The Comfort of Favorite Things (A Hope Springs Novel) (19 page)

“I’m not talking about Tennessee,” she said, reaching out to pat him on the arm. “I’m not sure that brother of yours has ever missed a meal. At least not since he’s been married to Kaylie.”

Oh good. Then it
was
for him. “You don’t usually work this time of day.”

“It’s been slow at Two Owls today for some reason,” she said, digging into her purse for the fork and napkin she’d brought and handing him both. “Mitch and Kaylie have everything under control, and I really do have a small mountain of paperwork to catch up on. You Keller men have been keeping me busy. So much work with these new jobs.”

About that. “Has Tennessee talked to you about how to code the Dragon Fire Hill costs? Not that it’s my business—”

Dolly cleared her throat softly. “You mean has he told me not to share what I know with anyone who might ask? And to give him all the relevant invoices to handle?”

“I’ll take that as a yes.” His stomach rumbling, Dakota unfolded the napkin to find the fork.

“I do find it curious that he’s not billing out the labor costs on this project. With as large of a crew as is working, that’s a hefty amount to absorb, though of course it’s not my concern.”

Even though Tennessee was her stepson-in-law, and his finances affected her stepdaughter, too. Dakota dug into the huge serving of sour cream chicken enchiladas. “It was Tennessee’s idea. A way to help out with the philanthropy. The . . . person covering the materials is getting hit hard, so Tennessee’s paying the men out of his own pocket. And mine.”

“Well, that’s extremely generous of you both,” she said, removing her glasses and frowning at the lenses before finding a cloth in her purse to clean them. “Especially since everything I’ve heard about the women living there leads me to believe they could use all the help they can get.”

His mouth full of cheese and chicken and fresh, warm corn tortillas, Dakota just nodded. Not for a moment did he believe Dolly was digging for information, but he wasn’t sure what all Tennessee might’ve told her, and he didn’t want to say something he shouldn’t. It was bad enough he’d admitted to his and his brother’s altruism. If Tennessee
hadn’t
told Kaylie . . .

“Tennessee is worried about you, you know,” Dolly said, the complete change of subject bringing Dakota’s head up.

“Because I told him I’d be leaving after this job?” he asked, his mouth still half full.

“He’s not worried about that,” she said, crossing one leg over the other and smoothing the fabric of her pants over her knee. “Though he’s not happy about it.”

“I don’t get it.”

Dolly pressed her lips together, as if it helped her form the right words, then said, “He doesn’t think you’re going to find whatever it is you’re looking for by leaving.”

Right. Since he was having so much luck finding it here.

Here . . . where Thea was? Here . . . where for the last few weeks, getting out of bed hadn’t had him calculating how long he needed to stay to feel like he’d given his siblings what they needed?

Here . . . where arriving at work meant seeing the woman who’d been the girl who’d been the reason he’d survived prison in one piece?

“He may be right. I might never find it.” Or could be he already had, and was only just now coming to realize that particular truth.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

W
ith all the construction going on at Dragon Fire Hill, and that at Bread and Bean, Thea had almost forgotten about Butters Bakery until she and Peggy arrived at their respective businesses at the same time, parking in their designated spaces in the through street behind the building they shared with Callum Drake and Bliss. Thea slammed the door of her Subaru and waved.

“Hi, Peggy. Do you have a minute?”

Peggy, her black hair sporting but a smattering of gray, was dressed in her usual uniform of black slacks and white athletic shoes, with a camp-style blouse that skimmed her heavy thighs. Today’s blouse was a tangerine and lime plaid.
“Certainly. Come have a slice of coffee cake. And a cup of coffee. Though I imagine what you’re brewing is a lot better than what I have.”

Thea hit the locks on her doors and laughed, recalling Dakota’s griping about the bitterness in a recent pot. “At the moment, I wouldn’t doubt we’re brewing the same thing. You know how it is. Save the best for guests.”

“Especially when they’re paying,” Peggy said, extracting her keys from the door and tugging it open, tote bags slung over both shoulders. She set them on a table just inside the door.

Thea stepped in after her and closed her eyes, breathing deeply of the smells that were already pervasive at this hour. Sugar and cinnamon and sweet vanilla and even sweeter maple syrup, and beneath it all, chocolate. Like a big bowl of cake batter waiting for her to scoop a spoon through and lick clean.

Then again, Pat had probably had the ovens going for hours. “Morning, Thea,” he said with a nod as he hefted a bag of flour and measured out what she was certain was ten cups.

He was at least a foot taller than Peggy, his hair fully gray, his beard and mustache, too. Along with his hair net, he wore white pants, a white T-shirt, and a big white apron that Thea wouldn’t doubt had been the same apron he’d had on the day the bakery opened. It looked as thin as a well-worn sheet.

“How’s it going, Pat?”

“I’m still here. I’m still kicking. I’d say it’s a damn fine day.”

Peggy flipped on the lights in the small office she kept just inside the back door. “Pat, hon, please tell me you’ve got a coffee cake that Hyacinth hasn’t put out in the case yet.”

