Kitabı oku: «Texas Fever», sayfa 3

Holly Farraday, on the other hand, had a body made for hot, sweaty bumping and grinding. Long legs that wrapped around his waist and refused to let go. A soft, round ass that fit his hands just perfect. A smooth belly that felt whisper soft against his lips. Perky breasts that plumped in his hands and red nipples that ripened at the flick of his tongue.

His fingers flexed on the steering wheel. Restlessness clawed at his insides as he turned the truck onto the main road and pressed down on the accelerator. The engine roared to life, eating up gravel and dust at a frantic pace that matched his heartbeat.

He’d had a hunch she wouldn’t sell the moment she’d suggested dinner on Friday night after they’d had sex. Dinner meant tomorrow and tomorrow meant next week, and next week meant that he was shit out of luck. But he’d promised his grandfather, and himself, and so he’d swallowed his skepticism and driven out to the Farraday Inn today and made his offer.

And then another. And another.

And the whole friggin’ time, the only thing he’d been thinking of was, not how much he wanted the land, but how much he wanted her.

Under him, surrounding him, squeezing his cock with her sweet heat until he couldn’t think anymore.

Not about the past and his own mistake that still ate away inside of him. Not about the present and fixing his grandfather’s mistake. And not about the future and the guilt that would stay with him for the rest of his life if he didn’t make amends right now and put the Iron Horse back together.

He might not be able to do it.

Before he had a chance to dwell on the realization, his cell phone rang.

Josh checked the caller ID and pressed the talk button.

“How’s it hangin’, bro?”

“It isn’t.” Mason McGraw’s voice floated over the line. “It’s gone into permanent hiding.”

“Don’t tell me you’ve got a pissed-off father on your tail.”

“Worse.”

Josh started to ask about a pissed-off husband, but he knew better. While he and his brothers had varied tastes when it came to women—Josh went for the temporary beauties who steered free of commitment, Mason had a thing for party-hearty, blue-eyed blondes with big breasts, while Rance liked them tall and classy—they all lived by one rule. No married women. “Two pissed-off fathers?” he asked instead.

“I wish. Try a kindergarten teacher with a really loud biological clock.”

“Since when do you do schoolteachers?”

“I didn’t do her. We’re just friends. At least, I thought we were up until last night when she asked me if I liked the name Jason. I said yes and she said good because it’s the name she’s picked out for baby number one. I haven’t even kissed her and she’s talking babies, for chrissake. I can’t have a kid right now. I mean, someday, sure. But now? And when I do, I’m sure as hell not going to name him Jason. It’s an all right name, but my boy is going to be a junior—”

“Whoa, back up a second. You and this teacher are just friends? As in order a pizza, watch the game and share a few beers?”

“This is the Black Hills, bro. I’m smack-dab in the middle of a five-thousand-acre ranch centered around a small town, population eight hundred. The closest pizza place is a good three hours away. She offered to cook.” When Josh let loose a loud whistle, Mason added, “Look, it’s not like that. At least I didn’t think it was like that. I see her every now and then when I go into town. She knows I’m from Texas and she likes the Houston Texans. We talk football. At least we did talk football until last night.”

“What did she cook?”

“What difference does it make?”

“Well, if she served you a Hungry Man, I’d say you’re probably overreacting. TV dinners don’t require the same commitment as real food.”

“She made stew.”

“Uh-oh.”

“And home-baked rolls.”

“You’re totally screwed,” Josh told him. “Unless you clean the slate right now. Turn down the next dinner date.”

“That’s not an option.”

“Why not?”

“Because I already said yes. I started to say no, but then she looked like she was going to cry and I buckled. Christ, I need to hurry the hell up and get out of here.”

“How much longer?”

“We’re inseminating the last batch of cattle next week. After that, it’s just paperwork and planning. I should wrap everything up in about three to four weeks. Five at the most. What am I going to do?”

“Get used to the name Jason.”

“Kiss my ass.”

Josh laughed. “It’s good to see the stress hasn’t affected your charm.” An idea struck just as he said the words. “That’s it, bro.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re stuck in this situation because you’re not looking at this woman as a woman. I’m assuming she’s nowhere near Triple B status.”

“She’s a brunette. Brown eyes. Good sense of humor. Smart. I’m not sure about her figure because she wears these loose, overall type dresses like Ms. Crenshaw.” Ms. Crenshaw had been their third-grade teacher. She’d worn thick, chunky black shoes and said, “Sit up straight!” in a voice that had made even the McGraw brothers snap to attention. “She might have a decent chest. I don’t know. I don’t think of her like that.”

