The Devine Doughnut Shop(8)

“Pleased to meet you,” Grace said and set about unloading the tray. Another spark of attraction flashed, and she wondered where and why such feelings were hitting her now, after all these years. Perhaps the way the shop had fallen silent when he entered reinforced it.

“Pleasure is all mine.” Travis’s smile widened, and chatter picked back up around them. “Claud and these fellows used to bring a couple dozen of these pastries to the conference. Granddad and I always looked forward to getting them. What’s your secret?”

Ira chuckled. “Her great-granny started this place, and believe me, there ain’t enough money in the state of Texas to make her give up that recipe.”

“Are you sure about that?” Travis teased as he reached into the box and brought out one with chocolate icing.

“As sure as anything or anyone can be. It’s written in my mother’s will that we cannot sell the recipe. And trust me, it would be impossible to mass-produce our doughnuts, anyway,” she told him.

He took a long drink of his coffee. “Why is that?”

“Because we make them from scratch. We do not buy the usual premix for the dough, and we make them in small batches—somewhere around two to three dozen each time, depending on whether we leave the middles uncut so we can fill them with our own special cream cheese mix or fruit fillings, or cut the holes out,” she answered. “But all that is a moot point since I cannot sell our recipe, and I wouldn’t even if we could.” Grace took the tray back to the counter.

Then she went to wait on the two women who currently held the top position on her shit list. Her first instinct was to ignore Carlita and Lisa after what they’d said about Audrey not being friends with their hooligan daughters, but Macy would tell her to take the higher ground and be nice. Crystal’s mother and Kelsey’s mother had grown up in Devine and were Sarah’s age—both had always been the town’s biggest gossips—and now seemed to be reliving their teenage years through their two girls.

“What can I get y’all this morning?” Icicles dripped from Grace’s tone.

“We’ll have four maple doughnuts and two cups of decaf coffee,” Carlita said with a fake smile. “We like having our coffee here . . . and now that we understand each other—”

Grace cut her off by throwing a palm up so close to her nose that Carlita had to take a step back. “We don’t understand each other at all. I’ve told Audrey repeatedly that your girls were trouble, and I didn’t want her hanging out with them.”

“Why would you say that?” Lisa asked. “Our girls have been good enough to take your child into their group.”

Grace lowered her hand. Arguing with these two would just bring her down to their level. “Yes, they did, and they should be grateful to have her.”

She walked away, filled their order, and took it to them. Then she picked up a full coffeepot to take to the men’s table to refill their cups. “I wondered if y’all would be out in this nasty weather,” she said as she gave each of them a warm-up.

“We’re tough,” Ira said. “We ain’t sugar or salt neither one, so a little rainwater ain’t goin’ to melt us. Besides, we’re cranky if we don’t get our coffee and doughnuts in the morning,” Ira told her with a broad grin. “You’ve outdone yourself on these glazed fellers today, darlin’.”

“I’m paying today. What we don’t eat, I’ll take home,” Frankie said. “These are good enough to eat even on the second day.”

“How do you know that?” Ira asked. “We ain’t never had them last that long when I take them home.”

“You caught me.” Frankie winked at Grace. “But I was just tellin’ what I’ve heard folks say about them. Hey, you want to sell this shop, Grace? What with Macy getting married this summer, y’all are going to be shorthanded. Travis here is in town looking for some land to buy to use for a housing development. You girls could sell your acres and this place in one fell swoop and retire while you’re still young enough to travel and have fun.”

“Nope,” Grace answered without hesitation. “You know I’m not interested in selling. But are y’all thinking about selling all your cows and buying a doughnut shop? You could eat all you want for free and not have to go out in the blistering-hot summer sun or the freezing winter weather to feed the cows or take care of them. Are you planning to learn the art of making doughnuts, or are you going to put your wives to work?”

“Honey, we’d all shrivel up and die if we didn’t have cows to gripe about and ranchin’ to keep us from getting old,” Ira answered. “But Travis here could hire folks to keep the shop open and build a nice development on your land. He’s got his fingers in a lot of pies—we’ve not only bragged about your pastries, but we’ve taken dozens of them to his grandpa through the years. We think it would be wonderful if folks from coast to coast could get the best doughnuts in Texas, so we’ve been trying to talk him into buying your recipe and . . .”

Grace shifted her eyes over to Travis. “Are you a baker?”

“Lord no!” Ira answered for him. “He’s a businessman. His granddaddy was a friend of ours and owned a huge ranch, one of the biggest in Texas. Like I said, he’s got his fingers in a lot of pies all across this state. Land, oil, construction, and even a car dealership or two.”