The Bad Luck Wedding Cake

by Geralyn Dawson

  “My da thinks Reid is perfect for me.”

  “Perfect for you, or perfect for him?”

  “Tye, don’t. They do love me. I know they do.”

  He brushed his finger across her lower lip. “They may love you, but they don’t know you, do they? Tell me this, Claire Donovan. Are your loved ones going to be happy when this Jamieson character starts stepping out on you or hitting you or doing some other wickedness because you aren’t giving him what he needs? Because you can’t give him what he needs, because you don’t love him. Are the Donovans going to be happy about that?”

  Claire closed her eyes. “That’s a stretch, McBride. You can’t know that any of those things will happen.”

  “Honey, I’ve seen it happen. I’ve seen it happen and my family is still paying for it.”

  “But—”

  “Listen to me. You think you are talking about marrying for love—your love for your family. But that’s not it.” His hand fell to his side as he took a step backward. “What you are really talking about in this case is marrying for money.”

  “Money!”

  “Yeah, money. You can hide it behind talk of family loyalty and love, but when you strip it down to the nut this marriage is about cash.”

  “You’re wrong.” Claire felt the unwelcome sting of tears in her eyes. “It’s not that at all.”

  He smiled crookedly. “Cash, cold and hard, Claire. Just like your bed is going to be if you marry this Jamieson fella.” With that, he turned to go.

  Claire refused to leave it at that, following him out into the front of the shop. “Blast you, Tye McBride. I thought you of all people would understand. Watching you with those girls, I thought you’d do anything under the sun for them. Apparently I’m wrong. You don’t understand one thing about family loyalty.”

  “Family loyalty?” His laugh was bitter as he grabbed his hat off the rack near the door. “I’ve heard that one before. That was her excuse, too. Right before my brother killed her, she told me she’d done it for family— for the children.”

  Before his brother killed her? My God, was he talking about Trace? Claire tried to recall whether he’d ever mentioned another brother, but couldn’t. She shook her head in confusion. ‘Trace killed a woman?” Tye nodded and she asked, “Who was she? What did she do to create all this…rancor in you?”

  He met her gaze then. His eyes were granite-hard and empty. They frightened Claire. “I’ve mentioned her before. Constance. Constance McBride. The Blessings’ mother.”

  Their mother. Oh, my. A chill of sorrow swept through Claire. “Trace killed his wife? How terrible. It must have been a horrible accident.”

  “Yeah, it was definitely an accident.”

  His tone—a dry, obnoxious amusement—should have warned her, but it didn’t. He caught her completely by surprise when he added, “He was aiming to kill me.”

  “You!” She gasped, shock widening her eyes. “Why? What happened?”

  Tye’s smile was ugly. “Money and greed, Claire. Guaranteed marriage killers. Take my advice and think long and hard before you agree to marry a man you don’t love. I’d hate to see it kill you, too.”

  The door shut softly behind him.

  ***

  Tye sat at Willow Hill’s kitchen table trying to work up the energy to read the paper or sip his morning coffee. His eyes were gritty, his movements sluggish. He had slept poorly. Between memories of Constance and worries about Claire, he’d been haunted by nightmares each time he slipped into sleep.

  He stared unseeing into his cup of black coffee and wondered why the two women had gotten tangled up in his head. Claire wasn’t anything like Constance. He could admit that now. So why did his mind keep trying to connect them?

  Or was it his heart doing the dirty work?

  He groaned and closed his eyes. Was that it? He had told himself he had gone to the bakery yesterday to caution Claire against making a foolish decision. Had he lied to himself? Was that truly the reason, or was it something else? Something more? He’d told her he cared, but did his feelings go deeper than that? Did he want her for himself?

  “Of course I want her,” he muttered, reaching for his coffee cup. He got hot every time he even thought about her.

  But do you want her?

  Tye’s hand shook, rattling the cup in its saucer. Want her? As in love her? Had he gone and fallen in love with Claire Donovan?

