Fudgeballs And Other Sweets Page 7

  “Try a little clove oil on her gums.”

  Jenny hoisted Dory to her shoulder and patted her back, trying to hear Mrs. Wilcox above Dory’s wails. “Clove what on where?”

  “Teething’s hard on the little mites,” the woman said, giving the chocolate concoction a hefty stir. “Need to put a little clove oil on your finger and rub it on her gums. Should feel good to her.”

  Before Jenny had a chance to thank her for the advice, Mrs. Wilcox ate the last fudgeball on the tray then smiled. “I’ve a bit of a sweet tooth.”

  Jenny lamely returned the smile. “I’m going to ask Dave to watch her while I run to the pharmacy for the clove oil. Can you handle things here?”

  Dave had avoided her the past couple of days. Who could blame him? She’d been rude and insensitive when she’d told him he wasn’t needed. She missed his advice—and his help. As much as she hated the thought, she had to apologize.

  “Oh, no problem. Candy makin’ is right up my alley. I’ve made tons of it in my lifetime.”

  Jenny nodded. “Well, as soon as you get that batch done, start another. I have a large order to fill.”

  Dory whimpered. “Hush, sweetie.” Jenny stuck the pacifier in the baby’s mouth, and Dory immediately spat it out and cried harder. Lifting her to her shoulder, she patted the baby’s back while turning to Mrs. Wilcox. “I won’t be gone long.”

  Mrs. Wilcox sampled her concoction by pouring a ladleful onto a saucer and eating it with a spoon. “Just right,” she announced to Jenny, who was gaping at the amount of sweets the woman could consume.

  “EXCUSE ME? I’m not needed, remember?” Dave gave Jenny a sour look as he took the wriggling Dory from her. “Hi, Munchkin. Still having trouble with those ol’ toofies?”

  Dory gave him a wide, drooly grin.

  “Her toofies are killing us both. I know I said I didn’t need you, but I apologize. I do need your help, and I’m sorry I was so rude. Mrs. Wilcox says clove oil will help Dory’s teething, and I don’t have any.”

  Who does, other than a leftover pioneer?

  “I can’t leave the baby with Mrs. Wilcox. It’s all she can do to wait on customers. Can you watch her while I run up to the pharmacy and buy the oil?”

  Dave bounced the infant on his shoulder. “Sure, I’ll watch her. Take your time.”

  “Thanks.” She turned toward the door, relieved he was being so generous.

  “Heard from Rob and Teensy?”

  “No, but I’m sure I will any day now.”

  Actually, she wasn’t so sure anymore. A week had gone by without a word from the parents. Was it possible Rob didn’t intend to come back? She shoved the flicker of hope aside. Dory needed her parents. But Jenny couldn’t deny she would welcome the chance to keep Dory. Forever. With each passing day, the child grew more important to her. She was the first thing she saw in the morning, and the last thing she saw at night. The baby lay beside her in bed, giggling as Jenny counted toes and tiny little fingers, the smell of baby powder sweet in the air. She sympathized with Dave. How could he bear to be apart from the little daughter he’d helped create? She’d like to ask him about Megan, but the shop was full of customers.

  He stepped closer and bent toward her. “You don’t sound as positive as you did a week ago.”

  “Maybe because I’m not.”

  He motioned toward the back room. “Want to talk about it?”

  She shook her head. “I’m not making any decisions yet. There’s plenty of time for panic.”

  “Come on, Jenny, be sensible. You can’t keep the child. Children can’t be given away. They have laws about those things. The authorities will have to be notified.”

  Jenny glanced at Dory, fighting the lump crowding her throat. “It’s only been a week.”

  Dory started fussing. Dave jiggled her up and down.

  Jenny reached for her purse. “She needs that clove oil. I won’t be gone but a minute.”

  “Is she hungry?”

  “No, just fussy. I’m taking good care of her, Dave. I may not have your experience—”

  “Or need my help.”

  “I told you I was sorry.” She waited for him to say he accepted the apology. And waited. And waited. Dogs and babies could sure put a kink in a mutual attraction. “But I am Dory’s guardian, not you.”

  When he shot her an annoyed look, she backed up and tried again. “I may not do everything right, but Dory’s thriving—”

  “Which is more than I can say for you.” He laughed. “I know what the dark circles under your eyes are, but I haven’t identified the green spots on your shirt.”

  Warmth flooded her cheeks. She was a mess, especially next to Mr. Perfect in his navy blue pressed Dockers and pale blue Polo shirt, clean-shaven, every hair perfect. “It’s spinach. Dory doesn’t like spinach.”

  “Ah, a woman after my own heart.” Dave lifted Dory over his shoulder and patted her. “I think a change of subject is in order. Did you call Loyal?”

  She looked blank. “No.”

  He looked annoyed. “I told him you would.”

  “Well…”

  Well, really. Who died and made me your secretary? She had to look at the building with him, give her approval and now call the Realtor and set up his contract? Wasn’t that a little much?

  “I haven’t called Loyal, but I can, I guess.”

  He lifted a brow. “Don’t you think you should?”

  Certainly. What else do I have to do? He had as much time as she did, but she wasn’t going to argue. If calling Loyal speeded up his moving process, then she’d do it. After she called Loyal, she’d call Mark and tell him she’d be faxing the financial report to him soon. Then she’d contact Mr. Linstrom at Rockfield Corporation and tell him that she definitely wanted to expand when Dave vacated his space. She’d rent Dave’s side of the building, have the wall knocked out, new tile installed and order four additional display cases.

  “I’ll call Loyal when I get back.” If she didn’t need his space so cotton-pickin’ bad, she’d tell him to do it himself.

  Though she tried her best, it was late that afternoon before she found a spare minute to make the call. “Loyal? Jenny McNeill.”

  “Well, hello. I was beginning to think there was a problem.”

  “Oh, no. The building is fine.”

  “Well, I have the contract all ready. All you’ll need to do is sign.”

  “Thanks. I’ll tell Dave.”

  “There’s just a few minor details. How long do you want the lease?”

  “I don’t know. You’ll have to talk to Dave about that.”

  “Oh? He said to ask you.”

  “Me?” She dumped sugar in a kettle, then wiped Dory’s mouth.

  “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 rev
erie 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

  “GOOD 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.”