by C. P. Rider
"Thanks. Let me know if you find anything. I'll talk to you both later." I stood, closed the cake box and tucked it under my arm. I fished Lucas's keys from my robe pocket and headed for the door.
Dolores walked me downstairs in her slippers and robe. Hers was cooler than mine. It was red and had crystal starbursts all over it.
"Hey, Earp told Dot that there was some wolf shifter sniffing around your place."
I shifted, balancing my cake box onto my hip. "That's what the shifters and their excellent noses tell me."
"You know you're welcome to camp out on our sofa for as long as you need to—or you can bunk with us upstairs. I'll fix a pallet for you on the floor. It's either that or you spoon with Dot."
"Tempting." I hugged her around the shoulders. "Thanks, but I'm heading home. I need to set my pan de muerto bread dough out for its final rise and get started on the polvorones. They've sold well in the café lately."
"So, you're still planning on running the bakery?"
"Yeah." I shifted my weight from one foot to the other. "I guess I'm finally starting to see that it wasn't just my uncle's dream to open La Buena Suerte Panaderia. It was mine, too."
The normally cranky witch gave me one of her rarest gifts. A kind, genuine smile. "Glad to hear you realized it, kiddo. I'm also glad that you and your panaderia are sticking around."
"You are?"
"Sure. I'll need snacks to serve when I open the bar, you know."
I laughed as I got behind the wheel of Lucas's truck, belted my cake box into the passenger seat, and drove home.
Chapter Five
One might think that because I work in a bakery around pastries all day, I might not care that much about one little cake.
One would be wrong.
Instead of pulling in behind the bakery, I parked Lucas's truck on the street and tossed the keys on the floorboard. That way he could pick it up whenever he wanted without having to talk to me. No need to lock it. No one in Sundance would bother the alpha leader's vehicle.
I scanned the building for strange wolf shifters or other undesirables with my eyes first, and then with my ability. I saw nothing and sensed no strange brains in the vicinity, so I unbuckled my cake box and took it inside. I put my cake in the refrigerator, on the shelf above the pan de muerto dough. My uncle had been a fan of the long, slow rise in the refrigerator. His way of keeping the buttery sweet bread dough rich.
After washing my hands, I dumped the dough on a clean, floured section of the worktable and cut it into several pieces. Because these were single-serving rolls, I formed each piece into a palm-sized round and rolled five-inch lengths of the dough I'd set aside to make the traditional "crossbones" on top of each one. Then I covered them on the baking sheet and set them aside to rise again.
I was proud of my rolls. They weren't exactly like my uncle's, but I'd incorporated some of his methodology. As a personal touch, I'd made some cute mini sugar skulls to place on top. I couldn't wait to decorate the skulls with royal icing. That was my favorite part.
Once I'd gotten things set, I went upstairs and took a shower. It was early yet, but I had slept pretty well at Lucas's right up until our fight and didn't feel like I needed to grab another hour of sleep.
Forty-five minutes later, after I'd deep conditioned and used my blow-dryer's diffuser attachment on my hair, dressed in an orange sundress and sneakers, and put on a little lip gloss, I went downstairs.
It was a quarter after five a.m. and I didn't open until six, so that gave me some time to work in the kitchen. I put the ancient, many-times-repaired coffeemaker to work with some excellent single-source Guatemalan coffee beans, tuned the ancient radio to the oldies station, and set about measuring the ingredients for sugar cookies. My tío had been fond of this recipe. It made a firm cookie that held its shape in the oven.
One of my uncle's restaurant contacts in La Paloma had called last weekend to ask if I was selling Dia de los Muertos cookies this year. After doing a quick count of my supply of specialty boxes—cookies decorated in buttercream did not stack and had to be transported in one layer—I'd said yes, and they'd ordered ten dozen to be sold in their steakhouses.
