For a moment, she appeared taken aback, then pink stained her cheeks. “I prefer not to discuss my private life, Mr. McBride. At least, not where Mr. Jamieson is concerned.”
“Oh.” A beat of silence followed; two beats. “I apologize if I got too personal.” Then, in an attempt to lighten the mood, he took the conversation back to his nieces. “I’m not so het up on the idea of talking about nuptials, myself. My ears are worn out from listening to that particular topic. Matrimony is the girls’ favorite subject these days.”
“I believe many girls enjoy dreaming about their future weddings.”
“If only it were their weddings they were planning, I’d be happy,” Tye said, offering a rueful smile. “But it’s not their own lives they are arranging, it’s mine. My nieces enjoyed a run of good luck in matching their daddy with their new mother. Now they think they can do it again. To me.”
He paused and rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. “You know, when they take to trying to marry me off, I find myself wanting to go along with the rest of Fort Worth and call them the McBride Menaces.”
“That’s understandable,” Claire replied, stirring her witches’ brew. After setting down the spoon, she removed a tin funnel from a wall hook and set it beside the bottles.
Tye watched her, intrigued. What was it she’d called her mixture? Magic?
Magic. His gaze trailed slowly down her curvaceous form. He found it easy to imagine her a sorceress.
“You are against marriage?”
“Hmm?” Tye yanked his gaze off the graceful curve of her hips. “Am I against marriage? No, not at all. It’s certainly made my brother a happy man. It isn’t in the cards for me, though. Not any time soon, anyway.” He paused and grimaced. “If only I could get the Blessings to understand that.”
She paused in her work and looked at him. “Family can be difficult at times.”
He read understanding and something more in her gaze. Sadness. Hurt. Perhaps anger. “Do you have family here in Fort Worth?”
She jerked her gaze away. “No. Are you always this nosy, Mr. McBride?”
“Touché,” he said with a grin.
Despite Tye’s better intentions, Claire Donovan piqued his interest. She’d left her beau down in Galveston and obviously had some sort of trouble with her family. He wondered what it was. Had love put her heart through a wringer, too?
Boisterous laughter interrupted his contemplation as the Blessings dashed past the door. Ralph bounded along beside them, his excited puppy yelps blending sweetly with the music of the children’s joy. Claire smiled at the sound and glanced toward the timer where the last grains of sand slid through the narrow opening. Lifting a pair of padded mittens, she approached the stove.
Tye rose from his seat. “Let me help with that. It looks heavy.”
“I can do it.”
“I’m sure you can,” he replied. “But let me help anyway.”
Tye appropriated the pads, then lifted the soup pot from the stove and carried it over to the table, setting it where the lady indicated. She placed a funnel in the neck of the first bottle, then dipped a ladle into the brew and brought it to her nose for a sniff.
Tye was surprised she still had the ability to distinguish scents. His expression must have showed his doubt, because she grinned. The imp was back. “Here, doubting Thomas. Take a whiff.”
Wary, Tye leaned forward. He was momentarily distracted by the brush of her arm against his. Then, meeting the challenge shining in her eyes, prepared for a shock to his system, he inhaled. “Good Lord.”
It was a shock, all right. The scent blasted through him, a knockout punch of pleasure to his senses. Instinctively, he took a second sniff and groaned with delight. It’s like sex for the nose, he thought. “All that stink. How in the world did that become this? How did you do it?”
Her brow arched. “I told you. It’s Magic.”
“Magic,” he repeated.
She lifted the ladle to her mouth and sipped. Her eyes slowly closed. She licked her lips and smiled.
Never in his life had Tye witnessed a more erotic act.
The scent of Magic swirled around them, and his nostrils flared to take it in. Her lashes lifted. Their gazes met and held. His breathing quickened; his mouth went dry. Again, arousal hit him, hot and hard and heavy.
Magic.
As though it had a will of its own, his hand rose, his fingers wrapping around hers as they held the ladle. Claire’s eyes widened as hot liquid splashed over the sides and spilled to the floor. The effects of the scent roared through him, took hold of him, captured his will.
