Fool for Love (9 page)

Tasha Burke.

Rocky’s archenemy since high school, she didn’t fool Rocky one bit with her new and enthusiastic plan to raise awareness about Cupcake Lovers’ decades-old cause by compiling a recipe book and securing a major publisher. This wasn’t about “their charitable efforts.” This was about Tasha’s ten minutes of fame and glory. Unfortunately, she’d snowed the rest of the members.

Pasting on a welcoming smile—because, hey, what if it wasn’t Tasha?—Rocky opened the door. “Gram!”

“Wait’ll you get a load of my new recipe,” she said, waving a blue index card as she breezed inside. “Chloe says it’s a winner! And
she’s
a professional. This one will make our book for sure! If it doesn’t, she said Tasha’s a pinhead.”

Smiling, Rocky watched as the Caddy zipped away from the curb. She
had
to meet this woman.

Before Rocky closed the door another car pulled into the drive. Her cousin Sam. Several other members trickled in over the next few minutes. Ethel Larsen, Helen Cole, and Judy Betts, three of the senior members aside from Daisy. All of whom had husbands, brothers, sons, or grandchildren who’d fought overseas in one or another war. Rachel Lacey, the day-care assistant who’d moved into town at the beginning of the year, and Casey Monahan, a local artisan who’d introduced Rachel into the club. They both had siblings stationed in the Middle East. Most but not all of the members had a personal tie with someone in the military. Just as the original members who’d started Cupcake Lovers back in the Forties had. To this day, one of the club’s steady projects was to send cupcake care packages to various military troops. Tasha had introduced her recipe book project as a fund-raiser as well as a way to inspire people to bake cupcakes for good causes. Noble. Too bad she had ulterior motives. Too bad she’d infected the membership with her visions of glory.

Traditionally, meetings opened with casual gossip. Some of it long distance. Much of it local. “Have you heard from so and so or how’s so and so doing? Did you hear about this person or that organization and their troubles? How can we help?”

If tonight had been typical, someone would’ve inquired about Ethel’s recent battle with insomnia. Or asked Rachel about the status of the day-care school grant. Someone definitely would’ve asked Daisy how she liked her new companion! But this meeting opened with, “Did you see the burly guy from that specialty bakery in Connecticut and his amazing creation on
Cupcake Wars
?”

Rocky blamed Tasha.

To think Dev had actually dated the self-absorbed manipulator. Granted, Tasha had seduced him at a vulnerable time. Still, even thinking about that short-lived affair made Rocky shudder. If Tasha had had her way, she would’ve finessed Dev into marriage. “Ick.”

As if on cue, the curvy, cosmetically enhanced, brunette blew into Dev’s house with only the briefest of knocks. “All right, people. You are
not
going to believe this. I was flipping through two of the newest dessert books at the library and what do you think I found? A recipe for Pumpkin Spice Cupcakes with Butter-Cream Frosting!”

Helen, who’d been baking cupcakes since the outset of the Vietnam War, perched her plump hands on her chunky hips. “Are you saying I submitted a poached recipe to the club?”

“I’m saying your recipe isn’t original enough, Helen. Not for our book. If we’re going to keep it, you’re going to have to punch it up. A unique ingredient or a whimsical design. Did any of you catch this week’s episode of
Cupcake Wars
where that fat hairy guy—”

“Who wants tea?” Rocky interrupted, desperate to interject some portion of the club’s normal routine.

Everyone raised their hand but fell over one another talking about the latest episode of the cable food show. Even Sam! “The use of blueberry jam and tequila was inspired,” he said.

“And what about the presentation round?” Casey asked.

“
That’s
what I’m talking about,” Tasha said.

“Style over substance,” Rocky mumbled under her breath as she escaped into the kitchen.
Typical of the mayor’s new trophy wife.
Once she’d lost her grip on Dev, Tasha had trolled for an even more influential and affluent man. She’d landed Randall Burke, a match that generated more local gossip than a national political sex scandal. A textbook narcissist, Tasha reveled in the notoriety.

Rocky put a kettle of water on the stove, then zipped around the kitchen, trying to blow off steam. Just now, she had to tread softly where Tasha was concerned. And, truth told, if done right the book
would
benefit the club’s charitable efforts. Rocky didn’t want to ruin a potentially profitable project based on an old grudge against their new president.

