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Authors: Lori Copeland

BOOK: Fudgeballs And Other Sweets
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“That's what he said.”
She felt uncomfortable making this kind of decision for him. “I really don't know—”
“The standard is five years. I suppose I could talk to the owner and see if he would be open to a shorter—”
“No, I'm sure the standard will be acceptable.” He'd need at least five years in the new location to get established. “I'll have Dave get back to you.”
“Well, I'll need to hear from him soon.”
“I'll tell him.”
She hung up.
 
THE CLOVE OIL did the trick. That night Dory fell fast asleep in Jenny's arms after only a few minutes of rocking. Jenny was exhausted and wished she had someone to rock her to sleep. She was afraid to lay the baby down for fear she'd wake, so with one hand she pulled tax records from a box she had retrieved from the attic. She made two piles, pertinent and non-pertinent. She could kick herself for not keeping her records in one place. Some were in the attic, some in the basement and some who knew where? Once she had more space, she'd set up an office and really get organized. A notion long overdue.
Dory stirred and made sucking noises. Jenny kissed her on the head and rocked harder, thinking nothing was sweeter than a sleeping baby.
Her reverie was interrupted by the ringing telephone. She grabbed it up quickly before it woke Dory. “Hello,” she said in a whisper.
“Jenny? I don't feel so good.”
“Mrs. Wilcox?”
“I won't be able to work the remainder of the week. I think I've come down with something.”
Sweetitis. Four pounds of fudgeballs is a lot of sugar.
“I hope it's nothing serious.” Jenny tried not to panic.
“I hate to leave you in a bind—”
“Don't worry about it, Mrs. Wilcox.”
Stressed out is starting to feel like second nature
. “You just get well.”
Hanging up, she sighed. Back to square one. But at least she'd salvaged enough fudge from Mrs. Wilcox to fill the order for the debutante ball.
 
TWO WEEKS PASSED, two weeks of no word from Rob and Teensy.
“Mrs. Levitt?” Jenny asked over the phone, choosing her words carefully. Rob's parents were older and in frail health. She didn't want to upset them, but she couldn't let the situation go on. “Hi. This is Jenny McNeill, owner of Fudgeballs.”
“Why, yes, dear, Rob's boss.”
“Would Rob happen to be there?”
“Here?” Concern flared in the woman's voice. “Why, no. Isn't he there with you?”
“No.” Jenny kept her tone casual. “He and Teensy took a few days off. I thought perhaps they'd decided to visit you. There's a problem at the store I needed to talk to Rob about.”
A small one, about eight months old Teething.
“No, I haven't seen them, dear, but if I do, I'll have Robert call you immediately.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Levitt.” Jenny hung up, releasing a pent-up breath. Where were they? If she didn't get the financial report on Mark's desk this week, she could forget the expansion. Rockfield wouldn't hold the space vacant forever, not on Mackinac Island.
She dialed a Chicago area code and number. The phone rang twice.
“Rockfield Corporation”
“Hank Linstrom, please.”
“One moment.”
A woman answered on the third ring. “Mr. Linstrom, please. Jenny McNeill of Fudgeballs calling.”
“I'm sorry, Ms. McNeill. Mr. Linstrom is no longer employed with Rockfield.”
Jenny frowned. Hank was gone? He hadn't mentioned a word about changing jobs. She thought. Hank was the only one familiar with her particular situation. Now what?
The woman cleared her throat. “Perhaps I can help you?”
“Yes... It's about the building I'm leasing from Rockfield. There's going to be a vacancy on the other side, and I was calling to tell Hank that I definitely want the kite shop space when the tenant moves out.”
The woman was overly pleasant. “I'm only a temp, but I can take a message and see that the new head of the leasing department gets it,” she offered.
“Thanks. It's Jenny McNeill, with Fudgeballs. On Mackinac Island. Please make a memo that I want the space to enlarge my business.”
Jenny stirred fudge as the woman carefully wrote down the information. Nearby, Dory sat in her playpen, chewing on the sleeve of her jumpsuit. Jenny waved at the baby, and Dory rewarded her with a wet, drooling grin.
“I'll make certain the proper person gets the message,” the voice on the other end of the line assured her.
“Thanks.” Hanging up, she glanced out the window at the dogs. Jake was digging in the flower box again. Chunks of dirt and marigolds littered the front walk. Tourists had to sidestep the messy debris as they entered the shop.
“Jake!” she bellowed.
The bulldog lifted his head, paw in midair.
She pointed her finger at him. “Stop it.”
The dog's hind leg wilted. He trotted around the tree, out of sight. Moments later Jenny saw bits of marigolds flying from behind the opposite side of the trunk.
A couple of tour groups descended on the store. Luckily Mrs. Wilcox had recovered nicely from her fudge overdose and was able to help out again. The older woman waddled between the register and the candy case, working to fill orders.
It was after one o'clock before Jenny took Dory in the back room to feed her. Spooning strained carrots into the baby's mouth, she whispered, “Where
are
your mommy and daddy?” Now that Dave was actually moving, she had a zillion things to do, but first and foremost was the financial report.
When Dory fretted, Jenny sighed. “I know, I feel the same way.”
Two weeks. How much longer could she keep Dory's abandonment quiet? She despised the word
abandonment,
but maybe Dave was right. Maybe Rob wasn't coming back. Panic seized her. Already well-meaning friends and business associates were starting to ask questions. How long did Rob and Teensy plan to be gone? When was Rob coming back to work? Questions she couldn't answer. She'd started ducking in the back room when Officer Jim Harris came into the store. He never failed to ask about Rob. How could she continue to explain his disappearance without Jim getting suspicious about Dory?
Carrying Dory to the front of the store, she paused, infuriated when she saw Jake nosing around Princess. Long, wet slobbers hung out of the bulldog's mouth.
She put Dory in her playpen and reached for a box of baby wipes.
 
