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Chapter 1
Deb Boulanger smiled at her phone’s camera. “And that’s our specials for tomorrow! We’ll be open at seven, and I’ll have prepacked boxes ready to fly out the door.” She wiggled her fingers. “See you then!” She clicked the video off, reviewed it, added captions, hashtags and music, then posted it to the Deb’s Bakery website and social media profiles, plus community pages. Her last chore done, she turned off the sign in the front window of her bakery, and then rose on her tiptoes and reached for the sky, her back popping and cracking. At a mere five foot two, she didn’t have a prayer of reaching the ceiling, let alone the sky.
Crossing the small dining area in front of the counter, she checked for stray crumbs or napkins, but Jeff, her clean up person, was meticulous. Behind the bakery counter, she pulled mostly-empty trays out of the glass front display cases. If only she could find more people with Jeff’s dedication. Her employees were nice enough, but had no real love for baking; they were there for the paycheck only. Which would be fine, if she could afford to pay them more hours. But she was stuck in what her small business advisor called the muddy middle. She had more business than she could handle, but not enough to afford full time workers with benefits and insurance, no matter how much she wanted to.
After wrapping the few leftovers in plastic, she placed them in the day-old sales basket. Those left from yesterday had already gone to the food pantry, along with loaves of fresh bread. She’d like to send more to them and the family shelter, too, but she couldn’t.
Marcus Bank’s President, Sharlene Murphy, had strongly suggested Deb accept investors. She’d sent eager candidates ready to shovel capital into Deb’s Bakery. An influx of cash would allow her to hire full time employees, but at the cost of losing control. The men she’d interviewed at Mrs. Murphy’s request—and they were all older men—took a look at her balance sheet and told her to buy cheaper ingredients, get rid of Jeff, and contract a commercial bakery to make her most popular cupcakes with preservatives, then distribute to grocery stores.
Deb didn’t want to do any of that. She wanted to bake, design new creations, and make her customers happy. Cheaper ingredients and preservatives—required if she wanted to distribute her goods more than a couple of hours away—changed the taste and texture too much. Besides, there were more than enough cheap cupcakes in stores already. High quality local goods kept her customers coming back. Plus, going commercial meant shutting down her dining area, and she liked talking to customers.
Even if some of those customers were a pain, like Charles “Chaz” Cust and his horrible, but wealthy and influential mother. But she’d take the Custs any day over the most recent so-called investors Sharlene Murphy sent her way.
Rough men in boxy suits, with wary glances on entering the bakery, they reeked of cologne and gunpowder. Once Ryan, Erin’s fiancé, pointed out the signs, she could spot the bulge of concealed pistols under their arms or at their waists. These men were demanding and rude, too, pushing in front of customers and practically shouting that Marcus Bank sent them to invest, and not taking no for an answer. She’d had to threaten to call the cops twice. The last three investors had heavy accents as well; Nadia, one of her regulars, told her they spoke like Bratva—the Russian mob—and she couldn’t come into the bakery anymore. She bought cupcakes at the Saturday Farmer’s Market when Deb opened, then scurried away.
After the last uninvited mobster made a fuss on a busy morning, Deb had Sam Kerr, her attorney and other best friend, send a cease-and-desist letter to the bank, stating formally that she was not interested in investors or franchising. Ms. Murphy had stormed in the next day, her normally calm, pale white face flushed and glaring, accusing Deb of backstabbing, underhanded behavior and trying to get her fired. Deb had replied calmly, reminding Sharlene that she’d called, emailed, and sent personal letters, and yet, more so-called investors kept showing up and attempting to intimidate her and her customers.
Deb had another reason for taking the nuclear option; the idiot “investors” attempting to intimidate her didn’t understand the people of Marcus, Montana. At least half of her customers legally carried firearms. The last thing she needed was a wild west shootout in her shop. Filing that insurance claim would probably get her dropped as too big a risk, and insuring a bakery was difficult enough already.
“Hey, Deb, are you here?” Erin’s voice rang over the hum of cooling fans.
“Up front!” She stacked the display trays and carried them to the sinks. Her night worker, a student at the local community college, would clean them, and the next day’s goods were ready for tomorrow’s sales on covered trays in the back.
