“If it would save me from another job interview where a kid younger than my daughter tells me I don’t have the right skill set, it’d sound downright magical.”
“Think about those numbers from the early years. We could make a lot of money.”
“Whoa,” Kathleen said. “The world’s changed a lot. People go to big grocery stores or discount places. Our sales are increasing but not fast enough.”
Avery’s gaze dropped to the chart.
“Not for what Bill would want for a down payment and not with Greg nipping at our heels. We’d need more cash to keep it open, and it’d take months—maybe years—before it could support both of us.”
“I’m going to figure out a way.” Avery hesitated. “I’ve lost too much in my life. I’m not going to lose this.”
“I’m in.”
Avery stuck the sales figures back in the register but kept the overview. “Kathleen, my friend, we’re going to fill a niche on this corner. One biscuit at a time.”
Chapter 35
Howie growled, soft at first and then louder, straining on the leash.
Avery paused, the key in the lock of the store’s back door. “You sound serious, fellow.” She looked around. Hers was the only car in the alley, and she hadn’t noticed anything amiss when she drove past the front.
Everything looked pretty much as it had for the month she had been opening the market.
But Howie never made threatening sounds. Pushing the door open, her heart beating faster than usual, she sniffed. A trace of men’s cologne, similar to what Cres had worn, hung in the air. Howie nosed around the small hallway, his growl intensifying, until he jerked at the leash and dashed fully into the store.
“Howie! Wait!”
“What in the world?” Greg jumped up on the counter next to the register, Avery’s notebook in his right hand. Howie leaped up, looking like he might fly onto the counter at any moment. “What’s that mutt doing in here?”
“I was wondering the same thing.” Walking to the back door, Avery flipped on every light in the store. “You are getting mud on my clean counter.” She picked up Howie’s leash. “Good boy.” She patted his head, the motion calming her trembling fingers.
Howie quit growling but stood on alert, his tail still, his ears sticking up. His gaze never left Greg.
Glancing down at his shoes, caked in red Louisiana clay, Greg sneered. “Uncle Bill says you are trying to talk him into passing on the deal I brokered.” He still stood on the counter, looming over her. “I’m inspecting the area. Assessing our worth.”
“At five o’clock in the morning?” Her eyes narrowed. “Give me my notebook.”
He stuck it behind him, like an overgrown bully playing a game of keep-away. “I parked over at that vacant church. They could use some landscaping.” He stomped his foot, throwing more mud onto the counter and floor.
“Get out.” She took a step closer. Howie moved with her, growling once.
“You’re the one who will be leaving.” Sweat popped out on his brow. “That old coot may be softening, but I am still in control.”
He held up the notebook, as though offering it to her. But when she reached for it, he snatched it back.
All of her store information was in that notebook in detail. Ideas, profit margins, suppliers—and at least a dozen original recipes. “That’s my property. I may not own the store yet, but that belongs to me.”
He flipped through the pages. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself, stealing from poor old people.”
She was tempted to let Howie loose. “You’re the one trying to take their money.”
He tapped on a page. “This biscuit recipe belonged to my aunt, which makes it my family property. If you want to keep using it, you’ll have to pay me.” He smirked. “Or I’ll file a cease-and-desist claim against you.”
She glanced at the clock. “File whatever you want to file, but I’ve got to make biscuits if we’re going to open on time.”
Drawing a deep breath, she tugged on Howie’s leash and started around the counter. Not usually allowed back there, Howie gave a quick bark and sniffed, sticking his nose up under the sink.
“I’ll be going.” Greg hopped over the counter to the other side, then headed for the front door. “I have to prepare to meet with my attorney.” He waved the notebook in the air. “This will come in handy.”
But before he could exit, the door flew open. “Avery? I saw the lights—” T. J. stopped as Greg attempted to walk past him, then looked to the back when Howie gave a quick, happy bark. “What’s going on here?”
