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  “You’ve got flour…” His voice was the first flash of lightning. “…right here.”

  “Thanks.” The word barely came.

  “And a smudge of sugar…” His thumb brushed her lower lip. “…here.”

  “I’d better…I should…” Traci backed up, right into the table. A stainless steel bowl bobbled and teetered on the table’s ledge.

  Dylan rescued it. “That was close.” He set it on the table once more and shifted his gaze back to her. “You OK?”

  “I’m…yeah.” Traci wiggled from him. “It’s just awfully warm in here. The oven’s been working overtime all day.”

  “I’ll open this window.” Dylan lifted the glass over the sink and a breeze rushed in. “Is that better?”

  “Yes. Thanks.” Traci busied her hands by turning away and attacking the sugar and butter with a whisk. Her pulse refused to return to a normal cadence as she determined to restore a bit of sanity back to the conversation. She wondered if Dylan sensed the change in her, and had he felt the same internal shift of emotions? She gulped hard, watching him from the corner of her eye.

  His gaze held as he studied her with the scrutiny of wolves she’d heard roamed the Angelina Forest.

  Her voice trembled as she asked, “You said you have a wedding tomorrow? Where?”

  “Hemlock Street, two o’clock.”

  Hemlock…it was an omen. “I have a wedding reception on Hemlock Street at two tomorrow.”

  “Is that so?” Dylan eased back in beside her. He got to work on the eggs as the hint of a grin bowed his lips. “Well, you know what that means, don’t you?”

  “No. What?”

  “We can car pool. I’ll pick you up at noon. My SUV is big enough to haul all the equipment I’ll need and your cake.”

  “Excuse me, but you don’t haul a cake.” The comment helped set Traci’s emotions back on stable ground. She suddenly imagined the creamed batter was Dylan’s head as she whipped it into a fluffy froth. He obviously knew nothing about running a cake business. “Cakes aren’t like electronic equipment or music stored in a laptop that can be tossed into the back of a vehicle. Cakes should be transported with great care.”

  “Yeah, OK. My SUV is roomy enough to haul all my equipment and transport your cake with the utmost care. Does that work for you?”

  “Well, I could use some help delivering a design that’s this heavy and we are going to the same place.” She blew a wisp of hair from her forehead. “Are you a safe driver?”

  “Am I a safe…?” Dylan rolled his eyes as laughter bubbled up. “I guess you’ll find out.”

  ****

  “So, how did you get into the cake business?” Dylan asked as Traci plopped summer-green fondant onto the table.

  “I kind of stumbled into it.” She worked a rolling pin over the mound, smoothing it into a thin, rectangular shape. “When one of my friends was pregnant with her first child a few years ago, she wanted to do a reveal party, and I offered to make a cake for her.”

  “A reveal party? What’s that?”

  “It’s like a baby shower, except the baby’s gender is also disclosed with the help of a cake—pink batter announces the lucky couple is going to have a girl, blue for a boy.”

  “Ah, I see.” What crazy custom would they think of next? “And…?”

  “Well, I made this cute little design adorned with yellow baby booties and safety pins fashioned from silver-dusted fondant with a to-die-for strawberry sponge filling, and it was such a hit that I got half-a-dozen orders on the spot…a pair of graduations, two weddings, a bridal shower, and a retirement party. That was three years and two kids ago. Those orders garnered more, and the chain just kept lengthening. Word of mouth traveled so quickly I had a hard time keeping up. That’s when I cut back hours on my day job as a media specialist at the Angel Falls Public Library and launched a website for online orders. When that exploded, I finally quit my day job altogether before diving head-first into cakes. I design, bake, decorate, and deliver, and I also teach a class on Thursday evenings at Angel Falls Community Church.”

  “I thought I saw a crowd of cars in the lot there last week when I was on my way back from a birthday gig.”

  “Yeah, the class has maxed out at twenty-two, which is actually two over the limit. But I couldn’t turn away sweet Mrs. Schroeder and her pixie of a granddaughter.” She scooted over and motioned for him to stand beside her as she picked up a utensil that looked like a thin, plastic knife. “This is a fondant tool. Watch me and learn fast, because you’re next up in the leaf-making department.”