JAKE SAW JENNY come out the front door, baby wipes in hand. When she advanced in his direction, he whined, backing up.
With a firm grip on his collar, she wiped his face soundly, yanking his head back and forth, making him look like a fool.
“There. Now stay away from Princess.” Picking up the box of wipes, she went into the shop.
After she left, he stood, head down, humiliated. He refused to look up. He held his breath, knowing if he opened his mouth, he'd slobber again.
Hell. He couldn't help it. He was a dog, for cripe's sake.
The air whooshed out of his lungs, and he took a few panting breaths. His gaze dropped to his chest.
Damn.
Slobbers.
 
DURING THE AFTERNOON, Jenny kept an eye trained on Jake. Where was Dave? Couldn't he control his dog? Just once?
When she saw Jake walk over to Princess and lick her. she saw red. Strings of long, wet drool dribbled from his mouth.
Princess shied away, whining.
“That does it.” Jenny tossed a spoon aside and marched into the back room. Dory broke into a full-blown scream at the sudden commotion.
Mrs. Wilcox pinched off a bite of vanilla fudge. “Something I can help with, dear?”
“I'm looking for an extra bib!”
Pinching off a bigger hunk of fudge, Mrs. Wilcox shrugged. “All this fuss over a pooch.”
Jenny walked through the store, untying the strings on one of Dory's old bibs. Outrage flooded her.
Mrs. Wilcox glanced up. “You gonna tie that on that bulldog?”
“I am. I don't have time to give Princess a bath!” She sailed out the front door as Mrs. Wilcox bit into the candy.
 