Superman himself would not have been more welcome at the moment. T. J. wore sweatpants and a T-shirt that showed off his broad shoulders. His brown hair was a damp mess.
Greg appeared quite the wimp next to him. “I came by to check on my property.” He inched toward the door.
T. J. blocked his exit, throwing him a glare that caused a flicker of fear to run across Greg’s sweaty face. “Did he hurt you?” T. J. growled.
“No. I found him going through our things.”
She took a step toward them, but T. J. gave his head a quick shake. “I want my notebook back,” she said.
Greg took one step, and T. J. shoved him against the door, pinning his arms behind him.
“If you don’t release me this instant, I’ll have you arrested for assault. She doesn’t own this place yet.”
“Give her the notebook.”
“Everything in here is going to belong to me anyway.” Greg sneered. “Your little girlfriend will not get away with stealing my property.”
T. J. threw her a questioning look.
“I told you,” she said. “Kathleen and I made an offer to buy the store.”
The corner of T. J.’s mouth quirked upward. “I’m more interested in the girlfriend comment.”
She blushed.
“Give me a freakin’ break,” Greg said.
“Avery, call the police.”
“You’ll be the one behind bars,” Greg said, but he sailed the notebook across the room. It landed on top of the fountain-drink machine, where it teetered for a moment before sliding to the floor.
“You obnoxious—” T. J. squeezed him tighter.
“I’ll have her evicted.” Greg’s lip curled under. “She has no signatures, and I’m family. I have more right to this than she does.”
T. J. looked back at Avery, Greg still pinned to the door like a moth in a science project.
Unexpectedly, a smile came to her mouth. Cres had never defended her with such fervor in all the time they were together. “Just let him go, T. J. He’s not worth our trouble.”
T. J. did not relax his grip.
“I’ve been wanting to tell Bill about the money Greg’s stolen.” She looked over at the cash register drawer standing ajar. “How pathetic a man is that?”
Howie dashed from around the counter, leash sliding across the floor, and sank his teeth into Greg’s leg. While T. J. grabbed the dog, moving slowly to do so, Avery retrieved her notebook.
Walking to where Greg sat on the floor, she ripped a page out, wadded it up, and threw it at him. “Here’s your ancestral biscuit recipe. Turns out my mother’s was much better.”
Avery pulled out the big metal bowl, her hands still shaking.
T. J. leaned against the counter, wishing he could walk around the counter and hold her until she calmed down. Or longer.
“Are you sure we should have called the police?” Avery threw him an agitated look.
“Absolutely,” Jazz said. “You should have notified us sooner that someone has been entering the premises after hours.” She patted T. J. on the arm. “Thank goodness you noticed the lights.”
“That was a blessing.” Avery added flour without a measuring cup in sight. “But Greg was right. Bill hasn’t committed yet. It’s like a bad replay of the boutique sale.”
“You have to fight for this,” T. J. said, enticed by the way she made biscuits.
She tossed in a pinch of baking soda and salt. Her hair was pulled up in a knot on her head, and when she brushed a stray piece from her face, she left a dusting of flour.
Darn, she was pretty.
And stubborn.
His heart had just about stopped when he noticed the store lights blazing and saw the man inside.
“What will happen with the report Greg filed?” Avery asked, not looking up from the lump of dough.
“It’s a gray area since he claims to have been acting on the owner’s behalf.” Jazz looked toward the storeroom. “You may be cited for that dog bite, but I kind of doubt it.”
“I guess we should leave him at home,” Avery said.
“No way!” T. J.’s exclamation drew a raised eyebrow from Jazz. “No telling what Greg would have done to Avery if Howie hadn’t been here.”
“And you.” Jazz stared at the pinches of dough lining the baking sheet. “I wish I could stay for one of those, but I’d better go.”
“Stop by later. I’ll save you one. Today we have green-onion sausage from that plant in Stonewall.”
“Count on it.” Jazz walked a couple of steps toward the door and turned. “You going to stay for a while, T. J.?”
