Better Than Chocolate Part 31

But Samantha was now stuck with a vision of some faceless man (who looked like a tackling dummy in a suit-Blake Preston, aack!) slipping a fat diamond on her finger. Some things are better than chocolate.

No! Get out of my head.

But leave the chocolate.

Chapter Twenty-Three.

The most wonderful thing about love is the mystery and surprise of it.

-Muriel Sterling, Knowing Who You Are: One Woman's Journey Cecily had seen the work in progress as her mother and Kevin and Heinrich created their gala event setting and been impressed by her mother's creativity, but seeing the finished product when she and her sisters entered Festival Hall made her jaw drop. The place had been transformed from an empty hall to a ballroom fit for a queen. White and gold ceiling drapes set the tone for elegance and, from all the tables along the side of the hall, magenta votive candles cast light on globe vases filled to overflowing with white roses. The chairs at the tables had been draped with silk grapevines. Votives and vines adorned the punch table, too. In strategic corners of the room, tall floor vases held branches and white flowers. The stage was a swirl of fabric and more floor vases and flowers, hiding the disk jockey, and a few people were already on the floor slow-dancing to music that seemed to float at her from all directions-Nat King Cole and his daughter, Natalie, crooning "Unforgettable."

Like this night would be for her sister, she hoped. Samantha had just donned her mask, a black-and-gold carnival mask Cecily had found for her in L.A. that let her hazel eyes peer out mysteriously. And she was grinning from ear to ear.

Samantha had worked so hard to make this weekend happen she deserved to savor the moment of success. Cecily couldn't shake the nasty feeling that the festival wasn't going to save them but she wasn't about to mention that to her sister. There was no sense in depressing her. She was out of fingernails to chew.

Bailey put on her mask and immediately skittered off to see an old friend and Samantha got waylaid by Ed York (hard to mistake that tall, skinny bod), so Cecily was left on her own to wander the edges of the hall, taking in the sights and sounds. For the next half hour she watched as eager dancers flooded in the door. How many tickets had they sold? Were they going to have more people in here than the room could hold? If they did, she hoped Fire Chief Berg didn't notice. He'd purchased a ticket so he was probably here somewhere.

Now the music had picked up to something a little faster, "Somebody Like You" by Keith Urban. Bill Will came up to her, all duded up in a cowboy s.h.i.+rt with pearl b.u.t.tons and his best black jeans. He'd exchanged his cowboy hat for some goofy evil court-jester mask with a skull for a face.

"How about a dance?" he asked.

She barely had time to say, "Sure," before he swept her off into a fast country two-step.

What he lacked in grace, Bill Will made up for in enthusiasm, nearly taking out any dancers who happened to be in his path as they made their way around the floor. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea.

Then he stepped on her gown and she felt a rip. This really hadn't been a good idea.

"s.h.i.+t," he muttered. "Gosh, I'm sorry, Cec-I mean, mystery lady. d.a.m.n."

She patted his arm. "It's okay, Mr. Jester. It could happen to anyone."

"Not to me. But hey, I'm used to dancing with girls wearing shorter dresses."

She just bet he was. "I think I've got a safety pin in my purse." Thankfully, she'd come prepared.

He nodded, making the pointed ends of his jester mask bob like big puppy ears, and she left him, probably with a beet-red face. There was another advantage of a masked ball. No one could see your embarra.s.sment.

She managed to repair the gown with a couple of safety pins and went back to the perimeter of the party. It was safer to watch. Just as Bryan Adams began singing "When You Love Someone," she became aware of a large man in a Phantom of the Operastyle mask approaching. Luke.

"How's the dress?" he asked.

"Have you been watching me?" she teased.

"Busted. It's a slow dance. I promise not to make the rip bigger."

He held out a hand. It would have been rude not to take it so she did and let him lead her onto the floor. He put an arm around her, drew her gently to him and started them swaying. She felt the needle move on the zing-o-meter. Well, dancing this close to a hard male body, she'd have to be dead not to feel anything.

"You know, you're enough to take away a man's breath," he said.

"Luke, I'm not here looking for anything. After the festival..." What? She'd be gone. There wasn't anything here for her.

He smiled. He had a nice smile. "I wasn't looking for anything when I met my wife."

Oh, boy. She didn't like the way this conversation was going. "You're a nice man, Luke."

