Fudgeballs And Other Sweets Page 11

  “Did they…hurt you?”

  “Naw, still just a little sore around the collar.” Hell, he could stand anything they doled out—he’d only been in an hour.

  She stared straight ahead. “Please, monsieur, stop looking at me.”

  Yawning and smacking his chops, he shifted positions. “I’m just thinking.”

  “About what?”

  “Tryin’ to figure out what goes through women’s minds. You’re either all over me or you won’t let me look at you. What gives?”

  She flipped her ears prettily, her tail wagging so fast it resembled a propeller. “Oh, you actually think? I thought all you did was dig.”

  There it is again. The bone. Why doesn’t she come right out and say it? Confront me! Hell, honey, confrontation is my middle name. Come on. Fight. Show me your stuff.

  She stuck her nose in the air, ignoring his aggressive glare.

  “Don’t act so hoity-toity, sister. You may as well get used to me being around.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “You heard me, Frenchie. My human and your human are gettin’ pretty cozy. I tell ya, the way they looked at each other this morning, I got the impression that you and I may be eating out of the same dish soon.”

  She tossed her head. “Never!”

  Twist that little fanny all you want, sugar. Mark my words—we’re gonna be roomies.

  “Believe me, monsieur, my human is much too busy to have time for such nonsense.”

  “Nonsense?”

  “You know—romance.”

  Jake rose, walked over and sniffed her. “Listen, Frenchie, where I come from, if you’re too busy for romance, cover yourself with dirt, ’cause you’re dead.”

  Princess swatted him with her paw. “I would expect such foolishness from a lowly bouledogue.” She daintily settled herself on her cushion. “Personally, I don’t think our humans even like each other. They’re always spatting over the baby.”

  Jake laid down opposite her. “Yeah, but the baby’s gone now, heh, heh, heh.” He wiggled his brows suggestively. “Or as you say in France, ooh, la, la.”

  “Ooh, la, garbage.” She jumped up and pounced on him, then walked to the end of her chain. “Take your dirty mind to your side of the tree.”

  Jake raised himself to a sitting position when he heard the kite shop door open. He settled down, head on paws.

  Like I said sugar, as sure as there’s fleas, we’re gone be roomies.

  LEANING CLOSER to the mirror, Jenny rubbed the dark circles under her eyes. For a smart woman, she was acting like an imbecile. Mooning over a man with whom she should only be friends. She couldn’t believe she’d fallen into bed with Dave Kasada. Did he think she was easy? Apparently. Every time she started to bring up that night, he changed the subject. He came around the store less now that Dory was gone, but she figured he was busy organizing his move. It was hard to put their relationship in perspective. She’d discovered the cliché that the earth moved was true, but Dave refused to discuss it. She couldn’t understand her behavior. She didn’t go to bed with every man she met Why Dave?

  Why now?

  She groaned.

  Why me?

  The telephone rang as she walked into the kitchen. “Hello?”

  “Hi, it’s Mark.”

  “Hi, Mark. Everything okay with the financial report?” She’d finally faxed it late yesterday afternoon.

  “It’s a go. The committee met this morning, and you’re approved for the loan.”

  Jenny sank against the counter. She’d been hoping, but nothing had gone the way she’d planned lately.

  “Sign the papers and the money is yours.”

  “Fantastic. I’ll have Mrs. Wilcox come in early Thursday so I can get away.” She hung up, relieved. Now all she had to do was contract the carpenters, knock out a wall and order the new counters.

  A clap of thunder shook the house as she buttered a bagel and poured coffee into an insulated cup. Rain. All she needed. Lathering blackberry jam on the bagel, she wondered why Dave hadn’t mentioned the date he’d be moving. Soon, she hoped, but she would miss not having him next door. She missed him not popping in to play with Dory.

  Picking up a rattle of Dory’s that had been left behind, she bit her lower lip. She hadn’t heard a word from Rob and Teensy. Had they arrived in New York safely? It had been over three weeks. You would think they could drop a note and let her know everything was okay. Labor Day was right around the corner, and she still didn’t have permanent help. Mrs. Wilcox was complaining she’d gained ten pounds and desperately needed to find another line of work.

