Harlequin Heartwarming June 2021 Box Set

by Patricia Johns

  “I do.” Rowan grinned. Gran and Grandy had taken her and Patrick fishing many times, but only once had they convinced their mom to come along. She’d actually been a good sport about the mud, mosquitoes and mess in general, but the final trauma was more than she could bear. “It wasn’t entirely her fault. Grandy did walk behind her unexpectedly.”

  Patrick chuckled. “Still, you’d think that the person with the fishhook stuck in his ear would be the one to faint, not the person who put it there.”

  “It wasn’t the first time your grandfather ever got hooked, and I doubt it was the last.” Gran had been the one to push the hook on through the ear and snip off the barb. “Come to think of it, he was ahead of his time. I saw a man the other day with five earrings in one ear. Maybe Tim should have left the fly there as a fashion statement.”

  Patrick laughed and stood. “I’d better start dinner.”

  “I’ll help,” Rowan said, returning the photo to a box.

  Patrick and Gran exchanged a look that could only mean Rowan had been a topic of discussion between them. “I can handle it,” Patrick said. “You and Gran talk.”

  Once he’d gone, Gran picked up a picture of seven-year-old Rowan, beaming ear to ear over a tray of chocolate chip cookies. “Remember how much fun we used to have in the kitchen together? We’d chop and measure, and you’d tell me everything that was going on in your life.”

  “I remember.” The invitation was clear, but Rowan wasn’t ready to share.

  “We haven’t had a good visit since you were here for Patrick and Lauren’s wedding last fall.”

  “Sorry I haven’t called more often.”

  “I’m sure your job keeps you busy. I feel bad taking you away from it.”

  “Don’t. We’ve been slow lately, and they didn’t mind giving me time off.”

  “If work isn’t keeping you busy, then what? Socializing?”

  “Some of that. Between rounding out numbers at the embassy for Mom and Dad, favors for friends and work connections, it seems like I’m constantly attending fancy parties.” Including the large cocktail party where Sutton had unexpectedly called for everyone’s attention, dropped to one knee and proposed marriage. “It’s nice to be in Alaska. I didn’t even pack any high heels.”

  “Well, I’m always glad of an excuse to have you here with me. Could you hand me the TV remote? I want to catch the weather forecast. See if we need to take our umbrellas Monday.”

  The newscast was in the middle of reporting the standings in the high school baseball tournament and then segued into weather, which looked to be clear through Monday with rain possible Monday night. Gran was about to turn it off when Rowan heard a familiar name mentioned.

  “Wait. Let me watch that.”

  Gran backed up to the beginning of the segment, about a wildlife rehabilitation center not far away. It started out with a shot of a tawny moose calf cavorting around his mother inside a pen while the voiceover introduced the director, veterinarian Zack Vogel. Could it be the same boy Rowan remembered from years ago? After a moment, they cut to an interview, with the reporter standing next to a tall man with dark blond hair staring at the camera as though it might bite. The shot zoomed in.

  Yes, she knew those eyes, hazel but with such a dark brown center it was hard to tell where the iris ended and the pupil began, that serious-looking mouth that occasionally would break into a devastating smile. But now Zack’s face had more character, the angles sharper, the lines in his forehead deeper.

  “You know Zack?” Gran asked.

  Rowan nodded, listening to the interview.

  “Don’t moose usually give birth to twins?” the reporter asked.

  “One is more common, but this moose had been spotted several times with two. We assume the other calf was taken by the same bear that injured the mother. Fortunately, this calf wasn’t injured.” Zack looked off to the side as though someone was giving him direction off camera. A forced smile crossed his face briefly.

  “What will ultimately happen with the moose family?”

  “We’ll, uh, release them as soon as the cow’s leg is healed enough for her to forage on her own.” Zack’s expression relaxed a little, but he still looked stiff. “Our goal is to keep wild animals wild. That’s why we don’t allow visitors.”

  The screen cut to a close-up of a porcupine, grunting happily while it chewed on a carrot. “What about this happy fellow?”

