Page 29 of The Best Kind of Bad

“How so?”

She meets my gaze, grinning. “Handsome as sin. Nothing but trouble. Although, Runner seemed to find more than his fair share of it. Dusty had the good luck of falling in with those Thomas boys. And your Uncle Gus seemed to keep him out of trouble, too.”

“Uncle Gus did?”

“Oh, yes. He was always barking at that boy. He would have made a good father. It’s a shame he never got married.”

“Yeah.”

“I never understood that.” Barb shakes her head. “Such a nice man. Quiet, yes, but came from a good family. Had a lot to offer a wife. But he was always so painfully shy. Not like your mom. That woman was a walking, talking ray of sunshine.”

I think of my mother, quiet and mellow, and tilt my head. “Are we talking about the same woman?”

“Oh yes. Naomi was just the sassiest little thing. And when she became head cheerleader,” Barb laughs, shaking her head. “I can remember how scandalized the school board was when she introduced the school to her choreography. It was probably pretty tame compared to the way the girls dance these days, but back then, it was pretty shocking. Wiggling hips and the like.”

“I don’t think I ever saw my mother dance.”

“Really?”

“I was on the dance team, actually. And she was always complaining that we were too risqué.”

Barb laughs. “That’s a bit ironic.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, anyway, Marnie. I won’t beat around the bush. I came here to ask for your help. If I have to beg, I will. My daughter’s wedding is next week. And thanks to that sly fox, Edna Korra, we don’t have a baker. RayAnne is just beside herself. And I can’t blame her. I didn’t think that girl would ever get married. She’s a late bloomer, you know. But now that she is getting married, I just want it to be perfect for her.”

“Of course.”

Barb gives me a hopeful look. “I can’t hardly bake her a box cake or anything. She deserves something beautiful. And Dusty was telling me what a fantastic baker you are. I’m sure you’ve got better things to do, but if you could see it in your heart to help a poor little late bloomer out, we’d be so darn grateful.”

I look at those blue eyes, owlish and magnified by those glasses, and feel my resolve slipping.

“What exactly did she have in mind?”

Barb’s eyes light up. She whips out her phone and shows me a picture she took of a handwritten order form. There’s even a little diagram of the planned cake. It’s old-fashioned. Classic. “That’s what RayAnne asked for?”

Barb tilts her head. “Not quite, but Edna wasn’t usually very open to creative suggestions.”

“What did RayAnne actually want?”

Barb navigates to RayAnne’s Pin Board and shows me a modern wedding cake with smooth fondant icing. Delicate wildflowers paint the smooth surface and fresh flowers grace the tiers. “That’s beautiful.”

“Yeah, but Edna said the little paintings are probably impossible.”

“No. It’s easy enough to do watercolor icing.”

Barb perks up. “You think you could do that?”

I hesitate. Between the tense hope scrawled on her face and the fact that I have at least a week’s worth of sorting ahead of me, I feel the last of my reservations crumble. I’m stuck here anyway, might as well do a good deed. “Definitely. I just need your guest count and your budget.”

Barb crows, lighting up. “Oh, thank you, Marnie. Sweet angel. RayAnne will be over the moon.”

I glance out the window, spotting Dusty hefting heavy burlap bags out of the back of his truck.

Something tells me his chance meeting with Barb Elliot was no coincidence.

I tilt my head, wondering what wedding cakes and that sexy farm boy have in common.

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