The Cupcake Queen

Gretchen went inside, leaving her alone to watch the rescue vehicle drive away. When it reached the road, the driver was forced to stop by a gleaming black-and-chrome pickup, whose driver seemed hell-bent on making the turn into the parking lot. She continued to watch as the truck pulled parallel to the rescue vehicle and stopped so the two drivers could converse briefly. Then the rescue vehicle continued on and the truck shot toward her with enough speed to spray gravel.

Even before it came to a complete stop, Olivia knew the menacing-looking truck belonged to Owen Rancourt. Call it intuition. Call it inevitable. Call it the fitting end to what threatened to be the worst day of her entire useless life.

Hell, call it plain old bad luck. The facts didn’t change.

Fact one: judging from the expression on the man’s face as he jumped from his truck and caught sight of her, Gretchen had called it exactly. Owen Rancourt had murder in his eye.

Fact two: she and Owen the Horrible had tangled before.

Twice.

Chapter Three

F or the first time since the frantic call summoning him there, Owen’s adrenaline level began to level off. Not that it was apparent from the way his truck ripped across the paved lot. Whatever relief he felt was a result of seeing for himself that Dan, his only full-time employee and damn near his only close friend in the world, was in good hands and on his way to the hospital. Now he needed to see Romeo. Even within that small circle Owen counted as friends, Romeo stood alone.

It was the general belief in town that Owen Rancourt preferred dogs to people. It was not an impression he went out of his way to contradict. He wasn’t one of those activists who ranked animal rights equal to those of humans. It was simply a fact that, much of the time, he’d rather be in the company of his dogs than most people he knew. And if that little quirk in his nature prompted others to keep their distance, well, that was just fine with him.

There was a long list of reasons he favored dogs. High on that list was that they never trapped him into making small talk, or asked questions about things that were none of their business, or demanded more than he was willing or able to give at that moment. A passing scratch behind the ears or an hour of throwing a Frisbee, a good dog received both with a wagging tail and single-minded devotion.

Loyalty. That was also near the top of his list. Right up there with predictability. Once a dog was properly trained and bonded with his handler, you could count on him doing his job, doing his best, every time out. No surprises. No hesitation. No second-guessing. And his dogs could count on him the very same way. Simple and straightforward. That’s the way he liked things, and he did everything in his power to keep his life working that way.

There had been nothing simple or straightforward about the phone call some babbling pet owner had made on Doc Allison’s behalf. Even now he wasn’t sure what the hell had happened. The rescue crew had only taken enough time to tell him Danny’s vital signs were almost back to normal and he should be all right once they got him to the hospital. All he had been able to decipher from the phone call was what sounded like “loose bees,” “the poor man” and “the poor dog” Then the plea for him to come in a hurry.

It didn’t make sense. Allison had been cultivating honey for as long as he could remember, and if she’d ever had a problem with her bees, he didn’t recall it. Besides, Danny and Romeo were both too smart and too tough to be taken down by a few bees.

It wasn’t until he was out of the truck and standing face-to-face with hands-down the most perfect specimen of womanhood to ever float down from heaven, that it began to make a scary kind of sense. The fact that Ms. Perfection was also crazy was the piece of the puzzle that made all the others slip into place.

Instinctively his heart went back to jackhammering in his chest.

“Where’s my dog?” he demanded.

“Doc Allison is inside with him. Please, you have to listen,” she said, stepping directly into his path and raising both palms. As if that could stop him—or save her—if he felt like doing something more than listen. “I can’t tell you how sorry…”

That was enough to confirm his suspicion that whatever the nature of the crisis, she was to blame. Not exactly a surprise.

“Get out of my way,” he ordered, prepared to move her physically if she made it necessary.

She stepped aside, proving she had at least a modicum of sense.

He strode through the deserted waiting area and headed for the examining room. First he would check on Romeo. Then he would deal with the lunatic outside.

He shoved open the door without taking time to knock.

