The Bad Luck Wedding Cake

by Geralyn Dawson

  She had to investigate.

  Quietly she tried the doorknob. Unlocked. She slipped silently into the shop and made her way to the counter where she stored a bread knife. It wasn’t much of a weapon but with any luck at all, she wouldn’t need one.

  Any luck at all. From out of hurtful memories came the sound of Tye’s voice as he spoke of his hope she would not prove fertile during their time together. She shook her head. She didn’t need tears or a distraction at the moment. A skunk of one kind or another was loose in her kitchen and needed to be dealt with.

  She tiptoed toward the doorway that led into her kitchen. Raising the knife, she drew a deep breath and peeked around the corner.

  Her gasp was loud enough to wake the nuns in the convent across the street.

  Tye McBride stood in front of the stove. He wore one of her aprons and stirred a steaming, stinking soup pot with one of her long-handled wooden spoons. Twisting his head toward her, he flashed a smile. “Morning, sugar. Did I wake you?”

  Shocked speechless, she nodded. Her heartbeat sped up to double-time and her knees began to knock.

  “Sorry about that,” he said flippantly. “I had this new recipe I wanted to attempt, and I just couldn’t wait. I’m hoping you’ll try it out on me.”

  What in the world was he talking about? Try it out on him?

  She had to swallow three times before she could force the question past her lips. Tye paused and took a swig from the bottle of root beer he had sitting on the counter beside the stove. Then he grinned at her, but it was a nervous grin. Somehow, seeing that made her feel better.

  “It’s a recipe I’ve been working on for years now, but I only discovered the perfect last ingredient yesterday. I believe I finally have it right this time. I’ll warn you up front that depending on the person, it can be a very bitter concoction to swallow. But once I got it down, well, it seems to have worked for me. I’m hoping—praying—that you’ll give it a fair shot. What about it, Claire? Will you taste it for me, Claire? Will you give it a try?”

  “What is it?”

  He dipped the spoon into the soup pot and drew it out filled with a molasses-dark liquid. He blew a stream of breath across the spoon’s bowl, cooling the contents. Then, his eyes glittering with a fierce emotion she couldn’t quite name, he held it out to her. “You make Magic. I took a shot at Forgiveness.”

  “Forgiveness?”

  He nodded. “You see, I’d tried to whip this up before, but I left out the secret ingredient.”

  “And that is…?”

  “Guts.”

  She drew back. “Guts?”

  “Courage. I found out that, for me, it takes a full pound of courage in the recipe to cook up a good batch of Forgiveness strong enough to work on me. I gave myself a good dose, sugar, and I’m pretty sure it worked this time. I feel good now. Good about a lot of things. I’m done looking backward and I’m ready to go ahead. I’ve got the courage in me to trust in the future.”

  Her mouth was dry and her voice squeaked. “You do?”

  “I do.”

  She watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed hard. Then he held out the spoon. “What do you say, Claire? Is your tongue in the mood for a little Forgiveness? If you like it, we can bottle up the rest. I imagine you’ll go through a lot of it, married to me.”

  Married to me. When his words finally filtered through her mind, her heart started to sing. She licked her dry lips, and said, “Hmm…it’s something to think about. What other ingredients did you put in your recipe?”

  “A gallon of love. A cup of hope. Two tablespoons of spice and a pinch of good fortune—Spike clued me into that last one.”

  “Hmm…”

  “Please, Claire. Take a taste and forgive me? Might as well warn you, I’m not leaving until you do. If you want to bake your muffins, you’ll just cook around me.”

  “I’d rather cook with you,” she said, smiling. “I’ve developed quite a taste for your particular heat.”

  Leaning forward, she sipped from the spoon. A shudder racked her body. “Bleh. That’s as bitter as gyp water.”

  He tossed down the spoon and grabbed her hand, pulling her toward him. “You’re the baker, sweetness. I had to come to you to get the sugar.” He bent his head and took her mouth in a kiss so tender, so loving, that her heart overflowed.

