Читать книгу Sweet Persuasions - Rochelle Alers, Rochelle Alers - Страница 9

Selena adjusted the thermostat on the air-conditioning unit in the bedroom, sank down into a rocking chair, kicked off her shoes, propped her feet on a footstool and closed her eyes. She never realized how tired she really was until she sat down at the end of the day. Once she’d made the decision to open up the shop, it wasn’t the decisions about which pastries she should make for her customers that had caused her so many sleepless nights. But it was the days and hours of running the business and the worries about money that were so exhausting.

Originally she’d considered staying open six days a week, but that would have left her little or no time to herself. In the end she decided to remain open Tuesday through Friday 8:00 a.m. to 6:00 p.m. She closed at four on Saturdays to keep her standing appointment to get her hair and nails done. Sundays were relegated to cleaning her apartment, doing laundry and attending church services. Mondays were set aside for banking and baking.

Selena opened her eyes, and stared at the bedroom furnishings she’d chosen as meticulously as she decorated the cookies and truffles displayed in Sweet Persuasions’ showcase. As a girl she had always wanted to become an interior decorator, but that dream changed when she was bitten by the acting bug. Performing on stage and in front of cameras became her passion. But her world was shattered when she had to give up her acting career after her life was threatened.

It wasn’t often Selena thought about what she’d sacrificed to start over, but retreating to the two-bedroom apartment above the shop that had become her sanctuary made it all worthwhile. Cloistered in her bedroom, she was able to relax and sleep in comfort and in peace.

The sound of the telephone ringing interrupted her musings. She picked up the cordless receiver without looking at the caller ID display—something she wouldn’t have done when she lived in California.

“Hello.”

“Hey, you.”

Selena smiled upon hearing her sister-in-law’s greeting. “Hey, Christy. How are you?”

“Pregnant!”

Her heart jumped. She knew her brother and his wife had been trying to have a baby, and after more than ten years of marriage Keith and Christine had begun talking adoption. “No!”

“Yes, and with twins.”

“I can’t believe I’m going to become an aunt.”

“If everything goes well, then you’ll become a double aunt.”

“When is the baby… I guess I should say when are the babies due?” Selena asked.

“March fifteenth.”

Selena calculated that Christine was approximately twelve weeks into her pregnancy. She found it odd that when she’d spoken to her mother, Geneva Yates, she hadn’t mentioned she was going to be a grandmother. Perhaps, she mused, her brother and sister-in-law didn’t want to say anything until after the first trimester.

“Do you know the sex of the babies?” she asked.

A soft chuckle came through the earpiece. “One looks like a boy, but the doctor couldn’t tell about the other one.”

“Perhaps you’ll get one of each.”

“That would be nice,” Christine crooned. “Enough talk about me. How’s business?”

Staring at the rose color on her pedicured toes, the corners of Selena’s mouth tilted upward when she smiled. “Business is better than I’d anticipated, especially the mail orders.”

“Maybe one of these days you’ll be a completely mail-order business.”

“Maybe,” she said, noncommittally. Sweet Persuasions had only been open for six months and that wasn’t long enough to go from retail to exclusively mail order.

“Business is good, but what about you?” Christine questioned. “Are you seeing anyone?”

“I don’t have time to see anyone,” Selena said much too quickly.

“Yeah, right,” Christine snorted. “Even the president and first lady have date nights.”

She didn’t want to talk about her lack of a love life since she’d moved from Los Angeles to Charleston. “You’re right, Christy. Maybe now that Sweet Persuasions is doing well I’ll think about accepting an occasional date or two.”

“Don’t you dare get sarcastic with me, Selena Yates.”

Selena chatted with her sister-in-law for the next ten minutes and hung up. She always enjoyed talking to Christy, because just hearing her voice reminded her of home. It had been a long time since she’d been to West Virginia. She decided she needed to relax and decided to take a leisurely bubble bath.