  Her delicate fingers guided the tool along the fondant. With half-a-dozen quick, sure movements a rose leaf appeared. “Wow, you’re good.”

  “That’s what I get paid for. Now, it’s your turn.” She handed him the tool. “Show me what you’re made of, Mr. DJ.”

  He bobbled the knife before recovering to carve one slice, two, that resulted in an indecipherable green mess.

  “Sorry.” Why was he so nervous? This task was, literally, a piece of cake.

  “It’s OK.” Traci covered his hand with hers once again and slowly guided each cut. Her touch was like flint to a flame, setting Dylan’s belly on fire. What had gotten into him? He supposed that watching her come close to passing out had ignited an instinct to protect…and more, much more. He swallowed hard as he struggled to concentrate on her instructions. “Like that. Try again.”

  “I’m not sure…” His hand trembled, but he managed to go at the fondant once, twice, half-a-dozen times on his own. “How’s this?”

  “Not bad.” Traci nodded. “There’s hope for you yet.”

  “Thanks.” Her praise caused Dylan’s heart to soar like a kid who’d just learned to ride a two-wheeler without training wheels. “I suppose I’m getting the hang of it.”

  “Looks that way. Now, I’ll need three dozen of the leaves before we move on to a couple of sweetheart roses and some of the vine that needs to be replaced.” Traci poured rich and creamy yellow batter into three pans of varying sizes before slipping the trio into the pre-heated oven. “While these bake and cool, we’ll finish making the frosting and those fondant pieces. Then we ought to be able to put Humpty Dumpty back together again pretty quickly.”

  Dylan lifted his gaze to grin at her, glad she was beginning to relax. Maybe she wasn’t always so uptight. Maybe he’d just caught her at a bad time—nutrient deprived and at a sugar low. “I’m glad to see you can joke about it now.”

  “I think it’s the giddiness of fatigue setting in.” Her eyes seemed to shift colors beneath the kitchen lights. They were more blue now than green, softer somehow. “It’s been a long day.”

  “I’m sorry I made more work for you.”

  Traci draped a hand along his forearm and flashed a smile. “Apology accepted.”

  In that moment, Dylan longed to lean in and kiss her sugar-dusted lips. He talked himself down from the ledge, knowing that single action would most likely set him back to square one.

  Patience, Dylan…Be patient with her.

  The voice seemed to come from behind, like a gruff whisper in his ear. He turned, studied the area behind him. Nothing but cabinets and cluttered countertops. Music continued to stream softly from the radio—strains of a mellow country twang.

  Trust your heart…You’ll know when the time is right…

  Dylan shrugged it off and turned his attention back to Traci. She worked with an efficient grace, wasting no motion as she began to add ingredients for the frosting to a large plastic bowl. She sang along with the tune on the radio, her voice captivating Dylan as she reached for a stick of butter she’d softened in the microwave. The scent of her perfume, light and citrusy, mingled with sugar and thick cream she whipped into the frosting mix. How, with surroundings of sweet sugar and rich buttercream, was it possible for a woman to smell even better? Dylan’s mouth watered, and he swallowed hard before speaking.

  “You’ve got a really nice voice.”

&nb
sp; “Oh, was I singing?” A hint of blush painted Traci’s cheeks. “Sorry. Bad habit.”

  “I think it’s just the opposite. I like it. Go on.”

  Instead, Traci shifted gears as she manipulated the whisk. “How did you get into the DJ business?”

  Dylan dipped his finger along the edge of the bowl and snagged a taste of the batter. The flavor was music to his taste buds. “It’s a long story.”

  “That’s no problem.” One dainty eyebrow disappeared beneath wispy bands that spilled across Traci’s forehead as she worked. “We still have a lot of cake to finish. You can wash your hands before you dip them into anything else and then tell me.”

  “In that case…” Dylan surveyed the splash of flour and brown sugar, specks of fondant, eggshells, and tools that littered the table as he made his way to the sink. No kidding, they still had a lot of work ahead. There was more to this cake business than he’d thought. What happened to dumping a box of ready-made mix into a bowl, stirring in an egg or two, and tossing it all into the oven for thirty minutes before the eat and enjoy? He rolled the kinks from his shoulders and returned to the fondant where he formed another leaf. “A buddy of mine used to own the business. We did a pair of tours together overseas.”