  “Come on, Princess, we’re running late.” Jenny stuck the bagel in her mouth and scooped the dog up with her other arm. “Gee, girl. You putting on weight?”

  MRS. WILCOX was just hanging up the phone when Jenny walked into the shop. She shook out her raincoat and hung it up to dry.

  “There you are.”

  “Hi, been busy?”

  Mrs. Wilcox ripped a page off the order pad and handed it to Jenny as she breezed past on her way to the back room. “Not bad yet. I think the rain has kept it down. Oh, a large phone order just came in.”

  “Oh?” Jenny’s muffled voice came from the storeroom.

  “The White House, no less. They want twenty-two dozen fudgeballs for a formal dinner at the end of the week.” Mrs. Wilcox wasn’t able to hide the excitement in her voice as she smoothed her burgeoning hips. “God have mercy.”

  “Twenty-two dozen?”

  “Some ambassador’s comin’ to town. Didn’t say who. A congressman named Nelson visited the island in June and fell in love with the candy. The White House wanted to know if we could fill the order on short notice, and I said yes. Hope you don’t mind, but I knew you wouldn’t want to lose the business.”

  “I can’t afford to lose it.” Jenny dropped a sack of sugar on the counter.

  “I told them twenty-two dozen wouldn’t be a problem. They want the candy tied in red, white and blue ribbons. We’re instructed to overnight them.”

  “We’ll get right to work on it.”

  Jenny’s stomach rolled as she dumped sugar, corn syrup and cream into the copper vat. For a moment she felt light-headed. Moreover, the sight of the gooey mixture turned her stomach. Maybe she’d made one too many fudgeballs, or she was coming down with a bug. Her breath caught, and she suddenly felt faint. She frantically counted the days since her last period. Thirty-six—it couldn’t be. She was still on the pill. There was no way she could… Impossible! One night, that was all!

  Dave came into the store, empty coffee cup in hand. “I’m out of coffee again. I hope you have some.”

  Jenny nodded toward the back room, avoiding eye contact. He’d been so scarce lately she was surprised to see him. Fate?

  One crummy night! She couldn’t be pregnant. It was much too soon to suffer morning sickness. Her mind rebelled. She couldn’t be. It was that two o’clock refrigerator raid this morning—cold lasagna—

  Dave emerged from the back room stirring powdered creamer into his coffee. He came up behind her and he watched over her shoulder as she stirred candy. The scent of his after-shave heightened her queasiness. “You haven’t said anything about the movers—you want me to call them?”

  She glanced up. “You haven’t done that?” He took a sip of coffee, his eyes grazing her lightly. She felt warm, then hot under his close scrutiny.

  “No—I thought you’d take care of it.”

  Geez, her expression said.

  Damn, his implied.

  He shrugged. “Well, one of us needs to do it. What’s good? The first of the month?”

  “Or sooner,” she agreed. The first was a week away. The sooner he was out, the sooner she could get the carpenters in there. She dumped a pound of butter into the vat. Should she tell him she was taking over his space or just do it and then tell him? He would be so busy with the move he wouldn’t notice for awhile, then she would break it to him gently. Not that
he’d care, but barging in on his former space seemed insensitive, as if she’d planned it—which she had, but she didn’t want him to know. Mackinac City wasn’t the end of the earth. Just because he wouldn’t be next door didn’t mean they wouldn’t bump into each other. She fought the sudden urge to cry, knowing it wasn’t going to be the same without him next door.

  She made a conscious effort to steer her thoughts in another direction. “Heard any more from Megan?”

  “Not a thing.” His response was curt and to the point. She got the hint.

  Lifting a large tray, she said softly, “Well, the waiting’s almost over. Labor Day’s right around the corner.”

  It was after lunch before she got around to calling the carpenters. When they asked for measurements, she realized she didn’t have any. How was she going to measure without alerting Dave to her plans? What possible excuse could she use to measure his walls? Promising to call right back, she located a tape measure and ducked next door. Dave was on the phone when she walked in the kite shop. She glanced around the store, dismayed to see he hadn’t packed a single box yet.