He wanted to taste the Magic, too, but not from the damned spoon. He wanted to drink the sorceress’s Magic straight from Claire Donovan’s mouth. As he lowered his head, he demanded in a raspy voice, “Share.”
At her whispered gasp, he paused and his gaze met hers, deep and shadowed blue like the night sky as it gave way to the universe. Magic. Enchantress. Seductress.
What the hell was he doing?
Abruptly, Tye pulled away. The spoon clattered to the floor. Desire remained a driving need within him as he stared at the droplets of amber-colored fluid collected on the tile. What had come over him? Why had he acted so totally out of character?
After a moment’s thought, revelation widened his eyes. He glanced from the floor to the soup pot to the muffins on the table.
To the delectable, delicious, and dangerous Claire Donovan.
A breeze from the open door stirred the scent of her elixir around them again, and desire hit him with another wallop. Good God. Miss Donovan’s Magic was aptly named. The woman added more than flour and cinnamon and eggs to her baked goods.
Obviously, Claire had cooked up an aphrodisiac.
To avoid bad luck, always stir a good roast gravy with a wooden spoon.
CHAPTER 3
I CAN’T BELIEVE HE almost kissed me.
Three days after the fact, the memory of the moment continued to shock and befuddle Claire. Even in a place as wild and untamed as Fort Worth, men didn’t force themselves on ladies they’d only just met. Not if they were gentlemen. Didn’t that give a nice fat clue into Tye McBride’s character.
I wonder why he pulled away?
She dabbed her paintbrush at the spot of white she’d missed on an interior wall, obliterating the dry place with an uneven stroke of pale yellow. “You’re better off not asking that question, Claire Donovan,” she muttered. Pursuing that line of thought any further meant examining why she hadn’t pulled away first. Experience had taught Claire it didn’t pay to be too curious.
But she was still a woman, with a woman’s weaknesses, so when the masculine groan and childish squeal of distress sounded from next door, she put down her paintbrush and hurried to investigate. What she found left her gasping. “Oh, my.”
Afternoon sunshine beamed through Fortune’s Design’s plate glass window, illuminating the interior of Jenny McBride’s dress shop. Upon Claire’s earlier visits to the store, notions, trims, and bolts of fabric had filled the shelves along one wall. A display table near the front usually held sketchbooks, markdown items, and an ivy plant droopy from lack of water. Normally, the work-table stood flush against the wall.
Today was not a normal day.
Claire stopped right inside the front door and surveyed the surroundings in shock. Directly in front of her lay an overturned chair. Beside it, a thread box rested on its side amidst the broken remnants of a pottery flower vase. “Oh my,” she repeated as she stepped around the chair. Her hem collected a web of scarlet thread, and her shoe bumped one of the dozens of wooden spools lying scattered on the floor, sending it rolling across the wood to slam against the baseboard.
“Careful, Miss Donovan,” came a man’s voice. “I darn near broke a leg on one of those. Never realized a small scrap of wood could be so dangerous.”
She followed the sound to the back of the shop. Tye McBride sat on the floor slumped against the wall opposite the dressing room. Dazed w
as the word she thought best described him.
Uncertain how to reply, Claire settled for a dry, “Sewing can be a perilous occupation for some of us. I poked a needle halfway through my thumb one time.”
“Do much sewing?” he asked casually.
“Not if I can avoid it. I do have to make curtains for my bakery, though, I’m afraid.”
Tye’s smile was wry. “Maybe you could barter buns for basting with Mrs. Moore. She manages this shop for Jenny.”
“We’ve met.” She glanced from the back of the store to the front and didn’t hide her grimace. “She’s not working today?”
“She went home sick.” Slowly, he pushed to his feet and dusted off his denim pants. “I told her I’d keep an eye on Fortune’s Design for her.”
“Next time you might try using more than one.”
He sighed heavily and nodded his agreement “I put the CLOSED sign up in the front window.”
“I guess your vandal couldn’t read.”
He cut her a dry look, then commented, “A good neighbor might have checked on the situation when she heard a bunch of commotion next door.”
