The Bad Luck Wedding Cake

by Geralyn Dawson

  “The Jamieson Bank is my father’s, not mine. The Donovan Baking Company is—” he thumbed his chest “—mine. My father has no say in how I run it. It’s a small start, true, but it’s a stepping stone to bigger and better things. I intend to build an empire, my own business empire, and you are going to help me do it.”

  Light dawned. A father-son competition. That’s what this was all about. Heaven knows with her brothers she’d seen her share of that, but in her home the contests usually revolved around games of one sort or another, never business. “You want to build an empire of bakeries? Bakeries? Wouldn’t shipping or railroads be more appropriate for that kind of thing?”

  His dark eyes gleamed with a fanatical light she’d never seen in him before. “Bakeries are a start. My start. I don’t have a railroad or sailing ships. I’ll do it with Magic.” With that, he yanked her into his arms and despite her struggling protest, kissed her with more passion than he’d ever shown her before.

  Good heavens, the man is a lunatic. Claire wrenched herself away and swiped the back of her hand across her mouth. She stood staring at him, her chest heaving, as her thoughts whirled like a springtime twister.

  Slowly everything fell into place. I’ll do it with Magic, he had said. That was it. That’s why he wanted so badly to marry her. For the Magic. She should have seen it. They all should have seen it. She’d bet her favorite mixing spoon he tried to buy the recipe for Magic from her father. She asked him about it.

  “Of course,” he replied, his stare fastened on her mouth. “The stubborn old cuss refused to sell.”

  Claire nodded. Of course he’d refused. Each person who was given the recipe swore an oath to keep it in the family. John Donovan might be a blind, stubborn man, but he would never break his word.

  Reid took a step toward her, his dark eyes burning with lust.

  I don’t believe this, Claire thought, backing away. The man lusts over a recipe. Maybe Tye had the right of it all along.

  He lunged for her but she darted away, scrambling toward the door. “Claire,” he protested when she wrenched it open. “We’re not done here. Don’t you dare—”

  She slammed the door in his face. Fleeing down the stairs she exited the hotel and turned toward home. Well, her mission had been a success. She had certainly learned the answers she’d sought. Reid Jamieson lusted after Magic and dreams of commerce. “He can go kiss his account books,” she muttered.

  She had to think about this. For her sake, for the family’s sake, she must find a way out. Reid Jamieson would not get his hands on her Magic.

  ***

  Dawn crept across the sky like a thief, stealing away the pleasures of the night down in Hell’s Half Acre, leaving behind a fresh new morning. Tye glanced above him as he climbed the courthouse steps, shaking his head and sneering at the three-storied, boxy design. “Ugly as sin,” he grumbled as he entered the building and tugged off his hat. The town fathers should have hired Trace as the architect. He’d have done a damn sight better. Of course to be fair, at the time the courthouse had been built, Fort Worth knew Trace McBride only as the owner of the End of the Line Saloon—not a talented, accomplished architect.

  Tye dismissed thoughts of the past and focused on the present as he made his way up to the top floor of the courthouse where W. G. Rawlins, Attorney at Law, had his office. He wanted all his wits about him when he talked to the lawyer. This was one battle he intended to win; one war he simply refused to lose.

  No way in hell would he allow the Wests to take the Blessings away from him.

  He didn’t have an appointment with the lawyer, but he’d sent word around to Rawlins’s house the night before that he needed to see him first off this morning. Tye didn’t expect the man to be here this early, but he had run out of patience for waiting around at Willow Hill. Waiting here at least made him feel like he was doing something.

  He rounded the landing expecting to see an empty hallway leading down to Rawlins’s office. Tye didn’t find an empty hallway,

  “God bless, Claire. What are you doing here?”

  She sat on the floor beside the door to Rawlins’ office, her feet tucked in beside her. She wore a modest gray dress and hairpins poked from her disheveled braid. She looked weary as a kitten walking in new mud.

  “You’re out awfully early this morning,” she said with a wan smile.

