Tokens Of My Confection

Apr 15

Apr 15 Tokens Of My Confection

Next Chapter

Romance

Buy now

Read reviews in Goodreads

Book excerpt

Prologue

Cady knew she was in trouble.

Unlocking the front door, she found Jameson waiting at the dining room table, his rigid figure an indication of how tightly strung his emotions were. His broad shoulders vibrated with tension. With anger.

Taking a deep breath, Cady dropped her purse on the couch and walked further into the room but kept a healthy distance between Jameson and herself. The waves of fury emanating from him had her nerves on edge, a warning to Cady that something was wrong. Very wrong. With a wary eye locked on her husband, she scanned the room for Montgomery. He normally greeted her at the door, his fluffy tail wagging a happy greeting.

"You're home early," she commented quietly, her breath hitching in her throat. She listened anxiously for sounds in the house, some clue to where Montgomery was. She desperately wanted to ask, but Jameson hated the dog with a passion and his mood was already black. Perhaps it was best if she navigated the mess she was in first, searched for Montgomery later.

For a minute, she wasn't sure he was going to answer, and the silence stretched out between them, increasing the tension. Cady glanced uneasily at her purse, wondering if she should turn tail and run.

"You're late."

His words made her jump. There had been a time, a few years ago, when that same voice had filled her with an overwhelming sense of security. Now it had a much different effect and Cady cringed. "Yes. I'm sorry. I had a cake to finish and it took a little longer than I expected."

Jameson’s shoulders tensed, and his hands scrunched into fists. "Cakes. It's always the cakes." He held up a page torn from the newspaper. "Fucking cakes," he sneered. "Cady Caldwell. The Queen of Cakes."

He spat her name as if it was a curse and Cady considered her options. Should she admit to knowledge of the newspaper report, or plead ignorance? Which one would work? Jameson's angry stare, his brown eyes penetrating, made it hard to decide. "Why don't we go out for supper?" Cady suggested, deciding avoidance might be best. Perhaps he could be sidetracked – though the whisky bottle and empty glass beside it suggested it was already too late. Jameson had been drinking, and given the nearly empty bottle, he'd been at it for a while. Certainly, long enough to work up into a rage.

He got to his feet, still clutching the newspaper in his fist. "Did you think I wouldn't find out?"

Cady shook her head, her eyes wide. She'd been so careful. When Mario decided to enter her cake in the prestigious Decorators of America competition, he'd promised to keep her name out of it. She didn't need the attention, not when Jameson was so incredibly jealous. When Mario showed her the newspaper this morning, his blue eyes filled with regret, Cady knew it had been a terrible mistake. True to Mario's promise, the newspaper hadn't used her name, but what she'd assumed would take up a few lines in the back pages turned out to be front-page news. 'Mario's Bakery Takes out Prestigious Gold Medal for a Sublime Creation'. It went on to describe the cake and its decoration at length, and the prestige which came from one of San Francisco's favorite bakeries scooping the gold medal out from under the noses of other, more famous bakeries throughout the States. They hadn't mentioned her name, but the subtle hint about the creator being 'the wife of a world-renowned chef' was enough to cause overwhelming damage.

Jameson stepped towards her, his movements slow, measured, his eyes burning with hatred. "You smart ass bitch. You're throwing my failure in my face!"

Cady twisted her head rapidly from side to side, backing away. "No Jameson… that's not true… you aren't a failure…"

"Offering fake sympathy when those bastards overlooked me for the third Michelin star, pretending to care! I bet you were laughing behind my back, the whole time. You're nothing without me! You slap a bit of icing on a cake and you win a fucking award for it! Thought you were clever, not giving them your name? You must think I'm a damned fool. It could only be your doing; that idiot you work for is such a dolt, it couldn't possibly have been his work. You're going to wish you were dead by the time I've finished with you!"

Cady panicked, making a dash for the door even knowing it was a useless endeavor. She shouldn't have come inside, should have driven straight to Harry's when she saw Jameson's car in the driveway. She could have come up with some excuse for visiting, even though she hadn't seen Harry for nearly six months. Jameson's jealous rages had isolated her from everyone, using her desperation for his financial help as a counterweight to everything he demanded.

He wrapped one hand around her arm and wrenched Cady backwards. She struggled desperately to escape, but he was stronger. He wrapped his arms around her waist and Cady kicked and struggled when he dragged her through the house, thrusting her down into the basement. She caught her ankle on a step as she fell, and it wrenched painfully. Any hope of escape was gone and when Cady hit the cold concrete floor, she curled into a ball, making herself into as small a target as possible.

