Goddess of Spring (Goddess Summoning 2)

Chapter 2

Gut instinct, she reminded herself as she gunned her BMW and almost flew over the Highway 51

overpass, heading away from Tulsa's downtown business area to the trendy Cherry Street location of her bakery. Next time she was going to listen to her gut, and when it told her to run screaming in the opposite direction she wouldn't be stupid enough to hire another jerk. What in the hel had she been thinking?

Lina sighed. She knew what she'd been thinking. She'd needed help. The money management end of her business had never been one of her strengths. Her father had always taken care of that for her, but three years ago he and her mother had joined her grandmother in a Florida retirement community. Dad had been so sure she could handle her business finances herself that she hadn't wanted to admit it to him last year when she had final y given up and hired an accountant. So instead of asking for his advice in who she should hire, she'd bumbled ahead and, in a stressed-out rush, chosen Frank Rayburn, Mr. Sleazy Non-Personality.

"It's what you deserve for al owing your pride to get the best of you," Lina muttered to herself as she turned east onto the Street - the street that would, within a couple of blocks, morph into the area known as Cherry Street, and lead her to the door of her wonderful, incredible, beautiful, and now completely broke, bakery.

The pit of her stomach ached. There must be a way to pay her debt and keep her two long-time employees as wel as her name and location. She gripped the steering wheel with one hand and twirled a short strand of hair around and around her finger. She would not sel her name. She couldn't.

Pani Del Goddess, or Breads of the Goddess - the name sang like magic. It was indelibly tied to al the most wonderful memories of her childhood. Pani del goddess is what she and her beloved grandmother used to create on long winter afternoons as they watched old black-and-white movies and drank fragrant, honey-sweetened tea.

"Carolina Francesca, you bake like a little goddess!"

Lina could stil hear the echo of her grandmother's voice from her childhood, encouraging her to experiment with classic recipes from the Old Country, her beloved Italia.

"Si, bambino, first learn the recipe as it was written, test it and try it, then begin to add un poco - a little here, and a little there. That is how to make the breads your own." And Lina had made them her own, with a talent and a flare that had even impressed her grandmother, who was renowned as an exceptional cook. It had been her grandmother who had bragged so much to her friends that they began asking Lina to bake "something special" for them on the occasion of birthdays or anniversaries. By the time Lina graduated from high school, she had a steady stream of customers, mostly retired widows and widowers who appreciated the taste of quality homemade breads.

When her grandmother had offered to send her to Florence to study at the famous school of baking, Apicius, she had begun shaping the design of her dream - the dream of owning her own bakery. When she was a child, her grandmother had whispered to her that Italy and baking were in her blood. After she graduated from Apicius, Lina fol owed the whispers of her childhood back to Tulsa. With her she brought a little piece of Italy, its style and its romance - as wel as its amazingly rich assortment of breads and pastries. Again her grandmother helped her. Together they discovered a worn-down old building smack in the middle of the artsy area of Tulsa known as Cherry Street. They'd bought it and slowly turned it into a shining sliver of Florence. Lina shook her head and flipped off the radio. She couldn't let Pani Del Goddess fail. It wouldn't just break her own heart; it would cut her grandmother to the bone. And what about her customers? Her bakery was the meeting place for a delightful y eclectic group of regulars, made up mostly of local eccentrics, celebrities and retirees. It was more than a bakery. It was a unique social hub.

And what would Anton and Dolores do? The two had been working for her for ten and fifteen years. She knew it was a cliche, but they were more than employees; they were family to her, especial y since she had no children of her own.

Lina sighed again, and then she inhaled deeply. Despite the horrors of the day, her lips curved up. Pinyon smoke drifted through the BMW's partial y rol ed down windows. She was passing Grumpy's Garden, the little shop that signaled the beginning of the Cherry Street District, and, as usual, "Grumpy," who was actual y a very nice lady named Shaun and not grumpy at al , had several of her huge chimeneas perpetual y burning, perfuming the neighborhood with the distinctive smel of southwest pine.

She felt the knot in her stomach loosen as she downshifted and slowed her car, careful of the pedestrians crossing the streets while they moved back and forth from antique shops, to new-age bookstores, to posh interior de-sign studios and unique restaurants. And final y, in the heart of the street, nestled between a trendy little spa and a vintage jewelry store, sat Pani Del Goddess. As usual, there were few parking spaces available on the street, and Lina turned into the al ey to park in one of the reserved spaces behind her building. She had barely stepped out of her car when she felt an al too familiar tug at her mind. The feeling was always the same, though it varied in degree and intensity. Today it was like someone far away had spoken her name, and the wind had carried the echo of the sound to her mind without having to reach her ears first. She closed her eyes. She real y didn't have time for this... not today.

Almost instantly Lina regretted the thought. Mental y she shook herself. No, she wouldn't let financial troubles change who she was - and part of who she was, was this. It was her gift. Glancing around her, Lina peered into the shadows at the edges of the building.

