The Cupcake Coven (Book 1 Love Spells Gone Wrong Series)

By Ashlyn Chase

"“Entertainment abounds when a coven of witches whip up a few spells to help their friend hold onto her bakery while losing her heart. Can a long distance romance work between a cowboy and a baker if they believe in magic?”
—Dorine Linnen, Romance Junkies Reviews
* * * * *
Pretty Wiccan Rebecca Colby borrowed money from her father to start a bakery, and now he’s calling the loan due. When she learns he fell off the gambling wagon and owes big money to some scary people, she has to start making a profit—and fast—before the loan shark takes a bite out of her.
Hot Cowboy Dru Tanner is looking for his missing sister who left Texas to explore their New England Wiccan roots. She’s the only family he has left, and he’s desperate to find her. Dru has to hide the fact that he’s not a Wiccan long enough to infiltrate a coven in Portsmouth, New Hampshire. It’s the only lead he has.
Dru needs a job and a place to stay while he searches for his sister. Rebecca needs cheap help so she can work some baking magic. Dru makes Rebecca an offer she can’t refuse—if only lust doesn’t drive them crazy first.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lachesis Publishing Inc
• Release date: Jun 15, 2015
• ISBN: 9781927555590

Ashlyn Chase

Ashlyn Chase describes herself as an Almond Joy bar.  A little nutty, a little flaky, but basically sweet, wanting only to give her readers some great entertainment.  She holds a degree in behavioral sciences, worked as a psychiatric RN for 15 years and spent a few more years working for the American Red Cross. Most authors, whether they know it or not, have a theme—something that unifies their whole booklist. Ashlyn’s identified theme has to do with characters who reinvent themselves. After all, she has reinvented herself many times. Now she is a multi-published, best-selling, award-winning author of humorous paranormal and contemporary romances, represented by the Seymour Agency. She lives in beautiful New Hampshire with her true-life superhero husband who looks like Hugh Jackman if you squint. She and Mr. Amazing have adopted two beautiful shelter cats. Where there’s fire, there’s Ash Sign up for my newsletter right from my home page: www.ashlynchase.com While you’re there check out my news and reviews. Join my facebook fan page: https://www.facebook.com/AuthorAshlynChase Chat with me: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/ashlynsnewbestfriends/ Follow me on Bookbub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/ashlyn-chase …and I tweet as GoddessAsh. https://twitter.com/#!/GoddessAsh Instagram https://www.instagram.com/ashlynlaughin/  Pinterest  https://www.pinterest.com/ashlynchase/  

Book preview

Chapter 1

Texas cowboy Dru Tanner had combed the streets of Salem, MA, and was now following a lead that brought him to Portsmouth NH. He felt like a dang fool for hanging all of his hopes on the intuition of psychics and witches, but the police had been no help whatsoever.

Well, it’s time to find the local witch shop, if there is one. He’d never have thought to consult witches except that his little sister fancied herself to be one—and he was desperate to find her. Hopefully someone would recognize her picture or he’d be right back at square one.

He tried to cheer himself up by whistling a tune his mother used to sing to the two of them when they were little. Not only did it calm him, but maybe if she heard it . . .

Yep, he was desperate all right.

He dug his phone out of his back pocket. Maybe if he just put ‘witch shop, Portsmouth, NH’ in the search engine he’d find the local hocus-pocus population sooner. At that moment, he came upon a bench, as if it knew he needed a brief rest. Then he glanced down the street and saw benches every few yards in front of the many shops.

Scoffing at himself, he mumbled, Get a grip Dru. You’re startin’ to believe in this magical nonsense.

His Internet search provided two options. Myranda’s Occult Shop and the Bewitching Bakery. The word ‘occult’ put him off, but the idea of a big piece of pie and a cup of coffee sounded like it would really hit the spot about now.

He clicked on the directions and up came a map of the downtown area. Happily, he wasn’t that far away.

Time for lunch. He rose and set off in the direction of the bakery at a good clip.

*    *    *    *    *

Rebecca Colby leaned on the counter and sighed. Not a single customer all morning. How long can I go on like this?

The wall phone between the store and kitchen rang and as she reached it, she hoped it was a customer calling in a big order.

Bewitching Bakery, she answered, in her most cheerful voice.

Hello, Becca.