THE DOG'S HEAD snapped up as Jenny approached. He ran in circles around the tree until he had no chain left, then gave a low growl and bared his teeth. Undaunted, Jenny had the bib tied around his neck in two seconds flat.
He wasn't as intimidating as he thought—all bark and no bite. She'd teach him a lesson, as well as his owner.
“What do you think you're doing!” Dave burst out of Flying High, waving his broom.
Jenny straightened and met him head-on. A shouting match erupted, and Princess ran for cover with a loud yelp. A group of elderly women paused to watch the fracas, but Jenny didn't care.
“Don't ever tie a bib on my dog!”
“I'll tie a sheet on him if he keeps slobbering on Princess!”
“Dogs slobber, for crying out loud!” Dave shouted over the din.
“Not mine!” She crossed her arms over her chest.
“Oh, no, your dog never does anything—it's always Jake!”
She glared at him. “So glad you agree!”
Jenny marched into the store, so angry she couldn't speak coherently. She sputtered and shook her fist, mumbling. The man was impossible! Infuriating! Maddening!
And so incredibly handsome she wondered if she'd lost her mind, allowing two dogs to come between a budding relationship. They could be discussing dinner plans, a movie, moonlight carriage rides! Now that he was moving, the friction between them should be over. They were free to explore a mutual attraction. And she
was
attracted to him. Instead, they'd stood in the middle the street, shouting at each other like fishwives.
Jake howled and tried to paw his way out of the bib.
What was she doing, throwing the opportunity for a developing relationship down the drain? They had connected the night they looked at the new space. She'd felt it, and so did he. She'd seen it in his eyes, heard it in his voice. He was going out of his way to move in order for her to expand. She should be ashamed of treating his dog so bad.
Be adult, Jenny. Don't throw this away.
Taking a deep breath, she reined in her emotions. What was it her grandmother used to say? Why cut off her nose to spite her face?
She stuck her head out the door and shouted, “Dave?”
He glanced up. “What!”
“Coffee tonight? Seven?”
He scooped Jake up, removed the bib and angrily cast it aside.
“Well?” she demanded.
“Make it dinner. My treat!”
“Fine!”
“Fine!”
Jenny walked into the shop and slammed the screen door.
Well.
She expelled a breath of relief.
We have a date tonight.
6
“G
OOD NEWS and bad news,” Sam Freeman announced. “Which do you want to hear first?”
Dave tapped his pencil against the side of his half-empty coffee mug, daring to hope the private detective had found his daughter. The last thing he wanted was bad news this early in the afternoon. “Give me the good. Did you find them?”
“Yeah, I found them.”
“Good.” Dave sat up straighter. “When will Megan be here?”
Sam cleared his throat. “That's the bad news. They're due back the first of September.”
“What do you mean, due back? Didn't you remind Nancy this is my month to have Megan?”
“Didn't get to talk to Nancy personally. Tried to get word to her, but they're not accepting phone calls or messages.”
Dave let out his breath loudly.
“They?”
“More bad news. Nancy got married in France and is honeymooning on a private yacht. The happy couple has more security than Bill Clinton.”
Dave felt sick. His chances of having Megan during August were slipping through his fingers. “For crying out loud, who the hell did she marry? Jonathan Pharis the Third?”
“How'd you know?”
“How'd I know what?”
“She married Jonathan Pharis the Third.”
“You're kidding.”
“'Fraid not.”
“Jonathan Pharis—the shipping magnate?”
“The same.”
Dave threw the pencil across the room. It bounced off an alien face and fell to the floor. “Where's my daughter?”
“On the ship with them. Like I said, I tried to get—”
“Trying's not good enough, Freeman. I don't care what you have to do, you get my kid off that damn boat and back here now!”
Dave banged the receiver down and paced the small cubicle he called an office. He impatiently ran his fingers through his hair and down the back of his neck. A headache throbbed at the base of his skull—a headache by the name of Nancy. He knew Nancy and could predict the future. She'd travel all over the world and drag Megan with her. Hell, she'd probably
move
to France. Damn her! He'd rot in hell before he'd let her keep Megan away from him. He didn't care how much money Jonathan Pharis the Third had. Jonathan Pharis the Third wasn't going to have Dave's daughter.
Glancing out the window, Dave felt the hackles on his neck rise. Jenny had walked out of the shop with a bowl of fresh water for Princess. Jake had backed off, giving her plenty of leeway.
A bib. Dave snorted. That woman was going to make his dog paranoid.
 
