Sweet Hearts Read Online Free PDF Page A

torte for a business luncheon, wasn’t really due until the
following day but Sam reasoned that they would rather get it early than late,
and tomorrow’s schedule might bring nearly anything. The place was only a few
blocks off the plaza, so she headed there first. The second was for a child’s
birthday party on the north side of town, and leaving there set her on the path
toward Marla’s home beyond Arroyo Seco.
    Passing the turnoff to Beau’s
place—soon to be her home too—she cruised past bare earth fields lying brown in
the February afternoon. Although the sky was brilliant blue, the air felt
chilly and the forecast called for increasing humidity and the inevitable
reversion to winter weather. Beyond the few buildings comprising Arroyo Seco,
the road curved twice and Sam spotted the narrow lane she wanted.
    The Fresques house sat amid a
cluster of parked cars, a small adobe with a pitched metal roof. Bare-limbed
cottonwoods and elms surrounded the place and a small yard with brown grass and
mulched flower beds stood out front. A driveway ran beside the house but it was
blocked by two vehicles, one being the older sedan Marla Fresques drove
yesterday. Four other cars sat along the road, pulled out of the traffic lanes
onto the verge of short, tan mountain grasses. Sam slowed, hoping for a parking
spot with minimal distance to carry the large cake board, but another vehicle
had come up impatiently behind her. She edged her van to the right at the first
open spot. The other car passed and pulled in just ahead of hers.
    “Oh, that looks good,” the woman
from the car said, staring.
    Sam wasn’t sure whether she was
referring to the bakery themed artwork on the van or to the cake that Sam was
pulling from the back.
    “Could you use a hand with that?”
the lady’s husband asked, stepping forward.
    “Sure.” Although Sam had loaded
the rectangular board into the van alone, it would certainly be easier with
some assistance.
    The man placed his hands at the
right intervals under the board for perfect balance and lifted it easily to his
shoulder. In his pressed jeans, western shirt and string tie, he looked the
type who was accustomed to managing heavy loads and coming to the aid of women.
Sam sent him a polite smile.
    “Hard to believe it’s ten years
now,” the woman said conversationally as the three of them walked toward the
house. “Poor Marla, just waiting so patiently.”
    “You’ve known her since—”
    “She was a wreck. Well, she and
Tricia both. Can you imagine? Their little girl was still a toddler. Tito
supported them well. It was a blow to be left alone like that.”
    The husband skirted the two cars
in the driveway, obviously heading for the back door of the house, so Sam and
the wife followed along.
    “And then, Tricia dying so young.
Cerebral hemorrhage—it was so sudden . . . well, little Jolie was very
lucky to have her grandma to take her in.”
    The woman stepped ahead and
opened the back door for her husband. He edged sideways to get through the
doorway and Sam followed, wanting to be sure there was a secure place to set
the cake.
    Marla Fresques stood in the
kitchen, her sad eyes scanning the room and she perked up when she saw Sam and
the cake.
    “Oh, Samantha, it is beautiful!
Exactly as you described it to me.” She gave a quick hug to the woman who’d
walked in with Sam, then directed the husband to carry the cake through a swinging
door to a dining room.
    Sam followed along, helping Marla
move a few cups and plates aside to make space at one end of the dining table.
Checking it over, she adjusted the angle and quickly wiped a tiny smudge of
frosting from the paper-covered board. There , she thought. It looks
good . She turned to Marla to ask about a cake knife, but the hostess was
halfway across the room, her attention snagged by someone else. The other
couple, too, had blended into the crowd in the adjoining living room.
    Sam wandered back toward the
kitchen. Surely it