She almost groaned aloud. Only one person called her Becca and it was her gambling addicted father. He’d better not be looking for a loan. She’d given him everything in the cash drawer twice this month. Maybe he was calling to tell her he was ready to repay. Yeah right.

Hey, dad. What do you need?

Can’t a guy call his daughter just to say, ‘hello?’

Sure. But you don’t. The nasty words were out of her mouth before she could censor herself. She’d tried to be sensitive to the idea that addiction was an illness and that her father wasn’t to blame—totally. I’m sorry, Dad. I’m not in a very good mood. It’s been a slow morning. As a matter of fact, it’s been a slow week. 

I’m sorry to hear that.

The silence that followed could only be called a ‘pregnant pause.’ He was about to spring something on her. She could just feel it.

I—uh . . . I was actually hoping we could talk about the business.

The foreboding feeling intensified. What about it?

Well, I know I told you there was no limit on the loan I gave you to start the bakery after your grandparents died . . . 

Oh no . . . Here it comes.

But I need the money back.

Her throat went dry. All of it?

I’m afraid so.

Oh, dad. You fell off the gambling wagon, didn’t you?

His silence said more than any words could have.

Try to be supportive. Try to be supportive. Try to be supportive. Damn it! she cried. Then she crumpled and slid down the wall. Way to be supportive, Rebecca. 

Look, I did well for a long time. I can do it again. I’ll go back to GA, but right now I need your help.

And you want me to sell my business. This is also my home too, you know.

I know, and I won’t leave you with nothing. I know you’ll need to get another job and find an apartment.

She wanted to burst into tears. Her dream had been to own her own home and business. She had finally achieved it with her father’s loan, by way of her grandparent’s inheritance. But he wasn’t gambling then. She covered the receiver and whispered a quick prayer. Goddess help me . . .

The bell above the door tinkled, signaling a customer. Jumping to her feet, Rebecca mumbled into the phone, I’ll have to call you back, Dad. She hung up and took a deep breath to compose herself.

Plastering a smile on her face, she turned toward the counter and caught her first glimpse of the most incredible man she’d ever seen. He was tall, at least six feet. His jeans hugged lean hips in such a way as to leave little to the imagination, yet he moved in them casually, looking totally comfortable. 

When he reached the counter a gorgeous smile softened his rugged features. Blue eyes and sandy brown hair peaked out from under the well-worn cowboy hat. Am I looking at a real live cowboy here in New England?

He tipped the brim of his hat. Mornin’ ma’am. Or I should say good afternoon. I guess it’s past noontime, after all.

If he was rambling a little bit, she was grateful for it. She didn’t think she could speak right away.

I was wonderin’ . . . that help-wanted sign in the window . . . ?

Shoot. Should she tell the guy she might not be in business very long? Her Wiccan values had her believing that honesty was the best policy, but she could at least let him finish his sentence. 

Yes? she prompted.

Well, this is gonna sound pretty stupid if I’m wrong . . .

His hesitation only lasted a moment. Then he gazed into her eyes with his piercing blue ones. Are you by any chance a witch? Because if so, maybe we can help each other. I’m willin’ to trade my services for your help findin’ my sister.

That sure wasn’t what she expected him to say. She almost tipped her head toward the ceiling to thank the Goddess.

I—uh . . .Yes. I’m Wiccan. Do you want a locator spell?

Sure. If that’ll help me find her. He reached into his shirt pocket and produced a picture of a young woman. She resembled him, but she looked much younger. Long blonde hair tumbled down from a similar cowboy hat, and she wore a checkered shirt, but the major similarities were her blue eyes and easy smile. 

Rebecca hadn’t done a locator spell in a long time. And she’d never done one to find a human being, but the trade was a perfect idea. Witches aren’t supposed to make money by performing spells for other people, but a trade to save some money doesn’t count. Does it? She’d ask Hanna, later. For now, she was intrigued by the idea and the cowboy was waiting for an answer.

Can you bake?

He laughed. I can learn.

No need. There are plenty of other ways you can help. I’ll have you fill out an application, and later I’ll check your references. By the way, our coven is meeting tonight. Would you be interested in attending?

His brows shot up. After a brief hesitation he asked, Do you think that’ll help me find my sister?

It might. You could also check out Myranda’s Occult Shop. She’s got loads of expertise and you can find any ingredients you need for a spell there.

A spell . . . Uh, sure, I’ll talk to Myranda.

