Look Before You Bake (4 page)

"Well, steer clear of New York City, then. I don't think you'd like it."

He laughs, and it's a deep sound, rich and sonorous and a pleasure to hear. "No, I don't think I'll be trekking down that way anytime soon. I've seen it in films, and that's as close as I want to get. But you were saying. You're opening a bakery?"

"Yes. I am. At least, I want to. And I may even have an investor lined up. He might be willing to invest fifty thousand dollars in my bakery." What am I doing? I suddenly wish I could pull the words right back into my mouth. Why am I boasting like this? Then I realize. I want to impress him. I want him to see me as more than a curvy lady in glasses. Who am I kidding, though? A hot mountain man like this could probably get any babe in Franklin County.

"Impressive. But why 'might'?" He leans forward on his elbows, hulking over the table. I almost stick out my foot to caress his calf, but catch myself at the last minute. What is
wrong
with me?

Flustered, I speak quickly, saying too much as I always do when I'm nervous. "Well, I won the Bake Off, that's how I came into a little money, and this investor heard from the judge about my entry, which I used a little special honey in, and oh, it must have been delicious, but the judge ran away with the tart and I never got to taste it, which is a crime really, because I don't have anymore of that honey, and what I wouldn't do to have tried a slice..." I drift into silence, imagining my honey lemon tart. I take a deep breath and smile at my handsome stranger. "But the investor said he'd invest the money if I could bake more goods using that honey. So now I just need to find the werebear who supplied it, and ask him for a little more. Or a lot more. Depending on how generous he is."

The man's eyebrows gradually climb as I speak, amusement and curiosity growing on his face as my words tumble out. When I finish he rubs his hand across his jaw, pursing his lips and nodding thoughtfully. "And how do you plan to find this werebear?"

I sigh and finish my water. "I'm going to be hiking into the mountains to find him later next week. A friend and his pack are going to take me in. But next week is so far away! I'm going to die waiting."

He grins and touches my hand. My heart gives a little jump. "Don't die. That would deprive me of a good reason to come into town."

"To visit me?" The words slip out before I can stop them.

He laughs again, that rich sound that makes me smile. "You and your bakery. If you could go sooner to find this werebear, would you?"

"Sure. I'd go this afternoon if I could. I'd just need somebody who could help me find the werebear's valley."

The stranger considers me, and then seems to reach a decision. "Well, it looks like I'm being all kinds of presumptuous today. My visit in town is about wrapped up. If you like, I could guide you to this valley. I think I know the werebear you're speaking of. We're friends, you could say, and I'm sure he wouldn't mind my bringing you 'round."

"Really?" This can't be happening. This can't be real. Did he just offer to take me on a three day hike to the werebear's valley? Me and this dangerously hot man, out camping together in the beautiful fall woods? I've died and gone to heaven. Images of campfires and tents dance through my mind, his face lit by dancing red light, the two of us lying close in the same tent, his body against mine, his hands moving over my skin, our lips meeting, his deep voice groaning in need – "Sure. I mean, if that's all right. I wouldn't want to inconvenience you in any way."

He smiles. "Not at all. I love to walk the mountains. It would be my pleasure. My name's... Arthur."

"Arthur. I'm Anita. A pleasure to meet you." I stick out my hand, grinning in disbelief.

"The pleasure is all mine, Anita." His hand engulfs mine, his palm dry and warm, his grip gentle. I feel all my bones liquefy. Would it be rude to hop into his lap right now? He smiles and releases my hand, and I blush again, realizing I've just been sitting there staring into his eyes. "How about we head out in the morning? That should give you time to get your stuff together. It's a three day hike, so you'll need a tent, hiking boots, the usual. Have you ever been hiking before?"

I haven't in years, but he doesn't need to know that. "Sure. Where shall I meet you?"

"How about right here at seven o'clock? We'll get an early start, and with a little luck make one of my favorite campsites well before dusk."

"That sounds lovely." That sounds heavenly, divine, perfect, ravishing, absolutely amazingly gorgeously wonderful. Arthur hesitates, then stands. Good god, I've forgotten just how huge he is. He's taller than Blake, broader around the shoulders and barrel chested. A mountain of a man. I smile, about to put my chin in my palm and just admire him, when I realize I should stand as well. I scramble to my feet.

