The Bad Luck Wedding Cake (7 page)

***

ONE FLOOR above the bakery in the parlor of the apartment, Emma McBride lifted her eye from the spy hole and rolled back on her knees. She looked at her sisters. “Have you ever seen a prettier man?”

Maribeth snorted and replaced the woven rug that concealed her own listening post. “I don’t like him. Miss Donovan seems kinda nice and he got her all upset.”

Katrina sat next to Maribeth and the peephole they had shared, carefully inspecting the old rag doll she’d discovered beneath the horsehair sofa as she lay waiting for her turn to spy. She tugged a hunk of cotton from inside the doll’s amputated arm. Rubbing the cotton on the tip of her nose, she observed, “Our Mama had a Bad Luck Wedding Dress, and now Miss Donovan has a Bad Luck Wedding Cake. It’s a good thing she’s leaving, or she might try to give one to Uncle Tye and Miss Loretta. Just because Mama’s dress turned into a good luck dress doesn’t mean that lady’s cake would change, too. Even if it is magic.”

Emma shared a long-suffering look with her middle sister. Recently Kat had developed a fascination with magic and had made it her goal in life to discover how to make objects disappear. Green peas, in particular. “Kat, we have a few problems to solve concerning Uncle and Miss Loretta before we can get to the wedding cake part.”

“That’s right,” Maribeth agreed. “We didn’t skip school today to spy on Miss Donovan. We did it to think of a way to make up for what happened at supper with Miss Loretta. Otherwise, she’ll never want to marry Uncle Tye.”

Kat shook her head. “I can’t believe you forgot you had a lizard in your pocket, Mari.”

“I can’t believe he liked gravy so much.” Maribeth glumly propped her chin in the palm of her hand. “But Larry Lizard isn’t our only problem. Don’t forget the ladies’ parades. What are we going to do about that?”

Emma joined her sisters in expelling a heavy sigh. They all were discouraged. Following Larry Lizard’s running splash into the gravy boat, Uncle Tye had actually scolded them. He’d been grumpy all day yesterday and today brought no improvement, although Emma blamed the women callers for that.

“Isn’t it strange how Uncle Tye is so much like Papa?” she observed. “They not only look the same, they get grumpy the same.”

“No, they don’t,” Kat said, rolling her cotton into a small ball. “I don’t think Uncle Tye is the same as Papa at all. He hardly ever gets after us. He never growls, and he doesn’t glare. Why, if Papa had been the one to have a bowl of hot gravy dumped in his lap, we’d still be sitting in the corner. Uncle Tye hardly did more than wince and rub his eyes.”

“He does that a lot,” Maribeth agreed.

Emma stood and walked to the window. “Uncle Tye’s being like Papa might help us figure a way to help him past this temper of his. I think we should work on him before fixing things with Miss Loretta, don’t you?”

The younger girls nodded. “We are around him a lot more than we’re around Miss Loretta,” Mari added.

Kat crawled over beside Emma and stuck her cotton ball behind the window hinge. “Stop that, Kat,” Emma scolded, grabbing the cotton and tossing it outside. “I’m getting tired of finding cotton stuck in hidey holes all over the house. What’s wrong with you?”

Scowling, Katrina stood and stared out the window after her cotton. “Look. Miss Donovan and that man are locking up and leaving. I guess she is going home early.”

“What are we gonna do about Uncle Tye, Emma?” Maribeth asked, ignoring her younger sister.

Emma drummed her fingers on the windowsill. “I think we should ask Spike what we should do.”

Her sisters nodded, and the three girls traipsed upstairs to their bedroom where Spike the fortune-teller perch swam in his home of clear glass. While Emma used one of Maribeth’s socks to wipe dust off a two foot square on the floor, they discussed the options they wished to pose to Spike, settling on three possibilities.

“So,” Maribeth said, rolling up her sleeve. “Are we ready?”

“I’m not.” Katrina’s brow furrowed in a frown. “Tell me again what the rules are?”

Emma groaned while Maribeth said, “Gosh, Kat. Can’t you remember anything? How many times have we asked Spike questions since Casey gave him to us? A hundred?”

“Not that many.”

Maribeth ticked off on her fingers. “Moving tail only means maybe. Moving head and tail means no. Flip-flopping means yes. Now, Emma you ask the questions.” Maribeth plunged her hand into the fishbowl, grabbed hold of Spike, and lifted him out of the water.

