Read Online The Bad Luck Wedding Cake by Geralyn Dawson - Free Book Online
Authors: Geralyn Dawson
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half-shell to half-shell. “You have good hands.”
The quick grin he shot her dripped wickedness. “So I’ve been told.”
Feeling her cheeks burn, she rushed to make conversation. “So where did you learn to separate eggs? Do you do much cooking?”
Those green eyes wore a devilish twinkle as he opened his mouth to reply. Claire realized she’d fed him another line and winced. He chuckled, then, and said simply, “It’s about like you and sewing. I cook only if I have to. But since I like to eat, sometimes I’m forced to fend for myself. I love meringue so I got my grandmother to teach me how to make ‘em. I’ll have you know I can bake a molasses pie with the best of them.”
“You put a meringue on a molasses pie?” She shuddered at the thought. “Like sugar, do you?”
“Love it.”
“Then you must be in heaven with all the baked goods your harem is providing.”
He cut her a chastising look. “C’mon, Claire. Be nice. I told you those women are dangerous. That’s why I’m hiding out here.”
“And I’m safe?” She sniffed and folded her arms. “Gee, thanks for the compliment. I am a woman, too, you realize.”
“Oh, I realize, all right” Appreciation gleamed in his gaze, which raked her from head to foot. “But you’re engaged, so that makes you safe.”
That’s what you think, boyo . She’d like to show him just how “safe” she was, but she knew such action wouldn’t be at all prudent. She feared the road to danger ran both ways in this case. Instead, she changed the subject “So tell me about your grandmother and the rest of your family. The McBrides are from where, Atlanta?”
“Charleston.” While he beat the egg whites, he told her of Oak Grove, the family plantation now overseen by his sister Ellen and her husband, Scott. She learned his parents died in an accident when he and Trace were but youths, and that the boys and their three sisters had been raised by their grandmother, Mirabelle McBride.
“She’s a pistol. I’m afraid we won’t have her for much longer, and that haunts me. It made it difficult to leave South Carolina and come here.”
“So why did you?”
He took a long time to answer. “Family dirty laundry. I did something really stupid and I couldn’t put off dealing with the repercussions.” After a moment’s pause, he said, “That’s enough about me. What about you? Tell me about your family, and especially the part of why you’re here and your fiancé is not.”
Claire did not want to talk about Reid Jamieson. Nor was she of a mind to discuss her family. Too much dirty laundry in the kitchen might curdle the milk . Instead, she walked to her pantry and perused the ingredients. Anything to distract him , she thought. Maple syrup. Corn syrup. “Blackstrap molasses.”
“What?”
She snagged the bottle and carried it to the worktable where Tye had just finished adding the frothy egg whites to the cake batter. “I’m experimenting with this recipe. In honor of your fondness for molasses pie, I shall add half a cup of the syrup to see what that will do to our cake.”
“Molasses to a Snow Cake? Good Lord, gal, you’ll end up with mud.”
“Better in the cake than attached to my name,” she muttered beneath her breath.
“What was that?”
She gestured toward the chair. “Sit back and watch, McBride. A genius is at work.”
Forty minutes later, with Tye leading the way, they sneaked out the back door, headed for a place—anyplace—that didn’t stink quite so bad. Claire dropped her experiment into the trash can behind Murphy’s Hardware. It hit the bottom of the metal receptacle with a clunk.
“Experiments are always trial and failure,” Tye said, shaking his head sadly. “Don’t let it get to you, Claire.”
She smiled at him and said, “Oh, I won’t.” That’s because she didn’t see the experiment as a failure. In her eyes the cake had been a huge success. The Donovan family laundry remained wadded up and
The quick grin he shot her dripped wickedness. “So I’ve been told.”
Feeling her cheeks burn, she rushed to make conversation. “So where did you learn to separate eggs? Do you do much cooking?”
Those green eyes wore a devilish twinkle as he opened his mouth to reply. Claire realized she’d fed him another line and winced. He chuckled, then, and said simply, “It’s about like you and sewing. I cook only if I have to. But since I like to eat, sometimes I’m forced to fend for myself. I love meringue so I got my grandmother to teach me how to make ‘em. I’ll have you know I can bake a molasses pie with the best of them.”
“You put a meringue on a molasses pie?” She shuddered at the thought. “Like sugar, do you?”
“Love it.”
“Then you must be in heaven with all the baked goods your harem is providing.”
He cut her a chastising look. “C’mon, Claire. Be nice. I told you those women are dangerous. That’s why I’m hiding out here.”
“And I’m safe?” She sniffed and folded her arms. “Gee, thanks for the compliment. I am a woman, too, you realize.”
“Oh, I realize, all right” Appreciation gleamed in his gaze, which raked her from head to foot. “But you’re engaged, so that makes you safe.”
That’s what you think, boyo . She’d like to show him just how “safe” she was, but she knew such action wouldn’t be at all prudent. She feared the road to danger ran both ways in this case. Instead, she changed the subject “So tell me about your grandmother and the rest of your family. The McBrides are from where, Atlanta?”
“Charleston.” While he beat the egg whites, he told her of Oak Grove, the family plantation now overseen by his sister Ellen and her husband, Scott. She learned his parents died in an accident when he and Trace were but youths, and that the boys and their three sisters had been raised by their grandmother, Mirabelle McBride.
“She’s a pistol. I’m afraid we won’t have her for much longer, and that haunts me. It made it difficult to leave South Carolina and come here.”
“So why did you?”
He took a long time to answer. “Family dirty laundry. I did something really stupid and I couldn’t put off dealing with the repercussions.” After a moment’s pause, he said, “That’s enough about me. What about you? Tell me about your family, and especially the part of why you’re here and your fiancé is not.”
Claire did not want to talk about Reid Jamieson. Nor was she of a mind to discuss her family. Too much dirty laundry in the kitchen might curdle the milk . Instead, she walked to her pantry and perused the ingredients. Anything to distract him , she thought. Maple syrup. Corn syrup. “Blackstrap molasses.”
“What?”
She snagged the bottle and carried it to the worktable where Tye had just finished adding the frothy egg whites to the cake batter. “I’m experimenting with this recipe. In honor of your fondness for molasses pie, I shall add half a cup of the syrup to see what that will do to our cake.”
“Molasses to a Snow Cake? Good Lord, gal, you’ll end up with mud.”
“Better in the cake than attached to my name,” she muttered beneath her breath.
“What was that?”
She gestured toward the chair. “Sit back and watch, McBride. A genius is at work.”
Forty minutes later, with Tye leading the way, they sneaked out the back door, headed for a place—anyplace—that didn’t stink quite so bad. Claire dropped her experiment into the trash can behind Murphy’s Hardware. It hit the bottom of the metal receptacle with a clunk.
“Experiments are always trial and failure,” Tye said, shaking his head sadly. “Don’t let it get to you, Claire.”
She smiled at him and said, “Oh, I won’t.” That’s because she didn’t see the experiment as a failure. In her eyes the cake had been a huge success. The Donovan family laundry remained wadded up and
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