and adding a little orange zest into the cinnamon mixture. She used organic cane sugar and bought local sorghum molasses to make her own homemade brown sugar in small batches. The extra rich flavor and softer consistency than that of pre-packaged brown sugar made such a huge difference in the taste and in the way the sugars melted.

It was a little more money, a little more effort, but it was so worth it in the end. She wouldn’t skimp on anything important, including organic ingredients, local dairy and freshly ground pastry flours. Her sticky buns with homemade caramel glaze were her top seller, but the cinnamon rolls, along with her new fruit filled sweet rolls, all with a mascarpone and cream cheese icing were quickly catching up.

The extra mile she went with her ingredients, though, were the dollars and cents she might have used to hire a lawyer to fight this battle with the company that was after her small store. She would need help in this fight and it seemed she was going to need the help sooner rather than later. She’d put off asking, but if Samuel Stevenson was going to up the ante, she wasn’t going to have a choice.

Her brother, Jackson owned a cupcake truck and had only recently gotten back on speaking terms with their father. Jock Dawson had been anything but thrilled when Jackson went to pastry school and then opened up a mobile cupcake bakery instead of working the ranch they’d grown up on. She and Jackson hadn’t wanted country life. They both took to urban life like they’d been born in the city, but at the same time, they liked going out to the ranch to relax, to reconnect with where they came from.

Now she was in a bind and the reality of things were that she would likely lose in the end and have to re-locate. She and Jackson both had put everything into their respective businesses. Their father had helped her out, but had refused to help Jackson, so she had. Now that father and son were on speaking terms again and getting along, maybe he could return the favor and try to help her. The more the corporation pushed, the more she fought and the more it took away from her business. She loved baking and while Jackson had gone to pastry school to perfect his craft, she was a mix of self taught and grandmother taught. Samantha’s shop was small enough for her to do everything by hand and she didn’t want to grow too much more because she didn’t want to lose that personal touch. And while she enjoyed engaging with her customers, she knew she was better suited to being in the kitchen.

“Hey sis,” Jackson said, entering through the back door.

Heat flowed in from outside. She’d be glad when it finally broke. Maybe in a hundred years. “I don’t know how you stand working in that truck in this heat.”

“You get used to it. Anything good happen today?”

“Why?”

“Cause you’re beating the hell out of that dough.” He nodded at the bowl in front of her. “I know I didn’t do well in yeast breads class, but I don’t think you’re supposed to be trying for the heavyweight championship when punching it down.”

Sam sighed. “Had another visit from that corporate guy today.” She sneered after the words left her mouth.

“They just don’t give up, do they?”

“Nope. He said they’ll come at me with another legal action, eminent domain or something if I didn’t reconsider. He also offered me an extra twenty grand.”

“Damn. Have you thought about taking them up on it?”

She tossed flour at him same as she had Samuel. Seemed to be her favorite thing to do today. “I can’t believe you said that.”

“Sam, you don’t have the money to fight them,” he said, echoing her thoughts from earlier. “With what they’re offering you, you could open up a shop anywhere in downtown. Right on the river if you wanted. You could set up an online store with shipping, too. Hell, if you were really savvy, you could even open two locations.”

She was hoping he wouldn’t pick up on all the obvious benefits of the amount of money she was offered would bring. On one hand, she felt almost petty for holding out. No one else had. On the other hand though, she wasn’t one to give up and take the easy way out, even if everyone else did. She wasn’t big on following the crowd. “But I don’t want just anywhere in downtown. Not even the river I want this place. You know why I want this place, Jacks.”

Jackson took a quick breath and blew it out hard. “Yes, I do know why, but sis, they don’t want you to have it. They aren’t going to care about your reasons. It’s called urban development and the good of the many versus the good of the few.”

“I know. I do. I know.”

“So then what are you going to do if you won’t even consider it?”

“I don’t know. I think I need to talk to Daddy about the whole thing. He’d know what to do. He’d know what to tell me.”

“He would. I’ll take you out there anytime you want to go. Or we could invite him for dinner.”

Samantha smiled. “I’m glad y’all are working things out. He was wrong and I didn’t think he’d ever admit it. He couldn’t force his plans for you on you. It’s your life, not his. That’s all I said to him, but I guess it was enough.”

“Me too. He could’ve helped you sooner if you hadn’t stuck up for me.”

“But I did and I’d do it again. Maybe I could win him over with pastry.”

“Daddy doesn’t need to be won over when it comes to you.”

“I wasn’t talking about him anymore. Damn Jacks, keep up, will ya? I meant, Samuel. Maybe I could win him over with it.”

“Kinda helps if you tell a guy you’re talking about someone else. Think you might be willing to scoot over and let me have a little space at the table?”

