Fudgeballs And Other Sweets

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Authors: Lori Copeland

BOOK: Fudgeballs And Other Sweets
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“You're tying a
bib
on my bulldog?”
Dave stared at Jenny, horrified at the sight of poor Jake. “Dogs drool. It's what they do.”
 
“Not on my Princess!” Jenny furiously finished tying the knot, then marched back into her store clutching her poodle. The man was impossible! Infuriating! Maddening!
 
And so incredibly handsome, she wondered if she'd lost her mind. What
was
she doing, ruining an opportunity for a budding relationship?
 
She stuck her head out the door. “Dave!” she yelled. “Coffee tonight? Seven?”
 
“All right.” He scowled at her. “Make it dinner. My treat.”
 
“Fine!”
 
“Fine!”
 
Jenny slammed the screen door.
Well
.
She expelled a breath of relief.
They had a date tonight.
Dear Reader,
 
I'm pleased to welcome back Lori Copeland with
Fudgeballs and Other Sweets
. She is one of the original launch authors for Love & Laughter as well as an award-winning author for writing humor.
Publishers Weekly
had this to say recently about her work: “Copeland has a winner in this crisply written, sweetly sentimental tale of love lost and found.” With Lori's name on the cover, you know you're in for a good read and a good time! Plus the story features two cute and memorable dogs—could you ask for more?
 
Valerie Kirkwood also has written her second book for us,
Rent-a-Friend
. The poor heroine has been badly betrayed by her best friend, and she's vowed not to have any more friends—
ever!
But that just doesn't work, so she decides to take the intelligent route, one most women can relate to very easily: she goes
shopping
for a friend.
 
As an interesting aside, both Lori and Valerie also write historical romances. Clearly a talented pair!
 
So relax and enjoy a chuckle.
Malle Vallik
Associate Senior Editor
Lori Copeland
FUDGEBALLS AND OTHER SWEETS
TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON
AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG
STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN
MADRID • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND
Bestselling author
Lori Copeland
has published over forty novels in the past thirteen years. Her quick wit and humor have been much rewarded: she is the recipient of the prestigious
Romantic Times
Reviewer's Choice and Career Achievement awards, as well as the
Affaire de Coeur
Gold and Silver Certificate awards.
 
Lori loves writing. And she believes that love and laughter are a natural pairing—“No matter what the situation, or who my characters are, I can't help but look on the lighter side of life. Of course, chocolate helps!”
 
Her recent trip to Mackinaw Island was a delight and an inspiration for
Fudgeballs and Other Sweets.
Look for Lori's next Love & Laughter title,
Fruitcakes and Other Leftovers,
in your favorite bookstore Christmas 1998.
Books by Lori Copeland
HARLEQUIN LOVE & LAUGHTER
2—DATES AND OTHER NUTS
 
Don't miss any of our special offers. Write to us at the following address for information on our newest releases.
 
