Eliot leaned closer, his soft musk cologne drifting into Sophie’s nose

She tried to focus on the dough they were kneading, but her eyes kept drifting to his profile as he moved his face right beside hers. She watched with a dry mouth as he leaned forward to collect more flour from the big bowl, the muscles in his biceps flexing with the motion. When did they start building bakers like this, she thought?

Pounding the dough with more flour, he wrapped his hands around hers and continued to knead. “See? You’re getting the hang of it…that’s it.”

Sophie tried to focus on the dough and not the man behind her. Beside her. Surrounding her.

“Push…pull, and turn.” His soft breath was tickling the hairs on the back of her neck. “There you go.” He spoke like a patient coach, and she wanted to form something wonderful out of the dough just to satisfy him.

“See, I knew you could do it.” He turned and looked at her, bringing their lips within inches of each other. His minty breath was warm and she found herself licking her dry lips, which brought his eyes straight to her mouth.

They continued to stare at each other, neither breaking eye contact for even a moment. Unable to stop herself, she licked her dry lips again and it seemed to be some kind of a signal to him, because he leaned forward and gently touched his lips to hers.

ELAINE OVERTON

Elaine Overton resides in the Detroit area with her son. She attended a local business college before entering the military and serving in the Gulf War.

She is an administrative assistant currently working for an automotive-industry supplier, and is an active member of Romance Writers of America. You can contact her via e-mail at her Web site, www.elaineoverton.com.

Sugar Rush
Elaine Overton

www.millsandboon.co.uk

First, to my Lord and Savior, thank you for the many

everyday miracles you provide me with. So much of

what you do goes unrecognized. To God be the glory!

To my readers, I don’t know how you all do it, but you

always seem to write me those wonderfully encouraging

e-mails just when I need to hear it most. Thank you all

for your continued support.

Dear Reader,

Thank you for taking the time to read El and Sophie’s story. I’ve been wanting to do a mistaken identity story for a long time. I’ve always found something intriguing about the idea of falling in love with someone, learning all about them at a core level and yet finding out that you really know nothing about them on the surface.

I hope you have enjoyed getting to know the Mayfield Bakery family—Mama Mae, Wayne, Dante and Lonnie—as much as I enjoyed creating them. I love hearing from readers, so feel free to e-mail me at Elaine@elaineoverton.com, or write me at P.O. Box 51565, Livonia, Michigan 48151, and let me know what you thought of the book.

Until next time,

Elaine

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Prologue

Galveston, TX

Sitting on the deck of his beachfront home, Alberto Montagna was having second thoughts about accepting his new assignment. Although in truth it was more than second thoughts, it was more like the seventieth time he’d told himself to call his agency and tell them to rescind his acceptance of the offer.

It seemed so unfair that he, Alberto Montagna, one of the greatest bakers of all times, was reduced to accepting an assignment in some small-town bakery whose only appeal was its lack of appeal.

You must hide, his lover, Carlotta, had said. My husband is a powerful man with a fierce temper, she’d said. He will destroy you in both name and body, she’d said.

Of course, the greatest problem was that she’d not said any of this soon enough! Actually, she’d said it after they’d made love and with the forenamed husband storming up the stairs toward the bedroom.

Alberto absently rubbed his puffy cheek. Good, he thought, the swelling was finally going down. Lifting his lightweight tunic he checked the red, sore patches covering his flat midsection. They, too, were starting to heal.

He shivered, remembering the beating he’d received at the hands of Max Gonzales. Each punch had felt like a stone being pounded against his body. But the beating had not been enough.

Just as Carlotta had predicted, Max Gonzalez had dedicated himself to making sure Alberto could not find a job at any decent bakery or restaurant in the tristate area. Alberto had been seriously considering packing up his house and moving to Europe when his agent, Tom, had told him about a little bakery in Tennessee.

Tom suggested he take the job, lay low and allow Max Gonzalez to cool off. Perhaps if he waited six months or so, then he could return to his beloved Texas. It was a good idea. But, the closer it came to the time to commit, the more he began to reconsider his options.

Just then his cell phone rang and he answered. “Hello?”

“Alberto, my love. I have left Max.”

Alberto sat up in his chair. It was difficult to hear over the noise in the background. “Carlotta?! Is that you, my angel?”

“Yes, I’m at the airport in Houston. My flight to New York leaves soon. Can you meet me there? At our special place?”

Despite pain in all parts of his body Alberto shot to his feet. “I’ll be there by midnight, sweet darling.”

“I’ll be waiting,” she said, her sultry voice sending an erotic thrill throughout his whole body. “And, Alberto, be careful.”

Chapter 1

Memphis, TN

Carlton Fulton stormed down the long, plush-carpeted corridor leading to the office of the chief financial officer of Fulton Foods. It was midafternoon on an unusually hot May day and the roll of documents twisted in his tight, knuckled fist was moist with the sweat of his hand. His full lips were stretched taut against his somber brown face. Seeing the vein throbbing at his temple, his employees hurried in every direction away from him.

Without knocking he threw open the double doors to the executive suite that matched his in size and comfort. The startled secretary inside bounded to her feet.

“Good morning, Mr. Fulton.” She forced a smile, but he could see the fear in her eyes.

“Is he in there?” he practically growled, nodding toward the closed oak-paneled door behind her desk.

“Um, yes, sir. Should I let him know—”

Before she could finish, Carl stormed by her desk and slammed open the door. He walked to the edge of the desk, behind which a young man sat, distracted by a phone call.

The young man on the phone was his nephew, Eliot Wright. Eliot bore such a striking resemblance to a younger version of Carl that many people assumed he was Carl’s son and not that of his only sister.

The younger man glanced up with a puzzled expression. In answer to his unspoken question Carl held up the crumpled papers in his hand. Eliot slightly lifted an arched black eyebrow, his expressive brown eyes showing nothing more than mild curiosity.

Even in his fury, Carl found he was impressed by his nephew’s unflappability. Eliot had changed a great deal over the years, Carl thought with pride. He was a strong, forceful man who got the job done no matter what it took, no longer the timid little boy who almost wet himself when asked his name. Carl took full credit for the transformation.

“Look, Steve,” Eliot said into the receiver. “Something has come up. Just let me know when you get the meeting set up.”

Carl tapped his foot rapidly, depleting what little patience he had as he waited for the call to end.

“All right, try to make it sometime this week. Talk to you later.” Eliot returned the phone to the cradle and sat back in his high-back leather chair. “Morning, Uncle Carl. I would say good morning, but it’s obviously not.”

“It certainly is not!” Carl tossed the balled-up papers on the desk. “This is the third major account we’ve lost to that little hole in the wall. The third, Eliot! What are you doing about this?!”

Eliot picked up the papers and attempted to unmangle them as much as possible.

His eyes glanced over the pages and a low “Hmm” was his only answer as he read through the discharge letter from one of their major accounts. “When did you receive this?”

“This morning—by e-mail, no less! They didn’t even have the decency to call and tell us they were canceling the contract.” He leaned across the desk to point out something in the e-mail. “See that?”

Eliot’s brows crinkled in confusion. “That can’t be right.”

“You better believe it is! Morningside, those smug bastards, wanted us to know just how much they were sticking it to us.”

“No wonder Mayfield Bakery got the contract. That’s an excellent bid.” Eliot muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

Carl only glared at him in response.

Realizing his mistake, Eliot flipped through the few pages. “I mean, Morningside is a four-hundred-bed nursing home.”

“I think you’re missing the point,” Carl hissed through his teeth, trying not to reach across the desk and strangle his nephew.

Eliot continued to read, seeming to have forgotten Carl’s presence, but Carl knew despite his nonchalance his nephew didn’t miss anything. And he had the uncanny ability to comprehend a complicated situation in a matter of minutes.

“This is the third large contract we’ve lost to this bakery. What are you doing about them?”

“I’ve got Steve looking into our options.” He shook his head in confusion. “I just don’t understand how they can afford to run their operation when they’re offering up bids like this.”

Carl’s eyes narrowed on his nephew. “Hell if I know. That’s what I pay you for.”

