by Kait Nolan
There were animals to be fed, cows to be milked. By the time the milking system in the dairy barn was sanitized, his two high school interns—both members of Future Farmers of America—had arrived. They took over the milking process, so Logan headed out to deal with the pastured chickens. On the way, he nodded a wordless greeting to Sebastian, who was already out in the paddock working with Gingersnap, one of the rescues. The horse had put on weight in the past weeks. She still had a long way to go, but she already looked like a different animal.
Out in the west pasture, he released the chickens from their mobile coops. They spilled out, cackling and dancing with freedom before settling in to peck up bugs and grass and clover. Cleaning beneath the roosts, checking nesting boxes, and refilling water was rote for him. As was moving their mobile coops about a hundred feet so they’d have a new patch of grass and clover to roam and fertilize.
By the time Logan had worked his way through the rest of the list, he was thinking about another cup of coffee. He scrubbed up, wondering whether he could slip back into bed with Athena to give her a wakeup call that would make up for the rooster. Pleased with the idea, he toed off his boots on the porch and went back inside.
She was in his kitchen, wearing one of his shirts. Her long legs were bare and her hair was still mussed from sleep and his hands as she moved with that graceful efficiency to make some kind of breakfast. It was exactly the image he’d had in his head. But this was better because her lips were curved in a quiet smile and the dogs were sprawled out at her feet, gazing up in adoration. She looked relaxed and happy. Logan knew what a big deal that was. That she was relaxed here, in this kitchen, on this farm. He understood what this place was to her. She just looked right here. In his kitchen, on his farm, in his life.
Drawn by the pretty picture she made, he stepped into the room. Athena looked up and offered him a sleepy, satisfied smile. It struck him in the chest, a mule kick to the heart that stole his breath.
He was in love with her. Completely, head over heels, totally gone, no turning back, in love with her.
“Hey. I found the coffee. You want more?”
Crossing the space between them in three strides, he took her mouth, both because he couldn’t not kiss her in that moment and to stop himself from saying anything foolish like, “I love you. Marry me and make this your home again.” It didn’t feel foolish in the least, but it was way the hell too soon for declarations. He wasn’t about to do anything to send her running.
Breathless, she pressed her brow to his. “Well, good morning to you, too.”
“You didn’t have to get up.”
“I hate your rooster. But my body actually does remember farm life. Once you were out of bed, I couldn’t go back to sleep, so I thought I’d make you breakfast.”
“And what is breakfast?”
“A bacon, white cheddar, and green onion frittata.” She patted his chest. “Sit, have another cup of coffee, while I get this put together and in the oven.”
He poured the coffee and kicked back against the opposite counter while she worked.
“I’ve been giving some thought to what we might cook for class next week.”
She began to chatter on about recipe ideas. As long as he’d known her, she’d been passionate about food, but he’d never seen her this excited.
“Why are you smiling?” she demanded.
“It’s just, I’ve never heard you quite like this before. Like your brain is firing at ninety miles an hour.”
She paused, the cast iron skillet in one hand. “I feel…inspired. Like a weight that’s been hanging on me for months is finally just…gone. I’m excited about food again, and I can’t even begin to tell you what a gift that is.” Sliding the skillet into the oven, she straightened. “And it’s all because of you.”
He’d wanted to be good for her, but he only just now realized how good she was for him, too. Her words were confirmation that she felt it too, this sense that they brought out the best in each other. She wasn’t ready to see a future yet, wasn’t ready to acknowledge the depth and breadth of what was between them. But this was a helluva start.
As that all fell into the category of things that might scare her off, he said only, “We make a good team.”
“You’re very, very good for me, Farmer Boy.”
To stop himself from giving in and saying it anyway, he snagged her around the waist, drew her in. “I intend to be very, very good to you again.” He ran a hand up her thigh and discovered she wasn’t wearing any underwear beneath his shirt. “How long will that frittata take?”
Those smoky gray eyes went dark. “Long enough.”
He lifted her onto the counter. “We’ll just stay down here so you can keep an eye on things.”
“Here?” She squeaked.
“Here.”
By the time the frittata was ready, the rooster was no longer the loudest cry of the morning.
Chapter 11
As she paced in front of her last class, Athena was surprised at the pang she felt. Many of these people had come to every single class. She’d seen them learn and grow and embrace the joy of food, and that was a bigger high than she’d expected. It had been a long time since cooking had been entirely about the food. But while the whole thing had gone better than she’d anticipated, her relief that it was almost over outweighed the pang.
“Over the past few weeks, we’ve talked about how all cooking is really, at the root, about the interplay between fat, salt, heat, and acid. We’ve discussed how to choose the freshest produce, the best cuts of meat. You’ve practiced your knife skills. You’ve addressed the challenges of substitutions when you’ve got limited availability of ingredients. In each class, you’ve expanded your palate and focused on the food—no distractions—learning to appreciate the taste and quality of your component ingredients and how they interact to create a sum that’s greater than their parts. As a chef, that’s my favorite part of cooking.” It had been good to be reminded that there was joy in addition to the control she craved.