Good! I hope to see you tonight, she said. I’ll get you that application now, and if your references are good you can start tomorrow.

Great. Can I get that application with a side of cherry pie?

Sure thing. She smiled, already feeling a bit lighter.

*    *    *    *    *

Dru sang softly as he entered the hotel elevator, not even trying to hide his Texas twang. Another Midsummer Night and I ain’t got no honey. I got some buddies ‘cuz I just got into a coven. He chuckled at his terrible parody of a popular song and hoped he had found the right place.

This fancy hotel didn’t seem like it would be home to a bunch of witches casting spells and dancing under the full moon. Maybe east coast witches were a classier sort, he told himself.

The top floor held a few suites, and he’d been given directions to one of them. He’d never met most of these witches before, but they couldn’t be worse than the Austin crazies. Now he knew why Austin, Texas used the slogan, Keep Austin Weird.

The elevator let him out on the top floor, and he saw only a few double doors.

If you can’t find it now, Tanner, you’re hopeless.

Ever since he’d come east, he’d lost all sense of direction. People navigated by lefts and rights. Not north and south. When he and his pick-up had found their way to Boston and saw a sign marked, Salem, Dru thought he was almost there. Not so much.

He knocked on the door of suite 712 and held his breath without meaning to. When the door swept open and a friendly tall blonde greeted him, he immediately began to relax.

Are you Dru? she asked.

I am. He’d left his cowboy hat on his bed at the rooming house where he was staying temporarily, but he was still tempted to pull on the brim in salute.

Hello. I’m Cassandra, but my witch name is Celestia. We call each other by our witch names during our rituals, but it’s either/or at any other time.

Oh. I’m afraid I don’t have another name. Just Dru. Crap. I didn’t know about witch names. That makes for a whole new wrinkle. No wonder nobody in Salem had ever heard of his sister Shasta.

Really? Were you a solitary?

Yes, ma’am. A solitary witch. No need to call myself anything fancy when it was just me and the Goddess. An idea came to him that might work. "But Dru is actually short for Druid. My mamma was kind of a new agey type."

Cassandra chuckled. You’re not alone there. Come in. I’ll introduce you to our high priestess.

A half-dozen women milled around the suite. Two were in the kitchen, setting out coffee cups and small plates. Two sat side by side on a sky blue velvet sofa and they seemed to be deep in conversation. One woman with chin-length dark hair, a little on the heavy side, was bent over what had to be the altar, and Cassandra led him over to her.   

Just then, a toilet flushed and a few moments later a man exited what must have been the bathroom, giving his hands a final wipe on his black jeans.

High Priestess, I’d like to introduce you to Druid, Cassandra said.

He stuck out his hand for a friendly handshake and said, Pleased to make your acquaintance, ma’am. He hoped that was the right way to greet a high priestess. He was suddenly aware of how crazy his plan to ‘fit in’ was.

She smiled. Druid is your real name?

Yes, ma’am. I was just telling Miss Cassandra here that my mamma was into the new-age thing when I was born. Everybody calls me Dru, though.

I feel for you. My real name is Hazel, and I’m a hereditary witch.

Witch Hazel?

She nodded, smirking. You got it. Naturally, I prefer my witch name.

Which is . . . ?

Hanna.

Pleased to meet you, Hanna. Is there anything I can do to help set up?

Not really. Did you bring anything to place on the altar?

Yes, ma’am. Dru reached into his oversized jacket pocket and pulled out a rose quartz in the shape of a heart.

That’s beautiful! Cassandra said. Perfect for a love spell.

"The person I spoke to at the occult store said that love was the theme for the night."

Yes, Hanna said. We try to keep our spells related, so the power of the group supports each other’s intentions.

That’s real smart. How often do you meet? Every full moon like most covens do? He was very glad he’d done some homework on Wiccan covens. Maybe he wouldn’t sound like a complete dummy.

Hanna nodded. The Coven of the Triquetra sticks to tradition as much as possible.

The tall, good-looking gentleman who’d been drying his hands stepped into the space next to him. Some thought the traditional rules should be changed from every full moon if you find it convenient to every solstice and equinox unless you’re dead. The man held out his right hand. I’m Ethan. Believe it or not, some witches can be a little flaky.

Dru chuckled. Do you have a witch name?

Yes. It’s Aubrey.

