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The heroine in this book is a great cook. So I dedicate this book to Tammy Medina, my friend, my right hand, for all the marathon cooking days in my kitchen.
Contents
Note to Readers
JERICHO JOHNSON WASN’T a complicated guy; the simple life suited him just fine.
Like this morning, driving in the early dawn with the morning dew glistening off his windshield, the beam of his headlights piercing the wall of darkness as he drove into Horseshoe, Texas. Simple. Quiet. Perfect.
A two-story limestone courthouse, over a century old, stood as sentinel over the two-thousand-plus citizens. Large gnarled oaks gave it a bygone-days presence. At the top was a Gothic-like clock tower that never had the correct time. Most people in Horseshoe set their watches by it, making them a little off. Time-wise.
At this hour there wasn’t much going on in the small town, but the lights were on in the diner and in the bakery. He pulled in at the bakery.
It was Tuesday morning. No fanfare. No balloons. No confetti. Just plain ol’ Tuesday—his favorite day of the week. For about two years now he’d been picking up kolaches for the guys at Rebel Ranch every Tuesday morning. That was his excuse to see Anamarie Wiznowski. He liked Anamarie more than he wanted to admit, but nothing could come of their relationship. Her parents, especially her mother, would never allow her to date an ex-con.
When people turned away from him or avoided speaking to him, he felt sure those words were branded on his forehead. He was a loner and he wore a stone-like expression, as some people called it. He tried not to care what people thought of him, but each snub cut a little deeper on the inside. Until he met Anamarie, he’d kept to himself.
He tapped on the glass door and Anamarie hurried from the back. It was mid-May and the tepid south wind nipped at his clothes as the hint of summer whistled through the trees. She opened the door and he lost all train of thought at the smile on her pretty face. A hairnet covered her hair and a big apron adorned the front of her jeans and blouse. She’d never looked lovelier to him. Her blue eyes sparkled as bright as the morning dew. He never grew tired of looking at her.
Unlocking the door, she said, “Good morning—come on in. Your coffee’s ready. I’ll be with you in a minute.”
Jericho removed his hat and stepped into the bakery with its black-and-white-checkered floor, breathing in the heavenly scent of fresh-baked kolaches. He never tired of that, either. In