"So, I've been told. You looking for a bad boy, Cecily, is that it?"

"I told you, I'm not looking for anything."

He rubbed a hand up her back, sending a slow warmth pouring through her. "Does that mean you're not open to stumbling onto something good?"

"I..." Why was her mouth suddenly dry? "We wouldn't be a match."

He nodded slowly. "You know about those things, of course."

"I do," she said defensively.

"Tell you what. Let's make a deal. I won't push you but if you decide to stick around, you give me a chance to change your mind. Fair enough?"

"Not fair to you."

"I can deal with it," he said easily.

He pulled her just the slightest bit closer, making her very conscious of the fact that he was a male and she was a female. Then he put them into a slow spin and she was aware of her gown flaring out, of a strong arm around her, keeping her from falling backward, of the glimmer of candlelight and the soft wash of a love song. And a little voice whispered, You could come home to stay.

Samantha saw him moving toward her from clear across the room. He wore a black tux and a Venetian mask that covered his whole face. Of course, there was no disguising that big, football-player body. He didn't look like a banker as he walked toward her-more like James Bond on steroids-and the sequins in the mask glinted in the candlelight. She didn't want to dance with him. Yes, she did. No, she didn't.

You have to be polite, she told herself, settling the issue, so she stood there and tried to calm the ridiculous fluttering in her chest. "h.e.l.lo, Blake," she greeted him.

He shook his head. "This is a masked ball, remember? n.o.body knows anybody. I'm just a man who wants to dance with the most beautiful woman here."

Garth Brooks started crooning "To Make You Feel My Love" and before she could say anything more, Blake had hooked an arm around her and pulled her against him, turning her insides to lava. Some things are better than chocolate. Oh, jeez.

Keep your mind on business. "The ball is a great success."

"I don't want to talk about the ball," he said, his voice low. "I don't want to talk about anything. I just want to feel you."

She could certainly feel him and he felt good, all muscle and male energy. She was going to go limp and slide down into a puddle here on the floor. Get a grip, Samantha.

That wasn't hard to do when she remembered the position she was in with the bank. "Nicely said, considering the fact that you're about to put me out of business."

"I'm not your enemy, Samantha, no matter what you think."

She looked up at him. "Really? You could have fooled me."

He heaved a sigh. "Believe me, I don't like this situation."

"Neither do I," she said, drawing back to put some distance between them.

"Just for tonight, just for this one dance, let's forget about business," he said softly.

Forget about her family heritage, her future and all the people depending on her simply because he was dancing with her. What did he think she was? She knew what he was. The fire inside her went out with a hiss. "You really have your nerve. I'm about to lose everything and you expect me just to waltz around the floor in a daze with you."

"Samantha."

"That's not a Lone Ranger mask you're wearing and I can't be a hypocrite and dance with you," she said.

In fact, she couldn't stay here and enjoy herself now. Every smile she managed would be fake. The song wasn't finished yet, but she pulled out of his arms and left the dance floor, anyway. The room was a kaleidoscope of color and beauty but all she saw was her future, dark and looming. She s.n.a.t.c.hed her coat from the table where she'd put it and ran from the hall, the day's successes now nothing but ashes in her mouth.

She speed-walked back to her condo, drawing inquisitive stares from tourists. No wonder. She looked like a lost prom queen.

She was all the way home before she remembered that she'd never told her sisters she was leaving. Eventually, they'd realize she was missing and look for her, so she called Cecily's cell and left a message that she wasn't feeling well. Then she got out of her ball garb and into her jammies and went straight to bed, where Nibs was happy to join her.

"What am I going to do?" she asked as she scratched his chin.

Sadly, Nibs had no solution.

She slept little that night, mostly lay awake thinking of all the people on her payroll, all the families who'd put their faith in Sweet Dreams. Had Blake really meant what he said? If he wasn't her enemy, then couldn't he be her ally? That thought brought her full circle to her original hope. Surely if she paid a big chunk on that bank loan he'd find a way to extend it.

It was a slim hope but it was the only one she had, the only solution her exhausted brain could come up with. She got up in time to see the sun rise over the mountains in a wash of orange and gold. A new day.