Romeo, all 140 pounds of him, was lying on his side on the examining table. A narrow white cloth covered his eyes, and the rest of him was covered with swollen bumps, some of then with gauze stuck to them. Beestings. Dozens of them, damn her. The six-year-old German shepherd was absolutely motionless. Doc sat on a stool by his side, her head in her hands. Gretchen was in the corner, looking even gloomier than usual.

At the sound of the door opening, the vet’s head jerked up.

“Damn, Doc,” he blurted before she had a chance to speak. “He’s not…”

He couldn’t even say it.

“No, no. Of course, he’s not,” Doc Allison assured him as she quickly stood and rounded the examining table to give his arm a comforting squeeze. “I have him sedated. Once the painkillers and antihistamines do their thing, he should be as—” she caught herself and shrugged “—make that not quite as good as new, not right away at least, but we can make him reasonably comfortable. It’s Dan I’m really worried about. Did you know he was allergic to beestings?”

Owen shook his head. “He is?”

“Severely so, judging by the difficulty he was having breathing.” Her lips tightened as she added, “Of course, a hundred or so beestings would overwhelm just about anyone’s nervous system.”

The mental image made him grimace. “What the hell happened?”

She shook her head and plunged her hands deep into the pockets of her wet, rumpled lab coat.

For the first time he noticed that she was wet all over. Her hair was hanging in damp clumps, and her makeup was streaked across her face.

“You look awful, Doc.”

“Thanks. I feel even worse.” She dragged her hair back from her forehead. “As for what happened…I’m not exactly sure myself. Oh, I have a grasp of the highlights, but the details are sketchy, and to tell you the truth, I’m a little afraid that if I don’t get a handle on my temper before I try to get details, I might end up behind bars before this day is over.”

“Would the charge be justifiable homicide?”

“You tell me. I found out only a few minutes ago that you’re the guy who had the coffee dumped on him.”

“True.”

“Why?”

“Long story. Comes down to her not liking to have her butt squeezed without her permission. Now let me hear the highlights about this afternoon.”

She turned to Gretchen.

“Keep an eye on him, will you?” she asked with a nod toward Romeo. “Let me know when he starts to come around.”

She motioned for Owen to follow her to her office. “Come sit down and I’ll tell you what I know. If I’m in luck—which would be close to a miracle considering how it’s been running lately—there might be a couple of cold beers hiding in the back of the fridge. My guess is I’m not the only one who could use one about now.”

In the outer office Olivia was pacing and rehearsing her apology. When it came to apologies, she wasn’t what you’d call a seasoned veteran. Oh, she’d uttered her share of sorrys for bumping into someone or not returning a phone call or breaking curfew when she was younger, but this was different. Her brow puckered as she tried to recall ever making a seriously heartfelt apology to anyone, for anything. She couldn’t.

Not that she never made mistakes. Not by a long shot. But when she did mess up or fail to do something, there was always someone to step in and handle it. There were never any unpleasant consequences. Not for her anyway.

The realization bothered her. It was bad enough that she had been buffered her entire life from the consequences of her own actions, but to be so utterly oblivious, so completely self-focused that she never gave the matter a second thought, was not something to be proud of.

Perhaps if she had taken the heat on occasion, she wouldn’t be fumbling for the appropriate words now that she needed them. This was a major-league screwup and it required a major-league apology. Even if she came up with one that was letter perfect, and even if Rancourt and her boss remained calm long enough to accept it, there was no hope of saving her job. She had only slightly more experience with work practices than with apologies, but it was enough to know her days at Danby Animal Hospital were history.

She wouldn’t think about that now.

Instead she looked around to see what else she could do to demonstrate how truly sorry she was. So far she had swept up the mess outside, rescheduled the few patients who hadn’t fled and searched—unsuccessfully—for the real culprit in all this, Izzy, the feline Houdini with the disappearing act.

While she could happily strangle the cat, part of her longed for the sound of his bandaged paw tapping on the door for someone to let him in. Not for his sake. For hers. Losing a patient only added to the body count. It would also squelch any slight chance she might have of Doc Allison giving her, if not a favorable recommendation, at least not a warning for potential employers to run for their lives.

