“The legend is what made your family’s livelihood for the past few years, girl. The legend is what put clothes on your back.”
“Well, I’m putting my own clothes on my own back now, thank you very much.” Claire took a deep breath and told herself to calm down and be strong. “I’m sorry for the bad publicity, but this is Da’s mistake. Patrick’s, too, for creating the legend in the first place. It’s not my fault.”
She nudged the letter. “Papa doesn’t say what he wants.”
“You know what your father expects,” Lars replied. “You know what you have to do.”
She shook her head. “No. I won’t marry Reid to solve a legend gone awry. Besides, it’s too late for that. I stood him up at the altar. He wouldn’t marry me now.”
“Yes he would. He told your father he would.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
She couldn’t believe it. “Why? It makes no sense. He doesn’t love me.”
“He says he does.”
“Well I don’t love him.”
“Then you shouldn’t have pawed him in the kitchen!” Lars snapped.
Claire gasped and tears pressed at the backs of her eyes. In a low, hard voice, she said, “It wasn’t like that. Nothing happened. I have tried to tell my family the truth about that night many times. That all of them, and you, Lars, choose to believe him over me offends me more than I can say.”
“All right, Clary.” He returned to his chair, took his seat, and folded his arms. “Tell me again about that night in the kitchen. Convince me why it’s not in your best interests to marry Reid.”
“You have more nerve than a toothache, Lars Sundine. I owe you no explanation.”
“Sure you do. I may not be a brother by blood, but I am by love. My advantage is I don’t have the Donovan hard head. Talk to me, Clary. I’ll listen.”
She sighed heavily, then acquiesced. She told him how Reid made the innocent doctoring of a cat’s scratch appear like an interrupted seduction to her father. She explained how, time and again during their engagement, he had disregarded her wishes and requests. She gave examples of instances when Reid categorically refused to give any consideration to how his actions would affect her.
She finished by saying, “Marrying Reid Jamieson would be like losing myself. I can’t live that way. Did you ever hear the story of how my mother wanted to be a teacher? Da didn’t want her to do it, so she didn’t. Not me. I won’t give up my dreams for any man. I won’t give up my life here in Fort Worth where I’ve invested in a business. Invested in myself. I can’t lose it all.”
Lars nodded. “You make a good case. I’m convinced. But you need to tell these things to your family. You need to face your parents. You know you do. It’s not right for a daughter to run off like you did. I’ll take you home, and you can talk it over with them.”
“I am home. Fort Worth is my home now.”
Lars raked his fingers through his shiny blond hair. “You’re sure about that? No doubt in your mind?”
“I’m sure.”
He drummed his fingers on the table for a moment, then asked, “Do you have anyone helping you here? An employee?”
She shook her head. “I can’t afford it.”
More drumming of the fingers. Abruptly, he said, “Millicent threw me over.”
“No,” Claire replied, dismayed.
“Yes. Now she’s sweet on Ronald Warfield.”
“Ronald Warfield. You’re kidding.” Claire was shocked. Millicent Ayers and that Ronald Warfield? “The shipping magnate’s daughter and a ferryboat hand? Talk about a mismatched set. Don’t worry, Lars. It will never last.”
“Long enough to get engaged.”
“No!”
“Yes. It’s making it tough for me to keep working at the shipping company. It was nice to get away to come looking for you.” He glanced down at his fingernails and casually added, “I’m thinking a move might do me some good, too.”
Claire caught on right away. “I can take care of myself, Lars. I don’t need a keeper.”
“I wouldn’t be such a fool as to think so. No, Clary, I’m thinking we could help each other out. I’m a good accountant. If I could find a position here in Fort Worth—at a bank, perhaps—I could help you in the mornings some with the baking, just like I do for Patrick now. I don’t interfere with his business. You know that I wouldn’t interfere with yours.” He paused a moment and his tone grew serious. “I need away from Galveston, too, Clary. I cared a lot about Millicent.”
Claire smiled and reached for his hand, giving it a squeeze. “I love you, Lars. Of course you can help me in The Confectionary—as long as you work for the same wages Patrick pays.”
