Baker's Dozen

by Lori R. Taylor

  Baker might have been trying, but she’d also been seriously damaged by her previous owners. Leslie was the best animal psychologist in the state, and even she couldn’t help her.

  Why had Maeve thought that she could?

  Baker would’ve bitten her sooner or later, it was only a matter of time. Better that it happened sooner, and that she went back to the shelter so she could find someone who knew how to help her.

  And Maeve … she had a baking competition to win.

  By herself.

  Without anyone to stop her from second-guessing every little change she made to the recipe.

  She was in so much trouble.

  What would Mom tell her to do?

  Take a deep breath and get clear on what she needed to do — the essentials, not the million things she could do.

  She grabbed her laptop from the living room, brought it back to the kitchen, and opened the email from her assigned HealthNut representative, received earlier this morning. She scanned it, her heart sitting in her throat.

  Dear Maeve,

  My name is Jeffery, and I’ll be helping you get acquainted with what’s expected from you for the HealthNut contest. As one of only 200 other contestants, you will have the opportunity to prove that your product is the one to enter the HealthNut rotation.

  Should you win, you will receive a cash prize and your name credited on our websites as one of our creators. I’m sure you’re very excited to hear more about the opportunity, and what you need to do to have the best chance of winning.

  So, here's what you'll need to do:

  Show up by 8am on the day of the contest. There will be several rounds during which live judges will test your product.

  Be prepared to bake on site. Bring your ingredients in clearly-labeled containers. You will be expected to finish your product within a one-hour window. You will be allowed to pre-bake components if your recipe takes more time to prepare. However, be aware that this will affect your final score — production time is a crucial factor for judging.

  Wear your contestant entry number on your shirt. You will receive the number at sign-in the morning of.

  Be prepared to answer questions from a panel of journalists and media representatives. The contest winner must be capable of representing HealthNut in public appearances and media interviews.

  There will be three elimination rounds. The winner will be selected at the end of all three rounds.

  Please feel free to email me if you have any follow-up questions.

  Good luck, and may the best baker win!

  Maeve’s stomach squirmed like it was full of worms. This was her last chance. If she blew it, she was doomed to a life of kissing up to Leroys.

  Focus, Maeve.

  She’d already timed herself with the roly-poly cakes and making the preserves to fill them. With Baker’s help, she'd found the perfect balance of sweet and tart that brought out an intense raspberry flavor. The sponge cake took between forty-five minutes and an hour, because it had to cool before it could be rolled around the jam, so she’d be cutting it close.

  Maybe she could bring a small battery-operated fan to cool it faster? Then she’d have time to not only roll it up, but give it a dusting of freeze-dried raspberry powder and shredded coconut.

  You can do this.

  But the doubt was there.

  At the beginning of this week, she’d been so sure that the roly-poly mini-cakes were the winner. Baker had liked them the most. Experimenting with the vegan ingredients had been the real time-suck — if she could use butter and sugar and cake flour, she’d have been completely confident. But now it seemed impossible that she’d figure out which of a million variations would taste the best. Every time she tried the new batch, she couldn’t help comparing it to what her grandmother’s roly-polies tasted like, and of course they came out wanting.

  She was almost ready to throw it all away and start again with a different type of dessert.

  “No, you can’t do that,” she said, aloud to herself to make herself believe it. “There isn’t time to start over.”

  Maeve glanced up at the laundry room door. She didn’t have the heart to remove Baker’s blanket yet. It sat in the corner, near her water bowl and empty food bowl.

  Her eyes prickled with tears.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Everyone’s better off now.”

  Baker had been hurt so many times in the past, and Maeve wasn’t qualified to look after a dog that needed special attention like that. She would probably have wound up damaging her more somehow, without meaning to.

  Leslie wouldn’t give up on Baker. She would find her an owner who could make her happy. One who was really meant to look after dogs with psychological trauma, and who wasn’t so scared of them.

  So why couldn’t she stop missing the sweet little dog?

  The whole Baker thing would pass. Maeve would get over it, just like she’d gotten over David and the fact that he was now traveling the world with a model.

  Yeah, keep telling yourself that.

  She shoved the negative thoughts aside, double-checked that her apron was tied firmly in place, and began measuring ingredients for the next batch of roly-poly cakes.

  By the time the raspberry mixture started to simmer, she’d lost herself in the process. Everything was fine until she asked, “Nothing but rice syrup for the batter this time, or half rice syrup and half coconut nectar? What do you think, Baker?”

  She looked up at the empty spot in the corner of the kitchen where Baker liked to sit while Maeve baked.

  She stopped stirring and swallowed. Again her eyes grew hot, and her stomach sank. Because again, she’d forgotten the dog was gone.

  Maeve turned her back on the laundry room for a moment and tried to catch her breath. This was silly. She’d lived without Baker for her whole life. She didn’t need a dog.

  What did she even miss anyway?

  Baker spent most of her time lying on a blanket, watching Maeve cook.

  She couldn’t talk.

  She couldn’t bake with her.

  All she could do was listen.

  And make her laugh.

  And stand up to Jassie.