The first kick created a wellspring of agony in her lower back, convincing Cady her kidneys had exploded. The second kick cracked a couple of ribs. Jameson resorted to using his fists, punching Cady's face until she was seeing stars. Her screams were reduced to horrified whimpers, and then little moans as her body became a ball of incessant pain. Jameson clutched her shoulders, lifting her head again and again, slamming her against the unforgiving concrete. He stopped abruptly, using a knife to tear her shirt away, his eyes filled with fury. The knife flicked through her bra, catching her skin when he cut through the fragile lace and Cady whimpered. "You're an ungrateful little whore. You used me from the beginning," Jameson muttered, shifting his attention to her jeans.

She tried to see past the stars inhibiting her sight. When Jameson came into focus, she watched anxiously when he lit a cigarette, lowering it from his lips to blow against the smoldering end, to make the ash redden.

He brought the burning cigarette down and pressed the tip of it against her naked breast. Cady screamed and screamed, the lancing pain in her head surpassed by the pain as her skin burned. Her last conscious thought, as the world darkened around her was that Jameson was going to exceed his plan. He'd announced she was going to wish she were dead.

Cady thought she probably was dead.

Chapter One

Meredith Caldwell paced. A fine figure of a woman, she was still a beauty in her advancing years. Her gray hair was stylishly cut, and she filled out a pair of jeans like a woman who was two decades younger. Yes, indeed; a damn fine-looking woman. Sheriff George Davis watched as she walked back and forth across the living room, pausing on the completion of every lap to peer through the lace curtains, watching anxiously for an approaching car. He idly wondered if she might wear a hole in the carpet before her granddaughter arrived.

George tried – and failed – to keep his eyes off her shapely legs. He sipped from the coffee mug he gripped in one calloused hand then cleared his throat. "Meredith, for Christ's sake – sit down. They'll get here when they get here. You wearin’ a hole in the carpet ain't gonna hurry them up."

She stopped pacing and glanced at George with anxious blue eyes, tiny frown lines marring her skin. "Shouldn't they be here by now?"

George glanced at his watch. "It's a couple of hours drive to Garrison and they could have hit traffic leaving Billings. I'd guess they'll arrive anytime in the next half hour." He watched Meredith resume pacing and drew himself from the chair, placing a hand on her arm. "Meredith. You pacing ain't gonna make a lick of difference. Sit down. Please."

With a heavy sigh, Meredith took his advice and settled on the edge of the couch, but her attention remained focused on the window. She'd waited so long for this day. She'd met her other two grandchildren more than twelve months back, but today was the culmination of a long wait to meet her eldest granddaughter. Even now, it was obvious she couldn't quite believe it was going to happen. If only it was under better circumstances.

George sat back down and picked up his coffee mug. "You haven't told me much about her."

"I don't know much."

George shrugged, determined to keep Meredith talking if it meant she'd relax a smidgeon. "So, tell me what you do know."

Meredith clasped her hands together. "Her name is Arcadia, but she apparently prefers Cady." Her gaze had to be forcefully torn away from the window to face her friend.

"No surprise there." George grinned. "You've got to admit; they gave those kids the worst damn names." He'd never heard such ridiculous names in his life – even with the younger generation’s penchant for bestowing God-awful monikers on their kids – Meredith's son had taken the cake.

"I've met Sid and Harry. It's been wonderful having the opportunity to know them after the shock of discovering they existed." Meredith smiled warmly; obviously pleased with the relationship she'd forged with the girls.

George knew that despite the masculine-sounding names, 'Sid' and 'Harry' were women. Sidonia and Hermione. God-only-knew-where their parents had gotten those names. It wasn't much wonder the girls preferred the nicknames they'd bestowed on themselves. It had been an emotional moment for Meredith when she'd discovered her deceased son had fathered three daughters. It had come as quite a revelation, not only to Meredith, but to the entire small community of Garrison.

"You still don't know why Cady wouldn't meet with you before now?" George asked quietly.

Meredith had lost her battle with impatience and was pacing again. She shrugged. "I have no idea. Maybe because she was older, Mark managed to turn her against us. Lord knows, he made his own disdain obvious enough. It wouldn't come as a surprise if he'd told Cady any number of lies."

Everyone in town knew the story of the Caldwell's oldest son – Mark had gone bad as a teenager, rebelling against his parents and descending into a sordid life of drug use and alcoholism. He'd up and left Garrison when he was seventeen, and other than intermittent contact with Meredith, usually begging for money, he’d had no contact with his parents.