  She was crying when he finally lifted his head. Somberly he stared into her eyes. “I was a coward, Claire. I was afraid to risk loving again. You and Trace and the Blessings finally got it through my thick skull. You made me happy, Claire, and it scared the stuffing out of me. It had been so long. It hurt so much when I lost it. I didn’t want to risk going through that again.”

  A pair of fat tears spilled from her eyes to roll down her cheeks. He thumbed them away, saying, “Fear is one of the most powerful motivators on earth, and where I was concerned, for a little while it had love beat all to hell. It makes me shudder to think of how close I came to letting the fear conquer me. Too damned close, because I hurt you. I’m more sorry about that than words can say.”

  “Oh, Tye.”

  “The Blessings gave me hell for it. They said that’s not how you treat the ones you love, and they were right. I always wanted you, sugar. From the first time I met you. Somewhere along the way, I fell in love. But I was too afraid to admit it. I thought my heart was dead but it wasn’t; it was frozen in fear. But loving you melted that ice, Claire. Loving you has made me feel alive again.”

  He loves me. Claire closed her eyes and swayed beneath the weight of her emotions; relief and joy and sorrow for his pain, a thousand different feelings so intense they overwhelmed her. He loves me.

  “Say it,” she demanded.

  “I love you, Claire Donovan McBride.”

  Love for him filled her heart and her soul to overflowing. Her voice broke as she reached out and touched his cheek. “You are a good man, Tye McBride. A very good man. I wouldn’t love you if you weren’t.”

  His smile was bittersweet. “I figured that one out, too. You have a pure heart, Claire McBride, and I know I can believe in your love. I’m sorry I was too chicken to realize it before.”

  She smiled through her tears and sniffed. “You were wrong.”

  Sighing, he brushed the tip of her nose with his finger. “I reckon I’ll hear that a time or two during the next fifty years or so.” Then he grew serious, pleading with his eyes and words and tone. “Will you ride the rainbow with me, Mrs. McBride? Will you stay my wife and have babies with me, make a home and family with me? Share my dream?”

  Overcome, she couldn’t at first answer. That easily, he was handing her all her fantasies, her most fervent wishes.

  Love melted through her like hot caramel, leaving her feeling delicious enough to tease. Drawing away, she put her hand to her breast and said, “I don’t know, Mr. McBride. You’re not saying all this just to get my Magic recipe, are you?”

  He scoffed and yanked her back into his arms and nuzzled her neck. “Honey, you are all the aphrodisiac I need. Keep your danged old recipe. Now tell me yes.”

  She smiled from the heart. “If I get to keep my recipe and remain the proprietress of The Confectionary…” She paused and questioned him with a look. Tye nodded rapidly and she continued, “Then yes, Tye. I’ll be proud to be your wife, and thrilled to be the mother of your children.”

  “Good.” He kissed her. “Wonderful.” He kissed her again. “I’m thrilled.” He kissed her one more time, and said, “Now that everything is settled, I have only one thing to say to you, Mrs. McBride.”

  “And what is that, Mr. McBride?” She batted her eyes flirtatiously. “You love me? You need me? You passionately desire me?”

  “Well, that’s not exactly how I intended to say it, but yeah. All those things.”

  She licked her lips and smiled a siren’s smile. “So, how did you plan to say it?”

  He shrugged, and glanced away from her. “Well, I was gonna say…” He shot her a leering grin. �
�Woman. Get your muffins in the oven and your buns in my bed.”

  She hit him with a raspberry tart.

  The best kind of good luck is to be lucky in love.

  EPILOGUE

  CLAIRE ADDED A CUP of honey to the brew cooking on the stove in The Confectionary’s kitchen. It was the first time she’d visited the bakery since selling it to Lars a month earlier, and while she was happy to pitch in for a few days while he stayed home to help Loretta with the new baby, she’d rather be home at the Magic Lady Ranch. She enjoyed baking and socializing with the customers, but as she had realized shortly after moving to the ranch, she loved working with Tye. She was awfully glad she’d convinced him to forgo the cattle in favor of raising horses.

  “You were right, Mama,” she said softly, stirring her brew. Freedom was choice, and her choice to sell The Confectionary had given her a sense of independence as pleasing as the choice to build the business to begin with.