As if on cue, the witch poked her head in. “When you come back, would you bring some jam and butter with you? Your tea cakes are a
teensy
bit dry,” she said with a fake smile, then blew back out.

“Killing her would be bad,” Rocky said through clenched teeth as she loaded a tray with sugar and cream for tea and jam for her perfectly moist cakes. But that didn’t mean she didn’t think about maiming the woman as she pasted on her own fake smile and rejoined the group.

*   *   *

Devlin ate his dinner in Luke’s office because he didn’t feel like talking to anyone. He multi-tasked, devouring Anna’s Tuscan Beef Stew while assessing the restaurant’s bottom line. Business was good. Great. In spite of Chloe’s snooty appraisal of the food. He hated that he couldn’t wipe that episode from his mind. He hated that he couldn’t wipe every episode, since the moment they’d collided at Oslow’s, from his mind. Especially, specifically, today.

He’d been so damned relieved to see the women free-floating instead of bouncing behind a watercraft, but then he’d noticed neither was wearing a life vest. Not that huge of a deal, except Gram was accident prone. Ironic that his seventy-five-year-old grandmother had made it swiftly and safely to shore while Chloe had flipped off the tube and drifted past them, seemingly ignoring his order to come ashore.

Then Gram had mentioned Chloe’s inexperience with water sports:
Got pulled under when she was a kid. Never outgrew her fear of drowning.
And there she was drifting toward the rapids. Without a life vest.

Suspecting she’d panicked, he’d raced along shore to catch up and, seeing her frantically kicking against the current, dove in. When he was growing up, Sugar Creek had been his second home in the summers. He knew every stretch. Every bend. He didn’t have an ounce of reservations regarding that river, but it was the fear in Chloe’s expression that had caused his heart to pound.

He’d concentrated on calming her down and getting her to shore. The fact that her petite body felt like the perfect combination of toned muscles and soft curves barely registered.

Until they were on dry ground. He’d thought getting a glimpse of her pink panties the day before had been a turn-on, but it was nothing compared to the sight of her bare ass. The fact that she was wearing a threadbare thong only intensified his arousal. He’d been torn between,
What were you thinking?
and,
Happy Birthday to me!

Instead of ogling, he’d covered her. But seeing her in his shirt, his
wet, thin
shirt, had only amped his desire to kiss her stupid.

Not that he’d been happy to see Gram stalking toward them in her underwear, but he’d sure as hell welcomed the interruption.

Unlike now.

“Want to talk about it?” Luke asked as he barged in.

“Talk about what?”

“Whatever’s causing your shitty mood.”

No. He did not want to talk about the fact that he’d seen Chloe practically naked or the fact that all he could think about all day was jumping her beautiful bones. “Dad’s stonewalling renovations.”

“Not surprised.”

“I asked Rocky to work her magic.”

Luke smiled. “Normally, I’d say, ‘Smart move.’ She pours it on and the old man melts. But in this case…” He shook his head. “When it comes to the family business, Dad’s—”

“Stubborn?”

“Traditional. You’d do better to take an ass-backward approach to progress.”

“Meaning?”

“Go back, not forward.”

Devlin angled his head.

His younger brother settled on the corner of his desk, looking at Devlin like he was a moron. “Instead of expanding and renovating J.T.’s so that it looks like a modern superstore, expand and restore based on its original design. How many times have you heard the old man say that the reason Sugar Creek attracts tourists is because of its quaint charm? Expand your merchandise. Compete with the big boys. But do it under the roof of a pseudo-nineteenth-century structure.”

Devlin’s lip quirked. “When did you get so smart?”

“I’ve always been smart. You just think you’re smarter.”

“Sorry to interrupt,” a young woman said, after poking her head through the partially opened door, “but they need some help at the bar, Luke.”

“Be right there, Nell.”

She smiled and left.

“Do I know her?” Devlin asked.

“Our newest waitress.”

“Did we need another waitress?”

“No, but she needed a job and she’s cute.”

“Don’t fuck the help.”