  She waved to him, silently mouthing, “Got a pair of scissors?” A pretty lame excuse, but it should suffice.

  He nodded, going on with his conversation as he reached into the drawer for the scissors.

  While he was distracted, she measured from front to back, then sideways. Starting at the back of the counter, she carefully stepped off the feet, allowing for at least eight additional feet up front, near the large plate glass window. Customers liked to watch the candy being made, plus the chocolaty smells drew them to the shop like a magnet. The new counters would be near the back, so that would mean she’d need to knock out the east wall—maybe even two walls.

  She snapped the tape closed and wrote down the figures.

  Dave looked up, frowning.

  She lifted her brows, grinning. “Got any glue?”

  He rummaged around in the drawer as he automatically answered the person on the other end of the line.

  She stepped to the far wall and studied it. The walls were painted white. A nice paisley paper would brighten up the space, or maybe one of those large floral prints that were so popular. Spreading both arms flat against the surface, she inched her way slowly down the length of the wall. It was a lot bigger than it looked. It would take ten to twelve double rolls, maybe thirteen.

  She paused and wrote it down, then glanced up to see Dave staring at her.

  Covering the receiver with his hand, he asked, “Is there something I can help you with?”

  “No, don’t let me bother you. I’ll only be a minute. Do you know how many gallons of paint it took to paint the back wall?”

  His frown deepened. “Aren’t the walls in your shop the same size?”

  “No.” She studied the partition. “I think these might be a little bigger.”

  His eyes measured the area. “I don’t know—couple gallons, I guess.”

  “Thanks.” She wrote it down.

  “Something wrong with the walls on your side? Do they need painting?”

  “No, they’re in pretty good shape.”

  Scissors and glue in hand, she went out the door, still figuring on the notepad.

  WHEN SHE GOT HOME that night, she threw open the front door of her cottage, headed straight to the bathroom and threw up. Fumbling for a wet cloth, she leaned weakly on the side of the stool, praying. “Please, please, please, let it be bad lasagna.”

  She closed her eyes and tried to imagine telling Dave he was about to be a father again. Oh, he’d want the child. She didn’t doubt that But what about her? Would he want her? She was past telling herself she hadn’t fallen in love with him. That night burned in her mind like an acetylene torch, forcing her to admit she wanted more out of life than a display case full of fudgeballs.

  She hurled the cloth across the room. It was so unfair! She hadn’t been irresponsible. She’d been on the pill for years. Had the pill failed? Leaning back, she closed her eyes as horror stories of women getting pregnant while on the pill flooded her mind. All those years with Brian… Her eyes widened. Thank God it wasn’t Brian’s baby.

  Those tests. She had to buy one of those home pregnancy tests. But everyone on the island would know what she was doing if she marched into the pharmacy and bought one.

  She stood, stepped to the sink, splashed water on her face and headed to the kitchen, where she made a cup of tea to calm herself. She had to think rationally. Give it another day or two. She’d had late periods before—not often, but once or twice in her teens. Five days late once, and she’d been a virgin. There was absolutely nothing to be concerned about. It was a false alarm. With the expansion plans and the extra work at the store, it was a stress reaction.

  Relax, she told herself. Tomorrow you’ll laugh about it.

  THE TEENAGE CLERK glanced up as Jenny took her purchase to the counter. She’d been lurking between the pharmacy and cosmetic aisles for over thirty minutes. When the last customer left the store, she hurried to the counter with her easy one-step pregnancy test. She set the test down, then stacked an Enquirer and a couple of packs of gum on top of it. She mentally groaned when she saw that the clerk was the daughter of a friend, but she couldn’t wait another minute. She had to know.

  “Hi, ya, Miss McNeill.” The girl shoved the magazine and gum aside, then picked up the test box and read it.

  Jenny felt heat creeping up her neck and was sure she was turning a bright shade of red. “The, uh, price is on—”

  “Mrs. Luttrell!” the teenager called out. “How much is the One Step Clear Blue home pregnancy test? It’s not marked!”

  “It’s not?”

  “No!”

  “I’ll look!”

  Jenny prayed for a tidal wave to swamp the island.