While cookie dough chilled in the refrigerator, I took out the tiny sugar skulls I'd made yesterday. They were dry and ready decorate with royal icing. I stitched mouths in pink, plopped purple and yellow flowers on white bone heads, and drew small crosses in red and black. I would be doing the same on the sugar cookies, except with my buttercream frosting. I wasn't entirely looking forward to it. Buttercream was tastier than royal icing in my opinion, and not super hard to work with, but it was a pain to pack up for delivery because it set soft.
I'd get to lick the bowl, though, so it wasn’t a complete bummer.
Once I finished with the sugar skulls, I rummaged through the back closet for the pedestal table my tío had used in the Las Vegas bakery to make our ofrenda. I set it up in the rear corner of the café so it wouldn't get bumped, and balanced different sized boxes on top, creating a three-level effect.
As I covered the table with a white cloth and decorated it with a tiny pitcher of water, candles, tissue paper marigold flowers, and papel picado banners, I took a moment to remember the last time I had done this with my uncle. Long-gone family members were resurrected through my memories of my tío's stories. I picked up each sepia photo and held it to my heart, sending joy and love to bring them peace in the afterlife.
When I had the basics done, I went into the kitchen for the photo I took of my tío the day we opened La Buena Suerte Panaderia. In the picture, he wore a wide smile and his brown eyes glittered with excitement. It was harder to send joy to this picture because the loss was fresh, but as I placed it on the highest level of the ofrenda, I did my best to send him wishes of peace and love.
I was arranging a few of the sugar skulls I'd already decorated beside the pictures, when the front door swung open, and a man's deep voice echoed through the room.
"Hello, Neely."
I turned, half ready to take another dart to the arm, and sighed in relief when I saw the tall, broad-shouldered man who had walked in. Carter Reid. Carter was an alpha wolf when in animal form, and a white man when in human form. He and his shifter wife Imogen had recently moved to town. They had a baby named ReAnne, who was the cutest little wolf ever.
"Hi, Carter. What can I do for you? Where are Imogen and the baby?"
"Sleeping. Ree kept Imogen and me up half the night. She doesn't like her bed, apparently." He came across the room to stand next to me. "What is this?"
"An ofrenda. A sort of altar. It's not for worshipping anything, though. It's for remembering loved ones and ancestors. A way of holding them close to our hearts."
"And you put candy skulls on it?"
"Yes. And bread of the dead, too. When I'm finished, it will be beautiful." I smiled at my uncle's picture. "This is Tío José. He is very dear to me." I swept my hand over the rest of the pictures. "This is his mother, his abuela, and bisabuela."
Carter squinted at the pictures. "I'm assuming abuela means grandmother?"
"And bisabuela means great-grandmother."
He eyed the ofrenda for a long time before speaking again. "Do you think I could do something like this? For my dad?"
"Absolutely. Anyone can celebrate Dia de los Muertos. The people of Mexico are generous with their culture and invite anyone to join in—as long as they are respectful to tradition and remember the beautiful cultura and people it originated from."
"I thought it might be a way to honor my dad and also introduce my wife and daughter to him," he said shyly. "I'd like to keep his memory alive. He was a good man."
"That's wonderful, Carter. If you need help setting it up, I'm happy to assist. Can I get you a coffee? Iced? Hot?"
"Yes. Hot please, thanks. Do you sell the skulls and bread, too?"
"Sure. I'm making the bread now. I'll save you some." I guided Carter to the counter and poured him a cup of coffee in a to-go cup
, since I knew he was on his way to work. "Several families around here celebrate Dia de los Muertos and Dia de los Angelitos, which is the day of the little angels, a time when we honor babies and children who have passed."
"That's really nice." Carter plunked his money on the counter. "You must be proud of your culture."
"I am. I'm of Mexican descent through my mom. My grandfather on my dad's side was from Scotland, but I never met him. My dad doesn't speak the language and I don't know much about the culture. I've been looking into it, though. Scotland—and Nigeria—where my great-great-grandmother was born."
"Alpha Blacke told Imogen and me that you like to watch documentaries about stuff like that."
"He's not wrong." His mention of Lucas made me miss that sneaky alpha even more. I really hated fighting with him. "I watch all kinds of documentaries. They calm me."