  “This is Puddin. She came to WildER as a baby and never learned to forage in the wild, and so she’ll be a permanent resident.” Zack’s voice was steadier now that the camera was focused on something else.

  “So, if people would like to help support Puddin and the other wildlife here, they can donate at the web address on the screen?”

  “Yes. Maggie Ziegler, one of our volunteers, is here to tell you about that,” Zack hurried to say, obviously relieved to be done with his part of the interview.

  “Maggie was head teller at the credit union until she retired,” Gran commented.

  In contrast to Zack, Maggie was born to be on camera. The white hair and smile lines around her eyes and mouth would put her in her sixties at least, although her energy level made her seem much younger. “You can see more photos and wildlife stories on our website, and you can enter a ‘name the baby moose’ contest there. The winner will receive a coupon for a large pizza courtesy of Patty’s Pizzeria in Palmer.”

  “Thank you, Maggie.” The screen cut to the website once again, and then to commercial.

  “Poor man, looked like a long-tailed cat in a room full of rockers.” Gran clicked off the television. “You can tell he cares a lot about that wildlife rehab center. Dr. Zack’s a good vet—brave, too. He clipped Wilson’s toenails for me last week.”

  “Brave?” Rowan laughed as she looked at the little dachshund snuggled in Gran’s lap. “What does Wilson weigh, like ten pounds?”

  “Thirteen. But he still has all his teeth and he does not like getting his nails cut.” Wilson wagged his tail, confident that Gran wouldn’t hold it against him. “How do you know Zack?”

  “You remember that summer I stayed with you when I was sixteen and I hung out with Scarlett Mason and her friends? Zack was Scarlett’s boyfriend for a while.”

  “Oh, that’s right. Didn’t talk much then, either, as I recall.”

  “Zack never liked to be the center of attention.” Which suited Scarlett quite well, since she most definitely did. But it hadn’t lasted long. Around midsummer, Scarlett moved on to the captain of the hockey team, but Zack had still been part of the group. Rowan sometimes caught him watching her and hoped he might ask her out, but if he was interested, he was too shy to say so. Still, she’d enjoyed their time together. “I should send a donation to the wildlife center.”

  “Even better, you should stop by and say hello.”

  Before Rowan could comment on that suggestion, Patrick stepped into the room. “Lauren called. There’s a problem with the milking machine, so I’m heading to the barn to help.”

  Rowan jumped up. “I’ll make dinner.”

  “Thanks.” Patrick grabbed the jacket he’d left draped over the arm of the sofa. “All I’ve done so far is defrost some chicken breasts. Feel free to use whatever you can find in the fridge and pantry. Hopefully, the problem is something minor and we’ll be done in about an hour.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “I’ll help.” Gran shifted, preparing to stand. “And we can talk about whatever is eating you.”

  “Honestly, I’m not at the talking stage yet,” Rowan insisted. “Still at the mulling stage. And I do my best thinking while I cook.”

  “Fine. Go do your thinking. But once you’ve reached the point where you need a sounding board—”

  “You’ll be my first choice.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  ROWAN FOUND THE chicken b
reasts and various vegetables, including some fresh asparagus, in the refrigerator, along with a complete selection of all the farm’s cheeses. The freezer contained the remains of last summer’s garden bounty. Rowan took out a bag of peas and grabbed fresh garlic and an onion from the basket in the pantry.

  She started a pan of brown rice cooking while she diced the chicken breasts and sautéed them in olive oil, adding two cloves of minced fresh garlic at the last minute. She stirred, breathing in the steam, and she could feel the tension lifting from her shoulders. Did the scent of garlic have that effect on other people? Probably not, or someone would be selling garlic-scented candles and potpourris.

  Next, she grated the cheeses: cheddar, Gouda and a smooth, buttery cheese she’d never seen before. It must be an advance sample. Rowan cut a small piece to taste before she added it to the mix. Nutty, tangy and oh so smooth—Lauren truly was a master cheesemaker. All three cheeses melted beautifully into a satiny sauce.

