The Bad Luck Wedding Cake (2 page)

“Magic. Magic?” He strode toward the workbench. “Sounds like a cat’s name. You cooked a cat?”

“Cat?” Even in her pique Claire couldn’t help but notice the bunch of muscles in his thighs as he crouched down to peer beneath the table. After all, the red hearts embroidered around the hem naturally drew her gaze.

“Well, something died,” he stated flatly, reaching a gentle hand toward the sleeping puppy, scratching him behind his floppy ears.

The man’s stomach muscles rippled like Great-grandmother Gertrude’s washboard.

Face flaming, Claire jerked her attention away from the stranger and slapped the knife down onto the cutting board. She picked up her hot pads and shifted the soup pot back onto the fire before folding her arms and saying, “I killed a cabbage, sir, not a cat. I killed a cauliflower, too.”

For a long moment, he didn’t reply. Then he twisted his head and grinned up at her, an entirely different person from the harried man who’d barged into her kitchen a few confusing moments earlier. Wicked amusement danced in his eyes, and his smile…well, it made Claire’s knees go a bit weak.

Lifting the puppy from its makeshift bed, a basket and blanket Claire had provided upon discovering the canine in her kitchen when she arrived at the shop that morning, he cuddled it against his broad, bare chest and slowly stood. “So you’re the one the sheriff has been searching for.”

“Pardon me?”

“I doubt it. Probably get ten years to life in Huntsville prison. Be a right shame, too, if you ask me. Your eyes are too pretty to be looking out from behind bars. Reminds me of the blue in the Texas sky on a rain-washed morning. Too bad you had to turn out to be the one.”

If Claire had been flustered before, now she was downright addled. “What one?”

“The vegetable killer, of course. Tell me, do you limit yourself to “C” plants, or have you branched out, included a squash, or tomato or two?” He eyed the soup pot suspiciously. “I wouldn’t be surprised to learn you stalked broccoli, to tell you the truth.”

The absurdity of the entire scene struck her then, and she started to laugh. “Well, that takes care of me, I’m the vegetable killer. So who are you?” She gave him a sweeping, pointed gaze. “A refugee from one of the sin parlors in the Acre?”

He glanced down and winced. “I was in a hurry to save the mutt, here. Grabbed the first thing I came across. Emma gave these drawers to me yesterday. She’s trying to teach herself to follow in her mama’s footsteps.”

“I hesitate to even wonder as to Emma’s mother’s occupation,” Claire said dryly.

He muttered something beneath his breath, shoved the dog at her, and strode from the room. Five minutes later he was back, dressed in brown twill pants and buttoning a blue chambray shirt as he entered the kitchen. He rattled off his explanation in crisp, concise sentences. “I’m Tye McBride, your landlord’s brother. The puppy is a gift for my nieces, one of whom is Emma. Her mother is my brother’s wife, Jenny McBride, who I assume you know is the extremely talented designer who owns the dress shop next door. My nieces have a tendency to tumble into trouble, so when I woke to find the pup missing from my room and a godawful smell coming from downstairs, I naturally assumed they’d gotten into more mischief. But I checked when I went upstairs to dress and they’re still in their beds asleep. Now, that explains me. How about you?”

With his rapid recital, the situation fell into place for her. “You’re the relative caring for the McBride Menaces while their parents honeymoon.”

He frowned. “I know the reputation my nieces have here in town, but I prefer a different term—Blessings. They are the McBride Blessings, Miss…?”

Claire felt a rush of warmth toward Tye McBride that went beyond her reaction to his handsomeness, and she smiled. The girl who’d grown up to the moniker Calamity Claire appreciated his sentiment more than he could ever know. She wiped her hand on her apron then extended it “Claire Donovan. I rented this shop space the day before your brother left on his trip.”

He shook her hand, but his brows arched and his tone held a doubtful note as he asked, “You’re the baker?”

“Yes.”

He considered that a moment, then asked, “You intend to make food and sell it from this shop?”

Her appreciation faded at the doubt she heard in his voice. She snatched her hand away from him. “You have a problem with that?”

He rubbed his palm across his jaw, then gestured toward the pot of Magic. “I’ve made the acquaintance of men who drove cattle from here to Wichita, never once washing their clothes. I have to tell you, ma’am, their socks had nothing on your brew here when it comes to perfume. I just hope the stuff tastes better than it smells, that’s all.”

Claire wasn’t offended. The making of Magic was an odorous undertaking. Shrugging, she walked over to the large earthenware jar that sat on her worktable. Lifting the lid with one hand, she gestured with the other. “Molasses cookies. Help yourself.”

“Is it safe?”