“So start. She obviously thinks you’re this nice, professional, mild-mannered sort of guy who likes animals. While you do like animals, you’re also capable of acting like one.”

“I never really thought about it like that. It’ll take some effort—she actually told me to sit up straight at dinner last night—but I can do it.”

“And do it fast.”

“You anxious to leave already?”

“I’m anxious for a good night’s sleep. I’ve got Uncle Eustace and Aunt Lurline arguing down the hall every night.” And one sweet, sexy-as-hell woman now haunting his thoughts.

“Just keep your pants on and I’ll be there soon.”

Too late, Josh thought as he punched the end button and slid the phone onto the dashboard. Too friggin’ late.

A HALF HOUR after closing the door on Josh, Holly eyed the rich fudge dessert she’d just removed from the oven. She’d run out of flour halfway through the recipe and so the cake had turned out more ho-hum than extreme. The edges sagged and the middle had caved in enough to give it a lopsided look. She pinched the edge and popped it into her mouth.

Rich chocolate exploded on her tongue and tantalized her taste buds for a long, heart-pounding moment. Not bad for ho-hum. Then again, she wasn’t an adequate judge at the moment, not with her senses still buzzing from a certain tall, dark and delicious cowboy.

His image pushed into her mind and heat swept through her body. Her hands trembled and her insides went all tight and itchy.

She turned toward the mixing bowl where she’d whipped up the concoction a half hour ago. Rich batter still coated the sides and her stomach growled. She grabbed a spoon and scraped one side before taking a bite. Where one was usually enough to kill any frustration eating away inside her, she had to scrape the entire bowl and lick both beaters before she felt even marginally satisfied.

She ate another spoonful for good measure before setting the empty bowl and beaters in the sink. The doorbell rang just as she turned to her computer to track her supply order.

“Finally,” she breathed as she hauled open the door to find a handful of women standing on her front porch.

“Welcome to Romeo,” they announced in unison.

“I’m Lolly Mae Langtree,” said the thirtysomething blonde standing in the middle. “President of the Juliets. We’re the organization for the single women in town. We coordinate with the Elks and the other men’s groups to plan mixers and give our members a chance to get out and meet Mr. Right.” She handed Holly a large, white, wrapped box decorated with a big, pink bow. “On behalf of everyone, I’d like to welcome you to Romeo.” She gave Holly a fierce hug. “We are so excited to have Rose’s very own granddaughter with us. It’s such a shame how the townsfolk used to treat her—the women, I mean—but you don’t have to worry a thing about that. This isn’t the Dark Ages anymore and we don’t sit around doing needlepoint and blaming Rose for the lack of commitment-minded men in town like the Juliets before us.”

“That’s right. We’re really into quilting now, and we aren’t the least bit threatened by your know-how.”

“What Marcia Renee is trying to say,” Lolly offered, “is that we respect you on a professional level.”

“That’s right,” one of the other women chimed in. “We know you’re not here to drain the pool of available men.”

“What Cookie Michelle is trying to say,” Lolly added, “is that we know you’re here in a purely professional capacity.”

“I make aphrodisiac desserts,” Holly said. “That’s my profession.”

“Of course, it is,” Lolly told her as she moved past her into the living room, a look of awe on her face. “So this is it.” She turned. “It doesn’t look a thing like I expected.”

“There isn’t an ounce of crushed red velvet anywhere,” another of the women said, her gaze open and excited. “Jennifer Susan Fitch,” she told Holly. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.” Her attention traveled the room. “I always thought there’d be crushed velvet. There’s always crushed velvet in all of the old Mae West movies.”

“True, but how can you tell it’s red crushed velvet?” another woman asked. “It could be orange or purple or even blue. The films are all in black and white, so there’s no way to really know.” She perched on the edge of the plastic-wrapped sofa just delivered yesterday.

“Red is risqué,” Jennifer said as she followed the woman’s lead and seated herself. “It has to be red.”

“You only say that because you just redecorated your bedroom in red and you’re hoping it’ll work on Charlie.”

“I am not. First off, Charlie and I have only had two dates. He certainly hasn’t seen my bedroom at this point. But when he does, he’ll be swept away with passion because red is a sensual color. Red says sex. Hot, vibrant, exciting sex. The apple in the garden of Eden was red.” Her look said so there.

