She nodded.
“Butler Springs isn’t too long a drive, but if you’re up to it, I’d love to take you for that delicious steak dinner at the restaurant my brother raved about.” Filtered in with Neil’s other casual efforts at flirtation, the mention of the only steakhouse within driving distance was the only good thing Morgan gleaned from the entire interaction.
“Oh, I can’t.”
He nodded and took a step back. Shame on him.
“You don’t understand.” She reached for his arm. “I promised Jaime and Abbie that I would do a test run at the pub.”
“Test run for what?”
“A fine dining experience. That’s why I was heading to the café. I wanted to ask you in person if you’d be available to join me.”
A wave of relief lifted his spirits and brought a smile to his face. “At least we both appear to have had the same basic idea. I’d be delighted to help Jaime out.”
She slapped her hands together contentedly. “Terrific.”
“Though, this is the first I’ve heard of new plans for dining at the pub. Wonder why he didn’t come to the family?”
“According to Abbie, Jamie wants the critical opinion of an out of towner. Or as you have so often mentioned, a city girl.”
“That does make sense. Most folks around here think Frank’s meatloaf constitutes fine dining.” He lifted his hands palms out. “Not that I don’t want Frank’s meatloaf, it’s actually seriously delicious, but—”
“I get it. There’s a lot to be said for comfort food, but it is an entirely different experience.”
“What time shall I pick you up?”
Valerie looked at her wrist. “I know you have to get back to the ranch at a reasonable hour tonight. How about six?”
“Six is fine. And I promise, no matter the time, I won’t turn into a pumpkin.”
The entire ride back to the ranch, Morgan kept wondering why Jamie would want to open a fine dining establishment when the pub already did such a booming business over the weekends. It made no sense, but who was he to question his cousin. The guy ran a successful operation. So what if he wanted to expand.
“Well, you’ve certainly got a spring in your step.” His aunt smiled up at him from the kitchen sink.
There was no arguing that his mood this afternoon was a vast improvement compared to when he’d woken up. The credit for his mood change fell squarely on Valerie Moore’s shoulders. The woman was pretty special, and if he didn’t watch his step he was going to fall head over boots in love with her. Heaven knew he was already more than halfway… there. The unexpected thought tripped in his mind.
“I didn’t bring a dinner jacket. Do you think Uncle Sean would mind if I borrowed something of his?”
“I don’t think he’d mind at all. Where do you need a dinner jacket in these parts?”
“Jamie is testing out some special menu tonight so I figured if he was going to the trouble of upscaling his business, the least I could do is wear a dinner jacket.” For Jamie and Valerie. She’d done so much to fit into his world, the least he could do was wear a jacket to fit into hers. It was a good thing on occasions like this that the Farraday men were all cut from the same cloth. With a few exceptions, they were pretty much all the same height and size.
“Sounds good to me.” One of the two cattle dogs came and scratched at the back door. Aunt Eileen let the pups in and turned back around to face Morgan. “Go ahead and look in his closet.” She waved her thumb over her shoulder in the direction of their bedroom. “Help yourself to anything you like.”
Gray, the larger of the two cattle dogs, stopped at his feet, dropped to his haunches and Morgan would have testified in a court of law that the animal smiled at him. Gently, he scratched the top of the dog’s head for a minute before walking away. A few steps down the hall to the bedroom, he could’ve sworn he heard his aunt telling the dog he was right. The funnier thing, he was pretty positive he heard her apologize to the dog for ever doubting him. Maybe she was spending a little too much time alone in the ranch house. He was going to have to talk to his uncle about it the first chance he got.
A shower, a shave, and his favorite pressed shirt later, Morgan was back out the front door. Silently he said a small prayer his aunt wouldn’t notice that he’d picked a few blooms from her front garden. Normally he’d stop at a flower shop, but there was no time today. The bright smile on Val’s face when he presented her with the bouquet proved once again that a simple heartfelt gesture could win over any girl’s heart.