He turned and headed back out of the office but paused at the door and looked back. “Eliot, I do not want to get another e-mail like that one.”

Eliot tossed the papers down on the desk and sat back in his chair. “Don’t worry, Uncle Carl, everything’s under control.”

“It better be. Do whatever you have to do, but I will not be undercut by some rinky-dink operation. Do we understand each other?”

Eliot nodded slowly, and Carl knew they were in complete agreement. For all his surface calm, Carl knew that his nephew was a win-at-all-costs individual. Eliot would be as ruthless as necessary to achieve his goals. He knew this, because that was how he’d raised him.

Eliot waited until his uncle left the office before picking up the crumpled letter and rereading the rejection of their bid and contract cancellation by one of their oldest and most reliable clients.

Although he’d hid it well, Eliot shared his uncle’s concern. The amount of the bid they’d submitted to Morningside Nursing Home to service their kitchen and vending machines had been extremely low. They’d wanted to be sure to secure the contract, and yet once again they’d been underbid by the smaller bakery. It was the third time in three months they’d been outplayed by this particular bakery.

The first loss he’d chalked up as a fluke that could not be repeated. But after losing the contract for a private school, it had become clear they had a growing competitor they needed to take seriously. After learning everything he could, Eliot had put together a buyout offer for the competitor—a ploy that had been successful in dealing with previous upstarts.

That was almost two weeks ago. This morning when his uncle had barged into his office, Eliot had been on the phone with their attorney, Steve Ingerman. According to Steve, Mayfield Bakery had rejected the offer.

Eliot toyed with the crumpled papers, frowning thoughtfully. He’d hoped they would accept the offer, but of course he had a contingency plan.

Mayfield Bakery was a small proprietorship. Thanks to some recent upgrades in their equipment and the streamlining of their operation, they were now producing and packaging a unique line of cupcakes, cookies and assorted pastries on a much larger scale than previously possible.

The company was owned by a woman named Mae Anne Mayfield. She also ran the day-to-day operations of the bakery with the help of a small staff. And apparently the little bakery was doing so well they were now negotiating with one of the leading bakers in the industry—Alberto Montagna.

Mayfield Bakery was renowned for an exceptional line of pastries that both looked and tasted like they came out of some loving grandmother’s kitchen and were made with the finest ingredients. But the operation had one major weakness—the small upgraded bakery could never produce the massive quantity of goods that Fulton Foods’s industrial-sized bakery and packaging plant produced on a daily basis. The small staff Mayfield employed could never compete for the larger contracts, the hospitals, corporate businesses and larger school districts that Fulton Foods, which averaged a payroll of two hundred employees, serviced regularly. Not to mention the obvious drawback of such a “boutique” operation. The expensive ingredients, the manpower to process the homemade-like pastries had to cost a fortune, Eliot surmised.

Despite Mae Anne Mayfield’s shrewd business sense and cunning, Eliot understood that no business had unlimited resources, and eventually the laws of economic nature would take their course.

But instead of simply waiting for them to go under, Eliot had asked Steve to set up a meeting with Mae Anne Mayfield. He planned to make an even more generous offer to buy the small operation and absorb their unique line of products and services into Fulton Foods. He would even offer positions within Fulton’s corporate hierarchy to Mayfield and her staff for three distinct reasons.

The first and most obvious was that he could not afford to wait. The second reason was that what he’d seen of the Mayfield product was exceptional. If he could get the recipes and find more practical ingredients to produce pastries with the same taste and texture at a lower cost, the revenue potential would be unlimited.

Finally, Eliot would sell his soul to prevent future visits from his uncle, like the one he’d just received. Even after twenty years, seeing his uncle approach him with the look on his face could still send a shiver of terror up Eliot’s spine.

He had to remind himself that he was not that same terrified ten-year-old boy. He was a man now, more than his uncle match in both size and strength. But the habits of a lifetime were hard to break.

For those reasons, he would make every attempt to absorb Mayfield Bakery, rather than destroy it. One way or another, through cooperation or brute force, Mayfield would yield to the greater strength of the largest baked-goods supplier in the Memphis area and learn what their predecessors already had: that Fulton Foods had an in-house enforcer willing to do pretty much anything to win.

Chapter 2

Meanwhile in Selmer, TN

“Sophie! Look ou—”

“Whoa! Whoa—ouuwwee!”

The loud crashing sound reverberated through the building and brought people running from every direction.

“What happened?” Lonnie, Sophie Mayfield’s cousin, was the first to arrive. “Sophie, did you fall?”

Sophie bit her tongue to keep from lashing out at the younger woman as she stated the obvious. She knew Lonnie couldn’t help her simplistic thinking. But with her leg throbbing painfully, Sophie was finding it hard to be sympathetic.

Wayne was immediately at her side, struggling to help her to her feet. “Sorry, I tried to warn you.”

Trying to stand on her left leg proved impossible, as the sharp shooting pain raced up her spine. “Ouch-oww.” She shook her head frantically. In too much pain for words, she tried to signal to Wayne that standing was not an option.

Apparently he understood, because he gently lowered her back to the floor. “That bad, huh?” His big brown eyes were filled with concern.

“What happened?” Mae pushed her way through the small group to find Sophie bracing herself against the walk-in refrigerator.

She gestured over her shoulder “I fell off that stupid step stool.”

Mae pushed her flour-covered apron aside and knelt beside her granddaughter. “Let me see.” As soon as she touched the injured leg Sophie howled in pain.

“Dante, call for an ambulance,” Mae called to the last person who’d joined the group.

With a quick nod, the slender teen loped off to make the call.

“I’m sure it’s just a sprain. Give me a minute. I’ll be fine.” Sophie smiled up at the huddle of worried faces. “Really.”

To prove her point, she attempted to stand again, but the pain returned with three times the intensity, and a muttered curse slipped from her lips.

“Just sit your ass down,” Wayne muttered in his gruff way. “You’re not going anywhere anytime soon.” He crossed the room to examine the step stool.

“I told you we should’ve got rid of that thing a long time ago,” Mae said, shaking her head, her eyes focused on the rapidly swelling leg.

“You want some water or something?” Lonnie asked, wringing her hands in distress.

Sophie did not like the looks of that hand-ringing. “Lonnie, look at me.” She used her stern voice to gain the girl’s full attention. “I’m fine. Understand? I’m fine.”

Lonnie nodded, but her eyes were still filling with tears.

Just then, much to Sophie’s relief, Dante returned. “Paramedics are on the way.”

“Dante, can you take Lonnie out front with you to wait on the paramedics?” Sophie jerked her head in the direction of the front door. Dante frowned down at her for a second, before understanding hit.

“Oh, right, right.” He took the girl’s hand. “Come on, Lon, let’s go look for the ambulance.”

“But, what if Sophie needs something?”

“I’m fine, Lonnie. Go with Dante.” Sophie forced her most confident smile despite the pain coursing through her leg, and she breathed a sigh of relief as the two left the room together. The last thing she needed right now was a Lonnie meltdown.

Wayne grunted behind her. After five years of working together, Sophie recognized the sound. “What did you find?”

“The bottom bolt came out. Damn thing’s rusted.” Wayne gathered up the pieces. “I’ll take it out back and dump it.”

Mae watched him leave and shook her head once more. “Told you we should’ve got rid of that thing.”

“I know, Grandma, I know.” Sophie shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position, but nothing worked to lessen the pain.

“What were you doing up there, anyway?”

“Trying to reach those boxes.” She pointed over her head. “Have Wayne get them down while I’m gone. We have to get that order for Centerfield Academy ready by Tuesday.”

Seeing her grandmother’s distant expression, Sophie frowned in worry. There was so much to do, and only Sophie knew that Mae Anne was no longer up to the task of running a busy bakery. A fact she’d tried hard to keep from the rest of the family.

She knew Wayne could easily manage the day-to-day stuff, but she needed to be there to help with the new clients. And then there was the new baker she’d hired.

The baker no one but she knew about. The baker they could not really afford but needed desperately. Sophie had thought it best not to say anything to the others until he arrived. Mae would not take well to being edged out of what she considered her kitchen. And she knew Wayne, Lonnie and Dante would probably be less than eager to accept an outsider, especially given his sophisticated background. Sophie knew she would probably have to referee for a while. Which was why she needed to be at the top of her game over the next few days, not hobbling around with a bum ankle.