After her bath, she planned to prepare a salad to go along with the leftover beef stew, watch an hour or two of television before going to sleep. Her life had become as predictable as the sunrise. Every day she left her apartment in the morning to go to the shop, and then back home again in the evening. It was becoming a routine, but more important, it was safe—safer than it had been in L.A. before she’d been forced to leave when her ex-lover became a stalker. If Derrick Perry hadn’t been the son of one of California’s most powerful political power brokers, he would’ve been in jail.

When she left L.A., Selena didn’t go to West Virginia because she knew that would be the first place Derrick would look for her. Whenever she did go home, for holidays and family get-togethers, her father or her brothers would always pick her up at the airport. And because her father was in law enforcement, he always carried a handgun.

Her decision to move to Charleston wasn’t capricious, but rather something she’d given a great deal of thought. With a population of more than one hundred twenty thousand, Selena knew she would be able to blend in easily in South Carolina’s second-largest city. It was a Southern city, which better suited her temperament, making her feel more at home than she had in California. What she never imagined is that at twenty-six years old, she would be forced to change careers and start her life all over again in a new place. In Charleston, Selena had been give a second chance and she intended to take advantage of what the future held.

Xavier stood ramrod straight, his hands clasped behind his back, in the front of the classroom, meeting the curious eyes of the students in his class. Twenty years ago he’d been one of those students. He’d joined the faculty at Christopher Munroe Military Academy as a temporary instructor. The teacher he’d replaced was currently on medical leave and expected to return to the military academy the next school year. Xavier had accepted the position to get some teaching experience.

He hadn’t known why he’d become obsessed with military life. But at the age of seven he’d asked his father whether he could go to military school. It had taken one day for Boaz to discuss it with his wife, and a month later Xavier went from a suburban Philadelphia public school to a military academy in a nearby town. Many of the cadets were there because of disciplinary problems. But there were some who, like Xavier, had taken to the rigid structure like a duck to water.

Knowing what to expect from the time he woke until he went to bed provided a certain comfort and sense of order. There was no gang violence. No competing with other boys for a girl’s attention and on-campus substance abuse did not exist.

Unfolding his hands, he crossed his arms and smiled at the students seated in a semicircle. With a student-faculty ratio of eight-to-one, he much preferred the more informal seating arrangement to the usual classroom setup. All Munroe cadets wore uniforms, which helped foster a sense of camaraderie and put all the students on equal footing, giving them a chance to excel and be recognized.

“The Civil War marked a change in military warfare in this country that had been in place from the American Revolution to 1861.”

“Was it because of weaponry?” asked a female cadet.

Turning toward the front of the classroom, Xavier picked up a marker and jotted down the word artillery on the board. “The technological advancement in weapons was a key factor. But remember, weaponry is used in all wars—whether it’s pitchforks, axes, knives, swords, bows and arrows, bayonets, guns or cannon fire. Can anyone tell me about communications during this time?”

He was met with blank stares. Xavier enjoyed teaching the military course because it forced students to think. He’d set up a large storyboard with blue and gray toy soldiers. The rendering included mountain ranges, rivers, streams, seaports and railroads. He’d also pinned maps of the Americas, dating from the seventeenth century to the present on two of the four walls.

A rosy-cheeked boy glanced at his classmates and then raised his hand. “Had coded messages become more sophisticated?”

“In what way had they become more sophisticated, Mr. Lancaster?” Xavier responded.

“Spies no longer hid orders or maps in their boots,” Cadet Lancaster announced proudly.

“Where would they hide them?” asked the other female cadet, this one sporting neatly braided hair she’d tucked into a twist on the nape of her neck.

“That is a good question, Ms. Jenkins,” Xavier said, pausing before he wrote the word telegraph on the board, underlining it. “With every war there are intelligence officers, or as they are commonly referred to as—spies.”

Valerie Jenkins gestured for permission to speak. “I read the other day that if Major John André, who conspired with Benedict Arnold during the Revolutionary War, had been dressed as a soldier when he was captured, he would’ve been treated as a prisoner of war and not a spy.”

