Mr. Ostergaard hustled over to her and took the tray. “Zank you, dear. Business vill be good this veek because of you and Kimberly.” With tongs, he dished the hot pastries into the display cabinet.
Angelique just stared at Blake, while Mr. Ostergaard disappeared with the empty pan into the back kitchen.
“Hi,” Blake said. Because what else could he say?
After he pulled Gabriel off her, she’d made love to Blake like he was the only man she’d ever want again. But the next day, she’d turned into a barracuda, renewed her threat to destroy them all, then showed up here the very same week to . . . bake? For the very people she was trying to put out of business?
She wiped both hands on the apron, which made a bigger mess. “Hello.” She turned to go to the kitchen.
“You’re working for the Ostergaards?” Blake said it more like an accusation.
She half turned back to him but couldn’t meet his eyes. “Just helping out a little since Mrs. O is sick.”
With the back of one hand, she swiped at her forehead and managed to smudge even more flour across her olive-toned skin. The stark contrast was, well, pretty. Because everything she did seemed attractive to him. She could roll in flour and all he’d want to do is lick it off.
“I know what it’s like.” She kept her tone even. Emotionless. “It’s the least I can do before I leave Red River.”
The thought of her leaving felt like someone punched him square in the solar plexus.
But what the hell was she doing here? Baking? Did she play the Good Samaritan to all of her victims before tearing their hearts out?
“Now who’s Florence Nightingale?” He didn’t even try to stay the sharpness of his tone.
Mr. O came barreling back in the room with a noticeable skip in his step.
“Okay!” Mr. Ostergaard reappeared and stood in front of the counter. “Now, vhat else can I get you?”
“Can I borrow your new help for a minute?” He gave Angelique a challenging look, and she narrowed both eyes at him.
“I’ve got to clean up the kitchen.” Angelique took a step back.
“It’ll only take a minute. We really should speak in private.” He glanced at Mr. O, then turned a sly smile on her. “About that library thing.” Bingo. She blanched. She still didn’t want Mr. O to know the truth. So that was mean of Blake. Kind of like blackmailing her with her panties, but he was way beyond caring at the moment. He should’ve already told the Os and everyone else in Red River who Angelique really was and why she was here. He’d kept it a secret too long, mostly for selfish reasons, but also because he didn’t want them to dislike her before the town had a chance to prickle her conscience. Before he was able to get to know her and see where it might lead.
“I don’t think there’s anything left to say.” She refused to back down. So like her. One way or another he was going to find out what was going on in that stubborn, gorgeous head of hers.
They stared each other down like an old John Wayne movie. Or like Doc Holliday and Wyatt Earp shooting it out with outlaws at the OK Corral. Blake almost snorted, cleared his throat. Get a grip. Whatever the case, this Doc Holloway wasn’t going down without a fight. To the death. Cheese Danishes and gooey cinnamon rolls blazing.
He took out his wallet and placed some bills on the counter as Mr. O rang up his order and handed Blake the box of pastries. He set the pastries by the cash register and walked around the counter, straight to Angelique.
Her onyx eyes flew wide as each step drew him closer, and her lush lips formed a little O. Before she could protest, argue, scowl, or run, because that’s what the hardheaded woman was likely to do, he wrapped her in his arms and hauled her against him. He pulled her within a breath.
Blake glanced at Mr. O again, and Angelique’s eyes issued a silent plea.
“You can’t have it both ways forever,” he whispered and nearly choked on the hypocritical statement. That’s exactly what he’d been doing—having his Italian cake and enjoying the taste of it too. Selfish as it sounded even to himself, he’d wanted to keep both Red River and Angelique. But she obviously still didn’t see him as a priority over her career or that law firm full of vipers back in Albuquerque.
She tensed, swallowed, but didn’t struggle against him. “You got what you wanted.”
He didn’t have any of the things he wanted. “Not by a long shot.”
Her eyes flitted to Mr. O for an infinitesimal fraction of time, then landed on Blake again. Her chin notched up. “I can’t give you anything else.”
