Sweet Hearts (11 page)

“She can’t be for real,” Jen
said. “And she darn sure won’t get Beau. He’s in love with you.”

Sam straightened her shoulders.

An SUV pulled up to the curb as
Felicia’s silver Lexus drove away. Sam quickly scooped up the rest of the
spilled sugar packets and ducked though the curtain as another customer opened
the door. In the small restroom at the back, she took a hard look in the
mirror. A faint trace of the chocolate smear remained, and the short layers of
her hair stuck out at odd angles. She didn’t remember running her fingers
through her hair earlier but she must have, while her head was all sweaty. A
blob of red frosting had landed on the white baker’s jacket, smack on her right
boob, in addition to the normal-enough smudges that she half expected to always
be there.

“I’m such a disaster,” she wailed
at herself in the glass. Her eyes began to well up.
I have to draw the line
at this,
she thought.
I cannot walk back out there and let my crew see
me with red eyes.
She grabbed a paper towel and wet it, ridding herself of
the smears and sugar granules. The jacket would have to go into the wash, but
luckily she’d brought a spare one for precisely this reason. She reached into
the medicine cabinet and found her hairbrush, worked with the graying layers
until she didn’t look quite so ridiculous. She stood up straight, raised her
chin, and walked out to the kitchen to change her jacket.

The writing on the order sheets
dimmed in front of her eyes and the normal bustle of the kitchen went
unnoticed.
Should I warn Beau about Felicia Black? Tell him she’s back and
looking for him?
She set the pages back on the desk. When they’d started dating
they used to sit under the stars, talking about their lives, getting to know
each other. Beau had already told Sam that he’d dated beautiful women, that
he’d in fact been married to a former model for a few years. When she’d
compared herself to them, Beau assured her that the glamour life and the
beautiful, self absorbed women were of no interest to him.

His simple roots on a ranch and
the fact that he’d settled into basically that same life in his adult years
reassured her that despite the fact that glamorous women tended to latch onto
him, he genuinely did not want their lifestyle. Felicia Black had, no doubt,
chosen Beau because they would look so good together, but did she really know
him? Would she ever be content to wake up day after day in his log house and
help him feed the horses on frosty mornings? Sam formed a picture of the
redhead in her high heels and fur coat trudging through spring mud and scooping
up oats for a horse. The image was so comical that she caught herself
chuckling.

Beau loved
her
. He was the
one who wanted to get married without a long engagement. He’d never done
anything to make Sam believe otherwise.

So there, Felicia Black. You
won’t get him.

Sam dimly became aware that
someone was speaking to her.

“. . . closing up now?” It was
Jen. Sandy and Cathy had apparently already said goodbye, although Sam barely
remembered their leaving.

“Sure. Can you make sure the
tables and beverage bar are ready for the morning?” Sam said.

“I did. Everything’s in good
shape.” Jen pulled the sleeves of her wool coat over her arms. “Sam? About
earlier?”

Sam looked up.

“I would have done the same. If
somebody like that threatened to get my man. I know, Michael and I are still
really new together . . .”

Less than a week, if Sam
recalled.

“But I’d still claw her eyes
out.”

Sam couldn’t help it—laughter
welled up at the image of the polite and diminutive Jennifer clawing anyone’s
eyes out. The mood was contagious and Jen gave in to giggles, herself.

“I know, crazy huh?” She finally
said, wiping her coat sleeve across her eyes. “I’m much more likely to be a
sneaky poisoner.” She straightened her shoulders and buttoned her coat. “Okay,
reality check. You know I’m kidding about all of this, right?”

They both laughed and Jen headed
for the door.

With the bakery quiet at last,
Sam concentrated on rechecking the status of the upcoming orders. Including
her own wedding cake. She stared at the sketches for a few minutes. As much as
she and Beau wanted to share their lives together, the real test was all the
ceremonial hoopla which, no matter how simple you wanted it to be, invariably
became complex. Cake, dress, flowers and invitations had taken over most of the
last month. The crush of new business had kept her sidetracked all week. When
had she lost the focus that she simply wanted to be Beau’s wife?