He squeezed her hand in return. “You know, Clary, I always have found your cinnamon buns to be superior to Patrick’s.”
“Well I should hope so,” she replied with a sniff. “You can consider it a raise, then. All the cinnamon buns you can eat in exchange for your help around the bakery.”
“So,” he said, standing. “I guess we’d best get moving if I’m going to catch that train.”
Confusion coursed through her. “The train? You’re going back?”
He nodded. “They have to be told, Claire. They’re worried sick. I want you to write an answer to your da’s letter.”
Groaning, she propped her elbows on the table and rested her head in her hands. He was right. She knew it. “Lars Sundine, you might as well change your name to Donovan. You are as big a pain in the behind as any other brother of mine. I have paper and a pen on the counter out front. Bring it to me and I’ll write your stupid letter. You know what, I can’t wait to go home. This has been a very long day.”
***
ONE FLOOR above the bakery in the parlor of the apartment, Emma McBride lifted her eye from the spy hole and rolled back on her knees. She looked at her sisters. “Have you ever seen a prettier man?”
Maribeth snorted and replaced the woven rug that concealed her own listening post. “I don’t like him. Miss Donovan seems kinda nice and he got her all upset.”
Katrina sat next to Maribeth and the peephole they had shared, carefully inspecting the old rag doll she’d discovered beneath the horsehair sofa as she lay waiting for her turn to spy. She tugged a hunk of cotton from inside the doll’s amputated arm. Rubbing the cotton on the tip of her nose, she observed, “Our Mama had a Bad Luck Wedding Dress, and now Miss Donovan has a Bad Luck Wedding Cake. It’s a good thing she’s leaving, or she might try to give one to Uncle Tye and Miss Loretta. Just because Mama’s dress turned into a good luck dress doesn’t mean that lady’s cake would change, too. Even if it is magic.”
Emma shared a long-suffering look with her middle sister. Recently Kat had developed a fascination with magic and had made it her goal in life to discover how to make objects disappear. Green peas, in particular. “Kat, we have a few problems to solve concerning Uncle and Miss Loretta before we can get to the wedding cake part.”
“That’s right,” Maribeth agreed. “We didn’t skip school today to spy on Miss Donovan. We did it to think of a way to make up for what happened at supper with Miss Loretta. Otherwise, she’ll never want to marry Uncle Tye.”
Kat shook her head. “I can’t believe you forgot you had a lizard in your pocket, Mari.”
“I can’t believe he liked gravy so much.” Maribeth glumly propped her chin in the palm of her hand. “But Larry Lizard isn’t our only problem. Don’t forget the ladies’ parades. What are we going to do about that?”
Emma joined her sisters in expelling a heavy sigh. They all were discouraged. Following Larry Lizard’s running splash into the gravy boat, Uncle Tye had actually scolded them. He’d been grumpy all day yesterday and today brought no improvement, although Emma blamed the women callers for that.
“Isn’t it strange how Uncle Tye is so much like Papa?” she observed. “They not only look the same, they get grumpy the same.”
“No, they don’t,” Kat said, rolling her cotton into a sm
all ball. “I don’t think Uncle Tye is the same as Papa at all. He hardly ever gets after us. He never growls, and he doesn’t glare. Why, if Papa had been the one to have a bowl of hot gravy dumped in his lap, we’d still be sitting in the corner. Uncle Tye hardly did more than wince and rub his eyes.”
“He does that a lot,” Maribeth agreed.
Emma stood and walked to the window. “Uncle Tye’s being like Papa might help us figure a way to help him past this temper of his. I think we should work on him before fixing things with Miss Loretta, don’t you?”
The younger girls nodded. “We are around him a lot more than we’re around Miss Loretta,” Mari added.
Kat crawled over beside Emma and stuck her cotton ball behind the window hinge. “Stop that, Kat,” Emma scolded, grabbing the cotton and tossing it outside. “I’m getting tired of finding cotton stuck in hidey holes all over the house. What’s wrong with you?”
Scowling, Katrina stood and stared out the window after her cotton. “Look. Miss Donovan and that man are locking up and leaving. I guess she is going home early.”
