Fool for Love (22 page)

Chloe blinked in her wake. Obviously, Devlin’s marriage, however long or brief, was a sensitive subject and Daisy had spoken out of turn. Was he divorced? Widowed? How long ago and why was the topic taboo? It must’ve happened a long time ago, before Monica moved to Sugar Creek. Taboo or no, if Monica knew about a Mrs. Devlin Monroe, she would’ve have mentioned it to Chloe.

Via the Kindle app on her PC, she sat there staring at a page of
The Sweet Little Book of Cupcakes.
Staring but not absorbing as her brain circled around one thought.

Devlin had once been married.

She didn’t feel jealous or betrayed because he hadn’t told her—why would he, given they barely knew each other? She was just a little stunned and a lot curious. She wanted to know more, but Daisy had warned her not to ask. “Damn.”

Rain pelted the windowpanes, lightning flashed, and two minutes turned to ten. Unreasonably spooked, Chloe ditched her laptop and ran up to check on Daisy. The past two days, she’d been her talkative self, still changing thoughts mid-sentence every now and then but not nearly as forgetful. Just now she’d blurted a secret, and from the way she’d hurried off, she was upset about it. Chloe suddenly burned with the urge to assure the woman that her secret was safe. The last thing Chloe wanted was to spur another depression. Granted, sometimes Daisy’s incessant chatter was tiring, but at least it was cheery.

Chloe scaled the last step, noted the closed bathroom door. She knocked. “You okay, Daisy?”

The door swung open and the woman stepped out, bright eyed and red cheeked as if Chloe had caught her doing something wrong. “I’m dandy, kitten.” She pushed her pink cat-eye glasses up her nose and hurried down the hall toward her bedroom. “Come help me pick my outfit for tonight. I want to look my best when I present my secret recipe to the club.”

“Be right there. Just need to pee.” Chloe stepped into the bathroom and closed the door. She noted the dripping faucet, the squished Dixie cup in the trash, and the slightly ajar door of the medicine cabinet. Curious, she peeked inside. She used this bathroom all the time but hadn’t paid much mind to the medicine cabinet, since she kept all of her toiletries in a hanging cosmetic bag. She noted the shelves, crammed like every other shelf in Daisy’s home. Toothpaste, dental floss, mouthwash, talcum powder, nail polish, lens cleaner … and assorted bottles of pills. Mostly over-the-counter remedies—pain reliever, allergy relief, nasal spray—but there were also several vials of prescription drugs. Not that that was odd. As an older woman, she probably battled high blood pressure or arthritis or any one of a dozen other maladies. Thing was, she also drank a lot of
cocktails.
Was it safe to mix these drugs with liquor? How many pills was she taking a day? What were the side effects, if any? Did they affect her mood? Her memory? Her judgment? What if she forgot and missed a dose? Or forgot and doubled up?

Concerned, Chloe skimmed the names of a few of the prescriptions as well as the name of the doctor. Make that
doctors.
She closed the cabinet, flushed the toilet, and washed her hands.

As she hurried toward Daisy’s room, Chloe’s mind whirled with the recent revelations: Devlin had a former wife. Daisy had possible health issues
possibly
complicated by medication. With every step, Chloe remembered something else she’d heard over the past couple of weeks: Rocky’s issues with Tasha. The lifelong feud between the Burkes and Monroes. Luke’s questionable management skills. Sam’s struggles as a single parent. Devlin’s present battle with his dad. Rocky’s financial problems. Nash’s weakness for gambling.

The list went on.

If she had a lick of sense, she’d mind her own business, concentrate on solving her own problems. After all, even though they were her dream family, she wasn’t
really
family—just their grandmother’s hired companion. A tight-knit group, they’d probably balk at a meddling outsider. Still … all she could think as she entered Daisy’s cluttered room and found her rooting through a wardrobe that would have made Cher proud was …
How can I help?

TWENTY-TWO

Dress sleeves rolled to his elbows, Devlin was scrubbing the inside of his microwave when his cousin Sam barged in through the side door, shaking off rainwater like a dog and tracking in mud.

“For Christ’s … I just mopped.”

“You did?” Arms full of Tupperware and a zipped canvas tote, Sam glanced around the whole of the kitchen. “You did. Scrubbed the sink and stove, too. Is that Lysol I smell? I’m impressed.”

Devlin flipped him the bird and returned to scouring dried eggs and sausage.