There were a couple of new faces today, and she tried to incorporate them into the group that had already established its bonds. Smiling at the slim man with the finely-trimmed goatee who’d come up from Nashville for the class, she continued, “Now, I’m classically trained. I could teach you about master sauces or other fancy pants chef stuff. But the fact is, I’m not just a chef. I’m a Tennessee girl. A farmer’s daughter. I believe good food should be accessible.” This whole farm-to-table series had been a great reminder of that. “I want to send you home today armed with recipes that you’re comfortable recreating in your own kitchens. Recipes that you can head on down to Garden of Eden or out to Maxwell Organics to pick up and fix for supper without a whole lot of fanfare and fuss. I’m talking readily available, local ingredients that we’re going to elevate to perfection.”
“Bring it.” Denver rolled his shoulders, flexing his big, tattooed arms as if ready to enter the boxing ring. “What are we making?”
“Oh, you’re gonna like this,” Athena promised. “As the centerpiece to the meal, we’re making everybody’s date night favorite: steak. I’ll be teaching you about a variety of lagniappes—those little something extras that make a steak not to be missed. Alongside it we’ll have potatoes boulangère and green bean bundles with a brown sugar balsamic reduction. For dessert, my take on a rustic, stone fruit tart. Let’s get started.”
“Was this the kind of thing you served at Olympus?”
The question caught Athena off-guard. Her heart skipped a beat, then leapt into a nervous tattoo. When had she stopped expecting questions about Olympus? Blinking at the guy from Nashville, she tried to formulate a proper response. What was his name again? Nelson something? “No. Olympus was far more focused on haute cuisine that was a blend of French, Greek, and Southern inspirations.”
“So why not teach that?”
“Eden’s Ridge isn’t Chicago. We don’t have access to the same wealth of ingredients here. A
nd even if we did, that style of cooking falls well outside the scope of what can be covered in a class like this. The intent of these classes is to pass on practical skills that can be used to elevate food that you’ll actually cook. Nobody goes home after a long day at work and makes escargots à la bordelaise. Not even me.” Athena forced a smile and hoped it didn’t look like a grimace.
She waited a moment to see if he’d pursue the line of questioning, but he merely nodded as if he were giving permission for her to carry on. The gesture rubbed her the wrong way and left her paranoid all through the lesson on making fresh pastry for the tart. He was polite, attentive, and followed instructions to the letter. Everything about him suggested he was a good student. But something about him kept her hackles raised.
The potatoes boulangère lesson went off without a hitch. The only questions were related to the dish itself. By the time the green bean bundles were wrapped and ready to go into the oven with the potatoes, Athena had almost convinced herself she was imagining the judgy stare from Nelson.
“Be sure to leave your bacon grease in the pan. It’s going to become part of your balsamic glaze. Does everyone have your brown sugar measured out?”
“Was this the kind of stuff you cooked growing up?” Nelson asked.
Athena couldn’t find anything actually wrong with the question but, again, there was something in his tone that didn’t hit her right. “Some of it. I liked to experiment with the basic ingredients we had. Most of it we grew ourselves, so I was blessed with the experience of picking the components for dinner straight from the garden or gathering eggs fresh from the nest. As an adult, my palate has expanded considerably, but I still take great pleasure in simple ingredients.” She intended her answer as a defense but realized it was true. Her return to Eden’s Ridge had been very much about getting back to the basics. Filing that away as something to think about later, she went back to walking the class through the reduction.
There were a few mishaps during the rest of the lesson. Essie lost track of the sautéed mushrooms while talking with Cayla about a wedding she was planning. Abbey nicked a finger removing the pits from the plums they were using in the tarts. And Ford McIntosh, owner of Temptation Vineyards, was highly skeptical of cooking a steak any other way but on a proper grill. Athena was grateful for the bumps, as they kept her occupied and away from Nelson. She didn’t like the guy. Didn’t like the sense that he’d done a thorough Google search on her before joining the class. She’d resisted the urge to do that since she left Olympus, but his curiosity made her itch to check, to see what was out there and whether the furor had faded.
She wished Logan were here to talk her down. Hell, even his silent presence made her feel more steady and stable. He was so…unflappable. But he was tied up at the farm, helping Sebastian with repairs to the stable. She’d be headed out there as soon as class was over.
“Who’s ready for dessert?” Crystal announced.
A resounding cheer went up in the dining room. Plates were cleared and her students paraded into the diner kitchen to carefully retrieve their respective tarts from the oven. Everybody set theirs on a trivet at the edge of their station and waited for Athena to inspect them.
“This is just like The Great British Bake Off,” Ari giggled.
Relaxing, Athena quirked her mouth. “Should I do my best impression of Paul Hollywood, while you inspect for soggy bottoms?”
“I’d pay money to see that,” Abbey said.
“We did pay money,” Misty pointed out. “Do it!”
Laughing, they did a taste test of the tarts, declaring Essie’s the hands down winner, with Denver and Misty’s coming in a close second. Nelson seemed offended by the results, but by that point, Athena didn’t much care. Class was essentially over and he’d be taking his sour ass back to Nashville, never to be heard from again. Hopefully.
As the leftovers were divvied up and packaged, Misty asked, “When is the next series and what’s it going to be on?”
