Читать книгу The Hand-Picked Bride - Raye Morgan - Страница 8

Two

The Farmers’ Market was held every Thursday and Jolene never missed one. Selling her baked goods here was her main means of support. Driving in from the apartment she shared with Mandy, a week after the runaway incident, this time she came prepared with a borrowed old-fashioned wooden playpen that was sure to keep Kevin in one spot.

“Okay my little caged bird,” she muttered as she gave him a last hug before getting to work, stroking the downy blond pelt that covered his round little head. “You’ve got twenty-five toys in here with you. Plenty to do. No running away. You hear?”

He cooed happily, but as she drew back, she noticed that his gaze was on something over her shoulder and his mouth had fallen open in a perfect O.

“Cookie!” he cried, thrusting out his fat little fist.

Rising, she turned to find the man from the week before standing at the counter watching her exchange with her son.

“You again,” she said, gazing at him curiously.

“Yes, it’s me.” He smiled at her a bit ruefully, then waved at Kevin. “Hi, kid,” he said softly. “How are you doing?”

Kevin made a sound that bore a strong resemblance to a Bronx cheer, but Jolene didn’t notice. Her bright eyes narrowed as she looked Grant over, taking his measure. He was a handsome man with a sense of humor shining in his eyes. The smile he gave her was infectious, a fact that immediately made her wary. She didn’t trust men who smiled too easily.

Behind the smile, beware the guile. That had been one of her grandmother’s favorite sayings, and Jolene had once ignored it and paid the price.

But she had to admit, this man didn’t look threatening. He was probably in his thirties, but his face had a boyish look that was immediately endearing. His nicely tailored suit was just saved from looking too formal for this scene by the casual air of assurance he wore with it, and she was suddenly aware of the contrast she made in her crisp jeans and plaid shirt, the tails tied into a knot just above the waist. The Daisy Mae braids didn’t do much to help her look sophisticated, either.

Dogpatch meets Madison Avenue, she thought, laughing at herself.

“What can I do for you?” she asked, hanging back a bit. She had no reason to think badly of him, but what had happened last week had been a little strange. He smiled at her, his white teeth gleaming in the morning sunlight, making her blink.

Women usually melt when he smiles like that, she thought to herself. That’s what he does it for. But she wouldn’t. No way. She’d been through the fires and come out stronger than most.

“I came by to make sure the child was all right,” he told her. It sounded nice, sounded caring, but it was a complete lie.

He often came by the Farmers’ Market on Thursdays to search out something unusual the gourmet farmers might have brought to town. As owner and manager of a restaurant that prided itself on being ahead of the trends, he liked to be on the lookout for what was developing, poised to be the first to notice, and this was a good place to explore for possibilities. He’d been walking down the street, checking out the marketplace as he usually did on Thursdays, and suddenly there she’d been. It hadn’t occurred to him before that she might be a vendor here. He couldn’t imagine how he could have avoided noticing her on previous visits.

But in the moment he’d seen her, his first impulse had been to turn and go another way. If it hadn’t been for those strange and beautiful eyes, he probably would have done exactly that. Anything to avoid another encounter with the child from...well, maybe hell was a bit strong. The child from mischief-land, at least.

But he smiled and went on with the masquerade. “I felt badly about what happened last week and I wanted to make sure you understood I didn’t do anything to the boy.”

She nodded slowly. “He’s fine. There’s no need for you to worry.”

“Uh, good. I’m glad to hear that.” Grant hesitated, then held out his hand. “My name’s Grant Fargo,” he told her. “And yours is...?”

She really didn’t want to tell him, but there didn’t seem to be any way to avoid it. “Jolene Campbell,” she said.

“Nice to meet you, Jolene.”

She nodded solemnly, not conceding anything.

His attention was centered on her eyes and she looked away with a gesture of impatience, denying them to him, turning to the side. It always started this way. She was going to have to start wearing sunglasses so that she could get on with her life without all these interruptions. There were things to do and she meant to get them done.

Ignoring his presence, she began to pry open the large cardboard boxes she’d used to cart her wares in from the parking lot to her booth. The boxes were filled with pastries she’d been up most of the night baking. She began to take them out one by one, filling the display case with the ones that didn’t need refrigeration. But all the time, she could see him out of the corner of her gaze and she knew he wasn’t going anywhere.

“You know, your eyes—they’re really strange.”

He said it as though he’d just discovered something he was sure no one else had ever noticed before. As though it would be news to her. She paused and drummed her fingers on the counter. Talk about her eyes was old hat. She’d heard it all before. Too many times.

But he wasn’t going to let it go. “Your eyes. They’re just so...so...”