Why Aubrey?

It’s an English version of a French name that was derived from two German words that mean elf king.

Dru raised his eyebrows. And are you an elf king?

Ethan laughed. No. I’m a tugboat captain.

Sorry. I just had to ask. Some of the witches in Austin think they’re genuine fairies and have imaginary pet dragons. 

Ethan groaned and rolled his eyes. You won’t find that here. Our members are pretty well grounded.

I notice everyone’s dressed in black, Dru said. I’m afraid I didn’t get the memo. Is that a problem for tonight?

Hanna had placed his rock on a corner of the altar and looked up. Not at all. It’s just tradition. I’m sure our ancestors wore their best brown burlap in their circles. You can borrow my black cape if you want to.

Thank you, kindly, Hanna. Next time, I’ll dress in black.

Well, let’s sit and get to know each other while we wait for the others.

Sure. Let’s chat and see how bat-shit crazy y’all are. The furniture had been spread around the room in a wide arc and placed so that everyone fit into a circle when seated. He was about to take a seat facing the windows when the door opened and Rebecca walked in. Without her baker’s coat and hat covering her up he was bowled over by the beautiful brown haired slip-of-a-girl in a long black dress. Their gazes met and held.

Oh, Rebecca. I’m glad you’re here, Hanna said. Did you bring the cakes?

She tore her gaze away from Dru and smiled at the high priestess. Yes. I think you’re going to like them.

She had just the slightest gap between her top two front teeth. He wouldn’t have thought so, but it was kinda cute and sexy.

Rebecca is a local baker. She creates the offerings for the Goddess, Hanna said.

Rebecca smiled shyly. We’ve met . . . And the best part of the offering is we all eat the cakes.

Sounds good to me. As opposed to a twelve foot Goddess descending upon us and downing a bagful of baked goods. Dru reached for the bag she held. Can I take that for you?

Please. They go on the altar, but I’ll get a plate first.

She handed him the bag and he opened it, taking an appreciative whiff. Mmm . . . This smells great. The scent reminded him of the plum pudding his mother used to make at Christmas—correction, Yule. I have to remember to call the holidays by their pagan names. He caught a sweet alcohol scent. Probably rum or brandy.

Rebecca hurried off to the kitchen. He couldn’t help watching her clingy black skirt swish as she walked away. When he turned his gaze back to Hanna, she was watching him with a smile he could only call ‘sly,’ as if she knew something he didn’t.

So, what brought you to Portsmouth, Dru? she asked.

He cleared his throat. Well, I was on my way to Salem, Mass, but I guess I followed the wrong sign, because I wound up in Salem, New Hampshire.

Hanna laughed. You’re probably not the first one to make that mistake.

How the hell . . . Ethan scratched his head. Sorry. I shouldn’t judge. You’re obviously not from around here.

 Did you ever find the right Salem? Hanna asked.

Eventually. I remembered that the Salem I was looking for was right on the ocean, and turned my pick-up east onto route 111. When I found the ocean, I was still a bit north of Massachusetts.

A few other members had wandered over to hear his story. Some of them looked at him incredulously. Maybe I’m over doing the dumb cowboy act. He was reminded of one of the sayings he was raised with. Lettin’ the cat out of the bag is a whole lot easier than puttin’ it back in. He didn’t want anyone to expect too much of him, but he didn’t want them to think he’d been dropped on his head either.

Typical guy. Just couldn’t stop and ask for directions.

A few of the other female witches chuckled.

He didn’t care if they made fun of him. He needed to follow every lead that might bring Shasta home, and would put up with any indignity to find her.

The woman who spoke stuck her hand out. She looked like Cher . . . a lot like her. Tall, heavily made up, wearing lots of sparkle and long, dark wavy tresses. Hi. I’m Raven.

Dru shook his or her hand and noticed the mannish size and extra strong grip. Could she be a he? Not that it really mattered. She was friendly enough.

That’s my witch name. My real name is Keith.

So that answers that. Hell, I thought learning twelve names was going to be hard enough. Now it’s up to twenty-four?

A month ago he wouldn’t have believed he’d be following up on a Salem witch’s psychic reading to lead him to his missing sister. Now he’d found a whole coven of witches who seemed to know what they were doing and might be able to pinpoint her location. He desperately hoped so. But something told him it wasn’t the time to ask. Let them have their ritual. There will be time later to ask questions.

