by Carol Miller
“Well, if you’re going to stay,” Daisy said, turning toward the supplies that she had unloaded from her trunk, “could you at least help me carry some of this stuff inside?”
The man ended up carrying almost all of it, which was a nice change of pace. He and his enormous biceps also managed to move a work table topped with a thick marble slab that Daisy and Brenda had been trying to reposition for the last month without an inch of success. From a professional standpoint—as Sweetie Pies opened and the morning wore on—the man proved to be an excellent guard. He didn’t share any information, not even his own name. He expressed almost no emotion. And he kept a close eye on everybody, while at the same time seeming nearly invisible himself. Best of all in Daisy’s view, Brenda found his presence exceedingly reassuring. Over the weekend she had told Daisy repeatedly how worried she was about returning to the bakery on Monday, but after meeting their hulking protector, Brenda went humming into the kitchen, relaxed and happy like a baby kangaroo tucked safely inside its parent’s pouch.
Business was even brisker than Daisy had anticipated, and she was so busy filling coffee cups and bagging biscotti that after a while she forgot about the man stationed watchfully in the corner. She jumped when she suddenly heard him speak. Looking over, Daisy found Rick standing beside him, watching her also.
She grimaced. “When did you get here?”
Rick grinned at her. “About a dozen doughnuts ago.”
“Now’s not a good time, Rick.”
“I’ll wait,” he replied equably, wandering over to the back of the large glass display case and perusing his options.
“Here.” She grabbed a piece of waxed paper. “Use this.”
The grin grew. “Thank ya, darlin’.”
“Just take what you want and get out of the way. I’m working.”
He ended up picking two chocolate chip cookies, which didn’t surprise Daisy in the least. Just like his whiskey, Rick preferred his food neat and simple. Frilly desserts didn’t interest him. He didn’t have to wait long for a lull either. All at once the geocachers headed out for their daily adventures, and Sweetie Pies became empty and silent.
As Daisy cleaned the used napkins and stray crumbs from the counter, Rick settled himself on a green vinyl stool across from her.
“If you’re expecting me to gush about how grateful I am to you for improving the locks in here,” she said, “you’re going to be disappointed. I told you to mind your own business.”
“And I told you that your business is my business if you’re making my brother’s wedding cake.”
“Keep it up, and Bobby can get his cake from the Dairy Queen.”
Rick raised his hands in mock surrender.
“And while we’re on the subject of you minding your own business, you can take him,” Daisy gestured toward the man still stationed in the corner, “with you when you go.”
He shook his head. “That’s not happening.”
“We don’t need a guard, Rick.”
“It’s just a little extra security, Daisy.”
“We don’t need a little extra security.”
“You want your customers to feel safe, don’t you?”
“My customers don’t need to worry,” she replied tartly. “I cook up pastries, not likker.”
His gaze narrowed slightly.
“Having a guard around makes it look like Brenda and I’ve joined the Pittsylvania County mafia,” Daisy added.
Rick cocked his head at her. “Never heard of it.”
“Sure you haven’t,” she drawled.
He drew out a brown paper bag the size of a lunch sack and set it on the counter. “This is for you.”
She looked at it and then at him, raising a wary eyebrow. “What is it?”
“Open it and see.”
Daisy hesitated. Rick was impossible to trust. Leaning forward, she lifted the top of the bag gingerly and glanced inside. The eyebrow went higher.
“Rick—”
“Just another little precaution,” he told her.
“I can’t accept this.”
“Yes, you can.”
Daisy looked in the bag again, longer this time. A revolver lay at the bottom. It was a snub-nose Smith & Wesson, nickel with walnut grips—a .38 Chiefs Special.
“I already have a gun,” she reminded him.
“I know. Your momma’s Colt. But that’s for the inn. This is for the bakery.”
“I can’t accept it,” Daisy said once more.
“Yes, you can,” Rick repeated.
His tone was uncompromising. She tried to use a light touch.