“You’re kidding, right?”
Jazz gave him a smile. “You’re in good hands, Avery.”
The screen door slammed behind her, the room quiet.
“So,” he said.
She looked at him, a question in her eyes.
“We need to talk.”
“Before I open?”
His head moved up and down slowly.
She bit her bottom lip. “Have a seat, and I’ll get you a glass of tea.”
Sitting at the fancy little table she had arranged in the corner, T. J. drew in a deep breath.
“It’s almost time for the breakfast rush.” She lowered herself to the edge of the dainty chair. “Are you going to lecture me about being careful?”
“No.” The word was abrupt. “This may not be the best time or place, but I can’t put this off any longer.” He reached out and touched her hand. “I want you to trust me.”
“I do trust you.”
“I was on the wild side when I was a teenager—and through college. I liked gambling—the horses, cards, casinos in Shreveport, sporting events.” He shrugged. “I figured I’d give my mother something worth being upset about.”
“T. J. . . .”
“I don’t want there to be any secrets between us, Avery.” His attention was focused on her. “Bud helped me figure out that I should do more with my life. But when I figured it out, I wanted to get as far away as I could.”
“The job in Seattle?”
“It was either there or Anchorage.” He twisted his lips. “A little over a year ago, my parents had some trouble. I knew it was time for me to come home, to prove to them—and myself—I was a man to count on.” He held a long breath. “The incident involved your in-laws.”
“I know.” She set her fingers over his mouth. “Let’s agree to trust each other and go from there.”
He put his hand up to hers. “Are you sure?”
When she nodded, he placed a kiss on her palm.
“I’ve never even been on a date with you, but . . .” He hesitated. “Avery, I’m crazy about you.”
She smiled. “Does this mean you’re about to ask me out?”
“Oh yes.” He threw her that wicked grin, the one that crinkled the skin around his eyes. The one that made her heart beat faster every time.
Chapter 36
Kathleen adjusted the burner on the fifty-year-old stove, down, then up again. “I haven’t been this nervous since I gave birth.”
“I think it might actually happen.” Avery inhaled. “If it doesn’t, I’m eating every one of those meat pies.”
“Not without me you aren’t.” Kathleen added more of Gabriela’s seasoning to the beef. “Hopefully we’ll be eating to celebrate, though, not to drown our sorrows.”
“Greg wants his hands on that money pretty bad. He won’t like the new plan.”
“It doesn’t matter what he likes.”
Avery shrugged. “One way or the other, it’ll work out.”
“I hate it when people say that.” Kathleen put one hand on her hip.
“It will. Our purchase had better go through, though I officially turned down the Fashion Group.”
Kathleen stirred faster. “Things are coming together.”
Avery filled the sink with hot, soapy water. “I still don’t know how this place will support two of us, so I said I might be available for seasonal work.” She winked. “Just in case.”
Kathleen looked toward the front of the store. “Ugh.”
Avery turned, her sight blocked by a shelf. “What?”
“You might want to dry off those dishpan hands. We appear to have a gentleman caller.”
“The beloved nephew?”
“Nope.”
“Don’t tell me it’s Creswell,” Avery said. “Because if it is, I may stick my head under the faucet and drown myself.”
“Not the father-in-law. But by the looks of that car, it’s either a lawyer or a great customer.”
“I’m praying for the latter.”
“I’d bet on the former.”
“Oh, good grief.” Avery dried her hands on an embroidered towel, another new product from a woman at Kathleen’s church. “It’s Slattery Richmond.”
“The oil guy?”
“The oil-and-gas lawyer—and one of Creswell’s cronies.”
Big and blustery, Slattery had played football for LSU with Scooter and had spent recent years as an attorney on the fringes of the law himself. His daughter had had a brief summertime fling with Cres when they were both lifeguards at the country club.
