offer that she knew nothing about. Sam should have taken Jen up on her offer to call her friend and present the idea first. She’d gotten a somewhat hesitant promise that the younger woman could start work on Wednesday but only during the hours her kids were in school.
She abandoned the tub once the water began to cool and headed straight for bed. The beside clock told her it was 8:47 but she couldn’t keep her eyes open one more minute.
When the alarm went off at four-thirty Sam’s eyes flew open. She couldn’t remember setting it and wasn’t at all sure if it were morning or night. The bakery. If she didn’t get at least eight dozen things baked, she would have no product when the customers began to show up at seven. She sat up quickly, not allowing herself to get drowsy again. She might never get up if that happened.
She turned her bedside lamp three clicks, to the brightest setting the bulb could offer. Slamming her eyes shut against the assault, she felt her way across the room to her dresser. The lumps of the carved wooden box felt familiar and comforting in her hands. She gradually opened her eyes, accepting the light in the room and the warmth from the box.
Although the room was chilly with the household thermostats set low for the night, Sam felt quickly warmed by the glow from the box. As usual, energy traveled up her arms, through her body, to her core. When the tingle in her fingers became nearly painful she set the box back on the dresser.
Changing from her nightshirt to the black slacks and white shirt she wore under her baker’s jacket, she checked herself in the mirror. Her skin looked fresh and young, her hair fell perfectly into its short layers. She dashed a bit of lipstick across her mouth and found her favorite gold hoop earrings.
On the kitchen table lay a flyer announcing the gala party on Saturday and a note from Kelly:
Sam scrawled a big smiley-face at the bottom of Kelly’s note and the words:
By the time she’d loaded the heavy sacks of flour and sugar into the van, she was more than ready to fire up her new ovens and tackle the world.
The plaza was eerily empty in the glow of old-fashioned street lamps when Sam cruised through. Thick frost coated everything and only a few brown leaves straggled on the trees. She cut across to the next block and again parked the van in front of her shop. Jen had left the sales room clean and neat; everything was ready for the baked goodies to fill the cases and for the coffee maker to infuse the air with that enticing early-morning scent. She sighed contentedly.
An hour later four dozen muffins were ready and on display. Scones were in one oven, croissants in the other. She brought the remaining cheesecake slices out of the walk-in fridge and arranged them in paper cups, ready for individual sale. Once Jen arrived to handle the customers, Sam could continue to produce cookies, pies and a few cakes. She paged through her recipes—crumb cake, apple streusel, more cheesecake (the pumpkin had gone really well yesterday). She quickly wrote up a supply order and placed it online with her wholesaler for delivery by afternoon.
Sam was just pulling the last of the scones from the oven when she heard the bell over the shop door.
“Sam? What have you been doing?” Jen’s voice came through. “I thought I’d get here early to help, and look at this . . . the cases are nearly full.”
Uh-oh. She hadn’t thought about how her unlimited energy would appear to someone who’d not seen her in action before.
“Umm . . . well I couldn’t sleep,” she said as she placed the warm pastries onto the display trays. “You know, too excited I guess. Tossed and turned . . . So I gave up and came in.”
“It’s barely six o’clock. That’s amazing.”
Sam shrugged. “How about getting that coffee going and we’ll have ourselves a little breakfast before anyone else comes.”
Bless her, Jen didn’t question. She put on an apron and started right in. Working by the half light of the back counter she efficiently measured water for the coffee and pressed all the right series of buttons.
Sam stood by the windows, a blueberry scone in hand. “Winter’s coming on. The days are getting shorter, aren’t they?”
Jen murmured something about snow flurries in the forecast.
A tap at the window startled Sam and she nearly dropped her scone.
“Beau! What are you doing out so early?” She closed the door behind him, shutting out the chilly air.
“Once again, Padilla’s spending the day driving the far reaches of the county to campaign. Left me with two shifts. Is that coffee I smell?”
Jen rushed to get him a mug and Sam told him to pick something to eat if he wanted. He chose a crumb- topped muffin and joined Sam at one of the tables.
Jen quietly disappeared to the back, mumbling something about checking on the oven.
“I got a warrant to search Bram Fenton’s office over on Paseo Montano,” he said, taking a careful sip of the steaming coffee. “Now I just have to find the time to carry it out. We’re short staffed—again.”
“I’m still curious about that,” Sam admitted. Even with the million and one things to think about at the shop, she couldn’t help but wonder about the connection between Cheryl Adams and the private investigator.
Beau’s radio crackled and he set down his muffin to answer. Sam couldn’t make out much of the scratchy voice and hadn’t a clue about the code numbers but Beau told her it was a bad traffic accident out north of Questa.
“Guess I’ll have to wrap this up to go,” he said. “I’ll try to stop by later, but this mess could take a few hours.”
Sam sent him on his way carrying fresh coffee in a foam cup with travel lid. She’d not even closed the door behind him when a woman in a Lexus pulled into the spot nearest the front door. The car jolted to a stop.
“Oh, thank goodness you’re open,” the lady said breathlessly, stepping onto the curb. “I have a slight emergency.”
“Well, uh—” Sam couldn’t very well afford to lose her first customer of the day by being picky about shop hours. “Certainly. Come on in. How can we help you?”
The woman pulled her wool coat around her and sidestepped through the partially open door. Slender and blond, wearing a slim skirt and angora sweater with supple leather boots and gold jewelry, she had that willowy grace and way of wearing upscale clothing that said she had money. She smiled at Sam with genuine gratitude.
“I’m afraid I’m in deep you-know-what if I don’t show up with pastries for the rally this morning.” She breezed over to the display cases and began perusing. After a moment she looked up. “You’re Samantha Sweet, aren’t you? We’ve spoken on the phone.”
A light came on. “Mrs. Tafoya? I’m sorry, I should have recog—”
“Elena. Please.” She held out her hand. “It’s good to meet you. I’ve heard such wonderful things about your pastries. My sister is conference coordinator at Casa de Tranquilidad in Santa Fe.”
“Oh, I didn’t realize—well it’s great to meet you. I’ve got everything planned for your husband’s victory cake next Tuesday. Would you like to see the sketches?”
Elena glanced at her watch. “I don’t have time now. I’m so sorry. I’m supposed to be at that rally in five minutes.” She looked almost panicky as she said it. “I’ll need about fifty items, just mix them up.”
Jen walked in with a tray of hot croissants that she’d just taken from the oven.
“Oh, yes, those would be nice,” Elena said. “And muffins, and some of the scones, too.”
Jen assembled boxes while Sam picked out the nicest of the pastries and began filling them. Elena Tafoya pulled out a credit card, signed the slip and Sam helped her carry her purchases to the Lexus.
“Thank you so much for your business,” she said as she slipped the two purple boxes onto the back seat.
“My pleasure. The shop is just delightful. You’ll be seeing a lot more of me.” She gave Sam a quick hug, got
