Gingerbread Wishes

Gingerbread Wishes

  By

  Linda Carroll-Bradd

  This is a work of fiction. Names, place, characters and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2012, Linda Carroll-Bradd All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute or transmit in any form or by any means without express permission from author or publisher.

  Published by Inked Figments

  Cover artist: Tamra Westberry

  Formatted by Author's HQ

  Manufactured in the United States

  ISBN: 978-1-940546-02-5

  First printing December, 2013

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  Gingerbread Wishes

  Will mixing one lonely baker and the town’s prodigal son with spices and laughter make a tasty recipe for love?

  * * *

  Dedication: To those who love the wonderful surprises Christmas may bring

  * * *

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Recipe for Gingerbread House

  Other Christmas Titles by Linda

  -Chapter One-

  With decisive moves, Tora Hammond taped a “For Sale” sign to the inside of the front window of the Sugar & Spice Bakery—a simple act that could lead to all sorts of exciting possibilities, but one that still brought a hard lump to her throat. Don’t think about it.

  “My new life starts today.” She turned and proclaimed her vow to an empty room that contained a dozen small circular tables and white wrought-iron chairs. The 1950s soda shop décor had been her idea and she loved the retro look. Gooseflesh rose on her arms and a wisp of breeze brushed her cheek. She instinctively ducked, thinking she’d angered an old family ghost. Maybe the sensation was caused by her guilt at the monumental life change she had planned.

  Through the front window, headlights blazed wavy trails along the shop windows on the opposite side of the main street of Dorado, Texas. Larson’s Shoe Repair, Henderson & Henderson-Accountants, Speedy Cleaners, Morgan’s Clocks. The imposing granite block Texas Prospect Bank building claimed the corner of First and Prairie Streets.

  For as long as she could remember, she’d gazed at life through the plate glass window of the family-owned bakery. Granted, the breadth of the view had changed over the years as she moved from peeking around Gram’s long skirts to stretching on tip-toes to gaze over the counter, to bumping elbows with her jeans-and-sweaters clad Mama, and now having free rein as she ran the entire shop by herself.

  Through those years, she’d baked and donated thousands of dozens of cookies, brownies, and coffee cakes to raise funds for everything from football bleachers to band uniforms, to specialized equipment for the town’s ambulance. Whatever was needed, the townspeople could count on delicious donations from the women of the Hammond family. Daily, except Sundays, she’d greeted people as they grabbed a breakfast pastry and scurried to their jobs or dropped by for a treat between errands. She’d given advice on the size and style of their wedding cakes, invented specially shaped cakes for their baby showers, and eventually for their children’s birthday parties. Each time using the same age-old family recipes, and all from behind the oak-trimmed display case built by Tora’s beloved grandfather, Nils.

  She ran a hand along its edge, worn smooth and darkened from years of wear. Her throat swelled at the realization she’d lose this tangible connection to a much-loved and much-missed gentle man.

  The cell phone in her apron pocket chimed like a xylophone. Tora dug it out, glanced at the display showing her best friend’s name, and then tapped the rectangle marked accept. “Hello, Krissy.”

  “So, did you hang the sign?”

  Krissy’s voice sounded high and breathy, and Tora knew her friend hoped she’d changed her mind. “Yes, I put it up. No telling when, or if, Mama will return from Arizona after Gram is well. I bet she’ll love the dry heat and will want to stay. And Mama did say the choice was mine.”

  “I don’t know what the people of Dorado will do without a bakery run by a Hammond woman. A forty-five year tradition is hard to change.” Krissy breathed out a long sigh.

  “Dorado’s residents will get by.” Tora glanced around the all-too-familiar shop that lately had begun to feel like a prison. She rolled her shoulders against the sudden tension. “Are you going to deny me the excitement of a big city? I haven’t decided, either the skyscrapers of Dallas or maybe historic San Antonio.”

  “No, but Tim and I will miss you.”

  At the wistful note in Krissy’s voice, Tora bit back a sigh. I can’t live my life for other people. She leaned a hand on the door knob, her gaze unfocused through the window toward the outside street. “I know, but I really want a new adventure. Thanks for caring and I’m fine, really. I’ll call you tonight. Gotta get ready to open for business. Bye.” With a twist of the knob, she unlocked the front door and strode to the back corner of the tidy shop.

  Stooping over the box of holiday decorations, she rummaged through the top layer and pulled out a green satin ribbon with felt gingerbread figures attached. Gram helped her make this string when she was five or six. Unable to resist, Tora lifted the decorations and inhaled. The cloves hidden inside had finally lost their spicy smell. Somehow, this was fitting. For decades, the row of brown figures trimmed with white rickrack and multi-colored buttons had hung in the bakery’s display window. This year would be the last time.

