The Bad Luck Wedding Cake (22 page)

He grinned, and his gentle, loving gaze found his wife, laughing as she twirled in the arms of Patrick Donovan. “It was the luckiest day of my life when she dumped me.”

After Lars, Claire danced with a number of customers, then rested for a time, conversing with the ladies. Relaxed and enjoying herself, she grinned at Lars, who had stopped in the middle of a dance to lay a lusty kiss on his blushing bride.

Then Claire’s pleasure ground to a halt with the arrival of her family—and the snake in a suit coat that slithered in with them.

“Look here, Claire,” said her da, his face wreathed in smiles. He gave the man beside him a hearty pat on the back. “Look who rode in on the morning train.”

She looked, all right. Looked and about lost the oysters she’d swallowed a moment ago. Must be the slime they have in common, she thought irreverently.

“He’s brought us good tidings,” John continued. “He’s managed to buy up our debts, and we’ll be able to get the company back. Isn’t this glorious news!”

Claire’s stomach went sour as Reid Jamieson took her hand. He lifted it to his mouth for a kiss as his gaze delved into hers, sending messages she couldn’t quite interpret. When she felt his lips touch her skin, it was all she could do not to jerk her hand away and wipe it on her skirt.

“Hello, love,” he said, his voice a husky drawl. “Fancy meeting you at a wedding reception.”

***

TYE PLUCKED a pickle from a tray on the serving table and plopped it in his mouth, ruefully observing the trouble Katrina was having choosing between the potato salad and baked beans. “Take a little of both, honey. You’re holding up the line.”

“That’s right.” Maribeth nudged her sister with an elbow. “You’d better get some and hurry up or you’ll miss out on the sweet potato pie.”

With that as a lure, Katrina skipped both the beans and the potato salad, leaving room on her plate for extra sweet potatoes. Tye knew she should eat more than one piece of roast beef and a stomach full of dessert that posed as a vegetable, but he simply didn’t have the heart to force the issue. This was the happiest he’d seen Katrina and her sisters in days, and he didn’t want to do or say anything that might dampen their spirits.

They’d come down with a severe case of missing their mama and papa.

Tye didn’t know what brought it on, but it sure had hit them hard. Kat came down with it first, waking up one night sobbing for Papa. After that the malady spread through the family like the chicken pox. Shoot, even he felt a twinge or two wishing Trace would come on home. Not that he didn’t enjoy his time with the Blessings, but truth be told, they had just about worn him out. Learning the truth about the girls’ business with the Magic and his subsequent call on Madam LaRue in the Acre still had him waking up with night sweats going on two weeks after the fact.

The witch had put a hex on him. He’d gone down to the Acre and given her the sharp side of his tongue for the better part of an hour. By the time he’d finished with her, she’d not only sworn never to give, sell, or otherwise distribute her wares to any person under the age of sixteen, she’d also found religion and sworn to lose twenty pounds to boot. But as he was leaving, she’d experienced a moment of bravery and done the deed. She’d predicted he’d tangle with a woman who would bring him to his knees. Each night ever since, he’d tussled with Claire Donovan in his dreams.

How was it, he wondered, that despite his never having taken her on that swimming trip, he dreamed of how she looked in dripping, detailed color damn near every time he closed his eyes? It was enough to make a man swear off sleep.

He felt bad about the way he’d talked to her. He sort of hoped he’d see her here today so he could apologize. Not that he didn’t mean most of what he’d said, but he could have said it nicer. And besides, once he said he was sorry, maybe he’d start getting some sleep at night.

The Blessings carried their laden plates to a table with their school friends while the string trio segued into a popular waltz. After helping the girls get settled, Tye dodged a gaggle of approaching women who had that “Lord McBride” look about them by sliding into the lone empty chair beside Lars Sundine. “Pretend to talk to me.”

“Is it lord season again?” the groom asked, looking decidedly unhappy for a man at his own wedding party.

“
Still
, and the hunting’s gotten worse than ever.” Tye gave his head a woeful shake. “Maybelle told me the Blessings had convinced most of the women in town that I was in love with your Loretta. Now they think I’m free again.”

Lars smirked. “And brokenhearted, too. They’ll be wanting the chance to heal you, all right.”

“With cream pies, it seems. I hate cream pies.”

