Delightful: Big Sky Pie #3 (11 page)

She got out and walked around the SUV as she answered. Ice followed and began gathering the pie boxes from the trunk. She placed a hand on his, staying the action. “I see. Okay. I’m sorry. I don’t know how that happened, but we’re on our way. Be there in a few minutes.”

“We have to go to the pie shop.” She shoved the pie boxes back into place, slammed the tailgate, and hurried into the driver’s seat.

“But what about our meeting?” Ice settled onto the passenger seat. “Aren’t you going to let the Gardeners know you’ll have to reschedule?”

“For some reason, Betty and Dean thought we were meeting at Big Sky Pie.” She started the engine, backed out of the parking spot, and then roared across two lanes. “They’re waiting for us there.”

“So Molly had to tell them about the blueberries?”

“Yes, and she doesn’t like delivering bad news.”

Who does?
“From the look on your face, I was thinking something more serious had happened.”

She glanced at him as though she could read his mind and didn’t like what she found there, like a complete lack of sympathy for anything that didn’t relate directly to himself. He squirmed at the thought. She said, “Like the reporter being there looking for you?”

Exactly what he’d wanted to know, but now answering “Yes” seemed sort of like answering that question about an article of clothing making your woman look fat. Whatever he said, he’d be wrong, and he’d sound like a selfish, insensitive jerk. Normally he didn’t care what anyone thought about him, but he cared very much that Andrea not to think poorly of him.

He took a big swallow of the espresso and lied. “Bobby and Flynn are filming the contractor repairing the wall in the cold room. I thought maybe something had gone wrong.”

“Bullshit. You thought Rita was there causing a ruckus. Admit it.”

Damn, she could see right through him. “That might have crossed my mind.”

She grinned at him, and the band around his chest loosened.

“Molly said it’s been an interesting morning already. A couple of customers asked if they were on TV, and couple of her gal pals came in and posed like models at a fashion shoot while ordering pie to go.”

“The cameras are running in the café today.” Ice laughed, picturing it. “Damn. I can’t wait to see that footage.”

“It’s not funny. She’s very upset.”

He didn’t believe it. Molly could roll with the punches. He studied Andrea for a moment, noting her white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. “Are you worried about her heart? ’Cause according to her, she’s back on her game.”

Andrea glared at him. “You weren’t here. You don’t know how scary it was when she collapsed. You didn’t see her with the light gone from those bright blue eyes, with her spirit dulled, and her voice so weak…”

Her voice hitched, and he spotted a tear spilling down her cheek. It stunned him into silence. He didn’t think anyone loved him enough to shed a tear if he were to fall victim to a heart attack or even if he died. The knowledge settled like a black sore in his heart. He’d thought himself immune to the effects of love. He didn’t like discovering that he wasn’t.

They arrived at the pie shop. The Ice Berg Productions van was parked in back, beside Molly’s car, Wade’s pickup truck, and the other employees’ vehicles. Andrea parked in front of the shop. She and Ice gathered the pie boxes from the cargo section of the SUV and hurried inside.

The delightful aromas filled his senses and calmed his anxiousness. The reporter was not here. The only customers were Jane and a beautiful older woman sitting in the front booth indulging in pie, tea, and conversation, while Molly was in the end booth with a white-haired couple who looked anything but happy. The Gardeners, Ice assumed. He set the pie boxes on a nearby table, then stood to the side as greetings and introductions were made.

The beauty with Jane was her mother, Rebel Scott, a wedding planner. Betty and Dean offered him a warm greeting, seeming able to momentarily set aside their personal disappointment and concern over the reception debacle.

Molly stood. “Betty and Dean, please excuse me for running out on you right now, but this is the first time I’ve let my assistant pastry chef handle the pumpkin pie filling for two dozen pies. I need to check on her and get those pies baking. But don’t worry. Andrea is going to show you what we’ve come up with to replace the blueberry pies.”

Dean said, “No problem.” But Ice thought the waggling of his bushy brows proclaimed he didn’t like being brushed aside.