Rebecca approached with a long plate, which she placed on the altar. She reached for the bag. Thanks for holding the rum cakes. I’ll unwrap them.

As he handed the white bakery bag to her he said, Rum cakes. I thought I smelled something like that. I’ll bet they’re mighty tasty.

She smiled. They should be. I loaded them up with tons of dark rum.

Just how the Goddess likes ‘em, I’ll bet. She returned his grin. Her teeth were white and straight, and even with that little gap between the top two she may have had braces to make them that straight. Her smile reached all the way to her warm brown eyes.

So what’s your witch name?

I don’t have one. I just go by Rebecca.

So we’re down to twenty-three names. Dru was somewhat relieved.

Hanna waited until he was seated and then asked, You said you eventually found Salem, Mass? What brought you back up here?

He shrugged. I don’t want to sound disrespectful or anything, but after seeing the other Salem, I decided I liked New Hampshire a little better. People were more relaxed and it wasn’t as crowded as Massachusetts. Not to mention no sales tax. So I decided to give New Hampshire another look.

We have no income tax either, Hanna added.

No kidding? That’s handy, because I have to get me one of those.

One of what’s? Rebecca asked.

An income. He hoped that didn’t turn her off, but at least she’d know he was planning to stay a while . . . unless he found his sister or another lead.

So you wound up in Portsmouth, Hanna said. You must have stopped when you realized if you crossed the bridge, you’d be in Maine.

Yeah. Small states you have here. Pretty though. I had breakfast in a nice little place right on the water where I could see some boats. I walked around the town afterward and found the Bewitching Bakery, and met Rebecca who told me about your coven and said there might be an opening. Then I went to the occult shop and met the nice owner.

That would be Myranda.

Yeah. Myranda.

As if on cue, the door opened wide and the attractive brunette from the shop said, Did I hear my name? What are you saying about me? Nothing good, I hope.

A whole group entered behind her. Dru did a quick count, and sure enough . . . including him, there were thirteen people. The complete coven at last.

Just before the door closed, a voice called out, Wait a minute.

Huh? Fourteen members? Crap. Now we’re up to twenty-five names again. Or is it twenty-three. Dru’s head was beginning to spin.

Everyone exclaimed, Michele! and rushed to embrace the late-comer.

Hmmm . . . I wonder what’s so special about this one.

Dru, Hanna said, This is the witch whose place you’ll be taking. We’re also going to do a departure ritual to bless her way.

The beautiful, willowy blonde appeared troubled in some way. Dark shadows under her eyes and sagging shoulders made her appear exhausted.

It looks like she’s leaving pretty big shoes for me to fill.

Michele must have heard him. She glanced down at her petite feet.

I didn’t mean that literally, ma’am. It’s just that you seem so loved is all.

Michele smiled, although there was sadness there. Let me guess. Texas?

Dru couldn’t help being a little surprised. He knew he had an accent, but he was doing his best to temper it. He hadn’t said, ‘lit’rally’ instead of literally. Wow, you must be psychic.

Not as much as I’d like, she said. The others seemed to find a deeper meaning in her words because a few, ‘Awww’s’ followed.

Well, it looks like everyone’s here, Hanna said. Dru. Would you like to participate or just observe this time?

I didn’t know I had a choice.

Well, since Michele is here, you can do either one. We have our thirteen.

Since he’d heard that each coven did things a little differently and Dru had felt embarrassed about not wearing black, observing sounded mighty good. I’d be happy just to watch, y’all, he said.

Okay. You can stand anywhere behind the chairs.

Dru strolled to the open kitchen and leaned against the counter. Is back here all right?

Perfect. I just ask that you save any questions you may have for later.

I’ll be quiet as a mouse on a dirt road.

*    *    *    *    *

The group gathered and Rebecca wound up with her back to Dru. Too bad, since she wanted to observe the tall Texan’s reaction—and his sky-blue eyes that crinkled at the corners when he smiled. Oh, who was she kidding? She wanted to admire those muscles she saw bulging under his shirt and tight jeans.

He didn’t seem like he fit in comfortably, but she hoped she was wrong. She really liked him and hoped to talk to him more after the ritual. She thanked the Goddess that he walked into her bakery. Maybe they could help each other. He needed help finding his sister, and she needed an employee. She hoped she could help him