  “I could say the same about you, but this is the middle of the day for you, isn’t it?” He sat down beside her, stretching out and crossing his legs at the ankles.

  “Ordinarily, yes. But nothing is normal today.”

  “Oh.” Tye placed his hat on the floor beside him. “So you’re not here to deliver muffins?”

  “Not today. I need to speak with Mr. Rawlins.”

  “You do?” In a familiar movement neither of them questioned, Tye slipped his arm around Claire and pulled her close. “How come?”

  “Oh, it’s Reid and the bakeries and the Magic and the marriage. My family has been up all night long trying to figure a way around it.”

  “Around what?”

  Her smile was apologetic. “It’s a long story and I’m not up to going through it right now. I’m so tired of it all. I’m just so very tired.”

  Tye could understand that. He’d been up all night himself, worrying to death over this situation with the girls. Finally, about an hour earlier, he’d gone and rousted the Blessings from their beds and stashed them in the Rankin Building apartment, hiding them from the Wests while he worked on the problem. Weariness had its claws in him, too.

  He hugged Claire a little closer, and she rested her head against his chest. Little by little, he felt her relax. He smiled to himself when she drifted into sleep.

  Resting his head against the wall, Tye closed his own eyes and enjoyed the moment; a respite of peace during an ongoing storm. It’s like the eye of a hurricane, he thought as her scent wafted over him: sunshine and soap and Claire’s own magic. With her in his arms, for the first time since the Wests had darkened Willow Hill’s front porch, Tye relaxed. Just a little.

  They slept until the sound of a door slamming downstairs woke them half an hour later.

  “What Wilhemina Peters wouldn’t give to see this,” Claire muttered as she eased away from Tye. “Get up, McBride, before you cause a scandal.”

  “I am a scandal,” he muttered, standing and stretching. He helped her to her feet, and as she blinked sleepily, he smoothed a thumb over the shadow beneath one of her eyes, wishing he could kiss it away. Instead, he bent and retrieved his hat. “I figured Rawlins would be here by now.”

  “Me, too. I wonder what is keeping him?”

  Tye paced up and down the hall for a moment, then, just for something to do, tried the doorknob. To his surprise, the door was not locked. “Let’s wait inside. It’ll be more comfortable.”

  The attorney’s office had no anteroom, just a broad mahogany desk, two black leather visitors’ chairs, a small matching sofa, and a console table against one wall. Claire took a seat in one of the chairs. Tye strolled over to the window, pushed aside the draperies, and stared outside.

  His stomach was tied in knots, and he was anxious for Rawlins to arrive. He needed answers and he needed them fast. “Wonder where that son of a gun is,” he muttered.

  She must have heard the impatience in his voice. “Has something happened with the girls, Tye?” Claire asked.

  He laughed without amusement. “You could say that. Remember those letters we found in Emma’s room?”

  “The ones from her grandmother?”

  “Please,” Tye replied, grimacing. “Don’t call the woman that. Especially not now that she’s arrived in Fort Worth.” At Claire’s look of surprise, he nodded. “Yep, the dragon lady and her demon husband showed up at the house yesterday. She says she’s going to take the girls from me.”

  “What? You’re kidding.”

  “I wish I were.” In short, succinct sentences, Tye told her of the Wests’ arrival, finishing with,
“I’ll do anything I have to do in order to keep those girls with me. They’re my Blessings, and I’ll keep them until my brother returns home to fetch ‘em. I figured it’d be good to have a lawyer tell me how to go about it legally.”

  Claire opened her mouth, then abruptly closed it.

  “What? What were you going to say?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Tell me, woman.”

  She shrugged as if to say You asked for it. “Well, keep in mind that I have not been schooled in the law, but at first glance, I’d say you need to quit claiming you know Trace is alive because you have a ‘feeling.’”

  “Damnit, it’s true.” Tye raked his fingers through his hair. “They’re not dead, I tell you. My brother will come back for his children, and I damn well intend to see they’re here when he does.”