“Is that how you really feel, Angelique?” His gaze dropped to those plump lips, and then he gave himself a mental slap. Now wasn’t the time to give in to how much he wanted her. Only her. Any way she’d have him. She’d likely see it as weakness.
“Yes, that’s how I feel. So let me go.” Her voice wavered, and a glint of something softer raced across her face. Then it was gone.
He wanted to stop her absurd talk with a hot, demanding kiss. Instead, he set her away from him. “Then I guess we’re done.”
He nodded good-bye to an open-mouthed Mr. Ostergaard and strolled out of the bakery with a box of fresh pastries under his arm.
Blake thumbed through the keys on his key chain as he climbed the steps to his back door. His brain fuzzy from working all day at the free clinic while thinking of a frustrating, flour-caked attorney, he dropped the keys. Drawing in a weary breath, he pinched the bridge of his nose.
Get over it. You knew she was trouble from the beginning.
When he bent to pick up the keys, something in his periphery caught his eye. He wandered to the wooden post that supported the porch roof and kicked a stray paper bag away that had blown in from somewhere unknown.
His brows bunched as he eyed the foreign object that had been lying on his porch under a piece of trash for no telling how long. He picked it up, snapped off the rubber band, and held up . . . black thong panties?
A smile cracked his face wide open and spread all the way to his center as he examined the same pair of panties he’d had the privilege of holding the first day he met Angelique. Nice. Sarge was back on panty patrol.
“Good dog,” Blake mumbled, as he unfolded the piece of paper. He owed Sergeant Schnitzel a dog treat. Blake would buy the dog a whole box if his owner would come to her senses.
Finally getting the paper smoothed out, Blake’s eyes scanned the page.
He turned around and headed back to the truck. If he hurried, he could make it to the market before it closed because he owed a certain weenie dog the biggest box of Milk Bones he could find.
That evening, Angelique drove through Red River and headed back to the cabin, with Kimberly nursing a few superficial teeth marks on one hand. Angelique shook her head. “How about we take a break from the bucket list? It’s getting hazardous to our health.”
“Okay, so maybe alligator wrestling wasn’t the best idea on the bucket list,” Kimberly huffed.
Angelique rolled her eyes. “Ya think?”
“They were supposed to be tame!” Kimberly crowed.
“You’re lucky you have a hand left.” Angelique sighed as her SUV climbed another hill, the evening sky turning a pale shade of lavender.
“That’s the last time I try to give a giant lizard a treat.”
“You still haven’t heard from Blake?” Angelique asked Kimberly, chewing her bottom lip. He’d ignored her note, her gift, then made it clear they were over this morning at the bakery. But why wouldn’t he call Kimberly and take the help she was offering? Kimberly’s skills as an attorney had to be far superior to Aqua Velva’s. A rock would offer better legal representation, so what was Blake’s problem?
“No.” Kimberly shook her head. “Sorry, sweetie.”
Angelique knew exactly what Blake’s problem was. Her. And maybe Kimberly was guilty by association.
She’d deflected several calls from the firm, but she couldn’t hold them off any longer. They wanted an update, and they’d have some pre
tty stern questions as to how and why this case went so far south; she might as well start speaking Spanish and set up a law office in Puerto Vallarta.
She’d never written a resignation before. First thing tomorrow she’d have to figure out how because the partners would surely demand one. Actually, she’d be lucky if they allowed her to quit with some dignity instead of firing her. And she still had to deal with Gabriel and his asinine accusations.
She sighed. Maybe she could buy out that alligator farm she and Kimberly had just come from. Raising alligators seemed like an honorable profession. Society needed more alligators, right? And only one of them had snapped at them for real. They were fairly docile and well-trained creatures. A bucket of fish entrails and they’d be eating out of the palm of her fingerless hand.
Angelique slowed, flipped her blinker up, and turned right into her drive. Her brows knitted together. “My parents are here.” She pulled to a stop next to her parents’ sedan. “They didn’t tell me they were coming back so soon.”
