Sage Creek (12 page)

A tiny flutter of excitement surged through her.

Roy and Lil had packed up and left for Laramie only four days ago, but her father’s old friend Sam McDonald and his shy forty-five-year-old son, Denny, had made tremendous strides since then. They’d been working on her renovations nearly around the clock.

Sam McDonald owned a small construction company and did construction and handyman work year-round. She’d handed him a key to the place the same day she signed the lease and applied for her local bakery and food-handling licenses.

He and Denny had been hammering and sanding and painting for ten—sometimes twelve—hours a day, transforming Roy’s inch by inch into Sophie’s vision of Lonesome Way’s first bakery-cafe.

Watching them painting through the plate glass window, pleasure washed over her. The worn old booths had been torn out, and the old wood floor refinished, sanded, and stained to a dazzling gleam. Today, the father and son were painting the ceiling a pale lavender and the walls a rich sage green with almond trim. Tomorrow they’d hang the new light fixtures and install new deep purple leather booths.

Denny would hang the ceiling fan as soon as the paint was dry. Her beautiful glass display shelves were being shipped. And she’d find just the right spot for the portable gas fireplace she’d ordered online to warm and brighten the bakery when winter arrived.

Sophie had decided to keep the antique cash register, but she’d bought two additional stone-fired baking ovens, rolling racks, and a huge modern stainless steel refrigerator from a contact of hers who dealt in restaurant equipment. Everything was scheduled to be delivered the following week, well before the grand opening.

But now she had to make the biggest decision of all. Beside her on the seat of the Blazer, Tidbit gave a little whine, as if to say,
Are we going to sit here all day?

“Shhh,” she murmured, stroking the soft fur behind his ears. “I’m thinking.”

No one had claimed the dog, or even inquired about him. He’d had no chip, and according to Doc Weatherby, looked to be four or five years old and in good health, despite what he’d been through.

“My guess is he hasn’t had a home in a long time, not a real one. If he ever did,” the vet had added.

“He has one now.” She’d scooped Tidbit from the examining table and made a silent pledge into those soft, trusting eyes.

As he yawned on the seat beside her and lay down again, his head resting between his paws, Sophie continued to sit with the window rolled down, contemplating the bakery as Denny McDonald methodically rolled paint across the ceiling.

People hurried up and down Main Street. Next door to the bakery, Martha was finishing up a perm in the Cuttin’ Loose. Several young girls—around Ivy Tanner’s age—burst out of Benson’s corner drugstore, laughing and talking excitedly as they swiped on lip gloss. At the corner of First and Main, two ranch hands hustled sacks of feed out to their truck.

Then Georgia Timmons sashayed right past the Blazer, headed toward Top to Toe, her shoulder-length dark hair and frosted pink mouth shimmering in the sunlight. Sophie jerked upright and held her breath, relieved Georgia hadn’t noticed her. She’d already had one annoying phone call from the woman, informing her about a mandatory meeting for the library fund-raiser.

“You heard that I’m in charge, didn’t you, Sophie? All volunteers in every department need to be at the library next Monday night at seven o’clock sharp. If you want to participate, you
must
attend.”

It had been difficult, but Sophie had resisted the almost overpowering urge to un-volunteer herself on the spot. She only refrained because her mother had already committed her to the cause—and because she’d seen for herself that Lonesome Way’s library really
was
in dire need of refurbishing.

She’d stopped by the other day to browse the fiction shelves and was shocked at how small and shabby the place looked. There was only a single computer for patrons’ use, just two small shelves of rental DVDs, and the women’s restroom had broken locks on the stall doors and cracked sinks. Even worse, the children’s section was marred by badly stained and frayed carpeting, as well as a dearth of new picture books.

So even Georgia hadn’t been able to deter her from helping. But the former head cheerleader and chief hall monitor hadn’t been satisfied to merely tell her about the meeting. She’d weighed in on the bakery too.