  “Fine.” Claire leaned forward, entreating him. “Believe it in your heart, but quit saying it with your mouth. People will forgive you a temporary bout of craziness under the circumstances as long as you keep it short. And you don’t want the Wests to charge you with insanity if the matter goes to court.”

  Tye thought about that for a moment. “You have a point, Claire, but what will the girls think if I…” He shook his head. “No, I can explain it to them. They’ll understand I’ll do anything to protect them. Even lie about this. Maybe…” he mused, rubbing his hand along his jaw. “Maybe I should speak to the newspaper and confess I was beside myself with grief when I made that announcement. What do you think?”

  “I think that would be an excellent idea. Tell Wilhemina Peters. She’ll stir up plenty of sympathy for you.”

  In the midst of rubbing the back of his neck, Tye grinned. “Shoot, you should move around to the other side of the desk, sugar. You’re doing as good a job as Will Rawlins would have done.”

  A masculine voice rumbled from the doorway. “I don’t doubt that for a moment.” Rawlins hung his hat on the rack and stepped farther into the room. “You might ought to hire her, McBride. You’ll need somebody good to defend you on the breaking and entering charge I’m fixing to file.”

  Tye raised his hands, palms out. “The door was open, Lawyer. Have at me if you want. I’ll put my faith in Miss Donovan anytime.”

  Rawlins smiled at her. “I can see why.”

  As the lawyer assumed his rightful place behind the desk, he motioned for Tye to take a seat in the second visitors’ chair. “So, what can I do for you?”

  His mind already engaged by his own problems, Tye didn’t think to ask Claire if she wanted to go first. He relayed the story about the Wests’ arrival, including the details he and Claire had just discussed. “Like I told Miss Donovan earlier, I want an attorney’s advice on what to do next.”

  Rawlins leaned back in his chair and linked his fingers behind his head, elbows outstretched. “So, aside from the question of sanity, do the Wests have any other information they could possibly use against you?”

  Tye hesitated. He should have guessed he’d have to tell it. Maybe in the back of his mind he had figured it out. But knowing it and actually doing it were two different things. Especially with Claire here to listen.

  Feeling the weight of her stare, he glanced over at her. Did he have the sand to do this; to let her know the depth of his shame? If he asked her to leave, she’d go. But the soft, gentle encouragement he saw in her expression compelled him to begin. “The War of the Rebellion. Did you join the fight, Rawlins?”

  The attorney nodded. “Hood’s Texas Brigade. Wounded in the Battle of the Wilderness.”

  “I was there. From the Wilderness to the siege at Petersburg. They say it was the bloodiest six weeks of the war. When it was over, well, I had…memories.”

  Their gazes met in a moment of shared acknowledgment. He could have stopped there, Tye knew. Rawlins had seen it. He didn’t need the words.

  But Claire did.

  Tye drew a deep, fortifying breath. He looked at Claire, held her stare, and told of blood and screams and tears. As best he could, he put the horror into words, mentioning severed legs, but stopping short of decapitated heads. “Some managed to live with it better than others,” he finished, shame licking at his conscience. “I started drinking to forget. I didn’t stop for years, not until Trace helped me to stop. The Wests know this. They could use it against me.”

  Rawlins removed a sheet of paper from his desk drawer, inked his pen, and scratched a note. “Any trouble since then?”

  Trouble. Tye’s stomach took a yawning dive off a cliff and he closed his eyes. He’d had trouble since then, all right. The silence dragged out, seconds taking hours to pass. His heart drummed like a smithy’s hammer, pounding faster and faster. Trouble.

  He could still ask her to leave. He was crazy to be thinking of telling her everything. Only a fool would tell her like this. Only a fool would want her to know the truth.

  She took hold of his hand.

  I’m a fool.

  Tye realized he wanted her to know it all. He wanted her to know the very worst about him, but he couldn’t say why. Self-protection maybe? Telling her would certainly kill any tender feelings she harbored for him. Once she knew him for what he really was, maybe he could rid himself of the foolish notion that hit him upon occasion—the idea that with Claire Donovan, he could have the kind of home and family he’d always wanted, the kind of life that Trace had with Jenny.