“How do you know it was red? Maybe it was a Granny Smith?”

“What woman would forfeit eternity for a Granny Smith?”

“Maybe it was a Gala,” another woman offered.

“I’d believe a Gala before I’d believe a Granny Smith. At least they’re sweet, and they’re red.”

“They’re a pale, washed-out red.”

“Girls, girls,” Lolly chimed in as she perched on the arm of an overstuffed, plastic-wrapped chair. “I’m sure Holly doesn’t want to hear us debate the merits of apples.”

“Actually, it’s sort of fascinating.” Holly had never had real friends of her own—she and her mother had moved too much and later, when she’d been stuck in the same city in foster care, she’d still gone from family to family. She’d always wanted to join in on the conversations in the girls’ locker room or at lunch, but she’d learned early on to hold back.

Getting too friendly only made leaving that much harder.

Not anymore.

“You’re sweet. Isn’t she sweet, girls?” A dozen heads bobbed in agreement. “I know you’ve got bigger things to worry over. Moving from a new town has got to be exhausting.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“Good, because the girls and I were hoping you could make time to attend our monthly luncheon. It’s always the third Tuesday and we have some really great speakers. We’re primarily focused on topics that appeal to single women.”

“Namely men,” one of the other women chimed in.

“Definitely men.”

“How to find them. How to keep them. How to please them. That’s where you come in.”

“I’m not sure I’m following you—” Holly started, her words lost as Lolly linked arms with her.

“Why, where are my manners? You don’t just hand over a gift and then talk a woman’s ear off. You have to open it!” She ushered Holly over to the sofa.

The two women on the sofa scooted apart and patted the spot between them. Holly adjusted her grip on the heavy box as she found herself steered into the spot between them.

“Go on,” one woman said.

“Open it,” came another encouragement.

With a dozen interested gazes hooked on her, she pulled off the bow and tore off the wrapping paper. She eyed the colorful patchwork quilt nestled in white tissue paper and a memory pulled at her.

She’d been in the second grade, sitting in the back of Mrs. Klatt’s room, watching the entire class sing happy birthday to one of the other students. A girl with long blond hair and pink Barbie boots. The most popular girl at Chicago’s Wallaby Elementary. Mrs. Klatt had presented the girl with a cupcake sporting a blazing pink candle while the kids had piled dozens of handmade gifts onto her desk. It was a tradition repeated for every student in Mrs. Klatt’s class.

Everyone except Holly.

Her birthday came and went the following week, but there was no cupcake or candle or presents, or even a birthday song. Because Holly came and went herself, too fast for anyone to learn her birthday, much less remember it.

She blinked back the hot tears that sprang to her eyes. “It’s really beautiful.”

“Jennifer made it,” Lolly said. “She sells them at her shop in town—Quilts and Stuff. She also sells the most divine candles…” The woman’s voice faded as Holly’s attention shifted back to the gift. Her fingers stroked the soft embroidery as she read the sentiment in bright pink stitch…

Home Sweet Home.

Something soft and warm unfolded inside of her, and she smiled.

“So you’ll come then?” Lolly was saying. “To the luncheon?”

“I don’t usually take time off during the week,” she started. Usually. But Holly was doing away with her usual routine. She was starting fresh. Planting roots. Making friends. “I’d love to be there.”

“Wonderful,” Lolly said as she pushed to her feet.

“We can really use your help,” Jennifer told her. “Your grandmother was the guru when it came to pleasing men and heaven knows we need all the help we can get.”

“That’s right,” another woman chimed in. “Charlene Singer—she’s the resident sexpert—is always preaching the same old, same old about inner beauty and emotional attraction and clicking on a psychological wavelength, but she doesn’t give us anything really solid to work with.”

“Like positions,” one of the women chimed in.

“And techniques,” another offered as they all moved toward the doorway.

“We think it’s so cool that you’re continuing the family tradition,” Lolly told her as she pulled open the front door. “Why, when we heard you specialized in ultimate orgasms, I activated the phone tree right away. Every Juliet in the county knows you’re here and they’ll be thrilled to hear that you’re going to speak.”

“Speak? But I thought it was a luncheon?”

“You’re the luncheon speaker.” Lolly beamed. “It’ll be our most informative meeting yet. It’s about time the women in this town learned how to really please a man.”

