Éclair and Present Danger (28 page)

A familiar, staccato thumping let her know Mr. Nelson was en route to her side, cane in hand. Still, she kept her eyes closed for fear he'd see her tears. “She'll come around, Winnie Girl, you wait and see.”

“You mean like Lovey has?” She hated the sarcasm in her voice and did her best to soften its impact by squeezing his hand.

“Sometimes the heart takes a while to catch up with the head, Winnie Girl. Especially when there's still hurt at play.”

“Hurt?” she asked, opening her eyes.

“Yes, hurt. For Lovey, it's the loss of Gertie. I don't care what anyone says, animals form attachments to their owners and their routines every bit as much as the owners form attachments to them.” Mr. Nelson squeezed her hand back and he didn't release his grip until he was sure he had Winnie's full attention. “Yes, you've given her a nice new home with ample sun spots to roll around in, and yes, you feed her every day. But you're still not Gertie.”

Her deceased friend flitted through her thoughts and necessitated another round of rapid blinking to keep the tears at bay. “And I'll never
be
Gertie, Mr. Nelson. I'm just the person Gertie tasked with caring for Lovey.”

“That's right. But Gertie was sharp as a tack until the day she passed. She chose you to be Lovey's new momma for a reason. When you find yourself doubting that, think about that vintage ambulance she left you, too. That's worked out, hasn't it?”

She could only nod. Without the second bequest, Winnie would have been forced to hang up her measuring spoons and baking pans for good six weeks ago. Maybe Mr. Nelson was right. Maybe Lovey would come around in time . . .

“Jay's daughter isn't much different,” he continued. “Only her hurt is even bigger. Her mother walked out on her when she was in kindergarten, right?”

“Yes.”

“And it's just been her and her dad ever since, right?”

“Yes.”

“Maybe she's just slow to warm up. Like Lovey.”

She made a face. “Lovey warmed up to you and Bridget without any difficulty.”

“She'd seen us before. When we checked in on Gertie, on occasion.”

“If you go with that logic, Lovey had seen me before, too. Many times.” Winnie tugged the end of her mousey brown ponytail over her shoulder as she took Mr. Nelson's words a step further. “Here's the ironic thing. Lovey and Caroline hit it off the second they met. Likewise, they both despised me the second I showed up.”

“Why don't you share a drop of whipped cream from one of your desserts with Lovey the next time you have a little left over? See what happens.” Mr. Nelson shifted his weight from one leg to the other with the help of his cane and then tapped the index finger of his free hand on the tip of Winnie's nose. “As for that young girl, I'm not saying her being territorial is okay, because it's not. But it's a little understandable in light of her background, too. So just keep being yourself, Winnie Girl, and eventually your light will
shine through the hurt. For Lovey, and for that young fella's daughter.”

She cleared her throat of its on-again, off-again lump once and for all and studied Mr. Nelson through the renewed haze in her eyes. “And if it doesn't? Shine through, I mean?”

“You walk away.” Bridget stood, shuffled her way to the railing, and flanked Winnie on the other side. “Just like you did when that good-for-nothing landlord of yours raised the rent on your bakery. You were devastated when you closed Delectable Delights for good. I saw it. Parker saw it. But here you are—back on your feet and better than ever.”

“I wouldn't go that far,” Winnie whispered.

“Okay, so maybe not better than ever—yet. But you're on your way. Of that I have no doubt. Nick Batkas did you a favor making it so you couldn't afford that lease. You might not have known it at the time, but he did. You mark my words.” Bridget hooked her finger under Winnie's chin and turned it so they were eye to eye. “As for the rest of us, all we can do right now is hope and pray that our elected officials get wise to Mr. Batkas before our wonderful little town slips past the point of recovery.”

Winnie felt Mr. Nelson stiffen beside her. “What's that scoundrel up to now?”

Mindful of the fact that she had information Mr. Nelson and Winnie lacked, Bridget took a moment to remove her glasses, wipe them with a soft cloth from the pocket of her floral housecoat, and then reposition them atop the bridge of her bulbous nose. “I think the more appropriate question, Parker, is what is he
not
up to . . .”

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