  The kind of life Tye didn’t deserve.

  He opened his eyes and spoke to Claire, answering Will Rawlins’ question. “I fell into serious trouble another time. Seeing as how the Wests are Constance’s parents, they know about that, too.”

  Claire asked the question with her eyes. Rawlins voiced it: “What happened?”

  Tye opened his mouth to reply, but the words stuck on his tongue. He shoved to his feet and paced to the console table against the wall, where a water pitcher sat. He filled a glass half full, drained it, and slammed it back onto the table. Pivoting, he looked Claire in the eyes and said, “I bedded my brother’s wife.”

  Her sharp intake of breath was the stake in his heart he had expected. Rawlins’s only reaction was to ask, “What were the circumstances? Was this an ongoing affair?”

  The old shame shuddered over him. “God no, once was more than enough.”

  “Tell me how it happened.”

  “Does it matter?”

  The attorney shrugged. “Depends on how badly you want to keep those kids. Give me something to work with, McBride. Give me details.”

  The Blessings. Grimacing, Tye forced his focus back to the Blessings, where it must remain. Details, hell. All right. He’d tell them the excuses he’d tried to make to himself, excuses that weren’t worth the spit it took to speak them aloud.

  “My brother’s first wife learned of this title silliness and the substantial inheritance that would go to my eldest child. So, she set out to have it. This was eight, going on nine, years ago. I was already a little in love with her, so it didn’t take much more than showing me some bruises and tears to convince me my brother was beating her.”

  “She had bruises?” Claire asked.

  Tye nodded. He couldn’t look at her. “Constance wanted the money badly enough to have her cohort beat her. When she claimed Trace was responsible for it, I believed her. It was just about the stupidest bit of thinking I’d ever done. Shows what liquor does to a person.” Tye resumed his seat while the lawyer penned a few notes.

  Bold thing that she was, Claire took over the questioning. “So you were still drinking at the time?”

  “No.” He gazed at her, then, needing her to read the truth in his eyes. “I hadn’t had a drink in over two years. My lemonade was spiked.”

  “What villainy,” she muttered.

  Clearing his throat, he continued the sorry tale. “Anyway, Constance cried and I comforted and threw away the last little bit of honor I had left. After that I left the country and pretty much stayed drunk for an entire year.”

  “Where did you go?�
��

  “Europe. I’d probably still be there but Constance summoned me home with word she had borne me a child. That bit of news eventually led to a confrontation between me, Constance, and Trace that left her dead.”

  The attorney stopped writing and looked up from his page wearing a troubled frown. He asked, “You killed her?”

  “I was certainly part of it, but Trace actually pulled the trigger.”

  “Thank God for that,” Rawlins muttered. “And the child?”

  “Katrina. Trace took all three girls and ran. That’s how he came to live in Fort Worth. I finally tracked him down last year.”

  “This is good,” Will Rawlins said. “With the youngest being your blood daughter, well stand a better chance—”

  “She’s not,” Tye said, his mouth tightening in a thin line against the wave of tangled emotions rolling through him. “For years I believed she was, but that was a lie, too. She is Trace’s. They are all Trace’s.”

  “Oh, Tye,” Claire whispered.

  He braced himself, waiting to hear her disgust or contempt. He couldn’t look at her.

  “That must have been so hard for you.”

  He blew out the breath he’d been unaware of holding, and his gaze met hers. Never had he dreamed he’d see support shining in her brilliant blue eyes. But he did. Support and something more; something he dared not name. Son of a bitch.

  Tye sat a little straighter when he turned bade to the attorney. “The children are Trace’s, and he entrusted their care to me during his absence. I won’t allow the Wests to take them, and I need you to tell me what my legal options are. I’d like to try it that way first.”

  “First?”

  “I will not betray my brother again.”

  After that the office fell silent but for the dick of Rawlins’s pen as he tapped it against the desktop in thought. Finally he asked, “So what is Miss Donovan’s place in all of this?”

  “What do you mean?” Claire inquired.

  “What are you asking?” Tye demanded simultaneously.