The Sticky Cowgirl (Lone Star Sweets, Book 2) (3 page)

Samuel inwardly cringed. Brandt left no room for discussion in his statement. “She always does.” His mother found ways of insinuating women into his life she thought would make sensible matches. Love didn’t enter into her thoughts or that he might be happy being single. “I’ll be there if I can.”

“No, Samuel. I won’t have you disappointing your mother, again. You will be there.”

And that, was that. Their conversations always ended the same way. With Brandt issuing orders and leaving the room, effectively halting anything Samuel might have had to say. His mother had been on a tear for the last several months about him needing to find the right girl and get married. The only problem with that plan was he and his mother often had different ideas of what made up the right girl.

She was looking for society. Samuel was looking for someone
not
in society. He wanted different. His mother wanted the woman Samuel chose to be perfect in looks, money, social standing, and family. He wanted imperfect in everything. Did he want to
marry
someone like that? He didn’t know, but what was certain was that the women his mother introduced him to as being everything he could possibly want, were never what he did, in fact, want or even like.

An image of Samantha popped into his head and he turned toward the window again. Was she dating someone? Did she work a lot and have little time for a social life? Was she plotting his demise because he wanted her building?

He smiled at his reflection, imagining all the possibilities of how she could kill him. Not that she had it in her to do any of them. She was too sweet, even when she was mad. He’d been joking earlier in the day when he accused her of having poisoned the sticky bun she gave him. She wouldn’t do something like that. She wouldn’t risk her sticky buns.

Just the thought of her amused him. He liked her and had from the first time he’d met her. The drive she had, the passion for her chosen profession. He admired the tenacity and sacrifices she had to make to be successful. She wasn’t shy or bashful by any stretch of the imagination. And she fought for what she believed, what she wanted.

He couldn’t date her because of their business dealings, but he sure wanted to. It would be a severe conflict of interest as he was still tasked with getting her to sell her storefront.

She wasn’t wrong in her assumptions of what would happen, either. There would be temporary jobs, at least for the next few years during construction, but once the condos were finished and available for occupancy, much of the floor space would remain vacant as many other office buildings and overpriced condominiums were. She was and would continue to be pissed. Rightly so, too.

Brandt never stopped to consider how his business proposals might affect the people he displaced. He only saw what it might bring or might do for the bottom line, not what might be lost in the process. Bigger and modern wasn’t always better for the community.

If Samuel really thought about, he didn’t know if there was anyone in the company who did assessments of any kind into what happened to the small businesses and their owners. Most of them likely couldn’t afford the rent that Brandt’s management company charged for the new office condos, store fronts, and apartments. Samantha did a solid amount of business each day, she sold out of sticky buns by the time she closed up shop, but she had high overhead costs with local and organic ingredients and in order to keep that kind of quality, she wouldn’t be able to afford space in the new building either. On top of that, Samuel wasn’t sure Brandt would allow her to rent space anyway.

Especially once Brandt learned of Samuel’s interest in Samantha. It wasn’t casual. It wasn’t as innocent as he’d tried to make himself believe just a few minutes ago. No, it was something primal, naughty. He wanted to cover her in the sticky caramel from her sticky buns and lick her from head to toe. He wanted to lay her out on the marble slab in her kitchen and devour her. He wanted to taste her, to find out if she was as sweet as the confections she made.

And on a more serious note, he wanted to protect her from Brandt. Samuel didn’t want to see Samantha hurt. He just wasn’t sure what to do about that yet.

Chapter Three

“Sam? You okay? When did you leave the house?”

The sound of her brother, Jackson’s voice startled her. The yelp echoed around the kitchen of The Sticky Cowgirl. “Jesus, Jacks. Give a girl a little warning next time, yeah?”

“You didn’t hear the hinges on the door squeak?”

She stuck her tongue out at him, but had no retort. She hadn’t heard the door. She wasn’t sure she’d have heard gunshots or a herd of cattle stampeding through the streets, either. She was lost in thought. Again. It seemed to be her favorite past time lately. She was always daydreaming, looking off into space.

She couldn’t keep this up because the situation with Turner Enterprises couldn’t continue much longer. It stressed her out and made her head hurt. It was distracting too.

Okay, so maybe the man they’d sent in to do their dirty work was the distraction.

Sam shook it off, but still managed to beat the piece of dough on the marble work surface into submission. Her sales had been through the roof since the last time Mr. Hot and Yummy had been in her bakery. She’d also introduced a new raspberry lemon sticky bun that seemed to be a big hit with her regulars. She’d been toying with the idea for several months as summer approached and it turned out she was right that the new flavor would work. It was bright and tart and sweet. If she didn’t think her grandmother would roll over in the family plot, Sam would say she liked the lemon better than the original.

