by Kari August
Though Ned had proved himself to be more than a little eccentric, she had thought of him often. She wasn’t so sure whether it was actually him she desired—no, how could she? He was crazy, remember?—or just that he had awakened a dormant realization that she had no special man in her life. And she wanted him— She quickly shook her head—no, not him; she meant she wanted someone in her life. Not him, of course.
Lindsey’s phone rang, pulling her from her thoughts. It was the society calling. Oh, how dreary.
Dickie told Ned to wait in the car, and walked into the taco shack alone. He found Cody still packing cookies. “Where’s the sugar, Dickie?”
“Good question. You see, Cody, good man, there’s a bit of a problem that has arisen.”
Cody crossed his arms. “What kind of problem?”
Dickie cleared his throat. “Well, it appears Ned’s credit card is not working.”
Cody blew out a breath and looked disgusted. “You’re completely out of money.”
“How’d you know?”
“You think it’s been easy for my mom and me since my dad died? Hey, what about paying me?” He kicked the metal counter in frustration. “I’ve been doing all this work for nothin’?”
“No, paying you shouldn’t be a problem after Ned gets some more money tomorrow afternoon from his funds. It’s just we don’t have any cash right now to pay for the sugar. And if we don’t get any? Well, then we can’t finish what we need to for TBN, which then means we won’t make a lot of money from them once we’re a huge success on the show.”
Cody smirked. “If you’re a huge success.”
“Oh, have no fears on that account. I’ll make sure Dougie’s dancing from here to kingdom come. But to get back to the issue at hand, do you think you could lend us some money for the sugar?”
Cody’s eyes narrowed. “How much would you need?”
Dickie pursed his lips. “Fifty ought to do it.”
Cody looked in his wallet. “I’ve only got thirty-five.”
“I’ll take it.”
“I probably have fifteen more in my bedroom at home from mowing lawns last summer.”
“Excellent. But we might not need it.”
Cody pulled the money out and started to hand it over to Dickie, then yanked his arm back. “Hey, wait a minute. What happens when you can’t pay me back? What do you have to give me in exchange?”
Hmmm. Another good question. “Well, I’ve got a velvet doublet with an overtunic lined in fur.”
Cody snickered. “Come on. What do you really have?”
Dickie blew out a breath and looked at the ceiling. Just what could he offer this youth that he would want? Oh! He looked back at Cody. How could he possibly turn down this offer? “I’ll tutor you in the skills of becoming a knight.”
Cody laughed out loud; then he stopped and his eyes lit up. “You mean teach me how to use that bow and arrow and mace you got in your cabin?” Cody had once come over to share a late-night pizza with Ned and him after a long evening of work. He had been enamored of Dickie’s collection of weapons.
He nodded. “And the jousting stick.” Dickie was feeling magnanimous. “In fact, I’ll teach you even when we pay you back.”
Cody handed over the money. “You’re on.”
Dickie walked out to find Ned leaning against the side of his car. He looked over at Dickie anxiously.
Dickie gave out a savage yell of the kind he used right before charging into battle and grabbed Ned in a tight hug, lifting him off his feet. “Let’s go buy some sugar.”
Chapter Seventeen
The moment finally arrived. Dickie and Ned were waiting in the special room designated for guests on the show, enjoying some of the snacks, when Dougie appeared in the doorway. Ned and Dickie both stood up. Ned held out his hand first. “Dougie, I’m Ned York. Nice to meet you.” Ned looked unsettled. Dickie knew Ned was anxious over what would happen today. A lot rode on the results.
Dougie beamed at Dickie next. “I see you dressed for the occasion, Mr. York.”
Dickie held out his hand. Dougie had a firm grip. “Call me Richard.” Aunt Elle had encouraged him to use that name with all the network people, even though he was sure he would eventually be on friendly terms with Dougie.
Dickie couldn’t help but stare at Dougie’s flawless black hair. Not a strand was out of place. It was almost as if a perfect cap of hair had been placed on top of his head. His face was also seamlessly smooth. Hmmm. He wondered about Dougie’s age. Forties? Fifties? He couldn’t tell.