“Mixing business and pleasure. Recipe for disaster. Yada yada.” Luke pushed off the desk. “There’s a local-history section at the library. Official documents. Blueprints. A collection of daguerreotype portraits, views and street scenes of Sugar Creek that date back to the early eighteen-hundreds. Hell, Monica works there. Ask her. If it’s her day off just get someone to point you in the right direction.” He slapped Devlin’s shoulder on his way out. “You can thank me by showing for Sunday dinner at Gram’s.”

“I’ll be there.” He’d already promised Rocky he’d show, and now he had even more incentive. To see Chloe in action as Gram’s personal chef. To sample her cooking. He couldn’t imagine her talent exceeding Anna’s. But he could imagine Chloe in a sexy French maid uniform serving up something spicy.

Devlin blew out of the office needing immediate distraction. That or a good lay. If the Kelly twins intercepted him on his way out, this just might be their lucky day. Or his lucky day. Depending.

He made it outside without spying the identical sex fiends. Plan B. The library.

*   *   *

Chloe couldn’t believe her miserable luck. Yes, the library was open late on Thursdays. And yes, the public venue had public Internet access, but both computers were reserved up until closing and there was no free Wi-Fi. Monica had failed to mention that part. Chloe had just assumed. Wasn’t that a standard perk these days?

Frustrated, she’d packed up her laptop and stalked outside. All she wanted to do was check her e-mail. All evening she’d clung to the possibility that Ryan had written her a long sappy note explaining that he’d been a stupid bastard, going through a life crisis or something. That he didn’t really love that Parisian tart. That he loved
her
and wouldn’t she, please God, take him back, because he was miserable,
dying,
without her.

She wasn’t sure how she’d react if he did write such a note or something even close. She was still hurt and angry. But at least it would be a valid excuse to leave Sugar Creek pronto:
I’m going to try to work things out with my fiancé.
Although Ryan had never proposed, he’d led her to believe it was only a matter of time. She was certain Daisy would accept that reason for her sudden resignation easier than
I don’t trust myself with your grandson.

Chloe rested her trendy tote on the old-fashioned bench near the library’s main entrance, then whipped out her phone. Even though she’d gotten a horrible signal at Daisy’s, maybe she’d fare better here. Even if she got two bars on her Android, it would be enough to check e-mail through her Yahoo app. She thumbed on power. “Seriously? Half a bar?” She walked to the left. Then moved a few steps to the right. She held her phone higher, walked the length of the library, then across a portion of manicured lawn. “Unbelievable.”

“What are you doing?”

Oh no. It couldn’t be.
Her luck could not be that freaking awful. She’d hoped to make it three days at the very least without crossing paths again with Devlin Monroe. Their river encounter was scorched on her brain. Even a cold shower hadn’t doused her steamy thoughts. And, for the first time in two years, a high-pressure showerhead had held no appeal.

She turned to face him, her stomach coiled tight with sexual tension. Even under the subtle glow of the gaslight-style street lamp, she could make out every delicious detail. He looked almost as sexy in his dry jeans and pullover crew as he did in his wet Dockers and unbuttoned oxford.
Almost.

“Trying to get decent signal on my phone so I can check e-mail,” she blurted, cheeks burning.

“There’s Internet access inside.”

“Computers are all booked up. All
two
of them. I brought my laptop but—”

“No Wi-Fi. Is it important?”

“Yes. No.” She cleared her throat. “It’ll wait.”

He angled his head, studied her. “I make you nervous.”

“Circumstances make me uncomfortable.”

“How so?”

Was he kidding? Chloe shifted her weight. Glanced back to make sure no one had stolen her laptop. Although this was Sugar Creek, not Manhattan. Ten to one the crime rate was so low, people slept with their doors unlocked.

“Thought you’d be with Gram tonight. Given your vocation—”

“Not my thing.”
Not right now.

“Too provincial?”

“Sorry?”

“You’d be surprised by some of the complex recipes that have originated with Cupcake Lovers.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“I need to talk to you.”

“Aren’t we—”

“In private.”

He grasped her elbow and before she knew it he’d guided her out of the glow of the street lamp to a shadowed area of a massive tree. Her skin burned beneath his touch. Her heart pounded with dread as the afternoon fiasco exploded in her mind. He was going to lecture her about her lack of good judgment. About putting an old woman at risk. About parading around in public half-naked. She was a disappointment. An embarrassment.