Part 45 (1/2)

”And this must be your country girl,” Marjorie said, extending her hand like she was a d.a.m.ned queen

and holding a handkerchief to her nose delicately. ”How quaint.”

”Marjorie,” Sam growled.

”Attempts at a souffle, my dear? How charming. But don't you just eat grits and things up here? Or is it

raw bear meat right off the bone?” ”Marjorie!” Sydney fled from the kitchen. Sam threw up his hands in frustration. ”You shrew,” he exclaimed. ”I love her, d.a.m.n it!” ”Now, Sam,” Marjorie said, unperturbed. ”Don't be so rude.” ”You're fired,” Sam bellowed. ”You can't fire me. I'm your sister.”

”You're a pain! Get out of my house.”

Marjorie peered out the kitchen window. ”Oh, Sam, I do believe your little b.u.mpkin is driving away. Does that mean I can stay for dinner? What time do we eat out here in the country, anyway?”

Sam ran out of the kitchen and back to Sydney's bedroom. On her bed was a note, along with an envelope. He grabbed the note.

Sam, I know I can't compete. Here's your rent money back. I'll stay away until Sat.u.r.day. That should give you time to move out. I hope you have a happy life.

Sydney.

”Marjorie!” Sam roared.

”Yes, darling,” she called.

”How are your clerical skills?”

”Nonexistent, my love. Why?”

”Better brush up,” he yelled. ”You're going to have to get a real job when I get you blackballed in the city!”

Sam drove his sister/former agent into Flaherty and paid one of the Clan members a hundred dollars plus gas to take her back to Anchorage. He watched with narrow-eyed satisfaction as Marjorie b.u.mped off in a truck that didn't look like it would get five miles without breaking down. Her luggage had been dumped in the truck bed and would probably be covered with dog hair and a nice thick layer of compost by the time it reached the airport. Sam couldn't have been happier about it.

After a.s.suring himself that Joe had no idea where Sydney had gone, Sam retreated back to the house to plan.

And prayed that Marjorie hadn't ruined everything.

Sydney crept back to her house Sat.u.r.day afternoon. Sam's car was gone. She knew she should have been relieved, but she wasn't. She was heartbroken. All it had taken was one look at Sam's ”agent” to see that there was no hope of winning Sam away from her.

And so she'd run. She'd scampered off with her tail between her legs like the coward she was and spent three days licking her wounds. She had the feeling that no amount of licking would heal them.

The house was empty when she entered. She didn't bother to check Sam's room. She sat down on the couch and tried to cry. It was a futile effort. If she hadn't cried before, she certainly wasn't going to cry now.

She sat there until the darkness was complete. The days were growing shorter all the time. Soon there wouldn't be much light at all. Fitting. She would spend the winter in the gloom.

She flicked on the light in the kitchen and pulled up short.

There, on her very own counter, was the top of a wedding cake. It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. It must have taken Sam hours to finish. And there was a note beside it. She picked up the note with trembling hands.

My beautiful Sydney, you have two choices: you can either eat this cake or you can go to the refrigerator, pull out the rest of the frosting, and fill in the blank. And if you're brave enough to come down to the reception hall, you just might find someone waiting with the rest of the cake, someone who has a few things to explain to you and something to give you.

Love, Sam.

Sydney pulled out the bowl of frosting, then closed her eyes briefly before she looked at the top tier of the cake. It said: Congratulations, Sam and...

Oh, what did he mean? Why had he left the cake blank? Did he want her to fight for him?

Wasn't that what she'd been trying to do with the souffle before she'd chickened out?

Sydney reached for the cake-decorating kit laid out conveniently close to the cake and spooned some frosting into the pouch. She could hardly spell her own name but that didn't matter. Her courage returned with a rush. She loved Samuel MacLeod and d.a.m.n Marjorie if she thought to steal him away. A man didn't take his life in his hands to learn to fly-fish if he didn't love you, did he?

She carefully lifted the cake top and ran out to her car. Sam was waiting for her. She couldn't get to the reception hall fast enough.

And so, like clockwork, she got a flat tire.

It took her over an hour to fix it because she was so upset. By the time she was on the road again, she was filthy. And she was weeping so hard she didn't notice she was drifting off the road until her Jeep went front-end-first into the ditch. Sydney got out of the car, cursed fluently, then grabbed her precious cake top and started to walk.

And, of course, it started to rain.

It couldn't have been snow, so she could have died a very pleasant death from exposure. It had to be rain, which soaked through her coat, plastered her hair to her head, and left her with no choice but to tuck the cake top inside her coat.

She started to sob.

She wasn't sure how long it took her to get to town, but she felt certain it was half an eternity. She stumbled into the reception hall just as things looked like they were about to be packed up. Sam was standing in the middle of the room, looking defeated. And then he turned and saw her.

And he smiled.

Sydney didn't know where all her tears were coming from, but there was a whole new batch handy for this round of weeping. She threw herself into Sam's arms, squis.h.i.+ng the cake top between them.

”I got a flat t-tire,” she hiccuped, ”then the c-car slipped off the r-road.”

Sam wrapped his arms around her tightly. ”It's okay, sweetheart. I've got you now.”

”I crushed the cake,” she wept. ”I even put my name on it.”

”The rest of the cake is here, honey,” Sam said soothingly. ”We'll eat it without the top. Or I'll make you a new one after we get home. Will that make you happy?” She lifted her face and choked on her tears. ”Y-yes, it would.” She clung to him. ”Oh, Sam, I thought you loved Marjorie.”

”She's my ex-sister,” Sam said, wiping the tears and rain from her cheeks. ”I have a lot to tell you.”

”She can make souffles,” Sydney blubbered.