What a lousy time for this to happen. “Grandma?”

Mae blinked rapidly, as if startled. “Yes, I heard you. Have Wayne get the boxes down.”

Sophie nodded, satisfied that the task would be completed.

Mae’s wrinkled face took on a troubled expression. “What if it’s more than a sprained ankle?”

“It’s not. I’ll go to the emergency room, get a bandage and some painkillers, and be back here by nightfall.” She reached out and touched the older woman’s arm. “Don’t worry.”

Mae nodded in agreement, but it did nothing to allay the concern in her eyes. Just then Wayne walked back in from the alley.

“Wayne, I need you to get the Centerfield order ready to go.” Sophie looked up at him, grateful to have such a competent assistant.

“No problem,” Wayne answered, watching as the paramedics maneuvered the stretcher through the narrow hall that lead to the back kitchens.

“And keep an eye on Lonnie. You know she doesn’t handle stress well.” She sighed, trying to think of all the things that would need to be done in her absence. “And have Dante clean that tunnel oven in the back.”

“Uh-huh,” Wayne muttered, moving to the side to make way.

Despite his seeming lack of interest, Sophie knew from experience that Wayne’s mind was like a trap and he would remember precisely everything she was saying.

“And if you have a chance can you review that contract for the Fielding wedding? Sheila Marks called this morning; apparently she and her fiancé are beefing again. Check the cutoff date for the deposit return.” She shook her head. “This is the third time she’s done this to me.”

After checking her vitals, the paramedics gently lifted her to the stretcher. “Oh,” Sophie added, “and remember to—”

“Sophie!” Wayne snapped.

Sophie’s eyes widened. Wayne hardly ever raised his voice.

“I got this,” he said, returning to his typical monotone. “I got this.”

Sophie took a deep breath. “I know.” And she did, but the habits of the last five years were not easily broken.

They heard a commotion at the front of the building.

“I’m going with you,” Mae announced, pulling her stained apron over her head.

“Grandma, you don’t have to. I’ll be fine.”

“Hush, child.” She glanced at Lonnie and Dante as they led the way into the back area. “Lonnie, run upstairs and get my purse.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The girl hurried away.

Sophie started to argue, but what was the point? It was a well-known fact in Selmer that Sophie Mayfield had inherited her stubborn nature directly from her grandmother.

Wayne and Dante watched in silence as the paramedics rolled her down the hall leading to the storefront.

“Back to work, guys,” Sophie called playfully. “We have a growing business to support.”

“I want to keep you overnight.”

“What?!” Sophie stared up at her doctor. “But you said you could just cast it and send me home.”

“That was before I saw the X-rays.” Dr. Michelson frowned at her over the top of his bifocals. “That break left a pretty nice tear, young lady. For it to heal properly you are going to have to stay off your feet.”

“Fine—send me home and I’ll stay off my feet.”

He huffed in disbelief.

Sophie frowned. That was the problem with a small, tightly knit community. Sometimes your neighbors and friends knew you too well. “But, Dr. Michelson, I have a business to run.”

“Well, it looks like Mae and Wayne are going to be on their own for a while.” Dr. Michelson continued to scribble something on his pad. “I’m confining you to bed rest for the next six to eight weeks.”

“Six to eight weeks?!”

“Sophie, I would appreciate it if you would stop screaming in my ear.”

“Sorry. Dr. Michelson, but we just signed this really important contract. Is there anything you can put on it to protect it? I know—maybe if I were on crutches or even in a wheelchair…”

Eric Michelson watched her for several seconds before crossing the room to pick up one of the X-rays. Holding it up to the light, he pointed to a blurry white patch. “See that? That is the broken bone. Because of its location the healing could go either way. If I set it and you keep it still for the next six weeks, it should heal completely and you will be as good as new. If not, the bone will not heal properly—and for the rest of your life, you will probably have chronic pain in your ankle. Is that what you want?”

“Of course not.”

“Then let me do my job. That bakery was standing long before you were born, and since I delivered you I can attest to that fact. Trust me, it will survive without you for six weeks.”

Sophie bit her bottom lip to keep from expressing her own doubts about that. Before she was born her grandmother was a young woman working alongside her new husband, helping to build their family business. But today, her grandmother was an eighty-year-old woman with a failing memory. And Sophie had noticed that a few times Mae seemed to just stop paying attention right in the middle of a conversation. But when Sophie had asked, Mae was too proud to admit that anything was wrong.

“Sophie,” Dr. Michelson said. He watched her with compassionate eyes. “You’re a grown woman. When I release you tomorrow you, of course, can do what you want. But I want you to understand the price you’ll pay for the stubborn streak you seemed to have been cursed with.”

She nodded. What was she supposed to say? Yes, Dr. Michelson, I want to be crippled forever. As much as she hated it, she knew she would take his advice. It was the only reasonable thing to do.

As he turned to leave, her mind was already calculating what needed to be done over the next six weeks. “I’ll go get you a room and let Mae know what’s going on,” he said. As he opened the door, Mae shuffled past him.

She wrapped Sophie in a tight hug, as if Sophie had been diagnosed with a terminal illness.

“The nurse in the hall said they were checking you in to the hospital.”

“Grandma, I’m fine.”

“I’m keeping her overnight to allow the cast to set, and afterwards, she’s going to be on bed rest for six weeks.” The doctor pushed his glasses up on his nose. “Mae, I need your assurance that Sophie will be off her feet for six weeks.”

Mae’s eyes narrowed on her eldest granddaughter, and she nodded with determination. “Don’t you worry, Dr. Michelson, she will.”

Sophie did not miss the small smirk on Dr. Michelson’s face as he glanced at her once more before letting himself out of the room.

“Grandma, I left my cell phone at the store. Can I borrow yours? I need to call Wayne and let him know what’s happening.”

Mae dug around in the bottom of her worn purse and came up with the small cell phone.

“Where is your leg broke exactly?”

“Actually, it’s the ankle. Thanks.” She turned it on, and the phone immediately shut off.

“Ankle? Never heard of anybody breaking their ankle.”

Sophie frowned at the phone and turned it on again. And once again it automatically turned off. Her lips twisted as understanding came. “When was the last time you charged your phone?”

“I don’t know.” Mae pulled a small stool closer to the bed. “Did you want me to bring you something to eat? Hospital food is so bland.”

“Um…no. Where’s your charger?”

“My what?”

Sophie frowned again. “Never mind.”

She settled back against the stretcher, deciding to just wait until she was assigned a room and call Wayne from there. But, unfortunately, the useless cell phone in her hand gave her a bigger and more immediate concern than the goings-on at the bakery.

She knew her grandmother would insist on driving herself home, instead of waiting for someone from the store to come get her. She glanced at the window, where the light was already beginning to fade. “Maybe you should get going. It’s getting late.”

“No, I’ll stay until they get you settled in for the night.”

That’s what I was afraid of. She twisted her lips, considering whom she could call or depend on to come if they said they would, and out of her large family there was not a single one. It would have to be someone from the store.

Sophie had bought the phone cell for Mae almost six months before, after having one of the greatest scares of her young life. She was working in the store late one night when Lonnie called and told her that Mae had not returned from 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 long it had been since he’d actually been inside a real bakery.

Fulton Foods, although considered a bakery, was in fact a large industrial machine that happened to produce baked goods, but it was not what Eliot considered a bakery. This was a bakery.

A breeze blew by him as the boy came back through the door. “Someone will be right with you,” he called over his shoulder, as he disappeared into the back.

Eliot stood in the middle of the vinyl floor, studying his surroundings and trying to make sense of what he was seeing. Could this possibly be the same Mayfield Bakery that had stolen three of his top contracts? Was this the Mayfield Bakery that was giving his uncle indigestion? Was this the newest threat to Fulton Foods? He almost laughed out loud as he shook his head in relief. Getting rid of this little shop was going to be a piece of cake—no pun intended.