His own words gave him pause. Was that what he was trying to do? Win her heart? He really needed to get a grip.
“Come in a minute while I get a vase from Meg.”
“Take your time.” His gaze lingered on her back walking away, but his mind was stuck on the vision of classic beauty a moment before. The woman had on a simple black dress that hugged just the right amount at every curve without looking clingy and cheap. Her hair was swirled up at the back of her head, drawing his eye to that deliciously long neck and a strand of simple pearls that draped perfectly between, well, draped perfectly. He needed to get his head on straight. This was a casual dinner date among friends, and it would do him good to remember that.
A few minutes later he’d said his howdee dos to his cousin and ushered Valerie out the door, around the corner, and under the quiet of the large oak trees. The walk to the pub was a short one. Everything in Tuckers Bluff was a short walk.
“I really appreciate you’re coming with me. I’d feel a little too much like a food critic sitting at a table all by myself.”
“I’m glad you asked me.” Despite his own little anti-pep talk only a few moments ago, he reached for her hand and felt the adrenaline rush of a teen on his first real date. He was going to hate letting go when they reached O’Fearadaigh’s.
Chapter Twelve
From the bottom of Meg’s street, the pub came into view. They walked the remaining distance without saying another word. The odd thing was he didn’t feel the need to fill the quiet with empty words. He’d always thought the terms comfortable silence made no sense. How could silence be comfortable? Turns out being perfectly happy with a person without saying a word was really a thing. A good thing.
At the door, Morgan pulled on the massive ornate brass handle and relinquishing her hand, waved her inside.
“Oh my.”
The splattering of pub height tables were gone and the remaining tables were draped in white clothes. The soft glow of candlelight gave the space a warm feel. The contrast to the normally almost cave-like darkness of the Irish pub was almost unsettling. It took a moment to notice the soft melodic tunes playing overhead. Nothing like the Irish fare that normally filled the air of O’Fearadaigh’s. Just inside the door, a podium sported a scripted sign, Please wait to be seated. Not that they had to wait very long.
“Welcome to Chez Farraday.” In a dark green evening dress, Meg arrived at the podium. “We have reserved the best table in the house for you. If you’ll follow me.”
When Valerie had mentioned they wanted her to be guinea pig to a fine dining experience, he’d thought it meant the food, not the ambiance. To Morgan’s surprise, once they were seated, Meg set aside the white linen napkin and instead whipped out a black one to spread across Val’s lap as well as a black napkin for his dark pants.
“Your waitress this evening will be with you momentarily. Enjoy your dinner.”
Meg turned on her heel and Jamie appeared out of nowhere to fill their glasses with water. So startled by the whole conversion, he hadn’t noticed the water goblets on the table along with two more goblets, one slightly larger than the other for their choice of wine.
Next to appear dressed in black slacks and a white shirt was Jamison Farraday’s better half.
“Good evening. My name is Abigail and I will be your server this evening.” Abbie proceeded to recite the evening’s menu and specials.
So enthralled with the entire production, Morgan hadn
’t really heard another word she’d said.
“It all sounds so wonderful.” Valerie smiled up at Abbie. “I’d like to start with the champagne brie soup, then the goat cheese salad sounds delicious, and the grilled sea bass. And a pinot grigio please.”
“Very well. And you, sir?”
Since he didn’t have the heart to make her repeat her opening spiel, Morgan opted for the easy way out. “I’ll have what the lady is having.” Though now that he thought about it, the goat cheese salad wasn’t likely to be his thing, but the company was what really mattered.
“I’ll have your wine coming right out.” Abbie pivoted and paused briefly at the bar before proceeding to the kitchen.
“I’m flabbergasted.” Valerie took a sip of her water.
Morgan nodded. “It looks very different.”
“Feels different. I mean, if I look closely I can tell it was the pub, but just sitting here the ambiance is completely and totally different. Nice.”
