Rawlins drew a large number one on his paper. “Why did you bring her with you this morning?” He added a number two. “Are the two of you involved?” Number three, he underlined twice. “Will she be a factor in a custody fight?”
Tye floundered like Spike outside his fish bowl in the face of the lawyer’s questions. Involved? He didn’t think that was quite the word. But then, he didn’t really know just what that word might be.
Claire’s skirts rustled as she rose and approached the two men. “Tye didn’t bring me, Mr. Rawlins. I was already waiting for you when he arrived. I have a legal problem of my own to discuss.”
“I see.”
Tye sure as hell didn’t see. “What happened? Are you all right? Nobody hurt you, did they?”
She waved a hand and took a seat beside Tye. “My question involves business assets. It can wait. Please, Mr. Rawlins, tell us what Tye needs to do to make certain those West persons can’t hurt the girls.”
Tye’s chest grew tight “So you do support me, Claire? Still?”
Her dainty nose wrinkled in scorn. “Of course I support you. Why wouldn’t I?”
He waved a hand. “Weren’t you listening a few minutes ago?”
“Yes, I was listening.” From her tone he’d have thought she were talking to a three-year-old.
“You heard what I did?”
She raised her eyes to the ceiling and gave a long-suffering sigh. “Tye McBride, I swear you are as stubborn as a chocolate stain. You want to know what I think? I think what you did with your brother’s wife was wrong, but human. I think that it’s a shame that woman’s manipulations cost her her life. Finally, I think since Trace’s obviously forgiven you, it’s time you forgive yourself. Now, Mr. Rawlins, can we continue? What does Tye need to do?”
The lawyer stretched back in his chair. “Well, I can think of one move, right off. His legal position isn’t helped by the fact he is a bachelor caring for three young females. My best advice, McBride, is to find yourself a wife.”
“A wife?” Tye’s throat constricted. A wife. Marriage and all that entailed. Intimacy and commitment. Trust. “No, I can’t.”
The attorney shrugged. “If you’d rather run with them, that’s your choice. You did ask for my opinion, though, so I have to tell you that under the circumstances, I don’t think you’ll win a fight with the grandparents.”
A wife. Marriage. It would never happen. “Why would marrying help my case?”
“For one thing, the grandparents will claim they can accord the children both a father figure and a mother figure.”
Possibilities bombarded Tye. “Mrs. Wilson has returned to Fort Worth. I can ask her to give up her house and live at Willow Hill permanently. She loves the Blessings. She’s a good mother figure. She’s already raised a passel of kids.”
“But she isn’t blood kin.”
“Neither would be any woman I married.”
“True, but she’ll be family. Family is what counts in a case like this. What you want to do is show the court that the grandparents won’t be giving the girls anything more than what you’re already providing. Circumstances being similar, age would work in your favor, too.”
“And if I prove that, it will be enough?”
“Not necessarily.” The lawyer leaned back in his chair. “It depends on how far they’re willing to take the fight. Considering most of what you’ve told me here this morning concerns their late daughter, they might not want to bring it up in public. But if they do…” he shrugged. “The facts don’t paint you in a very flattering light, McBride. But what about the grandparents? Do you know anything we could use against them?”
Tye lifted his hands to his face and rubbed his eyes. “The Wests are wealthy and successful. As far as I know they are well respected in New Orleans. But Constance was raised in their household. I’m not one for blaming all a child’s troubles on her parents, but neither can you discount it altogether. I wouldn’t doubt we could sling a little mud right along with them if need be. I’d need some time to check into it.”
“I don’t think time is a luxury you’re gonna have. A case like this will be heard quickly. Folks don’t like to see children with their lives left hanging unsettled. You’re better off hedging your bets with a wife.”
“A wife,” Tye groaned, burying his head in his hands.
The word conjured up images of Constance McBride at her most devious—and her most desirable. “That cursed woman is still wreaking havoc from the grave.”