“But I don’t know where it’s been,” she argued jocularly. “What crimes it may have committed.”
He gave her a tolerant sort of half-smile, as though he were placating a silly toddler. That provoked Daisy enough to pull out the big weapon in her arsenal.
“Matt wouldn’t like it. He wouldn’t want me taking gifts from other men.”
Rick’s eyes darkened like a menacing sky before a torrential storm. Just as he was about to unleash his fury, the rusty bell strung up above the front door of the bakery clanked. Grabbing the paper bag, Daisy shoved it hurriedly under the counter. But it turned out that there was no need to hide the sack from the inquisitive scrutiny of a customer. Bobby and Laurel walked in instead.
“G’morning all,” the younger Balsam pronounced cheerfully.
“It’s past noon,” his fiancée corrected him, with a peck on the cheek. Then she turned to the others. “Hi, Rick. Hi, Daisy!”
Daisy greeted her with equal warmth. “Hey there, Laurel!”
Although Rick barely blinked at Bobby and Laurel’s arrival, the fact that Daisy and Laurel were acquainted clearly surprised him.
“You two know each other?” he asked, looking back and forth between them. “You’ve met already?”
“Yes, we’ve met,” Daisy responded dryly. “The world does carry on even when you’re not present, Rick.”
“I stopped by Beulah’s salon yesterday to introduce myself,” Laurel explained. “And we were all at the barbecue last night. That was a good time, wasn’t it?”
Daisy grinned. “Best time I’ve had in a long time.”
Laurel grinned back at her. “Chris said the exact same thing.”
“Too bad we didn’t go,” Bobby whined to his brother. “It sounds like it was fun.”
Busy glaring at Daisy, Rick didn’t answer. She ignored him.
“So you aren’t together with your fellow geocachers today?” she said to Laurel.
The grin faded. “Bad news there. Chris and I found out a couple of hours ago, and he’s breaking it to the rest of the group now: the event is over.”
“All the caches have been found?”
“No. We had to call off the hunt. We were kicked out.”
“Kicked out?” Daisy squinted at her. “I thought you were on public land.”
“We were, but it’s been closed.”
“I told her that was a load of hogwash,” Bobby protested. “They should just ignore it.”
“We can’t ignore it,” Laurel replied with an air of patient forbearance, giving him another peck on the cheek. “It’s the whole area around Fuzzy Lake, and that’s where the final caches are located.”
Daisy was puzzled. “I’ve never heard of anyone closing that area before.”
“From what I understand, it’s a sort of emergency measure. The state biologist who I talked to this morning said they needed to block all access immediately. Apparently there are bat colonies living in the caves by the lake, and they discovered a fungus…” Laurel paused. “I can’t remember what he called it. ‘White’ something.”
“White-nose syndrome?” Daisy suggested.
“That’s it!” Laurel nodded. “He told me that they found it on the bats in one of the bigger caves, and they’re afraid it will spread to the others. I guess it’s lethal to them.”
“Extremely lethal,” Daisy agreed. “It’s kil
led more than ninety percent of some infected colonies. A lot of the caves along the Virginia–West Virginia border have been shut off in the hopes of containing it. They’re pretty sure the fungus is transmitted bat to bat by contact in shared hibernation spots, but they don’t want to take any chance that the clothing or equipment from people might contribute to the spread.”
“You know so much about it—are you a spelunker?” Laurel asked her.
“No. I don’t go digging in caves,” Daisy said. “But my daddy was a farmer, and he taught me about the many benefits of bats at a young age. They’re fantastic insect eaters, which means fewer pesticides, higher yields in the field, and lower costs at the grocery store. Great for agriculture, the environment, and consumers all around. Even moonshiners and their precious corn,” she added under her breath, with a sideways glance at Rick.
He didn’t appear to hear her. He was looking at Laurel.
“Well,” Laurel responded, “beneficial insect eaters or not, the bats and their fungus have definitely put an end to our hunt. I’ve requested permission to go into the area and collect the remaining caches.”
