The Baker (2 page)

BY MONDAY
morning the right moment still hadn’t arrived, and Ian could only hope Matthew didn’t come back today to poke him about it. Even though he was a close friend, he had no idea how difficult Ian’s father could be. And any mention of the highly secret ingredients was sure to set the man on edge, possibly even catapult him right into one of his rages.

For the first couple of hours after opening, he was busy selling breakfast items to hungry office workers and the odd housewife taking some time off duty, so to speak. The chaos was worse than normal, and he wondered why people thought they were about to starve after having stuffed themselves over the Christmas holiday. The bread was flying off the shelves by the loaf this morning, and his oatcakes, shortbread, scones of all descriptions, fruit cakes, and gingerbread weren’t far behind. Not all of those were destined for breakfast, but people had learned to come in early or face half-empty shelves. The black buns were a huge success, as were his new cinnamon and raisin cupcakes.

Just before nine things had slowed down to a manageable level, and Ian was about to take a short restroom break, leaving the store to Senga. But then the doorbell tinkled yet again, and the most gorgeous man Ian had ever laid eyes on walked into the store. He was tall, probably over six feet, had blond hair in a ruthless buzz cut, and his warm brown eyes invited Ian to trust him. The man was well built, muscular like a Marine, and wore a smart dark green suit, covered by an open black winter topcoat. His facial expression seemed guarded but curious as he looked around the store. Ian had the strangest feeling he was cataloging exits and potential sources of danger.

Thank God Senga was busy with a group of women unable to decide what they wanted so Ian had an excuse to talk to the guy.

“What can I do for you, sir?” Ian’s voice sounded suspiciously hoarse, and for the briefest moment, a spark of heat appeared in Mr. Good-looking’s eyes.

“I’ve never been to this bakery before….” The stranger trailed off as he examined Ian with the same curiosity and concentration he had used to assess the shop.

I know you haven’t. I’d definitely remember you!

“A colleague at the station recommended your stuff, so I came to have a look.” The stranger tilted his head. “You’ll probably laugh, since this is such a cliché, but I’m looking for donuts.”

“Station? Donuts?” Ian’s brain refused to function for a moment.

“Yeah, I’m a cop. Well, a detective actually, but it doesn’t seem to matter. I love donuts, and so do my colleagues.” The stranger laughed, and the deep, resonant sound thrilled Ian to his core.

“Ah. Right, well, we do sell donuts.” Ian pointed to the display. “It’s not a great selection, since most customers seem to come here for the more Scottish specialties, but I hope you can find some you like.”

“I’ll take two dozen, please.” Mr. Detective smiled. “And what else do you think I should get so my colleagues can find out about your wonderful work? It does smell amazing in here.”

“Thank you.” Ian started to put the donuts into a box and, without thinking, blurted out the first thing he could think of. “Would you like to try my buns?”

“Your… buns?” Mr. Detective’s eyebrows rose, a twinkle appeared in his eyes, and an amused smile curved his dark red lips.

“Yes. The black ones.” Ian pointed at the cakes, only to realize what the stranger must have meant when the man couldn’t stop grinning. Heaven above, was the gorgeous specimen of male beauty gay? But who else would have gotten the joke? Not that Ian had meant it as a joke. He was deep enough in the closet he didn’t know how to begin looking for the door, never mind find it. He definitely wouldn’t mind trying if this guy were on the other side, waiting for him. But Mr. Detective probably wasn’t out either, even if he were gay. A gay cop, or detective, wouldn’t make it out here in the wilds of Wyoming. Ian could feel himself blush even as he realized he was now babbling in his own head.

“Oh, I see.” Mr. Detective bent toward the black buns and grinned. “They look kinda cute. Are they as Scottish as they look with that flag painted on them?”

“Yes, they’re a traditional cake eaten during the traditional Scottish Hogmanay celebration on New Year’s Day.” Ian finished packing up the donuts, closed the box, and placed it on the counter. “Would you like to try one?”

“Yes, please. I have no idea what’s inside, but I like surprises. I’ll try to figure out what the ingredients are.” Mr. Detective looked back up. “Gives me a fun mystery to ponder.”

