"Ez, stop, STOP! That ain't what the recipe says! We ain't out ta poison Chris here," I
exclaim, whippin'
the bowl away from my crazy boyfriend 'fore anymore of . . . whatever 'xactly he's tryin' ta put
in it gets
in the batter.
Dang, I knew he was pissed at Chris over the Gerding case, but I didn't think he'd go that
fer ta get back at 'im. The white, powdery stuff gets all over the counter, an' some floats down
ta the floor. I shrug ta myself. Better all over Josiah's kitchen than in the cake. At least the
kitchen can be fixed with soap an' water.
Ez glares at me. "What exactly are you attemptin' to suggest, Vin? That I would lace dear
Mr. Larabee's
birthday cake with arsenic? As tempting as the idea might be, I would think you could give me a
little more credit. If I wished to rid the world of his overbearing, small-minded presence, I
would do so in a much more subtle fashion." He holds the packet of the white stuff an' shakes it
at me ta make his point. More of it goes flyin' all over the place. "This is confectioner's sugar,
and the recipe does indeed call for one-quarter of a cup to be blended in with the previous
ingredients. Kindly set the bowl down so that I may do so."
"Nuh-uh, lemme see that card first." I hold out one hand fer the 3x5 index card, keepin'
the bowl as far away from him as I can with the other. "No way I'm lettin' ya ruin Nettie's
secret recipe. She'd kill us both if we screw this up."
An' that's puttin' it mildly. Ez has no idea how much beggin' an' pleadin' I had ta do ta git
that recipe from Nettie. Ya'd think I was askin' fer her first born or somethin' the way she
carried on 'bout givin' it ta me. But I was determined ta have it. I wanted
ta do somethin' special fer Chris' birthday, an' I figgered actually bakin' the cake instead'a
buyin' it in the store would be a good start. An' 'sides, that cake is just 'bout the most delicious
thing I ever ate. Well, 'cept mebbe fer Nettie's peach pie, but
pies ain't fer birthdays.
'Course, the moment I decide ta actually spend some time in the kitchen is when our stove
decides ta quit. An' of course the part need ta fix it has ta be ordered in from outer
Mongolia or some such place an' won't be in on time ta git this cake baked fer the not-so-
surprise party we're throwin' fer Chris over at Buck 'n JD's later today. It was a lucky thing
that Josiah overheard me an' Ez discussin' our options an' volunteered his kitchen. He even left
us alone fer the day ta get it done after showin' us where he kept all his pots an' pans. Right
nice of the man.
But that don't help the problem I got now. Ez's got that stubborn mule look on his face, an'
I jist know I ain't gettin' that piece of paper without a fight. Well, if'n it's a fight he wants . . .
My eyes narrow, an' I set the bowl down on the counter behind me. Ez's got 'bout two
seconds ta realize what I'm 'bout ta do 'fore I pounce on him. Leastways, "on him" was the
plan. He steps outta the way right 'fore I get ta him, an' I skid inta the refrigerator door kinda
hard. Damn, that man knows me too well.
I turn 'round fast an' see 'im reachin' fer the bowl. Oh no, he don't! Not thinkin' 'bout the
possible consequences, I let out a yell an' dive fer his knees. This time, I connect an' drag 'im
ta the floor with me. Unfortunately, he brings the bowl with 'im. Now I've got batter all in my
hair, an' his shirt has it's fair share glopped down the front of it. His eyes get real big when he
sees the mess, an' he starts scrubbin' at it with his fingers as if that would make a difference.
I start ta laugh. I cain't help it. He just looks so darned cute when he fusses over his
clothes. He stops his fussin' an' stares hard at me. That look turns wicked an' that's all the
warnin' I git 'fore he bolts ta his feet an' swipes somethin' off the counter.
Turns out ta be the egg carton an' now I got raw eggs in my hair ta go with the cake batter.
Well, hell, two can play that game! Scramblin' upright, I grab the first thing my fingers find
an' chuck it at 'im. He ducks, but the box of bakin' powder catches 'im on the shoulder an'
explodes in a white puff. I don't have time ta enjoy the successful shot when I get pelted with
another egg. Dang blast it, how many of those things were left in the carton?! I scoop up an
armful of bakin' stuff up off the counter an' drop down behind the island. No sense in presentin'
an easy target. I hear him do the same on the other side, an' the war is on.
Fer the next half hour or so, we toss bakin' stuff at each other over an' 'round the counter.
Most'a the shots don't hit the intended target, an' my side's startin' ta look like a Julia Child
experiment gone wrong, but by now, I'm grinnin' like a maniac. Ez is slowin' down, which can
only mean he's runnin' outta ammo. Ha!
Heftin' a glob of flour an' cookin' oil, I lob it at the last spot I heard Ez movin' 'round at. I
frown when it hits the floor with a wet, ploppin' sound. Now where did the little –
Jist as I'm gittin' ready ta peek 'round the corner ta see where he's got ta, a loud Rebel yell
damn near bursts my ear drums, an' I'm suddenly tackled from behind. Ez an' I slide across the
linoleum until we fetch up 'gainst the sink. I manage ta twist 'round onta my back, but that's as
far as I git 'fore he grabs my wrists an' pins me down so good I cain't move. I struggle a bit, jist
as a matter'a principle, then I git a look at his face.
Ez's got all sorts'a bakin' grime streaked over his cheeks an' down his chin an' there's
somethin' drizzlin' outta his ear. He should'a looked ridiculous, but the last thing I'm thinkin' of
doin' right now is laughin'. There's a feral gleam in those gorgeous green eyes of his, an' it stops
any motion or thought on my part cold. Slowly, oh so slowly, his eyes never leavin' mine, Ez
grinds down inta my prone body. He hits all'a the right places, an' I don't even try ta stop the
moan his actions cause. God, he feels so good!
A wild, triumphant smile lights up Ez's face. He's jist lowerin' those smirkin' lips down ta
my suddenly lonely mouth when –
"Ezra Pierce Standish! Vincent Michael Tanner! What have you done to my
kitchen?!"
I don't think the two of us could'a moved faster if there were bullets comin' at us. We
scramble ta our feet an' back as far away from the thunderstorm darkenin' the doorway as we
can. Fer the first time since we started flingin' food, I take a good look 'round. I wince, an'
beside me, I hear Ez suck in a worried breath. Man, we are dead.
There's batter an' flour an' eggs an' God knows what else splattered over every visible
surface in the room. Hell, there's even somethin' kinda runny an' stringy drippin' from the ceilin'
fan, don't know how that got up there. Gulpin', I reconsider my earlier notion. We're gonna
need a lotta soap an' water ta fix this mess.
Good thing the rest'a Chris' presents are wrapped an' ready ta go . . .
The End
Continues in Wonderful Tonight
