Cinders

Cinders

A Midsummer Suspense Tale

Asha King

www.AshaKing.com

The sad girl he never forgot...

Things haven’t been the same since the death of Gina Cassidy’s father. It thrust her under the rule of her cruel stepmother and turned the family bakery into something unrecognizable. But now Gina’s an adult, not a frightened child, and she has a plan: figure out what secrets her stepmother has been hiding and how it relates to her father’s death once and for all.

The complication she doesn’t need but desperately wants...

When wealthy, reformed troublemaker Brennen Prescott weaves his way into her life, her desire for a different future—her desire for
him
—can’t be denied, even if it upsets the fragile balance around her. But getting close to Brennen puts more than her carefully laid plans in jeopardy: his life will be in danger if she can’t unravel her own dark family secrets in time to save him.

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Cinders: A Midsummer Suspense Tale

Copyright
© 2014 by Asha King

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

Edited by Adrienne Jones

Cover Art © 2014 by Asha King

First Edition July 2014

All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.

This book is a work of fiction.  Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this or any copyrighted work is illegal. Authors are paid on a
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Thank you for only purchasing legal copies of my work.

Illegally obtaining my books means I can’t continue to write/publish and future works will be canceled.

For Darien, who encouraged me to chase plot bunnies.

You are completely responsible for this.

Once Upon a Time

The funeral was held on a sunny Tuesday.

Brennen Prescott stood between his parents, dressed in black. He’d only been to one funeral before, his grandmother’s, and that was years ago when he was much younger. Young enough that he didn’t remember it well, not the sorrow and the weeping. Young enough that he didn’t understand and was too busy playing in the grass, chasing bugs, to understand what was happening.

Now at age twelve, he understood. Someone had died and wouldn’t be coming back again.

Not someone he knew, exactly. The man knew his mother and father, and they’d brought Brennen along because—after some arguments on the subject—they decided he was “old enough.” Old enough to stand there awkwardly in a black suit bought for his cousin’s wedding next month, wedged between his parents, watching silently as mourners gathered around the coffin.

His gaze skirted the people in black gathering around the grave, feeling oddly voyeuristic about it, and instead looked at the tombstone.

William L. Cassidy. Husband and Father. Rest in Peace.

Brennen didn’t recognize the name but his mom had explained he owned Bella’s in town, the local bakery.
That
place he knew—they had the best cupcakes, and everyone went there for a cake on their birthday.

Across from the rose-laden coffin in front of him, a small clumping of people had gathered. In the center stood a tall woman with pale blonde hair, frozen in a twist. Icy in appearance. She stared down a long slim nose at the coffin, and despite the black veil over her eyes, Brennen didn’t think she shed a tear. On either side of her stood two girls, one his age and another a few years younger. Both in black satin, dressed primly and fashionably. He
thought
he’d seen them around, but he attended a boys’ school and they didn’t mix outside of it. Midsummer was a small town, though, and it was hard to turn a corner without seeing
someone
you knew.

But he didn’t spend much time looking at the girls he assumed were the ice queen’s daughters. No, his gaze was drawn to the young girl tucked to the side of them.

Her long curly hair was light brown, and her skin was about the same shade. Big brown eyes were downcast, tears snaking down her cheeks. Her black dress was plain, just a simple skirt that hit her knees and buttons straight down the front. Black shoes polished to a shine. Her fingers clasped a big white and yellow daisy, an odd contrast to the severe red roses everywhere else. Maybe she’d picked it herself.

Others in attendance were sad but a cloud of grief hovered around the girl, strong enough that Brennen sensed it from several feet away. Her shoulders shook but she didn’t make a sound, her lips pressed tightly together as to not let a single sob escape.

She was maybe ten or so, younger than him. He didn’t know her but he was drawn to her, felt for her. He’d seen a picture in the paper of Mr. Cassidy and put the pieces together—it was probably her dad.

Brennen fidgeted, frowning at the grass at his feet, glancing up every few seconds at the sad, pretty girl. The pieces filled in bit by bit, what he read in the paper and what he’d overheard his mom and dad say. Mr. Cassidy had a heart attack. The ice queen there was his wife, the little blonde girls his stepdaughters. He had one child himself, and her mother died years ago.

Poor Gina
, his mom had said this morning, absently and more to herself than him, while Brennen was getting ready.
Poor little Gina has no one.

Gina Cassidy. The girl with the big daisy.

As if sensing him watching her, her doe eyes turned up and met his.

Brennen’s fidgeting grew worse, his feet itching to move and take him over there, but then his mom’s hand clamped on his shoulder, her murmured voice reminding him to stand still. He turned a brief scowl up at her and then glanced back at Gina. She’d once again turned her gaze downward, silently crying.

Proper etiquette was to offer sympathy, he knew—he’d been schooled by his mom all morning to be polite and say “I’m sorry for your loss”—but he was too far away to say that, not without looking stupid. And it seemed inadequate. “I’m sorry for your loss.” How about sorry for the fact she had no one now, her own dad gone, and she was living with some lady who didn’t even cry at her husband’s grave?

But Brennen couldn’t say any of that, so he stood there feeling badly while the minister began to speak, droning on about God and heaven and not saying a word about the little girl who lost everything.

Chapter One

Gina Cassidy was covered in flour from head to toe.

Literally. It dusted her dark hands, wrists, and straight up to her elbows, powdered her red apron like misshapen polka dots, and every time she swiped the back of her hand over her forehead, she left streaks of it across her face. Her hair, light brown streaked with dark blonde, was held back in a net and thankfully missed the worst of it, but flour dotted the tops of her bare feet as well. Someone hadn’t put the lid on the all-purpose flour canister properly and she paid for it when it tumbled from the top shelf.

At least I got the worst of it off the floor
.

She moved the cookie sheet with rolled biscuits from the counter to the preheated oven, brushed a towel over her hands to create some semblance of order, and began wiping down the white granite counter.

The base of the bakery’s kitchen was white,
all
white. White subway tile walls polished weekly to a shine, the floor was white and similarly gleaming. Why white when it stained so easily, she didn’t know—before her dad died, the floors were worn creaky hardwood that had seen her tiny feet racing back and forth as a small child, and the walls were a cheerful blue and white check that had faded from the sun streaming in the back windows over the years.

But Maureen Chandler-Cassidy had changed all that during the past decade when she took over. She wanted
white
, she said, because the place should be
clean
and
pristine
for handling food. More like cold and sterile, Gina had thought, but she said nothing. She
couldn’t
object, after all. Not when Maureen changed the bakery’s name from Bella’s—after Gina’s late mother—to Sweet Haven. Not when her expensive renovations turned the bakery into something Gina barely recognized. Not when a ridiculous number of orders added up, more than Gina could handle in a day, because Maureen wanted the income and wouldn’t decline a client no matter the strain on their resources.