Chapter 1

1

LOST CREEK—SIX YEARS LATER…

E merson bustled about the kitchen in her rental house. It seemed odd not to be making coffee for two. Last night, she had watched Finley marry Holden Scott, and she couldn't have been happier for her best friend. Not only had Finley gotten married, she had also turned in her resignation to Mary Miller and would now be pursuing a full-time career in photography.

She buttered the piece of toast that popped up in the toaster and took it and her coffee mug to the table. She wondered if she should get another roommate to split the house payment and bills. Finley had lived with her the past six years, but Emerson thought maybe it would be nice to have the house to herself, at least for the summer.

Reaching for her planner on the table, she flipped it open, looking at the various weddings coming up and the cakes she would be baking for Weddings with Hart as its exclusive baker. Her friend Harper Hart had opened the business last fall, erecting an event center at her family's winery. Harper had even designed the huge kitchen in the facility with Emerson's needs in mind, putting in two commercial-sized ovens so that cakes could be baked and decorated directly on the property without having to be transported.

Business was booming, with many brides drawn to the winery as a backdrop for their indoor or outdoor weddings. Emerson believed she had found her calling when she'd been drawn to teaching years ago, but baking cakes for weddings, as well as other occasions, was quickly becoming her passion. She still felt a bit guilty for having stepped away from her part-time job at The Bake House, Ethel Frederick's bakery in Lost Creek, but the diminutive owner had encouraged Emerson to operate her own business. Maybe since it was now summer, she might check with Ethel to see if the bakery owner needed any part-time help. Emerson only had a few teacher workshops to attend this summer, and she wouldn't mind staying a little busier, working for Ethel, as well as Harper. The additional income would also be nice. She decided to stop by The Bake House and visit her former employer in person.

Emerson showered and dressed for the day, sweeping her long, raven hair into a high ponytail and dabbing on a smidgeon of lip gloss. She picked up her phone and saw she had missed a text from Harper.

Friday Bridezilla wants to change the frosting back to buttercream. Told her cake was already baked and this was her last chance to alter something for the wedding. Does that work for you?

She texted Harper back, saying she was heading to the events center now to put the finishing touches on tomorrow night's cakes and would also be baking the wedding and groom's for Saturday night's wedding.

Harper replied with three heart emojis, and Emerson laughed, grabbing her purse and driving straight to the winery. She used her set of keys to enter the event center and mixed the batter for the five-tiered wedding cake for Saturday's uncomplicated bride.

Pouring the batter into the various pans, she slipped them into the oven. While those were baking, she mixed up the groom's cake batter and also put it in the additional oven. She then consulted her notes to make certain she had the right icing and shade for Bridezilla's wedding cake and iced it.

Her timer went off, and she removed the wedding cake pans, placing the cakes on wire racks to cool. She did the same for the groom's cake and returned to Bridezilla's cake, piping delicate rosettes and writing in script atop it. When she finished decorating the wedding cake, she stepped back and congratulated herself. It was truly one of her best efforts.

While she was icing and decorating the groom's cake, Harper stopped in.

"Whoa!" her friend exclaimed, stopping in her tracks. "Emerson, you've outdone yourself. Even Bridezilla won't find anything wrong with this cake."

She indicated the cake in front of her. "I'm putting the finishing touches on her groom's cake. I hope he'll be pleased."

The groom had played football at Texas A&M and had requested that his cake look like a football field. In the center of it was the A&M logo, and she completed it now.

"What do you think?"

Harper turned her attention to the other cake and moved closer, nodding approvingly. "He'll love it. You've added some great details. Obviously, Bridezilla won't like it one bit. She will complain it's not classy enough."

"It's his cake," Emerson said. "He should get some say since she's made every other decision. Numerous times," she added, and both women laughed, because this particular bride had changed her mind about everything, multiple times.

"Are you doing Sunday afternoon's cakes tomorrow?" Harper asked.

"Yes. Those won't take me long since the Sunday wedding is a much smaller affair."

"Sunday Bride has been easy to please," Harper said. "I had to convince her to make some of the decisions and not leave everything up to me."

"She's a little younger than most first-time brides," Emerson noted. "I think she'll be fine. Her groom seems like a really nice guy. I think they'll be happy together."

