Midnight With Maverick

By Karen Hudgins

Pastry chef Carol Sue Morgan has designs on copper heir Matt Granger as a match for her lonely cousin. Matt, aka ‘Maverick’, chooses Carol Sue to help foil a villain at midnight.

Despite heartaches and discovering what divided their families twenty years ago, do they still dare fall in love?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wings ePress, Inc.
• Release date: Apr 13, 2013
• ISBN: 9781590882863

Book preview

Prologue

Ft. Lauderdale, Florida

Shaking up Carol Sue Morgan took a lot, yet her pulse jumped. A naked man was climbing from the water onto the yacht! She dropped a slice of mango cake on the tray as he sprinted from the swimming platform into the main cabin where she worked.

Seeing her, he halted and embarrassment flared between them. He quickly cupped his hands on target and scanned the room with his lucid blue eyes. Then, he gazed at her.

Hello, he said huskily.

Stay right there, she warned. Outrageous things like this happened on the beach, not aboard the gleaming three and a half million dollar Marissa moored for the day at the Bahia Mar Marina.

Certainly, he said. But you can relax. I’m not here for what you might think.

Wary, Carol Sue was unsure of what she thought, except he was in fine physical condition. Water dripped from his dark hair and beaded on his tanned chest and broad shoulders. A mere fifteen feet separated her from him and she dared not look away.

Oddly, her intuition pealed no warning of dark intentions. Still, there were marina ordinances that even she knew about since prominent signs decorated the docks.

Fishing, swimming, or skinny-dipping aren’t allowed, she recited.

He winced and ducked behind the teakwood bar.

I’m not skinny... or dipping.

Then if you’re looking for the nudists’ boat, it’s at another—

The stranger raised his right palm. Wrong guy. What’s the time, please?

Carol Sue checked her watch. Seven thirty-three p.m.

He muttered an oath and squinted at her ID badge engraved with Suzanne, the name she’d chosen especially for cooking school. Suzy, he began, obviously, I’m in a fix. I’ll give you one hundred dollars for a towel.

It’s Suzanne, and I couldn’t possibly take—

And another hundred to forget this ever happened.

Carol Sue widened her eyes. If he’s not loony, he’s on the lam, sped through her mind. But deep inside she sensed neither label fit. Something about him hinted he might be accustomed to these posh comforts. It’d be a huge stretch, but maybe he was even a guest invited to this party?

If so, he’d missed the suggested attire by a wide margin. Black tie, not a birthday suit, was expected for a sunset sail to celebrate the anniversary of an elite jewelry shop in Las Olas. Real guests would arrive by boat or stroll until they arrived at dock H.

Towels are free, she heard herself say.

How he ended up like this wasn’t really her business, yet her curiosity fired up. It didn’t get far. Logic curtly reminded her that socializing with a flasher would jeopardize her culinary school externship. Hardly an option for her while she worked hard at repairing her disrupted life.

She glanced around for a towel to give him so he’d leave as quickly as he arrived. Lavish food and champagne awaited A-list guests, yet no beach towels lay about.

How about using my apron, instead? she asked, undoing the strings.

Mr. No-Pants grimaced. I’ll take it.

Carol Sue slipped out of the pinafore and tossed it to him. He caught the garment single-handedly and put it on. Stepping into the open, he tied it off at the waist and strode toward her. Her breath caught. Darned if he didn’t still look good. Too good.

Please, I don’t want your money, she told him, spying Captain Woods treading down the ramp toward them. And if you don’t want more trouble than what you already seem to be in, you better leave now. The skipper’s coming.

The stranger’s tone of voice mellowed as he drew closer. "Suzy, thank you. I’m without funds at the moment. But I can give you this." Watching her face, he lifted her hand and tenderly kissed it.

Carol Sue freed her gaze to skip into his eyes. Worry and bemusement twinkled from within their depths. Her skin enjoyed his warm, firm lips. Suddenly, she wanted to know more about the man who wore charisma instead of clothes.

The stranger released her hand, raised a corner of his mouth, and looked out the cabin window. A few jovial guests also had gathered at the upper end of the slip.

Damn, this isn’t good. I’ve got to go, he groaned.