"Well, it was a pleasure meeting you, Anita. I'll see you tomorrow morning."

"Seven o'clock!" I say, far too cheerfully. He smiles, then steps down off the porch and ambles away.

I sink slowly back into my seat and watch him go. Of course he has a perfect ass. Oh, those jeans. Thank you Levi's, or Guess, or whoever made them. I'm going to send them a thank you letter. The view simply couldn't be any better.

What's wrong with me? Here I am planning a scrumptious camping trip with the hunkiest man who's ever stepped into my life, and forgetting all about Gerry's revelations. I can't just disappear for a week with my father in danger. I bite my lower lip. I haven't spoken to my dad since I ran away, knowing that the chances of his convincing me to come back are high. I just love him too much, and one note of pain or vulnerability will send my defenses crumbling. But now's the time. I grab my flip phone. Scrunch up my face and punch his number in. I take a deep breath and stand up, stepping off Mindy's porch to stand before my future bakery. If I keep my dreams front and center, I should be able to stay strong.

The phone rings. Once, twice, three times. "Hello?" It's my dad's voice. A little hoarse, tired, but him through and through.

"Dad?" My voice quavers. "It's Anita."

"Anita. Thank god. Is everything OK?"

"Yes, everything's fine. More than fine. I'm doing great. How are you?" I feel like hiding in a corner so I can cry. How have I not called him in three months?
Because he wanted to marry you to Gerry, is why
, says a hard new voice.

"I'm hanging in there. No complaints on my end. Other than missing my little girl, and worrying about her nightly. You sure you're doing all right?"

So many harsh things almost come to my lips.
If you care so much, why are you selling me off to Gerry?
But I bite down and take a deep breath. "I was, until I ran into Gerry. He almost assaulted me. Said you swore an oath promising me to him, and Dad, he threatened you. Said if you broke this oath, they'd kill you." It all comes out in a hot rush. "Is that true?"

Silence. The knot in my throat is the size of a bicycle tire. I stare at nothing, waiting, listening intently. Finally I hear my dad sigh. "Yes, honey. It's true."

"Why? Can you just tell me why you did this?" The tears are running hot down my cheeks. I'm not as cool or collected as I thought. I want to laugh at myself. Why did I think three months would change my love for my dad? Remove me, shield me, from this madness?

"Oh, Nita." There's a world of sorrow in that voice. "I didn't have a choice." I realize that he's going to tell me. I hear him grunt as he wheels himself somewhere, and then another sigh. "That night we got hit. The night your mother died."

A bowling ball drops right past the bicycle wheel into my stomach. Oh god. We never talk about that night. The night a drunk stranger plowed into our car, killing my mother, breaking my father's back, and changing our lives forever. I awoke in the hospital, completely unhurt, but knocked out and spared the horrific sight of the blood. The death. My mother.

"What? What about that night?"

"You were dying." My father's voice sounds almost broken. "Glass had gotten into your throat. Your stomach. You were... oh, Nita. You were dying. I crawled to you, but I couldn't do a thing. You were dying in my arms."

I stare glassily at my bakery. "No. I woke up fine in the hospital."

"That's because Harold healed you. He came running. Pulled us out. And told me he could heal you. I was delirious. I didn't believe him, but what the hell. I was willing to try anything. He made me swear that if he saved you, I'd make you marry his son when the time came." My father laughs weakly. "I'd have agreed to anything. So then he healed you. He said these words, and this crazy wind whipped through the trees, sending snow everywhere like a blizzard. And when I could see you again, you were – you were fine. Unhurt."

This is too much. I need to sit down. There's no chair within reach, so I sink down onto the curb. "He saved my life?"

"In exchange for your marrying Gerry."

"But..." I don't know what to say. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I wanted to save you from it. I've fought Harold ever since, trying to find a way to break my oath. I wanted to shield you from this. I thought I could get you out of it, but nothing I've been able to do has worked. I haven't even been able to make enough money to try to bribe our way out."

Dad's disability pay was enough to cover our bills, but little more than that. "Is that why you always kept me close?"

"Yeah." Another heavy sigh. "I always thought if you stayed home, I could protect you. Keep Harold at bay." He snorts bitterly. "How, I don't know. God, I'm sorry, Nita. I'm so sorry."