  Tye couldn’t answer that. He wouldn’t answer that. Look what happened the last time he’d loved a woman. Hell, he cared about Claire too damn much to love her. She deserved a better man than him. And if she married a man she didn’t love, well, she deserved whatever she got. At least he’d warned her.

  He shoved the newspaper away and it fluttered to the floor. “Let her marry Jamieson. It’s no skin off my teeth.”

  “You have skin on your teeth, Uncle Tye?”

  He glanced up to see Katrina standing in the doorway in her nightgown. She carried a stuffed bear and rubbed her eyes sleepily.

  “Better than fur, don’t you think?”

  She giggled, then crossed the room to crawl into his lap. “I’m hungry, Uncle Tye.”

  “You’re always hungry.” He gave her the usual good-morning hug and kiss, then lifted her into the seat beside him. “What would you like for breakfast?”

  “Hen seed and a raisin muffin and a…what’s a viscount, Uncle Tye?”

  Tye was too busy trying to translate his niece’s Tex-anese for an egg to pay attention to the entire sentence. “What, honey?”

  She pointed toward the newspaper lying on the floor between them. “In the big black letters. It says TYE MCBRIDE, VISCOUNT OF WEXFORD. See? It’s right below the line that says WOMAN BAKES BAD LUCK WEDDING CAKE.”

  Tye scooped the paper up off the floor, scanned the front page, and winced. Poor Claire. That Wilhemina Peters had done a job on her. She’d be lucky to sell a glass of water to a thirsty man once Fort Worth got a bad of this.

  He paid less attention to the article about his ancestry.

  Apparently, Wilhemina had kept her promise to research his title. She explained to everyone that calling him Lord McBride was incorrect, that the proper address was Lord Wexford. Then she wiped out her effort at observing the social graces by naming in the next paragraph a respectable sum of money the title was thought to be worth. Tye sighed at the invasion of privacy, but he knew it could have been worse. She could have discovered the extent of the fortune his first offspring was due to inherit. News like that would have vultures like Constance circling him for the next twenty years.

  Firmly he dismissed all thought of trouble from his mind and concentrated on scrambling eggs for Kat. With the youngest girl settled at the breakfast table, he woke the older girls and hounded them all into getting ready for church on time for a change.

  An hour later he hitched the horses to the buggy and drove it from the carriage house around to the front of the house. His nieces brought Ralph outside with them. “We’re not taking the dog this week so you might as well let him off that rope.”

  Three pairs of pleading eyes stared up at him, and Tye crumbled. Just like always. “Girls, how does your daddy stand living in a house with four women?”

  But his nieces didn’t answer because their attention shifted toward the rider coming fast up the hill toward the house. “Mr. McBride!” the man called breathlessly as he reined his mount to a halt near the buggy. “I need to see you.”

  Tye recognized the man as the clerk from the telegraph office who’d been a big help when the Blessings went missing. A cold chill washed through him. Trouble just rode up to Willow Hill’s front steps. He’d bet a week’s worth of Blessings’ hugs on it. “Mr. Jones, is it?”

  “Yes, sir. Uh, I mean, Lord McBride. I mean…oh, what is the right way?”

  “Tye.” He swung out of the buggy and gestured for Jones to follow him.

  “Better hurry, Uncle Tye, or we’ll be late again.”

  “Just a minute, Katri
na. Y’all stay in the buggy. I’ll be right back.” He led the man around the side of the house out of sight of the Blessings, then turned and said, “What is it? You got news for me?”

  “Yes.” Timothy Jones reached into his jacket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. “This telegram just came. I got here as soon as I could. I’m sorry, sir. You have my condolences.”

  Condolences, hell. Tye’s stomach took a fall to his feet. He cleared his throat and eyed the paper as if it were a rattlesnake poised to strike. Condolences. Who? His grandmother? Mirabelle was getting on in years, true, but she’d been so strong when he left South Carolina. God, I don’t want…

  His hand trembled ever so slightly as he reached out and took the paper from Jones. For a moment he paused, soaking in the sunshine and smelling the sweet perfume from Jenny McBride’s rose garden. Condolences. “Hell.”