“But I cook for a living.”

“That’s what we’re counting on.”

“But—” Holly started, only to bite back the rest of her protest when Lolly turned expectant eyes on her. Holly’s hands tightened on the soft quilt. “But I’ll need some time to prepare.” Okay, that wasn’t the no cotton-picking way she’d intended, but she couldn’t very well be rude. They’d come all this way outside of town and brought her a really great present and they were so nice.

“The luncheon isn’t for three weeks. We meet at the community center off of Main Street. Cookie does the decorations, Jennifer provides the linens and we have the food catered in. This month is barbecued venison, so don’t wear anything light-colored. Last time, Jill Marie Smith wore shell-pink. She’s still trying to get the stains out of her lap. We’ll see you then,” Lolly rushed on. “And before then, I’m sure. It’s such a small town.”

“But—” Holly started again. The protest fell on deaf ears as she found herself passed from one woman to the next in a series of loose, informal hugs before the door slammed quickly shut.

As she stood in the center of her living room, the quilt in her hands, and tried to catch her breath, the truth of what she’d just done came barreling at her like a semi with bad brakes.

A luncheon speech. About pleasing a man.

A luncheon speech. About pleasing a man.

First off, the closest she’d ever come to a speech had been a ninth grade book report at school number eight. But that had been different. It didn’t matter that she’d had to read verbatim from her paper or that some of the kids had snickered when she’d mispronounced tyrannosaurus because she’d known there would be another science class down the road, and she’d been right. Five months later, she’d changed schools again, and families.

But this… This was different.

This was home.

Home Sweet Home.

As for the man-pleasing part… The only person she usually pleased was herself—with a scrumptious dessert or an intense session with her favorite vibrator.

Up until Friday night, that is. She’d pleased Josh and he’d certainly pleased her, but there’d been no formula to it. It had just happened. She was a baker, for heaven’s sake.

But the Juliets didn’t seem to realize that. She was Rose Farraday’s granddaughter and, therefore, a chip off the old block when it came to men and pleasure. Adding to the misconception was the fact that she did profit from sex, what with the sensual nature of her desserts.

She had to set them straight.

That’s what she told herself when the doorbell rang a few minutes later. Just open your mouth and set the record straight.

She reached for the doorknob.

4

“I CAN’T TALK about how to please a man,” Holly said as she opened the door.

“No problem.” Sue—from the saloon on Friday night—stood on the front porch. “I’m really good at following written directions.” The woman wore an old Texas Rangers jersey, tan shorts and flip-flops. Her hair had been pulled back in a ponytail. Her eyes looked red-rimmed. Dark shadows puddled beneath, as if she’d tossed and turned all night. And cried. She’d definitely been up crying.

Concern welled inside Holly and her own anxiety fled. “I’m really sorry. I thought you were one of the Juliets.”

“I guess I am now. I am single.” Sue tried to smile but the expression didn’t quite touch her eyes. “I don’t mean to barge in on you, but I had to say thanks. It was really nice of you to see me home on Friday night.”

“Glad I could help. I know you’re hurting right now, but things will get better. Especially if you try to stay busy. Find a way to occupy your free time.”

Holly knew that firsthand because she’d done so after the breakup of her only romantic relationship. She’d thrown herself into school after breaking up with Don whom she’d dated a whopping four months during her first year in college.

She’d approached the situation with reservations because she’d always made it a habit of keeping her distance when it came to any type of relationship. But Don had been so sweet and she’d been so vulnerable. She’d never had a real boyfriend and the temptation was too much to resist since she knew she wouldn’t be picking up and leaving anytime soon—she was only a freshman on a full academic scholarship to the University of Houston. She hadn’t counted on the fact that Don would party too much, flunk out of school and be forced to return to his home in Alabama.

She’d been so hurt, she’d eaten her way through an entire bowl of fudge batter—chocolate helped sate her lustful cravings, but fudge soothed any hurt. She’d also cried and wallowed in her self-pity, but then she’d picked herself back up and focused on her life. On beefing up her defenses and moving on.

Her gaze went to Sue’s red-rimmed eyes and her uncertain expression, and Holly’s chest tightened. She’d only been in like with Don. She couldn’t imagine the hurt if she’d let herself fall in love with him.

“You should definitely keep busy,” Holly went on.