Carter left soon after, and the rest of the morning was slow, but steady. Customers trickled in, some putting in orders for larger pan de muerto loaves and some asking questions about the ofrenda. If I hadn't had the fight with Lucas hanging over me like a fat, dark raincloud, I would have considered it a perfect morning.
At noon, Chandra poked her head around the front door. "I'm picking up Alpha's truck. Amir dropped me off at the tower earlier, so I drove your Mini here."
Amir Gamal was Lucas's fourth alpha in command. In human form, he was a drop-dead gorgeous male of Israeli heritage. In animal form, he was a golden eagle with a beak so sharp it could bite a man's hand off at the wrist. I knew this because I'd seen him do it.
"You and Amir don't have the keys to my car," I said.
"Aww." Chandra smiled. "You're cute when you're dumb."
"You hot-wired my car? I would have given you the keys if you told me you needed them."
"I like to keep my skills sharp. Do you still have coffee?"
"Yes. Come in." I started making her an iced coffee. Added cream and a couple drops of sugar syrup, the way she liked it.
"Best news I've had all day." She strolled up to the counter. "I could use it."
"Something happen?"
"Oh, the usual. Earp and I caught a couple more poachers hunting for shifters in the canyons this morning. They're like roaches. You crush one under your boot and ten more show up. Alpha thinks there must be a new sanctuary somewhere close."
"Yay, just what we need. More trouble."
She shrugged. "Keeps things interesting."
Personally, I'd had enough of that sort of interesting to last me a long while. I could deal with some good old-fashioned boredom.
"Any strange wolves come poking around today?" she asked.
I looked up from my coffee making and met her gaze. "No. Did Lucas send you to check on me?"
"He's concerned."
"So concerned that he couldn't be bothered to come himself?"
"Alpha is dealing with a situation at the solar farm east of town. Apparently, some of the panels were damaged in the windstorm last weekend." She snatched a paper-wrapped straw from the box by the register. "Why'd you ask like that? You two fighting again?"
I carefully pressed the edges of the plastic lid on her cup, making sure that it sealed properly so she wouldn't be wearing it in few minutes. "He didn't tell you? And what do you mean again? We don't fight that much."
Chandra shook her head, grinned. "Oh no, only once, twice a week since you met, if we're talking averages."
"You can't count those first months. That man was unbearable."
"Yes, he was unbearable, and you were a liar. You guys make a good couple."
I couldn't be offended by what Chandra said because it was true. Pretty much everything I told Lucas in the beginning was a lie. I'd done it to protect myself, my uncle, and my secret, but lying was lying and truth was truth.
I set her coffee on the counter. She started to fish some money out of her pocket. "No charge. A thank you for bringing my car back."
"You're welcome. Go ahead and box up two dozen polvorones, too, please." This time she did bring out her money, set way too much of it on the counter, and waved me off when I tried to give her change. "Assorted colors. Security meeting with the boss tonight and Alpha likes the yellow ones."
"Your alpha is not going to want my cookies on his table," I said, but I boxed up a dozen anyway, adding an extra yellow one to make it a baker's dozen.
"Oh, I'm pretty sure he'd be happy to have your cookies anywhere," she drawled. I glared at her and she laughed. "You walked right into that one."
I closed the box and taped the lid shut, then slumped over it. "Chandra, I think I might have overreacted last night."
"Sounds like you." She sipped her coffee.
"Hey now, Lucas was not innocent in this. He was secretive and suspicious."
"Sounds like him." She shook the ice in her cup. "Look, it's none of my business, except that I like you both and think you might have something special if you stopped being so damn afraid of each other, but you need to talk to him, tell him how you feel." She held up a hand when I made to interrupt. "Don't give me that look, Neely, I know I'm not an expert at relationship stuff. I was only thinking you should trust him a little more."
Half of me rebelled at the idea of fully trusting Lucas Blacke, even as the other half knew that, deep down, I already did. It felt like a risk to admit it to him, though, and I wasn't up to taking another risk right now. I had ten dozen sugar skull cookies to bake and decorate and a bakery to whip into shape.