He swiftly exited the cabin. Avoiding the crowd, he turned to the seaward side. She trained her eyes on him through the open window as he rushed to the shiny stainless railing. Hoisting himself up, he bolted overboard. A splash followed.

Breathless in her chef’s whites, Carol Sue gazed at her hand. His gratitude tasted better than any cake she’d ever concocted. Her pastry set-up now done, she left for a short baking shift in the Marina Club kitchen.

Two mornings later, she’d returned for another busy on-site training day and Captain Woods dropped by the kitchen.

Good, Suzanne, he said brusquely. I’m glad to find you here.

Carol Sue nodded respectfully as he laid her laundered apron and an envelope on the counter. These are from a guest from the anniversary party.

Thank you. She tentatively picked up the mailer and looked inside. Therein lay two new one hundred dollar bills—and a poker card. She tilted the envelope and the King of Hearts dropped onto her palm. A printed note on the white edge of the card met her eyes. Thanks for the save. -M.

She raised her gaze. Where could I—

The skipper gave her a curious silencing look. He wanted you to have them before he left. I agreed to personally deliver them to you.

Carol Sue fought mixed emotions. Wait please, she cried, laying the card on top of her apron. "I must know. Who did this for me?"

He knitted his shaggy eyebrows. Now, Suzanne, we must keep professionalism high on the mast, and disclosing a guest’s name isn’t advisable.

But, but... In sudden desperation, Carol Sue resorted to bribery. Waving a warm chocolate chip cookie at him, she asked, Not even a hint?

A slow smile deepened the lines in the Captain’s weathered jowls. He plucked the treat from between her gloved forefinger and thumb. I’ll tell you only this, he said, almost whispering. In some circles, the gentleman is known as... Maverick.

One

Two and a half years later, Picardy Heights, Missouri.

Carol Sue added blue icing eyes to the King of Hearts. Finished with this cake, she set down the pastry tube and stepped back from the counter. Satisfaction warmed her as she checked the details of her latest creation. The King’s mouth, bottom lip fuller than top, curved upward at the corners. A square chin and strong cheekbones reflected his aristocracy. His dark hair contrasted the gold and red regalia he wore.

All in all, the confection looked like the playing card she’d taped to the pantry door as a guide. But, unless she was mistaken, her fantasy king also radiated magnetism.

So, what do you think about him? she asked her cousin, Lynn Blake.

He looks great, good enough to marry.

Carol Sue smiled and hoped he’d also be delectable. She’d spent hundreds of hours testing and perfecting cake and other pastry formulas. She pushed the King next to the Queen of Hearts. All had to be ready for tomorrow evening. She was donating the cakes that resembled playing cards to the Old West Night, an annual charity event at the Windermere Hotel.

Lynn sipped her espresso. Hmmm. I wonder what kind of woman the King of Hearts would want? Who do you think would be his Queen?

Carol Sue paused. This whimsical side of her cousin rarely showed itself. Even more unusual was her dropping by for chit-chat on a busy Friday morning.

Someone like you, she replied half-seriously. A classy lady who likes nice things and, lucky for me, fine confections.

Very lucky, indeed. After she returned from Ft. Lauderdale ready to set up shop as a pastry chef, Lynn had gifted her with some start-up capital. Carol Sue stretched it well and would somehow repay her kindness.

Lynn continued, And what if the King likes commoners and plain pleasures?

Carol Sue replied, Then he’d be a maverick, renegade king.

Ahh, yes. The best kind.

I imagine he would play among the peasants as an escape from royal pressures, then he’d return to his castle for familiar comforts.

Lynn nodded in agreement and sipped as Carol Sue gazed at her. However well her cousin filled out a sweater, attended social register events, and could ‘work a room’ at a business gathering, she managed to stay single. It seemed happily so. Except lately she’d seemed somewhat off-track.

Is something wrong? Carol Sue ventured.

Lynn’s eyes instantly misted. Nothing and everything.

Carol Sue pursed her lips. She hardly considered herself an expert in relationships, yet she knew the signs of a lonely heart. She hoped Lynn wouldn’t mind some advice. It’s my guess that you need a man in your life—beyond a Saturday night date. You want someone who’ll love you as you are, she said. Does this sound right?