Erin’s bright red hair appeared between the racks of cupcakes, cookies, and bread, then she leaned against the sink next to Deb. “It smells amazing in here.”
Deb chuckled. “You always say that.”
“And I always mean it. You are the superhero of baked goods.” Erin pointed her elbow at Deb, a gesture left over from her days in the Air Force, where pointing with a finger wasn’t polite for some odd reason.
Deb put her hands on her hips. “That’s me, Cupcake Woman!”
Erin laughed. “Funny every time.” She sobered. “How are you doing after my mother went ‘Terror of the Town’ on you? Any fallout?”
She grimaced. “I got an official letter back through Sam, stating my wishes would be followed, but that my loan was under review.” Other than her first year, she’d made every payment on time, and paid extra on the original amount during good months.
“I don’t know what’s gotten into her lately.” Erin sighed. “First, she tries really hard to set me up with slimy Chaz Cust, then she alienates me and Ryan publicly, and she sucks up to her wealthy customers in all kinds of weird ways. Now she’s sending mobsters to your door. I’m afraid she’s gotten into something really, really bad, and can’t find a way out.” She shook her head, her expression sad. “I hate to say it, but I’m glad we took Wiz’s warnings seriously and opened accounts at other banks. I can’t trust my own mother anymore.”
“I’ve opened new accounts, too, but I really don’t want to go through the hassle of getting a new business loan.” That would take time and effort, and she was short on both already.
“Me either, but my loan and a tiny business account are all I have left at Marcus Bank. Another good year, and we’ll be paid off.” Erin grinned. “And speaking of business, with Ryan downrange, I need to get back to mine. My boxes are in their usual places?”
Deb grinned. “Sure are. And I put a special present in there for you and your snuggle stud.”
Erin’s expression turned dreamy. “He’s coming home late tonight, and I can hardly wait.”
“I bet.” Deb waggled her brows and grinned, but couldn’t help the jealousy spearing her heart. If only she could find a guy like Ryan. Her first marriage had been a total disaster; they’d both been too young, and she’d been blindly stupid, too. After her sister Kim met and married Nic Acer, Deb had hoped she’d have a chance with Nic’s brother, Michael. Kim even suggested the two of them date, but Michael had scoffed, claiming the idea was ridiculous. His words had stabbed her in the heart, but stiffened her resolve. No man would ever make her feel less than enough ever again; she’d had enough of that with her first marriage.
Deb still used Acer Home Repair when she needed help with her bakery, but she called Nic directly. Both Nic and Kim told her that Michael still struggled to accept his medical release from the Army and deal with his continuing health issues despite creating an extremely successful business.
“Speaking of studs, did you know Michael Acer was in Louisiana helping with the hurricane cleanup at the same time as Ryan?” Erin raised her brows.
“No, really?” Michael had seemed totally focused on his business and he was just plain grumpy. Volunteering halfway across the country seemed out of character. But she didn’t know him that well—he’d made sure of that.
Erin showed her a photo on her phone. “Yep. Ryan had no idea Michael was a Team Rubicon member until he was assigned to Michael’s team to muck out a flood victim’s house. Since he’s a contractor, they made Michael a team leader immediately. Ryan said he did a great job.” The photo showed a grinning Ryan and a grimacing Michael, the two of them in mud-covered white plastic suits, carrying a battered white bathtub. Despite having a mechanical gripper instead of a left hand, Ryan didn’t seem to have any trouble with his end of the load. Michael looked more pained. “They’re on the same flight back late tonight, though, so I’m giving Michael a ride home.”
“I’m sure Kim and Nic appreciate that.” Deb pretended to pout. “But now I won’t get to watch her kids.” Isabella and Sophia, her nieces from Kim’s equally disastrous first marriage, were the joy of Deb’s life. But she had a ton of cupcakes to decorate for the Farmer’s Market, and the two girls made that difficult. If she was smart, she would close the shop on Saturdays, and concentrate on the market, but her regulars would whine.
Erin chuckled. “The girls are cute, but I’m sure you’ll have more opportunities.”