“Sam?”

“Sorry. Lost in thought.”

“Seems to be a habit of yours lately.”

“Shut up.”

“Testy, too,” he remarked offhandedly. It still stung. She knew she was out of sorts and she knew why. The fact that it wasn’t all about the buying of her building just pissed her off even more. She was rankled, as her grandmother used to say. “How long have you been here?” Jackson asked, picking up a piece of dough and a rolling pin.

She eyed him. Jackson and dough never ended well. “Since two.” She wasn’t proud of the fact that she couldn’t settle down and rest. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Samuel eating the sticky bun and the look of pleasure on his face. She couldn’t help that she wanted that look directed at her, not at the gooey caramel on the fork.

“Sam, you need some sleep.”

“I’ll get some later. What are you doing here this early? Did you spend the night at Cass’ again?”

“Yeah. I was headed home to change.”

“You keep clothes there, though.”

“And I’m out of clean ones.” Jackson stood across from her doing his best. Bless his heart; he couldn’t get yeast dough to cooperate with him for anything. He was a menace in her kitchen if he was doing anything other than cutting the rolls to be proofed or pulling them out of the oven or glazing them. He was the one who’d come up with the lemon sugar glaze and he was incredible with taste. He just had this instinctive knowledge of what would or wouldn’t work in taste combinations. He knew what to use where and how. She still had to use recipes religiously and she was always asking him for his opinion on flavorings.

It was no wonder his cupcakes were such a hit.

“You still want to marry Cass?”

“Damn, sis. You make my head spin when you change subjects like that. I don’t know.”

Samantha waved his first comment off, but zeroed in on the second one. “What do you mean you don’t know? You’re crazy about her, Jacks and she’s just as crazy about you.”

“I know. It was just so sudden, so unexpected.”

“Well, yes, but some of the best things in life are.” She took the rolling pin away from him. “And speaking of the best things, you with a rolling pin isn’t one of them. Don’t you have some work of your own to do?”

“Not as much. I did a lot at Cass’. We worked late. I wanted to talk to you, though. I wanted to see how you’re doing. We’ve both been so busy lately that I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

She offered him a smile. “You don’t have to worry. He hasn’t been here in a week. Maybe they lost interest in little old me.” She didn’t have to say Samuel’s name for Jackson to know who she was talking about. Her confusion over the man wasn’t a secret from her brother.

“You really believe that?”

“I can hope.”

“You can. But, if you’re all right and don’t want my help, I’ll head out and get some sleep before the day starts.”

“Where’re y’all gonna be tonight?”

“Why? You comin’ to help?” When she stuck her tongue out at him, he laughed and flicked a little flour in her direction. “There’s a new club that opened last weekend and we finally got the manager to agree to showcase some of our cocktail cupcakes.”

“You’re gonna be out all night. Go home. I’m fine, Jacks. Promise. When I get done here, I’m going to head home for a nice long hot bubble bath then bed.”

Jackson rounded the end of the work table and kissed her on the top of the head. “If you’re sure.”

“I am. I’m going to the ranch tomorrow. It’s time to talk to Daddy, ask for some help. The silence from the goon is bothering me. Making me think they’re going to move on me and I won’t be ready.”

“Past time, but good. I’m glad you are. Want me to go with you?”

“No. Thanks, but no. I can do this myself.”

“Okay. I’m just a phone call away. And you know,” he said from the doorway, “I can always beat up the suit.”

When Jackson was gone, and Samantha was sure he wouldn’t walk back in, she beat the ever lovin’ hell out of the piece of dough she’d taken from him and let the tears fall. Baking always eased her stress levels but it wasn’t working anymore. She had the questionable hots for a man so far out of her league she couldn’t even laugh at the hilarity of it. He was trying to make her move from her comfort zone and start all over. Her business was hers and what she could count on. It was all hers and she controlled its fate as long as she followed all the rules and regulations. She’d done that since she first opened and now someone was trying to take it away from her.

Sure, there’d be enough money from the sale to open a shop twice as big as her current space and she’d be able to buy any other equipment she wanted. She was a whore for kitchen equipment, tools, and appliances. She’d be able to afford anything she wanted. But she didn’t want to move. She liked her small space and dammit, she wasn’t going to let Mr. Sex on a Stick in a Business Suit have it without a fight.

“Cryin’ over it isn’t going to accomplish anything, girl. Shake it off,” she told herself with a half smile. Whenever she had issues as a kid, that’s what her grandmother always told her. Shake it off and bake something. A big mess often ensued, but there was always a delicious dessert at the end of it. When all was said and done, her daddy and her brother were happy and smiling and she was feeling so much better than had she crawled away and cried.