Ice had left his venti in the SUV. He helped himself to a mug of coffee, listening to Andrea sounding confident and surefooted. She was in her element, he realized, seeing why Molly had insisted Andrea be the spokesperson for the reality show. She apologized to the Gardeners, hoped they’d understand that the freezer going out wasn’t something anyone could have foreseen, and reassuring them that she and Molly had come up with several alternate options, one of which was bound to work for them.

“Oh, thank you, Andrea,” Betty said. “I won’t lie. We are disappointed, and a little worried. But it means a lot to Dean and me that we’re dealing with friends and can have an open discussion and hopefully find a resolution.”

“Everything is blue based on the blueberries,” Dean grumbled, seeming less ready to move past the upset.

As Ice watched Andrea show them the options, he found it difficult to remember the Gardeners were senior citizens and not some young, newlywed couple. He’d shot dozens of pilots and directed several reality show series. He’d seen his share of so-called “in love” couples. None, to him, had seemed genuine. Oh, they talked the talk, used the usual hugs, kisses, and mushy nicknames, but they didn’t walk the walk. Their eyes didn’t light up just being in the same room with their spouse or significant other.

Over the years, he’d grown more and more cynical of
romantic love
—certain it did not exist—but was something made up for moviegoers. And yet here it was, right before his eyes. He felt as if he were viewing a magic trick that he knew was all smoke and mirrors, but he couldn’t see the smoke, couldn’t find the mirrors.

He snapped out of his musing when he heard Betty say, “We know that these things do happen. I don’t want to be mad about it. It’s enough that I have my Dean, you know? But I can’t help it. I wanted everything to be so special.”

Dean nodded. “Maybe we should go with cake after all. We can always have blue frosting.”

Betty blushed as though she’d been caught considering an idea that was sure to hurt her friends, Molly and Andrea. But she said, “Maybe we should.”

Andrea’s face fell. Clearly she didn’t want to lose this gig, and Ice didn’t want that to happen either. If they went to another dessert shop, he wouldn’t have the segment he wanted and needed for this pilot to sell. So he butted in just as the bell over the pie shop door sounded. Ice ignored it and began to sell the Gardeners on their possible involvement in the reality show.

“Ian!” Rita Grace shouted. “There you are.”

Ice jerked around to see the reporter coming at him with a handheld recorder. Panic released a shot of adrenalin into his bloodstream. His only thought: escape. But the reporter stood between him and the café exit. He bolted behind the display cases, racing toward the workroom. In his mind’s eye, he saw the route of escape as a clear shot through the kitchen to the back door. But as he shoved the first door inward, he met resistance, then a sudden, free-falling give. He pitched forward, catapulted with unstoppable momentum into the crowded workspace. Someone screamed.

Something wet and slimy slapped his face, followed by a cloud of white that seemed to be falling from the ceiling like an indoor snowstorm. Flour. It got in his hair, his eyes, his nose, blinding him, choking him. He scrubbed at his eyes, trying to focus, but before he could, something slammed into his head, quick, hard. He staggered, his legs going rubbery, and everything went dark.

B
y the time Andrea reached the kitchen, it looked like a war zone. Every surface, hard and human, had been dusted with flour and dripped with pumpkin pie filling. She caught sight of Rita outside, darting away between the parked vehicles, presumably still chasing after Ice, her dark hair bearing white skunk streaks.

BiBi was at the sink, swearing like a long haul trucker whose load had spilled across a freeway and looking like she’d been tarred and feathered in flour and pie filling. Molly cowered near the SubZero, hand to mouth, eyes wide. Strangely, she was unscathed from the flying pie ingredients. Andrea asked, “What happened?”

“That’s what I want to know.” Molly shook her head. “I was getting something from the refrigerator. I heard the commotion, and when I shut the fridge door, this is what I saw.”

