The Secret Ingredient

by Laura Browning

  Chapter 2

  “Hey, son!”

  Greg Mercer, Eli’s dad, popped his head around the doorway into the kitchen. The day had flown by. Just when Eli thought he would have to buy out Tarpley’s lettuce and cabbage supply, the produce truck finally showed up. He ended up spending most of the day in the kitchen, helping Eddie with prep that could have been done in the morning if the supply truck had arrived on time.

  “Hi Dad. Is it already four?” Eli pushed a stray lock of hair off his forehead.

  His dad regarded him steadily. “Heard you had a problem with the produce truck.”

  Ruthie had a big mouth.

  “No biggie. We got it handled.”

  “And a run-in with our newest business owner.” Now his father’s eyes narrowed.

  Eli was going to fire Ruthie.

  Before he could think of a suitable reply, Greg Mercer opened the pastry box, grabbed a fork, and picked up a big mouthful of the torte Eddie and Ruthie had munched on after lunch. He watched his father close his eyes in apparent ecstasy.

  “Damn. Ruthie was right. Little Becca Allred has real talent.” He looked at Eli with shrewd brown eyes. “It was the one area of our business we never could get right after your grandmother passed. Have you tried this?”

  “No.” He had refused as a point of pride, maybe stubbornness, but he’d had to admit it smelled good.

  Greg looked at him sidelong. “Know your competition, son. Didn’t you learn anything at your fancy tourist trap?”

  Eli bit his tongue. Yeah. He had learned how to beat the competition and drive them out of business when necessary. Even though he’d sold half his interest in the upscale restaurant on North Carolina’s Outer Banks to buy Mercer’s from his folks and give him a nest egg for Bash, Eli still owned part of his original business and kept his fingers in the pie.

  “I learned enough, Dad,” he responded. Just to satisfy his father, Eli reached over, cut off a piece of the torte, and popped it in his mouth. Flavor exploded on his taste buds, and the textures were sublime. He chewed thoughtfully and swallowed. “Good Lord. That’s incredible.”

  Greg nodded. “Good thing she’s not really head-on competition.”

  Eli sat back. “What do you mean?”

  “I played golf today with Stoner Richardson, her backer. He says she’s going after catering clientele and then upscale tourist breakfast and lunch trade with baked goods, sandwiches, and gourmet coffee. Apparently she’s smart enough not to try main course fare. Between us and the steak house out near the interstate, that would be a tough nut to crack. Others have tried it over the years since you left and failed, but now a good bakery and catering place? That might just work.”

  Eli popped another piece of the torte into his mouth. The cream was smooth and sweet, but not so sweet that it overpowered the flavor of the fresh berries. Same with the brownie. The rich chocolaty flavor tickled his tongue and brought the berries out even more. Eli would swear there was just a hint of coffee there too.

  “Eli? I’ll take over for the evening so you can go on home.”

  At his father’s words, Eli shook himself and stood up. “Right. Where’s Bash?”

  “I left him out playing with his cars...”

  Eli shoved his head around the doorway, sagging in relief when he saw his son seated at an empty table crashing two cars together and making squealing tire and crunching metal noises. No way did he want any repeats of yesterday.

  He ducked back in, smiled at his dad, and took off out front.

  “Hey, Bash. Ready to go, buddy?”

  “Daddy! Wuthie says Becca bwought you a pwesent to say sowwy. Can I see it? Is it peanut butter, bananas, and honey sandwiches? Cause I liked those.”

  “It was a cake.”

  Bash’s eyes got big. In his experience, cakes were for very special occasions. “Did you say thank you?”

  Eli grimaced. “Not exactly.”

  Ruthie walked by at that moment with clean silverware for the rest of the tables up front. “No, he was mean to her.”

  Bash frowned at him. “Why, Daddy?”

  Ruthie looked back at him over her shoulder, “Yes, why daddy?”

  “It’s a good thing you’re almost like family, Ruthie.” Eli gave her a look he hoped let her know just how fired she would be if she weren’t practically his surrogate mother. “It’s complicated, Bash. Why don’t we go home, and I’ll throw some burgers on the grill?”