“Oh yes, King Jackson. Please take all the space you need, King Jackson,” she intoned, using the nickname she’d given him when they were kids. He was King Jackson and she was Princess Samantha. They were best friends and she wouldn’t know what to do without him.

“About time you remembered to whom you are speaking.” He used his benevolent monarch's voice, eased it with a wink, and Samantha rolled her eyes as she picked up her bowl and moved several feet down to the other end of the work table. It was custom built and split into three sections: stainless steel, butcher block, and marble. Jackson often worked on the stainless section and she more often used the marble section for rolling dough and the butcher block for cutting. It was an incredible piece of furniture and she’d paid a premium for it. Aside from her Kitchen-Aid stand mixers, of which there were three and her double wall oven along with the double oven range, the table was her favorite part of her kitchen.

“You know what else sorta scares me about moving from this building, other than them tearing it down?”

“What?”

“What if I can’t find another prominent storefront to fit my prep table in?”

Jackson stared at her in disbelief. “You could afford to buy several storefronts if you sold.”

“I don’t want several of them. I want this one. I want
this
building. I want
this
bakery. I want —”

“You’re back to beating the dough,” Jackson said patiently, placing his hand over hers on the rolling pin. “You might want to get a grip or you won’t be able to do much more than use that bit as stress relief. We’ll figure it out, I promise. We’ll figure out how to beat them.”

She hoped he was right because at this point, she really didn’t know what to do about her situation. Samuel would be back or he’d send someone else. “I gave him one of the cinnamon rolls today when he left.”

“So you’re already laying the winning over foundation. Did you poison it first? Drop it on the floor? Spit in it?”

Sam flung flour down the table at her brother again. “No, no, and no. He said he’d never had one before, that he hadn’t been allowed sweets as a kid.”

“Never? Damn.” Jackson shook his head. “That had to be a very bland existence.”

“I know.”

“Did he like it?”

“I think so, but... I’m not sure.” She didn’t tell him that she’d stood at the front window watching as the man in question devoured the pastry as though he were a starving man. And still, something about that touched her. She always loved when people enjoyed the things she baked for them, but that he had looked so happy to eat the one she’d given him… “For all I know he took it back to the office and threw darts at it or just tossed it.”

“That whole company would change their minds if they tried the cinnamon rolls and sticky buns you make.”

“I doubt that. You can’t change someone’s mind with food.”

“I think you can. Between my cupcakes and your sticky buns, we could solve the world’s peace problems.”

Samantha laughed. Her brother, for all his brawn, was a romantic. She was more practical than a dreamer, but when it came to her business, she believed her confections did bring momentary happiness and a break from the mundane. She knew they were special. Her grandmother had wowed so many people with them over the years before she died and when she willed the recipe to Samantha… “What do you think Grams would say?”

“She’d tell you to do whatever you had to do to change that man’s mind.”

“Pearls and romantic dinners?”

“No. She’d tell you to ply him with sweets until he was ready to throw up if he didn’t give in.”

* * * * *

Samuel stared out at the darkening sky. Being in the tallest high rise in San Antonio did have its perks. The view was incredible. Lights across downtown and as far as the eye could see were starting to brighten up the evening. Off to the right, he could see the river and down there, somewhere, was Samantha.

He hadn’t gotten a damn thing accomplished all afternoon. Not since he left her shop earlier in the day. He hadn’t even gone to his lunch meeting, instead he’d called and rescheduled. When he returned to the office, he did exactly what he was doing now. Staring out the window, not really seeing anything but her in his mind’s eye. She was everything he wasn’t, everything he had never dared allow himself to dream of. She was real. She was hard working. She had experiences he’d never imagined. She had a life that was her own, not dictated by family, business, expectations.

“Samuel? You’re still here?”

Sam spun his chair around. “Hey Brandt. Yeah. Still here.”

“You’ve been burning the midnight oil a great deal lately.”

“This deal you’re trying to get done is taking a lot of my time.”

Brandt Worthington, his boss and step-father, walked farther into the room and settled in a chair across from Sam’s desk. “Speaking of… How is our last hold out?”

“Stubborn,” Samuel said blandly.

“She seems to be. What do you think it’ll take? How much money?”

“I don’t think there is any amount that she’d be willing to take. She’s not going to give in of her own free will, no matter how much cash you flash at her.”

“I see.”

“And she’s got a booming little business. A lot of foot traffic, customers comfortable in the store and around her.”

“We knew going in she was somewhat successful.”

“Yes, we did, but the reality is much different than the projections and figures on our reports.”

“Perhaps you should conduct further meetings with her here, in less personal surroundings?”

“You’ll be home for dinner this weekend. Your mother is expecting you. She’s got someone she wants you to meet.”