“I’m glad you said that because I have something to ask you.” The woman pulled back her shoulders and lifted her chin as if to summon her courage. “I want to work for you.” Before Holly could reply, she rushed on, “I’m single and I hate it, and the only way to change it is to make some changes.” Uncertainty flashed in her gaze before she seemed to gather her confidence. She squared her shoulders again. “I’m going to turn myself into a sex kitten and lure my Bert Wayne back home. I figure I’ll have to work on my looks and go on a diet. While I’m doing that, I want to beef up my know-how when it comes to pleasing my man. I know the nuts and bolts, of course. It’s not like I’m a virgin or anything. But I was hoping you could teach me the extras.”

“Me?”

“You’re an expert.”

“I’m afraid the only thing I can teach you is the difference between whisking and beating.”

Sue seemed to think for a second. “I’ve never really been into any sort of bondage, but I guess I could give it a try. And I’ll work really hard. I won’t even take a lunch break. I’ll be so dedicated you won’t regret giving me this chance. I swear.”

“I’m not in the pleasure business,” Holly said, determined to set the record straight before she found herself committed to private lessons in addition to a speech on the subject. “I mean, I am. I please the taste buds. I don’t please men.”

“But the word around town is that you give the best orgasms around.”

“I don’t give orgasms. I make them.”

“I know. That’s why I’m here.”

“I make them in my kitchen.” She motioned Sue inside and led her into the kitchen. Picking up a mouthwatering confection, she turned to the woman. “Meet my Ultimate White Chocolate Orgasm, also available in milk chocolate.”

“It’s a dessert.”

“Not just any dessert. It’s a dessert for lovers. An aphrodisiac dessert meant to tantalize your taste buds and spice up your love life. So you see, while I am in the sex business, I’m not in the sexual act business. What I do is not nearly as exciting.” She eyed Sue, noting the woman’s suddenly bright eyes and trembling lips, as if Holly had snatched away her last hope.

“But I could use some help,” Holly heard herself say. “I had a full-time baking assistant back in Houston. I haven’t had a chance to post any want ads for some kitchen help, but I’m definitely hiring. If you’re interested.”

“I won’t get to sleep with anyone?”

“Not during working hours.”

“And I won’t get to learn all those fancy hand job techniques that supposedly make a man beg for more?”

“The only thing your hands will be doing is running a mixer and pouring ingredients. But I do offer a nice dental plan and decent health insurance.”

“Paid vacation?”

“One week after the first six months. And you get all the free desserts you can eat.”

Sue eyed the various goodies spread out on the massive table. “Aphrodisiac, you say?” At Holly’s nod, she added, “Well, it does hint at sex. Sort of.” She shrugged. “I guess making sexy desserts could be almost as sexy as selling my body.” She inhaled, her nostrils flaring at the scent of chocolate that filled the air, and a grin tugged at her lips. “You know, I actually do feel sexy.”

“The smell of chocolate releases pheromones in the brain that trigger a sense of well-being.”

She inhaled again and her expression turned into a full-blown smile. “This turning over a new leaf is going to work, I just know it. Bert will be begging to come back in no time.” She rubbed her hands together and glanced around. “Where do I start?”

“You follow this recipe and start a batch of Ooey Gooey Ecstasy in mixer number two.” Holly handed her a folded apron from a nearby countertop and a pair of gloves. “The pecans and ginseng are in that cabinet over there. The rest of the stuff I have laid out on the countertop. I’m going to head to town and pick up some emergency bags of flour at the Food-o-rama to tide us over until the UPS guy comes.”

“You might want to buy out the store. I saw Duke’s truck go by here when I pulled in the driveway. He’s the UPS contractor for this area. FedEx, too. He makes all the deliveries and judging by the direction he was heading, I don’t think you’ll get yours until sunset, at the earliest.”

“But it’s supposed to be delivered by noon.”

“Yeah, well, Duke isn’t one for following the rules when it comes to outsiders. Marge Jacoby moved back here from Centerville last year and waited damned near six months before she started getting her Home Shopping Club orders when she was supposed to.”

“Is she getting them on time now?”

Sue smiled. “Now that you’re here and someone’s taken her place as the resident outsider. But don’t worry. When someone else moves in to town, you’ll be out of the hot seat.”

“In six months.”

“Or longer. We don’t exactly have a population spurt going on right now.”

Holly shook her head. “I am so screwed.”

Sue shrugged. “Come now, things could be worse. The Food-o-rama could be closing early today like they do on Mondays, on account of Wilson Jamison—the owner—is the head moose over at the lodge and Monday is poker night.”