She challenged him with her smile.

He cocked his head and clicked his tongue. “I purely hate looking like a coward to a woman whose hair is the exact golden color of a West Texas sunset.” He approached her and standing close—too close—reached a hand into the jar and drew out a sweet. His gaze never left hers as he took a small bite of the cookie. Immediately, his eyes widened. Then they drifted shut. He chewed slowly, swallowed, and dropped to one knee. “Miss Donovan.” He took her hand. “Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

A gasp, a squeal, and a screech sounded from behind her.

“This is wonderful!” a girl’s voice exclaimed. “Just what we hoped for.”

A different voice. “Yippie! Another family wedding! No animals this time, Uncle Tye. We promise!”

Claire whirled around just as a third girl spoke. “Wait a minute. We’ve made a mistake. The hair color fooled us!” She pointed dramatically toward Claire. “Look, sisters. That’s not her. That’s not Loretta Davis!”

It’s bad luck to break an egg against the rim of a coffee cup.

CHAPTER 2

TYE CLIMBED TO HIS feet, tilted his face toward the ceiling, and closed his eyes. Wouldn’t they ever leave it alone?

Upon the heels of their matchmaking success the previous year with their father and the former Miss Jenny Fortune, the McBride Blessings had turned their matchmaking attentions in his direction. God help him, they were plumb wearing him out.

He had extended his visit to Texas from his home in South Carolina at his brother’s request. When Trace asked Tye to share the childcare burden with the part-time housekeeper, Mrs. Wilson, while he and his bride took a much-delayed honeymoon, he’d swallowed his uncertainty and agreed to help.

Tye had been happy to do his brother a good turn. He owed his twin big, and besides, he truly loved the Blessings. He’d give his life for any one of them. A time or two in the weeks since Trace and Jenny’s departure, he’d worried it might come to that. He had never been particularly comfortable with heights, and fetching Katrina off the sharply sloped roof at Willow Hill had reinforced the feeling.

For the first two weeks they’d managed just fine because the girls had behaved like perfect angels. He should have known it wouldn’t last. Once the dew dried off the rosebud, so to speak, their gift of good behavior evaporated, too. When Mrs. Wilson’s daughter broke her leg in a riding accident and summoned the housekeeper to Dallas, leaving Tye to deal with the Blessings alone, the situation deteriorated. The girls erupted into full-blown mischievousness.

That’s where the puppy had come in. Tye was desperate for ways to occupy their time. Ways to distract them from their matchmaking.

His dear, darling nieces had made it their goal to find a bride for their Uncle Tye—whether he wanted one or not. They chose the daughter of a local doctor, Loretta Davis, as their other victim. Tye was still dealing with the storm they’d started the previous week when they’d mailed Loretta love letters signed in his name.

Summoning his patience, he lowered his gaze and pinned his brother’s daughters with a stern look. “Girls, I thought we agreed the word ‘wedding’ belonged on the demerit list.”

“But Uncle Tye,” seven-year-old Katrina protested. “That’s not fair. We talked it over. It’s not a naughty word. Not like—”

Maribeth, age nine, slapped a hand over her younger sister’s mouth. “Hush, Kat. Not now. We’re three marks away from having peas for supper.”

“Two marks.” Tye had found peas to be an effective threat in dealing with his brother’s children. In fact, ordering peas for supper served as the only real discipline he’d managed up to now. Try as he might, he couldn’t summon up the mettle to punish the girls, even when he knew they needed it. Then, prodded by the knowledge he should be more firm with them, he folded his arms and added, “You’re lucky it’s not down to one. I should add a demerit for snooping.”

Emma, the eldest at eleven, shook her head. “We didn’t intend to eavesdrop, Uncle. Honest. We woke up and went looking for you, but you weren’t upstairs. We followed the sound of your voice. I don’t believe that counts as snooping because we didn’t stop and listen.”

“That’s right,” Maribeth agreed. “We just barged on in.”

Tye glanced at Claire and noted the amusement shining in her eyes. Wryly, he said, “Just your average morning at the McBrides’.”

“How interesting.”

He could tell she was biting the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. Damned but if that didn’t make her all the more appealing. The attraction he’d felt since taking that first bite of her cookie rose a notch, but he did his best to hide it. Heaven help him if the Blessings noticed.

“Line up, girls. I take it you haven’t met your father’s new tenant?” When they nodded, he moved to stand behind them and said, “Miss Donovan, may I present the most troublesome trio in town, the McBride Blessings.” He laid a hand atop each girl’s head as he announced her name. “Emma, Maribeth, and Katrina McBride. Girls, this is Miss Donovan. You’ll be interested to know she makes cookies that will tickle your tonsils.”