Andrea glanced around again. Two large chunks of wallboard were teepeed in the center of the kitchen, and male voices issued from the hallway leading to the cold room. There, she found Bobby, helping Wade to his feet. Wade’s tool belt hung askew, his baseball cap knocked off, and he had a disgruntled look on his face.

“Are you okay, man?” Bobby asked Wade.

“Nothing seems broken,” Wade started to get up, accepting Bobby’s offered hand.

“Do you guys know what happened?” Andrea inquired.

“Not me,” Bobby said, shrugging. “I was setting up the lights and camera in the cold room to film the wall repair.”

Wade reached for his cap, slapped it against his leg, and straightened. “I was bringing the sheet of wallboard in through the kitchen. Something slammed into it from across the room. The board shifted and pulled me with it, hit something else. I heard someone scream, but I was pitched off my feet, and I landed on my butt in the hall.”

Andrea went back to the kitchen. BiBi was still swearing, but under her breath. She’d found a hand towel and was trying to clean the flour and pie goop from her face and hair. She met Andrea’s gaze.

Andrea asked, “Do you know what happened?”

“Wade ran into me with his plasterboard.” She sucked in a breath. “Molly had just poured the pumpkin filling into the pie shells and was getting ready to put them into the ovens. I was bringing a new sack of flour to the work island, and Wade was juggling a huge piece of plasterboard through the door. The next thing I know, the flour sack was ripped out of my arms, the paper split wide open, and flour exploded into a white cloud raining down like snow. Then I got knocked into the island and collided with all of the pies tins, flipping them over, spilling the filling, and sending the pans onto the floor.” She swore again. “All those pies ruined. The kitchen ruined. Damn Wade anyway.”

 “It wasn’t Wade,” Andrea said.

“It wasn’t?” BiBi’s eyes narrowed, conveying a need to place the blame and exact revenge. “Then whose fault was it?”

“Ice Erikksen’s. There was a reporter in the café. He was trying to avoid her, and he ran this way. He must have slammed the door into the plasterboard as he charged into the kitchen, heading for the back door.”

“Well, he’s going to pay for this mess when he shows up,” Molly said, collecting pie tins from the floor and banging them on the marble counter.

Jane and her mother had come into the kitchen and were helping as well, but the Gardeners were standing in the doorway looking as though they wanted nothing more to do with Big Sky Pie. They met Andrea’s gaze, shook their heads, and retreated into the café. She started toward them, the loss of their business slipping through her fingers like so much drippy pumpkin pie filling. She had to make them understand that broken freezers and accidents were mishaps that could happen to any business owner. Even them.

A quiet groan caught Andrea’s attention, stopping her in her tracks. The wallboard teepee shifted, and a hand appeared. She gasped. “Someone’s under there.”

Wade scrambled to help her, lifting the plasterboard to reveal a man sprawled on the concrete, rubbing his head. Andrea dropped to her knees. “Oh, my God, Ice?”

Ice moaned again, his eyes blinking open, then closing as she and Wade helped him into a sitting position.

Ice said, “Anybody get the license number of that freight train?”

“It was that damned reporter, man,” Bobby said. “Bitch wiped out the kitchen.”

Andrea begged to differ. This mess was on Ice. He could have just talked to the woman or taken her outside the café door instead of running away.

“You okay, partner?” Bobby asked, hoisting a piece of wallboard.

“Yeah, sure. No sweat.”

“Thank God for that hard head of yours.”

“Yeah. Sure.” Ice offered a weak smile as Wade and Bobby carted the broken wallboard away, carrying it outside.

“You’re not okay,” Andrea said, feeling a lump on the back of his skull. “You’ve got a bump on your head. Might be a concussion. Look at me.”

He opened his eyes, his gaze seeming to take a moment to focus on her, but when it did, the intense blue was like a magnet drawing her nearer. A sweet, gentle thrum vibrated through her body in response. She tried to shake it off, to find the few nursing skills she possessed and ignore the female urges this man stirred in her.

