Sage Creek Page 9

  “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.

  Talk about bad timing.

  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?” S
ophie 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.

  “Her name’s Karla Sommers.” Martha straightened. “Worked for me—shampoo girl—when she first came to town last year, and I can vouch for her being a hard worker. But she had to switch to waitressing five nights a week at the Double Cross because the money was better. She’s single and has a three-year-old son to support. See, Karla really wants to work days so her little boy can go to daycare and have a chance to play with other kids, then she could be home and with him at night.”

  Sophie suddenly remembered the waitress who had served her and Mia at the Double Cross the other night. The one who had been in Roy’s with a little boy. “Does Karla have blond hair? Thin build?”

  Martha nodded. “That’s her.”

  “Who watches her son while she’s working at the Double Cross?”

  “Well, you know, that’s the problem. It’s not the best situation. Karla’s paying a friend with three little ones of her own to keep him at her house every night while she’s at work. Then she picks him up at two in the morning after closing up at the Double Cross, has to cart him out to the car, take him home, and tuck that child right back in bed again.”

  She paused to wave at one of her longtime customers who was stepping out of Benson’s Drugstore.

  “Usually little Austin, bless his heart, is up and raring to go by eight in the morning. So poor Karla’s pretty much running on empty. And you know how much energy little boys that age have.”

  No, Sophie didn’t. Not from personal experience, anyway, much as she would have loved to. She swallowed down a pang and opened her purse, pulling out a notepad with a border of tiny mixing spoons at the top and bottom.

  “Here’s my cell number.” She scribbled it on the pad and handed it to Martha as Tidbit barked at a pickup full of teenagers thundering down Main Street, music blasting.

  “Tell her to give me a call. She’s welcome to bring Austin to the interview if she’d like. I’ll try to work something out.”

  She spent the next half hour with Sam and Denny discussing the floor plans and to-do list. By the time they’d reviewed everything and Sam had promised her the shop would be ready in time for the opening, she decided to take Tidbit for a long walk around town, and maybe even pay Gran a visit.

  But a young girl’s voice called her name as she started toward Spring Street and she turned to find Ivy Tanner racing toward her. Tidbit’s tail started wagging a mile a minute.

  Behind Ivy, Sophie saw Rafe, crossing toward her with long, easy strides.

  It was a struggle not to stare at him like a teenybopper spotting a celebrity on Rodeo Drive. In his white polo shirt, Stetson, jeans, and scuffed boots, he looked every inch a rugged, sexy cowboy, as wildly gorgeous in daylight as he’d been in the dusky shadows of the Double Cross Bar and Grill. The white short-sleeved shirt not only set off his sun-browned skin but revealed biceps that stirred something seismic inside her. He moved with a lean, powerful grace that made it almost impossible for her to tear her gaze from him as Ivy skidded to a halt in front of her, grinning.

  “I heard from Aunt Liss that you kept him! I wanted to come over and visit,” Ivy panted, kneeling to pet the overjoyed dog. “But my dad’s been busy working with our new horses and didn’t have time to bring me. So he didn’t have a chip?”

  “No chip.” Sophie watched as Tidbit licked Ivy’s face and the girl giggled. “I named him Tidbit,” she said inanely just as Rafe walked up.

  “Tidbit. You look like a Tidbit!” Ivy told the dog, giving him a hug. He was still greeting her like an old, favorite friend, enthusiastically licking her face, her fingers, even her knees.

  “So this is the wanderer I’ve been hearing about.”

  “Isn’t he cute, Dad? I think we should go over to the shelter and adopt a new dog too. Starbucks is lonely. So can we?”

  “We’ll talk about it,” Rafe said, his brows knitting. Sophie McPhee had barely glanced at him when he walked up. Much less said hello. She seemed wholly intent on Ivy and Tidbit, as if he wasn’t even there.

  It was almost insulting.

  He’d been trying to forget about her for more than a week, but the whole town had been buzzing about her and the bakery she was opening. Some were in favor of the bakery replacing Roy’s, some against. No surprise there.

  What did surprise him was that, if possible, Sophie looked even prettier today in her tight-fitting baby blue T-shirt and jean shorts than she had at the Double Cross Bar and Grill.

  He tried not to stare at her breasts. Or at her long, tanned legs. Or at her mouth, soft and full as a summerripe peach.

  Her hair was swept back in a ponytail, showing off a long slender neck that seemed made for a man to nibble on. When the sunlight revealed an unexpected dusting of freckles across her nose, he found her even more irresistibly sexy.

  “When’s the grand opening?” He nodded in the direction of the bakery. As she met his gaze, he felt his blood stir with an instant heat.