“Why, thank you, Mr. McBride,” Claire said, smiling. “Girls, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

For a long moment, no one said anything. Then Katrina lifted her chin and declared, “I don’t want you to marry my uncle. We picked Miss Loretta. She’s just as pretty as you and she doesn’t stink.”

“Katrina.” Tye put both hands on her shoulders and gave them a gentle squeeze. He was shocked and more than a little embarrassed. “The smell is coming from the soup pot.”

To her credit, Claire Donovan only laughed. “You needn’t worry, Miss McBride. I have no designs on your uncle. In fact, it may ease your mind to know I left a fiancé down in Galveston. Your uncle was only teasing me about marriage, you see, because he liked my cookies so very much.”

“Oh.” Katrina thought about it a moment, then nodded.

“Uncle Tye teases a lot,” Emma said with a shy smile.

Maribeth nodded. “He is even a bigger teaser than our papa. He looks just like our papa, too. They’re twins. One time he pretended to be Papa and—”

“That’s enough, sugar,” Tye clapped his hand over the girl’s mouth and said, “Let’s save the stories for another decade, shall we? In the meantime, I have a surprise for y’all.”

“A surprise?” Maribeth asked, twisting her head to beam up at him.

“Yes, a surprise, and you get to guess what it is. Now, what have the three of you been wanting for a long time now?”

“An auntie,” Katrina answered.

Tye grimaced. “No, dad blame it. You want a dog.”

“A dog?”

“You can’t marry a dog, Uncle Tye.”

Maribeth folded her arms, and mischief gleamed in her eyes as she said, “I don’t know, Kat. That woman Will Tucker married is pretty close to being a dog. Her face is awful furry, and she sure barks a lot when she gets after him.”

Tye all but dove for the basket where the puppy lay sleeping and gave silent thanks that a distraction was at hand. As it turned out, he could have shouted his prayer at the top of his lungs and no one could have heard it. Needless to say, his nieces loved Ralph, ear-splitting squeals and screams rising from their throats from the moment of introduction. Ralph’s yips and barks added to the noise level, which swelled to near deafening. When Tye finally managed to ease the circus out the back door and into the alley, he halfway expected to hear a cheer of delight from the baker. He told her so, once they could hear themselves talk again.

“I have brothers, Mr. McBride,” she informed him, her gaze flicking toward the hourglass timer. “I’m used to a little commotion.”

Arms folded, Tye leaned casually against the jamb of the bakery’s back door, his gaze shifting often from the happy scene outside to the intriguing one indoors. He jerked his head toward the alley. “Calling that a little commotion is like saying the Acre gets a tad bit rowdy.”

She replied with only a smile.

Tye gave his nieces another look and determined they might just stay out of trouble for the next few minutes. Instead of going out to join them, he sauntered over to a table. Pulling out one of two chairs, he straddled it.

“Please, make yourself at home,” Claire said.

Tye grinned at the sarcasm in her voice. “Thanks, I will.” Actually, he had a bunch of stuff he could be doing—like finding breakfast, for one thing—but he couldn’t quite muster up the will to leave. Because his day had started so early, he had a whole hour before he needed to get the girls ready for school. And besides, his nose had grown accustomed to the stink, so it wasn’t so hard to hang around. This woman intrigued him.

He cocked his head and studied her. There was more to Claire Donovan than beauty, although her face and figure were enough to stop a stampede. Something about her—some quality he couldn’t quite put his finger on— made him suspect her waters ran deep. Most females of his acquaintance would have raised the roof with their ire when invaded like she had been this morning. Not Miss Claire. She’d taken it all in stride.

The woman wore self-confidence like an apron, independence like a feather in her hat. But at the same time, she had the look of an imp—almost like one of the Blessings all grown up.

It was a startling thought, and he contemplated making a beeline toward the door in self-preservation. Then, as she bent over to remove a box of corks from a lower shelf, he eyed the slender curve of her ankles and reconsidered. “So, when you’re finished with what you’re doing, how about I cook us up a passel of eggs and bacon for breakfast? And maybe some flapjacks to go along with them?”

“A passel?” she asked. “I used that word once, and my father threatened to wash out my mouth with soap.”

“Why? It’s not a cuss word or anything.”

“No, but it isn’t refined. My da holds great store in refinement.”

Tye grinned and took the opportunity for a little flirtatious teasing. “Then I reckon he didn’t chow down on a mess of grits to go along with his passel of bacon and eggs.”

Her mouth twitched. “No, but he does enjoy a bowl of porridge for breakfast on cool winter mornings.”

