Sugar Rush. Elaine Overton

a church revival she’d attended earlier.

      Sophie called the police, and, being a small town, they were able to put out an all-points bulletin for the surrounding areas right away. Mae was found over an hour later in the next county over, almost a hundred miles away.

      Once they got her home, a very shaken-up Mae explained that after coming out of the church, she must’ve taken a wrong turn in the dark, and before long she was completely lost.

      That was the first time it really hit home to Sophie that what she’d assumed was a small problem could, in fact, be dangerous. So she had purchased the phone so her grandmother would always have a way to get in touch with her. But what use was having the phone if Mae never bothered to charge the thing?

      A short while later, Sophie was settled into her room for the night and Mae was still sticking stubbornly by her side. Sophie glanced at the window nervously and noticed it was now completely dark.

      And almost as if they shared the same mind, Mae announced that she was about to head home, just as Sophie knew she would. “Grandma, I really wish you’d wait for Wayne. He’ll be here any minute.”

      “Why would I wait for Wayne? I drove my own car, remember?”

      Just then, they both heard a slight knock as Wayne entered the room, proving once again why he was indispensable. Sophie frowned, as the harsh smell of marijuana preceded him. But she was so happy to see him that even his irritating recreational activity could not ruin it.

      “Wayne! Am I glad to see you,” Sophie said, grinning widely. Wayne paused as if surprised by the greeting.

      “Damn, girl, what are they feeding you?” He reached up, gently touching the IV bag.

      Sophie laughed. “Nothing you’d be interested in.” She tried to discreetly tilt her head in her grandmother’s direction. “Grandma was just leaving.”

      Wayne’s eyes narrowed briefly on her face, and then he quickly turned to Mae. “Um, Mama Mae, can you wait a couple of minutes? I was really kinda hoping you could give me a ride. I caught the ten-twelve here and that was the last bus of the night.”

      With a heavy sigh, Mae sank back down in the large chair beside the bed, with her worn purse across her lap. “Fine, Wayne, but I want to get home by eleven to see Murder, She Wrote. So, hurry up.”

      Sophie looked at Wayne and hoped he could see the gratitude in her eyes. Her grandmother would have someone in the car with her until she was within two blocks of her home.

      With that weight off her shoulders she settled back into the hospital bed. “Okay, Wayne, here’s the deal. That order for Centerfield has to be delivered by seven in the morning. Please make sure Dante understands that. He cannot be late. This is our first order with this school, and we have to be able to give them the same level of service they received from Fulton.” Now for the biggie, Sophie thought. “I should be back at the store by noon, but just in case, we have a new—”

      “No, you won’t.” Mae was shaking her head in a slow way that sent a bad feeling down Sophie’s spine.

      “What’s that, Grandma?”

      “I said no—you will not be back in the store by noon tomorrow, or noon the next day, or the next. You heard Doc—you are on bed rest for the next six weeks.”

      “Whoa, six weeks?!” Wayne gave a slow whistle. “What about all these new contracts you’ve stolen from Fulton?”

      “I didn’t steal anything; we won those bids fair and square. And I will be back tomorrow.” She shifted in the bed to face her grandmother, and given the quiet resolve she saw reflected in the brown eyes she loved, she wondered if this was an argument best left for another day. “Grandma, I know Doc means well, but we both know it is impossible for me to take six weeks off right now.” She reached out and took her grandmother’s hand. “We have just taken on three of our biggest contracts ever. This is our chance to prove to the family once and for all that the bakery is not a waste of money.”

      Her grandmother’s lips tightened and she quickly nodded in agreement. Sophie knew that this was the one argument she would not resist. Five years ago when Sophie’s parents, along with her aunts and uncles, came together to try and force Mae to sell the bakery, only Sophie had stood with her.

      At the time, the bakery was losing more than it was taking in, and no one wanted the responsibility of taking it over after Mae died. So, they’d gotten together and devised a plan to convince her to sell the store she’d opened over fifty years ago with her husband, Earl.

      Unlike most of the family, Sophie understood that to Mae the bakery was more than just a means of revenue. It was the center of her life. She and Earl had managed to raise six children on the income from the bakery. When they first started off as a young couple unable to afford a home of their own, they’d converted the two small storage rooms in the back of the store into a living space. Sophie knew that the small building held more than just ovens and freezers to create pastries. It held the vast majority of Mae’s lifetime of memories.

      That was why Sophie had fought tooth and nail against her own parents to keep the bakery open. Against the combined stubbornness of Sophie and Mae, the family had not stood a chance and had finally given up.

      And now, almost five years later, Sophie saw the chance to prove to all of them that she and her grandmother had been right to keep the store open. Now they had an opportunity to grow it into something more than a neighborhood donut shop, and she was not about to let a broken ankle get in the way.

      Mae clutched her purse, obviously torn between her own desires to prove to her children that she was not a helpless old lady and the need to protect her granddaughter. “But, what about your ankle?”

      Realizing she was winning the argument, Sophie sat up a little straighter. “I promise to sit with my ankle propped up, and let Wayne, Dante and Lonnie do the work. But, I need to be there.” She snapped her fingers and turned back to Wayne. “When Dante comes back from his deliveries in the morning, can you have him clean out the apartment in the back? I’ll move in there temporarily, and that way you won’t even have to worry about moving me back and forth from the store.”

      Mae frowned. “I don’t know if I like the idea of you being there alone at night.”

      “Grandma, I’ve already spent many nights there alone working on the inventory. It will be fine. The important thing is getting these orders filled on time, make a good impression on our new customers, and at all costs keep the bakery running smoothly. Wayne can you look in the office and double check the permits and make sure it’s still coded for residential?”

      “No problem.”

      Later she would blame the combined problems of a stubborn grandmother, and too many meds, but for whatever reason it wasn’t until after Mae and Wayne had left that Sophie realized she’d forgotten all about the new baker flying in tomorrow.

      Oh, well, she thought with a yawn, she’d be back in the store before his flight arrived. And he would need a ride from the airport, so that would give her time to prepare everyone. It would be fine. She yawned loudly again, as the painkillers took effect. It would all be fine.

      Chapter 3

      As Eliot entered the front door of Mayfield Bakery the next morning he collided with a thin teenager with a severe case of eczema.

      “Excuse me” the boy called out, as he hurried away, his arms laden down with boxes.

      Eliot turned and watched as the boy climbed into a beat-up, old van with a slightly confused expression on his face. Stepping outside, he glanced up at the sign that read Mayfield Bakery. He’d checked the local business directory on his laptop and this was the only Mayfield bakery in Selmer. This had to be the place.

      He went back inside and glanced around. The glass counter was filled with fresh baked pastries, loaves of bread, cakes and pies. He closed his eyes and took in the delicious aroma. He hadn’t realized how