Xavier was hard-pressed not to show how impressed he was with Valerie’s eagerness to learn. “You’re right. As a student of history, I’ve always wondered why Benedict Arnold would give André papers, written in his own handwriting, papers detailing how the British could take West Point when the British general already knew the fort’s layout.”

“Do you think General Arnold set up André, Major Eaton?” Valerie asked.

Xavier angled his head. “We’ll never know. Major André sealed his own fate when he encountered a group of armed militiamen near Tarrytown, New York, assuming they were Tories because one man was wearing a Hessian soldier’s overcoat. He’d asked them if they belonged to the lower party, meaning the British, and they’d said they did. Then the major told them he was a British officer and he wasn’t to be detained. Imagine his shock when the men told him they were Americans and he’d become their prisoner. The men searched him, found the papers and he was detained as a spy. He’d asked to be executed by a firing squad, but the rules of war dictated that he be hanged.

“Fast forward eighty years and Americans are embroiled in another war—this one unlike any other fought on this soil because it was not an invasion. Widespread use of the telegraph for military communications began with the Civil War. The telegraph wire service was a private enterprise, but its operators were affiliated with the U.S. Army. Using his executive power, President Lincoln put it under federal jurisdiction reporting to the War Department.”

Another cadet raised his hand. “Yes, Mr. Tolliver,” Xavier said, pointing to him.

“Major Eaton, are you saying Confederate troops didn’t have access to the telegraph?”

“No, I’m not. Operators on both sides became adept at taping enemy lines and decoding messages, but the Confederates lacked the infrastructure of Union telegraphers who had more than fifteen thousand miles of telegraph wire and sent approximately six million military telegraphs.” He made a notation next to artillery. “The Minié ball, or minie ball, is a muzzle-loading, spin-stabilizing rifle bullet that came into prominence during the Civil War. Like the musket ball, the minie ball produced terrible wounds. The large-caliber rounds easily shattered bones, and in many cases the field surgeons amputated limbs rather than risk gangrene. The result was massive casualties. The Spencer repeating carbine and rifle and Colt revolver rifle also played a major part when it came to artillery.”

Xavier added photography, newspaper clippings, letters from soldiers, the railroad, transport troops and supplies, water transportation, topography and the science of embalming to the syllabus.

“The discovery that by combining arsenic, zinc and chloride to prevent bodies from decaying so quickly, meant that soldiers could be shipped home for burial rather than in mass graves. I want you to research each of these points and become familiar with their impact on the war for both the Union and Confederate armies.”

Cadet Valerie Jenkins raised her hand again. “There is no comparison when the Union Army controlled the telegraph lines.”

“Are you saying, Cadet Jenkins, that the Confederates were completely inept when it came to communications? And if they were, why then did the war last four years?”

She lifted her shoulders. “I don’t know.”

Xavier smiled. “That’s what I want you to find out. All of you have textbooks and access to the internet. Please use them. Remember, we’re going to cover every battle and skirmish beginning with the opening salvo of the shelling of Fort Sumter in Charleston Harbor on April 12, 1861 to Lee’s surrender at Appomattox April 12, 1865. You may think the issues I listed are inconsequential. But because of them battles were won and lost, heroes were revered and vanquished. Most of you have heard of the battles at Vicksburg, Lookout Mountain, Fredericksburg, Gettysburg, Bull Run and Manassas. But there was also Mechanicsville, Sailor’s Creek, Missionary Ridge, Strasburg, Philippi, Rich and Cedar Mountain. We will go over military tactics and strategies from the point of view of both armies. What we will not discuss is the political or the moral implications of the war.”

He glanced at the wall clock. “You have fifteen minutes to copy the notes on the board.” The cadets opened their laptops, waited for them to boot, then began typing. Unlike some instructors, Xavier preferred his students not take notes during the lecture because it was a distraction. He wanted them to absorb as much information as possible before transferring it to their notes. Times truly had changed since he’d attended military school. Yes, there were computers, but not every cadet had their own laptop.