  A twinge of regret pricked her conscience, but she shook away the thought of not decorating the bakery again. The time for her dreams had finally come.

  Just as soon as she found a buyer for the shop.

  With a sigh, Tora pulled out a can of aerosol flocking, gave it several hard shakes, and sprayed the bottom edges of the window to resemble banked snow. Or at least what she imagined snow might look like. Living her whole life in south-central Texas meant she’d experienced sunny skies most of the time. Only on rare occasions did the temperatures dip low enough that she needed to dig out her parka or pull on thermals under her jeans.

  Just seven days remained before Christmas and the bakery wasn’t yet decked out. After Thanksgiving was over, she’d waited for inspiration for the theme of this year’s holiday window to hit. Seasonal displays had always been her mother Raina’s expertise. Tora was the decorating sidekick who provided the manual labor.

  Receiving a reminder phone call from Myrtle Taylor, President of the Downtown Business Owners Association, last night put her to shame
. All the other businesses on her block had something festive decorating their facades. Am I dragging my feet on purpose?

  With a box of pushpins rattling as she moved, Tora crossed the shop floor, pulled out a chair, and stepped up on the red-and-white-striped vinyl seat. As she secured one end of the gingerbread man ribbon, she mused. Maybe she’d enroll in college and study a curriculum that had nothing to do with flour, sugar, butter, or ovens. Lots of people went to college in their late twenties. Or move to a big city and get a job where her office would be in a tall building, and she’d have to ride an elevator every day. The only elevators in Dorado were in Baxter Hospital, and three floors hardly counted as a real ride.

  Until the shop sold, her life would stay on the same predictable path as it had for the past ten years since her high school graduation. Up at four thirty to start the ovens, mix the various batters and doughs for the day’s batches of cookies and muffins, and then bake and arrange the goodies so the display cases were filled by seven thirty for the earliest sleepy-eyed customers. Six days a week, every single week of the year. Except when one of the Hammond women decided on a long weekend in Port Aransas, in the small but comfortable beach house Raina inherited from a distant cousin Tora had never met.

  The door opened and the beginning notes of Jingle Bells sounded, shaking her from the depressing review of her current life.

  “That bell’s a show of good holiday spirit.” Mr. Trenton, president of the bank, stepped inside, collapsed his umbrella, and placed it in the dented milk can painted with spring flowers by the door. “Morning, Tora. Thought I’d get to the bank before the rain started, but—”

  “Your usual bear claw and coffee?” Surprised at the rivulets of water dripping off his overcoat, Tora shot a quick look through the window. Gray clouds clung to the shingled roofs of the stores across the street and a steady drizzle bounced off the concrete sidewalk, creating shimmering rainbows from the holiday lights. After stepping off the chair, she walked behind the counter and donned a set of plastic gloves.

  Right behind him entered Gina Wynn, the owner of the local photography studio.

  Tora and Gina exchanged nods.

  “Nah, I woke up this morning and decided I wanted a change.” The dapper grey-haired man stepped up to the display and took several moments to look over each tray.

  Bet his change isn’t like mine. As she waited for his decision, Tora bit her lower lip.

  The sound of bells jangled again.

  A dark-haired man scooted through the doorway, one side of his coat extended around a small blonde girl. He wore khakis and a sweater, but his overcoat was wool and of an expensive design. After closing the door, he knelt in front of the child and pulled out a handkerchief. “We sure got wet, didn’t we, Jenna? Let Daddy dry you off.”

  Tora watched his large hand blot the child’s somber face, then brush at the front of her corduroy jumper. A stab of longing shot through her chest at what she’d missed following her father’s death when she was only three. Grandpa Nils had been wonderful, but a grandpa wasn’t the same as a dad.

  “I know. This morning, I’ll have a maple long john.” Mr. Trenton’s voice interrupted her perusal of the handsome stranger.

  “Exciting choice. And a large coffee, too? Or were you living dangerously and ready for a cup of my special herbal tea?”

  With a shake of his head, he chuckled. “I’m not ready for that much change. I’ll stick with coffee. Sometimes, what’s familiar is what’s best.”

  Is that a message? As she poured the steaming French roast, she eavesdropped on the stranger’s conversation, curiosity drawing her attention to the handsome man like a nail to a magnet.

  “This shop hasn’t changed. It’s just like I remembered. See this community bulletin board? Daddy got his first lawn-mowing job off this board.” The man’s deep voice filled the room. As he spoke, he pointed out each item. “The display case is the same, although these matching chairs are different. I used to come here when I was your age, Jenna.”

  “I didn’t know you were little, Daddy.” The girl’s words came out in a jerky rhythm.