More than rain, Lynn confirmed. And things feel—

Scattered, incomplete?

Exactly. Lynn rested her chin in her hands. Her dark hair and business crispness had wilted these last couple of weeks, and Carol Sue wondered if her cousin slept well at night. Alone, as apparently it was.

There’s more, Lynn added raggedly.

Carol Sue, realizing this was going to take a while, unfolded her arms. She checked the clock near the old pizza oven that was baking the Jack of Hearts. She needed to prep him and also make a quick delivery to a new customer at the Mineral Exchange Building. But family came first.

What kind of more? she asked, searching Lynn’s face for clues.

My tenth-year class reunion is two months away.

Carol Sue drew in a breath. Uh-oh, no wonder you’re nervous. I hear that Picardy High reunions can be tough.

Thank heavens you understand. Lynn set aside the espresso from Bean’s Coffee Trolley. The main topics of discussion are marriage and kids. She wiggled her bare ring finger. Well, you know I don’t have either.

Or much time, she remarked. Heck, kids alone spend nine months in the oven.

Instead of a smile, frustration pinched Lynn’s face. "What I do have is former classmates who serve my Sparkling Berry at their parties. My little beverage company, that I started from the ground up, operates consistently in the black. The product line is increasing. She paused. But none of this will count for much that night."

Carol Sue handed her the tissue box sitting on the baker’s rack. She knew her cousin well enough to see that she was still holding something back.

Lynn nodded a thank-you, sniffed, and spilled the rest of the unhappy beans. You know all those labels certain classmates assign, like ‘Most Popular’?

Sure, Carol Sue said, having forgotten hers.

Lynn frowned. Well, some of them weren’t in the yearbook.

Carol Sue stood rapt. Her only girl cousin was unraveling before her eyes.

Lynn lifted her fingers alongside her throat. I—I was voted LLM. Her voice raised as she said, It means ‘least... likely... to... marry.’

Appalled, Carol Sue felt her mouth drop open. So Lynn, who seemed to have it all, had been ambushed. "How totally unfair, hurtful. And so high school."

High school. It’d been forever since the words left Carol Sue’s lips. When she looked back on those days, she felt that in some ways they were the happiest of her life. She made decent grades and had fallen in and out of love. She got through highs and lows with her best friend Julia, who had lived close to her. Growing up as an only child, she’d highly valued her friend and two cousins.

She patted Lynn’s hand. You don’t have to go, she reasoned. But that wouldn’t be you. So why not walk into that gym and show them up?

Lynn hiked her eyebrows. How? With an annual report? Only Charlie Fenton at the bank will like that. And Charlie’s stuffy and wears red bow ties at Christmas.

Maybe, but he likes my rum cake. The point is that you’ve been misjudged, and about something so personal. She thought for a second. I believe that once you open yourself up for a serious relationship, things’ll begin to happen. It’s like some kind of Karma at work.

Lynn brightened. I love talking to you. You make sense about these things.

Carol Sue sighed. Hard-earned sense. I’ve kissed a big toad, remember.

Her ex-fiancé, Josh, was her worst disappointment. Finding him two-timing her in his van in Picardy Park with a married woman had ruined her dreams.

Although it had happened long ago, her heart never completely recovered from that betrayal. Yet, she had done a good job of surface patching. So good, she almost fooled herself, until a man got too close. Now she dated enough to stay socially connected, with no strings.

Hoping better for Lynn, she continued, Anyway, you’ll solve both problems. You’ll have a steady guy, and he’ll escort you to the Class Reunion.

Lynn hedged. But don’t steady guys bring steady problems?

Sure, she admitted. But when he’s the right one, things can turn out well. Just look at Julia and Nick. She dipped a shiny copper spatula into an icing bowl, then pulled a bald cake toward her.

Lynn frowned. They’re living proof of love gone good, but I’m already in trouble. The risks I’m used to taking are well-calculated, reducing the crash factor.

Carol Sue eyed her for a moment. And the crush factor? Try to think of it this way. Risks of the heart are never total losses. Some useful residuals always remain.