Harper glanced back at the completed wedding cake. "Why do I feel as though Bridezilla will be back here in two years with another groom?"

"Maybe you should start offering premarital counseling as a service of Weddings with Hart," Emerson teased.

"That's on them. Not me. I just make certain the wedding and reception turn out beautifully. See you later, Em."

After Harper left, Emerson stored the wedding cakes for tomorrow, as well as the two she had baked today. Those would be decorated tomorrow. She locked up and went to her car, propping her cell in the cup holder, seeing another text had come in. It surprised her because this one was from Ethel. She brought up the text.

Ned too see you. ASAP. Come upstairs when get here.

Right away, Emerson was concerned. Ethel was very meticulous, and the misspellings in her short text were unlike her. Another thing was that Ethel was always found in the bakery during business hours, and it was only a little after one o'clock now. The fact that she'd asked Emerson to come upstairs to the apartment located over the bakery worried her. Several weeks ago, when she'd gone into the bakery to buy cookies for her students, Ethel had been even thinner than usual, her color not good. Ethel was a very private person, though, and Emerson didn't ask her any questions about her health.

As she left the winery and drove the short distance into Lost Creek, she tried to recall if she'd seen Ethel since then. She also remembered how Dax had been concerned about The Bake Shop's owner and had asked Emerson to make certain things were all right with Ethel. When Emerson had gathered the courage to ask about her health, Ethel had told her nothing was wrong. That she was just getting older and her doctor had told her to stop tasting so many of her sweet concoctions. That was the reason she'd lost a little weight and stayed in a bad mood.

Emerson had let it go, not wanting to pry further, and soon she had left her part-time job at The Bake House because of Ethel's encouragement. Now, a nagging doubt filled her, and she wished she would have pressed the older woman harder about her health.

She parked behind the bakery, which was on the town square, seeing other cars also parked in back of the various businesses. A back staircase led up to Ethel's apartment. Ethel had told Emerson once that she had been born not in a hospital but in this apartment— and she expected to die here, as well.

Knocking on the door, she waited, listening to hear any movement inside. Then her cell chimed, and she glanced down at the message.

Open. Com in.

Again, concern filled her as Emerson turned the knob and pushed the door open. She glanced about the tidy room, seeing no sign of Ethel, so she called out her name.

"Ethel? Ethel? It's Emerson."

She went to the kitchen and found Ethel sitting at the table, still dressed in pajamas with a tattered robe covering them. Dark circles were under her eyes, but it was the overall air of sadness which permeated Ethel's posture.

Emerson placed a hand on the baker's shoulder, feeling how bony it was.

"Ethel, you're sick. Let me take you to the doctor. No, the hospital in Boerne."

"Sit, child," Ethel commanded, her voice faint but crisp.

She did so, her gaze meeting the old woman's.

"I asked you to come… because I need to tell you something." Ethel coughed weakly. "I'm dying. Stage 4 cancer. No more doctors."

Emerson reached for Ethel's hand, afraid to squeeze it. "What's wrong with you?" she asked.

"Glioblastoma. It's spread through my brain and spine." Ethel winced. "Given me terrible headaches. Made me forgetful as hell. I've pushed through and pretended nothing was wrong, but today it all caught up to me. I sent Frank and Jill home and closed the bakery."

Ethel coughed again, and Emerson asked, "Can I get you some water?"

The old woman nodded, and Emerson filled a glass as Ethel watched her. She noticed Ethel's hand shake as she tried to bring the glass to her lips. Emerson leaned over and put her hands around Ethel's, steadying the glass, allowing her to drink from it.

She set down the glass on the table and took a seat again.

"What have the doctors said? What kind of treatment are you undergoing?"

"None," Ethel said flatly. "I have no insurance beyond Medicare. The survival rate for this is low. It grows fast and has eaten me up inside. There's no cure. Chemo and radiation just prolong your agony and costs money I don't have. I chose to keep living my life for as long as I could. Until I couldn't live it any longer."

Ethel paused, her gaze meeting Emerson's. "That's why I called you today, honey."

"What can I do for you?" she asked. "I can move in with you and take care of you, Ethel. It's summer, so I'm not bound to school hours. Yes, I have a ton of cakes to bake for weddings, but I can do those early in the morning or late at night. Do you need me to run The Bake House for you?"