“What are we gonna do about Uncle Tye, Emma?” Maribeth asked, ignoring her younger sister.
Emma drummed her fingers on the windowsill. “I think we should ask Spike what we should do.”
Her sisters nodded, and the three girls traipsed upstairs to their bedroom where Spike the fortune-teller perch swam in his home of clear glass. While Emma used one of Maribeth’s socks to wipe dust off a two foot square on the floor, they discussed the options they wished to pose to Spike, settling on three possibilities.
“So,” Maribeth said, rolling up her sleeve. “Are we ready?”
“I’m not.” Katrina’s brow furrowed in a frown. “Tell me again what the rules are?”
Emma groaned while Maribeth said, “Gosh, Kat. Can’t you remember anything? How many times have we asked Spike questions since Casey gave him to us? A hundred?”
“Not that many.”
Maribeth ticked off on her fingers. “Moving tail only means maybe. Moving head and tail means no. Flip-flopping means yes. Now, Emma you ask the questions.” Maribeth plunged her hand into the fishbowl, grabbed hold of Spike, and lifted him out of the water.
While Maribeth held the squirming fish with both hands, Emma chanted, “Spike, Spike, tell us true. Tell us what we ought to do. Do we tell Uncle Tye we’re sorry and want to do penance by working in the church garden with Sister Gonzaga?”
All three girls held their breath as Maribeth gently laid Spike on the floor. The fish curled in the middle, lifting both head and tail off the floor. The answer was no.
“Thank you, Lord,” Emma prayed as Maribeth lifted the fish and returned him to the water.
They allowed the fish to swim a few moments before Katrina said, “Next question, Em.”
“Spike, Spike, tell us true. Tell us what we ought to do. Do we try to sweet-talk Uncle Tye into forgetting about our slipup?”
Droplets of water splattered on the wood as Maribeth again lowered the perch to the floor. For a moment he lay unmoving, but then his tail slowly lifted.
“That’s a definite maybe,” Maribeth observed.
Emma repeated the rote for the third and final question. “Should we bake Uncle Tye a dessert?”
The second Spike hit the floor, he started flopping.
“That’s it!” Katrina clapped her hands. “He said yes. Spike said yes. No tie-breaker this time.”
“Thank goodness,” said Maribeth, returning Spike to his bowl for a well-earned rest. “It took us seven tries to break the tie last time. I was afraid he would get sick. Perch are hardy fish, but we shouldn’t overwork him.”
Twirling a pigtail with her finger, Emma smiled with satisfaction. “This is good. I think that’s the best choice. We’re no different from all those ladies lining up with cakes and stuff. They all wanted to please Uncle Tye, too.”
“He didn’t complain about the food,” Maribeth said, wiping her hands on the bedspread. “Just the women. He liked the food.”
“Except the turkey.” Katrina kissed the side of the fishbowl. “He doesn’t like turkey. And he wished someone had brought a chocolate cake, remember?”
The girls all shared a look and nodded.
“So it’s settled, then. We’ll get back in Uncle Tye’s good graces with a chocolate cake.” Emma smiled triumphantly. “And so we won’t make a mess that might make him sigh and rub his eyes, we’ll bake it in Miss Donovan’s kitchen!”
***
TYE McBRIDE stood on the platform at the railroad station where he’d just said his good-byes to the attorney from Dallas who had overseen Tye’s acquisition of a pretty stretch of ranch land southwest of town. “Guess I’m now officially a Texan.”
It was something he never would have imagined when he left South Carolina and Oak Grove plantation a few months back. Back then, he and Trace were still the bitterest of enemies, battling over the custody of the daughter each man believed was his own.
Today, everything was different.
He had learned Katrina truly did belong to Trace, and he and his twin had made their peace. Trace had welcomed him back into his life, even going so far as to request that Tye act as guardian for the girls while he was gone.
That’s what had made Tye first consider trading his planter’s hat for a cowboy chapeau. The years of his estrangement from his twin had twisted his heart near in two. He wanted to spend time with Trace again. To strengthen the bond that had never quite severed, even during the worst of times.