Jim Caldwell had passed away just a few short years after Mark's disappearance, the strain of worrying about his son bringing on a heart attack at the age of forty-nine. Meredith had been left to bring up their younger son alone, but she'd done an excellent job. Unlike Mark, David had matured into a good-hearted, responsible man. Meredith was so proud of him; he was caring and considerate, and he'd never given her a lick of trouble in the years since.

Three years ago, George had been the one to bring the terrible news to Meredith of Mark's death. She'd accepted the news stoically, reassuring George that to all intents and purposes, Mark had been dead to her for years. Despite the heartache, she'd provided her son with a Christian burial, bringing his body back to Garrison and he’d been laid to rest close to his father's grave in the town cemetery.

The few belongings Mark had in his possession when he died were forwarded to Meredith. It had taken a few weeks before she could face going through them and George recalled her excitement when she discovered there were three birth certificates for three baby girls, resulting from a relationship Mark had with a woman named Lisa Drummond.

With David's support, Meredith hired a reputable private investigator to find out more about Mark's family. Over the next few months, she'd received sporadic reports, learning that Mark lived with Lisa Drummond for several years. They’d had the three children together, but the relationship was volatile from all accounts and there'd been more than one occasion when the children were taken by social services. Reports of arrests for drug use, alcoholism – even prostitution – were recorded for both Mark and Lisa. Meredith had been devastated by the knowledge; worried about what the three little girls had dealt with, and so sorry she hadn't been able to help them.

"You think Mark would have fed Cady more bullshit than he did Sid and Harry?" George questioned. There was something strange about the situation, and George had been chewing over the mystery for months, ever since Meredith first contacted her granddaughters. While Sid and Harry embraced their newly-discovered grandmother with open arms, Cady had been reticent, refusing to meet her. Cady's current circumstances could have something to do with it, but George's gut instincts told him there was more to the story than met the eye.

"She's the eldest," Meredith pointed out. "Sid and Harry were maybe too young to influence." She chewed her lip pensively, searching the street outside.

"She's agreed to come now," George offered. "Maybe what was a bad situation for the girl will turn into something good, for both of you."

Meredith frowned, crossing her arms over her chest. "She didn't agree to come. Not without considerable pressure from Sid and Harry. I think it's been an uphill battle to get her here at all."

"She'll be safer." George intended to be certain of it, after hearing what her bastard husband had done. He'd seen the medical reports – the information he'd kept from Meredith. She was anxious enough about Cady coming to stay, without hearing about the beating the young woman had taken; the history of domestic abuse. George soothed his conscience by reminding himself of his legal obligation to suppress the reports. He'd received them as a courtesy from the San Francisco PD and once George read them, he'd taken no chances, going so far as to send Kane to collect the young woman from Billings. Nothing was going to happen to Cady Caldwell on his watch, he respected and cared for her grandmamma too much to let anything go wrong.

Meredith turned to him, offering him a tense smile. "Thank you, George. I appreciate everything you've done."

"It's nothin', Meredith. I know how much you've come to love Sid and Harry and the SFPD agreed it was a good idea to get Cady out of California."

"There's still no word about her husband?" Meredith asked.

George scowled. "No sign of him, he's lying low." The bastard had disappeared after he'd beaten the crap out of his young wife and left her for dead – and George's blood boiled whenever he thought about it. Wife beaters were lower than pond scum and George had seen a few in his time, but this case – where it involved someone he knew, even by association - was stuck in his craw. He wouldn't rest until Jameson Le Batelier was captured.

"They're still searching, aren't they?"

"Yeah. He can't disappear for long. The guy is too well-known. His face is recognizable."

"George, be honest with me." Bright blue eyes sought his and he gave Meredith his full attention. "Do you think he'll try to hurt her again?"

George inhaled sharply; this was a conversation he’d hoped to avoid. "I can't answer that," he said gently. "This asshole doesn't have any prior convictions, but I don't know enough to say what he might do. There's a history of violence with Cady, but it was never enough for the police to press charges, not when Cady wouldn't corroborate. What did Sid and Harry tell you?"

"They had no idea about the physical abuse. But neither of them had seen Cady for nearly six months." Meredith turned back to the window.

George knew what happened with Cady was standard procedure for a wife beater – isolating them from family and friends. He wondered how Cady's sisters were coping with what had happened. Domestic violence never just affected the victim; it had a ripple effect on their families and loved ones too.

George heard a car coming down the street, his years as Sheriff fine-tuning his senses. "Looks like the wait is over. I think that's them."