The Cupcake Queen. Patricia Coughlin

mother’s comforting voice saying to her the words she so often had, You tried, sweetheart, that’s what matters.

      “Say something,” she urged.

      “All right,” obliged Doc Allison. “You’re fired.”

      Obviously the woman did not share her mother’s philosophy when it came to mistakes.

      “I guess I deserve that.”

      “You guess?”

      “I meant I do deserve it.” She knotted her hands at her waist, dropped them back to her sides, finally folding them across her chest. “And I’m sorry. That might sound feeble or perfunctory, but I don’t know what else to say. I wish I could go back and undo everything that happened today, but I can’t. I can try to make it up to…”

      “No,” the other woman blurted.

      “I was going to say make it up to Danny. Maybe take care of his hospital bills…and Romeo’s, too, for that matter. I’d really like to take care of everything…and I mean everything.”

      Rancourt finally spoke, his eyes narrowed with suspicion. “You’re willing to pay the bills?”

      “Yes. I am.”

      “And just where does someone who’s lost two jobs in less than a week come up with that kind of money?”

      “I’ll figure out something,” she assured him.

      Actually she already had it all worked out in her head. More than likely the bills wouldn’t have to be paid for weeks. By that time she would have won the bet and she’d be back home, with full access to her checking account…and her credit cards and a car that didn’t refuse to start three times out of five and her own beautiful bathroom, with its plentiful hot water and soft, thick towels, which she’d never appreciated until she was forced to share a bath with strangers in a rooming house.

      She stopped herself before she broke down and wept, and refocused in time to hear Rancourt’s response.

      “That’s not good enough.”

      Her jaw lifted and her brows arched before the words Who the hell does he think he is? had finished forming in her head. Somehow she managed not to give voice to the question.

      “That’s unfortunate,” she replied. “I’ve apologized, lost my job and offered to handle whatever expenses are incurred. I really don’t know what more I can do to rectify the situation.”

      “I do,” he said.

      She didn’t trust the sudden gleam in his eyes and she didn’t have time to figure out exactly why. One downward sweep of those thick, dark lashes and his gaze was once again as unreadable as smoke. How did a man become so skilled at blanking out? And why?

      “I’m listening,” she told him. “Tell me what more I can do.”

      “It’s obvious. You need a job. I need someone to fill in for Dan until he’s out of the hospital. Doc says he shouldn’t be laid up too long, and she’s agreed to hold off firing you, provided you agree to our plan.”

      “I don’t understand where you’re going with this,” she said, afraid she knew exactly where he was going, hoping she was wrong. “Are you suggesting I work for you?”

      “I’m not suggesting anything. I’m stating facts. You’ve been fired from two jobs in a matter of days. In case you’re a hopeless optimist, let me assure you that folks around here won’t be lining up to hire you. Do it my way and you’ll give things time to settle down. And if you follow orders and don’t maim me or burn the place down, when Dan’s back on his feet, I’ll help you line up something else and put in a good word for you.”

      “Why?”

      “I guess I’ve got a thing for crazy ladies. Besides, I need someone right away. You’re a risk I ordinarily wouldn’t let within fifty yards of my place, but all things considered, I figure you’ve got more incentive than anyone to work hard and get it right.” One broad shoulder lifted carelessly. “Then there’s the little fact that you owe me. Double.”

      Payback time…just as she suspected.

      “Are you in?” he asked.

      “Not so fast. If by owing you double you’re referring to the coffee incident, you deserved every last drop. We’re even on that score. As for today, I’ve admitted I’m responsible and…” She hesitated, desperately wishing she had an option that didn’t involve Owen Rancourt or wearing a turban until her hair grew back. She didn’t. And they both knew it.

      She sighed. “When do I start?”

      He almost smiled. “No time like the present.”