The teenage boy came charging back through the store, his arms once again laden with boxes. This time he was followed by a short, chubby girl, also carrying a stack of boxes. She smiled at Eliot as they went by. She had a girlishly cute, light-brown face, but there was a blankness to her brown eyes that Eliot noticed right away.

The commotion and clatter of the back kitchen was easily heard from where he stood. He wondered if all that industrious noise was the result of their newfound business.

“Can I help you?” An older woman appeared in the entrance leading to the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. A slight smudge of flour smeared one cheek, and her gray hair was twisted and pinned on top of her head.

There was something instantly familiar about her untidy appearance. She looked like just what she was, someone’s grandmother baking goodies. Or…someone’s mother.

It suddenly hit Eliot why she seemed so familiar. He could remember many days coming home from school and being greeted by his mother looking just this way, right down to the flour-smudged cheeks.

He felt a rock drop to the pit of his stomach, because deep inside of him he knew without a doubt that this was Mae Anne Mayfield. Uncle Carl had sent him to destroy his mother’s reincarnation. His lips twisted in frustration, like he didn’t already have enough reasons to burn in hell.

“Are you Mae Anne Mayfield?” he asked, dreading the answer.

“I am.” She’d started walking toward him when someone called to her from the back to the store.

“Mama Mae! I need your help now!”

Putting up a finger meant to hold him in place, she turned and scuttled back into the kitchen. Eliot waited a few seconds before following.

Slowly he entered the kitchen, not sure what to expect. He was shocked to find a small space crammed with new equipment. Everything from shiny, new reversible dough sheeters and dough rounders to bread slicers and stainless-steel preparation tables. The only things that looked worn and well used were two large convection ovens and the small, white kitchen stove against a far wall. On the opposite wall was a third, newer-looking double-decker oven, and a large, burly man was bent over and was peering inside the bottom oven.

“Damn this thing.” Wiping his hands on a rag, he leaned back on his knees and looked up at the older woman. “I told Sophie I didn’t trust that salesman. This thing is a piece of junk.”

Behind him the teenage boy reappeared. “Wayne, I’m four boxes short!”

“I’m trying to—” The man at the oven turned to the boy and caught his first glimpse of Eliot standing in the middle of their kitchen. His dark eyes ran over Eliot’s long length in one swoop, and then narrowed in suspicion. “Can I help you?”

The older woman turned to him, as well, surprised to see him in the kitchen. They were a study in contrast—the unsuspecting curiosity in her eyes and the wary distrust in his.

For reasons he would never understand, instead of simply announcing who he was and why he was there, he began to pull off his jacket. “I think I may be able to fix it—temporarily at least.”

“Wayne,” the teenager called to him again, “We are four—”

“I heard you the first time, Dante! But until I can get an oven going, you’ll just have to wait. Now get the rest of the order loaded up.”

“Why don’t you fire up one of the other ovens while I try to get this one going,” Eliot offered, as he kneeled beside him.

Without a response, Wayne jumped up and rushed across the room to start one of the newer ovens.

Just then a phone rang loudly, somewhere in the back. “I’ll get it,” Mae said, wiping her hands on her apron as she hurried off.

In his peripheral vision, Eliot saw the teenagers rushing back and forth, loading their arms with the full boxes and carrying them outside to the van. Obviously, they were on a tight schedule to get out an order and he had a pretty good idea which order it was. Tuesday was Centerfield’s delivery day.

As he rolled up his sleeves, he considered how easy it would be to sabotage the oven and make the delivery incomplete and late. That alone might be enough to make the school cancel the new contract.

Reaching back in the oven, he found the coil he was looking for. Just as he’d suspected, it had dropped down and was causing the food to cook unevenly. He pushed it back up, a trick he’d learned in his first year working in Uncle Carl’s factory.

Once he pushed the coil back into place he sat back on his heels. “There, that should hold long enough to finish your last batch. But you’ll have to have a repairman come in and fix it permanently.” He glanced over to find Wayne watching him carefully. Despite his offer to help, he could tell the man did not trust him. “With that oven, if you turn up the heat about two degrees per square inch for every fifteen minutes of cooking time left, it will finish in half the time.”

Movement caught his eye, and he realized the chubby girl had come in and was standing in the doorway, watching him with her blank doe eyes.

Seeing the black grease smeared on his hands, Wayne offered his rag. Eliot took it gladly and wiped his hands, grateful for the knowledge his experience had given him. Despite the fact that he was Carl Fulton’s nephew, he had worked his way up from the kitchen like every other executive in the company.

“Who are you?” Wayne asked.

“I think he may be our new baker.” Just then, Mae slowly walked in. Her head tilted at an angle as she gave Eliot a curious look.

So the new baker was supposed to start today, Eliot thought.

Wayne turned to her in surprise. “What new baker?!” Behind him the teenage girl was folding a box together, and the boy was holding a piping hot tray of bread loaves between oven mitts. Both froze in their tracks, and all wide eyes were turned to him.

“Apparently, Sophie hired a new baker,” Mae continued. “That was the agency on the phone asking to have him call them when he arrived.” Then Mae glanced at Eliot, her eyes showing the first sign of suspicion. “They say they haven’t spoken to you since last week.”

Eliot shrugged as if it didn’t really matter, his mind working furiously, thinking how to use this situation to his advantage. The new baker would probably show up soon, but until then—whether he had a few minutes or a few hours—he could use the opportunity to learn as much as he could about the inner workings of Mayfield Bakery.

“Sophie didn’t say anything to me about any new baker,” Wayne insisted.

Eliot did not miss the slightly hurt tone of his voice. Who is Sophie? He wondered.

Mae looked up at Eliot in bemusement, then turned and hurried into the back office again. “I’m going to call Sophie and see what she has to say about all this.”

Thinking fast, Eliot called out to her, “Could you give me the phone number to the agency, so I can give them a call? I don’t have it with me.”

She motioned over her shoulder for him to follow her.

As he passed through the doorway, he heard Wayne mutter to himself, “He doesn’t look like any baker I know.”

Eliot pretended not to hear the remark, although he was pretty sure Mae Anne Mayfield was the only baker Wayne knew.

As they entered the office, Eliot noticed a large, heavy-looking book in the middle of the desk. It looked like an ancient relic with its worn cover, which was pieced and taped together in places. He saw the word recipes scribbled across the top in black marker, and suddenly realized he was looking at Mae’s recipe book.

There it was! Right there in plain sight for anyone to see…or grab. What professional chef in this day and age still used a recipe book? Most of the bakers he knew kept their recipes in custom-made software programs with two or more passwords protecting them.

For a baker or chef, their recipes were their lifeblood. For the very best, recipes were what separated them from the crowd. You did not leave your most precious treasure lying around in fat, album-styled books, Eliot thought.

Mae shoved a piece of a paper at him, and Eliot realized she’d been trying to give it to him for some moments. He accepted it with thanks, deliberately turning his back on the recipe book.

He started to leave the office, but she grabbed his sleeve to stop him. “I’m sure Sophie is going to want to talk to you.”

Damn. Who the hell is this Sophie anyway?

Nowhere in his research had he come across that name. Eliot stood nervously by her side as Mae dialed the number. The mysterious Sophie could ruin everything with one word. Particularly if she was the person who had actually hired the real baker. His eyes strayed back to the recipe book. This was crazy. Why was he even playing this game? Because you want her recipes—that’s why.

“So, the bakery business must pay pretty well outside Selmer, huh?” Wayne was leaning against the doorjamb with Eliot’s suit jacket in his hand. “Here’s your jacket. What’s that? A three-four-hundred-dollar suit you’re wearing?”

“I wanted to make a good impression,” Eliot said with a slightly lifted brow. Intuitively, he knew this man was going to be a problem.

“Good morning, dear. How are you feeling?” Both men fell silent listening to Mae, whose first concern was for her granddaughter.

Eliot glanced at Wayne in silent question.

“She fell yesterday and broke her ankle,” Wayne volunteered. “Otherwise, she would be here. Seems like Sophie is always here.”

“Oh, that’s great news.” Mae looked around Eliot to Wayne. “She said they are releasing her around noon. Can you pick her up?”

“Of course,” Wayne said without hesitation.