“What exploded?”

“My breakfast burrito.”

“From this morning?”

“Hence breakfast.”

“And you’re just now cleaning it?”

“I was in a hurry and, at the time, wasn’t expecting a houseful of women.”

“And me.”

Devlin glanced at the triple-tier cupcake carrier his cousin set on the counter. “Like I said.” He moved to the sink and rinsed the glob-caked sponge. “You couldn’t give me more than a few hours’ notice?” He could’ve said no, but at the same time this was the perfect opportunity to see Chloe before he left for Florida without seeking her out. Agreeing to keep his distance had been a bonehead move. Avoidance only heightened the attraction.

“I thought the polyurethane finish would be dry,” Sam said, shrugging out of his soaked blue slicker. “I miscalculated.”

“So you said.”

“About that ‘women’ crack—”

“I know. You joined the club to
meet
women. Except it’s been, what, six, seven months now and, even though you’re supposedly hot for Rachel, you haven’t made a move.”

“Timing hasn’t been right.”

Would it ever be? Sam had been crazy in love with his wife of ten years and devastated when she died. Paula had been gone for two years now. As much as Sam professed wanting to get on with his life, Devlin sensed a profound resistance in the romance area. He commiserated, hence let the subject drop. “I’ve got a lot of work to do, so I’ll be holed up in my den. Do me a favor,” he teased. “Don’t let the ladies trash the place. I know how wild things get after a few cupcakes and sips of tea.”

Sam grinned. “Go ahead. Joke. But A) things
have
gotten pretty heated lately, and B) my beverage of choice for the night is
not
tea.” He unzipped the canvas tote and pulled out two bottles.

Devlin raised a brow. “Red wine?”

“Dessert wine. Sweeter, as is recommended, than the dessert.” He unlatched the lid of the top tier and revealed a dozen white cupcakes topped with white frosting. “Vanilla almond cupcakes with salted caramel buttercream frosting.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Perfect combination.”

Sam McCloud—master furniture maker. Retired military. Fluffy cupcake baker. Devlin shook his head, then smiled. “You, Cousin, are an enigma.”

“Just exploring new horizons. I owe it to myself as well as my kids. Feel free to follow my example and shake up your own mundane world.” He spread his hands. “Wineglasses? Small plates?”

“I’ll get them. You clean up the mud. Mop’s in there.” They both took action and, although Sam worked in silence, Devlin couldn’t restrain his thoughts. “If I were a suspicious man, I’d think the family was conspiring against me.”

“Meaning?”

“Every time I turn around one of you comments on my—in the words of Jayce—dull-ass life.”

“I don’t know why we care,” Sam quipped.

“Neither do I. And I am not joining Cupcake Lovers. As Gram’s fond of pointing out, I don’t know shit from shortening.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Sam joked as he rinsed and returned the mop to the closet. “Nevertheless, you do know finance and business. This book venture, it’s a worthy cause, but, given Tasha’s lofty goals, what if we get in over our heads? She’s determined to pursue a major publisher. What if she nails a contract? Do we need to incorporate? How do we ensure proceeds go to the charity of our choice?”

“You need to consult a lawyer.”

“Or someone with a degree in finance. Come on, Dev,” he said while artfully arranging his cupcakes. “Three of your kin are active members of the club. Factor in friends, associates, ancestors and your belief in our cause? You’ve already got a vested interest.”

“You should have been an attorney. Or a salesman.” Shaking his head, Devlin carried several wineglasses into his living room while considering the man’s case. Even though Devlin had multiple responsibilities, taking on another project stoked his interest. Maybe because the busier he was, the less time he’d have to worry about his dad. Or maybe because this particular project would give Devlin an excuse to spend time with Chloe. There was also his unwillingness to see a good organization burned by bad business decisions. He returned to the kitchen, snagged forks, and pointed Sam to the napkins. “I’ll listen in tonight. But beyond that—”

“No promises. Got it.”

Thunder boomed, the door slammed open, and Rocky blew in, soaked and scowling. “Could it be any more miserable out there?”

“Thought you were laid up with a stomach bug,” Devlin said.

“Ran its course,” she said, grimacing when she spotted the bottles on the counter. “We’re having wine?”

“Dessert wine,” Sam said. “Not you. You get whacked on wine. If I’d known you were coming—”

“I’m sure Dev’s got coffee. He practically lives on the stuff.”

