daughter, Gabby. After parking, she sat there for a minute trying to gather her thoughts. She was almost happy again. Almost.
After she’d become a widow a year ago, she’d moved from Tallahassee back to the tiny Florida town of Millbrook. She’d needed the quietness and the quaintness of the place where she’d grown up.
And she’s needed her parents nearby to help with Gabby. A daughter who had dark hair and eyes like her daddy. But Gabby would never know her daddy. Charlie Hamilton had been killed in a shootout during an armed robbery at his family’s jewelry store. Gabby had witnessed most of the whole horrible scene when she and Charlie had walked in on it.
Charlie had died too young, working at a job he hated. But family had to come first. Duty had to come first. Because he felt trapped, Charlie had turned mean and angry and moody, so much so that Marla felt as if she’d let him down in some way. The harder she tried to please him, the worse things had become. That had made her angry and miserable in return. They had not been in a good place when he died.
Her husband, ever the macho thrill seeker, had started hanging out with a lot of questionable people, and one of them had turned on him and had planned an elaborate robbery at the store. Charlie had walked in after picking up Gabby at day care, had seen what was happening and shoved Gabby toward the terrified female sales associate who was being held at gunpoint. He’d turned the attention on himself and saved the woman and Gabby, but he’d gotten himself shot. In the crossfire, the sales associate and Gabby had crawled behind one of the counters and hit the alarm. Hearing sirens, the robbers had grabbed what they could from a smashed glass display case and fled.
Charlie had performed a heroic last deed. He’d died on the stretcher a few minutes after Marla had arrived at the scene. She’d been five minutes too late.
Five minutes. She often thought if she’d just been there sooner, Gabby would have been with her and on the way home.
Or, as her parents had stated, always trying to reassure her, she could have walked in on the whole thing and Gabby could have lost both her parents.
Marla leaned her head against the steering wheel. She’d never told anyone, but the marriage had been over long before her husband died. She’d told him as much the day before he’d been killed. Now the guilt of knowing that, coupled with her guilt regarding her daughter’s trauma, was destroying her piece by piece. At least the robbery perpetrators had been apprehended and sent to jail for the rest of their lives.
Her phone rang, startling her out of the dark thoughts that caused her to stay awake at night.
She grabbed her phone and saw her mother’s name. “Hey, Mom,” she said after hitting the answer tab. “I’m at the shop. I’ve got a few things to put away and then I’ll be there.”
“No, hurry, honey,” her mother replied. “Gabby wants to tell you about how she and her pawpaw are out back playing golf—with Gabby’s miniature set.”
“Okay.”
She heard giggles and then Gabby’s voice. “Mommy, I wuv that golf car.”
“You do? Are you and Pawpaw having a good time?”
“Uh-huh. When will you be here? You can ride with me.”
“I’d like that. I’m on my way. About thirty minutes or so, all right?”
“Aw-wight. Here’s Memaw.” And her daughter was off again.
Coming home had been the right thing. Gabby had improved so much since they’d moved back to Millbrook.
Marla had to smile at the image of Gabby and Pawpaw riding around the complex. Her father had learned to play golf after they’d moved to the retirement village and now he loved the sport. Gabby liked watching out the patio door to see if Pawpaw would ride by in his funny little “car.” So Daddy had found her a cute pink-and-green golf set. Marla’s father was the only male Gabby would get near and even that had taken months to accomplish.
“He’ll probably find her a nice pint-size golf cart next,” she said to her mom, laughing.
“He’s already on that one,” Mom replied. “Why don’t you rest up and then come for dinner? I’m making lasagna.”
“Hmmm, that does sound good.” Mom made the best lasagna. “Okay. I’ll be there in about an hour.”
“That’ll work,” Mom replied. “See you then—and you can tell me all about that Alvanetti wedding.”
Marla laughed, ended the call and got out of the van to unload. Most of the time, she’d slice up the cake on-site and wrap it up to give to the family members, but today, in such a big place with so many plastered but skinny society girls, no one would dare ask for a piece of wedding cake to take home. And Mrs. Alvanetti and the groom’s mother had both taken big slices and had saved the top layer for the couple’s first anniversary, but had insisted on Marla taking the rest.
“Give it to a homeless shelter,” Mrs. A had said with a Lady Bountiful smile.
“I just might do that,” Marla had replied. But she’d take a couple of pieces for her parents and Gabby, too.
Then she thought about Alec Caldwell. He’d probably have his slice with a big glass of milk. With that close-cropped blondish-brown hair and those hazel eyes, he did look like the all-American type. The gung-ho all-around-good-guy type.
But not her type—at least not anymore. He might be out of the military, but his kind always looked for adventure. Plus, he had obviously been an upper-crust preppy, from what she could remember from hearing his name and background. So had her late husband. Charlie had been spoiled and pampered all of his life so he’d expected things to come easily to him. But he had saved Gabby and his employee.
Marla thanked God for that sacrifice. But she was afraid of moving on, afraid of getting involved with any man so soon after losing Charlie. Like her frightened daughter, she had been traumatized. Both by her husband’s horrible death and by how horrible they’d both made their once-happy marriage.
But who was she to judge? She’d had a decent enough life growing up in Millbrook. Her college days in Tallahassee had been full of friends, and she’d been with Charlie, so it hadn’t been all bad between them. At least Charlie had left a trust fund in his will for Gabby’s future.
Marla shook her head and came back to the present again. What Alec Caldwell had done or did now was none of her business. She’d probably never have another encounter with the man anyway.
So Marla unloaded her supplies and finished tidying up around the bakery. Her two other employees had already gone home for the day, so she set the alarm and locked things up until Monday morning. Then she got in her van and headed southeast toward her parents’ house. “Sorry, Soldier Boy. You’re adorable and interesting, but I need to forget I ever almost ran into you.”
Just as well. He probably had a society darling in his life anyway.
Alec saw his friends sitting at a round table in the corner of the Back Bay Pizza House. Waving, he headed for the table, thoughts of Wedding Cake Girl as fresh as buttercream icing in his mind. He’d enjoyed