Xavier dismissed the class. He knew the cadets were anxious to start the weekend. Having the next two days off let them blow off some steam. Come Monday morning the rigorous military education would begin again. And it wasn’t the first time Xavier thought he was grateful he didn’t live on campus. Once he’d received his official discharge from the marines, he was a civilian now living the life of a civilian. He was well aware that the transition from almost three decades in a military to civilian life wasn’t going to be easy. But teaching at a military academy had made it easier.

A knock on the classroom door caught his attention. He looked up. “Have a good weekend, Major Eaton.”

Xavier nodded to an instructor who taught mathematics at Munroe. “Thank you, Captain Alston. You do the same.”

For Xavier, every weekend was good, because for the first time in his adult life he would be able to go home and do whatever it was he wanted to do. He was no longer Captain Xavier P. Eaton, a rank he’d held for years before his promotion to major. The promotion had come when he’d risked his life to save three of his men who’d been wounded when they tripped an improvised explosive device—or IED. He’d managed to save two of them. After a month in a military hospital, where he was awarded a purple heart and another medal for bravery, Xavier was promoted to the rank of major, followed by several weeks in a rehabilitation facility that led to his medical discharge.

There were days when the pain in his leg had been so intense it made walking difficult. But he managed to work through the discomfort in order to maintain a relatively normal lifestyle. He’d gone from wheelchair to walker and eventually to walking with a cane. It had been more than two months since he’d used the cane he’d stored in the trunk of his car. Although he knew it would be some time before he’d be able to jog or run laps around a track, his orthopedist had assured him that there would come a time when he’d forget that rods, pins and screws had replaced his shattered bones.

Xavier walked out of the classroom and into the office he shared with two other history instructors, unlocked the drawer to his desk and retrieved his cell phone. He had two voice mail messages: one from his mother and another from his sister. He listened to his voice mail, smiling when he heard Paulette Eaton’s message:

“Thanks so much for the incredible box of goodies. I shared them with Roberta who couldn’t stop talking about them. She’d asked me whether I’d made them, and I couldn’t lie. But I didn’t tell her where I’d gotten them from, which truly made my day. Call me when you get a free moment. Love you.”

Xavier shook his head as he scrolled through the directory for his sister’s number. He wanted to tell his mother to give up her pointless undeclared war with her sister-in-law. The sooner Denise made their mother a grandmother, the better.

He hit the speed dial for New Visions Childcare, identifying himself and requesting to be connected with Denise Eaton. Her voice came through the earpiece less than sixty seconds later.

“What’s up, brother love?”

A rich chuckle greeted her response. “I think it’s Rhett who’s brother love.”

“Now, don’t tell me you’re not seeing anyone?” asked the director of the D.C.-based childcare center.

Xavier sobered. “I’m not seeing anyone. Does that satisfy your curiosity?”

“For now,” Denise quipped. “What I can’t understand, Xavier, is that you’ve been involved with some really nice women.”

“Nice doesn’t translate into special, Denise.”

“How special is special?”

“I can’t explain it. But I’ll know when I meet her.”

“Does she exist?”

He smiled even though his sister couldn’t see his expression. “Of course she exists.”

“Yeah, right,” Denise drawled. “I want to thank you for the wonderful birthday gift. It was delivered minutes before this morning’s staff meeting, so I shared them with everyone. Preston and Chandra invited me and Rhett to hang out with them for a couple of days, so I want to order something from Sweet Persuasions and have it delivered directly to them.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” he told his sister.

“Will they deliver to the Brandywine Valley?”

“I suppose they will. It may be a little remote compared to Philly, but it is on the map.” His cousin Chandra had married award-winning playwright P.J. Tucker, who owned a condo in Philadelphia’s Rittenhouse Square and a farmhouse in the historic Brandywine Valley.

“Can you please go to the shop and check it out for me, Xavier?”

“You have the telephone number. Why don’t you call?”