  She and Tye had moved into the house Trace had designed for them four months ago, right before the first cold spell of winter, and already the place felt like a home. Having family around was a big part of that, she knew.

  Tye and Trace’s grandmother and sisters and their families had traveled from Charleston to spend part of the winter in Texas, and they split their time between Willow Hill and the ranch. The McBride family reunion had been an event the entire city continued to talk about, considering the Blessings had chosen to mark the occasion by setting off fireworks a little too close to a storage shed containing a keg of gunpowder. The family tradition of good luck held, in that no one was injured in the mishap, despite Maybelle Davis’s claims.

  Hers had been one extremely ugly hat, anyway, Jenny and Claire had agreed.

  Claire dipped a spoon into her brew for a taste. The honey had helped but it wasn’t quite there yet.

  Hearing the swing of the back door, she turned with a smile. Tye strolled into the kitchen rubbing his hands in an effort to warm them. “Hello, beautiful,” he said, bending down to give her a kiss on the cheek. He removed a letter from his jacket pocket and handed it to her. “Letter from Peggy,” he said before glancing into the soup pot. “Whatcha cookin’? Smells like ambrosia to me.”

  “Just a new recipe I’m working on,” she said absently. The letter from her mother distracted Claire. The decision to build the Magic factory along the Texas coast rather than in Fort Worth had been tough for her to accept. Though she had recognized the business sense of it, she had mourned the Donovan clan’s removal to Galveston. She missed her family desperately.

  Peggy Donovan’s weekly missives were a balm to that particular sadness. Her mother always entertained, and today’s letter was no different. Scanning the page, Claire gasped a laugh, then said, “Listen to this, Tye. Mama says that when Mr. Barnum’s circus came to Galveston, Reid Jamieson had a very loud and very public fight with his father, then he ran off with an acrobat.”

  Tye snapped his fingers. “Dadgum, that reminds me. That trapeze I ordered for the bedroom came in last week. Remind me to get by the mercantile and pick it up before we head home.”

  Claire didn’t bother to comment on his questionable humor. She had already read past the next three paragraphs containing news of her family. “Brian and Cynthia are back from their honeymoon. Patrick and Eloise have decided to spend the winter in Bavaria. He’s apparently enamored of strudel.”

  “More likely he’s found a new market for Magic,” Tye observed. “The man is truly a born salesman.”

  “Hmm…” she replied, finishing her letter. “Oh, dear. My parents met Jenny’s mother’s ship when it docked in Galveston. Monique is resting at their house for a few days before making the final leg of her trip home. Mama says Monique brought an organ grinder’s monkey to give to the girls.”

  Tye laughed loud and hard at that one. “I want to be at Willow Hill the day she delivers that particular gift. Trace is gonna love it.”

  “A monkey might finally get you off his trouble list for bringing Ralph into the family. Every time I see him he goes out of his way to say what a menace that dog is.”

  “So what? He calls his own children Menaces. I can’t believe I haven’t broke him of that habit yet.” Tye licked the spoon he’d just dunked in the soup pot. “Honey, what is this stuff? It’s pure heaven. Tastes almost as good as you do.”

  Claire glanced down into the soup pot. Retrieving a clean spoon, she gave the mixture a thorough stirring, then leaned over and sniffed. “It smells good, too, doesn’t it? It reminds me of you.”

  Tye put his hands around her thickened waist and tugged her back a step. “Don’t get so close there, sugar. Don’t want to burn the baby.”

  She thunked his hand with the spoon. “My belly’s not that big yet.”

  “Give it another month.”

  “You say a word about elephants and you’re a dead man, McBride.”

  He swiped her spoon and dipped it into the pot, drinking down another spoonful. “Mmm…mmm. I do believe I could drink this stuff by the gallon. What is it?”

  “I’ve been playing with the recipe for Magic. I thought it might be time to add a new recipe to the family cookbook.”

  “This is an extract? Like Magic?”

  “Yes. It has Magic for a base, but I added a few of my own ingredients. I’ve been playing with it for a few months, and I’ve about decided it just can’t get any more perfect.”