Dougie was continuing eagerly. “Nice touch, Richard! Selling English shortbread cookies with an English costume. I’m a history buff. Let me guess what century your outfit is supposed to be from.” He looked Dickie over from head to toe. “Uh, the fifteenth?”
Dickie smiled. “Correct. Now, Dougie, I want to talk to you about something that is of particular concern to me.”
Dougie frowned. “Stage jitters, huh? Don’t you worry. I’m used to speaking to an audience. Even if you clam up on me, I’ll be able to carry the presentation.”
Dickie shook his head and scoffed. “Stage jitters is hardly a concern of mine, considering my previous experience. No, what I want to speak to you about is how many dances do you plan to perform while tasting my cookies?”
Dougie smiled. “I never plan any dances. They are purely an expression that comes spontaneously from tasting delicious food.”
Yeah, right. Dickie knew that couldn’t be the case, but he watched Dougie depart the room with a quick wave and friendly shout: “See you on the show!”
He gazed at Dougie, heading down the hallway and then disappearing into his dressing room. Dickie looked briefly over at Ned, who was now absorbed with something on his computer. He tapped his chin. Perhaps he shouldn’t.
Nonsense. This needed to be straightened out to his satisfaction. “I’ll be right back.”
He walked over to Dougie’s doorway and looked in. Dougie appeared to be the only one in the room. He was slipping his customary purple apron over his yellow shirt. Dickie entered the room and pulled his dagger out of his boot, grateful that he had remembered to bring it with his checked luggage this time. Dougie looked over, confused. Dickie touched the pointed knife with the tip of his finger. “I like sharp daggers for cutting my cookies. Now, just how many dances do you expect to do while tasting the different versions of my cookies?”
Dougie stared at the blade and swallowed hard. “Uh, one?”
Dickie tilted his head. “One? When there are four versions to be sold?”
Dougie smiled tentatively. “Well, possibly two.”
Dickie frowned and returned to scrutinizing his knife.
Dougie frowned back. “Three? You expect me to dance three times? It’s never been done before on the show.”
Dickie smiled slyly. “Well, there’s a first time for everything, now, isn’t there?”
Ned suddenly appeared in the doorway. He looked at the two of them with a puzzled expression, and then frowned at Dickie. “Where’d you get that dagger?”
Dickie smiled and shrugged. “From home, Ned. You never know when it will come in handy.”
Ned scowled.
Minutes later, Dougie began in a booming voice, “And now, audience, we begin tonight with a special first-time presentation to TBN. The King’s English shortbread cookies in not one, but four flavors. Yes, you heard me right. Four different versions!” He gestured expansively with his arm. “Please welcome our presenter, Mr. Richard York.”
Dickie walked onstage to polite applause that quickly turned animated as the audience stared at his outfit. He nodded his head graciously to the live audience. He knew he looked regal. He had insisted on expensive fabric from Herman. Dickie started explaining the details of why his cookies were so special—the secret family recipe, the rich butter, the homemade appeal—and they took their first call.
A young woman spoke into the phone. “I really like your English accent, Richard. Is it real
?”
Dickie smiled. “Indeed it is. Do you like shortbread cookies, dovey?”
She giggled. “I’ve never tried them before. But I’ll buy some today! You look cute in that outfit.”
Dickie beamed and began explaining the different versions of his cookies, starting with the plain. He cut a piece in half with his dagger and handed it to Dougie.
Dougie took a bite and held up his finger for the audience’s attention. “Oh, how rich. I like the slightly chewy texture, Richard. Shortbread cookies can sometimes taste dry and hard, but this is just wonderful, audience.”
Dickie nodded. “Yes. We pride ourselves on baking the shortbread to perfection.”
“And at such a great introductory price!” Then Dougie did what he did best—as no one else could. He elaborated on why the cookies were so special, explained why the price was so reasonable—though Dickie suspected it was not—and why the audience couldn’t just buy cookies such as these down the street at the local grocery store. The man was a selling genius.