“Why bother?” Bobby muttered. “They’re not hurting anybody. I say leave ’em where they lie.”
Laurel’s patient forbearance reappeared in the form of a gentle smile. “I can’t just leave them. That would make me an awfully bad geocacher. It would be like dumping trash on a hike or not cleaning up a campsite.”
Bobby nuzzled against her shoulder like a tractable puppy that was in the process of being housebroken. Daisy couldn’t keep from chuckling. Laurel was right. Together she and Bobby were like peas and carrots. Odd as it was, they did seem to make a good match, at least temperament-wise. She glanced again at Rick, curious whether he thought so too. She found him still looking at Laurel. Ordinarily Daisy wouldn’t have paid much attention to it. Rick never failed to admire an attractive woman. But in this instance—considering that the attractive woman was soon to be his brother’s wife—he was admiring her a little too long and a little too intently. It made Daisy wonder. She still didn’t know how Bobby and Laurel had met. Perhaps Rick had met Laurel first. She couldn’t remember a time when the Balsam boys had ever been interested in the same girl.
The rumble of a truck down the road reminded Daisy that she was still waiting for her cream cheese delivery. “Does the hunt ending so soon have any impact on the timing of the wedding?” she asked, thinking of the red velvet cake that she was supposed to make.
“Not a bit. We’re still full steam ahead for Saturday.” Laurel squeezed Bobby’s arm. “That’s the good news in all of this. Now I’ll have more time to focus on the wedding. As soon as I get those last caches taken care of, and the rest of the group heads home.”
Her words struck Daisy. “Heads home? Is Chris going back to Maryland right away?”
It was Laurel’s turn to chuckle. “Of course not. He’s really excited about the trip with you tomorrow.”
Finally breaking his gaze from Laurel, Rick turned to Daisy. “You have a trip tomorrow?”
“It’s not an actual trip,” she explained. “I’m just showing Chris some of Pittsylvania County’s historical markers.”
Rick’s jaw twitched. “I think you’re right, Bobby. It is too bad that we didn’t go to the barbecue last night. It seems everybody there had so much fun organizing sight-seeing expeditions.”
Daisy scowled at him.
He smirked and with dripping sarcasm imitated what she had said earlier. “Matt wouldn’t like it, darlin’. He wouldn’t want you showing historical markers to other men.”
Pulling out the bag with the revolver, Daisy slammed it down on the counter. “Is this gun traceable? I need to know so that I can dispose of it properly after I shoot you.”
The burly man in the corner took a step forward. Although he was ostensibly there to guard Daisy, Brenda, and the bakery, Rick’s protection evidently took precedence over all else. Rick raised his hand, and the man stopped.
“No worries, Caesar,” Rick drawled. “Daisy’s just playing around. She wouldn’t ever shoot me.”
“Famous last words,” she retorted.
“Is there…” Laurel frowned at the sack. “You don’t actually have a gun in there, do you?”
Daisy would have answered in the affirmative, until she saw Bobby’s face. It was contorted in horror like he was about to be stung by a thousand hornets. Apparently his fiancée wasn’t quite as fond of firearms as he was, at least not those sitting unlocked and immediately accessible on Sweetie Pies’ counter in a brown paper sack.
Judiciously removing the bag from sight, Daisy switched to a more pleasant subject, one that had more to do with Chris and absolutely nothing to do with Rick. “So if the rest of the group is leaving, will you still be staying at the campground?” she asked Laurel. “Because if you’re interested, you could come to the inn. It’s very comfortable, and I know that Aunt Emily—she’s the owner—would love to have you.”
“I couldn’t leave poor Chris out there all alone,” Laurel objected.
“I meant him too, of course. There’s plenty of room.”
Rick coughed. “How convenient.”
“It would be convenient,” Daisy returned, feigning the expression of an innocent lamb who was in no way referring to the intriguing possibility of having Chris’s bedroom just a few short steps down the hall from her own bedroom. “Since the wedding is going to be at the inn, you’d save yourself a lot of driving.”
