What's Cooking?

by Sherryl Woods

She frowned at him. “You are such a guy,” she accused. “You think everything can be solved with sex. I know we’re fantastic together in bed.”

  Rick bit back a sigh. He’d gotten it exactly wrong, after all. “Maggie, you’re going to have to help me out here. I am a guy. And you’re sending out a million signals, but they’re getting garbled.”

  She whirled on him, looking as if she might explode, but then all the steam went out of her. “You’re right,” she said at last.

  She looked so forlorn, he couldn’t help reaching for her. She resisted at first, her body still and filled with tension. “Come on, sweetheart. I’m not hitting on you, at least not right this second. I just want to hold you. I want you to talk to me,” he urged. “Tell me what you want, what kind of reassurance you need for this to work.”

  “I need to know this thing between us is about more than sex,” she said simply.

  “Of course, it is,” Rick said, then realized there was no of course about it. He tried to find the right words to reassure her. “When I agreed to stay here and keep my hands to myself, it was because you matter to me. You, Maggie, not just your body. Otherwise I would have hit the road. I’m not sure where this is going or why it’s so important to me that we give it a try. I just know that I couldn’t walk away from you the way I have every other woman I’ve been with.” He searched her face. “Is that enough for you for now?”

  To his astonishment, tears were welling up in her eyes. She nodded. “More than enough.”

  Because he didn’t want to make another mistake, he asked, “Does that mean I can forget about sleeping here tonight?”

  Even as the tears spilled down her cheeks, she laughed. “No, you’re staying, Flannery. I’m getting tired of going to bed all alone when you’re right across town. And every time you touch me, I’m reminded of how much I’ve been missing by being so stubborn.”

  “Really?” She sounded so eager, he risked pushing for more. “Does that mean I can pack up and move over here?”

  For an instant he thought she was going to say yes, but he could see the internal war she was waging over the question. Before she could reply, he touched a finger to her lips. “Never mind,” he said, hoping that the short-term sacrifice he was making would pay off in the long run. “Let’s concentrate on tonight. We’ll worry about tomorrow another time.”

  It wasn’t enough that Rick could make the very air around her sizzle, now the man had to go and get all sensitive and intuitive on her. Maggie was pretty sure she was going to be head over heels in love with him before too much longer if he kept this up.

  “That can’t happen,” she told herself sternly. She didn’t realize she’d spoken aloud until she saw the quizzical expression on Rick’s face as he sat across from her at the kitchen table.

  “It was nothing,” she assured him. “Just talking to myself.”

  “Anything you’d like to share?”

  “Nope. Are you ready for dessert?”

  “Only if we can eat it in bed,” he said, his gaze locked with hers.

  Maggie shivered with anticipation. “Dessert can wait.”

  Rick grinned. “Good answer,” he said, scooping her up from her chair and cradling her against his chest. “What about the dishes?”

  Maggie felt a little twinge of conscience about leaving them where they sat on the table, but one look in Rick’s eyes pretty much dispelled that. “They’ll be here in the morning.”

  His smile spread. “That’s my girl, throwing caution to the wind.”

  Little did he know that she usually did. She fought off the mental reminder that she’d been trying to change that. “Kiss me,” she pleaded.

  “Upstairs,” Rick promised.

  “No, now.”

  “We might not get upstairs,” he warned. “I’m just about clean out of self-control.”

  She grinned. “Good. Me, too.”

  This time the trail of clothes led only as far as the living room. With Rick’s hands all over her body, caressing and coaxing, Maggie wondered why she’d ever held out. Wicked sensations, heart-stopping anticipation, the lick of fire through her veins, these were the most basic of life forces. Why should she deny herself this, especially with a man who excelled at it?

  She was already on the edge, every nerve raw, every muscle tensed, when Rick finally entered her and sent her reeling. He waited for her delicious spasms to end and then started to move, his gaze on her face.

  It was only as she looked into his eyes that she got the difference between this man and every other man she’d ever been with. Rick was looking back at her, reading her, intent on pleasing her. This wasn’t just about his pleasure, or even hers. It was about theirs. It was about the two of them, united for this moment, body and perhaps even soul.