This she trusted, because all of her Josh memories weren’t bad ones. She’d learned things, too. Some counted as good, like the excitement of thinking she’d found a soul mate. Others were bad, like how she was a fool to believe him ever-so-deeply. But Lynn needed to hear the good stuff. Slathering creamy icing on the sides, Carol Sue redipped and tackled the top.

Just follow your heart and interests, she added. Or—one of your social register friends can take you to the reunion. She quickly fixed a divot. But I wouldn’t fake an engagement if I were you. You need to maintain your good business rep.

Lynn concluded, Yes, I need the real deal. Someone to love and be loved by.

While Carol Sue listened, a secret doubt slithered into her heart. All this talk of love! How long would she be satisfied with creating confections? For now, this passion served her very well. But what about the future?

She suddenly remembered what the yearbook committee had called her. Free-Spirit. She could hardly deny it. She’d gotten used to living slightly off Picardy’s tradition-loving beam. Although most traditions were fine, sometimes they bored her.

Lynn jumped subjects. Do you know the cost of passion fruit is going up?

So have the new ovens I’ve seen. Instead of going into debt, Carol Sue shaved cakes level that came out of the thirty-five year old pizza oven. The old Cooper was here when she leased the place, and she held on to it from lack of funds. Someday, she would replace it with a proper one.

I’ll have to raise the price or alter the recipe, Lynn drifted on. I’m not sure the market will bear either one.

In all seriousness, Carol Sue sat down at the stainless steel counter. One never knows for sure about these things, but I think you need a businessman, Lynn. He’ll understand you best and share your interests.

Her cousin blinked. Just so there’s nothing shady about him, no corporate scandals. And that he checks all the angles before making a move. She tapped her fingers. He should be twenty-nine, good-looking, enjoy dogs and Chinese food. We’ll walk and discuss investment portfolios and market trends.

Very good. You’re already giving the matter some thought. She bent down a little, enabling her to view the side of the cake. Trouble is that there’s only one King of Hearts in our heart’s deck. And with the reunion coming up, I can help by watching for possibilities for you. We can start tomorrow night at the Windermere, if you like. I’m going early with these cakes, then I’ll be free to schmooze and watch.

Lynn pushed herself up from the stool and gave her a hug. Thanks for the assist. You’re the best. With that she picked up her briefcase and left via the back screen door.

Carol Sue turned around and saw the smoke spill from the oven. Unfortunately, the Jack of Hearts had just died. Shaking her head, she wasn’t up to sharing the sad news with his parents, the King and Queen. So she kept it to herself, like she did with her own loneliness. It seemed to be her unromantic lot. Except, hadn’t she just spoken with hope?

Two

Shortly after two o’clock in the afternoon, a large expensive seven-layer torte, which was ordered for an upscale bachelorette party, rested inside the white square carton Carol Sue held in her hands. The steep cost of the confection reflected quality. She wouldn’t price her work cheaply, or sell herself short.

Customer service also stood as a keystone for building The Cakery. Hence, she decided to personally deliver this order, then head to the restaurant supply company on her way home.

Leaving the elevator on the third floor of the old 1900’s Mineral Exchange Building, Carol Sue walked down the sage carpeted hall and found the Granger Copper Company on the left. She peered through the thick glass wall that boasted the company name in black paint above her head. No one sat at the reception desk. She shifted the cake box to her left hand and pulled the copper handle with the other, letting herself into the swank suite.

Suddenly, Carol Sue felt as if she’d landed in Arizona. The sand-colored area rug cushioned her feet and she took a minute to visually tour her surroundings. A mural, Southwest style, stretched along a curved wall. It depicted a mine and real copper gleamed from within its depths. Beneath, rested an identifying sign, Molly Granger.

She stepped further left where cactus rose from a rock covered bed that blazed beneath bright lights. Warmth from them touched her and ushered her even further away from her bakery world. An earth-toned American Indian painting hung over a credenza. It stood near the two brown leather couches that faced each other. Issues of Arizona Highways and other magazines lay on the glass coffee table.

Taking this all in, she barely heard the rising voices in the double-door office to her right. She returned to the receptionist’s half-moon desk and set the box on its satiny copper top. As soft flute music filtered into the room, a glass display case caught her eye.