  “Can we have fwies?”

  “fries...and yes.”

  He tucked Bash in his booster seat in the back and headed for home. The little car wasn’t much more than a beater, but Eli didn’t care. He’d rather spend his money on his business and his home. He turned down Maple, the way he usually went home, careful to drive slowly because there were so many kids and teens in the neighborhood. On the right he saw two lanky teens kicking a soccer ball back and forth, three little girls busily drawing on the sidewalk with chalk, and closer to the house, a woman with a very shapely derriere playing horse for two identical looking toddlers with sticks for swords. As he approached, one of the toddlers grabbed her long black ponytail and pulled back like he was having trouble controlling his steed. His mount promptly bucked them both off, rolled over, and began tickling them.

  He slowed the car in surprise. Becca Allred was sprawled in the grass with the two little boys, who looked to be only a couple of years younger than Bash. Hers?

  “Becca!” Bash yelled, waving and laughing.

  Eli forgot he’d rolled the window down. He watched her wave at his son and smile, but when her gaze switched to him, the smile faded. She looked down at the two laughing boys, but even from this distance he noticed the faint flush staining her creamy skin. Eli saw the police cruiser in the drive and realized she must be visiting her brother, Jake, and his family. So the kids were probably her nephews, not that he cared, of course.

  When they reached the small bungalow, Bash had unhooked his seatbelt and was out of the car nearly as fast as Eli. “Can we play horse, Daddy?”

  “I’ll tell you what, I’ll give you a piggy back ride inside, but then I’ve got to get our dinner going. How’s that?”

  “Okay.”

  Some problems were so easily dealt with. Others weren’t. And one of them was in the mail with his attorney’s return address. Eli looked over the contents of the letter, wanting to wad it up and throw it out, but he knew he would have to respond. Dick was smart, he could figure out something to get Heather off his back. She had come around the restaurant in North Carolina looking for him, and when she discovered he was gone not only from the restaurant but also from town, she began to make threats. She was clean. She was going to demand a custody hearing, sue for access to her child.

  Like hell. Eli balled up the letter and tossed it on the flames of the grill. He’d never let her near Bash again. No way. His mouth twisted as he watched his son smoothing trenches in his sandbox that would soon serve as highways for his cars and trucks.

  The last time she had any visitation had been a disaster.

  Two years ago, they’d had a slow summer because of hurricane season. Storms teased and glanced off the coast, keeping many people away from the beaches. Money was tight. In order to keep his staff going, Eli even dipped into his personal savings. Heather showed up demanding money or she would take him to court. It was a common theme. Most of the time he paid her off, and she went on her way, forgoing the weekend visitation she did have. But this time he couldn’t pay. Not wanting to face a judge who might believe her bullshit and actually grant her custody, Eli agreed to a weekend visit. He arrived Sunday afternoon to find Bash in near hysterics, filthy, and crying. Heather was wasted and passed out on the couch, while her latest lover was getting ready to hit Bash.

  Eli slammed the man up against the wall, nearly choking him to death before common sense prevailed. He grabbed Bash, snatched up his belongings, and started for the car. Heather flew out of the house right after he’d gotten Bash in hi
s car seat.

  “What the fuck are you doing? What did you do to Jeff? If you think I’ll put up with this...”

  “Enough!” Eli roared. “What kind of mother are you? Even now you’re worried about the guy you’re screwing and not your own child. Can’t you keep your nose out of your drugs for even forty-eight hours to try to be a mother?”

  “Eli...” Her tone turned wheedling.

  “No. No more. I’m contacting my attorney and the police on Monday. I’ll get a restraining order against you so if you come anywhere near Bash again, I’ll have you arrested.”

  “You wouldn’t dare!”

  He spun on her, his whole body shaking with rage and barely able to keep himself from throttling her. “I would dare anything to keep my son safe. You will never, never touch him again.”

  “You can’t do this!”

  “Watch. Me.”