  “On special. Sixteen ninety-eight.”

  “Thanks!” The clerk turned to Jenny. “On special. It’s your lucky day.”

  Oh, yes, real lucky. She had all those fudgeballs to make and package, and she was sick as a dog and humiliated to the core.

  The girl rang up the test, the magazine and the gum. “Anything else?”

  “No, thank you.” She paid, then got out of there.

  Pedaling home, she wondered how long it would take for the news to spread. Two hours, max, she was betting.

  “YOU BOUGHT a pregnancy test?”

  Jenny checked her watch. Forty-three and a half minutes. The gossips were upping productivity. Leaning against the door frame, she crossed her arms. “Don’t you think that’s a little personal?”

  Dave sobered. “I think if you’re pregnant, it involves me.”

  Their gazes locked.

  “You don’t know that.”

  “I’d bet the new kite line on it.”

  “Are you implying that I’m trying to trap you into marriage?”

  Irritation tinged his face. “Come on, Jenny. This is the nineties. Trap me?”

  “Well, don’t worry, I’m not going to corner you. I’m a few days late. I think it’s stress, but I want to be sure.”

  “Look, Jenny—”

  She pushed away from the door. “No, you look. If there’s anything to tell, I’ll let you know.” She shut the door and leaned against it for support. How dare he confront her about something so personal? How dare he assume that he—That she—How dare he! Who’d told him, of all people that she’d bought a pregnancy kit?

  Had his first reaction been anger or concern?

  Sinking to the floor, she buried her face in her hands. How had her life become so darn complicated?

  PACING IN THE BATHROOM, Jenny checked her watch for the fourth time. Thirty seconds had passed since the last time she checked. Impatient, she grabbed the box that had held the pregnancy test and reread the instructions.

  “Easy one step. Use any time of day. Over ninety-nine percent accurate. Results in three minutes.” She looked at her watch again, tapped it, put it to her ear, heard nothing and sat on the to
ilet seat, exasperated. Of course, she would hear nothing—it was battery operated. She tossed the empty box in the trash and checked the time again. “Two minutes. One to go.”

  She felt foolish talking to herself, but it was either that or go nuts. Too late. She was already nuts, certifiably crazy. Crazy for her life to hinge on a slender stick, crazy for straining to see one line for negative or two for positive.

  “One, two, buckle my shoe—come on, come on. Bingo!”

  One line. Her eyes strained to make sure. Definitely only one line.

  Running from the confined quarters to the living room. she shouted, “Hallelujah!” .

  She dropped to the sofa and drew her knees up. Negative. Sudden tears pricked her eyes. She swiped at them, confused. Surely she didn’t want to be pregnant, did she? Or did she? She stretched out flat on her back and ran her hands over her smooth stomach. Sadness engulfed her.

  Dave would be relieved. At least he’d know she wasn’t trying to trap him into marriage. He hadn’t actually said that, but he’d had a look on his face like a deer caught in headlights. She rubbed her stomach again. Why wasn’t she happy? She turned on her side and curled up in a fetal position.

  Hating herself for thinking it, she pictured herself married to Dave, babies and puppies running through the house. Crazy. She was really bonkers. She was even starting to like Jake, dam it.

  She rolled off the sofa, walked into the kitchen, picked up the phone and dialed. “Dave? It’s me. I just wanted you to know … it’s a false alarm….Yes, positive—no, no, the test is negative. I’m positive the test is negative….Well, it would have complicated things.” Was that wistfulness she heard in his voice, echoed in hers? It couldn’t be. She wasn’t emotionally ready for all that a pregnancy would entail. Even if Dave agreed that matrimony would be the proper course, she wouldn’t marry him. Would she?

  Reluctantly she dressed for work, feeling empty and alone for the first time in her life. Even the expansion and her booming business lacked luster today, but she had to move forward. There were all those fudgeballs that had to reach the White House tomorrow by air express. At best. she would be working late into the night.

  She worked fast and furiously the rest of the day, but it was still an hour past closing time before the Closed sign was pulled into place, and she still had three more batches of fudgeballs to cool and wrap.