“Well, you know, that place will
always
be Roy’s for a lot of us here in Lonesome Way.” Georgia’s voice had flowed through the phone like thickly honeyed whiskey. “You should know for your own good, Sophie, people are wondering why you were so quick to take over and change everything. There’s some who’re miffed about that. They even think you were . . . oh, what’s the word—
predatory
in moving so fast.”

“Predatory, Georgia? You’re kidding, right?”

“Oh, not everyone, mind you, but there’s been some talk. I only hope you know what you’re doing. Not that I want to put a damper on your big plans. But I don’t have to tell you how people can be. There are some in town who swear they won’t set foot in some fancy bakery. They’re saying how much they’re going to miss all the good wholesome food at Roy’s.”

“Then I guess they’ll have to track Lil and Roy down in Laramie and invite themselves to supper, won’t they?”

Sophie smiled with satisfaction as she remembered that for all of ten seconds, Georgia had been speechless.

Sophie had pounced on the opportunity to say a quick good-bye and end the call.

Now as she watched Georgia disappear inside Top to Toe, she glanced back at the bakery and made her decision.

“Guess what, Tidbit, we’ve got a name.”

Several potential names had been floating around in her head ever since
the possibility
of the bakery had first come to her. But the one she was going with had sprung into her mind as she and Mia planned the menu for the baby shower.

She’d volunteered to bring raspberry muffins, cupcakes, a chocolate fudge cake with cream cheese icing—and cinnamon buns.

Cinnamon buns were her specialty. They always had been, ever since Gran first gave her the recipe and showed her how to make them.

She wanted them to be the centerpiece of the bakery.

A Bun in the Oven.

“I like it,” she thought, a little quiver going through her, as if telling her she’d made the right decision. Somehow, settling on the name made the bakery seem more real than the fresh paint and new booths did. She was actually moving on with her life. Taking a step forward.

That meant one step further away from Ned and the mess of her marriage.

She found it helped a lot being busy. When she was planning her menus and ordering her supplies and equipment, she didn’t have time to remember that Cassandra Reynard was now nearing the end of her second trimester. Or that Cassandra and Ned were no doubt shopping for cribs and car seats now, and batting names back and forth over their breakfast table.

She had her own name to think about.
A Bun in the Oven
.

She tried to envision the bakery a month from now—fresh and pretty and brimming with cakes and pastries, soups and sandwiches. Fragrant with the aromas of dough and chocolate and cinnamon, and crammed with eager, happy customers.

She didn’t want to think about what would happen if people stayed away, upset that Roy’s was gone and that she’d taken over the space so quickly.

Pushing the worries away, she hooked the leash she’d bought Tidbit onto his new collar. Scooping him into her arms, she stepped onto the street. Then bit back a groan.

Doug Hartigan had just turned the corner of Spring Street and was headed down Main straight toward her.

Lovely.
She’d already endured another in a series of awkward breakfasts with her mother this morning. And now this.

Things had not been comfortable between Sophie and her mom since the night Hartigan had materialized on her front porch like the ghost of high school past. And now...

“Sophie.” He called to her just as she started toward the bakery, hoping to avoid speaking to him. She had no choice but to turn as he approached.

Hartigan stopped directly in front of her. Just looking into his stern face made her feel like she’d just downed a glass of spoiled milk.

“About the other night,” he said quickly. She remembered how slowly he used to speak in class. Slow and distinct, with an edge of sharpness that today was missing. “I . . . just want to say, I’m sorry.” He cleared his throat.

“I shouldn’t have come by like that unannounced. Or told you about your mother and me. I should’ve waited until she had the chance to tell you about us herself.”

“You obviously didn’t care about her wishes, or you would have.”

“That’s not true,” he protested. Then he caught himself. Drawing a breath, he spoke deliberately, his eyes lowered beneath her gaze. “I jumped the gun by blurting it out that way. It was wrong. I just wanted to get everything out in the open.”

“Why?” Sophie wasn’t buying his humble act. And she wasn’t a frightened high school girl anymore, intimidated by the teacher who brought the disapproval of her father crashing down on her. She stared at him, suspicious that he didn’t seem to want to meet her eyes. What was he up to?