While Maribeth held the squirming fish with both hands, Emma chanted, “Spike, Spike, tell us true. Tell us what we ought to do. Do we tell Uncle Tye we’re sorry and want to do penance by working in the church garden with Sister Gonzaga?”

All three girls held their breath as Maribeth gently laid Spike on the floor. The fish curled in the middle, lifting both head and tail off the floor. The answer was no.

“Thank you, Lord,” Emma prayed as Maribeth lifted the fish and returned him to the water.

They allowed the fish to swim a few moments before Katrina said, “Next question, Em.”

“Spike, Spike, tell us true. Tell us what we ought to do. Do we try to sweet-talk Uncle Tye into forgetting about our slipup?”

Droplets of water splattered on the wood as Maribeth again lowered the perch to the floor. For a moment he lay unmoving, but then his tail slowly lifted.

“That’s a definite maybe,” Maribeth observed.

Emma repeated the rote for the third and final question. “Should we bake Uncle Tye a dessert?”

The second Spike hit the floor, he started flopping.

“That’s it!” Katrina clapped her hands. “He said yes. Spike said yes. No tie-breaker this time.”

“Thank goodness,” said Maribeth, returning Spike to his bowl for a well-earned rest. “It took us seven tries to break the tie last time. I was afraid he would get sick. Perch are hardy fish, but we shouldn’t overwork him.”

Twirling a pigtail with her finger, Emma smiled with satisfaction. “This is good. I think that’s the best choice. We’re no different from all those ladies lining up with cakes and stuff. They all wanted to please Uncle Tye, too.”

“He didn’t complain about the food,” Maribeth said, wiping her hands on the bedspread. “Just the women. He liked the food.”

“Except the turkey.” Katrina kissed the side of the fishbowl. “He doesn’t like turkey. And he wished someone had brought a chocolate cake, remember?”

The girls all shared a look and nodded.

“So it’s settled, then. We’ll get back in Uncle Tye’s good graces with a chocolate cake.” Emma smiled triumphantly. “And so we won’t make a mess that might make him sigh and rub his eyes, we’ll bake it in Miss Donovan’s kitchen!”

***

TYE McBRIDE stood on the platform at the railroad station where he’d just said his good-byes to the attorney from Dallas who had overseen Tye’s acquisition of a pretty stretch of ranch land southwest of town. “Guess I’m now officially a Texan.”

It was something he never would have imagined when he left South Carolina and Oak Grove plantation a few months back. Back then, he and Trace were still the bitterest of enemies, battling over the custody of the daughter each man believed was his own.

Today, everything was different.

He had learned Katrina truly did belong to Trace, and he and his twin had made their peace. Trace had welcomed him back into his life, even going so far as to request that Tye act as guardian for the girls while he was gone.

That’s what had made Tye first consider trading his planter’s hat for a cowboy chapeau. The years of his estrangement from his twin had twisted his heart near in two. He wanted to spend time with Trace again. To strengthen the bond that had never quite severed, even during the worst of times.

Funny how it was with twins. All their lives they’d shared this strange connection; a deep, subconscious knowledge of each other that was as much a part of them as their hearts or livers or lungs. He’d felt it even when the guilt of betraying Trace had driven him to Europe and into the depths of drunken stupor.

Now that the ugliness was behind them, he looked forward to the good times he could share with Trace, Jenny, and the Blessings. But to do that, he needed to live in Texas, at least part of the time.

Thank goodness he didn’t have to worry about Oak Grove. His sisters and his grandmother would oversee planting and harvest. A trip back East two or three times a year should be all that was needed.

Hell, maybe he’d even sign the deed over to his sister Ellen and her husband. Heaven knows, he didn’t need the money the plantation produced. “That’s the one good thing that came out of this idiotic inheritance,” he grumbled, ducking behind a support pole when he spied a familiar feminine face.
I think she brought the fried apple pie
.

Had he not turned away from the fried-apple-pie brunette, he might never have seen the blonde in a bonnet planting a kiss on the lips of a big, brawny stranger.

What was Claire Donovan up to now?

Good Lord, she was handing him a cookie. A kiss and a cookie. That must be like a double dose of Magic. Who the hell was this guy?