Claire’s arm appeared within his vision. She held something in her hand; a small bottle.
Tye looked up. “What’s this?”
“It’s my habit to carry a small bottle of Magic with me. I thought you might appreciate a little flavor as you eat your words.”
“Eat my words?”
“You gave me grief about marrying for family’s sake. Looks like you are facing the very same situation.”
Tye considered the bottle. His life looked like it could use a little magic at the moment. He tossed the brew back like a shot of raw whiskey, then said, “No, I won’t marry. I’ll find another way.”
“That’s what I thought,” she observed. “In fact, that is why I came here today.” She glanced at Rawlins. “My father used the Donovan Baking Company as collateral for a number of loans. When the bank unexpectedly called the notes, my father was unable to meet the demand. Another party stepped in and covered the debts, gaining control of the company. The question I put to you, Mr. Rawlins, is this: The man who bought the Donovan Baking Company purchased the buildings, inventory, and the other supplies, correct? He didn’t purchase the people. He doesn’t own their baking talents or the knowledge they have acquired after years in the business. Am I right?”
“Correct.”
“So then, am I also correct in concluding that while the purchaser has a right to the products we had on our shelves, he does not have a right to the recipes for the items the company produced?”
Rawlins laced his fingers behind his head, elbows extended, and lifted his gaze toward the ceiling in thought “I’m not certain about that. Miss Donovan. I’d have to research the question. If the recipes were maintained in a journal or collection of sorts, then it’s likely those recipes would be counted as assets.”
“Yes, but what if a particular recipe has never been recorded? What if it exists only in a person’s head? How could it be an asset of the company if the person who memorized the recipe is not?”
The attorney thought a moment and said, “Well, hmm. Miss Donovan, your question deals with an area of the law in which I am no expert. However, I think it is safe to say a case could be made either way, so again, I’ll need to do some research.”
“But it’s possible the purchaser has no rights to the recipe?”
“Very possible, I’d say.”
Claire sat back in her chair wearing an extremely satisfied smile. Had he not been so mired in his own dark imaginings, Tye would have wondered just why Rawlins’s answers had pleased her so. As it was, he could hardly think at all.
Wife. The word circled round in his head like a buzzard over dead meat. Wife. Wife. Wife.
How long he sat that way he didn’t know, but when he looked up, Claire stood beside him, tugging on his sleeve. “Come with me, Tye. I want to talk with you about something.”
He didn’t have the heart to continue the discussion with the lawyer at the moment, so he saw no reason to protest He requested that billing be sent to Willow Hill and made an appointment for the following day to further consider the problem facing him. Then he trailed Claire from the office, out of the building and into the sunshine.
Halfway down the courthouse steps, the fog began to lift from his head. He reached out and touched her shoulder. “Claire, what’s this all about?”
Something flashed across her eyes. Hesitation? Uncertainty? It disappeared before he identified the emotion. While she made of show of retying her bonnet strings, her tongue ringed her lips, betray
ing her nervousness.
“Claire?”
Her shoulders went back and her chin came up. She looked him directly in the eyes and said, “I want to speak of it in private. Tye, I know a way to solve both our problems.”
Stir the soup pot counterclockwise to bring good luck.
CHAPTER 16
“SO WHAT’S YOUR IDEA?” Tye impatiently demanded as Claire led him toward the Trinity River and the path that ran along its bank.
Claire tossed a glance back over her shoulder. “When we get to the riverbank, all right? What I have to say is best said in private.” And with plenty of room to move around. Getting through this might well require some pacing.
Ordinarily the path along the riverbank was deserted this time of day, making it a good place for her to outline her idea without interruption. Plus, they could walk side by side and she wouldn’t be forced to look at him. She wouldn’t need to see his reaction when she put it into words.
Nervousness clawed at her belly. She couldn’t believe she was fixing to do this. She’d gotten downright bold over the past few months. At the edge of the river, she stopped and stared at the water.
