47 INHERITANCE

easily replied, "You do have a knack for baking. I'm impressed."

Her niece turned and beamed at her. "You are? Really?"

"Of course." The blueberry muffin was the best she'd tasted. Ever. "You know, my grandmother-your father's grandmother-worked in a bakery for years. Maybe you have inherited her talent."

"What was her name?"

"Evelyn," Rose said after thinking a moment. "She's the grandmother who left me the beach house. She must have liked bowls, because the kitchen is full of them."

"Really?"

"Really. I will pack them up and send them to you when I get back," she promised, and felt a queasiness in the pit of her stomach. She shouldn't have eaten another muffin.

"A bakery," Francisca mused. "Where was it?"

"In Providence, I guess." She wiped her hands.

"We should go shopping for a wedding dress, Francisca. You are running out of time."

"Do you know the name?"

"Of what?"

"The bakery."

"No." Rose got up, went over to the counter and watched, fascinated, as Francisca filled the delicate little tarts with apricot filling. "We could drive to Marysville tomorrow morning and shop. It's a good-size town and must have a mall or specialty shops that have long dresses."

"Sure," Francisca said, but Rose knew she wasn't really paying attention to a word. This wedding discussion was like trying to push a snowball uphill.

"Is Bobby all set?"

"For what?"

Rose prayed for patience. "For the wedding."

Francisca shrugged, her attention focused on something else to cook. "I guess so."

"Have you picked out rings?"

"I told him whatever he got would be fine. Aunt Roro, do you know how to cook chicken breasts?"

"Yes." so much for the discussion of wedding details. "Is that what you want for dinner?"

"I thought we'd stuff them with spinach and cheese."

"I have never done that, but if you show me the recipe I will be glad to try. Are the tarts for dessert?"

"Maybe. If they come out okay. I still have a few hours before dinner to make something else."

Rose had no doubt that the tarts would be delicious. At this rate she would gain five pounds before Francisca said *I do* "So, are we all set for tomorrow? I've made a list of the things that still need to be done, so we can talk about that on the drive. Maybe even decide on flowers and let the florist know what you will need?"

"Sure." Francisca reached for another cookbook and opened it a bookmarked page. "Going to town sounds good. I'd really like to shop for an espresso machine."

Rose didn't know what to say, except to ask when Francisca wanted help with the chicken. The bride was certainly taking the art of baking seriously. Too seriously, she thought, sensing trouble. She decided to take pookie and hunt down Andrew. Maybe he would tell her that all ranch wives liked to bake.

She missed him. She hadn't seen him in four hours.

"YOU ARE WORRIED ABOUT WHAT?" Andrew slapped the roan on the rump and sent her running off to join the others in the West pasture. He shoved his hat back and wiped the sweat off his forehead. Rose and the silly dog stood before him. She was as beautiful as ever, and the Pook looked about as dim as he ever did.

"About the wedding," she repeated, those gorgeous green eyes gazing into his. "Francisca seems a little too preoccupied with her cooking."

Andrew couldn't help laughing. "What are we going to suffer through tonight? Raw bacon and burned fish?"

She smiled. "I'm helping her with chicken. And she's finishing up a few dozen apricot tarts."

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