  Suddenly, for the first time ever, she truly understood what all those storybook romances were talking about. And even as she came undone, even as waves of pleasure crashed over her, somewhere deep inside, the magical intensity of it scared her to death.

  Rick reluctantly crawled out of Maggie’s bed at dawn, gave her a lingering kiss goodbye, then went back to his place to shower and change and make arrangements for the photo shoot she wanted him to do. More than that, though, he needed a little time on his own to think about what had changed between them the night before.

  Something had, there was no question about that. He’d seen it in her eyes, a sudden spark of awareness, a sudden look of shock, to be honest. He’d tried to interpret it, but he couldn’t. Maybe it was another one of those inexplicable female things that a mere man would never get. For an instant, he’d even wondered if it was the difference he’d always heard about between having sex and making love. Did that awareness come crashing over a person in a heartbeat?

  He groaned at himself. When had he ever given a damn about putting a label on what happened with a woman in bed? He wasn’t going to figure it out on his own, and it was hardly something he intended to discuss with the guys. Maggie had clearly gotten some crazy notion that he was sensitive, but he wasn’t that sensitive. This was beyond him, which meant he’d just have to backburner it for another time.

  Instead, as soon as he’d had his second cup of coffee, he called Mike to check into the orchard situation around the region. Surely a landscape designer who did jobs all over would be able to point him in the right direction.

  “You’re up awfully early,” Mike said, then added a little too cheerfully, “Having trouble sleeping these days?”

  Rick glanced at the clock and realized it wasn’t even seven yet. “Geez, man, I’m sorry. Did I wake you?”

  “Hardly. I have to hit the road any minute now. I’m meeting Jeff for breakfast. Want to join us?”

  The prospect of having those two cross-examine him held no appeal. “Not today. I called to see if you know of any apple orchards around the region.”

  “I don’t, but Jeff would. Give him a call. He’ll be up,” Mike said. “It’s a little soon in the season to go picking apples, though.”

  “I’m not interested in picking them. Maggie wants pictures for the magazine. And I’m hoping she can snag this incredible recipe for apple pie while she’s at it.”

  “Are you telling me that a woman who writes about gourmet food can’t bake an apple pie?” Mike asked.

  “I don’t think anyone bakes a pie quite like the one I’ve been getting at a little country restaurant over by Callao. Do you know the place?”

  “Afraid not.”

  “You should try it. The pie alone is worth the drive. If you’re free for lunch, you could come with me. I need to get information about the woman who bakes them. Willa-Dean, she’s the waitress, says the woman lives somewhere near Reedville.”

  “Wait a minute, that must be Mrs. Keller,” Mike said. “Her pies are always the hottest baked goods at the church bazaar. I’ll bet Jeff can tell you how to find her. If he’s not around when you call the nursery, ask Pam. She’s as knowledgeable about the area as he is, and she usually works
on the bazaar, so she’s bound to know Mrs. Keller.”

  “Thanks, pal.”

  “So,” Mike ventured casually, “everything okay with you and Maggie?”

  Rick laughed at the sudden switch in topic, to say nothing of Mike’s lousy attempt at subtlety. “Are you asking for yourself or gathering information for your wife?”

  Mike chuckled. “Both. She’s hanging over my shoulder right now.”

  “Then Maggie and I are doing just fine,” Rick assured them both. “That’s the official statement.”

  “No details?”

  “Not a one.”

  “Ah, well, at least Melanie knows I tried.”

  “Think that will satisfy her?” Rick asked curiously.

  “Not a chance,” Melanie chimed in. “I guess I’ll just have to go over to the house and pester my sister.”

  “Sorry,” Rick said, not feeling the first hint of guilt over the lie he was about to tell. He would just work hard to make sure it turned into the truth before Melanie could get over there. “She won’t be home today.”

  “Oh?”

  “We’re working,” he said, seizing on the most obvious solution.