"Where are you, little one?" she coaxed. Then she focused her mind and a vague image came to her. Lina smiled. "Come on, kitty, kitty, kitty," she cal ed. "I know you're there. You don't have to be afraid."

With a pathetic mew, a skinny orange tabby stepped hesitantly from behind the garbage receptacle.

"Wel , look at you. You're nothing more than a delicate flower. Come here, baby girl. Everything wil be fine now."

Mesmerized, the smal orange cat walked straight into Lina's outstretched arms. Ignoring what the cat's matted, dirty fur could do to her very clean, very expensive silk suit, Lina cuddled the mangy animal. Staring up at her rescuer, eyes fil ed with adoration, the cat rewarded Lina with thunderous purring.

Lina could not remember a time when she hadn't felt a special affinity for animals. As a smal child, she had only to sit quietly in her backyard and soon she would be visited by rabbits and squirrels and even nervous little field mice. Dogs and cats loved her. Horses fol owed her like giant puppies. Even cows, who Lina knew had big, mushy brains, lowed lovingly at her if she got too close to where they pastured. Animals had always adored her, but it hadn't been until Lina had become a teenager that she had real y realized the extent of her gift.

She could understand animals. Sort of. She wasn't Dr. Doolittle or anything ridiculous like that; she couldn't carry on conversations with animals. She liked to think of herself as if she were a horse whisperer, only her abilities weren't limited to horses. And she had an extra "thing" that most people didn't have. Sometimes the "thing" told her that there was a cat that needed her help. The

"thing" was something that went off in her mind, like a connection she could plug into. She knew it was weird.

For a brief time in high school she had considered becoming a veterinarian. She'd even volunteered at a veterinary clinic during the summer between her sophomore and junior years - a summer that had taught her that while blood and parasites were definitely not a part of her special animal "thing," they certainly were two things that were a consistent part of veterinarian work. Just remembering it made Lina shudder in revulsion and want to scratch her scalp.

"In a bakery, you never, ever have to deal with blood or parasites," she told the little orange cat as she stepped out of the al ey, turned left and inhaled deeply.

" Magnifico," she murmured in her grandmother's voice. The enticing aroma of freshly baked bread soothed her senses. She sniffed appreciatively, expertly identifying the subtle differences in the fragrance of olives, rosemary and cheese, wedded to the sweet smel s of the butter, cinnamon, nuts, raisins and the liqueurs that went into the creation of the bakery's specialty bread, gubana, which was the sweetbread of Friuli, a smal region east of Venice.

Lina paused in front of the large glass window that fronted her bakery. She nodded appreciatively at the beautiful y arranged crystal platters that were displayed on tiers and fil ed with a fresh assortment of Italian pastries and cookies. Pride fil ed Lina. As always, everything was perfect. She glanced beyond the window display to see that about hah? of the dozen little mosaic-topped cafe tables were occupied. Not bad, she thought, for late Friday afternoon. She shifted the cat in her arms and checked her watch. It was almost 4:00 p.m. and they closed at 5:00 P.M.; usual y the hour or so before closing was a quiet, winding-down time.

Maybe that was one answer. Maybe she should extend her hours. But wouldn't she have to hire more help then? Anton and Dolores already worked full-time shifts, and Lina herself was rarely absent from the bakery. Wouldn't the additional cost of another employee cancel out any revenue generated by staying open longer?

Lina could feel the beginnings of a serious tension headache.

Forcing herself to relax, Lina squinted past the glare of the highly polished picture window. She could see the newly painted frescoes that decorated the wal s - part of the expensive renovation that had just been completed. But the price had been worth it. Lina had commissioned Kimberlei Doner, a wel -known local artist and il ustrator, to fil the wal s of Pani Del Goddess with authentic scenes from ancient Florence. The paintings, coupled with the vintage light fixtures and cafe*

tables, created an atmosphere that made her patrons feel like they had stepped off the streets of Tulsa and had been temporarily transported to magical, earthy Italy.

"Let's go in and see what we can do about you," she told the cat, who was stil purring contentedly in her arms. "First

I'l take care of you, then I'l figure out what to do about the money," she said, wishing desperately that money was as easy to come by as cats.

The wind chime over the door tinkled happily as Lina entered Pani Del Goddess. She stood there for a moment, basking in the familiar scene. Anton was fiddling with the cappuccino machine and humming the chorus of the song "Al That Jazz" from Chicago. Dolores was explaining the difference between panettones and colombe to a middle-aged couple Lina didn't recognize. They were the only people in the shop that she didn't recognize.

Anton glanced up as several customers cal ed hel os to her. His full lips began a grin when he saw Lina, but then they pursed into a resigned pout when he noticed the cat in her arms.

"Oh, look, it's our fearless leader - the Cat Savior." Anton fluttered his fingers in Lina's direction.

"Don't start with me, Anton, or I'l take back the DVD of Chicago that I got you for your birthday," Lina said with mock severity.