The Great Escape (Wynette, Texas #7)(60)

Hunger. That was his problem.



WHETHER SHE’D BEEN SET UP or not, Lucy still had baking to do. After she’d finished eating a free-range egg the next morning, along with a slice of omega-3 spelt and flax bread that tasted like beach sand, Panda let her into the pantry to fetch what she needed. “Don’t think I haven’t seen through your little ploy, Patrick,” she said as she came out.

“As usual, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He bypassed the beach sand bread for a package of tiny fat-free whole-grain tortillas, thought better of it, and set the tortillas aside for more coffee, which he carried upstairs.

While he and Temple were occupied with their morning workout in the new gym, Lucy mixed and kneaded. When the dough finally turned elastic under her hands, she set it in an oiled bowl, covered it with a clean dish towel, and hid it on the top cupboard shelf to rise.

She wanted to buy some plants in town for the porch, purchases that were too cumbersome for a backpack, so she sneaked upstairs into the bedroom Panda had chosen and swiped his keys. As she walked to his car, Temple came hurrying out. Her face was flushed from her workout, and sweat stains blotted her gray knit top. She wore no makeup, but with her almond eyes and strong bones, she didn’t need much. “Would you pick up a few things for me in town?” she said. “I forgot nail clippers, and I need some polish remover. And if the new Women’s Health is out, would you get that, too?”

“Sure.”

Temple handed over the moist twenty-dollar bill she’d curled in her palm. “I assume there’s some kind of bakery or coffeehouse?” Her hushed voice still managed to sound imperious.

“The Painted Frog.”

“Get a chocolate muffin for me.” A straightforward demand. “Or an iced brownie if they look good. Something sweet to keep me from feeling so deprived.” She was obnoxiously haughty, insufferably arrogant, and so very sad. “Deprivation is the enemy of serious weight loss.”

It wasn’t Lucy’s job to be chief of the diet police, so she tucked the bill in her pocket. She happened to agree about deprivation. Although she’d never been a slave to sweets herself, now that sugary treats were off limits, she couldn’t seem to think about much else.

Panda’s SUV still had a new-car smell. As she left the house, she found herself glancing at the glove box. She waved at Bree when she passed the farm stand, took another quick look at the glove box, and ordered herself not to snoop.

The Painted Frog’s pastries sat in the glass display case like fanciful hats. Four varieties of muffins with puffy, sugar-crusted tops; glistening lemon bars perched on white doilies; fancifully frosted cupcakes nestled in frilly papers. She chose a dense, but not overly large, chocolate muffin for Temple, then decided on a turtle brownie topped with toasted pecans and chewy caramel for herself. She’d never been much of a doughnut eater, but she suddenly had to have a Bavarian cream. At the last minute, she added half a dozen of the Painted Frog’s oversize chocolate chip cookies for Bree and Toby.

She finished the rest of her shopping, eating the brownie and doughnut between stops, then made a quick trip to Dogs ’N’ Malts for fries. Who knew how long it would be before she could sneak away to eat again?

Toby was overjoyed with the cookies, and Bree was embarrassingly touched. Lucy picked up her honey and drove toward the house. But before she got there, the car, as if it had a will of its own, pulled over to the side of the road.

She stared at the glove box. What would Ted do in this situation? Her perfect ex-fiancé never did anything even remotely sneaky, so she conjured up Meg instead and flipped open the latch.

She half expected to see a loaded gun or, at the very least, a box of condoms and an abandoned red thong. Instead she found an owner’s manual, a tire pressure gauge, and an Illinois vehicle registration made out to one Patrick Shade, resident of Cook County, with an address on Chicago’s Lake Shore Drive.

She carried her new plants to the porch and entered her bedroom through the sliding doors, then hid the sack with the Evil Queen’s muffin under her bathroom sink. Temple could figure out for herself how to get her contraband. After giving the bread a quick second knead, she shaped the loaves, set them in a pair of pans for a final rise, and tucked them back in the cupboard. Then she went down to the dock and took out the kayak. Panda wouldn’t let Temple on the water by herself, and a second kayak had been delivered.

When she got back, Temple and Panda were sitting at the monstrously oversize kitchen table eating a lunch that couldn’t have been all that much better than a colon cleanse. Their matching dinner plates held sparse portions from the frozen meal containers sitting on the counter. Panda pushed a morsel of dry salmon around with his fork. A lemon wedge floated in the glass of water Temple lifted to her lips. She dabbed the corner of her mouth with a cloth napkin she’d unearthed from somewhere. “I think it’s important for food to look appealing,” she said.

“Nothing can look appealing when you’re eating it on Panda’s puke-green table,” Lucy retorted.

“The table stays,” he said.

“Your loss.” She went to her bedroom and returned with the sack of Temple’s legitimate purchases. Panda snatched it away before Temple could touch it. He rooted around inside and, after satisfying himself that it held only magazines and nail clippers—none of the banned substances hidden under Lucy’s sink—he handed it to his client.