She made herself some oatmeal and then took a shower and felt better, so much better that she went out for an early-morning run along the Riverfront Park path. The morning was crisp and clear, a perfect day. Coming home she heard Gerhardt Geissel blowing his alpen horn over at Gerhardt's Gasthaus, his normal weekend ritual. Later in the morning, the church bells would ring at Icicle Falls Community Church, calling residents to prayer. By the time the bells rang, she'd be working the Sweet Dreams booth, praying like crazy that they'd sell a fortune in chocolate.

Her cell phone rang at nine. Cecily. "I called to see how you're doing. Are you still sick?"

"I'm fine now." And determined once more. After all, what other choice did she have? Quitting wasn't an option.

"You sure? 'Cause Mom and Bailey and I can work the booth if you don't feel well."

"No, I'll be there," Samantha said. "How was the ball last night?"

"A raging success."

"I hope Bailey didn't go wandering off with Brandon Wallace." She should have stayed to watch over her sister.

"She didn't wander off with anyone. Anyway, too many other men were keeping her busy on the dance floor for him to have much access to her."

"That's a good thing," Samantha said. "And how about you? How many men did you dance with?"

"I lost count."

"Anyone in particular?" Samantha had seen how Luke Goodman looked at her sister. Cecily would be a fool to pa.s.s him up. Of course, when it came to her love life, Cecily had no sense. Why was it a woman couldn't ever see what was right in front of her face?

"No," Cecily said airily. And then, before Samantha could pry further, she added, "So, Mom says she'll meet you at the booth at ten. I'll show up at one with Bailey." End of conversation.

"Okay," Samantha said, taking the hint. She didn't know why she was poking around in her sister's business, anyway. She had enough on her hands with her own.

She drank a cup of coffee and then walked out the door. Center Street was already full of people, many of them wearing crazy Cat in the Hat stovepipe hats and other creative headgear from the Mad Hatter. She pa.s.sed young families, groups of girlfriends obviously enjoying a girls' weekend and couples strolling hand in hand. The ice rink was doing a brisk business, too, with lots of children and teenagers skating in wild circles around the more sedate older people. This was how Icicle Falls was supposed to look, and she'd helped make it happen.

She was smiling by the time she got to the Sweet Dreams booth, and she kept the smile all morning as she and her mother took money and handed out chocolate bliss. The crowds continued to swell.

"I think there are more people here today than there were yesterday," Bailey said when she and Cecily showed up to take over the booth.

"The more, the better," Samantha said. "We're low on inventory. I'll run over to the shop and get it."

What a wonderful errand to be running-off to get more chocolates so they could sell more and make more. Oh, yes, there was hope. There was always hope. Never give up, never give in.

She was halfway down the street when she spotted him. Her smile fell off and her heart plummeted into her boots. This was how Little Red Riding Hood felt when she stood by her granny's bedside and realized that the granny with the big teeth wasn't really Granny. The better to eat you with, my dear. Trevor Brown strolled along the street with the other bank snake, what's-his-name, hands in his pockets, surveying the whole party like a king observing his subjects. Of course he was up here spying, probably figuring he'd organize a festival, too, once he owned her company.

Well, he wasn't going to own it. She'd blow it up before she let that cheap candy maker get his greedy paws on it. Jaw set, she marched to the warehouse and grabbed a case of their salted caramels and one of their sampler boxes, as well as the last of their four-seaters. Then she set the whole mess on a dolly and made her way back to the booth.

And there he was, right in front of it, chatting up her baby sister.

She narrowed her eyes and entered the booth to stand next to Bailey. "Mr. Brown, what brings you up here?" As if she didn't know.

He smiled at her. "Just thought I'd check it out. You've done a great job of pulling this festival together."

"Thank you," she said stiffly. "I couldn't have done it without the rest of the town. We all pull together in Icicle Falls."

"Do you?"

She raised her chin a notch. "Yes, we do." Now she s.h.i.+fted her gaze to Blake's boss. "That's how we've always worked here."

"That so?" he said. "Well, let's try some of your chocolate. What do you recommend?"

That you go jump in the river.

"They're all delicious," Bailey said, clueless that she was talking to the enemy. "Try the salted caramels. They're sweet but they have a bite."

"Actually, I think we're out," Samantha said coldly.

"No, we're not, Sammy," Bailey said. "You're just in time, though," she informed the men, "because we are running low."

"How much?" Trevor Brown asked.

As if he couldn't tell. It was listed on the sign hanging behind them.

Bailey told him and he pa.s.sed her the money.