Amalie got Vincent and Jasper settled into rooms on the second floor and rushed back downstairs to unpack the groceries. It occurred to her that she was going to need more eggs, bread, and coffee. Grabbing a pad of paper and a pencil, she started to make out a second shopping list. Halfway through the task she glanced at the clock. Shock jolted through her when she realized she had only an hour and a half before the tea service. Hazel was in charge of the kitchen but Hazel was not available.
Amalie did a quick inventory and concluded that she could manage some small cheese-and-tomato sandwiches, but she despaired at the thought of getting a basket of freshly baked scones and a tray of shortbread on the table before the deadline.
You used to work under pressure all the time. Calm down and start baking.
She yanked an apron out of a drawer and took a large mixing bowl out of a cupboard.
She was cutting the butter into the flour for the scones and wondering if she could get away with omitting the shortbread cookies when she heard the doorbell ring.
Maybe Vincent Hyde was right; maybe the horrible publicity really was attracting business.
Hard on the heels of that thought came another. I’ll need more scones. More shortbread. What about the cheese? I don’t have enough tomatoes.
Hastily she wiped her flour-covered hands on her apron and rushed toward the front hall. She plastered what she hoped was a welcoming smile on her face and opened the door.
She froze at the sight of the woman on the doorstep.
“Willa?” she finally managed. “What are you doing here?”
Blond, blue-eyed, and endowed with a delicate beauty that belied her wiry strength and agility, Willa Platt was a woman who usually aroused two equally powerful desires in men—they wanted to have sex with her and they yearned to be her knight in shining armor.
The last time Amalie had seen her, Willa had been sobbing inconsolably and screaming at her. You’re the reason Marcus is dead. He would be alive if it wasn’t for you. It was a harsh accusation made even more brutal by the fact that it was true.
“I need a job,” Willa said. “I’m desperate and I’m not too proud to beg. I know we’re not exactly friends anymore because of what happened in Abbotsville, but we’re both circus people. We take care of our own.”
“I don’t have a job to give you,” Amalie said. “I can’t afford to hire anyone yet. I’m having a few problems trying to get this place going.”
Willa nodded in understanding and surveyed the tiled hall and the arched entrance into the lobby.
“I read about the curse that psychic, Madam Zolanda, put on this place,” she said.
“I would have thought that would have been enough to make you think twice about wanting to work here.”
Willa squared her shoulders. “I’m not in a position to be choosy.”
“We both know that you blame me for what happened in Abbotsville.”
“Yeah, about Abbotsville,” Willa said. “I’ve had time to think about what happened. You’ve got no reason to believe me, not after some of the things I said to you, but I realize now that Marcus lied to me.”
“Yes,” Amalie said.
“He tried to seduce you first but you wouldn’t give him the time of day. So he used me to find out everything he wanted to know about you.”
“What made you change your mind?”
Willa set down her small, battered grip as if it had become too heavy to lift.
“I told you, I’ve had a lot of time to think during the past six months,” she said. “I remembered all the questions Marcus asked about you. The look in his eyes when he watched you fly. He did a good job of pretending that he cared for me, but the truth is, I bought his story because I wanted to believe him when he talked about getting married and moving my act to Ringling. He was so damn good-looking, wasn’t he? Should have known he was too slick.”
“Willa—”
“I’m flat broke, Amalie. I spent my last dime on the train fare to get here. I haven’t eaten since yesterday. If you don’t take me in, I’m going to be sleeping in a doorway tonight. Just give me a chance, okay? That’s all I’m asking. I’ll earn my keep. You know I can do just about anything that needs doing.”
That much was true, Amalie thought. Those who lived the circus life developed a variety of skills. From aerialists to roustabouts, you had to be versatile to keep your job. Willa was no exception. She had been an equestrienne in the Ramsey show and she’d certainly had a way with the horses and the audience. In addition, she had an artistic flair. She had designed and sewn many of the costumes worn by the performers.
Circus people took care of each other.
“You can stay here for a while,” Amalie said. She stepped back to allow Willa into the hallway. “But I can’t afford to pay you a regular salary, just room and board.”
Relief and hope brightened Willa’s blue eyes. “That’s plenty. Thanks, Amalie. I promise you won’t be sorry.”
“I should point out that you could probably get a real job at the Burning Cove Hotel or one of the other resorts here in town.”
“No, thanks.” Willa picked up her grip and hastened through the door before Amalie could change her mind. “I’ve had enough of working for strangers. My last two bosses stiffed me on my weekly pay and tried to get into my panties. You can’t trust anyone these days. Where’s Hazel? I assumed that you and your aunt would stick together after everything fell apart in Abbotsville.”
“Hazel is in the hospital.”
Willa stopped abruptly, her eyes widening in shock. “Is she going to be okay?”
“Yes.”
“What happened to her?”
“It’s a long story. I’ll explain after you get settled. Right now I’m a little busy.”
Willa got a knowing look in her eyes. “If Hazel is in the hospital, that means you’ve got another bill to pay.”
“I’ll figure it out,” Amalie said. “You can set your grip on the floor behind the front desk. I don’t have time to show you to your room.”
“That’s okay.” Willa frowned at the flour-dusted apron. “Are you baking something?”
“That was the plan but I’m not making much progress. This is a bed-and-breakfast but we also offer tea. I’ve got a couple of guests who will be coming downstairs expecting sandwiches, scones, and shortbread. I’m going to ditch the shortbread. I just don’t have time to bake a batch.”
“I can handle the shortbread,” Willa said.
Amalie raised her brows. “Think so?”
“I know so. I wasn’t born into the circus. I joined the Ramsey show after my folks died. Before that, Ma sold pies and cakes and cookies to make ends meet. I helped her. We did the baking in our kitchen. So, yeah, I learned how to make shortbread.”
“You’ve got yourself a nonpaying job,” Amalie said.