Claire nodded. “A good neighbor would have had she not been away doing errands for a time. All has been quiet here for the past hour or two. At least it was quiet until you groaned.” Walking back toward the front of the store, she plucked a bright red pincushion out of the center of a potted plant “Reminds one of a tomato.”
“Yeah,” Tye replied. He stared at the stuffed roundish ball. “I like tomatoes. You use them much in your baking?”
She winced at the thought “No, can’t say I do. Why are we talking about this?”
“I’m trying to avoid dealing with reality here.”
Claire wanted to laugh at that. How like a man.
“Bet you use a lot of that Magic stuff you make, though, don’t you? I figured it out. It’s an aphrodisiac.”
“A what?”
One of the girls, Maribeth, if Claire remembered correctly, poked her head outside the dressing room curtain. “Hello, Miss Donovan. Uncle Tye, I’ve picked up all the pins in here. What do I do next? And what’s an aphrodisiac?”
McBride wasn’t paying attention. Instead, his gaze had focused on a bolt of red gingham now lying on the floor. Claire followed the path of his stare and spied the muddy paw prints adorning the cloth.
Claire wasn’t the least bit surprised. She hadn’t seen much of the McBrides the past few days, but she’d seen plenty of Ralph. The dog could teach even the three Menaces how to get into mischief.
“Uncle Tye,” the child repeated, “what’s an aphrodisiac?”
He cleared his throat and said, “It’s an animal similar to a raccoon, Mari.”
Claire gaped at him, then bit the inside of her cheek to hold back an unladylike snort as hope lit the youngster’s eyes.
“Like a coon?” Maribeth asked. “They’re mischievous animals. Does an aphrodisiac make paw prints like a puppy’s?”
Tye jerked his head toward the soiled gingham, and in a boom-lowering tone, stated, “You mean like Ralph’s.”
Ralph. The obvious culprit. Judging by the wilted expressions on both the McBrides’ faces, neither of them was happy with the truth.
The girl asked in a little voice, “What are you going to do, Uncle Tye? This breaks Rule Number Three on Papa’s list, the one about animals and trouble. Are you gonna make us give him away?”
“Well…” he rubbed his palm along his jaw. “I can’t be breaking any of your pa’s rules.”
Though Claire wouldn’t have thought it possible, Maribeth’s face drooped even further.
“But,” Tye continued, shooting a sharp look toward Claire. “I’m not a hundred percent certain Ralph is at fault here. We have an unaccounted-for aphrodisiac running around loose.”
Emma McBride should have embroidered teddy bears on his drawers along with the hearts, Claire thought. That’s all he was, a big teddy bear.
The sudden vision of this particular teddy bear propped up against her bed pillows along with the other mementos of her youth brought a warm flush of embarrassment to Claire’s cheeks. Must be all this silly talk of aphrodisiacs.
She cleared her throat. “Well, Miss Maribeth, I think your uncle has a point. Another four-footed animal might have made this mess.”
Hope lit Maribeth McBride’s expression. “So if we’re not positive Ralph broke Rule Number Three, we don’t have to give him away?”
Tye reached down and ruffled her hair. “Not as long as a trio of two-legged little girls work hard to clean this place up.”
“The piano lesson should be almost over. I’ll go tell my sisters to hurry up.” Maribeth hopped to her feet and darted out the back in a flash.
Claire laughed as the door banged behind the girl. She scooped up the basket lying at Tye’s feet and deposited the pincushion inside. After kneeling to retrieve more of the basket’s contents, she looked up at him and observed, “You’re the Menace, Mr. McBride. Lying to that child. Really now, an aphrodisiac?”
Tye stood frozen in his tracks as he caught a whiff of her perfume. Fresh paint with an overriding scent of Magic.
Damn right an aphrodisiac.
He wanted to reach down and pull her up. Up into his arms. He wanted to taste Claire Donovan’s Magic.
A loud harrumph shook him from his trance. Glancing up, he spied Trace’s housekeeper, Mrs. Wilson, standing in the doorway. He stifled a groan. This day was riding a fast train from bad to worse.
Scandal bristling in her tone, Mrs. Wilson glared at him and said, “Lies and wickedness. You should be ashamed, Tye McBride.”