She set the cake sketches aside
and went online to place her supply order. That accomplished, she shut down the
computer and pushed her chair up to the desk. A quick survey of the sales area
showed everything neatly organized, the night lighting casting a warm glow on
the front window displays. A Bakery of Magical Delights, said the slogan on the
door. She smiled and sighed.

Despite her aching muscles and
the months of work it had taken to get the pastry shop up and running, Sam knew
she wouldn’t change a thing. She still loved creating beautiful things to
brighten people’s lives. Even with its frustrations, she felt so happy that
she’d begun to master the techniques of making her fabulous chocolates. And
once things quieted down this spring she intended to work on new designs, some
signature chocolate pieces that she might be able to sell online as well as
here in the shop.

Now all she had to do was stop by
the supermarket and grab a few items for dinner. She’d decided to make one of
Beau’s favorite pasta dishes, something she’d invented by accident a few weeks
ago, with chicken and vegetables in a creamy sauce. Picking up the fresh
veggies was her final errand. But her phone rang just as she was starting the
truck.

“Darlin’, I’m sorry I have to
take a rain check on dinner tonight.” His voice sounded a little edgy.

“Oh—what’s up?”

“Just work stuff. But I can’t
break away anytime soon.”

A surge of disappointment.

“Sam? I love you.” This time his
voice definitely had a strained quality. But when she started to reply, he’d
already hung up.

Damn. The nice dinner would have
been her perfect opportunity to warn him that Felicia Black was back in town.
She’d envisioned Beau across the dinner table, the pasta dish, a nice wine,
having a few laughs over the silliness of this piece of fluff thinking she
would just move right in and win him back. She drummed her fingers on the
steering wheel then put the truck in gear. Not much she could do about it now.

Traffic around the plaza was
sparse and Sam waited at the light.

What if Beau already knew Felicia
was in town? What if she’d found him and . . . No. The idea that he’d canceled
their dinner because of his ex-girlfriend . . .

She caught herself thinking about
swinging around the corner to be sure his cruiser was at the office. When the
light changed she turned left.

Sam . . . what are you
doing
?
This is so high school. You love the man. You trust him completely. He has
never lied about anything—the guy is the epitome of honesty and integrity.

She turned in at the first alley
and used it to circle the block and head for home. Even though she knew she
could trust Beau, she was absolutely certain that she could
not
trust
Felicia.

Thoughts raced in turmoil as Sam
drove home and walked into the dark house. Kelly was either reading stories at
the nursing home or was out with Ryan again. Remembering the romantic effects
of those chocolates wasn’t helping Sam’s peace of mind any. Felicia had bought
the largest heart-shaped box in the store today and plainly stated her
intentions to get Beau back. If he ate them, the tiger-lady’s plan just might
work.

Tossing her backpack on the table
and hanging up her coat, Sam debated. Taking any action at all would make Beau
think she didn’t trust him. But not taking action could be disastrous. She felt
as if a low voltage current was racing through her veins as she changed out of
her work clothes. The wooden box stared at her from the dresser top, but this
was one time when Sam couldn’t think of a single way in which the box could
help her.

She stared around her bedroom, at
the unfilled packing cartons and at the closet where she’d begun going through
her clothes and getting rid of things she no longer needed, donating them to
the thrift shop and generally clearing the clutter of the old life in order to
start the new. They’d planned on spending the weekend moving her things to his
house. Not everything, as Sam would leave the furniture and a lot of the
kitchen gear for Kelly. Beau had said nothing of changing that plan, and Sam
would not let negatives sneak into her thinking. She gave the carved jewelry
box a stroke for luck and turned toward the kitchen.

Her cell phone lay on the table,
in the little pile of things she’d pulled from her pockets. She picked it up
and composed a text message before she could talk herself out of it:
Don’t eat
any chocolate. Will explain later.
She hit the Send button and dropped
the phone to the table. For better or worse, she’d interfered with fate.

