town having a shouting match? It just wasn’t like her.
Big surprise. Danny Walker had the power to make a woman forget herself.
But even worse, she couldn’t get what he’d said out of her head. Granny picked the wrong person to run her contest. It rankled big time—mostly because she’d wondered the very same thing once or twice that day herself.
Was Danny Walker right? Was she in over her head?
She raised her eyes from her untouched mashed potatoes to sneak a look at him. He caught her at it. Maddeningly, he winked at her and it filled her with the ridiculously childish urge to stick out her tongue at him. Instead, she filled her mouth with mashed potatoes, and filled her mind with new resolve. Danny Walker was not going to be right. Granny’s Grains did not pick the wrong person to run their contest.
After dinner, Hannah insisted on helping Kate with the dishes.
“Besides,” she said after everyone else left the kitchen, “this will give me a chance to ask you a few questions.”
“What sort of questions, dear?” Kate asked as she poured pink dish soap into the running water.
“Oh, just family things. For instance, did your children eat breakfast before school when they were young?”
“Well, yes. Of course, dear. Breakfast is, after all, the most important meal of the day.”
Yes! thought Hannah with relief. Kate was a normal mother, even if her taste in gardening was a bit bizarre.
“I’m sure your mother felt that way, too, didn’t she?” Kate asked.
“I wish I remembered,” Hannah murmured.
Kate looked at her, her eyes wide. “You don’t suffer from amnesia, do you, dear? The people in my soaps are always coming down with it, but I’ve never known anyone in person who had it.”
Hannah grimaced slightly. You never knew what was going to come out of Kate’s mouth. She was never malicious, of course. She couldn’t be sweeter. She was just a little—um—dizzy. The fact that Danny’s word was a perfect fit didn’t help Hannah’s mood.
Hannah sighed. “No, Kate. I don’t have amnesia.”
“Oh,” Kate said with a disappointed little frown on her face.
“My mother died when I was very young. My father raised me.”
“Then who fixed your breakfast, dear? Your father?” Kate asked.
The image of Orson Ross trying to flip a pancake with that perpetually distracted air almost made her laugh. He’d have the pancake turner in one hand and an open book in the other and the pancake would end up on the floor, totally unnoticed, while he read. “I doubt if my father ever even thought about breakfast,” she said. “Or any other meal, for that matter.”
And it was true. Her father was a dear, but when he wasn’t in a classroom or lecture hall, he was in his study with his papers and books. “I learned to order takeout when I was five and to make simple meals when I was six,” she told Kate. “I used to bring him a plate in his study at night.”
“You mean you didn’t even eat together?”
Kate’s face was all soft and concerned and Hannah realized she’d crossed a line. She was supposed to be asking the questions, not revealing personal information about herself. “Oh, I wanted to ask you about that,” she said, segueing into the next question quite nicely. “Did your family always eat breakfast together?”
Luckily, Kate was easily distracted.
“Oh, yes! Always.”
“Did you ever have a problem getting everyone to the breakfast table?”
“Why, no, I never did.” Kate thought for a moment. “I think it was my meal system that did it.”
“Your meal system?”
Kate nodded. “Pancakes on Monday, over easy on Tuesday, waffles on Wednesday, scrambled on Thursday and French toast on Friday.”
Hannah frowned. Kate hadn’t mentioned cereal. “But, didn’t you—?”
“Oh, no, dear. I never varied it. That was the whole point, don’t you see?”
Hannah forgot about cereal for the moment. “No, I’m afraid I don’t see.”
“Well, if you knew that you had to wait a whole week for another waffle Wednesday, wouldn’t you eat them when they were put in front of you?”
It made a wacky kind of sense, Hannah had to admit. But where did cereal, particularly Super Korny Krunchies, fit in?
“Kate, when did you serve cereal?”
“Oh, I never served cereal when my kids were growing up. I always insisted they eat a cooked breakfast because everyone knows that—” Kate broke off, her hand flying out of the water to her mouth, sending little puffs of soap suds into the air around her head like a housewife’s halo. Only the halo was a little crooked. “Oh, dear,” Kate said.
Oh crap, thought Hannah. Another glitch. A huge one this time. Big. Very big.
“Got a problem, professor?”
She didn’t have to look to know that Danny Walker would be leaning in the doorway, hip cocked, mouth quirked, wry twinkle in his eyes. With all the twists and turns this day had taken, one thing she could be sure of. If she had a problem, Danny would be sexily draped somewhere nearby, ready to give her a hard time.
“You don’t look so good. Meat loaf upset your tummy—or is it the taste of failure? Didn’t I tell you that studies and surveys were bogus?”
Hannah glared at him. “As I said earlier, there is a margin for error in every research study. But if a subject is going to lie—”
“Watch it,” Danny warned as he came away from the doorway. “Lie is a strong word.”
“But it’s the right word,” she retorted. “I could go upstairs right now and produce the original entry form that states that your entire family eats Super Korny Krunchies. And that’s not the only problem with that entry form, either. Several answers are definitely misleading.”
“Or maybe you just asked the wrong questions,” Danny said.
Hannah threw her hands into the air. “What difference does it make what the question is if the entrant is going to lie?”
“Uh—excuse me, professor, but I think that’s an argument for my side. How can you possibly know what is and what isn’t a lie when you read those forms of yours?”
“Oh—” Kate cut in “—I’m sure Uncle Tuffy didn’t think he was lying.”
Hannah forgot the insult she’d been about to hurl at Danny. She swung around to face Kate. “Are you saying that Uncle Tuffy filled out the original entry form?”
Kate nodded. “Tuffy is Henry’s brother—not the—um—brightest in the family. So he might have gotten some things wrong. He’s always needed someone around to take care of him. But he’s got a kind heart and he really does love your cereal and he eats it every day,” Kate assured her eagerly. “And he wanted so badly to win. It’s just that the rest of us don’t eat it. But when Tuffy figured out that he ate enough for a family of four, why he thought—”
Hannah held up her hand. “Wait—let me get this straight. No one else in the family eats Super Korny Krunchies?”
“Have you tasted it?” Danny asked.
“Of course, I’ve tasted it,” Hannah answered impatiently.
“Then don’t ask stupid questions.”
Hannah thrust her hands into the pockets of her pants. “You know I’ve about had it with you getting a laugh at my expense,