  He unfolded the telegram and scanned the contents. Something sharp sliced across his chest, pain so strong it caused his shoulders to hunch. His heart seemed to stop.

  Lost at sea. No survivors. Ship’s manifest lists…

  “No,” he groaned softly. “God, no.”

  Mr. and Mrs. Trace McBride.

  To break a run of bad luck, burn cedar chips in your stove for five days running.

  CHAPTER 14

  TYE HELD ON TO his control until the messenger left, then he staggered and fell to his knees. A band of pain encircled his chest, squeezing the air from his lungs. Trace and Jenny lost at sea. His brother dead. “Oh, God.”

  The news soaked into his soul and he waited for the sensation of being ripped in two. His twin. The other half of his whole. Dead.

  Dead.

  Tye shuddered. He had lost family members before. He remembered as if it were yesterday the moment he learned of the accident that had claimed his parents’ lives. He knew how a protective fog descended at such news, muting the agony, and he waited for that blessed numbness to come.

  But this time it didn’t happen. The fog didn’t come; but neither did the renting, slashing hurt.

  Trace is dead. He silently rolled the words around in his head, testing them. My twin brother is dead.

  He didn’t believe it.

  Tye’s heart pounded. Slowly he climbed to his feet, breathing hard and heavy. He dragged a hand across his mouth, swallowed the lump in his throat, and closed his eyes. Could it be? Dear Lord, was it possible?

  He knew how to find out.

  The bond—the link. If Trace lived, if Tye searched for him, he could find him.

  Gathering the talent he’d possessed his entire life, he retreated inside himself, journeying to that innermost part of him where he’d always connected with his other half, with his twin, even during the seven interminable years of their estrangement. Trace. Are you there?

  The answer came swiftly and with absolute certainty. It warmed the chill inside him soothed his troubled heart, sent him soaring. “He’s alive.”

  The day looked suddenly brighter, the sky bluer, the leaves on the trees leading down Willow Hill greener. His brother was alive. In trouble, perhaps. In a bind of some sort. But somewhere out there in this big, wide world, Trace McBride’s heart continued to beat.

  Tye heaved a shaky sigh of relief, and immediately his thoughts turned toward the girls. Gossip spread fast as a brushfire on a windy day in Fort Worth, and the news from the telegraph office was certain to reach the church ahead of the McBrides. He would need to deal with this now. He grimaced and muttered a curse.

  All in all, he’d rather have his toenails pulled off.

  He trudged back to the buggy. “I’ve changed my mind about church, girls. Think we’ll skip it this week. Here, let me help you down. Maribeth, hand Ralph over to me.

  The Blessings shared wide-eyed glances, then allowed him to swing them onto the ground. Emma said, “I don’t understand. We never skip church.”

  “Would you please hush before he changes his mind?” Maribeth tossed her sister a glare before beaming at her uncle and passing over the dog.

  Tye wouldn’t change his mind. He couldn’t take them anywhere in town before he explained the situation to them. Briefly he considered loading them up and taking them off on a holiday somewhere. If this trio were any less curious, he might try it. But they were curious, and they’d pester him to death about any spur-of-the-moment journey. They’d weasel his reasons out of him eventually. They’d all be better off if he dealt with the matter now.

  Just how you gonna do that, McBride? he asked himself. What words would he use? How would they react? Would they believe him? Would he be able to give them the comfort and assurances they would need?

  Heaven help him. “I’m in the mood to push some girls on backyard tree swings. Anyone want to help me?”

  “I do,” cried Maribeth and Katrina simultaneously. Emma’s eyes narrowed as she shot him a curious look, but she nodded.

  “Good.”

  Chattering with excitement, Mari and Kat dashed around the side of the house, making a beeline toward the swings. Emma followed more slowly beside Tye, who tossed a stick for Ralph to fetch. As the dog bounded off after the prize, Emma slipped her hand into her uncle’s. She gazed up at him with wide, solemn eyes and asked, “Is something the matter, Uncle Tye?”