“I’ll make you some tea,” Sam said, snagging her soggy coat and hanging it next to his. “You’re flushed.”

Devlin frowned. “You should’ve stayed in.”

“I’m not feverish, if that’s what you’re thinking. I’m pissed because I had to rely on Jayce for a ride. Leo’s backed up at the garage. Who knows when he’ll get to my Jeep?”

“If it makes you feel better,” Devlin said, “you can use my wheels this weekend while I’m in Florida.” He felt a little guilty about pushing Jayce into staying at the Red Clover. Instead of mending bridges, his friend and sister seemed to be burning the remnants. Had the tension contributed to her ill health?

“You know what would make me feel even better?” she asked while wringing rain from her drenched braids. “Coming with you to Florida. Sunshine. Sand and surf. Mom and Dad.”

Taken off guard, Devlin stalled, seemingly giving the matter thought while unrolling his sleeves and buttoning his cuffs. Actually, he was scrambling for a good lie because, according to their mom, the truth wasn’t his to tell. Then he remembered. “You can’t come with me. You and Gram have plans this weekend, remember? You can’t bail and leave her to God knows what mischief.”

“Won’t Chloe be around?” Sam asked while uncorking the wine.

“Thanks to Luke and Nash,” Devlin said, trying not to sound churlish, “she’s otherwise engaged Friday and Saturday.”

Sam quirked a wry grin. “Beat you to the punch, did they?”

Rocky smirked while filling the teakettle. “He wasn’t even in there swinging.”

Before Devlin could comment, loud knocking announced the arrival of another club member. Not wanting to discuss his attraction to Chloe or the green-eyed monster gnawing at his gut, he welcomed the interruption. “Whatever happens,” he said, heading for the front door, “don’t let Tasha sit next to me.”

“You’re sticking around?” Rocky asked with a smile in her voice.

“Apparently so.”

*   *   *

By the time she and Daisy reached Devlin’s house, Chloe’s nerves were shot. Driving the retro Caddy in a torrential downpour had been a nightmare. The headlights had seemed too dim, the windshield wipers too slow. She’d hydroplaned once even though she’d only been going 25 mph. Another time, she’d pulled over because she couldn’t see through the blinding rain. All the while Daisy had been oblivious, rambling about all the recipes she had in mind for the book project, fretting over which were the best, and bemoaning Tasha-the-Pinhead. Chloe could think of a dozen ways to deal with that cupcake tyrant, most of which she pushed from her mind in order to focus on the road. When Daisy complained about her cautious driving and how they were already ten minutes late for the meeting, Chloe blocked her out, too.

Chloe’s stressed-out body wilted with relief when she pulled safely into Devlin’s driveway. But five seconds later, as she was standing on his porch, knocking on his door, her anxiety returned tenfold. She hadn’t seen him since that searing-hot kissing session. Had he thought about the way they’d been all over each other? Had he dreamed about the clash and mesh of their hands and tongues? Fantasized about what might have happened if they hadn’t come to their senses?

She had.

So much so that she wondered why in the world she’d cooled the heat by pushing him away. Monica was right. Temptation was an überaphrodisiac.

The door swung open and the devil invited her inside. “We were worried.”

“You’d think she’d never driven in the rain.” Ditching her umbrella, Daisy relieved Chloe of the precious samples of her secret recipe cupcakes, then disappeared into the next room.

Devlin leaned close to Chloe’s ear. “I’m glad you took it slow.”

She didn’t answer—rendered speechless by his confident and charismatic presence. Mesmerized by his good looks and scrumptious physique. Luke, though a seductive force, had nothing on his older brother.

“You okay?”

“Just happy to be here.”
In one piece
.
With you.
She took a deep breath—
get a grip, Madison
—and smiled. Her gaze darted past him, into his home. Richly painted walls, maple-planked floors, old-fashioned braided rugs. Warm and welcoming—like the man helping her out of her wet leather jacket. “It was nice of you to host the meeting,” she said. “Again.”

“I had an ulterior motive.”

She made the mistake of looking into those blueberry-blue eyes. Her heart skipped, then raced, then pounded. She shifted her weight, a reality check, since it felt like she was floating on air.

“I’m leaving for Florida tomorrow.”

“Daisy told me. I know we agreed to keep our distance, but that’s a bit extreme, don’t you think?”