But when her finger touched his face, she felt a sexual charge that had her pulling back.
Stop it. Check his pupils.
She gripped his chin, hoping he wouldn’t notice the slight tremor in her hand, and peered closer. “Dilated unevenly. You need to see a doctor right away. I’ll get Bobby to—”

“No.” He caught her wrist. “You take me.”

“What? No. He’s your—”

“Please. He doesn’t know anyone in town and, and you do.”

As lame as she found this argument, she hesitated. A little boy vulnerability in his gaze reminded her of how Logan had looked when he’d admitted that he’d pushed his brother, an “I’ve done something bad, and I need you to understand, to be on my side” expression. Her heart and her resolve swayed. Ice didn’t strike her as a man who easily asked for forgiveness and understanding. Or for help. But at this moment, he needed her. How could she refuse?

But Molly needed her, too. The pie shop, the Gardeners. Oh, damn, Betty and Dean. How could she explain this to them? A business could expect a bit more loyalty from friends than strangers, but even friends had their limit. The pie shop could be cleaned, but for all she knew, the Gardeners were already at a bakery ordering that blue cake.

She made a mental note to call them the first free second she had. Right now, though, Ice had to be seen by a doctor. Head injuries could be more serious than they seemed. Ice was trying to stand, leaning on her. Bobby and Wade returned, assisted him to his feet, then grabbed mops and buckets and began to help the women. Wade was apologizing to Molly and BiBi and Jane as if he had caused this mess.

Whereas the true guilty party, Ice, said, “I don’t feel good.” And hurled.

She had to get him to Emergency. She had an idea, though. She asked Bobby to put Ice into her SUV, then she pulled Rebel aside. “You’re Dean and Betty’s wedding reception planner, right?”

“I am.”

“I guess you know how much this booking means to us. Not just for the business, but because they’ve become friends, and we’re all almost as thrilled as they are that they’ve found each other again. Do you think you could ask them to hold off ordering a cake until I have a chance to speak to them and present what we’ve come up with as an alternative to the blueberry pies?”

Rebel’s beauty queen smile presented itself. “Of course I will. After all, my Janey’s pies should be the dessert for every life celebration as far as I’m concerned.”

“Thank you.” One less worry lifted from her shoulders.

She told Molly about driving Ice to Emergency, then turned around to leave and found a man standing in the café doorway. Her heart sank to her toes. Henry Dolinski, health inspector, the walking definition of fastidious and persnickety, a tiny man with a large chip on his shoulder.

Henry held a clipboard to his concave chest, peering down his pencil nose and taking in the disaster in the kitchen, his thick lips pursed. “Ms. McCoy, this is most unacceptable. I’m afraid I’ll have to write you up.”

“Mr. Dolinski, Henry, your mother is one of my dearest friends, since before you were born. We play bridge together. Let me get you a cup of coffee in the café, and I’ll explain what happened.” Molly came toward him wiping her sticky hands on her apron, spotting it, and earning a nose wrinkling from the health inspector. “We had a mini-disaster about ten minutes ago. We’ll have the kitchen spotless again in another hour or so. Meanwhile, we’ll close the shop until it’s sanitized again.”

“Well, I should hope so.” He started writing on his clipboard. “Close the shop, I mean.”

Andrea knew she should stay out of it and let her boss handle Henry, but this was the last straw. “Can’t you be a little understanding? What happened here won’t ever happen again. It was a fluke.”

“And how do I know that?” He stood as rigid as a brick wall. “Besides, I heard rumors a TV show was being filmed in this pie shop. Is that true?”

“It is,” Molly said, urging him again to go with her into the café so that she could explain.

“I’m not sure you have the proper permits for that.” Henry’s chest puffed up like a rooster surveying his domain. She half expected him to crow as he stepped toward Molly, eyes narrowing with meanness. “I’ll need to check with the head office as to whether or not that is in compliance with our regulations.”

“We have the proper permits,” Andrea told him. She’d taken care of obtaining them herself.

He ignored her as he sniffed the air like a cat detecting the scent of a nemesis. “What is that awful stench? Did”—and now his gaze zeroed in on Andrea—“did someone vomit in here?”