“That’s true.” Laurel appeared thoughtful.
“It’s a great plan!” Bobby proclaimed with enthusiasm. “I don’t like the idea of you being at the campground with nobody else around.”
“Chris is there,” she reminded him.
“The inn isn’t as far away.” Bobby stuck out a pouty lip. “I’ll be able to see you more.”
“But the campground is so much closer to the caches,” Laurel responded pragmatically. “I’ll be able to retrieve them that much quicker.”
“That decides it then,” Rick said. “Clean up from the campground, and when you’re done, go to the inn with your brother.”
He spoke with such definitive firmness that it ended the discussion on all sides. Daisy looked at him in surprise. Why did Rick care whether—or when—Laurel and Chris were at the campground or the inn? He looked back at her with an unmistakably devious gaze. It sent a warning chill snaking down her spine. Rick had an agenda, and there was always trouble when Rick had an agenda.
CHAPTER
8
If Rick’s agenda in any way included keeping Daisy and Chris from their scheduled expedition, it didn’t work. The next day Chris arrived at the bakery just as Daisy was putting the finishing touches on a grand banana pudding.
“Wow.” His eyes widened like those of a kid holding a crisp fiver in front of an ice cream truck. “That looks awesome.”
Daisy smiled to herself. It was nice whenever someone admired her creations, but it was especially nice if that someone also happened to be a well-groomed, well-educated, well-employed male who was just plain interesting.
“Could we skip the markers,” Chris said, “and eat instead?”
“If you like, but this pudding isn’t ready. It’s got to chill overnight.”
“Tomorrow then?”
That made Daisy smile even more. He was asking for a second date before the first one had barely begun.
“The pudding won’t be here tomorrow afternoon,” she told him.
“So we’ll have it for breakfast.”
Daisy felt her cheeks warm. Chris Page was a bit of a flirt. Apparently that was another thing he had in common with his sister. Laurel had to be a bit of a flirt too, considering that she and Bobby were getting married after knowing each other for a whopping two weeks.
“I’m afraid the pudding is already spoken for,” Daisy replied lightly. “It’s going to the Pittsylvania Historical Society.”
“The county has a great history of pudding?�
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“No.” She laughed. “They’re having a lecture. They’ve been having a lot of teas and lectures lately—as fund-raisers. The pudding is my contribution to the cause.”
“That is awfully nice of you. It’s often been a topic of debate between me and my colleagues.”
“What has?”
“If more citizens had contributed banana puddings, would the Confederacy have fared better?”
Daisy laughed harder. “I guess that teaches me for talking about a historical society with a history professor.”
“You can talk about whatever you want,” Chris responded smoothly, “as long as you don’t tell me that anything else is already spoken for.”
He could have meant the nectarine torte that was sitting on the work table alongside the banana pudding, but this time there was more than a bit of flirting in his tone, giving Daisy the distinct impression that he was referring to her.
She hesitated. Although she certainly hadn’t dated much since Matt left, she always made a point of being open and honest about the fact that she was still legally married. It wasn’t usually an issue with the local boys, because in many ways rural southwestern Virginia was a small place. Everyone found out quickly—and easily—who was attached, who was unattached, and who was having dalliances at the motel over in Gretna. But today Daisy didn’t feel like sharing. It would have spoiled the mood somehow. If not for Chris, then at least for her. Matt McGovern was never an enjoyable subject.
Evidently not requiring an answer, Chris wandered to the window. “It’s kind of ironic, really. Now that the geocaching is done, the weather has turned perfect. Sun shining. Good temperature. Last week it was boiling hot, freezing cold, or pouring down rain—sometimes all three in the same day.”
“I’m sorry you had to cut the hunt short,” Daisy sympathized.
“I’m not. Truth be told, I’m glad that it’s over. It’s been a pile of work from start to finish, too much juggling.”