Silver Foxes of BWB 2: 40 and (No Longer) Fighting It

Chapter One

So how does it feel to be a coward?

Claire glared at herself in the mirror, hating that she was calling herself names. Hating that she was right. She was too nervous to step out of the bathroom, because that would be the first in a short line of steps heading out of her apartment.

And those steps led to confronting ghosts from the past. Or rather, someone who wouldn’t stay a ghost.

Damn the man.

“Claire!”

She squeezed her eyes closed, blocking out her image, wishing she could block out her friend Erin’s voice as well. Why couldn’t she just stay here, hidden, and forget the outside world existed? This building, the one that held her bakery and apartment, was her haven, her sanctuary. Nothing outside these walls truly required her input, right?

She opened her eyes, gaze locking with the dark eyes staring out from the mirror.

Right. Hiding made her a coward. Got it.

“Claire?” A sharp rap on the closed door told her the time for hiding was up. “You okay in there?”

“Fine!” Okay, not fine, but what the hell. Was lying any worse than being a cowardly lion? Where was a wizard when she needed one? “I’ll be out in just a sec.”

“Good. Want me to get the food ready to go?”

Relief at the reprieve had her shoulders dropping from around her ears. “Please!”

She was a chef; she never went anywhere, including a backyard barbecue, without gobs of food. Except this backyard barbecue was being held to celebrate her best friend Lily’s recent engagement to JD Lane—and the arrival in Black Wolf’s Bluff of JD’s best friend, Lincoln Young.

The man who’d stolen Claire’s dream almost a decade ago.

“All right, girl.” She stared down her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Chocolate, that’s what her eyes reminded her of. Her favorite dark chocolate ganache, rich and shiny, gleaming in the bright sunlight. She’d always loved chocolate, from the time she was a little girl. She’d worked hard since her divorce to establish an actual friendship with that face, those eyes, to make sure that her first ally was the one staring back at her from the mirror every day, first thing in the morning. She wouldn’t let Lincoln Young steal that from her. He’d stolen enough already.

So no more of the word coward, okay?

“Okay.” She smiled. It might not reach her eyes yet, but it would. She just had to keep working at it. Straightening her shoulders, she gave herself a wink. “Let’s go.”

“Claire!”

She rolled her eyes at her reflection. “Coming!”

“Well get a move on, will ya?”

Erin didn’t tolerate delays well. She was a general contractor, a good one, and she knew how to herd cats. Even if there was only one cat, and that cat was as reluctant as all get-out to leave the safety of her bathroom.

Her friend was right, though. Claire gave her reflection a final survey, pleased that she looked damn good, forty years old or not. Minimal, effective makeup, curly hair bouncing around her shoulders—her favorite feature aside from her eyes—a light button-down and fitted skirt that showed off her curves. In her opinion it was impossible for a pastry chef to be stick-thin unless it was pure genetics—and her genetics laughed at stick-thin figures, so she was out of luck there. But she’d come to terms with her weight in the past few years—another benefit of age. Plus she had great legs. She might be short, but legs didn’t have to be long to be great. Hers were shown to advantage in the strappy berry-colored sandals that matched her shirt, the slightest heel perfect for walking on an uneven lawn while still giving her some lift. She couldn’t have chosen better armor for what was ahead.

She was as ready as she’d ever be.

A deep, full breath, then she grasped the doorknob and stepped out. Her apartment was small, a one-bedroom that fit above her bakery on Main Street in Black Wolf’s Bluff, and it took no more than a dozen steps to move from the bathroom to her tiny kitchen where Erin waited. Her friend sat at the miniscule bar, a glass of sweet tea sweating in front of her. Old-fashioned baked beans and fresh-baked sourdough, a bowl of coleslaw—the kind with mayo, not vinegar—and a carrel of cupcakes waited beside her.

“’Bout time,” Erin groused. She stood from her stool, smoothing down her pants legs. Erin’s love of overalls was a religion, but at least today she’d traded denim for cool linen over a thin silk shirt, the outfit elegantly draping her tall, athletic frame. “What was taking so long?”

“Just running late.” So it was a bit of a fib. No one else knew about her history with their new-in-town guest, and she wasn’t sure she was ready to share.

The shrewd way Erin eyed her said she might be running out of time on that. “Something’s been off with you lately, and it isn’t just your timing.”

Claire opened the fridge to grab the pan of strawberry-pretzel salad. That the move kept her from having to meet her friend’s eyes was a bonus. “Nothing is ‘off.’”

“Yes, it is.” Erin’s stare dug into her as she crossed the kitchen to add the dessert to the pile. “What’s going on? Are you worried about the expansion?”

“Absolutely not.” Total truth. She’d wanted to expand her bakery for years now, not just physically but pushing more into her art, adding more upscale pastries that the customer base here in her small hometown simply didn’t have an interest in and often couldn’t afford. The chance to add a second store in the upcoming Black Wolf Resort and feature her pastry skills in their top-notch restaurant would allow her to do exactly that. “I’m ready.”