  “Tours? Like with Triple A?”

  “No. Like with the Navy SEALS.” Dylan slipped a hand beneath the collar of his T-shirt, lifted a pair of dog tags. They jangled as he dropped them against his chest. “We went through training together, got deployed together, spent a year the first time and then almost eight months the second before…there was an accident during a search and rescue operation. Joe was shot down rappelling from one of the search helicopters. He never had a chance.”

  “Oh, Dylan…I had no idea. I’m so sorry.” Traci pressed a pair of fingers to the silver tags, flipped one over to read the inscription. The tenderness in her voice tossed Dylan off-kilter. His gaze lowered to her lips…plump, moist and dusted at one corner with a hint of brown sugar. Once more he fought the urge to kiss her. Somehow he imagined it would be safer to try to lasso a rattler. Yet, he was tempted. “How…when?”

  “I came back and Joe, well, he…didn’t. It was a tough time. Before we went in, we made a pact to take care of each other’s stuff if anything happened. Joe loved music. He had this dream to start his own business and invested in the equipment between tours. He planned to get out, go reserve when his tour was up. He didn’t have the chance. So, I did. I never imagined the music would become a full-time job; it just sort-of stuck. And music helps drown out the pain when the memories just keep battling.”

  “So that’s why…” Traci pressed a hand to her chest, a look of sadness shadowing her gaze. “Wow. Oh, I’m so sorry I gave you such a hard time, Dylan. I had no idea.”

  “It’s OK.” He swallowed hard as he skimmed her temple with his knuckle. “I mean, how could you know?”

  “Is it difficult, mixing music?”

  “Not as hard as this, by any means.” Dylan turned from Traci to take up the fondant tool once again. His fingers, slick with oil from the mix, slipped and the tool nearly skewered the cake again. “Oops, sorry. That was close. I guess we both have a lot to learn. You make it look so easy.”

  “It wasn’t so easy at first. Actually, I was way worse at it than you are now, and you’ve never even done this before. I’ve worked hard at it, put in a lot of practice over the past few years.”

  “Thanks for that…I think.”

  The timer on the oven buzzed. Traci threw open the door and tugged at one of the racks until the cake pan slipped forward. A quick poke with a toothpick along the batter that had solidified to spongy foam and she nodded. “Perfect.”

  “Let me get those.” Dylan grabbed a pair of oven mitts and lifted the pans, one by one, to wire cooling racks Traci had set out along the counter. “It smells good enough to devour.”

  “Don’t you dare take a nibble.” Traci gave his hand a playful smack as he reached for a bite. “No sampling or you’ll ruin this new batch.”

  “Doesn’t hurt to try.” He grinned at her. “I guess we can get these frosted now. Then we’ll be almost done.”

  “Not so fast, cowboy. They need time to cool first or they’ll just fall apart when I remove them from the pans. And if the sponge is too warm the frosting will simply melt off. Then we’ll be back to square one all over again.”

  “Well, that tosses a wrench into the mix. How long will they need to cool?”

  “About—”

  Traci was interrupted by footsteps along the back patio. Dylan glanced up to see a shadow weave through the potted plants. His senses launched to full alert. “Are you expecting company?”

  “No.” Traci started toward the patio entrance.

  “Hold up.” Dylan positioned himself between her and whoever lurked outside. “Let me take a look, first.”

  4

  “It’s fine.” Traci weaved a path around Dylan.

  “Wait.” Dylan rushed ahead to block her path. “It might be someone dangerous.”

  “Oh, for goodness sake, Dylan, I think the ‘someone dangerous’ is right here in my kitchen.” Traci laughed as she sidestepped him. “Are you always this paranoid?”

  “Not paranoid…cautious. It comes with the territory.” He peered into the night and nodded slightly when he saw Vivian Hart round the corner. She paused at the threshold, bathed in a halo of back-porch light.