For the next few minutes Tye questioned the Swede about his job at the bank and whether he’d continue working at the bakery now that he was a married man. His sudden interest in Lars’s life was mainly an effort to avoid accidentally catching a woman’s eye. When he finally thought it was safe to look away from the groom and glance around, he got his first good look at the centerpiece of the dessert table—the wedding cake.

Somehow he knew it was Claire’s work.

Well, hell. The girls can’t have any cake
. No matter what Claire said, he knew how Magic affected him, and he damn sure wasn’t going to let the Blessings have any. They’d be sore as blisters at him, but he couldn’t let that stop him. “Magic strikes again.”

Then the little voice of truth inside him whispered,
Be honest, McBride. It’s not the Magic that gets to you, it’s the woman herself.

“Did you say something?” Lars asked.

Tye shrugged, then gestured toward the table. “I’m surprised y’all haven’t already cut the wedding cake. We arrived late because the horny toads escaped their box and Maribeth wouldn’t leave home until we found them.”

Lars scowled and sipped his champagne. “So you didn’t hear the news?”

“What news?”

“The rumors about Claire’s cake,” he replied. “I could strangle John Donovan for bringing Reid here today of all days. The perfect day for him to spill his story. I can’t decide if John knew what he was doing or not. I’d like to doubt it, but…” he lifted his shoulders in a shrug.

“What the hell are you talking about, Sundine?”

Lars Sundine sighed and tossed back the rest of his champagne. “You didn’t hear the talk? All that nonsense about what a close call dear Loretta had today? How it was pure good luck she decided to wait until later than normal to cut the cake? Maybelle has sent word to the hotels and restaurants in town to deliver any cakes they might have on hand. My mother-in-law is beside herself with embarrassment, and my wife and I have had the first fight to break our wedded bliss.”

Tye couldn’t follow this conversation on a bet. “Embarrassment about what? I’m following only about half of what you’re saying. What are you talking about?”

“You haven’t heard about the—” he cleared his throat and sneered “—Bad Luck Wedding Cake?”

“The Bad Luck Wedding Cake?” Tye repeated.

Lars thumped his empty champagne glass, tipping it over. “That’s what folks here in town are calling it. They’re saying Claire shouldn’t have risked Loretta’s and my happiness. I swear I want to box the ears of each and every one of these superstitious fools.”

Tye narrowed his eyes. “Does this have something to do with this fiancé person?”

“How did you guess.” Lars made a fist with his right hand and stared at it. “He needs more than his ears boxed, I’m telling you. I’m just about drunk enough to do it, too.” After a slight pause he added, “Loretta threatened to sleep at her mother’s house tonight. She didn’t like me defending Claire.”

“I’ll take over that job, I promise. You can keep your bride happy.” Tye reached over and set Sundine’s glass upright, then motioned for one of the waiters to come refill it. “But first you have to tell me the story. And start at the beginning so I can follow it this time.”

Sundine nodded sadly. “It’s that damned Reid Jamieson. I can’t believe he fooled us all. Everyone but Claire, that is. He’s the one who told Wilhemina Peters, and telling Wilhemina is telling everybody.”

“What did the son of…what did Jamieson say!”

“He told Wilhemina about the Bad Luck Wedding Cake. Actually, of course, it’s a Donovan’s Magical Wedding Cake. Do you know the story, McBride? The cakes have become quite famous in recent years, not only because they taste so delicious, but because of the legend.”

“I’ve heard some talk about it, but I don’t remember exactly what.”

Lars brushed a butterfly off his sleeve and continued, “One of Claire’s ancestors wrote in a journal that the marriages of those couples who served a Magical Cake at their weddings appeared to be blessed with an extra measure of happiness and prosperity. Well, Reid shows up here at my reception saying Claire broke the enchantment when she left him standing at the altar. Now everyone thinks the Magical Cakes are bewitched, that they are bad luck for brides and grooms and even for the Donovan family. They say the Donovans lost their business because of the Magical Wedding Cakes, not because of ill-considered business loans.”

“And—” Tye spat the name “—Reid Jamieson spread this story around?”

“Yes. Around Fort Worth, anyway. The news has already spread up and down the coast. And the people of Fort Worth bought into the idea.”

Tye nodded. “They would. They’re the ones who embraced the idea of a Bad Luck Wedding Dress, after all.”

Lars lifted his glass to eye level and stared over the top. “So what happened to the Bad Luck Wedding Dress?”