“I believe there’s one still in the pan on the cooling rack.”

“Good. If I go into the shop, someone will waylay me, and Thea will never see me again.” Peggy had crossed the room while talking, and now picked up the whole pan rather than the slice Thea had expected. “Let’s talk in my office. I’ve got utensils and dishes in there, and a coffee pot.”

Thea caught a whiff of the cake’s coffee and butter aromas, as well as that of toasted pecans, as Peggy passed her, and her stomach rumbled. Oh, she definitely needed to stop by more often, if just to get the sugar high. “Nice to see you again, Pat.”

“Don’t be a stranger,” Pat called back, flipping the switch on a giant mixer, the motor whirring to life.

“Go ahead and shut the door,” Peggy said, pulling out plates and forks from a file cabinet drawer as Thea walked in. “Too hard to talk over Pat’s noise.”

“Does he do all the baking?” Thea asked as she closed the door.

“Not all, but a lot, yes. Here, you cut while I start the coffee. Hyacinth holds d
own the fort out front until I get here, then I spend most of my days out there while she works with Pat.”

And here she’d assumed Peggy was the one baking, Thea mused, slicing off a square of cake and then another, trying not to be too greedy. As hungry as she was, having skipped breakfast, it wasn’t easy. “Has Hyacinth worked for you a long time?”

“She’s been here almost as long as we’ve been open,” Peggy said, popping a K-Cup into the Keurig machine. Thea smiled at Peggy’s having called it a coffee pot. “Her daughter, Iris, has been here ages, too. She started in high school, working afternoons until close. Now she takes care of her father while Hyacinth is here, then comes in around noon when her mother goes home. I don’t know what we’d do without them.”

Loyal employees. Loyal employer. “Becca York, my soon-to-be barista, mentioned you telling her you were retiring and selling the bakery.”

“We are.” Peggy nodded, handing Thea the first cup of coffee along with half and half from her office fridge and an old baking powder can stuffed with sugar and sweetener packets. “And I can’t believe it, but I haven’t had a single second thought since we made the decision.”

“Had enough?” Thea asked, stirring her coffee.

“Enough of Pat getting up at four a.m. and groaning through his aches and pains all morning.” Peggy finally settled into her desk chair and picked up her fork. “It’s tough on a body, all this baking. But then look who I’m talking to. You know exactly what I mean.”

“I’ve done my fair share of kitchen duty, but Ellie’s the baker in the bunch. The bread anyway.” Thea reached for her coffee, the aroma rich as she brought the cup closer. “Becca’s in charge of desserts at the house when we can manage them.”

“We’ve talked several times,” Peggy said, surprising Thea as she sipped. “She said she did a lot of baking in the service, but I guess you knew that.”

“I did, yes. It was her dad who instilled the love in her.”

“She told me he’d worked in a commercial kitchen.”

Thea nodded. “He started as a dishwasher. When Becca was in high school, he decorated sheet cakes for a grocery store’s bakery. One of the chains,” Thea said, her hands cold around the hot coffee cup. “He died while she was overseas. A heart attack.”

“Such a shame. She told me both of her parents were gone. I’m not sure she really meant to.” Peggy cut into her cake as she talked. “We were out back one morning early. She seemed to need someone to talk to. I guess she has an ex who gives her trouble?”

Thea nodded again. If Becca had already spilled, no need to hedge.

“I thought rather than talk about a bad part of her past, she might feel better talking about something good,” Peggy said with a shrug, slicing into her cake. “I’m not much of a therapist, but I’ve got more than my share of common sense,” she added, forking the bite into her mouth.

“Thank you. For being kind to her.” Thea wanted to laugh as much as she wanted to cry. The words were such a weak representation of the gratitude she wanted to shower on this woman. “There hasn’t been a lot of kindness in Becca’s life since she left home.”

“You’ve shown her more than anyone. She told me so,” Peggy said, adding an emphatic nod. “It explains why she’s so protective of you.”

The picture of Becca’s forearm at Dakota’s throat played in Thea’s mind. “I hadn’t realized she was until recently.” A moment of silence passed before Thea spoke again. “You know Becca wouldn’t be able to buy the bakery herself.”

“Oh, I didn’t think she would be.” Peggy sounded apologetic as she reached for her cup. “I almost didn’t mention it, but I thought with her history, it would be something she would enjoy thinking about anyway.”

“She was thrilled that you asked her about it.”

“Is that why you’re here?” Peggy arched a brow and asked. “To talk about the bakery?”

Thea took a deep breath. “Do you have a buyer yet?”

Peggy looked at her over the rim of her cup as she sipped and shook her head.

“Then can I ask you a few questions?”

This time Peggy gave her a nod, her eyes above her cup sparkling.

“How much of what makes this
Butters
Bakery are you selling? The
name? The recipes? Or only the ovens and the display cases and the lease on
the space?” If one could even sell such a thing, which would require Thea
to hire an attorney to discuss. She took another deep breath. “I’m not even
sure it’s within my reach to buy it. But I need to know more to know that.”