He glanced down. His polished wingtips were sole deep in puke. For half a second, Andrea thought Henry might lose his lunch. She stifled a grin, fearing she might actually laugh. But for him, this was too much. It sealed their fate. He whipped out his cell phone and videoed the calamity. “I’m going to a judge right now and getting an order to shut this shop down. Then I’ll be back with an official closure notice, but I seriously suggest you lock the doors to this establishment immediately, Ms. McCoy.” He reached for a paper towel to wipe off his shoes, gagged, and ran through the café, spreading vomit across that floor, too.

Molly, looking ready to spit nails, raced after Henry, pleading, cajoling, and finally shouting, “Henry Dolinski, I used to change your diapers.”

She returned to the kitchen, steam boiling from her ears. “That pompous little prick. He was always a bully. I tried to warn Norma, but she wears blinders where that boy is concerned. I’m going to have to rip them off. Where’s my phone?”

“I hate to interrupt, ladies,” Bobby said, rushing in. “Andrea, I think you’d better get Ice to the doctor right away. He’s feeling woozy and says his head is killing him.”

Oh, no.
“Molly, I have to get Ice to Emergency. I’ll phone Quint and have him hire a cleaning crew. You go on home. BiBi can lock up and shut everything down for now. We can’t do any more business today. Not since Henry spread the germs into the café.”

“Do that, Molly. I’ll help BiBi,” Bobby volunteered.

Molly sighed. “You’re right. If I stick around here, I’m liable to break something I care about. I need a shower, a nap, and then I’m going to have a nice, long chat with the mayor about one Henry Dolinski. But first I’m going to phone his mother.”

Andrea didn’t want to dash her boss’s hopes by reminding her that the mayor worked for the town, but the Health Department was the county’s domain. The mayor might not have any more influence over Henry Dolinski than they did, but his mother…that was another story.

All the way to the hospital, Andrea kept biting her tongue to keep from railing at Ice for his boneheaded move that might get Big Sky Pie shut down by the Health Department. But she couldn’t verbally beat up on someone in his condition. She shoved her anger aside, calling up the few things she knew to do for someone with a head injury. Ask them questions. Repeatedly. Her list included: “What day is this?” “What is the date?” “What’s your name?” “Who is the president?” His answers were correct. She took that as a good sign, but still found herself chewing on her bottom lip.

“My skull feels like a surfboard slammed into it,” he moaned, holding his head between his big, strong hands.

“I take it that has happened to you before?”

“A couple of times. Some waves will catapult you and the board.”

The only things Andrea knew about surfing were that you needed great balance and that you risked being bitten by sharks. She shuddered. He could have the ocean; she’d take waterskiing on a lake.

Ice groaned again, holding his head, and panic nipped her, pressing her foot harder on the gas. “We’re almost there.”

She wasn’t sure that painkillers were given for a concussion and decided not to mention that unless he brought it up. Déjà vu swept over her as she drove into the Emergency parking area and helped Ice to the check-in counter. This was her second visit here in the past few days, only this time it was not her child who was suffering, but a man that she hardly knew, a man she’d started to care for more than she wanted to.

They got Ice registered and took him right in. Andrea opted to stay in the waiting area, but as her worry receded, her anger returned. If he had just talked to that damned reporter… Men. What was with that fight-or-flight instinct? She’d thought Donnie invented it, but discovered over the years that it came imbedded in male DNA. Unfortunately, the fallout usually trickled down on innocent bystanders, like Molly, like her own sons.

If not for Ice’s split-second decision to flee, Molly would have a kitchen full of cooling pumpkin pies, the wall in the cold room would have been repaired, the Gardeners would be happy with her solution to the ruined blueberries, and she’d be heading home to her sons.

But here she sat in the waiting area with no idea how long this was going to take, fighting the fear that Ice might be facing a more serious situation than it appeared. Damn. She did not like how worried she felt or that she was prepared to stay here as long as proved necessary.