She raised her gaze to meet his, giving him the full treatment and watching him react with a wonder mixed with impatience. It was odd what her eyes sometimes did to people. They felt like normal eyes to her, but most passersby did a double take when they noticed them. She’d gone through periods where she’d cursed having such attention getters, and gone through periods where she’d been downright proud she was different in some way. Lately she’d just been bored with the whole thing. She had a life to live and attention to her unique eyes got in the way.

She watched as he struggled for words to describe them. “All-seeing?” she suggested, only slightly sarcastic. “All-knowing?”

He frowned, his face quite serious as he studied her. “No, that’s not it.”

Her wide mouth quirked at the corners. At least he wasn’t merely pandering. “Eerie? Outlandish? Creepy?” This was actually starting to be fun as his expressive face reacted to each word she threw out. “Otherworldly?”

“No. Not exactly.” He was shaking his head, his straight, dark brows drawn together in concentration.

She widened her eyes dramatically and batted the lashes. “Spooky?” she guessed.

He shook his head. “No, not at all. They’re quite beautiful. They...they give me shivers.”

He wasn’t kidding. There was something in his tone, something in the light in his eyes, that caught her up short. He had the look of someone who’d just seen something that had touched him, found a chord in his soul and elicited a response, like someone who’d heard a beautiful piece of classical music that had surprised him by sending emotion slicing through him.

Their gazes seemed to lock, and things on the street behind them seemed to fade and run like watercolors. She felt funny, light-headed, and she shook herself, as though to bring back reality.

“What?” he said, looking at her strangely.

“I didn’t say anything,” she told him, trying very hard to frown. She stared at him for a beat too long, then recovered her senses and made an impatient gesture meant to encourage him to move on.

“Look, I’m really going to be busy here in a few minutes, and I need to get things ready. So if you don’t mind...”

“No, I don’t mind,” he murmured, but his words didn’t really make any sense.

She hesitated, then turned from him and set up her cash box, determined to ignore him if he wouldn’t go away. And for the first time, he seemed to rouse himself from his trance, to take in the booth and the baked items she’d been arranging on her counter.

“What’s all this?” he asked, blinking as though he’d just woken up.

She put her hands on her hips and swept the counter with an evaluating glance and began a catalog. “Bear claws. German Chocolate cake. Almond cookies...”

“I know, I know.” He gave the items another look, then met her gaze. “What I mean is, where did you get these pastries? They look great.”

She shrugged and said simply, “I made them.”

He frowned. “You?”

That certainly set her teeth on edge. This was what she hated about men. It happened every time. Just because she had what many considered a pretty face and a pleasing figure and those startling eyes—just because she was a blonde—it always seemed to come as a total surprise to men that she might have a talent or two up her sleeve. Sometimes she thought they actually resented it—as though she were supposed to concentrate on being attractive and leave the hard work to the homely chicks. Her jaw set. For a moment she’d thought he might be different. Wrong again.

“Yes, me,” she said, barely holding back the impulse to snap. “All by myself in my own little apartment kitchen.”

“You’re kidding.” He gazed at the wares before him and his eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “If you can do this in a little kitchen,” he murmured almost to himself. “Imagine what you could do with commercial ovens at your disposal.”

She blinked. Just when she’d been ready to pigeonhole him, he’d surprised her again. She hesitated and shrugged. If he was interested in bakery items, far be it from her to discourage him. Customers were what she lived for.

“Would you like to try one?” she asked.

“Yes, I would,” he said, reaching for his wallet. “Let’s see...how about a slice of cheesecake. And a Napoleon. And one of those cherry tarts.”

She blinked and started to laugh. “All three?”

He grinned and nodded as though he were glad she was showing signs that she might warm up eventually. “All three.”

She shrugged, amused but at a loss. “Do you want me to box them?”

He shook his head. “No, I’ll try them here. Put them on separate plates, please.”

Now she was completely confused. It seemed a little early in the morning for gluttony, and he really didn’t seem the type. Then a possible answer occurred to her.

“Oh, do you have friends with you?” she asked, craning to look behind him. There were others on the street. The place was beginning to come to life. But there was no one who looked as though he or she belonged to this strange man.

“No,” he said, confirming her original judgment. “There’s only me.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Oh.”

The man wanted three pastries and that was what he should have. She glanced back to make sure Kevin was busily playing with his blocks, then pulled out three paper plates and went to work, picking out nice specimens and setting all three plates on a tray. He put a few bills down on the counter and took the tray from her, murmuring his thanks. Taking the plastic fork she’d provided, he took a bite of the cheesecake and rolled it around on his tongue. She leaned back against a stack of boxes with her arms folded, watching curiously, as his eyes seemed to get a very distant look. Either the man loved cheesecake or he was a very discerning connoisseur.