“Jenny turned it into the Good Luck dress,” Tye replied. He rubbed his hand slowly across his jaw. “That’s what Claire will need to do. She’ll need to somehow reverse the appearance of bad luck.”

“And Reid thinks he knows just the way to do it, curse him.” Lars flicked his wrist and drained his glass. “I’m hoping Claire will come up with something better. She might. She’s pretty smart and she sure as hell doesn’t want to do what Reid wants her to do.”

“And what’s that?” Tye asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.

“Ruin Claire’s life, to my way of thinking.” Lars propped both elbows on the table then rested his chin in his hands. “He said he’s come to give her a second chance.

Tye’s throat went suddenly tight. “A second chance?”

Lars nodded. “Reid said he and Claire are rescheduling their wedding.”

Bad Luck rides a black horse
.

CHAPTER 13

STANDING IN THE KITCHEN at Donovan’s Confectionary, Claire would have covered her ears with her hands had they not been sticky with bread dough. The clan was at it again.

She stared vacantly at the dust motes that danced in the sunshine beaming through the alley window and shuddered. In the front of the store her parents and brother planned out her future in loud, argumentative tones. Thank heavens Patrick had taken Reid over to the Cosmopolitan hotel to get a room. Claire couldn’t bear the thought of trying to hash all this out in front of her former fiancé.

“Not a single customer since the ladies took to whispering about Claire’s Bad Luck Wedding Cake,” Peg Donovan said, clicking her tongue. “This isn’t good.”

“No it’s not,” Brian declared. “She should be glad Reid is still willing to wed her.”

Her father observed, “The question on the table is, Will she marry him? We thought he was a good match for her a few months back, and I tend to think he’s an even better match for her today. He’s handsome, prominent, and he can hold his whiskey.”

There was a moment of silence while the Donovan family agreed on the importance of the last characteristic.

“I don’t know, John,” Peggy said. “Have you looked at your daughter lately? That headstrong set to her face hasn’t gone away. We need to listen to what she has to say about this.”

Brian piped up. “Well, she can just be a stubborn old jenny. She can bray all the way to the altar if she wants, but she has to marry Reid.”

“Brian Michael,” her mother scolded. “Don’t call your sister a mule.”

Claire kneaded her bread dough with added vigor. They thought she’d been stubborn of late? “Just wait,” she murmured softly. “Just you wait.”

“You know, Claire doesn’t have to do anything,” Peggy continued, the lone voice of reason in the group. “This is her life that we’re talking about. I wonder if we shouldn’t let her live it the way she wants.”

“It’s all our lives,” her father snapped back. “Let me remind you that when Claire bolted on Reid, it destroyed the Magical Wedding Cake’s reputation and that destroyed our business. By buying up our debts and offering Claire an opportunity to restore the cake’s image, he is giving this entire family another chance. If Reid is family, then the Donovan Baking Company will be back where it belongs, in the family.”

With that, Claire’s hands stilled and an uneasy sensation fluttered in her stomach.

“But Da,” Brian protested.

“No ‘buts’ about it, Son. You want to marry your Cynthia, don’t you? Patrick wants to tie the knot with his Eloise. What’s been standing in your way? A way to support them, that’s what. It doesn’t have to be that way any longer. We won’t have to rebuild our company almost from scratch with this little store here. You heard Reid. He needs us. Revenues have fallen way off in the bakeries.”

Claire’s gaze shifted to the bottles of Magic lining the shelves.

In the outer room Brian said, “That’s because they’ve run out of Magic. Magic is what made Donovan Baking Company products so special.”

“You are exactly right,” John agreed. “And we—the Donovan family—are the only ones who know the recipe to make Magic. That’s why Reid will return us to the helm at Donovan Baking Company. It’ll be just like before.”

Claire’s movements were slow as she rolled her dough into a big ball and put it in a bowl to rise. She covered the bowl with a clean tea towel as Brian said glumly, “No it won’t, Da. This time we’ll be working for Reid instead of ourselves.”

“We’ll be working for family,” John insisted. “Reid will be one of us.”

“Only if Claire marries him,” Peggy pointed out. “I’m not certain she should. He didn’t have to repeat the talk about the bad luck cake, you know.”

“A slip of the tongue,” John defended. “And of course she’ll marry him. She’ll do it for the family.”

Plunging her hands into a basin of wash water, Claire grimaced at her father’s words.

Brian said, “She didn’t do it for the family before.”