  “Just stop,” Maeve mumbled, and got back to work on the cake.

  She timed herself prepping the cake and came in at just over an hour. Not good enough.

  If the judges knew it took that long for her to finish the bake, then surely that would dock her score. Time was money, after all.

  Maeve grabbed a dessert fork from the top drawer, wishing Baker was here to give it the old sniff test, then cut off a piece. She shoved it into her mouth and chewed.

  The raspberry preserves didn’t have that perfect sweet-sour tang they’d had in the last batch. The cake was soft, but not light as air. Maybe it was a mistake to add a bit of chickpea flour to the batter?

  Maeve groaned and dumped her fork on the counter. “What now?”

  She had to keep trying, even if that meant baking all day and all night.

  Alone.

  Before she met Baker, that had been her definition of heaven.

  But now, it felt like hell.

  Chapter Twenty

  Baker huddled at the back of her cage and wondered what Maeve was doing now. Baking, probably.

  Or maybe watching a movie with Macavity. Petting the top of his head. Letting him sniff whatever she’d just made and asking him what he thought.

  Maeve would never come back. Baker had bitten her. She wouldn’t let her apologize, to try and make up for it, because like most humans, she hadn’t cared. Not really.

  But Baker still missed her.

  Sometimes, after the lights went out in the shelters, the other dogs would whine or howl. Especially the ones that were new. Baker joined them. Her chest was hollow, even when her belly was full.

  The dog in the kennel directly across the hall from her was barely more than a puppy, with big eyes and floppy ears and a tail that wagged for everyone. He sat with one paw on the d
oor of his cage, head tilted toward her as if asking what she was doing there.

  Because humans are mean, she wanted to explain. They’ll lock you up without any food or leave you outside in a storm or kick you when you’re doing your best to make them happy.

  And sooner or later, they get tired of you and leave you somewhere to take care of yourself.

  But she didn’t want to scare the poor pup, and what was the point? He’d find out soon enough for himself what humans are like.

  Unless he got adopted by someone like Maeve.

  And if that was going to happen, she really didn’t want to scare him. Because if he accidentally panicked and nipped at his owner, it would be Baker’s fault when his human brought him back here.

  Or took him to one of the bad shelters.

  So she flicked her tail at him, a little moment of connection and encouragement across the empty hallway.

  He lifted his ears at the sound of the kennel room door opening and closing. The other dogs jumped up and started barking, begging for Leslie’s attention as she came down the hall looking them over.

  She paused at Baker’s kennel, her fingers running softly over the links of the kennel door. Baker flicked her tail, reaching for something that struggled to approach pleasant, but she knew Leslie wasn’t fooled.

  Leslie wasn’t the sort of human who was easily fooled.

  But she turned away from Baker’s kennel with little more than that short glance and crouched down in front of the puppy’s kennel. The pup hopped and barked, pleased to have Leslie’s attention.

  “What about it, Brownie?” Leslie asked. “Let’s go to The Front and meet the nice lady.”

  She brought Brownie out. He jumped up to lick her face and hands while she attached the lead to his collar.

  Like many dogs who went to The Front, Brownie didn’t come back. By the end of the day, there was a new dog in his cage.

  When the lights clicked off that night, Baker thought of Maeve and howled like a motherless pup.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  One day until the contest, and Maeve was not ready.

  She scuttled around the kitchen, cleaning up after another batch of roly-polies gone belly-up. There had been something wrong with every batch she made.

  One batch took too long to make.

  Another batch had a texture that was less Victoria sponge and more kitchen sponge.

  Yet another batch had scorched a little because she’d turned the temperature up to see if she could shave five minutes off the cooking time.

  The latest batch had that metallic taste Maeve thought she’d gotten rid of when she’d eliminated quinoa from the flour mixture, and she wasn’t sure if she was imagining it or if she’d screwed up the flour mixture again.

  She needed a second opinion.

  She opened the fridge and peered inside, then grumbled to herself. “Out of raspberries again.”

  The only positive of being totally occupied by the baking contest was that she hadn’t had time to panic over the mounting stack of bills on her entrance hall table. And BestGig still hadn’t reinstated her account or even replied to her help request with more than an autoreply: “We appreciate your patience as we investigate this complaint.”

  If Maeve didn’t win this contest, she was going to have to rebuild her client list from scratch.

  “Focus,” she muttered, as her gaze slipped toward the laundry room door again. It was ridiculous, but she still hadn’t moved any of Baker’s things. She didn’t have the heart to. It was as if she expected to open the door and find her waiting there.

  “The raspberries.” She stripped off her apron, checked her hair in the reflection on the oven door, then hurried outside, grabbing her purse and keys on the way.

  She got into her car and tried to start it. The engine didn’t turn over the first two times she turned the key, and she fought down the urge to scream. Not the car, too!

  Was everything in her life going to fall apart?

  On the third try, the engine sputtered to life, and Maeve reversed out of the driveway. Macavity lay on the fence, watching with cool yellow eyes.

  He hadn’t come into the house since Baker left. Was he angry?

  Now she was worrying that the neighbor’s cat might be mad at her?