When the bite was finished, he prodded the confection with the fork, examining the crust, mashing the creamy center through the tines in a way that made her wince. Then he turned to the Napoleon and did the same to it before popping a large bite into his mouth.

She frowned, toying with the idea of saying something to him about his unusual way of eating, but before she had a chance, Kevin threw a block out of the playpen and she bent to retrieve it. When she rose again, she turned and found the man breaking apart the cherry tart as though he might find something sinister hidden in its depths. She handed the block to her son absently, frowning as she watched the man put a taste of the tart in his mouth and narrow his eyes. He looked as though he were listening to something she couldn’t quite hear, and as she watched, she had to hold back a flash of annoyance.

What the heck was he doing, anyway? Didn’t he have any respect for decent food? She bit her tongue. After all, he’d bought the pastries. She had no right to complain about the way he ate them. But she didn’t like it. She didn’t like it at all.

Oblivious to her emotions, he looked at her again, nodded with a trace of a smile and put the plate down, reaching for a napkin. “Thanks,” he said as he wiped away a few crumbs. “Great stuff.”

She stepped forward and looked at the tray in dismay. He’d had one bite of each and done a lot of damage along the way. “That’s it? You’re not going to finish them?”

He let out a short laugh. “Are you kidding? I’d turn into a bowling ball if I ate whole portions.” He tossed his napkin into her trash can.

“Listen, I work with food. I have to test it all the time. And I’ve got to say, these are some dam good pastries.”

She looked from him to the demolished plates again, still at sea. “I...I’m glad you like them.”

He nodded, thinking. “I do.” He looked her up and down, assessing more than her baking abilities. A smile lit his eyes and he nodded as though agreeing with something he’d just thought of. “Listen, how would you like to come work for me?”

“For you?” She drew back suspiciously. She hadn’t expected anything like this. “Doing what?”

“Believe it or not, I need a pastry chef.” He pulled out his wallet again and found a business card to show her. “I’ve got a restaurant, the Max Grill in Pasadena. Our pastry chef quit last month and we’ve been making do with a local bakery.” He gestured toward her wares. “I like what you’ve got here. How about giving it a try?”

She studied the card to keep from meeting his gaze. The Max Grill. She’d heard of it, though she’d never eaten there. Her budget ran more to fast-food hamburger stands.

“I don’t think so,” she told him, holding the card out to him. “Thanks anyway.”

He smiled at her, bemused. She didn’t trust him. He could see it in her spectacular eyes, sense it in her body language. He’d never seen anyone like her before and he had an instinctive feeling that he shouldn’t let her slip out of his life without at least thinking it over.

“Listen, just come by one day this week and take a look at our setup,” he suggested, avoiding taking back the card. “I think you’ll like what you see.”

She was shaking her head, but he didn’t let her get a word in. “I’ve got two big commercial baking ovens. They can be yours every morning. Just think of the things you could try there that you’ve never been able to do before.” His smile was contagious. “Come on by and give us a chance. And after you fall in love with the place, we’ll talk. We’ll negotiate your salary. I pay pretty decently.” He jerked his head toward the playpen. “You might even be able to afford to get a baby-sitter for the kid.”

Her head snapped around and she gazed at him levelly. Baby-sitting for her kid, indeed! As if she would let anyone else raise her child for her. Wasn’t that just like a man? Suddenly it all seemed much too familiar. Sure, get the kid out of the way so they could get to know each other better. Where had she ever heard that before?

“I’m afraid I can’t help you out,” she said stiffly, dropping the card into her trash, since he wouldn’t take it back.

He watched her defiant gesture with a slight frown. “You won’t even come take a look at the place?”

She held her head high and gazed at him across the bridge of her nose. “No.”

His frown deepened. “Do you have some other job? Besides this, I mean.”

He was awfully persistent and she looked toward where Mandy was selling pretzels to a young boy. She might have to call for reinforcements if he kept this up. “Let’s just say my family obligations rule it out.”

His face cleared. “Ah, I see. Your husband wouldn’t approve?”

She merely smiled, and just as she’d suspected, his eyes clouded over and he seemed to lose interest fast. She’d seen him look at her empty ring finger before and he did so again now. But he shrugged and began to back away.

“Well, in that case,” he said smoothly. “I won’t bother you any further.”

She opened her mouth to say something else, but he was already turning from her and she couldn’t remember what it was going to be anyway. She watched him stop by Mandy’s pretzel stand and buy one of the twisted pieces of bread. She was tempted to take offense when she noticed him munching on it. After all, he hadn’t finished her pastries, had he?

Hey, stop it, she scolded herself immediately. If you’re going to be jealous of something like that, you might as well give it up.