  “A week from Monday, just a few days after Lissie’s shower. I hope.” She smiled, uncertainty flickering in those bewitching green eyes. “There’s a lot of work to do before that.”

  “What’s the name?” Ivy wanted to know.

  “A Bun in the Oven.”

  A smile spread across the girl’s face. “Cool.”

  Rafe’s cell phone rang. “Tanner,” he answered, without checking caller ID. And then something in his face changed and his entire body went still.

  “When?” he said, and a frown settled over his face. “Okay, we’re on our way. Ivy’s with me—so we’ll meet you there. Tommy, everything’s going to be fine.”

  “That was Uncle Tommy? What’s wrong?” Ivy stared at him in sudden alarm as Rafe ended the call. “Is Aunt Lissie okay?”

  “She will be. She slipped in the kitchen and fell down pretty hard. And now she’s having some problems.”

  “What kinds of problems?” There was panic in Ivy’s eyes.

  Sophie felt a thin finger of fear slide down her spine. Her gaze was locked on Rafe’s face.

  “Spotting. And . . . she’s having some contractions.”

  No, Sophie, thought. Oh, please, no.

  “You mean . . . the baby’s coming? Now?” Ivy grabbed at his arm. “But, Dad, she can’t. It’s not time yet!”

  Responding to the alarm in his daughter’s face, Rafe pulled her close. He looked calm, but Sophie noticed the tension in his broad shoulders as he held his daughter. “Listen to me, Ives. Aunt Liss is going to be just fine. The baby too.”

  But as his gaze met Sophie’s above Ivy’s head, the stark look in his eyes belied his reassuring words.

  “It isn’t that early, is it?” he asked her quietly, as if she should know about babies.

  “No, no, not these days.” Sophie gulped, thinking hard. “I think she’s twenty-nine weeks now. The doctors will handle it either way, and maybe they can even slow things down.”

  But Ivy was growing paler by the second. As Rafe released her, Sophie reached out instinctively to touch her hand.

  “The doctors will take excellent care of her and the baby, Ivy. They’ll know exactly what to do.”

  “Sophie’s right.” Despite Rafe’s even tone, Sophie saw the muscle clenched in his jaw and she knew he was as worried as she was.

  “Aunt Liss and Uncle Tommy are headed to the hospital now. They’ll be there soon. And that’s where we’re going too.” He looked at Sophie. “Want to come with us?”

  “I’ll have to follow you.” She glanced down at Tidbit. She couldn’t leave him alone in her car in the heat, especially since she had no idea how long she’d be at the hospital.

  “I’ll catch up with you as soon as I drop Tidbit somewhere.”

  She
kept her tone as level as his for Ivy’s sake. “Hopefully at my grandmother’s apartment.”

  Rafe nodded and caught Ivy’s hand. Sophie watched them race toward his truck, Rafe slowing his steps to keep pace with his daughter.

  Yanking out her cell, Sophie punched in her grandmother’s number with shaking fingers.

  Relief flooded her when Gran picked up.

  “It’s a good thing you called, Sophie dear. I can’t find my recipe for Aunt Lucy’s cherry pinwheels anywhere. Do you still have that copy I gave you? Darned if I didn’t used to know it by heart, but now I just don’t recall if she used a cup and a half of brown sugar or two cups and—”

  “Gran, I can’t talk now, but I promise I’ll look for the recipe later. Can I bring Tidbit over to stay with you for a while? It’s an emergency.”

  “Well, of course you can, but what kind of emergency?” Gran’s tone rose a notch. “Are you all right, Sophie? Is your mother—”

  “We’re fine, but Lissie isn’t.” She explained what had happened as she lifted Tidbit back into the Blazer and then drove the half dozen blocks to Gran’s apartment building, a few blocks south of Lonesome Way’s town square.

  Ten minutes later she was hurrying through the hospital, asking where Lissie had been taken. She found Rafe and Ivy in a visitors’ waiting room on the second floor.

  Rafe was staring down the hall, his expression grim. He’d bought Ivy a Coke from the vending machine, but she hadn’t taken a sip as far as Sophie could tell. She was slumped in a chair at the small, square table, her bright curly hair tumbling over her eyes, the untouched Coke before her. Like Rafe, she was desperately watching the hallway for any sign of her Uncle Tommy—and news.

  “Tommy’s still in with Lissie and the doctor,” Rafe explained as Sophie paused in the doorway.

  “You haven’t had a chance to talk to him at all? Or to anyone?” she asked quietly.

  He shook his head. “They were already in the ER when we arrived. Then they moved Lissie to a room, but no one’s been able—or willing,” he added grimly, “to tell us anything except her room number yet. All we know is that the doctor is with her.”