  “It sure does taste perfect.” He stopped and sniffed the air. “Seems like you took all the stink out, too.”

  She smiled sweetly and stood on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. Tye took advantage of the opportunity to ply her with a deliriously breath-stealing kiss. “Could you turn the fire down low and keep it simmering for a while, sugar? I’ve a mind to put one of those trapezes in the apartment upstairs, and I could use your help figuring out exactly where to hang it.”

  “Always glad to assist, sir,” she replied primly, then spoiled the effect by answering his wiggled brows with a wicked wink.

  Tye crooked his head toward the soup pot. “Seriously, though, it won’t hurt your brew to simmer for a bit? I know this kind of creation takes work, and I don’t want to ruin it for you. I can wait to take you upstairs. Five minutes or so, anyway.”

  Claire laughed and caught his hand. “Husband dear, you can’t ruin this recipe, not when you are its inspiration.”

  “Inspiration? I like the sound of that.” Arching a curious brow, he asked, “What are you calling thus stuff again?”

  “It’s Magic plus a whole lot more. I’ve decided to call it Love.”

  “Love.” Tye pursed his lips and thought about it a moment. Then he nodded derisively. “Makes perfect sense to me.”

  Wrapping his arms around his wife, he added, “After all, the only potion more powerful than Magic is Love.”

  The End

  Dear Readers,

  I find it appropriate to be writing this letter on Valentine’s Day. I’ve just put the finishing touches on The Bad Luck Wedding Cake, and the heart-shaped cake I bake every year for my family is now ready to go into the oven.

  This cake is not a Magical Cake by any stretch of the imagination. In fact, it’s heavier than the Snow Cake Claire dumped in the trash can behind The Confectionary. It is a version of my Colorado-born mother’s high-altitude recipe that doesn’t quite have all the adaptations required for Texas baking. But even though it’s heavy as a doorstop, I love it. My kids love it. Having this heavy, heart-shape white cake with chocolate icing every Valentine’s Day is a family tradition. As you might have guessed from my books, we are big on family and tradition here at my house.

  Most writers put a lot of themselves into their work and I am no exception. The Bad Luck Wedding Cake is sprinkled with pieces of my life. This story is set in my hometown of Fort Worth, and much of my research was done on family outings to the historical sites in town. I guess that’s why my oldest, Steven, keeps trying to convince me to set a book in Hawaii. My son John brought
home the fortune-telling fish, and my daughter Caitlin is the original Katie-cat. That thumb-sucking is the reason for the orthodontist appointment we have next week. The part of Tye that makes him fall head-over-heels for his nieces is drawn straight from my husband. Steven is an awesome father, but little girls wrap him around their thumbs without even trying.

  But the best research I do for my love stories is done each day here at home. This is where, every day, I learn something new about my family and about love.

  Thanks for sharing your reading hours with me and my fictional families. I hope my story made you smile a lot, laugh out loud a time or two, and maybe even cry just a little. Here’s to family and romance and, most of all, to love. I hope you are as blessed in yours as I am in mine.

  Happy reading!

  Geralyn Dawson

  Also writing as Emily March

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Geralyn Dawson is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of over twenty-five novels written in a variety of sub-genres including historical romance, contemporary romance, romantic suspense, and women's fiction. She is a three-time Finalist for Romance Writers of America's prestigious RITA award and a recipient of Romantic Times magazine's Career Achievement Award. Her novel THE WEDDING RANSOM was named one of Romance Writers of America's Top Ten Favorite Novels of the Year.

  Geralyn is currently writing romantic women's fiction for Ballantine Books under the pseudonym Emily March. The first novel of March's Eternity Springs series, ANGEL'S REST, was named a Top 100 Book of 2011 by Publishers Weekly magazine. It, along with the next two books in the series, HUMMINGBIRD LAKE, and HEARTACHE FALLS each earned coveted starred reviews from Publishers Weekly magazine. The fourth book of the series, LOVER'S LEAP will be published December 27th, 2011 with NIGHTINGALE WAY to follow in Fall 2012.

  Visit her website: www.emilymarch.com