Abbie re-appeared with their wines and a silver basket of warm bread. “The soup will be out momentarily. Can I get you anything else in the meantime?”
“No, thank you.” Val looked around again. “You guys did an amazing job. If the food is even half as good, I know it will be fantastic.”
“Thank you, I’d better go check on Frank. He was a little nervous about all this.”
“Frank?” Morgan’s voice dropped. “As in café cook Frank?”
“That would be the one.” Abbie laughed. “Apparently he’s about more than meatloaf and pot roast. If you’ll excuse me.”
Valerie reached for the bread and waited until Abbie was out of earshot. “I’m not sure if I should be highly intrigued, or absolutely terrified.”
“I’m leaning towards intrigue, but I admit I would be less worried if the menu called for French onion soup. But how badly can someone ruin champagne, or cheese?”
Fingers splayed against her chest, Valerie both frowned and smiled, shaking her head. “I really do wish you hadn’t asked that question.”
“Sorry.” He smiled and almost swallowed his tongue at the low moan that escaped from deep in Valerie’s throat as she broke open the warm roll.
“Oh, this reminds me of the Italian bread you buy at Arthur Avenue in the Bronx.” She pulled off another small nibble and popping it into her mouth moaned again. “As an intern I got to work on a production filming in New York. LA has some great restaurants, don’t get me wrong, but I’ve never forgotten the Italian bread in New York. This definitely tastes like Arthur Avenue.”
“I’m sorry, Arthur Avenue?”
“Little Italy.” She reached for the butter. “This is definitely good enough to eat on its own, but I can’t resist a little bread with my butter.”
He chuckled at her play on words and the massive amount of butter she’d slathered onto the small piece of bread. “My money is on Toni. She’s a great baker, and she’s from Boston. If anybody around here would have even the slightest inkling of how to bake Italian bread, it would have to be her.”
“Now I really don’t know what to expect with dinner.”
He tipped his head toward the back hallway. “We’ll find out soon enough. Here she comes.”
Abigail set a large bowl in front of Valerie first, then Morgan. Next she turned to the tray behind her and held out a massive pepper grinder. “Would you like some pepper?”
“No, thank you.” Valerie shook her head.
“Thank you, me neither.”
Since Abbie didn’t make any effort to move, Morgan figured she was waiting for their reaction.
Taking the soup spoon in hand, he dipped it half way, made every effort to scoop a little up without spilling, and then took his first sip. “Okay, this is delicious.”
Abbie’s tentative expression gave way to a huge grin. When she bobbed her head slightly at her husband behind the bar, Jamie’s grin widened to match hers.
“Delicious is an understatement.” Valerie dipped her spoon into the soup again. “I may have to place an order or ten to go.”
Abbie barked a hearty cackle and stepped back. “I’ll let Frank know.” And with those brief words, she was gone.
“This is so good. I don’t care how many calories there are. I can’t believe a former Marine mess hall cook made this soup.” Valerie blew on another spoonful.
“Apparently, Frank is full of surprises.” Morgan didn’t say another word until his bowl was empty. “I don’t know about you, but I’m thinking five stars.”
“Not enough.” She finished off the last few spoonfuls, dabbed at either corner of her mouth with her napkin, then leaned back in her seat. “If I were to die this minute, I would die a happy woman.”
Morgan chuckled. “There you go, a life fulfilled by soup. But I can’t blame you. I feel the same way.”
“You know the best part?” she asked.
“What?”
“I didn’t have to cook any of it. And you know what else?”
He shook his head.
“This whole thing has so blown my mind. The absolute best service, ambiance, and so far food, in the middle of a one restaurant town. I wouldn’t be surprised if the dishes and furniture were to come to life and start dancing around the room.”
“Okay. I have to disagree. I would be shocked as hell if my silverware began dancing on the table about now.”
That made Valerie laugh even harder. “What I mean is, this whole meal is proving to be the perfect night. The perfect end to my stay.”