Harlequin Reader Service
U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269
Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3
1
R
OUSED FROM A DEEP SLEEP, Jake snapped his head up. When he saw it was the poodle causing the racket that had disturbed him, he snorted and smacked his lips. Tucking his head between his paws, he yawned, then closed his eyes. Yip, yip, yip. If he had a bone for every time that fuzzy-headed broad said yip, he'd be the richest bulldog on Mackinac Island.
Hoo, boy. Nature calling.
Rolling his eyes, he shoved himself to his feet. Seconds later, he scratched the grass with his hind leg to cover the soiled area, glancing up when the yipping suddenly stopped. “What?” he demanded. The poodle was looking at him as if he'd just hacked up a bone.
The highly strung dog's nose quivered with disdain. “Monsieur, I hope you didn't do what I think you did.”
Jake circled the tree to which he and Princess were tethered. “Yeah, like I'm gonna hold it till my eyeballs float? You just stay on your side of the tree, I'll stay on mine.” He hated pushy women. His life had been much better when it was just him and his human, Dave.
Princess chanced a quick glance at Jake. Short, stocky, built like a prizefighter.
Ooh, la, la, what an
amant—
but is that guilt I see on his snubbed-nosed features?
She sat up straighter on the satin pillow that her human, Jenny, had so thoughtfully put out for her.
Is monsieur hiding something from me?
Jake waddled in a circle before lying down, ignoring the suspicious look Princess was giving him.
Yes, dammit, I have her bone. If she thinks I'm giving it back, the chick's got another think coming.
He released a long, snorty breath and folded his paws over the huge bone he'd dug up on her side of the tree.
The pooch wouldn't be half bad looking if she'd do something with that kinky hair. That particular shade of white was becoming on her—and those bows. Hot damn. She was a classy canine.
Princess settled down, daintily licking a paw, casting looks in his direction.
Jake. What a manly name. When my human, Jenny, tied me beside him a couple of months ago, I thought he was nothing but an uncouth ruffian. But now he's starting to communicate with me. Brash though his snorts and licks might be, it was still communication. If it wasn't for that snotty nose and wrinkled face, he'd be—interesting. Oui! What a seductive waddle. Talk about buns of steel.
As Jake continued to ignore her, Princess barked.
At the sound of her squeaky voice, Jake sprang to his feet and turned in a dizzying circle. That did it. The dame was gettin' to him. Show her an ounce of kindness and now she wouldn't keep quiet. “Will you shut up! I'm trying to sleep!”
Princess batted her eyes sweetly. “How utterly boorish, monsieur! You shouldn't be sleeping in the middle of the afternoon. You're supposed to be guarding your human's kite shop!”
Jake turned his back to her. The prissy canine was really steppin' on his bad side.
“Listen, Frenchie, the name's Jake, not that ‘man sewer' you keep calling me.”
Princess yipped again and twirled on her hind legs. “You lazy
bouledogue!
Sleeping in the middle of the afternoon!”
Jake lifted an eyelid to watch her. Holy Moly. Who'd she think she was? A circus performer? “Mind your own business, lap rat. It is
not
my job to watch the kite shop. I'm here because my human can't leave me at home.” He snorted. “Says I disturb the neighbors.”
Princess daintily paused. “I can understand that. You're disturbing me.”
Yawning, he refused to rise to her bait. “Disturbing what? Yipping? That's your job? Yipping?”
She trotted over to get in his face. “No, my job is nipping.” She clamped her teeth hard on his ear.
“Ow!”
Blood
. “Is that blood?” Jake bounded to his feet and crouched in a fighting stance.
One well-placed bat with a mean right paw, and she flipped head over heels to the end of her chain.
She let out a squall that would wake the dead.
What a pansy, he thought as she rolled over on her back, stuck both paws in the air and let out the most unconvincing whine he'd ever heard.
He jammed his paw on her stomach. “Be quiet!” His eyes anxiously darted to the candy store. “You're gonna have the humans on us.”
“RIGHT.” Dave Kasada shifted the phone to his other ear, trying to keep an eye on his bulldog through the front window. “Don't worry about it, Stu. I'll stay on the island a few more weeks to make sure the new line is off to a good start.” He frowned when he saw Jenny McNeill's poodle, Princess, strut around Jake like a queen holding court. The dogs had been at each other for weeks, and the way Jenny pampered her mutt didn't help the matter. Until that poodle came, Jake hadn't given him a minute's trouble. The love-hate relationship between the two dogs was annoying. If Jenny McNeill would only keep her nose out of it, the pets would get along fine.
“No. I'm here, Stu. Just checking on my dog. The new line is our biggest seller to date. I should have put the Space Alien design into production months ago.”
Kite flying was a growing pastime all, over the world. The modernistic designs created by his company were so popular that orders from Europe, East Asia, Korea, China and Thailand were coming in faster than Rockfield Corporation could fill them.
“The kids love them, the adults love them—hey! Dog!” he shouted, nearly bursting the eardrum of his vice president of manufacturing. “Get away! Not you, Stu. I'm talking to a poodle.
“Yeah, I'm losing it. Guess I miss Chicago more than I thought I would.” That wasn't exactly true. Taking over the management of their prototype store had been a catharsis for him. Fighting his ex-wife for visitation rights with his six-year-old daughter, Megan, had worn him down. The past few weeks experiencing Mackinac Island's easy pace gave him a breather from his problems. Even with the steady flow of tourists, he enjoyed the laid-back, peaceful atmosphere. Lately, the starry nights and sparkling waters of Mackinac Straits had made him long for female companionship. A moonlight carriage ride with a beautiful woman was beginning to sound good—an unusual thought for him. He'd sworn off women.
“As I was saying, a few more weeks—maybe until early fall. I'm staying in Aunt Mosie's house—she insists I'll be more comfortable there than at one of the hotels. Yeah, hip replacement. She's staying with her daughter, Carol, in Detroit.”
He wasn't in any hurry to leave Mackinac Island. Mackinac weather was nice this time of year. The two-mile-wide, three-mile-long island covered two thousand two hundred acres and saw close to a million visitors annually. On long sunny days, a teenager worked in the kite shop while he played one of the three golf courses on the island—preferably the Wawashkamo, the one remaining links course in the United States.
Winter presented problems he didn't want to deal with. Weather permitting, the ferries ran until the second of January. After that, transportation to and from the island was by plane, but he didn't intend to worry about that. By then the fudge shop's lease would be up, and he could take over the space to enlarge the kite shop.
“Go full throttle with the expansion plans. We'll need two new production lines to handle the Martian and three for the Visitor—Hey! Get away!” he yelled.
“Sorry, the damn poodle is annoying Jake again.
“Yes, getting rid of that dog is another advantage of taking over the Fudgeballs floor space.
“Hell, no, McNeill doesn't know.”
Jenny McNeill didn't have any inkling he was the head of Rockfield Corporation, the organization that owned the building. He didn't want her running to him every five minutes about a faulty water heater or a leaky roof. He paid others to do that. He wanted to concentrate on his designs.
Not that he felt good about what he was about to do. Putting a tenant out on the street wasn't his usual modus operandi, but now that the kite store had proven profitable and was an excellent test market for new products, he was hurting for space. An enterprising young woman like McNeill wouldn't have any trouble finding new quarters.
“Don't sweat it, Stu. I
am
Rockfield. I'll take the flak if we move too fast. The kites are a sure hit.
“Don't worry about McNeill. I'll have her out of the fudge shop in sixty days, max.
“Right. Call if you need me.”
He hung up, then dialed Freeman Investigation and asked for Sam Freeman. Freeman might be a nutcase, but a better investigator couldn't be found. “Sam? Dave Kasada. Have you found my ex-wife yet?”
The colorful, retired police officer spoke in a clipped, monotone voice. “Sorry, Mr. Kasada. I've tracked her to Paris, but the trail's cooled. Seems she and your daughter spent a few days doing the tourist scene, then disappeared.”
Dave muttered an expletive. “August is my month to have Megan. It's July, and I haven't heard a word from Nancy all summer. Nancy can't just up and run off with her! What's a six-year-old kid doing in Europe? Dammit, find her! That's what I'm paying you for!”
“Give it another week. I have a source who says they've been spotted in Nice. I'll check it out,” Sam said.
Nice.
Nice!
Nancy knew exactly where to hit him to make it hurt. The woman was cold, selfish, thoughtless as hell. Off to Nice without a word. What had he been thinking when he married her? He'd been taken with her body instead of her brains, Dave reflected, but he'd imagined he'd loved her. Eight years later he knew he never had. Nancy had never loved him, either. But once Rockfield Corporation began making a lot of money, Nancy had done a great job as a corporate wife. She'd been good at entertaining and charming investors and bankers. She had pushed to expand Rockfield, but he had resisted. Dave didn't want to be CEO of a huge conglomerate with no time to see his family. That's when Nancy had asked for a divorce—and taken Megan with her. The best thing that came from the marriage was Megan. He'd move heaven and earth to get her back.
He'd petitioned the court for full custody of his daughter, but Nancy came from a long line of attorneys. He had enough money to fight her writs and petitions but soon realized it was pointless. He wasn't about to drag his daughter through the courts. After considerable legal wrangling, he'd been granted one full summer month of custody. August was his month, so where was Megan? In Europe somewhere. The past year had been divorce hell, and Nancy's latest power play made his blood boil.
He banged the receiver down and looked out the window. The rich aroma of fudge drifted through the open doorway. A long line of tourists blocked the kite shop entrance as they waited to buy fudge. There were enough sugar fixes on the island to kill a normal tourist, but there they stood, elbow to elbow in front of Fudgeballs, obstructing his doorway, running off his business. He pitched a ball of string on the counter and disappeared to the back room.
 