“Porridge, huh? Not grits. So the family’s not from the South. Are you newcomers to Texas, also?”

“Actually, I’ve lived here most of my life.”

That surprised him. He drummed his fingers on the back slats of his chair. “You don’t sound like a Texan. In fact, I’d have sworn I heard an Irish hit to your voice.”

She shrugged. “I was an infant when my parents immigrated.”

“To Texas?”

“New York, originally. We moved to Galveston when I was ten.”

“New York, huh?” The temptation to tease overwhelmed him. “So that’s it.”

“That’s what?”

“It’s not Ireland I hear but a Yankee twang.”

She arched an offended brow. “Yankee twang!”

“I feel sorry for you, Miss Donovan. If you’ve lived in Texas awhile, you should have lost it by now. I’ve been here only a short time myself, and I’m well on my way to speaking with a nice Texas drawl.”

Her chin came up. “Well, at least I’m aware that “R” and “E” are letters in the language.”

“What do you mean by that?” Tye replied, acting affronted while he secretly wanted to grin. Her blue eyes sparkled like sunshine on dew when she was riled.

“Take your breakfast, for instance, McBride.” She shook her spoon at him. “You want aa-yugs, instead of eggs. You stretch that tiny little word into two whole syllables. And when you called your niece sugar, you said, ‘shug-ah.’ No ‘R’ at the end.”

“So what’s your point? You don’t want any breakfast?”

“My point is, it’s rude to insult a person’s pattern of speech.”

“That’s why I wasn’t going to point out that you have a twang, but then you went and dragged it out of me.”

She contemplated the cork in her hand, then looked at him. Tye could see she wanted to peg him with it. “Refinement, Miss Donovan,” he reminded. “So you’ll have breakfast with us?”

For just a moment she appeared speechless. Then her laughter washed over him like warm summer rain. “Thank you, but I’ve already eaten. You all are welcome to try my apple muffins if you’d like.”

“I’d love to try your muffins, Miss Donovan,” he drawled, working to maintain an innocent expression as she stabbed a look at him.

“Maribeth told the truth when she called you a tease, didn’t she?”

“Yeah. Maribeth is observant. She sees things that fly right past other people.”

He went on to share a little more about the girls with the baking beauty. Good points and bad. He figured she should know what she was getting into. After all, he and the girls would be living in the upstairs apartment for the next two weeks, if not longer. The man he’d hired to refurbish the walls and ceilings of Trace’s house on the heels of the tomato war couldn’t say just how many coats of paint the job would require.

Claire worked while he talked. Tye watched closely as she lined up more than a dozen bottles on her counter, his gaze lingering on the swell of a full bosom beneath her green gingham dress. He wrapped up his summation of his nieces with an apology. “I’m sorry for all the upset this morning. I guess the Blessings can be rather forward.”

“Take after their uncle, do they?”

He winced. “Ouch. You do have a sharp tongue, Miss.”

She innocently offered him a plate of muffins. He took it as an apology, whether she meant it as such or not.

Tye watched her as he bit into a muffin. Flavor exploded in his mouth, and he couldn’t help but give a little groan of pleasure. Except for the cookie he’d tried earlier, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d tasted anything near this delicious.

“Good, is it?” Claire asked, her voice confident.

“Mmm…” he sighed, his taste buds bursting with pleasure.

His eyes were getting a treat, too. Tendrils of golden hair had escaped the baker’s pins to curl against her peaches-and-cream cheeks, and her lips tilted in a secret smile. As he finished his muffin, Tye’s simple masculine appreciation for a warm, beautiful woman flared into something infinitely more complex.

He wanted her. The urge hit him quick and hard and had him eyeing the surface of her worktable with an interest that had nothing to do with the bottles waiting to be filled.

What the hell?
He froze, not believing his reaction. What was the matter with him? Had his good sense gone south? She said she left a fiancé at home, and besides, she was a lady.

Lady. A four-letter word that made “damn” and “hell” sound downright proper.

Tye made it a practice to keep his relationships with that brand of female on a surface level. He could enjoy their company, even flirt a little. Pretend. No one got hurt. He was safe. Everyone was safe.

When he needed something physical, he looked to the honest women of this world. He limited his liaisons to harlots. A man could trust a soiled dove; he knew exactly what he was getting when he paid for pleasure. It was all black and white with no shades of gray.

Tye couldn’t manage gray.

History had proved his instincts toward women weren’t worth a Confederate dollar. He couldn’t trust his own intuition. He had screwed up royally once and all but destroyed his family and himself. He’d sworn never to take that risk again, especially now that Trace had forgiven him.