  “Nice try, pal. If you think that’s going to put Melanie off for long, you’re crazy,” Mike said. “Quick, call Jeff before my wife starts in on you again with the third degree about what work the two of you could possibly have planned when you’re both supposedly on vacation.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate the backup and the information,” Rick told him.

  Five minutes later he was able to track Jeff down on his cell phone. Jeff was already in his truck en route to meet Mike. Rick explained what he was after. “Any idea how I can find this Mrs. Keller?” he asked. “Is it too much to hope that a woman who bakes apple pies happens to own an orchard?”

  “As a matter of fact, the Kellers have an apple orchard about fifteen miles outside of town,” Jeff told him. “They’re getting on in years, so they don’t harvest the crop themselves anymore. Their kids weren’t interested in running the orchard, so now they just open it up to families or local businesses to come in and pick their own apples. They make enough to supplement their Social Security, I guess.”

  “And those pies of hers must bring in a tidy sum,” Rick surmised.

  “I imagine they do. Everybody around here drives clear over to Callao to get them,” Jeff said. “She refuses to sell to any other restaurant. Says the owner there was loyal to her from the start, so she’s going to return the favor.”

  “Do you think the Kellers would be agreeable to letting me do a photo shoot at their place?” he asked Jeff.

  “I can’t imagine them turning down a chance to be famous. They love company. I’ll give ’em a call and set things up. If they balk for any reason, you can always go to the Westmoreland Berry Farm. They have plenty of apple trees there. It’s a little early in the season, though. The apples aren’t ready for picking yet,” Jeff said, echoing Mike’s warning.

  “Doesn’t matter. Maggie’s looking for a backdrop, not ripe apples.”

  “Then let’s see what I can set up with the Kellers. I was over there not long ago checking on a blight affecting one of their maple trees. It’s a great setting for what you’re talking about. When do you want to go?”

  “This morning, if it suits them,” Rick said eagerly. “I won’t be taking pictures today, but I’d like to look things over and make sure it will work.”

  “I’ll call and get right back to you,” Jeff promised. “Is Maggie going with you?”

  Rick chuckled. “When it comes to her magazine, Maggie’s a control freak. What do you think?”

  “I’ll tell the Kellers to expect both of you. They knew Cornelia Lindsey, so I doubt it will be a problem.”

  While he was waiting for Jeff to get back to him, Rick called Maggie. “Hey, gorgeous.”

  “Don’t call me that,” she said testily.

  It wasn’t the first time she’d reacted irritably to any suggestion that she was beautiful, but each time it threw Rick. Surely she knew how lovely she was. Hadn’t he spent half the night proving to her how enchanted he was with her body?

  “Why not?” he asked, taking a stab at getting to the bottom of it. Knowing Maggie, though, she’d probably stonewall him.

  “Because you know what real beauty is,” she snapped, surprising him. “Don’t insult me by pretending that I’m in the same league.”

  “Are you crazy?” he asked, unable to keep an incredulous note out of his voice. “If you’re referring to the models I photograph, they can’t hold a candle to you. Their figures are perfect for the camera, but yours is perfect for real life.”

  She sighed heavily at that. “Nice try,” she said softly.

  “I’m not trying to placate you, Maggie. That’s honestly how I see you.”

  “Why did you call?” she asked, clearly not buying a word he said.

  Rick wanted to push harder and get to the bottom of her lousy body image, but this wasn’t the time. Her defenses were already firmly in place. He thought they’d made huge strides in their relationship the night before, but apparently not.

  “I’ve found an orchard. Jeff’s making arrangements for me to take a look around. Want to come?” he asked, managing to keep his tone light. He refused to let a ridiculous argument over whether or not he really thought she was gorgeous spoil the morning.

  “Absolutely,” she said, her mood abruptly shifting. She hesitated, then asked, “Is that why you took off so early?”

  Ah, so that was what was really bugging her, he deduced. She thought he’d slipped away to avoid some sort of awkward morning-after scenario.

  “You gave me an assignment. Of course I wanted to get started on it.”