“That’s because she didn’t know what her actions would cost us. Your sister is a Donovan and Donovans stick together. She won’t let us down.”

She won’t let us down
. The words echoed in her mind as she wiped her clean hands dry with a towel, then with heavy steps walked into the outer room. No one even noticed. They continued to debate the question as if she wasn’t there. Claire smiled at the irony of it. This was the Donovan family in action. It had been this way all her life. Nothing had changed.

But she had changed. She had that backbone now, for one thing. She had learned to take a stand for what she wanted. She’d had a taste of freedom and she darn well liked it. The thought of giving up made her queasy.

But the thought of refusing her family in their time of need made her shudder in shame.

The Donovan Confectionary’s greeting bell rang and Claire had never heard a more welcome sound. She twisted her head to identify her customer, but instead of calling out a salutation, she bit back a groan. Just what she needed.

Tye McBride.

But the Menaces’ uncle did the strangest thing. He sauntered up to the counter and ordered every cinnamon roll in the case. Claire’s mouth dropped open in shock.

“For the nuns across the street,” he muttered, tossing money on the counter. He then accepted the boxed rolls from her mother and left without another word.

Once Claire got over the strangeness of the event, she breathed a sigh of relief. Thankfully, his visit had interrupted a conversation she was not prepared to have—not yet, anyway.

Following Tye’s departure, and obviously believing the marriage question settled, John Donovan turned his attention to the Donovan Baking Company. Soon he sent Brian off with instructions to check on this supplier, then that piece of equipment.

By the time Tye returned to the bakery some twenty minutes after purchasing the cinnamon rolls, only Claire and her parents remained at the shop. This time he bought lemon tarts for the Baptist preacher’s family and a pecan pie for the Methodist minister.

On his third appearance, he ordered cookies for the residents of Miss Rachel’s Social Emporium, then casually inquired after her parents.

“They had an appointment elsewhere.”

“You’re alone?”

Claire hesitated only a moment before nodding.

“Good. Then cancel the cookie order and fry me up a steak and eggs, would you?” He pulled a chair away from a table and straddled it “I didn’t get a chance to eat at Loretta’s party, and I’m hungry enough to eat an armadillo on the half shell.”

Claire dropped the box of ginger snaps on the counter hard enough to break them. “Why are you really here, McBride? It’s not because you are hungry, I know.”

He frowned defensively. “I am too hungry.”

“Then why didn’t you go to Delmonico’s or another restaurant?” Her tone grew louder with every word, and she was only warming up. She’d been spoiling for a fight for hours now. “Why did you come to a bakery and order steak and eggs when I have never served them to you, despite your having ordered them every single morning when you lived upstairs?”

“Excuse me, Miss Donovan,” he drawled and gestured toward the empty room. “Under the circumstances, don’t you think this interrogation is a bit out of place? I would think you’d be grateful for every customer you get.”

Then suddenly, to her distress, tears stung at the backs of her eyes. Blinking them away, she ignored his protest and asked again, “Why are you here, Tye? Are you happy my reputation is in the process of being ruined? Did you come to gloat?”

He muttered a curse, shoved to his feet, and headed for the door. Halfway there, he stopped. “I didn’t come to gloat.” Slowly he faced her, his eyes snapping with angry confusion. “I don’t know why I came, all right? I just wanted…I needed…I don’t know. I thought I’d better check on you.”

Beneath a flush of embarrassment, Claire felt a little surge of pleasure. He’d worried about her. Even after that scene between them about the Magic, he’d cared enough to check on her. It was a soothing balm to the wound her family had given this day.

She brushed some imaginary dust off her sleeve and said, “If you want to take a seat, I’ll see to your order.”

For a minute, she didn’t think he’d stay. Then slowly, he lifted his arm and took off his hat, and at once her heart felt lighter. She saw him settled at a table with coffee and a newspaper, then slipped out the back door and cut across the alley to the butcher’s, where she purchased the thickest steak he had cut. A short time later, she set the sizzling meat and steaming eggs in front of Tye and waited for him to comment about the food. Instead, he folded his paper, set it aside, and picked up his silverware. “Join me,” he said, pointing to an empty chair with his fork.

“I should probably mix up a cookie dough.”

“Why?” He gestured toward the display case. “Looks like you have plenty to me already. You’re not exactly swamped with work here today.”

She sank into the seat. “That’s because my customers are all at Maybelle Davis’s eating my pies and tarts for free.”