“I’ve been calling, but all I get is a busy signal.”

He smothered a groan. “When do you need to know?”

“Like yesterday. We’re leaving tonight, and plan to stay through Wednesday.”

His plans included going home and unwinding. “Give me the Brandywine address and telephone number.” Reaching for a pen, he wrote it down, repeating it to make doubly sure.

“I’ll send you a check if you order—”

“Don’t worry about sending me anything,” Xavier said, interrupting her.

“But I want—”

“I don’t want to discuss it, Denise. Save your money. Remember, you’re the one planning a wedding.”

“Have you forgotten your future brother-in-law is a multimillionaire?”

“And have you forgotten that it’s the bride’s family that usually pays for the wedding? So if you mention money to me again, I’m going to hang up on you.”

“Damn, brother. There’s no need to get hostile.”

Xavier ignored her. “What do you want me to order?”

“I’d like a brownie-fudge cheesecake and a pound of chocolate-and-peanut-butter pretzels. I found out from Preston that Chandra has been craving chocolate and cheesecake.”

“No comment.” He knew any reference to food and a woman’s weight was certain to set off an argument, so he made it a habit to remain silent on the subject. Chandra, who was due to deliver her first child a month after the wedding, had been chosen matron of honor. “I’m going to hang up because I want to go home and change before going into town. I’ll call you later.”

“Thank you, Xavier. You’re the best brother a girl could have.”

“Is it because I’m the only brother you have?”

“That, too,” she said, laughing.

He ended the call, and put his cell phone into the leather case along with his laptop and lesson plans. Going downtown to order and ship pastries wasn’t how he’d planned to begin his weekend. He managed to stave off his curiosity about the journals Charlotte Burke had given him until later. Once he sat down to read them, he didn’t want any interruptions. He planned to read the entries and also take notes. As a student of American military history, he would know if details of the battles were accurate or not. But first he had to stop by Sweet Persuasions and place another order for his sister. There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for Denise. Memories of her crying whenever he returned to school after spending the weekends with his family had remained with him for hours. It had been impossible to explain to a toddler that her older brother wasn’t deserting her, and that he would return home the following weekend to play with her.

It wasn’t until Denise enrolled in school herself that she understood what her brother did when he went away to school. The guilt had bothered him for years. Ever since then he was helpless upon seeing a woman cry. It was the reason he’d remained friends with some of his former girlfriends. If they called to ask whether he would escort them to a social event he always agreed. That’s what friends were for.

Returning to Charleston meant starting over for Xavier. It wasn’t about looking for a woman as much as it was discovering who he was. For years he’d been a cadet, a first and then second lieutenant, captain and eventually a major. In Charleston, and away from military school, he could be Xavier Eaton—someone not bound by rules and regulations.

He left Munroe through a side door, leading directly into the faculty parking lot. Ninety minutes after driving away from the academy he maneuvered onto a side street behind Sweet Persuasions. Crews and trucks from a utility company had blocked off King Street to cars. It was apparent they were there to restore telephone service to the area.

Xavier walked around the corner and when he approached the shop with the blue awning he saw Selena standing outside watching a workman scale a telephone pole. His penetrating gaze lingered on her hair pulled into a ponytail before it traveled downward to a white camp shirt she’d tucked into the waistband of a pair of skinny jeans. The outline of her breasts under the shirt and the roundness of her hips quietly shouted her obvious femininity.

He slowed his approach, studying her delicate profile as she tilted her chin to watch the man perched atop the pole. Xavier didn’t know what it was about Selena Yates, but there was something special about her. Xavier was less than a few feet from Selena when she turned and stared at him. Her expression of uncertainty gave way to recognition as her lips parted in a smile.

“Hello again, Xavier,” she said in greeting.

His eyebrows lifted. “So, you remembered my name.”

Selena’s smile grew wider. She wanted to tell Xavier Eaton that not only had she remembered his name but also his gorgeous face and magnificent body. The man was the walking, breathing personification of everything exquisite about the male species.