Dickie moved on. “Try our strawberry-jam version.”
Dougie nodded after taking a bite. “Nice. Not too sweet. This would make an excellent accompaniment to a hearty breakfast. What do you think, audience? Instead of boring toast and jam, having a shortbread cookie with your coffee. Ah, I see you agree. My producer has just told me that we’ve sold out of half of the plain, and the strawberry-jam version is selling quickly. We have another caller. Myrtle from Conneautville, Pennsylvania.”
Dickie smiled. “Tell me how I can help you, love.”
A matronly voice came on the line. “Richard, my mother used to make shortbread cookies. I’ve never been able to get them just right. I’m really excited about trying some of yours.” There was a brief pause. “Oh, and I like your king’s clothes, dovey.”
Shortbread cookies? They were eating Dickie up. He could just feel their energy. He continued on to his fudge-coated version and the phones started ringing off the hook. Of course, it helped that Dougie was “mmm-mmming” and stamping his foot after he sampled three of them, but then it happened. Dickie should have known the caramel coating would do the trick.
Dougie took a bite, rolled his eyes, held up his hand indicating for the audience to brace themselves, and then he did it. He swiveled his hips, gesticulated his hands, and danced his dance. The live audience went wild and the Sold Out sign flashed shortly thereafter on the screen.
The network broke away to explain what was coming up tomorrow on the show, and Dickie breathed a sigh of relief. He thanked Dougie and started to walk off the stage when Dougie suddenly grabbed his elbow.
The host wagged his finger and gave him a look as if he were a young child who needed reprimanding. Dickie wanted to laugh. If Dougie only knew he was talking to the King of England. But he allowed Dougie to speak into his ear.
“Listen, Richard. Your theatrics this morning were unnecessary and unappreciated. Your cookies are truly delicious. Better to have a sincere dance than one forced.” Dougie nodded sagely.
Dickie did his best imitation of a remorseful look. “Of course you’re right, Dougie.” He quickly held out his hand. “No hard feelings?”
Dougie smiled and shook his hand. “None.” He grinned. “Now get out of here. I’ve got a show to finish.”
Dickie walked off the stage to find Ned glowing in the wings. “You did it, Dickie. What a showman you are!”
The producer walked up next and introduced herself as Ms. Snorkels. “Mr. York, we’re very pleased with your performance and how well your cookies sold. We’ll be in touch about future shows.” She appeared to be a no-nonsense woman in her early forties. Dickie couldn’t help but notice she had nice legs beneath her tight buttoned jacket with its matching short skirt.
Dickie smiled his most courtly smile and looked sincerely into her eyes. Ms. Snorkels seemed to melt a fraction of an inch at his undivided attention. She really wasn’t a bad-looking woman. Not his type, though. He preferred less domineering women. “It would be my pleasure to return to Dougie’s Kitchen Korner.”
“Uh, Mr. York, that will depend on how well your cookies are rated by the customers. We’ve had some items that have sold out on their introductory sale that were then poorly rated. They didn’t make it back to the show. We have very high standards we keep at TBN.”
Dickie inwardly groaned. Fine. Wait for your ratings. He had no doubt his promising fan base would approve. “Ms. Snorkels, I look forward to hearing from you in the future.”
As he started to walk away with Ned, he looked briefly back and caught Ms. Snorkels giving him an admiring look. Dickie was a little surprised, but then remembered he also had nice-looking legs, strong and well shown by his hose.
On the flight back, Ned leaned over to Dickie and said, “I just want to give you some advice if you return to the show.”
“What’s that, Ned?”
“You can’t call women in the twenty-first century names like lovey or dovey or whatever it was you were saying. They don’t appreciate it.”
Dickie raised his brows. “Indeed.”
Ned nodded. “Oh, and stop trying to come on to businesswomen like Snorkels. That’s really bad behavior. You’re lucky she didn’t seem to hold it against you.”