Slattery jerked the screen door open so hard that it flew back against the wall, then charged into the store, a leather satchel in hand. He wore khaki slacks and a short-sleeved golf shirt, despite the weather. Saturday casual, no doubt.
“He’s not here for the meat pies,” Kathleen murmured. “Get over here.”
“Do you think Bill hired him to handle the sale?” Avery whispered.
“Hello, ladies.” He looked around the store before sauntering to the counter. “Got any fresh coffee?”
“You’re in luck, Slattery. We just brewed a pot.”
“Do you take anything in it?” Kathleen asked, her face revealing her annoyance as she meandered toward the self-serve pot.
“Sugar and milk’s for sissies.” His gaze followed Kathleen for a second, then he turned back and set his briefcase on the counter. “So this is where you’ve been keeping yourself, Avery. A little different from that dress store where my wife and daughter spend so much money.”
Avery looked at him, unafraid.
“And this must be Mrs. Manning,” he said as Kathleen reappeared with the coffee. He pulled a money clip out of his pocket and handed her a five-dollar bill. “Keep the change.”
“Will there be anything else?” Avery asked.
“As a matter of fact, I have a little something for you.” He reached into his pocket and drew out a pair of reading glasses, perching them on his florid nose. Then he patted his slacks, as though looking for something. “Oh, right. It’s in here.”
He snapped open the case, then pulled out a manila envelope.
He extended his hand, the envelope brushing against Avery’s apron.
“Don’t take it,” Kathleen said.
Slattery shot her an amused look. “Been watching too much Law & Order, Miz Manning?”
Kathleen’s mouth tightened and she slipped the five back across the counter. “The coffee’s on the house. Now if you’ll excuse us . . .”
Slattery peered at them over the edge of the cup. “Strong. Just like I like it.” And with a deft hand, he picked up the money and strolled to the door. “You ladies have a nice day.”
Avery lowered a hand to the envelope, but Kathleen swatted it away. “How I
miss my nice, calm job at the plant. Maybe we need a lawyer.”
“We can’t afford one.” Avery glanced at the parking lot, where Slattery was talking on his cell phone. “He makes more in an hour than we take in all day.”
Kathleen’s mouth turned down. “Didn’t you have any lawyer friends in that circle you married into?”
“You just met him. And then there’s Marsh, but he’s helping the Sweet Olive gallery.” Avery grabbed the envelope from Kathleen, then ripped it open. A piece of linen letterhead fell to the counter. She fingered the stationery and frowned.
“Greg has filed for legal guardianship of his aunt and uncle. There’s some sort of seal here.” She read on. “We’re no longer permitted to communicate with Bill or Martha.”
“Bill’s got a better memory than I do!” Kathleen snatched the letter from her hand. “We can fight it. That can’t be what’s best for Martha and Bill.” Kathleen rubbed the seal. “It isn’t even official. I’m a notary—used it in my old job. This is fake.” She stabbed at the paper with her index finger and let loose a wild laugh. “This is nothing more than a threatening letter. They can’t stop us without Bill’s permission or a court order.”
“Are you sure?”
“One hundred percent. I have my seal at home. Those sneaky liars.”
“Could Greg be acting in their best interest? Do you suppose we should meet with all of them?”
The door jingled again, and Kathleen’s gaze flew up. “Davis, thank goodness. Maybe you can talk my partner here out of throwing me back into the unemployment line.”
“Is there a snag?”
“Dear sweet Greggie wants his aunt and uncle declared mentally incompetent.” Kathleen shook her head.
“He’s pushing Bill to take a lump-sum offer for the property, instead of our lease-to-own deal.” Avery sighed. “Martha’s unable to make a business decision, but Bill—”
“I’ve dealt with Bill for years,” Davis said. “He doesn’t get around as well as he used to, but his mind’s as sharp as mine.”
“Greg ought to be ashamed of himself for treating family like that,” Kathleen said. “I’m telling you, Avery. We can’t let Greg beat us.”
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