Maybe I should just jump in.
Muddy from recent rains, the Trinity flowed slowly from west to east. Claire’s mouth twisted in a rueful smile as she spied a driftwood log spinning in a circle in the middle of the river. “In some ways I feel like a hunk of flotsam myself. My family is the Trinity, and I’m an uprooted log being swept wherever the river wants to take me.”
“Tell me that’s not what you dragged me out here to tell me.” Following the path of her gaze, Tye added, “Besides, you’re not a log, Claire. Not big enough. A branch, maybe.”
“What kind of branch?”
“What kind of branch?” he repeated. “What kind of question is that? Come on, Claire, spill your story. I’m feeling pretty-danged-desperately in need of a good idea.”
But because she was intrigued by the notion, and because she was putting off the moment of truth for as long as possible, Claire asked again, “What kind of branch?”
“I swear, woman, you’re as stubborn as Maribeth. You want to know what type of tree you are? All right, then. You’re a peca—”
His eyes narrowed and cut to hers, and she could tell he’d changed his mind about what he was going to say. “Cedar. You’re a cedar,” he declared in a low, husky rumble. “Your bark is soft, but underneath, the wood is strong and so very beautiful. And cedar burns hot and fragrant. The aroma reminds me a little of your Magic, in fact.”
A tremor skittered up her spine. Her gaze dropped to his lips as her mouth went dry.
“Then there’s the other thing about cedar,” Tye continued, stepping closer even as she attempted to move away. Her skirts brushed his legs. “When I think of cedar, I think of pests.”
“What!” Claire jerked away.
“Pests,” he repeated. “Like you. Enough of this nonsense, Claire. What’s your solution?”
Miffed, she shifted her gaze toward the far bank. “That’s a contradiction McBride. Cedar is a pest repellant.”
“Well you’re a pest and I’m feeling repellant at the moment, so it fits. Talk to me, Claire. Lay it out, here. Tell me how to solve my problem.”
“All right, I will. Marry me.”
He froze. “Excuse me?”
“I said, marry me. That’s how we’ll solve both of our problems.”
For a long moment he stood frozen in shock. Then he belted out an unamused laugh. “Marry you. Hell, Claire, you never struck me as stupid before.”
“You’re lucky I never struck you, period,” Claire muttered. “This is a perfect solution. I’d provide you the wife you need for the girls’ sake, and you can help me out of this situation with Reid.”
He shoved his hands in his pockets and stalked down the path. He snapped over his shoulder, “No.”
Heavens, this was hard on a woman’s pride. But whether it sat well or not, too much was at stake to let feelings stand in the way. Picking up her skirts, she ran after him. “Get the stubborn out of your ears and listen to me, McBride. You heard what Rawlins said. In order to protect those children you must marry someone.”
His strides grew longer, faster, as his feet carried him away from her. “I don’t know anything of the sort. You are a forward woman, Claire Donovan. Asking a man to marry you. You must truly be desperate.”
She put on a burst of speed and ran around him, stopping in front of him. She jabbed him in the chest with the palm of her hand, saying, “Stop. You’re right I am desperate. But so are you, Tye McBride. That’s why you’ll listen to me about this.”
Halting, he stood glaring down at her, his eyes flashing with fury. Not at her, Claire knew in her bones, but fury at the situation. He yanked off his hat and stabbed his fingers through his hair.
Claire said, “You heard Mr. Rawlins.”
“That doesn’t mean I agree with him.”
“They say he’s the best lawyer in town, maybe even the state. With your nieces at stake, how can you dare to disregard his advice?”
Tye lifted his face toward the sky and spouted a string of ear-singeing curses. Then, shooting her a furious look, he marched on down the path, fleeing both her and the truth she was forcing upon him.
Claire followed him for half a dozen steps, then changed her mind. She’d give him some time to get used to the idea. She’d give him some space. When he was ready to listen, he’d come back to her. Tye would give his life for those Menaces, and though he might fight it, he’d give his hand in marriage, too.