  His Adam’s apple seemed to double in size. “Aw, honey,” he said gruffly. “It’s gonna be all right. I promise you that.”

  That and the wink he gave her appeared to satisfy her. She walked with him up toward the old, spreading oak and the swings that hung from three of its branches.

  Tye decided to wait awhile to tell the Blessings about the telegram. Thoughts of Trace weighed heavily on his mind as he pushed the girls on their respective swings. Soon he found himself relating stories about his childhood, of some of the pranks and troubles he and their father had gotten into.

  And what about this time, Trace? What sort of trouble are you in now? Were you on that ship when it went down? Have you washed up on some deserted Caribbean beach?

  The desire to set off in search of his brother was a fire in his blood, but it was tempered by the knowledge of the responsibility he faced right here. I promised I’d keep them safe for you, brother, and I’ll do it Just get yourself and your bride back to town as fast as possible.

  The children had been playing for almost an hour when Tye decided he’d put off the moment long enough. No telling when someone from town would show up at Willow Hill to express their condolences. It was important he get the deed done before that happened. Among other things, the girls needed a chance to believe him before the townsfolk told them they shouldn’t.

  The people of Fort Worth would probably label him crazy. Although, considering their superstitious nature, maybe not. He wondered how Claire would react. He’d like to think she’d believe him, but he couldn’t worry about it. It didn’t really matter what Claire Donovan or anyone else in Fort Worth thought. Right now the Blessings were all that counted.

  He glanced across the yard to where the girls lay in a three-pointed star on their backs in the grass. Heads touching, legs outstretched, they gazed up at the clouds naming pictures while Ralph made a game out of jumping over their legs. Taking a seat in one of the rope swings, Tye called for the children to gather round. “I need to talk to y’all about something.”

  “It’s a dragon, I tell you,” Maribeth insisted as she and Katrina settled at his feet a few minutes later. Emma hung back, standing beside the tree, her grin fading as she studied her uncle’s countenance.

  Katrina sat cross-legged with Ralph nested down into her lap. She scratched the dog behind the ears, then looked up at Tye with an impish grin. “What is it, Uncle Tye? What do you want to talk about?”

  His heart broke a bit as he gazed into their shining, innocent faces. He rubbed his thumbs along the rough hemp as he searched for the right way to say it. “I have something important to say, and I want y’all to listen to me very carefully, all right?”

  The girls’ expressions ref
lected curiosity and a hint of concern. “We’ll listen,” Maribeth said.

  Tye worked up a smile. “The three of you are sisters, and it’s a close bond. I’ve seen times when you look at one another and say a whole lot without speaking a word.”

  Their gazes met and silently asked what in the world Uncle Tye was talking about.

  “Let me ask you a question,” he said, searching for just the right words to get his point across. “Have you ever been somewhere doing something and you get a certain feeling that one of your sisters is in trouble?”

  Maribeth’s brows arched in surprise. Katrina nodded her head briskly and clutched the dog a little tighter. Emma’s eyes took on a frightened look and, seeing it, Tye grimaced. He needed to tread carefully here. “It can work the other way, too. Did you ever hear the story about the time I fell down the well?”

  They shook their heads.

  Remembering, Tye could almost smell the earthy, wormy stink of the well. “It wasn’t long after your father’s and my tenth birthday. I’d snuck out of the house for some reason—I don’t remember why. It was dark and I’d forgotten about the new well being dug out behind the carriage house. Fell straight to the bottom.”

  “Wow.” Maribeth shuddered. “That must have been scary.”

  He nodded. “Very scary. I lost my voice early on shouting for help. They looked for me for two days before they found me. Afterward one of my sisters told me they never once worried I was in serious danger because Trace told them he could feel that I was all right.”

  Katrina nodded decisively. “That’s cause you are twins and y’all have an extra-special connection. Papa told us about that before he left on his trip.”

  “He did?”

  All three girls nodded, and Maribeth added, “During his lecture for us to mind you. He told us he’d know it if we misbehaved.”