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read the inscription. The tenderness in her voice tossed Dylan off-kilter. His gaze lowered to her lips…plump, moist and dusted at one corner with a hint of brown sugar. Once more he fought the urge to kiss her. Somehow he imagined it would be safer to try to lasso a rattler. Yet, he was tempted. “How…when?”
    “I came back and Joe, well, he…didn’t. It was a tough time. Before we went in, we made a pact to take care of each other’s stuff if anything happened. Joe loved music. He had this dream to start his own business and invested in the equipment between tours. He planned to get out, go reserve when his tour was up. He didn’t have the chance. So, I did. I never imagined the music would become a full-time job; it just sort-of stuck. And music helps drown out the pain when the memories just keep battling.”
    “So that’s why…” Traci pressed a hand to her chest, a look of sadness shadowing her gaze. “Wow. Oh, I’m so sorry I gave you such a hard time, Dylan. I had no idea.”
    “It’s OK.” He swallowed hard as he skimmed her temple with his knuckle. “I mean, how could you know?”
    “Is it difficult, mixing music?”
    “Not as hard as this, by any means.” Dylan turned from Traci to take up the fondant tool once again. His fingers, slick with oil from the mix, slipped and the tool nearly skewered the cake again. “Oops, sorry. That was close. I guess we both have a lot to learn. You make it look so easy.”
    “It wasn’t so easy at first. Actually, I was way worse at it than you are now, and you’ve never even done this before. I’ve worked hard at it, put in a lot of practice over the past few years.”
    “Thanks for that…I think.”
    The timer on the oven buzzed. Traci threw open the door and tugged at one of the racks until the cake pan slipped forward. A quick poke with a toothpick along the batter that had solidified to spongy foam and she nodded. “Perfect.”
    “Let me get those.” Dylan grabbed a pair of oven mitts and lifted the pans, one by one, to wire cooling racks Traci had set out along the counter. “It smells good enough to devour.”
    “Don’t you dare take a nibble.” Traci gave his hand a playful smack as he reached for a bite. “No sampling or you’ll ruin this new batch.”
    “Doesn’t hurt to try.” He grinned at her. “I guess we can get these frosted now. Then we’ll be almost done.”
    “Not so fast, cowboy. They need time to cool first or they’ll just fall apart when I remove them from the pans. And if the sponge is too warm the frosting will simply melt off. Then we’ll be back to square one all over again.”
    “Well, that tosses a wrench into the mix. How long will they need to cool?”
    “About—”
    Traci was interrupted by footsteps along the back patio. Dylan glanced up to see a shadow weave through the potted plants. His senses launched to full alert. “Are you expecting company?”
    “No.” Traci started toward the patio entrance.
    “Hold up.” Dylan positioned himself between her and whoever lurked outside. “Let me take a look, first.”
     
     
     
     

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    “It’s fine.” Traci weaved a path around Dylan.
    “Wait.” Dylan rushed ahead to block her path. “It might be someone dangerous.”
    “Oh, for goodness sake, Dylan, I think the ‘someone dangerous’ is right here in my kitchen.” Traci laughed as she sidestepped him. “Are you always this paranoid?”
    “Not paranoid…cautious. It comes with the territory.” He peered into the night and nodded slightly when he saw Vivian Hart round the corner. She paused at the threshold, bathed in a halo of back-porch light.
    “Hi, Miss Vivian.” Traci skirted around Dylan to usher in the sweet, grandmotherly woman. Dylan sensed she possessed a hint of spunk to go with the salt-and-pepper hair. “To what do we owe this pleasure?”
    “Hello there, Traci…Dylan. I assure you the pleasure is all mine. May I impose on you for just a moment?”
    “Oh, it’s no