Inside, shelves held minerals, copper artifacts and new copper products that shone beneath perfectly set lights for best effect. But the fine copper and gemstone jewelry stole the show. A few unkind words, spat in anger behind the closed doors, reached her ears.

Hello? she called and hastily rechecked her watch.

The couple’s voices grew louder. Apparently, the copper business got intense. Still, shouting didn’t fit here. She glanced at the brass name plaque mounted on the wall next to the doors. Deeply engraved, power-based letters spelled out Matthew T. Granger, C.E.O. & Broker.

One of the doors to his office opened slightly and a thud sounded. Another round of shouting flared and this time there was no mistake it had nothing to do with business. The word sex rang out loud and clear.

Carol Sue quickly pulled the invoice for the cake from her purse and tucked it under the string on the cake box. As she turned to leave, both double doors to the inner office flew open.

The executive’s voice, intense and deep, said, Don’t insult me, Sandra. Using seduction for something you want is low.

A tall, dark-haired woman blazed from his office. She stopped in her tracks and straightened her blouse, then angrily shouted over her shoulder. Oh, c’mon. What kind of woman do you take me for?

The one you are, he said decisively.

The woman clipped past Carol Sue and hissed, Your boss is impossible and deserves no favors. You should quit. The glass suite doors whooshed behind her.

Time bounced by the second. Soon Mr. Granger stalked into the room. Shoulders slumped and head down, he tossed a photograph of the woman into a black wire mesh trash container. His striking countenance caught Carol Sue unnervingly deep. He stood about six foot tall and his blue eyes gleamed with sad triumph.

He turned them on her and their intenseness robbed her of her chance to speak first. Excuse me, he said curtly. I wasn’t aware I had company. The ceiling track lighting tinged his ruffled hair. It was streaked with summer, even though it was two months away. He sported a great tan. Not all gained from spending spring days in Picardy Heights, she guessed.

She swallowed. I called, but you were engaged in... discussions.

The CEO averted his eyes and quickly swung his gaze back to her.

I’m here to see Ms. Tia St. James, she finished.

His tone warmed a bit. She called about ten minutes ago. She’s running late from lunch. Her bachelorette party is this evening. He slid a hand into the pocket of his well-cut dark slacks. This grand room didn’t do his height or broad shoulders justice. She returned his curious once-over. Something familiar about him struck her. Possibly his eyes? But she disregarded the tingle since many people sailed in and out every day of her busy life.

Fine. I’ll just leave this cake for her and be on my way.

He walked over to the reception desk and glanced at the box. It seemed natural for a man who controlled his surroundings. One who watched, weighed, and considered before making a move. And he who made responsible choices, like she had just witnessed.

From nowhere, Lynn’s situation shot into Carol Sue’s head. She slid her gaze toward his bare left hand that now splayed at his waist. Next, drawn by the unexpected, her gaze dropped lower, then scooted back up to his good-looking face.

I’m Matt Granger, he was saying. Although, his top white shirt button was open and blue silk tie hung loosely around his neck, he projected professionalism. Welcome to our Midwest office.

She kept her eyes fastened to his. Carol Sue Morgan. I’m a pastry chef and wedding cakes are my specialty.

The corner of his mouth turned up a trifle. But really she was the one holding back a big smirk. Certainly, Mr. Granger would discover his ‘condition’ later.

Are they good cakes? he asked.

Award-winning, she told him proudly.

Behind her, the phone warbled on the receptionist’s desk. She slung her purse strap over her shoulder. Ready to leave, she wanted to make it to her destination in a half-hour to pick up new cookie sheets.

Please wait, he said and punched the hands-free button.

Matt, this is Buck, the energetic voice said on the other end.

Hey, pal. What’s up?

You’re needed tomorrow night. You can pick up your gear in the South Ballroom. Your shift will be from eleven to midnight.

Sure, I’ll cover the base.

Indebted to you, buddy. Meet me at the Dead-Eye afterwards?

You’ve got it. See you then.

Matt snapped the button and gave Carol Sue his full attention. She was brushing a wayward hair from her forehead. She seemed to be near his age of twenty-nine and wore light blue slacks and a soft-cut jacket. But it was her large eyes that appealed to him most. She’d also been graced with his favorite hair color—reddish, with coppery highlights, and it fell in a loose, natural shag that fit a busy woman’s lifestyle.