“I remember all of my regular customers.”

He took a few steps bringing them only inches apart. She had to tilt her head to meet his eyes. “What makes you think I’m going to be a regular customer?”

“Don’t play yourself, Mr. Eaton. You’re here two days in a row.”

Xavier felt his pulse quicken when she lowered her seductive voice. “Yes.”

Selena forced herself not to look below his neck. Today he’d worn a long-sleeved pale blue shirt with a pair of black tailored slacks. She’d noticed with his approach the corps insignia on the buckle on his black leather belt. It was apparent Xavier Eaton was a marine in every sense of the word. It was as if he’d taken the service motto, Once a Marine Always a Marine, quite seriously.

“Did your mother and sister like their gifts?”

Xavier nodded again. “That’s why I’m here. They both loved them. My sister tried calling you to place an order, but got a busy signal.”

Selena pointed to the man on the pole. “That’s why they’re here. My phone has been out all day. I can’t call out or receive incoming calls. Of course, the disruption also affects my internet service.”

“Can’t you access the internet on your cell?”

“No! Once I leave the shop I try and distance myself from business, if only for a few hours. Having internet access on my cell is a temptation I’m not willing to risk.”

“Are you still taking orders?”

“Sure. Please come inside.”

Xavier found himself watching the gentle sway of Selena’s hips as she turned and walked into the shop. She hadn’t worn a hint of makeup, and he found her natural beauty refreshing. He wasn’t into women who wore fake hair, nails and eyelashes because he didn’t know whether he could touch them or not.

He’d dated one woman who wore makeup to bed, and even after several washings the stains from the makeup were still visible on the pillowcase and sheets. Another wouldn’t let him touch her hair, and another one didn’t want him to touch her breasts. To say that those relationships ended before they began was putting it mildly. All of the women were intelligent and attractive, but they’d come with a boatload of issues. When he shared a bed with a woman, nothing was off-limits.

Selena stared over her shoulder at Xavier as he glanced around the patisserie. Her last customer had left fifteen minutes ago, and in another hour she would close the shop. She doubted whether she would get too many more customers with the street blocked off to traffic. She would’ve closed earlier, but she was waiting for someone to pick up an order for a restaurant.

“What time do you close?” Xavier asked.

Her smile was dazzling. He’d read her mind. “Normally at six, but with no phone and the street closed to traffic I’m going to close early. I’m waiting for a pickup and then I’m out of here.”

Xavier walked over to the table with the shipping slips, and retrieved his BlackBerry. He jotted down the Brandywine Valley address of the Tuckers in the delivery section. “I’d like to order a brownie-fudge cheesecake and a pound of chocolate-and-peanut-butter pretzels.”

“When do you need them and where are they being shipped to?”

Selena stared at Xavier; he met her curious gaze with a penetrating one of his own. It had been a long time since she’d found a man intriguing and was uncertain why she felt strangely connected to him. Maybe it had something to do with his being in the military service. She wasn’t superficial, so her attraction to him wasn’t simply because of his handsome appearance. That was something she’d done as a teenager. At twenty-six she wanted to believe she was beyond the goo-goo-eyes stage in the presence of an attractive man. Yet the man standing in her shop, Xavier Eaton, had proven her wrong.

“They’re to be shipped to…” Xavier’s words trailed off when the bell above the door chimed. He stood straighter, his eyes widening in surprise. “Bell?”

The tall dark-skinned man with a shaved pate, mustache and goatee stopped short. “Holy…” He swallowed the expletive at the last possible moment. “Eaton?”

Xavier took a step, finding himself in a bear hug that nearly crushed his ribs, and making it difficult for him to breathe. He pounded the broad back of the man he hadn’t seen since they’d graduated from The Citadel. He rarely read the alumna updates online and had lost contact with many of his former classmates.

Robert Bell pulled back, released Xavier and shook his head. “What the hell are you doing in Charleston? Wait, don’t tell me. You’re Selena’s mystery man.”