poured wine, Molly opened her cooler and stored the salad in the fridge. Then she unhooked Nitro’s leash. It took about ten seconds for the dogs to dash out through the doggie door, and for Molly to wind his leash through the handles of the cooler. Straightening, she noticed the wall of floor-to-ceiling metal racks filled with cooling loaves of bread.
“You’ve been baking up a storm.” She accepted the glass of chilled sangria from the woman who was four years her junior, six inches shorter but much curvier. “Cheers,” Molly said, touching the rim of the stemware to Tess’s glass.
“I’m making up for lost time. When I visited my family as long as I did, I put a dent in my bank account. Let’s go outside.”
Tess elbowed open the back door and the smell of baking bread wafted in on the evening breeze. A red glow flickering in the domed wood-fired oven emitted enough light to make the porch feel cozy.
Molly sat on the bench that flanked a rustic table. “How do you know the right amount of wood to make bread bake at the temperature you need?”
“Practice,” Tess said, taking a sip of wine. “Also, when I had the stove built I installed temperature gauges in the fire box and the oven. See that digital readout? The oven is basically like one my grandmother would have used in Sicily, but with modern bells and whistles.” She went over to check both gauges. Returning, she sat and said, “A few more minutes and I can pull the loaves. Is that long enough to tell me who in the world beat up your truck driver and why?”
Molly heaved a sigh. “I still don’t know. Ramon didn’t recognize any of his assailants. The local deputy claims they have no suspects. Between us, I doubt he’d tell me if they found the culprits... Has anyone objected to how you sell your bread?”
“How so? I’ve got two types of ovens, which lets me operate under cottage food industry laws. Why would they object? Who objects to you selling organic vegetables? Wait, don’t answer. Let me pull out the loaves first.”
The dogs raced up the steps and flopped near Molly, who took two treats from her pocket and fed one to each dog.
“Where were we?” Tess asked, stepping over Coco to take her seat.
“Discussing the harassment of my drivers. I’m disheartened after talking to Deputy Powell. He insinuated that locals think I hire undocumented immigrants, or at least supply them with food. He didn’t mince words when he said I should be more circumspect about which hungry families I give produce to.”
“Why is that their business? It’s your food. If I didn’t take pre-orders, which pretty much ensure I sell out every time, I’d donate leftovers. Also, are they leaning on the big ranchers or area builders? For sure they don’t check status when they hire.”
Molly shrugged and dipped a slice of orange out of her glass and ate the pulp.
“What are you going to do about a driver?”
“With luck, Henry’s hired a guy today who answered an ad I ran. I didn’t interview him, but we spoke. He’s...well, he rides a Harley, dresses like a biker and doesn’t strike me as the type to take any guff.”
Tess grinned.
“So, tell me. It’s not my imagination that your tone changed when you described him. I take it he’s hot?”
“Don’t be silly.” Molly sipped her wine. “When do we eat? The smell of your cranberry bread makes me want to tear into a loaf right now.”
Tess hopped up again to check. “The bread is cool enough to move. But don’t think changing the subject will make me forget about your hot biker guy. I’ll ply you with more of Mom’s wine.”
“I didn’t say he was hot. And one glass is my limit. I’m driving.”
“Hot was implied. I understand if you want to keep him for yourself. How old is he, out of curiosity?”
Molly jumped up and stepped over dogs to help carry in the rack. “Honestly, Tess, did I even say he’s single?”
“A motorcycle jock? Of course he is.” The younger woman juggled her end of the rack, walking backward into the house.
“Hey, that’s judgmental! I’d say he’s close to forty. At that age—if he’s single—he’s probably divorced. Enough about my maybe new driver. I’ll get the salad. I see the table is set.”
“Spoilsport.” Tess sighed. “My mom bugged me about not having a man in my life while I was visiting, so it’s been on my mind. She thinks twenty-eight is over the hill. Of course she was married at seventeen and had me at eighteen. And at forty-six, she’s outlived three husbands. Preferred older men.”
“Wow, don’t tell her I’m thirty-two and still single. She’ll think I’m a bad influence.” Molly held up a cruet filled with oil and herbs she found in the fridge. “Is this the dressing?”
“That’s a new recipe I got from Aunt Luisa. And grab the blue container, will you? I whipped some butter with fresh berries.”
Molly eyed everything once it was on the table. “I wish I liked to cook. For me it’s a chore,” she said, sitting. “My dad hired a cook. I tracked after Dad with the cattle, in the barn, riding horses. I was too much of a tomboy to care about cooking.”
“We’re both products of our backgrounds. My mom has five sisters, and being a big Sicilian family, every meal is reason to gather and eat big. Everyone cooks, and bread is a staple.” She tore off a chunk of warm bread and passed the loaf to Molly.
“If you hire that new driver,” she asked, “will you quit going to your booths at the markets?”
“I’ll still deliver on weekends. My drivers typically work five days. And, during peak season, we have high demand six or seven days a week.”
“Good. Let me know what days and which markets you’ll be at. I’ll adjust my schedule so maybe we can grab lunch or dinner together. I didn’t make friends here until I met you.”
Molly nodded. “It’s the same for me, even though I grew up here. Most of my high school friends have left the area. My college friends weren’t from around here. They’re spread all over the globe now.”
“Mom says if I’d gone to college I’d be married by now. But of my former friends who went on to university, those who moved back to Corpus act like I’m a lamebrain or something.”
“They’re the lame ones.” Molly sat back with a sigh. “You have tons of talent.”
“Oh, you are good for my ego. Do you have time to watch a movie?”
“I’d love it, but unfortunately I’ve got to get home.”
“Well, here, let me send you off with a loaf of cranberry bread at least.”
“No, you won’t. I’m buying one of those and a loaf of dark rye. It’ll save me chasing you down at one of the markets only to find you’ve sold out.” She pulled out her billfold.
“Shall I put you on my weekly e-newsletter?
“Please do.” Molly counted out cash and set the bread aside,