  Things went smoothly for the next year. Business picked up. Heather stayed away, but then he heard through the grapevine she’d been dumped again. Sure enough, she began showing up at Windswept, wanting money. He gave it to her, enough to keep her quiet while he went about his business, setting plans in place to keep his son safe.

  Reestablishing contact with his parents after so many years hadn’t been easy, but Eli swallowed his pride for Bash’s sake. His mother and father surprised him. With no questions, they invited him up to visit. He came, bringing Bash with him. As soon as he arrived back in Mountain Meadow, Eli was surprised how the tension drained from him. He stayed for the Christmas holidays, enjoyed the time off, but also talked seriously with his father about his future and theirs.

  Now here he was, and as far as he knew, Heather had no idea how to find him. His glance went back to Bash again. Please God, let it stay that way.

  * * * *

  Becca watched Eli’s beat-up car putter down the road from the corner of her eye. It was a shock to realize he’d caught her playing with her twin nephews. She must look a mess. She still wore her scrub pants, but had changed back into a wife beater shirt, her hair still scraped back in a ponytail. Somewhere along the line, she had lost her flip flops.

  “Was that Eli?” Jared looked down at her.

  Becca rolled her eyes. “Yeah.”

  “Wow. He’s a lot different from his dad. I mean, Mr. Mercer’s so—you know—traditional, and Eli’s...”

  “A narrow-minded son of a...”

  “Gun,” Luke finished from off to one side. Becca blushed. She’d never even heard him arrive in his SUV. Her sister-in-law, Rachel, walked around from the other side with the baby seat which she handed off to Luke. Becca decided a change of subject was in order.

  “I’ve hired your son full time for the summer. That’s not a problem is it?”

  Luke raised his brows. “No. Are you sure?”

  Becca grinned. “Absolutely. Wait till you taste the croissants he made. I can’t believe he’s your kid. Have you even learned how to boil an egg yet?”

  Rachel laughed. “No he hasn’t, but he’s an expert at doing dishes.”

  Luke looked at Jared and held out his hand. When his son grasped it, Luke said, “I understand congratulations are in order. You ready to work for her? I hear she’s a real task master.”

  Jared tucked his hair behind his ears. “You should see this kitchen, Dad. It is totally cool, even better than the one at Joe’s church. You wouldn’t believe the ovens, and Aunt Becca’s got this ginormous mixer where you can mix up enough bread dough for a whole freakin’ army.”

  Becca grinned at Rachel and whispered, “What really clinched the deal was the picture on his phone of your birthday cake. Just a little weird, but I liked it.”

  Rachel laughed. “Well I’d rather he had his fingers in bread dough than...”

  “Rachel!” Luke returned to their sides in time to hear the last comment. “I can’t believe you said that.”

  “Nearly said. Your mind is in the gutter, Dr. Allred.” She arched a brow at him and smiled secretly.

  Becca envied them that. Jake and Holly were the same way. It was so obvious that along with the love and caring were strong, passionate sexual relationships. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She couldn’t worry about that. The grand opening of The Secret Ingredient was just two days away. Focus. She had to be focused. Her total lack of a sex life should be the last thing on her mind.

  * * * *

  Eli watched the bustle of activity across the square, ignoring the snide remarks from Ruthie that what he was really watching was Becca’s bottom.

  “If you got an itch, sugar,” his waitress rasped next to his ear, “you should go scratch it.”

  “If I have an itch, Ruthie, I’ll get some cortisone cream.”

  “Sugar, you just ain’t right.”

  “No. I just don’t have my mind on sex all the time.” Which was almost completely a lie. He did have his mind on sex. Hot, sweaty sex with Becca Allred. As he’d watched her stretch up and wash windows, bend over to plant flower pots, and joke with passers-by, he’d wanted to walk over there, spin her around, and kiss her. He’d imagined palming her bountiful breasts, running his hands over the curve from her waist to her hips, and then squeezing the round cheeks of her ass. Crap! Just thinking about it again had given him another hard-on.