She balled up the dough she’d been abusing and rolled it out with a little more finesse this time around and finished putting the batch of buns together. The raspberries and bits of sugared lemon were sprinkled through the center of the dough before she rolled them up and cut them into even slices. They were placed in a buttered and sugared pan and covered with plastic wrap. They would sit for a couple of hours to proof and she could bake them off when she returned.

And since she had some time to kill, she’d take a little walk. She grabbed the large Maglite from under the front counter and locked the door behind her. It was nearly dawn and the downtown river walk was still lit, but the flashlight was more for protection than for any light it would give off.

The flashlight’s nickname was Sam and was at least five pounds, if not seven or eight. It was as heavy as her marble rolling pin and if she swung and it connected with anyone, it’d hurt like hell.

She glanced at the business card she’d ripped from the shop’s bulletin board and verified the address while she waited to cross the street. The building she was looking for wasn’t but a few blocks away, although it was far enough she couldn’t see it behind the other buildings.

Flowers bloomed in planters along the sidewalks and the early morning traffic away from the river was light. She turned to the right and found the glass façade she was looking for at the other end of the block, on the corner. There was nothing overly spectacular about it, but when it was dark outside, the edges lit up, usually in white lights, but at certain times of the year, like Halloween or Christmas, the colors changed.

She’d never given a thought to the buildings downtown, how they came to at their current locations. With what she was going through currently, she couldn’t help but think about it now. What businesses had gone under for each one of the high rises to be built?

Outside The Worthington Building, Sam took a deep, less than fortifying breath. “Maybe no one will be in, yet,” she whispered to herself. She glanced to her left and right, then stepped forward.

“Can I help you miss?”

A security guard sat behind a desk, looking expectantly at her as she exited the rotating door. Sam hadn’t counted on a security desk. She should have.

Hell, she shouldn’t even be here. If she’d thought it through before she’d left her bakery, she’d… “I-I’m here to see Samuel Stevenson with Turner Enterprises.”

“Awfully early for a meeting,” he remarked. “Do you have an appointment, miss?”

No. “Yes. I ah… It was last minute. He asked me to bring over some of my new sticky buns. He’s thinking of having a breakfast catered.” The lies floated off her tongue with more ease than they should have.

He gave her a skeptical glance. “Sticky buns, huh? Mr. Stevenson —”

“Yes, sticky buns,” she said with confidence.
This
she could talk about.
This
she didn’t have to hem and haw over. She plastered on her best smile and held her hand out across the desk. “My name is Samantha Dawson. I own a bakery called The Sticky Cowgirl.”

His mouth broke out into a smile and his stern look vanished. “Oh yes. I’ve been in your little place. Down by the river, right? My wife is in love with the cinnamon buns you make. You know, they say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, but that was before they had a chance to meet my Mrs.”

“Yes, that’s me. And I have several new flavors celebrating summer. Raspberry lemon, strawberry lime, blueberry vanilla, blackberry lime.” Sam pulled one of the to-go containers out of one of the carry-out bags she’d filled before she left the store. She wanted to leave a taste for Samuel and his boss and anyone else he worked with so they could see why she was popular. She worked hard. Or rather, her grandmother’s recipe worked hard. “Here. Why don’t you take a sampler box home and see what she thinks.”

“Thank you. I’ll do that. She’ll be excited I met you. She raves to all her friends all the time and always sends me down when we have family come from out of town.”

Sam blushed. “I can’t believe we haven’t met before. Next time you come in, be sure to ask for me so I can say hi. May I go on up to see Mr. Stevenson?”

“Oh. Oh yes. Twenty-fifth floor.”

Samantha’s eyes widened. “How many floors are there?”

He winked at her. “Twenty seven.”

“Well, then. He must be pretty important,” she said flippantly.

“He’s the boss’s stepson and vice president.”

“Oh. Then yes, I would guess he is very important. Thank you so much. I hope your wife likes the new flavors.”

“I’m sure she will. Elevators are just around the corner to the left, there.”

With a nod and an uncertain smile, Samantha headed toward the elevator bank. Six elevators. Three on one side and three on the other. She pressed the up button and was surprised she didn’t have to wait but a split second for the doors of one to open. Once inside, she selected twenty-seven from the columns of floor numbers and tried to calm her racing heart as the car took her up.

It was a chance she took, arriving unannounced to see a man she didn’t want to like, who as it turned out was the vice president of the company she was fighting. As much as she accused Jacks of jumping first and asking questions later, she was much the same way sometimes. In no time, the elevator pinged and jolted to a stop. It was whisper quiet when the doors opened and she came face to face with the man she didn’t want to want, but who she wanted to crawl all over and screw six ways to Sunday.