“Okay, I’ll get you one in a small box.” Ian wasn’t going to ask about the other mysteries, the not-so-fun ones, in the man’s life. He might be a homicide detective, and eww, Ian wasn’t going there. “Anything else I can get you?”

“Nah, I’m okay for now.” Mr. Detective grinned again. “But if your stuff tastes as good as it looks and smells, I’ll definitely be back. Can’t believe I’ve worked here for five years and have never noticed this place. Don’t tell anyone, or they’ll take my badge.”

Ian laughed as he rang up the purchase and took the guy’s money.
As far as I’m concerned, you can come back anytime, Mr. Detective!

CAMERON LEWIS
barely made it out of the Scottish Bakehouse without drooling. He’d wanted to stay and talk to the gorgeous baker some more. The short black hair and sparkling blue eyes in a sweet, slightly round face had caught Cameron’s attention first, but the strong upper arms and broad chest had kept him wanting to ask the guy to take off his clothes so Cameron could see the body hiding beneath them. The baker had moved gracefully as he put together Cameron’s order, and his blush—despite how inane, not to say inappropriate, Cameron’s comment about the buns had been—was adorable.

Adorable? What the hell am I thinking?

Cameron shook his head as he made his way to his unmarked car. He was already late for the Monday morning departmental meeting, and his colleagues got grumpy when the man, or their one female detective, in charge of getting breakfast was late. Cameron put the boxed donuts in the backseat, then hid the smaller box with the black bun in the trunk. He intended to keep it to himself. Guessing ingredients in food was one of his favorite pastimes, and “reporting back” on what he had identified was a brilliant excuse for seeing the baker again—even if he did say so himself. Waiting for his next stint on donut duty a few weeks from now wasn’t good enough. No, later today sounded much better.

Cameron made it to the meeting barely in time, and the donuts were snapped up before he could blink. With fifteen people attending, including himself, two dozen donuts was cutting it close, it seemed. Everyone got coffee and settled down, but Cameron became completely focused on eating his donut. He’d snagged a simple glazed one, and when he bit into it, he almost moaned aloud.
Man, that’s good.

“Good, isn’t it?” Terry Winter, Cameron’s partner before Cameron was promoted to sergeant of investigations, smiled at him with a wicked look in his eyes.

“Good doesn’t even come close.” Cameron wasn’t going to wax poetic in front of the department he headed. But the sweet fluffiness of the dough melted in his mouth, and the slightly cinnamon-y aftertaste was divine.

“Told you, that place is special.” Terry grinned. “We only discovered it a couple of weeks ago and decided to give the honor of trying out their stuff to you.”

“In case the stuff was bad?” Cameron grinned. Friendly ribbing was as much part of his work as a police officer as it had been when he served in the Marines. He’d left active duty just over five years ago, but sometimes he missed his buddies. What he didn’t miss was the hiding he’d had to do due to DADT. Not that he’d consider coming out now, not without an excellent reason, but at least he had that option without being dismissed immediately. Whether he’d still have a career if he did was a different problem. Casper might be Matthew Shepard’s birthplace, but it had a long way to go on the Municipal Equality Index recently published by the Human Rights Campaign.

“Yeah.” Terry chuckled before finishing off his cream-filled piece of deliciousness. “You can never be too careful.”

Cameron grinned back before looking up to call the meeting to order. Each of the ten detectives working on crimes against persons, property, and fraud gave a brief report, with the guy in charge of intelligence bringing up the rear. Casper wasn’t a hub of serious crime, but property crime, some gang activity, and organized crime kept them busy. Cameron had added the intelligence officer position to the team after he was promoted at the end of last year, and the man had already made a significant impact. Between that and Cameron’s changes in the case management system, they had improved the tracking and status of investigations to the point where Cameron’s boss was happy, and Cameron was on track for the next promotion.

After brief reports from the youth division, victim services, and the property and evidence department, Cameron asked for additional points, but nobody had anything to add. The holidays had been thankfully quiet for them, different from the guys on patrol. They had been extremely busy trying to keep Casper’s streets safe and free from inebriated drivers.