Noting a flat rock a few yards away, Claire made her way to it and took a seat. Idly she picked strands of buffalo grass and milkweed and tossed them into the water, her gaze following the path of a yellow butterfly as it rose and dipped its way across the Trinity.
Almost ten minutes later Tye plopped down beside her. He yanked off his hat and swiped his brow with his sleeve. “I know what I’d get from the arrangement. Tell me how it would work for you.”
Claire eyed the perspiration clinging to strands of his dark hair, then glanced toward the puffy white clouds currently shading the sun. The morning breeze blowing in from the northeast carried an unseasonable degree of chill. Tye wasn’t sweating because of the heat. It must be the thought of marrying me. How flattering.
Claire plunged ahead. “Last night I found out why Reid is so anxious to marry me. It’s why I wanted to speak with Mr. Rawlins.”
“It has something to do with the bakeries?”
“Yes.” To keep her hands busy, Claire picked three long stems of grass and started to braid them together. “You know that my father took out loans to expand the business so each of his sons could have his own bakery, and when the notes were called he lost everything to the bank.”
“Yes.” Tye fiddled with the brim on his hat.
“Reid stepped in and bought the company—lock, stock, and lemon jelly cake. Now he’s offered to give day-to-day management of the bakeries back to my family if I’ll agree to marry him.”
“So how would marrying me help you?”
The tension and impatience in his voice made her grimace, but Claire believed it important that he have a clear understanding of her motives for proposing this marriage. “I’m getting to that.”
She finished the braid, then ripped another three stems of long grass from the ground. “Reid didn’t stop with the offer. He made certain I’d need to accept him by coming to Fort Worth and repeating the stories being told in Galveston about our Not-So-Magical Wedding Cake. It ruined the business here and left me without any options. Or so I thought.”
“That’s what I am? An option?”
Claire ignored the interruption. “Last night Reid told me the Donovan Bakeries will be the cornerstone of a business empire he intends to build. Now, for that to happen, the shops must continue to operate at the level of success they’d achieved with my family at the helm. I believe that success is the direct result of two factors:
my family’s work ethic and Magic.”
Tye’s gaze had drifted away toward the southwest side of town. Claire followed its path and spied Willow Hill. For a moment she felt a flush of shame at the idea of using his troubles to alleviate her own. Yet the fact remained she’d be helping him, too. She had to remember that. She was proposing this solution for her family and for his family. Not for herself. She wasn’t doing this because she wanted to marry him.
Was she?
She cleared her throat and continued her story. “With the right incentive, Reid could probably hire hardworking employees for the bakeries. Nothing, though, will make up for the lack of Magic in the products those people produce. And without Magic, he’ll be hard-pressed to achieve the success he craves to impress his father. Obviously Reid realizes it.”
“Why do you say that?” Tye asked, his attention returned to Claire.
“Because he’s been so sneaky. Da won’t sell the recipe. And if Mr. Rawlins is right, and taking the question to court couldn’t guarantee a win, then Reid would have burned his bridges with the family so he’d never get the Magic.”
“So he figures to marry for the recipe? What makes him so certain you’d give it to him?”
“Da married into the recipe himself, and he’s never made a secret of the fact he intends to carry on the tradition with his own children. Once we married, Reid would have complete access to Magic.”
Tye cut his eyes toward her and snorted. After muttering something she couldn’t quite make out beneath his breath, he added in a louder tone, “You must have thrown a fly into his buttermilk when you left him at the altar.”
“I imagine so. And I’m fixing to do it one better right now. If only you cooperate, that is.”
The moment seemed to drag on forever as he sat without speaking.
Finally, anxious to interrupt the silence, Claire tossed away her grass braid, dusted off her hands, and said, “So you see, Reid wants my recipe, and the only surefire way to get it is to marry a Donovan. I’m his choice.”
The Bad Luck Wedding Cake Page 27