A life to whip into shape.
"Maybe." I pushed the cookie box across the counter to her.
"Definitely."
"I take it this means you aren't going to tell me what you two were talking about last night—or rather, very early this morning?" I tried to be coy about asking, but I doubt I pulled it off.
"Nope. Even if I wanted to get involved, which I don't, I couldn't tell you. My alpha leader gave me a direct order. You know how that goes."
Direct orders. Another reason why I had no intention of joining Lucas's group.
"Yeah. I know how that goes."
I closed up the café after Chandra left and went to work in the kitchen. Until I got the bakery financially solvent again, I needed to work half-days in the café and spend more time baking. I liked spending time alone in the kitchen, but on days like today, with a big cookie order breathing down my neck, I wished my old assistant, Diego, was still working here.
Music flowed through the kitchen while cold flour sifted through my fingers. The local oldies station I'd grown fond of listening to faded in and out on my uncle's radio and I hummed along with the music when I didn't know the words to a song. An hour into baking, the DJ played Air Supply's All Out of Love. The song Lucas had deemed our "sex theme." I wasn't even alive when the song came out, and yet it conjured up some strong emotions in me when it played. Sadness, regret, and a warmer emotion—one I wasn't yet ready to call love.
I thought about turning the radio off. I didn't. Nor did I when the song played again four hours later.
Butter and vanilla permeated the air. Cooking had been important to my uncle, and although these two scents were not the only ones I associated with him, they tended to be the strongest, along with the tangy odor of Mexican chorizo cooking and the spicy smell of a poblano chile roasting on a gas burner.
The cookies took all afternoon and evening to finish. By the time I pushed the large rolling rack with the decorated cookies into the closet-sized walk-in cooling unit in the rear of the bakery, my arms were leaden, and my eyes drooped. I cleaned the kitchen thoroughly and hauled my tired self upstairs.
This was going to be one of those nights when I chose either a shower or food, because I was too tired to do both. I chose the shower because I kept finding sticky spots on my body, and besides, I'd eaten the three cookies I'd broken. That was dinner enough.
So, I stripped, twisted my hair up, and climbed into the shower. As the steaming hot water loosened my tight, sore muscles, my mind wandered back to Lucas
and our fight.
Things had gotten out of hand last night and I hadn't given him much of a chance to explain himself. He'd grown defensive when he thought I was spiking him, but he hadn't raged at me the way some people did. Besides, could I truly blame him? I'd be defensive if someone I trusted spiked into my head without permission, too. Not that he hadn't behaved like a giant ass—he totally had—but me stomping off like a spoiled brat with my birthday cake wasn't my finest moment, either.
I dried off and threw on my prairie girl pajamas—a high-necked, mid-calf flannel nightgown. I stared at Lucas's robe on the back of my bathroom door and missed him for a minute. Then I dragged myself to bed.
The second my head hit my pillow, my cell phone rang. Although I was so tired my eyes crossed when I tried to focus them, a little thrill went through me. Lucas. It had to be him.
Bleary-eyed, I read the name on the screen.
It wasn't Lucas.
I was tempted to ignore the call but decided against it. He'd just keep trying. Might as well get it over with. I tapped the phone's screen and put the caller on speaker.
"Hello, Dad."
Chapter Six
"Why didn't you tell me about your uncle?" Yep, it was definitely my dad—no hello, no how are you, just straight to business.
Regardless, I felt some relief at hearing from him. There had been a worrying little voice in the back of my mind telling me something could be wrong. I mean, he was always a little late to call me on my birthday, but he'd never outright forgotten.
"I did tell you, four months ago. You said you couldn't come out for the funeral, remember?"
It hadn't been a traditional memorial service, just a small get-together at the Dusty Cactus saloon where my tío had played poker with his friends, but it had been nice. Several of the shifters in town had attended. Afterward, I'd gone into the mountains with Lucas and Earp to scatter my uncle's ashes. He had been happy in Sundance and I knew he'd want his body to stay here.