“Sophie, were you expecting a new baker to start today?” She glanced at Eliot. “Uh-huh…uh-huh…Well, why didn’t you say anything to me?”

Now Wayne was standing straight up, his attention fully engaged. Glancing at him, Wayne’s eyes met Eliot’s for a moment, and it was clear to Eliot that Wayne was not a fan.

Eliot’s mouth twisted in smug satisfaction. He hoped he could pull off this charade, if for no other reason than to irritate Wayne.

“Yes, he’s right here.” She handed Eliot the phone, and he took a deep breath.

“Hello?” he said, and waited for several seconds. “Hello?”

“Yes, hello, I’m sorry, I don’t remember your name.”

But Eliot did: Alberto Montagna. “You can call me El.” He decided his nickname was close enough to Al, if it ever came up.

“Well, welcome, El. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to greet you. Did you find your way to the store okay?”

Her soft, sultry voice was not what he expected. “Yes, thank you.”

“Well, I know you probably have a lot of questions, and I plan to be back in the store this afternoon, so we can talk then. But again, welcome, and I look forward to meeting you in person.”

The idea of meeting the woman that went with the voice brought a rare burst of excitement to his senses. “I look forward to meeting you, as well.”

Handing the phone back to Mae, he excused himself from the office. Even after speaking to her, hearing her sexy, soft voice, he still wasn’t sure who she was. She sounded young, but not too young.

He walked back through the store and out the front door just as the delivery van loaded down with Centerfield’s completed order and the two teenagers screeched out of the parking lot.

He leaned against his car, dialed his attorney, Steve, and put him right to work discovering the identity of the mysterious Sophie. Then he called his assistant, Kara, to let her know he would be out of the office all day and to contact him only in case of an emergency. Then his last call was to the employment agency.

Eliot quickly introduced himself, and of course they recognized the name instantly. He then made a very large counter-offer for the talents of one Mr. Alberto Montagna, but only if the baker could start today. He made sure they understood that the offer had to be made immediately, even after they insisted they had no way to contact him. He gave them four hours to find the man. Eliot was assuming he would need no more time than that to get back into the office and grab the recipe book.

When he turned to go back into the building, he found Wayne standing at the glass window watching him. He considered what he must look like to Wayne in his expensive suit, standing next to his expensive sports car. There was a mistrust in the depth of those brown eyes that would not be easy to dismiss. His intuition was right as usual. Wayne was going to be a problem.

Chapter 4

Four hours later, and still no word from the agency. Eliot was beginning to suspect that Alberto Montagna had ditched his new job. Given the man’s reputation as a self-important womanizer, Eliot had no trouble imagining what type of distraction could’ve come up.

As he poured the ingredients into the mixer, he kind of hoped the man would show up. It had been years since he’d mixed dough, and he’d forgotten what hard work it was. He wiped sweat from his forehead, feeling ridiculous for working in his suit clothes. The only saving grace was that it was summer and he’d chosen a linen suit and lightweight silk tie. After this day of manual labor both would be ruined, but what choice did he have? He couldn’t exactly leave to change. He might come back and find his cover blown. Although, in truth he didn’t really know why he was still there.

“Strange that a baker wouldn’t bring a set of work clothes with him on his first day on a new job,” Wayne commented behind him.

Eliot pretended to ignore the remark and started up the mixer. Mae was up front serving the walk-in customers, of which there were surprisingly many. The glass counters were constantly being refilled.

The teenagers had disappeared into the back somewhere after returning from their deliveries, and Eliot was starting to doubt the possible implementation of his original plan.

There was no way he could slip into the back office, not with Wayne watching him like a hawk. Then there was the problem of Mae. In just a couple of hours, she had him completely wrapped around her little finger.

Being in her presence had the strange but sweet sensation of being home again. Not his uncle’s mansion in Memphis, where he’d spent the majority of his growing years, but the little brick house in Nashville. The only real home he’d ever known. The one he’d shared with his parents until they were killed in an auto accident when he was ten.

Mae felt like his mother and the women of her breed. Strong, yet gentle. Loving yet stern. All four of his grandparents had died before he was born, and he’d been cut off from his father’s family from the time he was given over to Uncle Carl. He’d had a childhood filled with the luxuries of life but none of the warmth. Mae, or Mama Mae as everyone called her, was pure sunshine, and he enjoyed basking in it.

There was no getting around the fact that he’d come here for a reason, and that reason still existed, but Eliot was finding the idea of stealing that sweet old lady’s recipe book becoming more distasteful by the minute.

A loud banging noise came through the wall. Unable to resist, Eliot asked Wayne, “What are they doing in there?”

“Cleaning it up. Sophie is going to be staying here for a few weeks until her ankle heals.”

“You mean, here in the store?” Eliot suddenly had a bad feeling.

“No, the parking lot,” Wayne answered sarcastically.

Eliot ignored that remark. He did note with interest, however, the news about Sophie staying in the store. That sounded like something an owner would do. That type of dedication was unheard of in a paid manager.

If Sophie was an owner, why had her name not come up in any of his research, Eliot wondered. All his focus had been on Mae, and after what he’d seen today Eliot was almost certain he could custom-design a retirement package that would satisfy her. But what if selling the store is not her decision alone? What if she has a silent partner, one so determined to see the business grow she’s willing to dedicate herself twenty-four hours a day?

All the pieces began to click into place. Sophie was the one who’d been seducing his customers away. Sophie was the reason for all this new equipment. Sophie was the one who’d rejected his generous buyout offer. Sophie, Sophie, Sophie.

That morning, as he was wiping down the mixer, Mae placed a perfect BLT on the countertop near him. “Thought you might be hungry.” She smiled, and Eliot had an eerie vision of his mother’s face superimposed over Mae’s. The thin lines at the corners of her eyes crinkled as she smiled, the sign of a woman who laughed a lot.

“Thank you,” he said, before pulling up a stool to the preparation table. “That was very thoughtful.”

“It’s no problem,” she said. “I love to cook.” They noticed Wayne carrying his sandwich out the back door.

“I’m going to pick up Sophie, Mama Mae. I’ll be back in about an hour.” He paused and glanced at Eliot, and Eliot could see how troubled the other man was about leaving her alone with him. It was hard not to like a man that concerned about a woman he wasn’t even related to, Eliot thought.

He concentrated on his sandwich, trying to appear as harmless as possible. It must have worked, because Wayne finally turned and went out the door. Eliot smiled at Mae to let her know how tasty the sandwich was. And it was indeed.

But, the smile was also an expression of his satisfaction that soon he would finally meet the mysterious Sophie. The woman behind the sultry voice. The powerhouse behind the new and improved Mayfield Bakery. And hopefully Eliot would be able to fill in the last few missing pieces of the puzzle.

Sophie was more than ready to go when Wayne arrived to pick her up. Despite the painkillers, her ankle still throbbed. But even the pain could not distract her attention from the call she’d received earlier that morning.

Her new baker sounded like something straight out of a wet dream. He had such a smooth, deep baritone voice. Just remembering it sent a chill down her spine. There was no way he could be as fine as he sounded, she thought.

Still, she was eager to get back to the bakery to confirm or deny the fantasy she’d built up in her mind. And then there was that subtle challenge—at least, it felt like a challenge. Eight simple words: I look forward to meeting you, as well. It felt like he was saying so much more. But then again, the whole thing—the voice, the supposed challenge—could all be the sum-total effects of being without a man too long. Sophie chuckled at her own ridiculousness. All this over a two-minute conversation.

Just then Wayne came through the door. “Hey girl, you ready to go?”

“In a minute. I have to wait for the orderly with a wheelchair. Hospital policy. So, what do you think of our new baker?”

As if he’d been waiting for the opening, Wayne exploded in frustration. “How the hell you gonna hire a baker without telling me or at the least Mama Mae?” He began pacing in front of the bed, where she lay with her leg propped up on a pillow. “This guy shows up looking like he stepped out of the pages of GQ—”

“Really?!”

Wayne suddenly stopped and turned slowly in her direction.

Sophie cleared her throat quickly and tried to tamp down her enthusiasm. “Really?”