“I don’t understand your hurry, Mr. Hartigan. Exactly what is it that you
want
from my mother?”

His eyes did meet hers then. He looked startled. “I . . . I want to make her happy!”

“I don’t think you made her happy when you showed up uninvited the other night. When you told me something that was her choice to tell me, not yours.”

She waited for the anger to spark in his eyes. She remembered Mr. Hartigan’s anger clearly. Sometimes he’d lashed out verbally, embarrassing her in front of the class. Other times he wrote “loser” or “failure” on her geometry papers.

Shape up, Sophie, or we’ll be doing this same dance again next year,
was one of his favorite sayings as he walked past her desk and gave back her graded test. It was only because of the tutor her mother had hired that she hadn’t had to endure a second year of torture.

Now he didn’t look angry—only uncomfortable. He shifted from one foot to the other as she stared him down.

“You’re right. I got carried away the other night. I was waiting for her to tell you, so everything could be out in the open, and suddenly, I . . . I just wanted you to know. It was a spur-of-the-moment thing, coming over there like that. Don’t be angry with your mother on my account.”

“I’m not angry with her. I’m worried about her. I don’t want to see her make any mistakes.”

“You think I’m a mistake. I understand.” Hartigan took a breath. “I’m asking you to give me a chance to prove you wrong.”

Like you gave me so many chances,
Sophie thought. He had to be after something. She just didn’t know what it was.
Yet
.

But she’d find out.

“It isn’t up to me.” Tidbit was tugging on the leash, spotting a patch of grass at the end of the block he no doubt wanted to pee on. Too bad he didn’t want to pee on Hartigan’s shoes. “It’s up to my mother. But if she asks my opinion, you’d better believe I’m going to tell her.”

She turned away, starting toward that patch of grass, then gripped the leash tighter and turned back. “I don’t trust you, Mr. Hartigan. And I love my mother. I’m going to be watching out for her, so whatever you have up your sleeve, it’s not going to work.”

“Up my sleeve . . . ?”

“If you hurt my mother, you’ll have to answer to me.”

“You should give me a chance, Sophie.”

“Like you gave me a chance?”

“I’m not that man anymore,” he said quietly. “I know you have good reason to dislike me—”

“Dislike?” Sophie managed to keep her tone even with an effort. “That’s one way of putting it. And don’t forget distrust.”

“I’d never hurt Diana.”

She stared at him. He actually sounded sincere. His forehead was creased with distress, and he gave every indication he was struggling to be nice. But nice and Doug Hartigan didn’t go together. Not in her experience.

“I’m going to do my best to make sure you don’t,” she said evenly.

She walked away, allowing Tidbit to rush toward his patch of grass at the corner.

Hartigan couldn’t be trusted. Hadn’t he already ridden roughshod once over her mother’s wishes? There was no reason to believe he wouldn’t do it again whenever it suited him.

What in the world does she see in him?
Sophie wondered in dismay. Her mother had already endured years of marriage to one difficult, demanding man. Now she was dating another. A man who’d made her daughter’s life hell.

When she looked back toward the bakery, Doug Hartigan was nowhere to be seen. She headed back again, but this time, it was Martha Davies who intercepted her, hurrying from the Cuttin’ Loose.

“Got a minute, Sophie?”

Not if this is about my dating your grandson
.

Today Martha’s short hair was a glossy brown. Her tall, spare frame was encased in khaki pants and a bright tangerine sweater. If it hadn’t been for the deep lines etched around her eyes and in the folds of her throat, she could have passed for a woman twenty years younger.

As a brisk wind whipped down from the mountains, hinting at the chill of autumn, Martha bent over to scratch Tidbit behind the ears.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that help-wanted sign in your window. I happen to know a gal who might be perfect for the job.”

“Anyone I know?” Sophie had posted the sign only yesterday, and so far had only received calls from a few teenage girls who were looking for part-time work after school. She might hire one of them later, after she saw how things were going, but right now, she really needed another pair of hands working with her and Gran from eight to five.