Kimberly suddenly found something out the window very interesting. “Oh, look. A cute little squirrel.” Kimberly pointed to absolutely nothing.
Angelique rolled her eyes. Kimberly never referred to anything as cute without at least two expletives attached, turning it into an insult. “You didn’t need to call my parents. I’m fine.”
They parked and walked up the porch to the door. “I’ve got to go back to Taos tomorrow as soon as we’re done at the Ostergaards’, so I called in reinforcements.”
Her dad and Nona descended on them the second she and Kimberly walked through the door, the aroma of some sort of exquisite Italian dish filling the cabin. Food was her mother’s answer to just about any problem. Many Barbetta family crises had ended with a trip to the tailor to let out waistlines. Thank God for yoga pants. When cannelloni and zeppole made an appearance, you could bet money that something catastrophic had gone down like the Yankees losing the pennant. Or a daughter diagnosed with breast cancer.
“Hello, beautiful.” Angelique’s dad gave her a peck on the cheek. “We came for a quick visit. Kimberly left a key under the mat for us.”
“I see that.” Angelique set her purse down on the counter. “What’s the occasion?”
Her mom, bent over waist-deep in the fridge, pulled her head out of the produce drawer. “Can’t we come see our daughter just because we love her?”
“You can come see me anytime you want, but I think Kimberly lured you guys up here under false pretenses.” Angelique eyed Kimberly with a suspicious glare.
Kimberly walked to the stove and peeked into a simmering pot. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She slurped spaghetti sauce from a well-used wooden spoon.
“Stop that, young lady.” Mom skittered over and swatted Kimberly’s hand, snatching the spoon away. “You know better than to do that when I’m cooking.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Kimberly tried to sound contrite but failed. She pulled a pitcher from the cupboard. “I’m spiking the lemonade,” she announced.
“So what’s this we hear about you losing your first case ever?” Her dad sat down at the table.
“Gee.” Angelique glowered at Kimberly. “Good news travels fast.”
“Technically, she’s not going to lose,” Kimberly said. “The case will be dropped.”
“It’s still a loss, but if I’m going to lose a case, I’m glad it’s this one.” Angelique sighed. Even if Blake didn’t want her anymore, it was still worth it. She wasn’t exactly sure when it had happened, but Red River and its band of misfit residents had changed her whole perspective on how she wanted to practice law. How she wanted to live.
“So does that mean you’re coming back to Albuquerque soon?” Nona asked, sniffing around the stove. “There are plenty of eligible men there. It’s time you settle down like your brothers and pop out a kid or two.”
Angelique sent Kimberly another sharp-ass glare for obviously sharing her man problems, too.
Kimberly shrugged.
Angelique rubbed the corners of her eyes, bleary from getting up at the crack of dawn. “I don’t need a man, Nona.” Unless the man is Blake Holloway. Yes. Yes, she so needed that particular man. “And I’m not planning to have kids.”
“Oh, honey, you don’t know for sure if your kids will inherit the gene. Nona and I both had breast cancer, too, and we didn’t let it stop us from having a family.”
“And look how well that worked out.” Angelique pointed to both of her breasts. “There wasn’t a lot of genetic testing data when you two had it, so of course your illness didn’t affect your decision to have kids.”
“We also have much better early detection methods now that weren’t available in our day,” her mom countered.
“But you had no way of knowing your genetic code was faulty. I know I’d be putting my children at risk. What kind of mother would that make me?”
Her mother sighed. “You’re missing the point, dear. We’re all still living.” She swept a hand across the room, indicating herself, Nona, and Angelique. “You know that thing called modern medicine? It actually works, and my life wouldn’t have been complete if I hadn’t had you kids.”
Nona nodded, taking a seat at the table. “At least modern medicine can make ’em look real. In my day they slapped a wooden boob on us and sent us on our way. Try finding a man with that.”
Angelique’s dad groaned.