“For the expansion or to go to Lily’s?” Erin teased. She finished the final swallow of her tea on the walk over to the sink, than added the glass to the top rack of the dishwasher. “And we’re not going until you tell me what’s up.”

“Wasn’t it you just nagging me about being late?”

Erin shrugged, a smile teasing her mouth. “Being late will just draw more attention when we finally do arrive.”

Claire blanched.

Erin arched a brow. “I knew it was something about this barbecue that was getting to you. You’ve been like a cat on a hot tin roof since Lily started discussing it. What’s going on?” Moving closer, she gripped Claire’s bare arm softly, frowning down at her. “You know you can talk to me about anything, right?”

She did know. The problem was, she wasn’t sure spilling her guts would help. But she also knew that look in Erin’s eyes; it meant she wasn’t getting out of here without some kind of explanation.

Erin leaned back against the sink, crossing her arms over her chest. “You’re not intimidated by having a high-profile chef here, are you? Because you shouldn’t be. He might be from New York City”—Erin gave those three words the quirky cowboy accent from the Old El Paso commercials Claire remembered from the ’90s, making her snort—“but that doesn’t mean he’s better than you.”

Lincoln did have more talent than she did, at least as a chef; she had enough self-awareness to acknowledge that. Heck, he had more talent than 95 percent of the food experts in the world. Lincoln Young hadn’t gotten where he was in the culinary world on looks and charm alone, although he had plenty of that to go along with his genius. When it came to pastry, though, that was a whole other deal. Creating desserts people melted over was her passion, and though pastry chefs like the ones she’d studied under during her time at the Institute of Culinary Education in New York City might top her, no way could Lincoln Young ever beat her in a pastry stand-off. She knew that from personal experience.

Not that she’d tell Erin that.

“No, he doesn’t intimidate me,” Claire assured her. Not a total lie. He didn’t intimidate her on a professional level, but on a personal one? She refused to think about that. “Lincoln will oversee the restaurant”—at least at first, since he had a Michelin-starred restaurant and a celebrity-chef career to manage elsewhere—“and that would make him somewhat my boss, but no, I don’t think he can fault me where my food is concerned.”

Erin began gathering bowls and pans onto the small cart she’d brought to carry everything. “Good, because he shouldn’t. I know I’m no expert, but I’ve never tasted anything better than your food, Claire.”

Erin had never been out of the South, so she’d never experienced the wonders of the New York food scene, but her friend’s words touched her heart. “Thank you, Erin.”

Her phone buzzed in her skirt pocket, and Claire fished it out. Her heart took a nosedive as she read the text.

Dinner is almost on the table and everyone is here. Where are you?

“Is that Lily?” Erin asked as she finished transferring the last of the food.

“No such luck.” Following behind her friend as she steered the cart toward the back door, Claire typed rapidly in response: Mama, I told you tonight is Lily and JD’s engagement party. I won’t be at family dinner tonight.

Her mother’s response had her lips tightening before she thumbed her phone off and slid it back into her pocket.

A knowing look sparked in Erin’s eyes. “Mom giving you a hard time again?”

It would be funny if it wasn’t so painful. “Missing family dinner for time with my heathen friends?” Her eye roll shouted exactly what she thought of that label. No, her mother hadn’t said it exactly that way, but Claire read the subtext just fine. “Why would she give me a hard time about that?”

Erin snorted. “We’re more fun anyway.”

Her friend wasn’t wrong. Most family dinners were spent with her mother fawning over Claire’s brothers’ children and giving Claire disapproving looks anytime she discussed her business. According to her family, her place in the world was barefoot and pregnant while her husband “provided” for her and the brood of children she was obligated to provide in turn.

Yeah, she’d tried that route. To say it hadn’t worked out was the understatement of the century.

She moved around Erin and the cart to open the door, doing her best to ignore the ache behind her breastbone. “Y’all are definitely more fun,” she threw over her shoulder. “And you have alcohol.”

“You know it!” Erin pushed her load onto the stair landing, then waited for Claire to lock up.

Her friend’s response lightened Claire’s mood. She usually limited herself to two drinks at any gathering—she was definitely a lightweight when it came to alcohol—but she might have the first one quick when they got to Lily’s. Anything to ease the nerves that resumed with a vengeance as they maneuvered the cart down to the car and began to load the food into the back seat of Erin’s truck. She had little choice but to move forward if she wanted the opportunity at Black Wolf Resort, and that meant facing Lincoln Young head-on.

Who knew? Maybe she’d get lucky and their time together so long ago would be lost amid the excitement and demands of the jet-setting life he’d lived for the last nine years. Surely he’d forgotten one shy little pastry-chef intern by now.

Lincoln Young probably wouldn’t even recognize her.

But as they began the short drive over to Lily’s house, she knew the likelihood of that happening was nil. She’d never been that lucky.

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