  He straightened and took her hand. “Everyone is a child before becoming a grown-up.”

  Tora handed Mr. Trenton his coffee and the sack holding the calorie-laden treat she was sure his wife Mona would frown upon.

  He dropped the change from his five dollar bill into a coffee can next to the cash register. “What am I donating to this time?”

  A smile flashed on her lips before she answered. “Mama’s pet project was funding a table for the holiday dinner at the homeless shelter. I’m just following through on that event.”

  Raising a hand in farewell, he moved toward the door. “A little behind schedule on decorating, I see.”

  Her smile dimmed at the chiding reminder. Wasn’t the decision on when to decorate for the holiday hers? Obviously not, and that was just one of the many reasons why she needed to leave town. After a deep breath she turned to Gina, but her gaze kept flicking toward the waiting man and his daughter. “Morning, Gina. What will you have?”

  “Hey, Tora. What I should have is a bran and raisin muffin, but what I really want is that cherry-cream cheese Danish.” Gina nibbled on her fingernail, her gaze straying across the room toward the handsome stranger. “Are you attending the holiday get-together sponsored by Lasso-A-Heart?”

  For a nano-second when she saw the announcement in the newspaper, Tora had considered going to the singles mixer in The Oasis bar. But she’d decided against spending even an hour in getting-acquainted conversations when she knew there was no future in beginning a relationship here in Dorado. Maybe if the online dating service had satellite groups in big cities… “Hadn’t planned on it.”

  Gina leaned a hand on the display case. “After my last blind date ended in disaster…” She cleared her throat and cast a glance over her shoulder. “I’ll save the gory details for another time.”

  Good thinking not to sound desperate within earshot of the stranger who’s an unknown quantity. Tora resisted an eye roll heavenward in gratitude and just smiled.

  “I don’t think there’s another option left. A woman has only so many chances to meet the man of her dreams, and I aim to grab as many as I can.”

  Tora knew Gina had a secret crush on the new attorney who’d joined Masters & Masters a few months ago. Do I dare try Gram’s matchmaker trick? “Give a minute, Gina, and I’ll be right back.” She dashed around the corner into the kitchen and pulled out a plastic tub of gingerbread cookies left over from yesterday’s batch. Working with deft moves, she added details of a shirt collar and striped tie to a gingerbread boy and outlined a briefcase tucked under one arm.

  “Here, Gina, a special treat to add to your lunch.” Tora used the tongs to slip the Danish inside and then extended the white paper bag over the case. “That’s seventy-five cents for the pastry.”

  Gina’s brown eyes widened and her lips formed a perfect circle. “Is this what I think—?”

  “Shh, don’t say it aloud. You don’t want to jinx anything.” Tora peeked at the waiting man and his daughter only a few feet away, and then lowered her voice. “Just keep your mind clear when you eat the cookie, and then wait.”

  “What do I owe you for the…you know?”

  “No charge. Paying takes away from the magic of the special gift.”

  Gina held out a single bill and accepted the bag with a smile. “Put the change in the donation jar. Thanks so much, Tora. Bye now.” With a final glance at the tall man, she sashayed out the door.

  Worried she had given Gina too much hope with the gift of a special gingerbread cookie, Tora shook her head and then turned her attention to the stranger. The longer she studied him, the more familiar he looked. His brown hair glistened with shiny drops that sparked cinnamon highlights where it curled along his forehead and at the tops of his ears. Eyes as dark as double chocolate fudge stared into hers.

  Her heart raced at being studied by this hands
ome man. A rare occurrence in a small town of a few bodies shy of five thousand, citizens where the few men that had once caught her interest had either married or moved away. Most of the rest she counted among her circle of buddies. This stranger presented new possibilities. What a strange thought for someone with one foot out the door. “What may I get for you, sir?”

  “We’ll start with a mug of hot chocolate and a large coffee. Then—”

  “Tora!” Mr. Trenton’s exclamation rang through the shop. “What’s the meaning of this sign in the window?”

  The tall man turned at the interruption, a frown creasing his brow.

  “I’ve put up the bakery for sale, Mr. Trenton. With Mama in Arizona to watch over Gram, I’m making a change, too. Time to try a different profession.” She glanced at the customer, hoping he wasn’t getting annoyed at the wait. Some tourists weren’t used to a small town’s laid-back attitude toward time and deadlines. “I probably should have called you before posting the sign. You might already know of a potential buyer.”

  “This is awfully sudden, isn’t it?” His gray eyebrows hovered over the rim of his wire-rimmed glasses.