  “Hi, Miss Vivian.” Traci skirted around Dylan to usher in the sweet, grandmotherly woman. Dylan sensed she possessed a hint of spunk to go with the salt-and-pepper hair. “To what do we owe this pleasure?”

  “Hello there, Traci…Dylan. I assure you the pleasure is all mine. May I impose on you for just a moment?”

  “Oh, it’s no imposition at all. Please, come pull up a chair, and let me pour you a cup of coffee. Dylan and I were just working on a project together.”

  “I see that.” Vivian crossed the room but paused just short of taking a seat. “How wonderful.”

  “How are you doing?” Traci opened the door of a cabinet above the sink and took a tall glass. “You’re a long way from the big house. Would you like some sweet tea?”

  “No tea, thank you. And I’m fine…just missing my Andrew something awful tonight. The moonlight is so beautiful. I think we’re having what the news people call a Super Moon…so bright and close. And the stars weave a sparkling velvet blanket. Andrew and I used to love to stroll together on nights such as this when the stars danced and the wind whispered through the treetops.” She turned toward the counter where the cakes sat cooling. “Oh, it smells simply divine in here. I knew it would. You’ve discovered the perfect combination…”

  “What’s that in your hand?” Dylan asked as he motioned to the small, brown jar clasped in Miss Vivian’s palm.

  “Oh, this…” Vivian passed the jar to Traci. “It’s just a bit of pure vanilla extract that I brought from the pantry at the big house. I thought you might need it while you’re whipping up the frosting for those gorgeous confections.”

  “I just started preparing the buttercream. But, I have…” Traci’s voice trailed off as she reached for a jar of vanilla perched on the table, shook the contents. “Oh, my. This jar’s empty, but, Miss Vivian, how did you know I would need it when I didn’t even realize until now?” Her eyes widened with disbelief. “And how did you know we’d be making frosting?”

  “A little bird told me.” Vivian glanced toward the ceiling and then turned to wink at Dylan as if they shared a secret. “You know, it’s a shame to waste such a beautiful night cooped up in this stifling kitchen.” She waved a hand in front of her face as if to emphasize the heat. “Perhaps, while those cakes cool, you two might take a stroll together along the greenway and enjoy the stars.”

  “Well, it will take a while for the layers to cool.” Traci nodded. “I suppose we could, Miss Vivian.”

  “Well, of course you can.”

  “I usually go for an evening run, but I missed th
at today since we had to…” Traci paused and shook her head. “Never mind that. But I’m sure Dylan would rather head to his cottage for a while than take a walk with me. He’s got music to mix, don’t you, Dylan?”

  “It can wait.” If Traci was going walking, Dylan was sure planning to join her—especially at this late hour. “I’ll go with you.”

  “Oh, that’s not necessary. Miss Vivian will walk with me.”

  “Oh, no, thank you, dear.” Vivian held up a hand, palm splayed, and shook her head emphatically. “I have to get back. I have an apple pie in the oven. Apple pie was Andy’s favorite, you know.”

  “I remember.”

  “How about Traci and I walk you home, Miss Vivian, and then we’ll follow the greenway back here?”

  “You’re such a gentleman, Dylan.” She smiled at him. “But I just spoke with David and he’s headed home from the grocery. He should be here any minute.” An engine rumbled through the open kitchen window as a car turned into the drive. “Oh, there he is now. What perfect timing.” Vivian headed toward the patio and the gate that led to the driveway. “He’ll drive me home.”

  “It is a beautiful night.” Dylan’s gaze drifted to the starlit horizon as it kissed a canvas of dancing Angelina Forest trees beyond the yard. “And now a walk seems like a perfect idea.”

  “Of course it is.” Miss Vivian mouthed a few words to the heavens before lowering her gaze once more and offering another quick wink. “I’d better not keep David waiting. You two have a nice time now. And this wedding cake you’re whipping up together, well, it’s just a preview.”

  “A preview of what, Miss Vivian?’ Traci asked, as she followed at Vivian’s heels. “You sound like Mr. Hart, talking in riddles. He used to do that with great frequency.”

  “Yes, he did. And you’ll soon see where this is headed.” Vivian grinned as if she knew a secret they didn’t. “Enjoy your walk, now.”