  By the time she’d prepared all the vegetables, the rice was done. She mixed the chicken, shredded carrots, celery, peas, onions and mushrooms into the rice along with a nice medley of herbs, and then folded in the cheese sauce and spread the whole mixture in a casserole dish. A sprinkling of smoked paprika for color and flavor, and into the oven it went. She’d set aside a little of the Gouda to sprinkle on top later.

  She washed the pans. Cooking had given her mind a nice break, but it hadn’t changed anything. She was going to have to make a decision about Sutton and their sudden engagement. To be fair to Sutton, most people wouldn’t call it sudden. They’d been dating for almost two years, after all.

  The relationship seemed to work. They got along well. Sutton valued her organizational abilities, and he’d commented more than once how much he appreciated Rowan’s undemanding personality. And she’d liked feeling useful.

  But was useful enough? Did she love Sutton? She liked him. He worked hard, but also gave time and money to several charities. He was generous with servers and always polite to his colleagues. He treated his parents and hers with kindness and respect. And if he focused a little too much on his job, well, that’s what made him so successful. She admired that.

  But was it love? Rowan had always assumed that someday, she would meet the man of her dreams and would know, without hesitation, that this was the man she wanted to spend her life with. But here she was, well past thirty, and she’d never felt that thunderbolt. She’d been attracted to men. She’d dated quite a few. But she’d never felt the sort of connection she associated with love.

  Maybe this was good enough. Maybe love—the sort of love they made movies about—was a myth. But Mom and Dad had it, that instinctive connection. At parties, Mom could be across the room with her back turned, but she would somehow sense when Dad needed rescuing from a conversation. When Mom would work herself into a tizzy over something, it took just a gentle squeeze on the shoulder from Dad to make her laugh at herself.

  Patrick and Lauren seemed to have it, too, that almost magical connection. Maybe the problem was Rowan. Could it be that the same cautious amiability that allowed her to get along with all sorts of people also separated her from them? Commitment was a risk, and Rowan seldom took risks. Maybe this was as close to love as Rowan was capable of.

  The timer chimed, driving away more unwelcome thoughts. Rowan removed the casserole dish just as she heard the back door open. Lauren’s voice, laughing at something Patrick was saying. His answer was drowned out by the sound of running water as they washed up in the mudroom. There was a suspicious pause, long enough for an extended kiss, before Lauren stepped into the kitchen. “Something smells wonderful.”

  “You should know. It’s your cheese that smells so good.”

  “I’ll call Gran,” Patrick said. “Thanks, Row.”

  “Did Patrick get the milking machine running?” Rowan asked Lauren as she brushed melted butter over steamed asparagus and transferred it to a serving dish.

  “Yes. We’d somehow overloaded a circuit.” Lauren filled water glasses.

  Patrick ushered Gran into the kitchen. “I explained to your newest farmhand that he can’t run an air compressor on the same circuit as the milking machines. At least not at the same time.”

  “Is this the teenager you hired?” Gran sat down and dished casserole and asparagus onto everyone’s plates. “What was he doing with a compressor, anyway?”

  “Airing up his spare tire.” Lauren sighed. “He left a pitchfork lying outside and then managed to drive over it, which ruined his tire and didn’t do the pitchfork any good, either. I didn’t think about the outside plug being on the same circuit as the milkers.”

  “You know you’re going to have to watch him closely,” Gran advised her.

  “Agreed, but today was his first day, after all.” Lauren tasted the casserole. “Oh, Rowan, this is delicious. Violet said you were terrific at the tasting room today, even sharing recipes.”

  “I’m not sure pouring jam over brie and baking it is exactly a recipe.”

  “Sure, it is,” Gran asserted. “You ought to make recipe cards using the different cheeses. And start with this casserole. It’s the best I’ve ever tasted.”

  “That’s a great idea!” Lauren said. “Bonnie’s right. This is the best chicken casserole ever.”

  “That’s because it’s made with really good cheeses.”

  “Still, I love that mellow garlic flavor that sets off the tanginess of the cheese. You are an amazing chef.”

  Rowan laughed. “I’m hardly a chef. When I was a teenager, I considered culinary school, but Mom and Dad convinced me to major in business instead.”