“Oh, uh...” Athena scrambled to think. Objectively, she had to consider the cooking school experiment a success. Her students had learned stuff. They wanted more. She’d made a little money that helped make up for the loss of normal income. And though it was an apples and oranges comparison, cooking in a group like this, being at the center of the camaraderie that had developed gave her the same spark of pleasure she’d felt cooking with her staff at Olympus. Good food prepared and appreciated by good people.
But she hadn’t given any thought to more. She wasn’t cut out to teach like this. Not all the time. There was way too much peopling, way too many details involved, way too much having to watch what she said and curb her perfectionist streak to accommodate their mostly novice skillsets. Doing that with Ari was one thing. Doing it on a scale this big? Hell no. But maybe once in a while she could tolerate it again. For special occasions.
“I’ll have to give that some thought, but if you’re definitely interested, please contact Celeste Keeling at the chamber of commerce to let her know. She’ll send out an email or something whenever something else is planned.”
“Great!”
“Can’t wait!”
“This was awesome!”
“Everybody huddle up for a group selfie!” This came from Essie. Ari did the honors for that.
Somewhere in the middle, Nelson left without a goodbye. Good riddance.
Everybody gave a big round of applause and thanks to Crystal for donating her diner for the classes. Another to Ari for being sous chef extraordinaire. And finally a resounding one for Athena that left her feeling almost warm and fuzzy. Not that she’d admit it or risk losing her tough-as-nails reputation.
Logan had been right. He deserved a big reward for having this idea. For caring enough to believe that she could do this, to see that it was something that would be good for her, something she needed, even though she never would have thought of it herself. And then he’d gone and practically made it happen. All she’d had to do was get over herself and let it. Wasn’t that how their entire relationship had gone? Him knowing her, seeing her, giving her just what she needed?
Damn, all this time at home was turning her into a sap. That was probably because of all the time she’d been spending with Ari.
Sure, it’s all Ari.
The girl in question crossed her arms with a smirk. “You look like you’re thinking about asparagus again.”
Athena gave her a playful shove against the shoulder. “Go load the dishwasher, squirt.”
Logan had heard rumors about the level of competition at a Reynolds family game night, but he’d never been a part of it before. Friendly insults and teasing were lobbed fast and furious across the big, farmhouse table. Kennedy and Xander sat across from him, Ari presided at the head of the table, and Athena leaned against him, currently trailing a finger up his thigh.
Logan laid a hand over hers, trapping it from going any further and draining sufficient blood from his head to handicap him. “What Texas blues-rock band, known for their beards and fur-lined guitars, made the 2004 list of Hall of Famers?”
As he finished the question, he shot a warning glance at his woman. She only smirked in response and tipped her head against his shoulder. She wasn’t treating him as a fling or a secret. They hadn’t talked about making any kind of formal announcement that they were together. But that easy affection, the open claiming of him in front of her family, gave Logan hope that this was truly the beginning of something lasting.
“Who is ZZ Top?” Kennedy announced.
“This is Trivial Pursuit, not Jeopardy. Answers should not come in the form of a question,” Athena protested.
“I got it right, didn’t I?” Kennedy looked to her husband for confirmation.
Xander nodded. “You did.”
“Fine. Fine.” Athena grabbed up the die and rolled, moving her token two spaces over to land on yellow. “Lay it on me.”
Kennedy drew a card. “Which mathematical symbol, whose value is 3.14159, is ce
lebrated with sweet desserts every March 14th.”
“Duh. Pi Day.”
“You are correct. That was totally a gimme question.”
“You’re the one who read it.” Athena added a yellow wedge to her token. “Okay Pipsqueak, you’re up.”
Ari thumbed at her phone. “Mom and Dad say they may be late.”
“Good for them. They deserve a proper date night. Once the baby comes, that’ll be a lot harder,” Kennedy said.
“You wanna bet they’ve gone and found somewhere to neck?” Athena asked.
“If Mom can pull that off seven months pregnant, I say more power to her.”
Xander choked on his beer. “I did not need that mental image.”
Ari rolled her eyes as she moved to a blue space. “You’re such a guy, Xander. Okay, lay it on me.”
As Athena pulled a question card, Ari’s phone dinged again. She picked it up.
“Which state, famous for its gooey mud pies, is the birthplace of author John Grisham and media personality Oprah Winfrey?”
Ari frowned, clicking and swiping at the screen.
“C’mon now. No cheating by googling!”
An instant before Athena snatched the phone from her niece’s hand, Logan caught the flash of distress. As Athena looked down at the screen, her own teasing smile faded, her cheeks turning ashen.
“What is this?” The eyes she lifted to Ari’s were hard.
“I…it’s a Google alert.” Ari’s chin wobbled.
“Why?” Athena’s voice was soft, but there was the ring of steel beneath it.
Everything about the girl shrank as she closed in on herself. “I’ve been monitoring what people are saying about you.”
Logan gripped Athena’s thigh in warning as he felt her tense and coil with rage. Across the table, Kennedy scooted over and wrapped an arm around Ari’s shoulders.
Athena swiped open the article. “That slimy bastard.”