Wayne just watched her with narrowed eyes. “Yeah, really.”

“But what do you think of him, Wayne?” she asked, leaning forward. “I trust your judgment.”

“I don’t like him.”

“Why? Did he do something?”

Wayne shrugged. “Nope. Just don’t like him.” He started pacing again. “Although, I must admit he knows his way around a kitchen.” He glanced at her shyly. “I’ve had him doing grunt work all day.”

“Wayne! This man is a premier chef and I have the offer letter to prove it. Please don’t tick him off.” She looked him directly in the eye. “Whether you like him or not, if we are going to compete with Fulton we need him.”

“I know.” Wayne pouted. “After I got over being mad that you didn’t even consult me, I thought about it. I know why you hired him. I just wish you had hired someone else.”

“There was no one else, and if he hadn’t been on hard times lately, we wouldn’t have gotten him. So play nice.”

He sank down in the big guest chair, frustration radiating from his pores. “He did fix the oven and help us get the Centerfield order out on time.”

“See? He’s already proven his worth. The old oven acting up again?”

“Yeah, we’re gonna have to get that taken care of, now that we are doing all these big orders.”

“I know,” Sophie answered, wondering where the money was going to come from. “Did Dante get that back room cleaned up and livable?”

“Yeah, he and Lonnie have been in there all morning. Have you noticed how closely Lonnie’s been sticking to Dante lately?”

She chuckled. “He’s about the only one of us with the patience to answer all her questions.”

“I don’t know. I think it’s more than that. I think you may need to say something to Dante, let him know that Lonnie’s not like other girls. He might misunderstand her attachment, know what I mean?”

Sophie hid a small smile. It always surprised her how protective Wayne had become of them over the past few years. When he’d shown up looking for a job four years ago he’d been a recently released convict, and the hardness of prison life still clung to him. After he got over the initial surprise that he’d been hired despite his background, he’d worked like a demon. At the time, it had been only Sophie and Mae. Wayne had filled in all the blanks. He was the deliveryman, the fix-it guy, the heavy lifter and whatever else the job required, and he did it all without complaint.

It hadn’t taken Sophie long to realize that there was an equally big brain to go along with that brawn, and she quickly put it to work, as well. Now, four years later, Wayne knew as much about the business as she did, and she knew he could easily go somewhere else and make more money. But still he stayed with them, loyal to a fault.

“Okay, I’ll talk to him,” she said, just as the orderly rolled the wheelchair into the room. As she was loaded into the chair and rolled along the corridor, her busy mind was racing. Sophie knew much about their new baker’s situation, and how he’d happened to become available at a price she could pay. So her mind kept telling her not to get excited. Of course he probably looked like he stepped off the pages of a magazine, and of course his arrogance in his skill would rub Wayne the wrong way.

But even though she knew there was no rational reason to get excited, her heart was still racing in anticipation, and she was more anxious to reach the store than she cared to admit.

Eliot wiped the sweat from his brow and glanced at his watch. Apparently lunch had come with a price, because as soon as he’d taken the last bite, Mae had put him to work and stayed to supervise.

A delivery truck had arrived filled with huge bags of flour and sugar. He and Dante had been put to work unloading it. Lifting and moving the heavy bags made his expensive silk shirt cling to his torso.

He’d completely given up on the idea of stealing Mae’s recipe book. There was no way he could take a book that she’d spent a lifetime building and protecting. Now his attention was completely focused on Sophie. Eliot had a feeling that stealing her would be just as crippling as stealing the recipe book.

But what would happen when Wayne returned with her? Sophie would know, wouldn’t she? That he was not the man she’d hired? And then he would be exposed anyway. So why not just take the book and run?

As he watched Mae carry in a small box, he rushed to take it from her. “Here, Mama Mae, I got it,” he said, having already picked up on the nickname the small staff called her by.

She smiled up at him with gratitude and brown eyes full of trust. “Thank you, El, that was starting to get a little heavy.” She chuckled, reaching back to stroke her lower back. “These old bones can’t do what they used to.” She glanced down at his clinging shirt. “El, do you usually work in these kinda clothes?”

“No, ma’am, I don’t.” He laughed. “I just rushed off this morning without a change.”

Eliot realized this was the problem. This woman, who reminded him too much of his mother. Her blind trust and acceptance of him was like a fragile glass vase that he was contemplating smashing on the floor. He had to do it. Uncle Carl would expect him to do it. But somehow he could not bring himself to do it, he thought.

He was restocking the box racks in the front of the store when Eliot saw Wayne’s old pickup truck pull up. The moment of truth had arrived.

He climbed down from the racks and he waited inside the door, surprised by his own nervousness. It wasn’t like Sophie Mayfield was truly his employer, after all.

As Eliot watched Wayne open the passenger door and help the young woman inside position herself on her crutches, he was surprised by her youth. She was petite, with long, brown hair pulled back in a loose ponytail. At first glance, she didn’t seem to be much older than Dante and Lonnie. Listening to the others’ descriptions, he’d expected something akin to a force of nature.

Using the crutches, she limped toward the front door, and Wayne walked at her side before holding the door open for her. Glancing up, Wayne’s eyes met Eliot’s for a moment, and it was clear to Eliot that Wayne was expecting him to be instantly rebuked. Eliot’s mouth twisted, as he considered what the other man might have told her about him.

She limped to the entrance as the crutches bunched her shirt beneath her arms and Eliot found himself temporarily distracted by a smooth expanse of brown-skinned tummy revealed.

She stopped beside his car, looking at it for a long moment. Eliot would have paid anything to know what she was thinking. Then she continued limping toward the door.

In a way, she was almost as fragile as Mae, he thought, sighing heavily. These were no greedy moguls hungry for money and power. What had he wandered into here? he wondered.

As he was considering simply confessing the truth and reissuing his offer to buy them out, her eyes came up and met his, and all bets were off.

The sharp-witted soul that stared back at him from those eyes was no child. And Eliot knew in an instant that she was already considering the truth. That he was not who he said he was. He saw the questions in those amber brown depths, probing, and thinking. And Eliot knew this was his true adversary.

This was no sweet old lady who reminded him of his mother. His eyes roamed over her shapely form. No…nothing about her made him think of his mother. And despite her size and the crutches, she was about as helpless as a black widow.

She was gorgeous. Absolutely gorgeous. Everything from her large, almond-shaped eyes and sharp little nose to full, shapely lips that had him licking his as he considered how soft hers would be. All covered in flawless mahogany skin that had the pads of his fingertips tingling with the need to touch her.

She looked as if she should be traipsing across the state in beauty pageants, not here running a small bakery and becoming a thorn in his side. And Eliot fought a smile, as he saw desire reflected in her dark brown eyes. They fairly twinkled with surprise and interest. Despite his grungy appearance after a day of working harder than he had in ten years, she liked what she saw, he thought. Eliot wasn’t a vain man, but he knew when a woman found him attractive.

Then she smiled, perfect white teeth so bright they could rival the sun. “Welcome to the Mayfield Bakery, Mr…”

“Montagna. Elberto Montagna, but my friends call me El.”

“Nice to meet you, El. I’m Sophie Mayfield.”

“Mayfield?” El frowned slightly.

“Sorry I wasn’t here to meet you this morning, but as you can see something came up.” She laughed. “The floor—when I hit it.”

Eliot smiled, liking her already.

“You’re back!” Lonnie came charging out of the back headed straight for Sophie, but Wayne quickly intercepted the girl and caught Lonnie up against him. The momentum knocked him back a step and Eliot realized the impact would’ve knocked Sophie down.

Two things occurred to him at once. The quickness with which Wayne stepped in to protect Sophie spoke of an intimate connection. Eliot didn’t want to dwell on that. And the second was that Lonnie had not realized she would knock Sophie down. Suddenly the blank look to her eyes made sense. She was apparently mentally challenged. It was fairly obvious at first meeting, and the people who loved her were aware of her shortcomings and compensated for them.

From Wayne’s arm, Lonnie’s enthusiasm did not diminish even slightly. “You’re back! You’re back!”

Eliot watched as Sophie braced her body and nodded to Wayne to release her, and Lonnie threw herself against her cousin. Sophie shifted for a moment before regaining her bearing.