  He stalked back to his office and slammed the door. He adjusted himself inside his jeans and sat. Maybe totaling last month’s expenses would solve this problem because he certainly couldn’t deal with a woody at work, and he wasn’t about to approach Becca Allred and actually do all the things he imagined.

  He brought up the spreadsheet he wanted on his laptop and double-checked the computer’s totals with his own calculator. Once he’d verified everything, he selected data, and asked for it in a line graph. When the graph popped up in front of him, Eli drummed his fingers on the desk. It was what he suspected when he’d returned to town and bought out his Dad and Mom. Expenses were on the increase and revenues had been slowly eroding. Nothing huge, neither the increases in costs nor the decreases in income, but when looked at over a span of time, the trend became obvious.

  Eli slid the menu in front of him. Something had to change. The selections were essentially the same as when he was a kid. Since his arrival, one of the things he had done was to begin tracking orders so he would know exactly what customers were eating as well as what they weren’t. Tastes changed, and if Mercer’s was going to keep going for another couple of generations, they would have to change as well. In an age where more people were becoming health conscious, they offered only a tossed salad and a chef’s salad. Bread choices were limited to white or wheat. While cheeseburgers with chili, slaw, mustard, and onions were a trademark, almost no one purchased the fried bologna sandwich, let alone the toasted pimento cheese. He glanced at the kid’s menu. Grilled cheese, chicken nuggets, hot dogs, and mac and cheese. What was it Bash had talked about the other day? Peanut butter, banana, and honey?

  Eli leaned back in his chair and began to brainstorm.

  * * * *

  “Aunt Becca, there’s another delivery guy pulled up in the alley out back.”

  Jared’s voice carried to her up front where she was writing the menu for their grand opening in colored chalk on the board just inside the door.

  “Be right there.” She straightened up, rubbed the small of her back with her hand, and started back to the kitchen. The sound of the front door opening halted her, and she turned to smile at whoever had come in, but the smile died.

  Eli Mercer’s massive frame filled the doorway, making even her feel small. But she was through letting this man get to her, and she was through trying to be polite or professional where he was concerned.

  “What do you want? No, scratch that.” She crossed her arms across her chest. “Let me see. I believe the phrase was ‘get your ass out of my restaurant’. Well, back at you, Eli. Get your ass out of my business. We’re not open—especially to you.”

  “You won’t even listen to my pr
oposal?”

  “When hell freezes over. We’re not open until tomorrow, and I have things to do.”

  She turned her back on him and walked away, not even bothering to see if he left or not as she ducked back into the kitchen to deal with the latest deliveries. Jared was already stocking and checking inventory.

  “Let’s go ahead and start a basic bread dough, Jared. As soon as this truck’s gone, we can begin adding ingredients for some smaller specialty loaves I want to feature for breakfast and lunch choices tomorrow. We’ll need to have plenty of extra loaves on hand for sale.”

  The produce supplier stood at the open back of his truck with his clipboard in hand. She could see he’d already been warned about her by his boss. “Here you go, Miss Allred. Would you like to check everything before I unload?”

  She looked at him sidelong. “Of course. Following instructions?”

  He grinned. “You bet.”

  She checked the cases of fruits and vegetables. Their order wasn’t huge, but she needed the freshest ingredients she could get. If she was going to capture catering clients among the locals, then nothing could compromise the quality of what she served. It was one of the reasons she’d chosen a smaller, organic food supplier. Yes, it was more expensive, but she was betting on it paying off in the end.

  As she immersed herself in the hundred and one things that still needed to be done, she put Eli Mercer out of her mind. He was just one more problem resolved. After Jared put their fruit in storage, Becca had him watch while she lined up ingredients and spices for the loaves she wanted to make.

  “We’ll do two sweeter breads and two savory. I think for tomorrow maybe apple cinnamon walnut bread and cranberry orange. That will do it for folks who like something sweet. Now for the other two...a rosemary and olive oil blend and sun-dried tomato basil.”

  “Won’t the sun-dried tomatoes be sweet?” Jared asked.

  She grinned at him. “It will have some sweetness, but we’ll balance that out with spices.”