  This baking contest had melted her brain.

  The drive to the grocery store was okay, until she passed the road she would’ve turned down if she were headed to Pretty Paws.

  Then she wondered how Baker was doing.

  That Rottweiler had bit her, really bit her, actually hurt her. The thought of her huddled in her cage, her torn flesh bleeding into matted fur, made Maeve's heart ache.

  But the shelter people would make sure the wound was cared for. If it got infected, Dr. Dale would give her antibiotics.

  Maeve, on the other hand, couldn’t do a single thing to help her. Baker was better off without her.

  What if someone else had adopted her?

  Leslie wouldn’t give her to just anyone. She’d make sure that whoever took Baker home had the skill to handle an abused animal.

  Emma would tell her if Baker had been adopted, wouldn’t she?

  Or try to. Maeve had about thirty voicemails and twice that many texts from Emma that she’d been ignoring, because she was still mad that her friend had convinced her to trust Baker.

  As soon as she pulled into the grocery store parking lot, Maeve checked her texts. The latest messages were all apologetic pleas to call her.

  Maeve listened to the latest three voicemails. Same thing. No mention of Baker being adopted. Or dying of gangrene. Or being killed in another fight with the Rottweiler.

  She’s fine, stop worrying.

  Maeve pushed open the glass front door and waved to Hank behind the front counter. He waved back, but continued talking to the woman in front of him, swapping stories about whatever gossip had taken the top rung on the ladder.

  It was none of her business. She had baking to do.

  Maeve grabbed a basket from the floor and set off down the aisles, swinging it as merrily as she could, even though she didn’t hold any joy in her heart.

  She looped into the produce aisle, hoping there were still raspberries left. She’d bought so many from Hank’s in the last week, it was a miracle he’d been able to keep them stocked. Good thing they were in season. Frozen wouldn’t cut it.

  She stopped and picked up an apple, pressing it to her nose, inhaling its fruity scent. She reached for a smile, but it didn’t come.

  “Maeve? Is that you?” The familiar voice sent a chill down her spine.

  Please. Not now. Anything but this.

  “Maeve!”

  She turned and saw her ex, David, striding toward her. His arm was around his girlfriend’s shoulders. She wore a string bikini beneath a sheer sarong dress. What was this, Bali? They were in central Ohio, nowhere near any coast.

  “It is you,” David said, grinning like an idiot.

  He was as handsome as ever, but with more of a tan, probably thanks to his Hawaiian getaway. He ran his fingers through dark, tousled hair, heightening the effect of casual yet attractive dishevelment.

  Strangely, seeing David didn’t bring on a rush of regret and sadness. He was the idiot who had ruined it all, and Maeve was … what? Willing to give up when the going got rough? At least, when it came to Baker.

  Enough about the dog!

  “How long has it been?” David asked.

  How long had it been since he’d cheated on her? With the woman standing next to him?

  “I’m sorry,” Maeve said. “I’m kind of in the middle of something.”

  “Right, yeah. But this is crazy. I come back to town after my vacation, and the first place we go … just wow. Isn’t the universe beautiful?”

  Trying to screw Maeve over, more like.

  He introduced Beach Babe, whose name was shockingly old-fashioned. Clara.

  She flashed a set of perfect white teeth and extended her hand. “It’
s so nice to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you.”

  Maeve shook it — even her fingers were pretty, thin and soft, with perfect French tips.

  “David talks about me?” she asked, tempted to counter that she hadn’t heard anything about her until she’d actually found out he’d been cheating on her. But cattiness would just make this even worse than it already was. Maeve was not going to have a meltdown in the fruit aisle of Hank’s store, to be the main character in whatever story he’d be telling the next customer after she left.

  Clara bit the corner of her lip and twirled one braid around her finger. “David told me all about how he helped you grow.”

  Helped her grow a sense of disenfranchisement and a deep distrust of men, sure.

  “What am I, a houseplant?”

  Clara giggled, as if Maeve had told the funniest joke.

  “No, no,” David said. “I just, like, firmly believe that life is all about growing, you know? We were each other’s spiritual teachers, learning from one another at the soul level.”

  Maeve frowned. “If that’s what we’re calling it.”

  “What would you call it?” David tilted his head as though genuinely curious.

  “I guess what I’m saying is I hope you learned an important lesson from our relationship,” she said, and looked pointedly at Clara. “Not to be unfaithful. People deserve better than betrayal from the person they love.”

  “Whoa, your energy is really dark.” David waved a hand. “Have you tried natural healing? Or reiki? Clara’s taught me all about it. Clear out those clogged chakras. You’re full of—”

  “I’m going to cut you off there. I’ve got important things to do.”

  “Like what?” Clara asked, blinking, her green eyes sparkling.

  Was she totally unaware of how awkward this encounter was? Or was she playing dumb?

  “My entry’s due tomorrow for a baking contest. I’ve got to shop for ingredients.”

  “A baking contest. That’s so cool!” Clara clapped her hands, rattling her many beaded bracelets.

  “Don’t get your hopes up, Maeve. Remember, the universe gives us what we truly need.”