“It is Monday.”

“Oh.” Sue shrugged. “I guess you really are screwed then.”

HOLLY PULLED into the parking lot of Romeo’s only grocery store five minutes before closing time and let loose a sigh of relief.

The Food-o-rama was a medium-size building located on the corner of the only significant intersection in town. It looked fairly new, with a paved parking lot, a shiny glass storefront and a huge sign with the name Food-o-rama in red script letters. The entire place would probably fit into the customer service department of a Wal-Mart Supercenter, but in the small town of Romeo, it seemed massive compared to the small businesses that lined nearby Main Street.

Climbing from her SUV, Holly snatched up her purse and rushed into the store. She grabbed a basket, dodged her way past several shoppers and found the flour with three minutes to spare.

Six bags languished on the shelf next to several empty rows.

Six? Six bags wouldn’t get her through the order from Timmons Caterers, much less a full day’s production.

Frustration started to well, but she quickly tamped it back down. She could deal with this. Surely, Duke would make the delivery before dark. She could work through the night thereafter. She normally shipped out her desserts on Monday, Wednesday and Friday. But she could adjust her schedule and ship early tomorrow morning. Duke didn’t do refrigerated items and so she’d found a shipping center in nearby Cherryville that could ship out her desserts. As for supplies…she’d anticipated having them sent directly to her house but she might have to rethink that plan and pick up her shipments in Cherryville if Duke didn’t come through in the future.

But she intended to give him a chance first and, in the meantime, make due with the six available bags… Make that five.

Her mouth dropped open as a thin, frail arm reached past her and snagged one of the bags.

She turned to see a small, fragile-looking woman with snow-white hair, a rose-printed dress and white patent leather pumps.

“Wait,” Holly blurted as the woman set the flour in her cart. “I really need that.”

“I beg your pardon, dear?” She reached for another bag.

“I’m a professional baker and I haven’t got my shipment of flour.”

“What a small world. Why, I’m a baker, too, of sorts. I mainly brew tea right now, but I’ve decided to try my hand at making some homemade scones to go with my special recipe Earl Grey.” She snagged a second bag of flour before Holly could protest. “There’s nothing like homemade scones to make a person extra thirsty. Say—” She adjusted the thick bifocals that perched on the tip of her nose and fastened around her neck via a shiny gold chain. “You wouldn’t be that there baker who’s set up shop out at Rose’s place?”

“You’ve heard about me?”

“It’s a small town, dear.”

“I mean, of course, you’ve heard about me. But you obviously heard the truth.”

“That’s because I listen with both ears instead of just hearing the juicy parts. I’ve never been one for gossip. Gossip poisons people, that’s what my Lester used to say.” Sadness flashed in her eyes before she managed another smile. “He was never much for gossip, either, which is why we fit like two peas in a pod. Or we used to until he passed on about five years back.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be, child.” She patted Holly’s arm. “We had a lot of years together. And shared a lot of tea. He always loved my tea, and so I opened up shop a few years back and what do you know? Half the town loves my stuff, too. I’m Martha Reynolds.” She held out her hand. “I own Miss Martha’s Tearoom over by the courthouse.”

“Holly Farraday. I own Sweet & Sinful. My business is primarily Web-based, so I work out of my home.”

“The Farraday Inn?”

“Rose left it to me. She was my grandmother.”

“Of course she was, child. Why, you’re the spitting image of her.”

“You knew her?”

“Everyone in town knew Rose. So you’ve turned the Farraday Inn into a bona fide bakery, have you?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Her gaze dropped to the flour in Miss Martha’s cart. “I’d be willing to pay you for those bags.”

“But I haven’t bought them yet.”

“Then I’d be willing to pay you not to buy them.”

The woman smiled, her face scrunching into a mass of wrinkles. Her pale blue eyes lit with amusement. “What if you can’t afford me?”

“How much are you asking?”

She seemed to think for a moment. “A free dessert?”

“I’ll make it two.”

“I s’pose I could just pick up a package of tea cookies on the next aisle and try my hand at baking some other time.”

“My treat.”

“In that case, I think these are yours.” She handed over the flour and led Holly over to the cookie aisle.

Minutes later, Holly stood in front of the Food-o-rama, handed over the two boxes of Danish Butter Cookies she’d purchased and thanked Miss Martha again.