He helped himself to another glance at her heart-shaped face. Light freckles, almost indiscernible, skimmed across her delicate nose. Something about her stirred a memory from somewhere. From college? But that was so long ago. Many women, too.

Apparently, she had a sense of humor. The blue-green of her eyes flickered with mirth. He almost asked her why, but thought better of it. He strongly sensed there was more to find out about her. Interesting things, maybe even useful to him and his plan?

So, you’re from here? he asked, leaning against the information desk.

She turned and nodded. Mr. Granger, the businessman, was definitely trying to make polite conversation. Yet she didn’t want to be here when he caught the problem.

Born and reared. Went to Picardy High and John Adams. Now, I serve people with discriminating sweet tastes. She slid her gaze toward the expensive silver-lined copper bake ware in the display case. You see, mine are signature cakes—original creations, made with the best ingredients.

"Hmm. The Cakery is on Solby Mews? I don’t seem to remember it."

She refocused on him. My shop is fairly new, but it’s in the oldest section of the district. It was a little inn, with three rooms down and up. Then it became a pizza parlor. The place is very brick, including the pavement out front, which I love. I left town for a while and went to culinary school. When I came back home, I started doing my own thing. She found herself lingering since Matt Granger was easy to talk to.

After more chit-chat, he asked, You’ll be at the Windermere tomorrow evening for Old West Night?

Carol Sue pulled her car keys from her purse. Yes. More money is needed for MS research. Now I really need to go. Would you please give Tia my best wishes?

No problem, Ms. Morgan. Distance, he decided, would be the better part of valor for the moment. Besides, something was still hitting her funny bone, which began to annoy him. Enough so, it provoked self-consciousness to rise in him. But, man, she was cute and seemingly independent. Maybe a bit adventurous? If so, she’d be perfect for the job he had in mind. It was a special position not found in the want ads.

Carol Sue opened one of the glass suite doors and stepped briefly into the hall. In a sudden tug of good conscience, she leaned back into the suite and faced him. She owed the day a good deed. Today’s might as well be him.

I believe you’ve got company coming, she said while a man and woman walked toward the suite. She gestured at Matt’s loosened tie and open-collared shirt.

Oh, right. Thanks, he said, as if awakening from a dream-filled nap.

Um, there’s a little something else you’ll need to do.

Matt raised both hands, which worsened the problem. Fine, but first I want to apologize for what you witnessed when you arrived. It was inappropriate, personal.

It’s okay, really. She again sighted black boxer silk below his belt as he threw her a crisper quizzical glance. Just before she went back out into the hallway, she whispered, With all due respect, Mr. Granger, you need to zip up your fly.

Three

That night Matt arrived home late from work, wound up his usual evening routine, and now burned the midnight oil, thinking it’d been quite a day. I’ve found her, he said to Ginger, his golden retriever.

She stretched and closed her eyes. Lucky dog. Sound sleep had evaded Matt since his father had come from Arizona more than a week ago to stay for a few days. The news he’d brought with him undermined what was to have been a pleasant Easter visit. Making matters worse, an April rainstorm, ranking as the worst in sixty-two years, had ripped through Picardy Heights on Good Friday night.

A tree branch fell by his Jeep Liberty, catching the front bumper. Only a minor problem compared to other damage around town. Lightening hit the copper roof on the dome of the old courthouse and the gale-force winds didn’t help. A micro-burst, the media meteorologists had called it.

Tonight though, while he sat here, the cool night air coasted into his living room from the balcony. Of course things were different since his now ex-girlfriend, Sandra, wasn’t here. Today’s visit turned out to be their last. Now, instead of her voice, he listened to classical guitar music.

Running his palm over his eyes, he closed them. Again, he saw his father’s face. Sometimes still stern, unrelenting, but often strained looking as if he were holding up the biggest dam in the world. Now this problem sprang up, testing John Granger’s spirit.

Matt lifted his eyelids and looked down and reread the fax his dad had forwarded him two days ago. The notice was from the Pinkerton investigation service. Two rail joiner plates had been loosened, which had caused the havoc.

Damn you, Bud Zickman, Matt growled.