“Angel Cakes!” Phil sputtered. “Ain’t nothing angelic about lobsters. They’re one of the ugliest creatures God ever created.” He reached over and turned the pad to see for himself. “Why, this isn’t a lobster dressed like an angel, it’s a kid.” He pushed the pad back. “What’s a half-naked, fat little kid got to do with lobster cakes?”

“He’s not a kid, he’s an angel. And if you weren’t so tight with your dollar and would go to the doctor and get stronger glasses, you’d see that he’s eating the lobster cakes.” She flipped to the next page. “Or we could make it look like the cakes themselves are angels. See, I put wings and a halo on this one.” She smiled at Sam expectantly. “What do you think of my ideas?”

Sam picked up the pad and studied the labels, flipping to the first page and then back to the second. His first thought was that he was going to have to apologize to Willa. He could see now how her seniors had completely usurped her authority, since his own little gang had certainly taken over his idea to open a business.

Yesterday morning, on the way to the warehouse he hoped to buy, he’d found out that Sean Graves had already negotiated the price with Avery Ingall the night before, over beers at Avery’s home. Sean probably got the property for a lot less than Sam would have, but he’d been looking forward to going up against one of these Yankee traders.

Then, yesterday afternoon at the auto dealership, Phil Grindle had grabbed Sam by the arm and dragged him away—twice—from the deal he was being offered. Who knew there was so much negotiating room in the price of an automobile?

Apparently, Phil did.

Just how was he supposed to tell an eighty-year-old grandmother he really wasn’t all that enamored with angels?

“Sam. Sam!” Phil said, his voice rising along with the force of the smacks he was giving Sam’s arm.

“Willamina’s out there pacing back and forth. If you don’t want to spend the day bailing her out of jail, you better get out there before she works up the nerve to come in looking for you.”

“Oh, heavens.”Doris gasped. “She’s not allowed in here, Sam. If she steps one foot inside that door, it’ll cost her seven hundred and forty-three dollars.”

“And sixty-four cents,” Phil added.

Sam tore his gaze from Willa, who had stopped pacing and was now eyeing the door handle. “Why?”

“She broke a few things last time she was here,”Doris said, pushing Sam to his feet. “The owner said he wouldn’t press charges and she wouldn’t have to pay for damages if she promised never to come in here again.”

Sam headed for the front door but stopped when he saw Barry Cobb reach around Willa and open the door for her. The man then placed his hand on her back and ushered her inside, completely ignoring her protests.

Sam heard several gasps behind him, and all conversation suddenly stopped. Barry Cobb spotted Sam, and he grabbed Willa by the wrist as she tried to scurry around him and dragged her toward an empty table in the front window.

Sam walked back to his gaping seniors.

“You just gonna let her sit there with that gangster?” Phil asked in disbelief when Sam sat back down. Sam didn’t know who had started the rumor that Barry Cobb might be tied in with the mob. He picked up his cup of coffee, took a sip, then smiled at his table mates. “I’m curious to see what might happen,”

he said, glancing toward Willa’s table.

She was standing now, darting glances toward the back of the diner, then whispering something to Cobb. Cobb still had hold of her wrist, trying to get her to sit back down.

“Here comes trouble,” Avery said, and Sam followed his gaze toward the kitchen. Trouble appeared to be a rather large man wearing a tight white T-shirt and a dingy white apron, standing in the kitchen door, glaring at Willa. Sam took another sip of his coffee, noticing that every last person in the diner had gone silent except for Barry Cobb.

“Oh, come on, Willa,” Cobb scoffed, holding her wrist. “They can’t stop you from coming in here; this is a public diner.” He leaned forward, still not realizing he had an audience. “Will you relax? I’m glad I ran into you this morning. I want to ask if you’ll go to the dance at the high school with me tonight. We could have dinner in Ellsworth first, if you’d like.” He smiled. “I’ll even buy you a corsage. What color dress will you be wearing?”

Sam smiled. Whatever the color, it would definitely be wrinkled.

“Willamina Kent !” a gruff, challenging voice called from the back of the diner. “You’d better have your purse with you!”

Barry Cobb finally shut up. Willa took advantage of his being distracted by the man walking toward them and jumped to her feet to dash for the door.

Cobb also stood, blocking her way. “Excuse me?” he said to the man, pulling Willa against his side. “Is

there a problem?”

The man, obviously the owner, pointed at her. “She owes me seven hundred forty-three bucks and sixty-four cents.” He turned the hand he was pointing at Willa palm up. “And if she doesn’t give me every last penny, in cash, in exactly one minute, I’m calling the sheriff.”

“Sam, do something!”Doris hissed, pushing his arm and spilling his coffee. “You need to save her!”

He looked over atDoris . “Don’t women today prefer to save themselves?”

“That is a crock of shit,” she snapped. “We still want to know we can count on a man in a crisis. This is your chance to prove what a good husband you’ll be.”

Sam blinked atDoris . Had she just said what he thought she had? He looked back at Willa, realizing she hadn’t spotted him yet. He stood up and sauntered over to stand beside the owner, who was still holding out his hand, apparently expecting it to fill up with money in the next thirty seconds.

“You carry that much cash on you, Cobb?” Sam asked, stifling a grin when Willa gasped. She tried to wriggle away from Barry again, but he merely pulled her closer.

“I’m not paying this man anything,” Barry said, looking from Sam to the owner’s outstretched hand.

“Not even to save your girlfriend from the sheriff?” Sam asked. “She’s going to look awful funny wearing a corsage in jail.”

“Butt out, Sinclair,” Barry snapped.

“Ten seconds,” the owner growled. “Martha!” he hollered over his shoulder. “Start dialing nine-one-one!”

Surprised that Willa still hadn’t done or said anything, Sam let out a loud sigh and reached back for his wallet. “Never mind, Cobb. I’ll get this one. You can bail her out of the next mess she gets herself into.”

Willa went from zero to sixty in one second flat. “You’re not getting one stinking dime, you greedy man!

It wasn’t my fault the last time, and it’s not my fault this time, either!” she yelled, shoving Cobb toward the owner, making them both stagger into a nearby table. She grabbed Sam’s hand and headed for the door. “Come on!” she shouted over the roaring laughter of the patrons. Willa pulled him onto the sidewalk, then suddenly stopped, undecided which way to run. Sam headed to their right, turning the corner at the first street they came to. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his key fob, hitting the unlock button as they approached his truck.

“Hop in,” he said, running to the driver’s side. She climbed in beside him and snapped her seat belt. Sam quickly snapped his own belt, looked over his shoulder, and pulled out onto the narrow lane. “Which way?” he asked. “We can’t go to your house. That’s the first place the sheriff will look for you.”

“Turn left up ahead,” she said a bit breathlessly. She suddenly laughed. “Oh, my God, did you see Craig’s face?”

“Craig?”

“The coffee-shop owner. Craig Watson.” She snickered. “I wonder what outrageous price he’s going to come up with this time. I didn’t even break any dishes today. Did you see me break any dishes?” she asked, batting her lashes at him.

He smiled at the gleam in her eye, then turned left at the first road he came to. “Nope, I didn’t see you break anything. I did see Cobb bump into a table and break some dishes, though.”