DURING A LULL in business, Jenny McNeill glanced up from the batch of maple fudge she was stirring. She frowned when she heard Princess squeal.
“Darn that bulldog!” Tossing the wooden spoon aside, she marched out the front door, snatched up the poodle and brushed dirt off her snow-white underbelly. “What's wrong, sweetie? Is that pesky bulldog bothering you again?”
Princess whined, gazing at her.
Jenny glared at Jake. “Shoo—get away!”
Jake planted his stocky body and fixed his gaze on her.
That's my blood on the poodle's mouth, lady. Check it out. Ever heard of DNA?
“Shoo! Get away, get. Bad dog!”
The door to Flying High burst open and Dave stepped out. “I heard that! Jake wasn't doing a thing to Princess!”
Jenny cradled the miniature poodle protectively to her breast. “Mr. Kasada, this is the third time this week Jake has jumped poor, defenseless Princess.”
Defenseless?
Jake wanted to shout.
Ever seen Jaws, lady? With those choppers, your poor, defenseless Princess could have played the leading role!
He sat on his haunches beside his human. Dave would handle this.
“I was watching the whole thing out the front window.” Dave crossed his arms and stared at her. “Your poodle was the instigator. She bit Jake on the ear.”
Jenny's mouth fell open. “Princess would
never
bite without provocation!”
Just because Dave Kasada bore an uncanny resemblance to Kevin Costner, he wasn't going to intimidate her. She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, wondering if he noticed she needed a touch-up. Her honey blond had faded to a mousy brown. She hadn't had time for a color in weeks. “Why don't you keep your bully home?”
Her neighbor glared at her through narrowed eyes. “You keep your prima donna home.”
Stiffening, she counted to ten, determined to make the best of the situation. She hoped the man and his annoying bulldog would be gone soon, but there was no need to make the situation any more unpleasant than it already was. Hank Linstrom of Rockfield had told her Kasada would probably move out by fall. She hoped sooner. She desperately needed his space to expand Fudgeballs.

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