  “Say, I saw something you might be interested in.” Lauren reached for a magazine with a close-up of Swiss cheese on the cover. “The Cheesemakers Society is one of the sponsors of this recipe contest. The creators of the top six recipes win five thousand dollars and a chance to compete on television for the grand prize, which is a full scholarship to West Coast Culinary Institute in Portland, Oregon. You should enter this recipe.”

  “It’s nothing special, just something I threw together. But sure, I can write it down along with a few other cheese recipes and we can make handouts for the tasting room.”

  Lauren took another bite and closed her eyes. “So good.”

  * * *

  MONDAY AFTERNOON, Zack drove past the farmhouse at Now and Forever Farms to the wooden barn. According to his receptionist, Lauren needed help with a doe giving birth there.

  “Lauren?” he called as he stepped into the barn, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dim light.

  An almost human bellow directed him toward the goat in labor even before Lauren answered. “Over here. I think it’s a front-legs-back presentation.”

  Zack made his way to the stall. The goat lay against the wall, her eyes wide. She cried out again, the tip of the kid’s nose visible as she strained, but as soon as her contraction eased, the kid slipped inside once again. The doe moaned. She was beginning to get that defeated look Zack dreaded.

  “Let me check it out.” Zack pulled on sterile overalls and gloves. Lauren stepped out of the way so he could do his examination. “Yes, the legs are back. I’ll see if I can catch a hoof.” The goat shifted as another contraction began. Zack waited, knowing he’d have to work fast to get the feet repositioned between contractions.

  Lauren went to rub the goat’s head. “I know, Fudge. It hurts. But just as soon as Dr. Zack rearranges things, you’ll be fine.”

  Zack hoped so. This felt like a big kid, and space was tight. If he couldn’t reach the feet, he’d have to take the goat back to the clinic for an emergency C-section, and he wasn’t sure Fudge had that kind of time.

  The contraction tapered off, and Zack eased a finger into place. His hand slid past a tiny shoulder... And there it was, a hoof. He caught the hoof and pulled it forward next to the kid’s face, whi
ch created a little more room. He’d just snagged the other leg when another contraction hit. Refusing to lose his progress, he rode it out, gritting his teeth. As soon as he could move his finger, he looped it behind the leg and worked it into position.

  He stepped back, flexing his cramped hand. “That should help. It’s up to you now, Fudge.”

  Almost as though she understood, the goat rolled to her feet and paced in a circle before she lay down again. When the next contraction hit, the head and two tiny feet appeared and then, with a groan, the doe pushed the kid out onto the clean straw.

  He was big for a newborn. Between that and his position, it was no wonder the young doe had needed help. Once the first kid was out of the way, it didn’t take long for a second one to come, and then, with minimal fuss, a third. Neither was as big as their troublesome brother.

  “Lauren?” a female voice called from the doorway. “Patrick said one of your goats was having trouble. Is there anything I can do?”

  “It’s all good now. Zack worked his magic, and we have three new kids. How was Bonnie’s surgery?”

  “The doctor said she breezed through it and everything looks good. Her friend Molly stopped by, so she’s with her at the house now. Patrick said to tell you the new hand didn’t show but he’s got everything covered at the milking barn.”

  “Oh, good. Come see the new babies. Zack, meet Patrick’s sister, Rowan.”

  Rowan? Zack, who had been in the process of stripping off his gloves and overalls, looked up. He’d known only one Rowan, one summer when he was a teenager, and he’d never forgotten her. Her hair had been long then, almost to her waist. Brown hair, but with copper-colored threads that caught the sunlight. Blue-gray eyes, magnified by glasses, that seemed to see deeper than the surface.

  He recognized the curve of her smile. It really was her. He’d spent weeks that summer working up the courage to ask her out, but before he could, she’d gone. Back to school in Europe somewhere, according to Scarlett. Now her hair brushed against her shoulders in soft waves. There wasn’t enough light in the barn to tell if her eyes were still the same shade of blue, but a tentative smile revealed a familiar dimple in her left cheek. “Zack and I knew each other, a long time ago. I’m not sure if you remember?”