"You saved my life." I hear myself say those words, but I still feel like I'm floating in space ten feet above my own head.

"No. Harold did. And now he won't wait any longer. I'm all out of tricks. Excuses. Lies. But, Nita. Listen to me."

"No." Tears well again. I know what he's going to say.

"Listen. I've lived a full life. You're healthy. You're young. Don't come back. Don't marry Gerry. Let Harold come for me. I'm happy to go if it means your being free."

"No!"

"These past three months. I've had a lot of time to think. I'm happy to pay the price. Happier than you know."

"Stop saying that, Dad. Stop. I have new friends." I think of Rachel. "A powerful new friend. Someone like Harold. Let me go talk to her. She might be able to help."

"Well, if you think so." He sounds dubious.

"I do. Rachel can work miracles. I'll call you right back." I leap to my feet, seized by energy and purpose. "Let me call you right back!"

Chapter 4

I run the whole way back to Honeycomb Hall, which given my lack of general exercise is something. I can flip pancakes for hours, but ask me to jog ten blocks and I'll just laugh as I lean back in my chair and take a huge bite out of a biscotti. But today I run like the hounds of hell are at my heels, pumping my arms and blowing out my cheeks. Thank the lord it's only a quarter mile, but still, I race along the country road till the iron gates of the Hall come into view. I slow down, puffing and blowing, and struggle up the driveway. Hui and Rachel are sitting on the porch out front having drinks in the rocking chairs, and at the sight of me they both leap to their feet.

"Anita?" Rachel comes rushing down the steps.

"Rachel." I lean over, hands on my knees, sweat dripping down my nose. "Help. Please."

"What's wrong? What happened? Hui, get Blake."

"No." I gulp down more air. "Rachel. My father. He saved my life. Car accident. Magic?"

"What?" Rachel leads me up the steps and pushes me down into the rocking chair. "Stop. Breathe. Then start from the beginning."

Hui has pulled a mop from somewhere and is standing guard beside me, mop held like a spear, eyes narrowed. I want to laugh and hug her at the same time. How would I handle this crisis without my friends? I want to cry with gratitude. I take one final breath, feel my racing heart slow, and start. "When I was a teenager. We got in a car accident. My mother died, and my father's back was broken. I thought I got through it uninjured, by my dad just told me I was almost killed. Was going to die."

Rachel sinks into the chair across from me, nodding as I speak, listening intently.

"I was dying. And this man came out of the woods. Harold. He offered to heal me if my dad promised my hand in marriage to his son. My dad agreed, Harold healed me, and since then my dad's been trying to find a way to break the oath. I ran into Gerry, Harold's son, who told me time was up. My dad will die if I don't marry him. Please. You have to help me. Can you speak to Harold? Help find a way to break the promise?"

Rachel's eyes have gone wide, and when I finish she lifts her drink and takes a pensive sip. "I'm still new to all this witching stuff, but of course I'll help. Let me ask Simon Two. Hold on." She gets up and disappears inside. Hui picks up her drink from where she'd balanced it on the rail and hands it to me. I take a sip. Gin and tonic. I cough, then take a big gulp.

A moment later Rachel emerges, Mama B's staff of power in hand. Her face looks grave. "I've asked, and Simon says that if it was an honest oath, freely given, then it can't be broken from outside. This Harold didn't force your father. So he's truly bound."

My heart sinks. I don't know what I expected. For her to wave her hands and fix everything? "Is there nothing we can do?"

Rachel cocks her head as if she's listening, and then nods. "Well, Simon suggests we call Harold and offer him something else in exchange. Something of equal or greater value. The only way out is to have Harold himself dissolve the oath."

"But – I don't have anything of value." Then it hits me. "Other than my ten thousand dollars. And maybe Mr. Whitman's fifty thousand?"

"Money is good," says Hui. "Cash is king."

"But how do I call Harold?" I feel on the verge of panic. "And I don't even have the fifty thousand yet. If I gave it to Harold I'd go to jail."

"Hmm." Rachel taps her lips. "Here's what I suggest. Offer him the ten thousand and a partnership in your bakery, giving him a large percentage of the profits for a set amount of time. It's a bad situation, but with hard work and time, you'll be able to get him out of your life."