He rolled his tongue around his cheek. “They’re not eating your cake, though, are they?”

That observation drove her back onto her feet. For something to do, she refilled his glass of water. Like a good hostess she asked, “How is your steak?”

“Delicious.”

It all got the better of her, then, and she set the pitcher down hard on the table. “Delicious? I’ll show you delicious. Delicious is that wedding cake in Maybelle’s backyard.” She slumped into a seat beside him.

He forked a slice of steak into his mouth and studied her thoughtfully as he chewed. He swallowed, sipped his water, and said, “You want to talk about it?”

“No. Yes.” Swiping her finger across the ring of moisture his glass left on the table, she said, “You heard what happened?”

“The girls and I went to the reception, but we were late and you had already left when we arrived. I saw the cake, Claire. It was pretty.”

A sad smile fluttered at her lips. “It was the first wedding cake I’d ever baked and it wasn’t just pretty. It was beautiful. Perfect.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t get to taste it.” The man sounded like he meant it. Sometimes life truly took a strange twist.

Claire looked up at the ceiling. “What are you doing here, McBride? Why are you being nice? I thought you hated me now. I imagined you’d be out there castigating me along with the rest of Fort Worth.”

He set down his fork. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“About the Bad Luck Wedding Cake?”

He looked away, focusing on the street outside. His profile drew her gaze. All angles and pride, with a raw masculine air. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he spoke. “I said some pretty ugly things to you the other day. I’m sorry.”

Her mouth twisted. “You mean ‘I’m sorry I was wrong’?”

“I mean I’m sorry I said them.” He drew a deep breath and exhaled loudly. Abruptly he pinned her with his stare. “Lars told me your fiancé showed up at his party.”

She leaned back in her chair. “He just thinks he’s my fiancé. But then, my family thinks so, too, so maybe I’m the one who is wrong.” She chuckled without amusement. “Yes, Reid arrived just in time to spread the word about Donovan’s Not-So-Magical Wedding Cakes. I swear if he walked through that door right now I’d let fly with a pie.”

“Cream or fruit?”

“Something sticky.”

Tye dragged a napkin across his mouth, then pushed back away from the table. “This town is exceptionally superstitious, Claire. My sister-in-law learned that the hard way. She made it work for her, though, and I don’t see why you couldn’t do it, too.”

“McBride, if you agree with my family and tell me I have to marry Reid Jamieson, I’m going to find a special pie for your pretty face.”

His mouth slashed a grin. “You think I’m pretty?”

She pointedly eyed the display case.

He reached over and squeezed her hand. “I’m not gonna tell you to marry anyone. That’s not what I meant.”

“Then explain yourself.”

Abruptly he stood, gathered up his plate and utensils, and carried them back to the kitchen, speaking to her over his shoulder as he went “You don’t love him, Claire. You wouldn’t have kissed me like you did if you loved him.”

Recalling the passion that had sizzled through her body with his kiss, Claire closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead with her thumb and forefinger. What did love have to do with anything? This wasn’t a question of love, not romantic love anyway. Familial love was what had her backed up against a hot oven.

She thought of Patrick and Brian and the women they wished to marry. She recalled how her mother hummed while concocting new recipes in her kitchen. She pictured Da poring over the business’s books, cackling with glee when he discovered a transposed number. All of them—always working, giving their best toward the betterment of the family. Just because they and Claire had different goals didn’t detract from their efforts.

Claire stood and followed Tye into the kitchen. “There are different kinds of love, McBride.”

He slid his empty plate into the dishwater. “True enough. But only one kind is worth marrying for.”

She folded her arms. “And who made you the expert? Last time I looked, you didn’t have a wife.”

“Exactly.” He propped a hip on her worktable and sat casually swinging his foot. “I haven’t found that marrying kind of love. Maybe I never will.”

“Then how can you presume to offer me advice on the subject?”

An emotion—something deep and dark and painful— flashed in his eyes. Then he said flatly, “Believe me, Claire, tying the knot with anything less than that kind of love is asking for trouble. I know. I’ve seen it firsthand.”

“You’ve alluded to this before. What’s your story, Tye?”

For a long moment he studied her, saying nothing. “I let myself get caught up in some ugliness between a man and his wife. I was dead wrong to do it, and I’m not making excuses. I just believe the trouble never would have happened if they’d truly loved each other.”

“What trouble? What did you do?”

“Does it matter?”