*

A rough night caused by
man-worries had not happened in Sam’s life in many years and she wanted to
refuse to believe that was the reason she woke approximately every hour on the
hour and why, now at three-thirty, she felt resigned to being awake.

Moving day. She should be
sleeping at Beau’s tonight and every night till death did them part, but she
knew she needed to be absolutely sure of what would happen with Felicia before
she could do it. She sighed and rolled up on one elbow. There was no way to get
the answer to that question at this ungodly hour and decided she could make
better use of the time than continuing to twist the bedcovers in knots.

Her father had always quoted some
old saying about idle hands and as Sam tiptoed through the quiet house she decided
that huddling in the corner of the couch with endless cups of tea was not the
answer. Even though Jen had promised to open the shop and the other ladies
would get the breakfast pastries underway, Sam knew she would be more content
to be working than sitting around.

Like some kind of secret
Christmas elf, she entered the shop stealthily and got out her decorating
tools. Two hours passed as she pulled sheetcakes and layers from the freezer.
Filling, frosting, decorating . . . she found her zone. She’d already left the
shop well set with stock cakes for the Saturday sales needs. Now she finalized
a wedding cake and the last of the proposal cakes. They all went to the fridge,
ready for the customers to pick them up in the coming two days.

At six-fifteen she put away the
pastry bags and wiped down the worktable. When the girls arrived at six-thirty,
no one need know she’d been there. She locked up and started her truck, heading
back home toward coffee, packing cartons and an important conversation with Beau.

With a steaming mug in hand as
fortification, she dialed his home number. No answer. He might be outside with
the animals. But his cell went to voicemail as well. He’d taken the day off
work to help with the move, but maybe last night’s emergency had spilled over
into the morning hours. She’d almost convinced herself to call the department
when her phone rang in her hand.

“Samantha, it’s Marla Fresques.”

Her friend’s voice sounded small
and tired, like she could barely get the words out.

“Marla, is everything okay?”

“Not really, Sam. I’m not doing
so good. My doctor wants me to be in the hospital.”

Oh, no. Don’t say this is the
end.

“I wondered . . . did your
sheriff friend find Tito yet?”

Poor thing. Sam realized that
Marla had no idea it wasn’t that simple.

“I’m afraid not, Marla. We’re
working on it. I’ve got some names of his old co-workers in Albuquerque.”

“Can you go there, Sam? Find my
Tito and bring him back. I need this. Jolie needs him, very soon.”

Sam set her mug down. The last
thing she needed was to blow this whole day by driving to Albuquerque. She
paced as the silence on the line grew longer.

“I’ll go, Marla.”
What am I
saying?
“You just rest. Do what your doctor says.”

“Thank you, Sam.” The words came
out in a breathless rush.

She quickly dialed Beau’s cell
again, this time leaving the message that she needed to go to Albuquerque on an
emergency and would have to delay the packing and moving until tomorrow. She
knew she had to act while momentum was on her side.

Surely she wouldn’t simply go there
and come back with Tito Fresques in the truck with her, but she certainly
wasn’t having much luck by phoning his friends here in Taos. She found Lisa
Tombo’s address and phone number online. If she showed up at the door then
maybe a personal plea would bring the information to get him back home to his
mother and his daughter. That was her line of thinking, anyhow, as she grabbed
a granola bar and an apple for breakfast and tossed her heavy coat, Fenton’s
file and her backpack into the truck.

Two hours later, approaching the
outskirts of the sprawling city she fished one-handed into her pack for the
address. The street name wasn’t familiar to her, not surprisingly, since she
knew so little about the layout of this city. She spotted a McDonald’s ahead at
an exit so she whipped off the freeway and headed that direction.

A strong cup of coffee and a
table where she could study the map from her glove compartment, and she
eventually figured out where the house was, in the northeast quadrant of town.
She jotted a series of notes about which turns to take—this would have been so
much easier from home, with the computer—and she was back on the road a few
minutes later.