He turned and caught her watching, waved the pretzel at her and started off, while she flushed, wishing she’d turned away sooner. Clenching her jaw with new determination. she went back to setting up her counter, carefully avoiding a look in his direction again and a moment later, Mandy hurried over.

“What happened?” she asked, her eyes bright. “That man I just sold a pretzel to—he was over here talking to you forever. What did he want?”

Jolene looked up at her friend and roommate and sighed. “What do you think? He actually thought I would fall for the old offer of a job trick. He said he ran a restaurant and needed a pastry chef. Can you believe it?”

Mandy frowned, considering carefully. “You turned him down?”

“I had to.”

“Why?”

Jolene put a stack of napkins into the holder before answering. “Because he’s a guy.” She glanced at her friend, then toward her child. “And I know all about guys. I’ve been down that road before.”

“I know, but...” Mandy frowned, biting her lip.

She tried another vein, hoping to make it clear. “You should have seen how quickly he backed off once he thought I was married.”

Mandy’s frown only deepened. “But you’re not married.”

Jolene pushed her hair back impatiently, turning away. No, she wasn’t married. But she might as well be. “I know that,” she said quickly. “But he doesn’t. And once he heard that, he was out of here like a shot.”

Mandy raised one dark eyebrow, surveying her friend with a glint of amusement. “Maybe he’s a gentleman.”

“What?” Jolene gave her an outlandish look. Gentlemen didn’t hang around offering jobs that didn’t exist.

But Mandy smiled, liking her idea. “Sure. Once he found out you were already spoken for, he decided to back off.” She gave her friend a teasing grin. “He just couldn’t bear to tempt himself any further.”

Jolene threw up her hands. “Oh, puhlease, Mandy,” she said, though she had to admit, in her secret heart, such a scenario pleased her, too.

Mandy shook her head and flopped down on the camp stool Jolene kept behind the counter. “Well, there’s only one problem with your theory. In point of fact, he asked me if you were married. And since I didn’t know you were giving him that impression on purpose, I told him the truth.”

The two friends stared at each other, then both started to laugh.

“Oh, brother, now I feel like an idiot,” Jolene admitted, shaking her head. Her attempt at a tough shell had melted away in an instant. It hadn’t been a very comfortable fit anyway.

“So I guess maybe his job offer was on the level,” Mandy suggested.

Jolene shrugged. “Maybe.” But she turned away and began another chore, as though it hardly mattered in the end.

Mandy was silent for a while, but finally blurted out, “You’re nuts. You know very well we’re not making it. The rent is eating up all the money we make here. We need something else.”

Jolene winced, knowing her words were true enough, but hating to face facts just yet. “All we need is a couple of good days...”

“A couple won’t do it,” Mandy told her bluntly. “A month of good days might get us by. You’ve got Kevin. We’ve both got the rent to pay and food to buy. We’ve got to do something to get more cash coming in. I’m thinking about going back to the factory....”

Jolene spun to face her friend. “Oh, Mandy, no. You hated that place.”

Mandy shrugged, and Jolene knew her friend was fighting back tears. She had hated the factory, though she’d been a supervisor. The place had been a garment shop, full of immigrants who couldn’t get anything better, and the boss had pushed her to push them to the limit. Jolene knew Mandy would rather do almost anything else than go back there. Still, it was pretty clear they weren’t making it the way things were going now.

“I don’t know what else to do,” Mandy said softly.

The two of them had met a year before when Mandy had moved her pretzel machine next to Jolene’s booth. They’d quickly become good friends and they’d moved in together to save rent money from overwhelming them. Mandy was wonderful with Kevin and the three of them formed a nice little family. The only fly in the ointment so far had been Mandy’s boyfriend, Stan. Try as she would, Jolene just couldn’t hit it off with him and she really resented the way he treated Mandy. But his photography business had really picked up in the past few months, leaving him less time to hang around their apartment, so the waters were a bit calmer.

However, she had to admit it was time to face facts. They weren’t making enough money to make it from month to month. Something would have to be done. Jolene looked at Mandy’s miserable face and she threw her arms around her. “We’ll think of something,” she said, the urge to comfort sounding just a little desperate. “Just give it a few more days. Something will come up. It has to.”

Mandy shook her head. “It hasn’t so far. We’ve got to do something. And we’ve got to do it now.”

Jolene closed her eyes and hugged her friend more tightly. The image of Grant Fargo swam into her mind and she sighed. It was too bad he was so attractive. And it was very lucky such things didn’t get to her these days. She’d learned her lessons early and she knew what it was like to steel herself against temptation.

“Okay,” she said, her shoulders sagging. “I’ll think about it. But I’m not promising anything.”

Kevin, ignored too long, let out a shriek and both women turned toward him.

“They certainly start at a young age, don’t they?” Mandy muttered. And both women laughed.