She couldn’t think about that now, either.

Who was she kidding? She had to think about it and fast. If she didn’t find another job immediately, she would be heading home with a white flag flying from the antenna of her dilapidated car. She shuddered, then stiffened her backbone. That was not going to happen, she promised herself. She would do anything, anything, to win this bet.

She drummed her fingertips on the desk, brooding about how much less humiliating this would be if one of the offended parties hadn’t turned out to be the man from the diner. She’d toyed briefly with taking the stance that this somehow evened the score between them. Very briefly. Having your fanny patted seemed benign compared to being hauled away in an ambulance.

If only she’d had enough self-control to stop herself from dumping coffee on him, everything would be different. She might still be wearing her ruffled apron. And her father’s frequent reminder that “What goes around comes around” wouldn’t be ringing in her head loudly enough to bring on a migraine. But she didn’t have that much self-control, and the prospect of apologizing while trapped in the glare of Rancourt’s steel-and-ice gaze made her wish she knew where Izzy was hiding so she could join him.

She wondered how Rancourt would react once he heard her out. Not by shouting or lashing out, not if the tightly leashed control she’d witnessed last time was any indication. Not knowing what she was up against added to her anxiety. She dealt with it by rearranging the objects on the desk, all the time listening for footsteps so she wouldn’t be taken off guard. She was willing to say she was sorry because it was the honest truth, but she wasn’t willing to have anyone think she was nervous enough to jump out of her skin. Even if that was true, too.

After what seemed hours, Doc Allison walked in followed by Owen Rancourt. The instant he walked into the room, his gaze found Olivia and settled on her. And from that same instant, an edgy awareness of the man tingled inside her. As if that weren’t distraction enough, Olivia had a sense of the air around her becoming heavy, as if a storm were brewing.

She got to her feet, cleared her throat and tried to keep her eyes on her boss. It wasn’t easy with Rancourt’s unwavering gaze drawing hers back to him.

“How is he? Romeo, I mean?” she asked.

“Resting,” the vet replied, her tone clipped. “Has the hospital called with any word about Danny?”

Olivia shook her head. “I could call over there and—” Eager to please, she was already reaching for the phone when Doc Allison’s voice cracked like a whip.

“No.”

“I was just going to call and see if there is—”

“No.” Her tone was razor edged. “Don’t call. Don’t check. Just don’t do or touch anything. Do you understand?”

Olivia nodded.

“I understand you two have already met,” the vet continued.

“Not formally,” said Rancourt.

Doc Allison made it formal.

Olivia cleared her throat. “I’m glad I have this chance to talk to both of you together. I want to apologize…to both of you.” Her voice held steady in spite of the fact that every word she’d prepared had slipped away like water down a drain. “Everything that happened today was entirely my fault. I didn’t mean for it to happen. I was trying to do the best job I could, but somehow… First the cat wanted to use the litter box…at least that’s what he wanted me to believe, when in reality he was planning to escape all along. I chased him, which was probably my second mistake…”

The expressions on their faces made her feel as if she had suddenly lapsed into Swahili.

“Where was I?” she asked. “Oh, right, the chase. I’m in pretty good shape, but this cat was faster, much faster, even with a bandaged paw. The next thing I knew I was on the other side of the bushes…and then the snake…and the bees.” The halfhearted toss of her hands reflected her feeling of being overwhelmed by it all. “I tried. I really did, but everything I did wrong just led to something even worse.”

She paused, waiting for one of them to speak. Somewhere, way in the back of her head, she could hear her mother’s comforting voice saying to her the words she so often had, You tried, sweetheart, that’s what matters.

“Say something,” she urged.

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

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

“I guess I deserve that.”

“You guess?”

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

“No,” the other woman blurted.

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

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

“Yes. I am.”

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

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

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

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

“That’s not good enough.”

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

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

“I do,” he said.

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

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

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

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

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

“Why?”

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

Payback time…just as she suspected.

“Are you in?” he asked.

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

She sighed. “When do I start?”

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

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