“Well, we just want to see her find a nice man without having to use online dating.” Nona shook her head at Angelique’s dad. “My friend Edna signed up on one of those senior citizens’ sites in Boca Raton, and it didn’t end well. They all just wanted her body.”
Kimberly scoffed and stirred the lemonade. “This from someone who picks up strangers at the Health Shack between Calcium Support for Brittle Bones and the Colon Cleanse section.”
“Actually, it was the ginseng and black cohosh section for a stronger libido, and at least they offered to buy me dinner first.” Nona pretended to put a hex on Kimberly with the index and pinky fingers of one wrinkled and bony hand.
“You two shush already.” Her mother gave Nona and Kimberly her best Kitchen General I’m-about-to-storm-the-beachhead stare.
Angelique sank both hands into her hair and sagged against the counter. “Will there ever come a time when . . . cancer . . .” She stumbled over the word because she hated it. Just speaking it made her angry. “When it doesn’t control my life?”
Her mom took a deep breath. “Sweetie, the doubts you’re having, they’re normal. It’ll get easier with time, but you’re worrying about possibilities that are beyond your control. I know you don’t want to be a victim, but you can never stop being a survivor.”
Angelique put a hand to her forehead as a throb started at the center of her brain. “After your mastectomies, did you ever feel like you were going crazy?”
Her mother looked thoughtful. “Well, there was that one time when I thought I was bipolar, but it turned out to be menopause.” She waved a dismissive hand in the air before adding a plate of browned meatballs to the sauce. “The point is you have to go on and live your life. Otherwise, you’re letting cancer win, even if it never comes back.”
There was that “winning” thing again. Oh, her mother was so good at pushing the right buttons.
Her mother dropped a wad of spaghetti into a pot of boiling water. “You. Who hates to lose more than the Yankees hate the Red Sox.” Her mother used a large spoon to tap the pasta down into the boiling water.
Angelique rubbed her temples. “The truth is, I’m not sure what I want to do. Kimberly may be filing some papers for me first thing Monday morning.” If Blake would just take the help they were offering. “It’ll probably take a few more days to wrap things up here.” If she was lucky. “Then I’ll have to explain all of this to the firm.” Right before they fired her.
“You can stay with me in Taos for a little while if you want,” Kimberly offered. “I could use your help with a few case
s, and getting certified as scuba divers is next on the bucket list. It’ll be faster if you stay close.”
“I thought we just agreed no more bucket list for a while?” Angelique said.
“I agreed to no such thing,” Kimberly huffed.
Hell’s bells, Angelique didn’t have anything better to do. Or wouldn’t in a few days when she was unemployed. Why not? Scuba diving in a landlocked state at eight thousand feet of altitude might be an adventure. And skydiving out of a perfectly good plane was looking better and better.
Her mother patted her hand. “All we’re saying, dear, is that it’ll be okay. Things have a way of working themselves out.”
Well, frick. So far nothing in her life had worked itself out. And she wasn’t expecting that to change anytime soon.
Chapter Twenty
Angelique and Kimberly spent Sunday morning baking enough pastries to fill the Ostergaards’ display case for the week. Helping out Mr. and Mrs. O had been cathartic, since Angelique’s time in Red River was coming to a close.
She and Kimberly hugged good-bye in the parking lot. Kimberly drove back to Taos to work on an important case, and Angelique went back to her cabin.
When she entered the kitchen, Angelique froze. Her mother broke eggs into a bowl, and her father sat at the table working a crossword puzzle.
And Blake stood over the kitchen island—her kitchen island—attacking vegetables like a samurai warrior. Obviously, he wasn’t experienced at dicing produce because she’d never seen a tomato cut into the shape of South America.
He glanced up and did a double take. Angelique’s heart skipped. She stopped in the doorway, frozen like a deer in his headlights while she drank in the heated look of desire that shone in his eyes. Her insides liquefied.
“Hello, dear.” Her mother started to beat the eggs with a whisk. “Look who stopped by with a box of dog treats for Sarge.”
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