Tye eyed the stranger closely. The man was backing away from Claire. Good. He wouldn’t have wanted to go break up an intimate encounter atop the baggage cart.

But he would have.

Protecting my fellow man, he told himself. That’s all. Hadn’t she in effect lied about the fiancé? Hadn’t she proved herself to be less than honorable where men were concerned? She’d left this poor Jamieson fellow standing lonely at the altar, for God’s sake.

And then there was the Magic business. Intellectually, he questioned whether aphrodisiacs truly existed, but physically, he couldn’t deny the symptoms. Claire Donovan’s Magic made him randy as a billy goat in spring. He could only hope the brew didn’t have a similar effect on everyone. Otherwise, Fort Worth could look forward to a population explosion once she had her bakery up and running.

That was the excuse he gave himself for spying on the cookie queen and her masculine escort. He realized only after the man climbed aboard the departing train and Claire remained behind that he’d been holding his breath. That made him angry. Why did he care what Claire Donovan did? And why the hell had he been awake half the night stewing about the woman? She was nothing more than an appealing, unattached, so-beautiful-she-made-your-teeth-ache
lady
. He’d sworn off the likes of those the day Constance West McBride lied her way into his bed.

Yesterday afternoon everything had changed. She wasn’t his friend. She couldn’t be his friend. He knew that.

So why was it that now, as the engine slowly crawled away in a strain of gears and a cloud of black smoke, his feet carried him toward her? “Hello, Claire. Whatcha doing down here at the station?”

She looked up in surprise. “Why, hello, Tye.”

She had tears in her eyes, dammit. She was crying over that stranger.

“So who was he? Another fiancé?”

“Excuse me?”

“The man you were kissing. Is he someone you’ve dumped at the altar or just another poor fool you are using?”

The confusion in her expression faded and was replaced by anger as she glanced from Tye, to the departing train, then back to Tye. “You were spying on me? I can’t believe you. If you don’t have a nerve.”

Her fingers tightened around the strings of her pocket-book, and for just a moment he thought she might swing it at him. Instead, she pushed past him, marching toward the street.

Tye stayed where he was; as he watched her leave, fuming. And wondering why it even mattered. Claire Donovan was nothing to him but his brother’s tenant. Someone he’d simply passed a few hours with. Why did he care that she proved to be no different from the rest?

Come on, McBride
, his conscience scolded.
Who’s the liar now? You can’t compare dumping a fiancé with the evil that Constance concocted. Be fair
.

Fair. Well, hell.

How could he be fair? Hadn’t Constance fooled him? Hadn’t she been slick enough and convincing enough and dazzling enough to make him believe vicious, terrible lies about his very own brother? Lies he should have known were false? Trace McBride would never hit a woman, especially not the mother of his children. He hadn’t even hit her that night in the cabin when he’d been mad enough to kill. Shooting her had been an accident; he’d been aiming his gun at Tye.

Tye didn’t truly think Claire was anything like Constance. Claire Donovan struck him as forthright and honest—for the most part, anyway. But was he fooling himself again?

Could be. She’d admitted to running away from home, stealing her dowry money, and leading him to believe she was still engaged to be married. And then there was the Magic. If that wasn’t trickery and deceit in a bottle, he didn’t know what was. Could be Claire Donovan had him snowed. Could be she had him thinking with something other than his brain. Just like Constance had done.

Or she could be just the fine, upstanding woman he wanted to think she was.

Tye scowled and kicked at a loose rock, sending it clattering across the platform. This was one of those gray areas he had so much trouble with. This was why he needed to stay away from ladies.

And damn it all, he didn’t want to stay away from Claire Donovan.

Muttering beneath his breath, he said, “If you have a brain above your belt, McBride, you’ll keep the hell away from her.”

Instead he spat a curse, shoved his hands in his pockets, and followed her.

She was halfway up Main Street when he caught up with her and fell in step beside her. She shot him a molten look and the scowl he returned was pure defense. “Look at it from my point of view, Claire. Due to a certain tomato war and the proximity of your shop and my apartment, chances are better than good you’ll be spending some time with the Blessings. Those girls are in my charge. It’s my duty to ascertain the character of those who make their acquaintance. I saw you puckering up with a strange man, and I felt I should investigate. I’m only doing my job as their guardian.”

She rolled her eyes and waved a hand. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter. I have bigger things to worry about than being followed around town by an overprotective uncle.”