He tried very hard to keep a straight face. There was nothing perfect about ending her stay and he knew it.
Valerie couldn’t think of a nicer way to spend her last evening in Tuckers Bluff. She’d meant what she’d said. Everything was truly perfect. The food and the company, and not necessarily in that order. When the salad arrived, she’d been surprised to find the almond-crusted goat cheese was actually warm and not sprinkled atop.
“Wow.” She tried not to moan with delight. “I thought the soup would be the highlight and this would just be a salad. I think I was wrong.”
Morgan looked less than convinced as his fork prodded at the baby spinach and candied almonds surrounding the wafer of warm cheese.
“Try it. You’ll see.”
One brow rose high on his forehead as he glanced down and skewered a morsel of cheese. This time, he was the one to groan at the surprise burst of flavor. “Remind me never to doubt you again.”
She chuckled and waved her fork at him. Not very well mannered for such a surprisingly swank supper, but she couldn’t remember the last time she’d enjoyed dinner, or the company, so much. “Absolutely.”
“I bet you will at that.” His grin widened as he more eagerly stabbed at another mouthful.
“I can honestly say every forkful is heaven. So far dinner is two for two.”
Morgan nodded. “Who knew salad could taste like this.”
Somewhere between oohing and aahing over the soup and salad, Valerie had been slow to notice the music had shifted from soft instrumental, to smooth vocalist renditions. Right now someone was doing one hell of a job belting out What a Difference a Day Makes.
“Oh wow.” Morgan looked up.
“Now it’s my turn. What?”
“I’m pretty sure that’s Aunt Eileen.”
Val looked over her shoulder, expecting to see the woman walking up the hall or away from the bar. “Where?”
A single finger pointed straight up to the ceiling even though the speakers were nowhere near them. Pushing his chair away from the table, he extended his hand to her. “May I have this dance?”
Thinking, she bit down on her lower lip and considered all she was up against. What was one little dance going to hurt. “I’d love to, but you’ll need to explain about your aunt.”
He nodded and led her to the floor. Like she’d done the night before, she molded against him as if she’d been designed just for him. On the small area cleared for a dance floor, he spun her around a
nd pulled her close again. “We always knew Aunt Eileen could sing beautifully. She’d sung to all of us most of our lives. Especially if we were feeling under the weather. At some point, we had learned Aunt Eileen had given up her fiancé to take care of her sister’s brood.”
Valerie nodded. She vaguely remembered that being mentioned briefly in conversation over the last week or so.
“Turns out the fiancé came with a singing career.”
“You’re kidding?” Not that she didn’t believe it, but she sure hadn’t expected to hear that.
“As in albums recorded and the whole shebang.” He momentarily let go of her hand and pointed up again. “This is her.”
Val paused to listen, really listen. “She’s amazing.”
“In more ways than one.”
“This town and your family are full of surprises.”
“Life is never boring.” He pulled her hand in closer between them. “And if we can’t keep you entertained, we’ll find something. Whether it’s moonshine bootleggers, or—”
“A ghost town?”
He nodded, his eyes twinkling with humor. “And from the way the town has been talking, a few ghosts to go with it.”
“Did anyone find it interesting that the only room affected by the ghost was Ted’s room?”
“Well, there was the sugar incident.”
“True,” she nodded, “but the moving furniture, the voices, the music—”
“Music? What was that?”
“Ted again. Heard music, thought someone had set an alarm, but there was no alarm clock in the room.”
“I wonder if Ted drinks and no one knows it?”
“That’s quite a leap.”
“Shorter than ghosts. Or do you believe in ghosts?”
“Let’s just say I try to keep an open mind.”
“Fair enough.” She laughed. “What’s the story about moonshiners?”
“From what I’ve heard, Ian was involved in catching some bootleggers who were racing local moonshine across state line and using Tuckers Bluff as a base.”
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