He sighed. Just his luck the old biddy arrived in time to witness his story about animals and aphrodisiacs. Knowing her, she had decided he’d hosted an orgy in Jenny’s shop. Wonderful. Just wonderful.
Claire rose to her feet and faced the housekeeper. Disapproval flattened the baker’s smile, and for the first time since his brother left town, Tye felt like he had somebody on his side. Despite the tension of the moment, he grinned.
Tye and Mrs. Wilson had been engaged in something of a turf war since the moment Trace and Jenny stepped aboard the outbound train. She didn’t trust him with her beloved charges, and he didn’t like her bossy attitude. The girls, being the intelligent scamps that they were, had used it to their advantage by playing one against the other until Mrs. Wilson left to care for her daughter. While he admitted to needing help with his nieces, Tye found he didn’t look forward to a resumption of hostilities now that the housekeeper had returned.
To that end, he decided to ignore her censure. “Good afternoon, ma’am. Welcome home. How is your daughter’s leg coming along? Is it healing all right? Are you back for good?”
She gave an exaggerated sniff. “I’m just here in Fort Worth for the afternoon to check up on the girls and pick up a few necessities from my house. My daughter is doing tolerably well under the circumstances, thank you, which is more than I can say for both Fortune’s Design and Willow Hill. Why, I’ve never seen such a mess in my life!” Turning to Claire, she asked, “And who are you? I won’t tolerate him bringing his doxies around my Menaces.”
Anger flashed like lightning. “Now wait just one minute,” he began.
Claire smiled and extended her hand, deliberately treading on Tye’s foot as she took a step toward the housekeeper. “Please excuse my appearance. I’ve been painting and I do look a fright. I’m Claire Donovan, Mrs. Wilson. I’ve rented the shop space next door from Mr. Trace. I met Mr. McBride and the girls this morning. Those children are so delightful and they had so many nice things to say about you.”
“They are precious girls, aren’t they?” Mrs. Wilson beamed.
Tye figured Claire had handled the insult to herself, so he settled for grumbling, “So don’t call them Menaces.”
Mrs. Wilson wrinkled her nose his way. “I’ve told you before it’s a term of endearment that both their father and I use. You don’t know these children
well enough to care for them.”
She turned to Claire and spoke as though the baker were now her ally. “When I received word my daughter and son-in-law needed me I was so torn. I knew it was a mistake to leave this scoundrel solely in charge of the girls while I help my daughter and grandchildren. If only Mr. Trace had listened to me and arranged for another woman to back me up with the girls while he and Jenny are away instead of this brother of his. I told him it was a mistake to rely on Tye.”
“Hold your tongue, lady,” he warned.
Claire played referee by stepping between him and the housekeeper, and he couldn’t fault her thinking. His temper up, he braced his hands on his hips and kicked another thread spool out of his way. He’d expected holy hell from her should she return before he’d successfully dealt with the tomato chaos at the house, but the woman had no cause to fault his care of his nieces. She’d prodded a sore spot, and he wasn’t about to allow her charge to pass. “My brother can depend on me for anything and everything, and he darn well knows it. I’d give my life for the Blessings. I’ve taken good care of them.”
“Too bad you can’t say the same about Willow Hill and this poor store,” the housekeeper snapped back. “Where is Mrs. Moore, by the way? She probably took one look at this place and had a spell.”
“I gave her the day off,” Tye replied, biting back the words he truly wanted to say and all but choking on the words he eventually voiced. “You are right, Mrs. Wilson.”
Claire tossed a look of surprise over her shoulder. After a moment of shocked silence, the old peahen preened.
Tye wanted to scowl and turn the air blue with a few choice cuss words, but under the circumstances, he reckoned placation was the word of the day. Otherwise Mrs. Wilson was liable to hunt up one of her friends to “assist” him with his nieces.
Despite recent trouble, he still thought he could handle the job alone. He needed to do it, needed to help his brother when that help really counted. He would not sound retreat and call for help from outside sources. At least not from someone of Mrs. Wilson’s choosing.
The Bad Luck Wedding Cake Page 3