Peggy considered her for a long moment, then set down her cup and asked, “Do you want it because of Becca?”

Thea nodded. Swallowed. Until this very moment, she hadn’t realized how important this was.

“Will she be involved as an owner, or an employee?”

“We’ll set up a partnership. There are four of us. But, yes. It’s for Becca. As an owner.”

Peggy reached for her phone. “Our attorney, Ian Payne, can tell you everything you need to know,” she said as she dialed. She waited for the call to be picked up.

“Cindy? It’s Peggy Butters. Does Ian have any spare time this morning?” She held Thea’s gaze while on hold. “Ten-thirty? I think that works,” she said after Thea nodded. “I’m sending a young woman named Thea Clark to see him. She’ll be there right on time.”

Becca wasn’t sure why she’d thought Bread and Bean would offer more peace and quiet than the house on Dragon Fire Hill. Both places were hosting crews from Keller Construction. Both places were nothing but hellholes of constant noise. Hammers and drills and power saws and men laughing. Men cursing. Men stomping around with their big feet in big boots and hefting stacks of plywood as if they weighed nothing.

Her bed in her room in the still of the night was the only place these days she could think. As if she had anything to think about that couldn’t be done in the midst of distracting interruptions. It wasn’t like she was the deep thinking type. No philosophy or theology or pondering of the state of the universe. All she had on her mind was staying safe, and figuring out if she could afford to leave Thea’s and live on her own.

Stupid, really. Where was she going to go? She wasn’t one for trust; she’d pretty much had that whipped out of her. Her fault for thinking a man cruel enough to use a whip on an animal would hesitate to use it on her. Last time she went for a cowboy, though her experience in the military hadn’t been a lot better. Too bad she didn’t have it in her to love women. Then again, look at what Ellie had gone through with hers.

No, she was done with relationships. Frannie had thought she’d had things good. And she probably had. Until she hadn’t. And though Becca didn’t know all the details of what Thea had gone through in her past, it was pretty clear the other woman was done with men, too. What other reason could there be for her not to be all over Dakota Keller?

The man could not keep his eyes off of Thea, though Becca had to give him credit. He hadn’t once stepped out of line; if he had, he wouldn’t still be around. And he’d been so amazing with James, and even with Frannie. Too bad the good ones never stuck around. Or if they did, something always happened to fuck things up—

“I thought I’d stop by for a coffee.”

At the sound of the deep male voice, Becca froze behind the half-finished barista station where she’d been making notes on the drink menu she and Thea were working to finalize. She took a deep breath and turned, then stretched out her fingers that had been balled into fists.

“We’re not open yet,” she said to the man with the cheap not-a-cop clothes. The man who’d liked her cake.

The man who had told her he was interested in her.

“Does that mean I can’t get a cup?” Manny Balleza asked. “Nothing fancy. Just coffee. Maybe some sugar. Some cream.”

Nothing fancy, but still with the extras. Though that was just her being bitchy. “You need a specific temperature? A certain grind? A mug with a smiley face on it? Or are your only demands sugar and cream?”

Holding her gaze, he rubbed at his jaw, then set both hands at his hips. “They weren’t demands, Becca. I can drink it black.”

Manny. She rolled his name around in her head. She didn’t want to say it. Hearing him use hers was making her itch in a way she liked but didn’t want to. It was easier to give him a hard time. Doing so made for a great first line of defense. Most guys tucked tail and retreated.

“Black it is,” she said, heading for the table with the espresso machine and the stainless steel carafe. Which, of course, was empty. Damn construction hammerheads, drinking her dry
and
giving her a headache with all their power tools and pounding. “I’ll need to make a new pot. Or I can pull you a shot.”

His mouth grew tight, his frown menacing, or maybe just concerned. “A shot.”

He said it as if he was expecting her to offer him José Cuervo or something. “Espresso. It’s coffee. But only if you’ve got an iron gut.”

He came closer, but not too close, as if he were actually one of the smart ones who could read the signs. Then he punched a hand against his stomach the way some guys did to show off the steel of their abs. “I guzzle industrial-grade garbage at the office all day, and half the cups I get on the road taste like they’ve been sitting for a week. Plus, I’ve never met a jalapeño I didn’t like. Bring it on.”

Thing of it was, he wasn’t showing off anything. He was just making a point. She could make one, too. Show him what real coffee tasted like. She reached for the filter basket and packed it full. “What do you do on the road?” she heard herself asking, thinking she really needed to get a grip. He might be interested, but she, most definitely, was not.

He shrugged. “See clients. Visit friends. Check in on folks I work with. And those I’m interested in.”

And there it was. The subject she’d been trying so hard to keep buried. Except she’d known she wouldn’t be able to. Dakota wasn’t here and she was. That didn’t leave much in the way of a reason for Manny to have stopped by, and she wasn’t ready to deal with his interest.