“Okay, that’s it for this week, then. I’ll see you again in the new year.” Cameron rose to signal the end of their formal meeting, noting with a regretful glance that the leftover donuts had somehow managed to evaporate into thin air while he wasn’t looking.

“You got a minute?” Steve Hatcher walked up to Cameron, notepad in hand. He was in his late forties, with a slight paunch and thinning brown hair and happened to be an excellent property detective. The man’s real passion was gossip though, and Cameron had been impressed with Steve’s ability to remain on top of departmental politics on many occasions.

“Sure, you want to join me in my office?” Cameron started walking when Steve nodded, and they were soon settled in the small room with its old-fashioned filing cabinets and clutter-free desk. Cameron sat and looked at Steve, curious what Steve wanted to share.

“I just heard the most interesting bit of news, and knowing how important it is we stay on top of things, I thought you should know about it too.” Steve settled more deeply into the visitor’s chair, apparently ready for a long discussion. The older detective loved feeling important.

Cameron nodded and tilted his head to communicate his interest. That was usually all it took to get Steve going.

“So, here’s the thing.” Steve cleared his throat. “From what I’ve been hearing, it sounds like the chief may be retiring soon.”

“Bullock?” Cameron raised his eyebrows in disbelief. “Our own Chief of Police Jeremy Bullock? Are you sure? The man is married to his job, and he’s only just over sixty.”

“Yep, got it via my sister-in-law’s cousin’s son. He’s very friendly with one of the chief’s closest family members, can’t tell you which one, that’s confidential. But let me tell you, he’d know.” Steve sat up straight, as if Cameron might attack the reliability of his sources and he was getting ready to defend their and his honor.

“Hey, I don’t doubt that’s what they said. I just have a really hard time imagining Bullock anywhere but right in the middle of things.” Cameron leaned back in his seat, letting the idea sink in.

“I know, right?” Steve smirked. “But what if it’s true? Depending on who’s the next guy in charge, people will get promoted, moved around, and the whole mess we went through three years ago when Bullock took over will just repeat itself.”

“Not to mention it’ll take them a while to figure out whom to appoint. Our work will get affected for sure.” Cameron groaned. He’d only been here two years, and only a detective, when the last upheaval had paralyzed them. Now, with a whole department under him, the politics might kill him.

NOT SURPRISINGLY
Steve’s information had proven to be accurate; surprisingly it had happened by the afternoon. Chief Bullock had called a meeting and proceeded to announce his retirement. There was even a local news crew filming it all. The chief gave a brief outline of the steps planned to find his successor, and it sounded rigorous to Cameron. The city would advertise the vacancy regionally, Chief Bullock and a yet-to-be-determined law enforcement organization would select the candidates from that pool, and a set of stringent panel interviews would follow. Cameron quietly wished whoever was selected good luck. He was ambitious, and one day he might climb the ranks high enough to be considered, but a sergeant, no matter if he also was a lieutenant in the Marines, was not going to make the cut.

By the end of the workday, Cameron had made good headway on most of the cases he was involved in. Due to the nature of his job, a lot of it consisted of paperwork and following up on issues his detectives had discovered, but he enjoyed making their jobs easier. As far as he was concerned, anything that helped them made life for the criminals harder—and that was what really counted.

Cameron checked the clock on his laptop. Shit, it was almost six. He had no idea what the opening hours of his new favorite bakery were, but he had a feeling he might already be too late. After all, they’d been open since early this morning, and his baker was unlikely to work there all the time. Still, he was going to try.

Cameron had rarely locked down his computer, desk, and office that quickly, and he practically sprinted out of the building without looking left or right, all to avoid someone grabbing him for a quick discussion or something. He made it to the bakery in record time, and as he walked up, the cute baker—
still here, thank God
—was just about to turn the old-fashioned Open sign to Closed.

The man’s eyes widened, and he froze in his tracks.

Cameron stopped moving about three feet away from the glass door, hoping he hadn’t shocked the guy too much.

The baker swallowed, raised his eyebrows, and tilted his head, as if to ask whether Cameron wanted to talk to him.

Cameron nodded, carefully making sure he didn’t move so as not to spook the guy any more than he already had.