Dickie could barely hold back a grin. Dickie had a lot to teach Ned. Surely women hadn’t changed that much in the last five hundred years.
In Florida, Clarence turned off his television with a click. Those damn shortbread cookies were a hit. He wanted to be happy for Cousin Ned and Dickie. He knew he should be glad for the two. But he wasn’t. Just what did this mean for their competition? How much was Ned going to share in the profits? What if they started selling in stores and made more than just the few thousand he suspected they would bring in from TBN? He tapped his finger on his chin. This couldn’t possibly be good. He stared out his office window at the glaring heat simmering off the parking lot. He would need to keep an eye on the situation. He couldn’t let their success get out of hand.
Chapter Eighteen
Dickie and Cody worked tirelessly to fill all the orders. They had baked a thousand of each type before the show and now needed to produce the three thousand more after the show. Aunt Elle flew in once to check on “quality assurance,” but had to leave the next day, apologizing that she didn’t think she was going to be of much assistance. Dickie told her not to worry. He was thoroughly enjoying the experience.
Apparently, not so much for Ned. Though their financial problems were allayed, at least temporarily—between profits from the show and Ned drawing from funds—there proved to be many logistics that still needed to be worked out. Ned labored long hours without complaint, but Dickie often caught him with a far-off expression. He wondered whether Ned was upset about missing some of his ranger classes. Dickie knew he needed to encourage Ned to pursue other jobs besides the corporate lawyer position—which clearly made Ned completely miserable—though he would sometimes deny otherwise. Perhaps if they found someone to help Ned, he would be able to attend more sessions on the habitat of the twiddly bird, or whatever it was he found so interesting. But Dickie’s suggestion to hire more people was met with resistance from Ned, who was concerned about paying another employee.
Then one day Ned looked up from answering his phone at the dining room table and said, “It’s for you, Dickie.”
Dickie was thrilled. This was the very first time anybody had called him! He wondered who it could be. He took off his apron as calmly as possible, walked over, and took the phone from Ned. “Hello?”
“Dickie! It’s me, Caroline. Back from Britain.”
Dickie had forgotten he had given Caroline Ned’s number the night they went barhopping. “Caroline! How nice to hear from you. You finished with your university courses?”
“Last week. I’m eating one of your fudge shortbread cookies right now! My mom watched TBN the night you were on and placed an order. I was so surprised when I read the box to find out you had made them. My m
om said you were really great on the show. Why didn’t you tell me you were a baker?”
Dickie sat down next to Ned. “It’s one of my many hidden talents. So what’s new with you? Have you found a job yet?”
Caroline sighed. “No, it’s really hard with this economy.” She lowered her voice. “And my parents are beginning to drive me crazy. My mom wants me to clean my room all the time.”
Dickie chuckled. “Caroline, why don’t you come work for me?”
Caroline squealed. “Really?”
Ned looked up from his computer, taken aback. Dickie held up his hand firmly to Ned and continued to talk to Caroline. “I can’t pay much initially, but this cookie business might really take off, and we could use someone with your expertise.”
Caroline paused. “Oh, see, I’d love to live in Colorado, but I don’t really know much about the food business.”
“My cousin Ned could train you.”
Ned smiled wryly at Dickie and mouthed sarcastically, Thanks.
Caroline asked, “What are the housing prices like?”
“Oh, don’t worry about that. You can stay here with Ned and me.”
Ned tilted his head back and gaped at the ceiling.
“Fat chance, Dickie. My mom can be a real prude. She won’t let me stay with just two men.”
Dickie snapped his fingers. “I know, Caroline. Have you ever heard of these inventions where it’s a house on wheels?”
Caroline chuckled. “You mean a recreational vehicle?”
“Uh, yeah. Right. Anyway, why don’t we rent one of those for you and you can park it in our driveway.”
Ned lowered his head and started banging it on the table again.
Dickie put his hand over the phone and whispered to Ned, “You’re going to hurt yourself if you keep that up.”