A groan of pain sounded from the old woman, followed by a long sigh. It tore Emerson's heart.

"Let me help, Ethel. Please."

Tears welled in Ethel's eyes. "I've put on a brave face, Emerson. It's just been me all these years. Me. The bakery. This town." She swallowed, grimacing. "I do want you to run The Bake House. I've left it to you in my will."

Shock rippled through her. "What?"

"Merilee Swan has it all lined up. She drew up all the paperwork months ago, just after I got the diagnosis. Wanted to… make sure all T's were crossed. While I was still in my right mind. Not that anyone would challenge it. I have no one, Emerson. That bakery has been my life."

Ethel looked up, her tears now falling down her cheeks. "You're the closest thing to a relative I have. I'm leaving The Bake House to you."

Guilt flooded her, having walked away from her job with Ethel to strike out on her own.

"I see that in your eyes. I know what you're thinking, Girl. I wanted you to do your own thing. Work with Harper. Spread your wings. Get ready for what the future would hold for you. I know this means… stepping away from teaching, but I hope you'll take over the place and not… sell it to anyone else."

"I would never do that," Emerson said fiercely.

"Good," Ethel said softly, seemingly all talked out. "I need to… lie down. Can you help me to the bedroom?"

She lifted Ethel from her chair, wrapping her arm about the older woman's waist, and shuffling along beside her. They reached the bedroom, and she got Ethel in bed.

"I'll stay with you while you sleep. And then when you awake, we'll call your doctor together and see what can be done."

Ethel smiled and closed her eyes.

Emerson knew there were programs that could help Ethel. She could go on hospice and have workers come in each day to help care for her. As bad a shape as Ethel was in, Emerson didn't think the baker had long to live.

And that meant she would be inheriting The Bake House.

She would keep her promise to Ethel and never sell it. It made sense for her to take it over. But that would mean giving up her position at Lost Creek Elementary. Emerson decided she needed to let Mary Miller know now and dialed the school's number.

Sheila, the secretary answered, "Good morning. Lost Creek Elementary, where the Lions roar every day."

"Hi, Sheila. It's Emerson. Is Mary available?"

"She is. Let me put you through to her."

Moments later, her principal said, "Hello, Emerson. You're supposed to be enjoying summer vacation and baking a few cakes along the way." Mary chuckled. "Or more than a few. I hear Harper's event center is hopping these days."

Emerson swallowed. "Mary, I have something I need to share with you," she said quietly.

"Go on," the administrator urged. "Take your time, Emerson."

"I'm with Ethel Frederick now. She is in Stage 4 of a nasty cancer and doesn't have much time."

"Ethel's going to give you The Bake House, isn't she?" Mary asked.

"Yes. She just told me," Emerson confirmed. "I promised her I wouldn't sell it to anyone else. That I would run it."

"That means I'll need to look for a new third grade math and science teacher," the principal said.

"I know I'm throwing this at you out of left field, but?—"

"No, Emerson," the principal said firmly. "You gave me six wonderful years and gave of yourself to your students. Now, you'll simply have a bigger mission. You'll be touching the lives of many of the residents here in Lost Creek. I appreciate the heads up, though. It's going to be very hard to replace Miss Frost."

Her throat swelled with emotion. "I know I'll have papers to sign. A resignation letter to write. An exit interview."

"We can worry about all that later. You take care of Ethel and let me know if you need anything."

"Thank you, Mary. You've been a wonderful mentor to me— and an even better friend."

Emerson ended the call, staring at Ethel in the bed, looking so small and frail. Obviously, her friend had pushed herself beyond her limits, trying to keep The Bake House running. Now, the cancer had caught up to her.

"It's so unfair," she said softly.

Ethel Frederick was one of the kindest people Emerson had ever met. Brusque but goodhearted. She wanted to fault Ethel for not undergoing chemo and radiation, but since this cancer was uncurable, Emerson understood why Ethel had chosen to do things her own way.

Taking her friend's hand, she held it, tears coursing down her cheeks as she moved to sit on the bed. Ethel's breathing grew more labored, and Emerson realized these were the older woman's last few minutes. She watched Ethel struggle, fighting to stay alive, and then silence sounded.

Ethel Frederick was gone.

And Emerson Frost's life would now move in a very different direction.