“Yes, I’m back. See, I told you it was nothing.” Sophie smiled at the girl.

“Is the cast heavy?” Lonnie asked.

“A little, but I’m getting used to it.”

“Welcome back, Sophie.” Dante had come out of the kitchen behind Lonnie, and he was followed by Mae.

They all crowded around Sophie as if it were a family reunion and they had not seen each other in years. Eliot knew from earlier conversations she’d spent only one day away from them.

Mentally, he compared this small group of five to the hundreds of employees of Fulton Foods. The differences were like night and day, and yet this small group was now giving Fulton a run for its money.

It was amazing, really, and Eliot knew without a doubt the woman on the crutches was the reason why. She was the reason for all that new equipment in the back. She was the one who wanted to go after their contracts. She was the one with the ambition; she was the one who’d rejected their generous offer, not Mae. And therefore, as much as he might not want to, he knew she would have to be the one he brought down. And since he’d already decided he could not steal Mae’s recipes, he had no idea exactly how to go about his mission. Especially considering Sophie, unlike her trusting grandmother, seemed to have suspicions about him. He only hoped his earlier phone calls worked.

“I was meeting our new baker.” She gestured to Eliot.

“El here has been working his little heart out this morning.” Mae came to his side, making herself his advocate. “Even though he was hired to bake, he has been a real sweetheart about helping me with the inventory all afternoon.”

He nodded, his mind on the way Wayne stood protectively close to Sophie. It was becoming apparent that the two were close, and irrationally, Eliot found he didn’t care for their relationship.

“That’s good to hear, we like go-getters around here.” Sophie smiled at him again, and Eliot felt his heart skip a beat. The woman really was too gorgeous.

“We got the back room all fixed up for you, Sophie,” Lonnie said happily. “Wanna see?”

“Right now all I want to do is find somewhere to sit down.” She smiled and winked at Eliot. “And of course, get to know our newest addition.”

Sophie repositioned herself on her crutches and headed toward the back, the small group following patiently behind her, each giving her reports of what had happened in her absence. Soon Eliot was left alone.

Slowly, Eliot turned and followed the group as he replayed that smile and wink, and the possible implications of what she’d meant by getting to know him. He smiled to himself. This day was getting more interesting by the minute.

Chapter 5

Wow. As she settled into her desk chair, and placed her crutches against the wall, Sophie released a pent-up breath. Wow. Her new baker had completely lived up to the sexy voice she’d heard on the phone that morning.

She tried to focus on the conversation around her as Lonnie and Dante filled her in on every moment she’d missed. Her grandmother had said something about being hungry and left the room already. Wayne was standing in the door, half watching her and half watching someone in the kitchen; she could only assume he was spying on El. Wayne had made his feelings about the man perfectly clear, although she’d already decided to take his assessment with a grain of salt. After all, Wayne had a lot of alpha dog in him, and the thought of another grown man in what he considered his kitchen would have never sat well. Which was part of why she hadn’t warned him ahead of time.

Despite his bias, he’d been dead on regarding appearance. Despite the dirt and dust, El did look like he’d stepped out of the pages of GQ magazine like Wayne said, and although she thoroughly enjoyed the whole package, the pieces didn’t completely make sense.

For instance, she expected him to be arrogant and a bit of a prima donna. After all, he was one of the breed of chefs that considered themselves more artist than cook. Many of his type managed large staffs, as he probably did in his previous employment. So self-assuredness was expected, although this man radiated authority.

He looked as if he should be sitting at the head of a corporate board, not tossing dough in someone’s kitchen. And he dressed like it, as well. What the hell was up with the business suit and slacks, she wondered. Maybe at Catalan’s—the restaurant he’d last worked in—he’d been in a strictly supervisory position. That would explain his unpreparedness for labor. But, thankfully, he didn’t seem to have a problem with hard work.

Then there was that sexy way he looked at her. Spending so much time in the bakery, Sophie rarely had time to date. But some things you never forgot. Like that flirty look he’d given her. And like the sex-starved woman she was, she’d reacted from the gut, instantly flirting back.

Then there was the smallest, yet oddest thing about him. His name. Elberto? She was almost certain the résumé had read Alberto Montagana. But, a one-letter difference could simply be a typo, she thought. Either way, he didn’t look like either an Elberto or an Alberto. Strangely enough, “El” fit him. And she found herself eager to be rid of Dante and Lonnie, so she could talk to him…and in private.

Lonnie was giggling and smiling at Dante, as he accused her of being the reason it took them so long to clean up the back room.

The bell at the front of the store rang, announcing a walk-in customer. “I’ll get it,” Wayne announced. He gave Sophie an I-told-you-so look and headed to the front of the store.

“No, it was your fault!” Lonnie laughed loudly, her attention still completely focused on Dante. “You kept playing around, throwing that box of packing peanuts at me.”

“What packing peanuts?” Sophie asked.

“We found a big box almost filled to the top,” Dante answered, stealing glances at Lonnie. “Looks like it was used to ship something here.”

Sophie shrugged off the issue, discreetly watching the interaction between the pair. Wayne maybe on to something, she thought, because surprisingly Dante definitely looked infatuated with Lonnie, and Lonnie looked just as interested in Dante. Could it be the girl was sending signals she was not aware of? Maybe she would have to talk to Dante. She thought he understood that despite their being the same age and physical development, Lonnie’s mental development was not where his was. Maybe she’d have to remind him.

She reached into her purse and pulled out a folded sheet of paper, handing it off to Dante. “My doctor called in a prescription for a wheelchair. Can you go pick it up for me? Here’s the address.”

“Sure,” he said, pocketing the paper. “Wanna come?” he asked Lonnie.

“Okay.” With a wave, she followed him out of the store. “See ya, Sophie.”

Sophie frowned, watching the pair leave. They were too close. How had she not seen the relationship growing? But she hadn’t. Not until Wayne mentioned it. But, truth be told, she didn’t pay much attention to Lonnie—not nearly as much as she should, she thought guiltily.

Lonnie had been a victim of circumstance almost from the moment she’d been conceived. She was the daughter of Mae’s firstborn, Sharyn, who’d been into one thing or another since her teen years, according to family gossip.

Sophie didn’t know her mother’s older sister very well, because she’d been banned from their home most of Sophie’s life. But when Sharyn came up pregnant at the age of forty-one, everyone in the family was concerned, given her track record. And eventually, the concern was proven valid when Lonnie had been diagnosed with Down syndrome.

When Lonnie was born, Sharyn apparently did try to be a good mother for a while, but soon the responsibility of caring for a mentally challenged child became too much for her. Somehow—no one really remembered—Lonnie ended up in the collective hands of the family, eventually landing at the door of her grandmother, with whom she’d lived the past six years.

As far back as Sophie could remember, Lonnie had tagged after her like a little sister, desperate for attention and approval. And, although no one ever said it, Sophie did feel a certain responsibility for the girl.

Mae reappeared in the door with a plate laden with so much food Sophie’s eyes widened in concern. “Grandma! What am I suppose to do with all that food?”

Mae gave a look that seemed to question Sophie’s sanity. “What anybody would do. Eat it.”

Sophie shook her head. “I will never understand why you and Granddad opened a bakery instead of a restaurant. The way you like to cook…”

Mae’s age-worn face took on a softer look as she remembered her long-dead husband. “That bakery was your granddaddy’s idea—and it wasn’t his first, let me tell you! We tried a laundry service at one time, and we even tried a grocer’s store. None of it ever amounted to much.” She chuckled to herself. Sophie listened patiently with a smile, thinking of the man she had only the vaguest memories of. She’d heard all the stories of her grandparents’ failed business ventures a dozen times. Sophie also knew it was part of what kept her parents, aunts and uncles from stepping in to help when the bakery started going under.

“Your granddaddy never had much of a head for business, but he had ideas and more ideas!” She looked at Sophie with a playful grin. “And I loved him so much, he could’ve wanted to sell sand in a desert and I would’ve been right there beside him.”