“WOMEN!” Jake growled as Jenny left. He curled his upper lip over his teeth. “Put that damn bib on me again, human, and you and me...” He trailed off in a rambling spurt of disjointed mumblings.
Princess strutted back and forth, refusing to look at him. “Men!”
She was really starting to get to him. The broad was hyper. Keeping an eye on her, he tried to sneak a chew of his bone, but she strutted back and he had to quickly roll over to hide his treasure. He stuck all four legs in the air.
Wrinkling her nose with disgust, she turned away. “How crude. Have you no decency?”
Maybe she'll go away if I don't answer.
She whirled. “Get up! You look like an imbecile lying that way!”
“I can lay any way I want. This is my side of the tree.”
“Get up, I say, before someone sees you and hauls you off!”
“I'm not moving. I'm comfortable.” Actually, the bone was killing him, jabbing in his back. He wished she'd move on so he could get up.
Princess sniffed. “You have the decorum of a warthog!”
That does it!
He sprang to his feet and lunged toward her.
She sprinted just beyond his reach.
Bouncing on his hind legs, he felt his collar slip off.
Free at last!
His eyes narrowed. “Now you've had it, you little French twister.”
She let out an earsplitting yip that curled his hair. “Hey, calm down, calm down!” He pinned her to the ground with a paw as her spindly legs flailed the air wildly. “You'll have the humans down on us!”
True to his words, the fudge shop door sprang open, and Jenny rushed out with a broom in her hand.
Hoo, boy
.
“Get away!” she yelled, menacing him with the broom.
He had Frenchie down, and he wasn't letting her up unless the human went for that hose again. He eyed Jenny, keeping a firm paw on the Brillo pad.
“Let me up, you big bebe!” Princess yelped.
Jake glanced down, grinning. “Make me.”
He saw stars as the broom landed against the flat of his butt.
“Hey!”
Jake shook his head, trying to focus as he heard the squeal of brakes and Officer Jim Harris waded into the melee. In disbelief Jake watched as the man took a hook from the back of his bike. He threw a dogcatcher's ring around Jake's neck and dragged him to the cage on the back of the vehicle.
Jenny ran after the officer, waving a chocolate-stained spoon. “That's not necessary, Jim!” she called over the yelping and howling.
Jim, struggling to get Jake in the cage and the door closed, yelled over his shoulder, “I can't hear you! Call me later!”
“But Jim!” she hollered as he gave her a friendly salute and drove away.
She glanced at the kite shop, then stepped back, cradling Princess protectively to her breast Dave suddenly loomed in his doorway, his face a thundercloud. His gaze followed Jake down the street, imprisoned in the small cage.
Jake stared at him pitifully.
Meeting Dave's glower, Jenny hugged Princess tighter, muffling her dog's cries. “Don't look at me. I tried to stop him—”
“If I hear ‘I tried' one more time today—”
When she opened her mouth to explain, he lifted his hand, palm outward, his features cold.
“Just tell me where to pick up my dog—”
“Dave, I didn't mean for your dog”
His glacial stare stopped her.
“Where
can I get Jake?”
“The island pound,” she answered, making her response deliberately curt. She sighed. “Take your checkbook. It'll cost you.”
“That's just
great.
” He stepped into the kite shop and slammed the door.
She blinked, staring at the closed door, wondering if it meant their date for tonight was off.
“Men!” she scoffed.
Princess snuggled closer. “Yip!”
Ditto!
 