  “I know I have a reputation as a slave driver, but you could have waited till daybreak.”

  He laughed. “Actually the sun was already up when I left. I thought you were awake for that kiss.”

  “Then it wasn’t a dream.”

  “Oh, no, darlin’, it was real. You try remembering that, and I’ll be there as soon as I hear back from Jeff.”

  “I’ll be ready.”

  The Kellers looked like a couple of those apple dolls Maggie had seen in a country craft shop years ago. Their wizened, nut-brown faces spoke of years in the summer sun. And like so many people who’d been married for more than fifty years, they’d started to look a bit alike with their wiry bodies and white hair cropped in similar short styles. Hers had a bit more curl than his. Both of them had bright blue eyes that sparkled with interest when they opened the door to Maggie and Rick.

  “Come in, come in,” Matthew Keller said, his hearty voice a surprise. “Sally’s been baking apple pies this morning, if you’d like some before we go down to the orchard.”

  Maggie glanced at Rick and was surprised that there was no trace of impatience in his eyes.

  “I’d love some pie,” he said easily. “And we’d both enjoy hearing about the orchard before we take a look around.”

  The old man’s eyes lit up. “Not many young folks want to listen to me go on and on about growing apples. Used to take some school kids down there in the fall, but all they wanted to do was run around and enjoy a day of freedom from classes. I suppose one apple tree looks pretty much like another unless you take the time to study them.”

  As they sat down in the Kellers’ sunny kitchen, Sally put huge servings of pie in front of them. Rick took a bite and sighed with pleasure. He beamed at Sally.

  “No question about it, you are the culinary genius who bakes the pie they serve at the café in Callao, aren’t you?”

  A huge smile spread across the woman’s face. “How on earth did you figure that out from just one bite?”

  “Pie this good is not something a man forgets.” He turned to Maggie. “This pie is the reason the whole apple idea popped into my head last night. Have you ever tasted anything like it?”

  Maggie had been so busy taking notes on what Matthew had been
telling them that she hadn’t tried a bite of the pie. She put a forkful in her mouth and tasted the tart burst of apple, the hint of sugar and cinnamon, but it was the melt-in-the-mouth crust with its own hint of cinnamon that made her sigh as heartfelt as Rick’s had been.

  “The crust,” she murmured around a second mouthful. “How do you get it to turn out like this, Mrs. Keller?”

  “Please, call me Sally. As for the crust, I could show you,” the elderly woman offered, then waved off the idea. “What am I thinking? You said you write about food. You probably have one of those fancy, state-of-the-art test kitchens. I imagine you bake better than I do.”

  “I can’t make a pie like this,” Maggie told her honestly. “I’d be honored if you’d tell me your secret and let me publish the recipe for my readers. Was this recipe handed down to you, or is it something you came up with on your own?”

  Sally Keller’s expression grew thoughtful. “I don’t know if I could give away the recipe. See, folks around here think there’s something a little extra in my pie. I’d hate to ruin it for ’em. Besides, how many slices would the restaurant sell if everybody around these parts started baking it at home?”

  Matthew Keller turned to Maggie. “Where’d you say that magazine is published?”

  “Boston. Most of the circulation is in Massachusetts.”

  “See there, Sally, it won’t be a bit of a problem. We don’t know a soul in Boston.”

  His wife gave him a chiding look. “Folks around here do travel, Matthew. And isn’t that boy of Lila Wilson’s somewhere up north?”

  “He’s in New York,” Matthew retorted. “Now stop your fussing, Sally, and give Cornelia’s granddaughter the recipe. No sense keeping it to yourself till you go to your grave. Then no one will be able to enjoy it.”

  “Haven’t you passed it along to your children?” Maggie asked her.

  “Heavens no,” Sally said with a sad shake of her head. “The boys aren’t interested in cooking, and their wives are too busy to worry with baking anything from scratch. I tried to teach my daughter, Ellen, when she was growing up, the way my mama taught me, but she didn’t have the patience for it. Said there were too many calories anyway.”