She reached out and touched her granddaughter’s face. “You remind me so much of him, always with ideas.” She bent and placed a quick kiss on her forehead. “Now you just have to find a man you can sell sand to.” With a chuckle, she turned and walked out, wiping her hands on her apron, the habit of a lifetime.

And for the first time since she’d limped into the front door, Sophie found herself completely alone with her thoughts. Once again they wandered back to her handsome new baker.

With his copper golden skin and eyes that matched, he could’ve been the love child of Apollo, the sun god. He wore his hair in short locks, which were an unusual sandy brown. With his skin tone the color was likely natural. El did not look like the hair-dye kind of brother.

He was tall, maybe six feet plus, and tended toward lean except in the shoulders, which were bunched with muscles visible even beneath the thin material of his shirt. Another factor that would rankle Wayne. The ex-convict was built like a bulldog, short and stocky.

At first glance, she’d thought El was younger, closer to her age. But one look in his eyes, and there she found a man who knew something of life. Top all that lusciousness off with beautiful, perfect, bubble-gum-pink lips and he was scrumptious enough to go in the counter next to any of the confectionary treats there.

She heard a light rap on the door and jumped, slightly startled to see El standing there smiling at her, as if summoned by her thoughts.

He glanced at the plate of food. “I see Mama Mae’s struck already.”

Sophie laughed. “Yeah. You’d think after a lifetime of her cooking, I’d be as big as a house.”

His eyes roamed over her body appreciatively, as he said, “No but it looks like you filled out in all the right places.”

Sophie decided to ignore the remark. They were already getting off to a less-than-professional start. She reached over and pulled up a chair. “Got a minute? I was hoping we could talk.”

“Sure.” He took a seat, leaning forward slightly. “You sure you should be here? Just getting out of the hospital and all?”

“‘Should’ is not the issue. I need to be here. We have just taken on a lot of big contracts including Morningside. We even outbid our competition—”

“Your competition?”

“Fulton Foods, out of Memphis. Heard of them?”

“Yeah, I think I have. But they’re a really big operation.” He frowned. “No offense, but are you really capable of competing with them?”

She bit her bottom lip. “Honestly—no. But we are going to give it a hell of a try. How else can we grow? The market we’re in is saturated. There are dozens of small neighborhood bakeries in this area. But Fulton has a monopoly on all the larger contracts.” She counted off on her fingers. “The schools, hospitals, municipalities. If we can just get these first few contracts fulfilled to each client’s satisfaction, we can start building some reputation equity. Does that make any sense?”

His eyes had narrowed on her face as he listened intently. “Yes, sorta like a fighter training to move into a different weight category. Light to middle, middle to heavy.”

She laughed. “Exactly! That’s a terrific analogy. And that’s where you come in.” She looked directly at him. “If we are going to be a premier bakery, we need a premier chef.”

He nodded, looking down at the floor. “I’m flattered, but I must admit that I don’t see the need. Mama Mae’s pastries are exceptional. The quality and taste could compete with anything Fulton puts out.”

Sophie glanced at the door. “My grandmother is a talented baker, but she’s not a young woman, El. She’s getting up in age, and sometimes she…sometimes she forgets things. We are really going to be under the gun in the next few months, and I don’t want that kind of pressure on her.” She reached over and laid her hand on the big recipe book. “I was hoping you could take a look at her book and learn the basics as well as some of the fancier designs she doesn’t really do on a daily basis. And we’ll incorporate those into our new menu.”

El’s eyes came up to hers in surprise. “You want me to learn her recipes?” He glanced at the door. “Is she okay with that?”

Sophie smiled. “Look, I know where you come from must be ultracompetitive, and bakers would probably kill before revealing their recipes. But my grandmother bakes and cooks because she loves it. Truth is, she’d probably give the stuff away if she could.” She shook her head. “There is not a competitive bone in her body. I only ask that you not share her recipes. My grandmother may not care one way or the other, but those recipes are the lifeblood of this bakery. Without them we would be destroyed.”

El nodded slowly, thoughtfully.

He understood, she thought. “Good. Now is there anything you would like from me?”

El stood. “No, that pretty much covers it.”

“Oh, wait!” She reached across the desk and picked up a manila folder. “I need you to fill out the contact sheet and tax forms. And your health insurance information is inside, as well.”

“You offer medical benefits?” he asked, opening the folder.

“Yes. Didn’t Tom tell you that?”

“Yes—of course. It must’ve slipped my mind.” He glanced through the pages. “It probably cost you a fortune with such a small staff.”

She shrugged. “It ain’t cheap, but I owe it to them. I owe it to you.”

Eliot just looked at her for several moments, and she had no idea what he was thinking. It wasn’t like the flirty little look he’d given her earlier. This look was more like he was trying to work something out in his head. Although she had no idea what. “Everything okay?”

He nodded and held up the folder. “I’ll read it over and bring it back tomorrow.”

“Oh wait.” Sophie reached over and tried to pick up the recipe book, but it was too heavy. “Did you want to take the recipe book with you to look over tonight?”

He stared at the book for several long seconds, just the way he’d stared at her, and finally shook his head. “No, I’ll look it over later.” He started to leave again, and paused. “Um, I may not be in tomorrow.”

She started to protest but held back. The man had just arrived in town. Of course he would need some time to get himself settled. As much as they needed his skills, it was only fair to give him some time.

“Sure, no problem,” she said. “And El, again, welcome. I know this is not the type of environment you are used to working in, but I think if you give us a chance we could win you over.” She gave him a cheeky grin.

He answered with a soft smile. “You already have.”

Chapter 6

The next morning, sitting in his office suite at the Fulton Foods corporate office in downtown Memphis, Eliot considered everything he’d seen and learned about the Mayfield Bakery the day before. And most important, what he’d learned about Sophie Mayfield.

After she’d settled into her new living space, the afternoon had pretty much taken off at twice the speed of the morning. She was like a general directing troops. As he watched her throughout the day, she coordinated delivery schedules for the weeks to come, assigning task and duties.

Eliot was surprised to learn that in addition to the few contracts she’d stolen from him, she had been busy getting other large contracts, as well.

His first order of business this morning had been to call his lawyer, Steve, and have him make another offer to purchase Mayfield. Now knowing what he knew, Eliot was certain he could custom-design a package that pretty little Sophie would find irresistible.

The door to his office swung open and slammed against the wall. Eliot sighed. He knew that eventually he was going to have to have that wall repaired and a stopper placed behind the door.

“Morning, Uncle Carl.”

“Where were you yesterday?!”

Eliot sat back in his high-back leather chair, resting his elbows on the padded arms. “Out.”

“Don’t be coy with me, nephew! Where the hell were you? I tried calling you all afternoon and you didn’t answer your cell phone.”

Eliot narrowed his eyes on his uncle. “I haven’t accounted for my whereabouts to you since I was twelve. So, what’s this really about?”

“Got another damn e-mail!” He shook his fist and Eliot saw the crumpled papers for the first time.

He took the pages and pretended to be interested in what he was reading. He already knew it was for the Willows Day Care. He’d seen the requisition for their order yesterday. He considered warning his uncle that there would be one coming from the Thumbelina Nursery, as well, but decided that was only asking for trouble.

“Here we are sinking, and you’re out gallivanting around.”

“I told you I’m taking care of it.”

“How? By spending the day doing whatever the hell you do, instead of finding a way to get rid of this little pain in my ass!”

Eliot picked up his pen and twirled it between his index fingers. “What if I told you I spent the day working in the kitchen of the Mayfield Bakery and now know a lot more about them than I did two days ago?”

For one of maybe three times in his life, Eliot realized he’d managed to surprise Carl.

“What?”

“I went there to speak to the owner. They all assumed I was the new baker, so I played along to get the feel of the place. Do you realize they are still using a recipe book?” He shook his head, still stunned by that fact. “The owner is a woman named Mae Ann Mayfield, but the real brains of the operation is the granddaughter, Sophie. She’s the real threat.”

“How big an operation is it?”

“It’s just what we thought it was—a small-town bakery. But I could see they were improving their equipment and processes, and with Sophie in charge they will be able to really compete soon enough.”

“They are already competing, that’s the problem. But…you were inside the store, huh?”

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