Funny how it was with twins. All their lives they’d shared this strange connection; a deep, subconscious knowledge of each other that was as much a part of them as their hearts or livers or lungs. He’d felt it even when the guilt of betraying Trace had driven him to Europe and into the depths of drunken stupor.
Now that the ugliness was behind them, he looked forward to the good times he could share with Trace, Jenny, and the Blessings. But to do that, he needed to live in Texas, at least part of the time.
Thank goodness he didn’t have to worry about Oak Grove. His sisters and his grandmother would oversee planting and harvest. A trip back East two or three times a year should be all that was needed.
Hell, maybe he’d even sign the deed over to his sister Ellen and her husband. Heaven knows, he didn’t need the money the plantation produced. “That’s the one good thing that came out of this idiotic inheritance,” he grumbled, ducking behind a support pole when he spied a familiar feminine face. I think she brought the fried apple pie.
Had he not turned away from the fried-apple-pie brunette, he might never have seen the blonde in a bonnet planting a kiss on the lips of a big, brawny stranger.
What was Claire Donovan up to now?
Good Lord, she was handing him a cookie. A kiss and a cookie. That must be like a double dose of Magic. Who the hell was this guy?
Tye eyed the stranger closely. The man was backing away from Claire. Good. He wouldn’t have wanted to go break up an intimate encounter atop the baggage cart.
But he would have.
Protecting my fellow man, he told himself. That’s all. Hadn’t she in effect lied about the fiancé? Hadn’t she proved herself to be less than honorable where men were concerned? She’d left this poor Jamieson fellow standing lonely at the altar, for God’s sake.
And then there was the Magic business. Intellectually, he questioned whether aphrodisiacs truly existed, but physically, he couldn’t deny the symptoms. Claire Donovan’s Magic made him randy as a billy goat in spring. He could only hope the brew didn’t have a similar effect on everyone. Otherwise, Fort Worth could look forward to a population explosion once she had her bakery up and running.
That was the excuse he gave himself for spying on the cookie queen and her masculine escort. He realized only after the man climbed aboard the departing train and Claire remained behind that he’d been holding his breath. That made him angry. Why did he care what Claire Donovan did? And why the hell
had he been awake half the night stewing about the woman? She was nothing more than an appealing, unattached, so-beautiful-she-made-your-teeth-ache lady. He’d sworn off the likes of those the day Constance West McBride lied her way into his bed.
Yesterday afternoon everything had changed. She wasn’t his friend. She couldn’t be his friend. He knew that.
So why was it that now, as the engine slowly crawled away in a strain of gears and a cloud of black smoke, his feet carried him toward her? “Hello, Claire. Whatcha doing down here at the station?”
She looked up in surprise. “Why, hello, Tye.”
She had tears in her eyes, dammit. She was crying over that stranger.
“So who was he? Another fiancé?”
“Excuse me?”
“The man you were kissing. Is he someone you’ve dumped at the altar or just another poor fool you are using?”
The confusion in her expression faded and was replaced by anger as she glanced from Tye, to the departing train, then back to Tye. “You were spying on me? I can’t believe you. If you don’t have a nerve.”
Her fingers tightened around the strings of her pocket-book, and for just a moment he thought she might swing it at him. Instead, she pushed past him, marching toward the street.
Tye stayed where he was; as he watched her leave, fuming. And wondering why it even mattered. Claire Donovan was nothing to him but his brother’s tenant. Someone he’d simply passed a few hours with. Why did he care that she proved to be no different from the rest?
Come on, McBride, his conscience scolded. Who’s the liar now? You can’t compare dumping a fiancé with the evil that Constance concocted. Be fair.
Fair. Well, hell.
How could he be fair? Hadn’t Constance fooled him? Hadn’t she been slick enough and convincing enough and dazzling enough to make him believe vicious, terrible lies about his very own brother? Lies he should have known were false? Trace McBride would never hit a woman, especially not the mother of his children. He hadn’t even hit her that night in the cabin when he’d been mad enough to kill. Shooting her had been an accident; he’d been aiming his gun at Tye.
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