  “Not really.” She lifted a shoulder in what she hoped looked like a nonchalant shrug. This was only the first of many anticipated explanations she’d have to give. “I’ve always wanted to live in a big city. Maybe even live where the seasons actually change, and experience snow.”

  “Let me consult my files. I’ll see what I can do for you, Tora.” Mr. Trenton juggled the cup and his sack while opening the umbrella. “This bakery is such a tradition here that I can’t imagine the good citizens of Dorado without it.” Bells jangled as he hurried through the door.

  A pang of guilt pinched her conscience. His words formed the base of every argument she had with herself about keeping the bakery open for the past three years. She plastered on her best smile and turned to the stranger. “I’m sorry for the interruption. Now, you wanted hot chocolate and coffee…”

  His narrowed gaze scrutinized her face, and a slow smile spread across his lips. “Are you Tora Hammond?”

  A thrill danced down her neck. He knows me? But how? “That’s me. Have we met?”

  “I grew up in Dorado. I was several years ahead of you in school, but I remember seeing you here in the shop.” He stepped close and extended a hand over the counter. “Jordan Dawson.”

  Quick as she could, she stripped the glove off her right hand and held it out. At the clasping of their hands, she let her mind fill with images of the town’s golden boy—star quarterback of the Dorado Cougars and the school’s ace baseball pitcher. They hadn’t shared the high school hallways during her years there, but his trophies filled the top shelf of the Athletic Department’s display case. “Of course. Nice to see you again, Mr. Dawson.”

  He eased away his hand and lowered it to the little girl’s shoulder. “Call me Jordan, please. And this is my daughter, Jenna.”

  Tora stood on tip-toes and leaned over the counter to smile at the small girl who gripped her father’s strong, capable hand. “Hi, Jenna. I’m happy to meet you. All the kids call me Tora.”

  “Hi, Miss Tora.” Jenna ducked her head, her chin disappearing in the cowl of her pink turtleneck shirt.

  Ah, she’s a little shy. “I’ll get your drinks.” She turned toward the back of the counter.

  “Hold off a moment. I have to echo what that man said.” Jordan rested a forearm on the counter, his mouth pulled into a tight line. “Dorado without a bakery run by a Hammond woman would not be the town I remember.”

  His praise warmed her heart, and she wished Gram could hear his compliment. But Tora had a plan, and that involved making a big change. “Don’t sell Dorado citizens short. I have confidence the townspeople will survive.”

  “People in the big cities survive, but people in small towns know how to live life. They know their neighbors and show them they care. This is a perfect example.” A finger tapped the donation coffee can and a metallic jingle sounded. “Believe me, I’ve lived in both settings and there’s no comparison. You’re better off here.”

  How could he know that? Her muscles tensed. She bit her tongue to keep from arguing with a customer and forced a polite smile. “Well, I can’t wait to exchange my address for one in a big city so I can experience the difference for myself.”

  “Daddy?” Jenna’s voice trembled. “I’m cold.”

  The child’s interruption came at the right time. Tora did not need to engage in an argument with a customer. “I’m sure you are, sweetie. I’ll get your hot chocolate right away.” Without another glance at Big City Dawson, she turned to her task. A few minutes later, she approached the round table where father and daughter were situated, and couldn’t help but notice he’d draped his coat around his daughter’s thin shoulders.

  After placing the mugs on the table, she held out a long-handled soda spoon and whispered to the quiet girl, “Careful, the cocoa’s hot. Better start with the whipped cream.”

  Jenna’s hazel eyes lit up, her mouth spread in a smile showing off rows of small pearly teeth, and she grabbed her spoon.

  For some strange reason, that tiny response thrilled Tora. The child looked like she didn’t smile much. “May I bring pastries or coffee cake?”

  Jordan leaned back in the ladderback chair and glanced over his shoulder. “Do you still sell apple fritters? Those were always my favorite.”

  “We do. Shall I bring two?”

  “No, bring Jenna a sprinkle-covered doughnut.”

  “All right.” With a curt nod, she started to turn but felt his warm fingers on her wrist. Ripples of awareness shot up her arm. When she glanced back, she was captured by his dark gaze, steady and concerned. Her insides felt as quivery as the middle of a jelly doughnut. What is this? She’d never experienced such an immediate reaction to a man.

  His eyebrows drew together into a frown. “You seem irritated, Tora. Did I say something that offended you?”

  “No, uh...” Easing away her hand, she walked backward. “My thoughts were...” She swallowed hard. “I’ve just got a lot on my mind. Let me get the pastries.” Like how nice your woodsy cologne smells, and how your touch makes me want more. She pivoted and dashed for the safety of the kitchen, telling herself to quit acting like a lovesick teen. After grabbing a damp towel, she blotted her face and took five deep breaths.

  Back in control.