DAVE ARRIVED at Jenny's at ten to seven lugging two sacks of groceries.
“What's all this?” she asked, surprised but delighted he'd decided to show up. “I thought you'd pick up a pizza or something.”
“Pizza!” Dave pretended to be repelled by the idea. “Springing a dog from the Big House makes a man hungry.”
She laughed. “I'm glad you came, and relieved to see you still have a sense of humor.”
“I fail to see anything funny about Jake being hauled off to the pound.”
She followed him into the kitchen and he ceremoniously unpacked the bags and placed cans and spices on the counter.
“You're not mad?”
“I'm not mad. Moreover, you will think you've died and gone to heaven once you've tasted Spaghetti Kasada.”
“Hm, I will, will I?” She examined a couple of the spices. “You really have a thing for Italian food, don't you?”
He rescued the vials from her hand. “Don't be nosing around for my secrets.” He smiled, his gaze resting on her soft features. “You look tired.”
“Awful's a better word.” She touched her hair. “I had a time getting Dory to sleep. She likes to play with my hair while I rock her.”
Who wouldn't, he thought, eyeing the thick blond mane pulled into a jaunty ponytail. “You don't look awful, you look like a woman with a busy life. Actually, you look...nice.” She looked more than nice. She looked like someone he'd like to wake up next to every morning. Soft, warm... He shook the thought aside and turned his attention to his culinary efforts. “Got a big pot?”
She pushed away from the counter and knelt to get the pan from a lower cabinet. He reached and stopped her. He was right. She was soft and warm. “I'll get it.”
When she straightened, her face was so close he could smell her perfume. When was the last time he wanted a woman, needed one? Ached for one? Hell, when was the last time he was this close to one alone?
He stepped back. “Why don't you relax in the living room and let your personal chef do his thing.”
She smiled. “Thank you, kind sir. You'll find everything you need in the top cabinet.”
“Thanks.”
Back off, Dave
, he thought. He was glad she left the room. There was no way he could concentrate on cooking when all he could do was admire the way she filled out a pair of jeans and the cleavage he saw in the V of her pink cotton knit top. “Stick to cooking,” he mumbled as he searched for a spoon.
Twenty minutes later, the sauce simmering, he walked into the living room and found Jenny curled up on the couch sound asleep. Her head was squeezed between the armrest and a cushion, and she looked uncomfortable as hell. He put his hand under her head and tried to place a pillow there, but she roused and sat up.
“I'm sure good company, huh?” she said, yawning.
“Here.” He lowered himself to the couch and eased her back to him. “You look like you could use a little down time.” His thumbs gently kneaded the knots in her shoulders. “Relax.”
Sounds emanated from her throat like tiny mews. “Mmm, that feels good.”
Yes, it certainly did, he decided, pulling her closer while the heels of his palms pressed circles on her upper arms. He took a deep breath and savored her delicate scent. It wasn't overpowering, like Nancy's perfume. But it was intoxicating.
A few moments of massage, and he knew he'd better get up while he could. Simply being with her aroused him. Touching her tempted him to do so much more. He guided her shoulders against the couch, stood and put a throw pillow on top of the coffee table.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Making madam comfortable. What's all this?” he asked, moving aside a stack of receipts strewn on the table.
“My tax records. I have to get a financial report together—”
“Not tonight, you don't. Tonight you relax.”
He slipped her sneakers off and placed her bare feet on the cushion. Even her feet inspired ideas he shouldn't have, but feet were safer than thinking about her breasts. It was already too late to keep from getting aroused.
She smiled, pulling her foot away when he began rubbing the bottom. “That tickles.”
“Just hold still. Apparently I'm not pressing hard enough.”
His thumbs circled the pad of her foot while his fingers massaged the top. He felt her relax and her leg go limp.
She leaned back and closed her eyes. “Mmm. Spaghetti Kasada
and
a foot rub. What did I do to deserve this?”
He grinned as contentment spread over her face. He pulled her foot close against him and massaged her ankle and up her calf. Her warmth was contagious. So was she, he realized. He'd be more than happy to let dinner burn if he could take her in his arms and—
The tightening in his groin was painful. He was wrong. Feet weren't safe enough.
“How's Jake?”
“A little testy, but I gave him a T-bone steak before I left. He seemed in a better mood.”
“I am sorry about the incident this afternoon, but it really wasn't my fault.”
“I know.” He massaged the foot, admiring her polish. “I like the shade. What's it called?”
“I have no idea,” Jenny murmured, stretching lazily. “Something I picked up at the salon.”
The cloth of her T-shirt tightened over her breasts. His gaze was riveted to the seductive sight, and he realized the massage was a bad idea, period.
He eased her foot to the cushion and released it, but her eyes snapped open, making his escape harder than he thought. “I think the sauce is burning.”
“Need help?”
A lot of it.
“No, stay where you are.”

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