Harlequin Heartwarming June 2021 Box Set

by Patricia Johns

  “That sounds amazing.”

  The girls came clattering down the stairs with Ripley right behind them. “Fluff is hiding under the bed, so I left the door open,” Becca told Rowan. “I took three books and two outfits for Zuma. And I brought the Alaska yo-yo Daphne gave me.”

  “How about pajamas?” Rowan asked Becca.

  “I got those, too.”

  “Toothbrush?”

  “Yes.”

  “Sounds like you’re all set, then. I’ll pick you up in the morning. Give me a hug?” Rowan treasured the moment when Becca’s arms came around her. “Be good for Jessie and Greg.”

  “We will,” Charlotte and Becca sang in unison as they scurried out the door. With a wave, Jessie followed.

  Rowan checked the clock. Time to remove the Gouda from the refrigerator to bring to room temperature. She would add it to the crisp garden salads at the last minute, just before serving.

  She went upstairs to change from her jeans into a simple dress and stopped by Becca’s room on the way back. “Fluff, she’s gone for the night. You might as well come down and socialize with the rest of us.”

  “Meow!” The cat jumped onto the bed, gave Rowan a haughty look and curled up on Becca’s pillow.

  “Fine. But when you’re hungry, you know where to find me.” Rowan started down the stairs, but she’d gone only halfway when she heard Zack in the kitchen greeting Ripley. “You’re home early,” she called as she made her way into the kitchen.

  “My last appointment canceled, so I was able to get my rounds done at the wildlife center. You look nice. What’s all this?” He gestured toward the table set for two.

  “Becca is spending the night with Charlotte.”

  “Okay.”

  “And I thought maybe we could talk.”

  “Um, sure. What did you want to talk about?” He looked nervous, but what man wouldn’t when faced with the can-we-talk question?

  “You know what? Let’s eat first, and we can talk later.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure. Wash up. I remember how much you liked the coq au vin, so I thought we’d try boeuf bourguignon over garlic mashed potatoes.”

  “You’ve never steered me wrong.”

  Rowan served the salads. “How was your day at the clinic?”

  “Good. Oh, the sock-eating Lab was back.”

  Rowan cringed. “More socks?”

  “No, this time it was a few coins. According to the X-ray, two nickels and five pennies. We’re keeping him overnight to make sure it all passes through. Christine said she’d check in on him this evening, and I’ll do it in the morning. We’ve decided his motto is ‘How do you know what’s edible unless you eat it?’”

  Rowan laughed. “Speaking of edible, let me get our main course.”

  They laughed and talked through dinner. Rowan almost hated to disturb the mood. What if Zack thought she was trying to trap him into more than the year they’d agreed on? Was telling him how she felt worth rocking the boat? It was, after all, a very pleasant boat.

  And that’s why she wanted more, she reminded herself. “Becca and I invented a new goat cheese dessert. Want to try it?”

  Zack laughed. “Like I’m going to say no.”

  She drizzled raspberry syrup over glass plates as a base for the triple-layer dessert, then placed three raspberries on top of the dark chocolate ganache of each piece.

  Zack took the first bite. “Wow, this is incredible. Brownies, cheesecake and chocolate on top, like a triple treat. What do you call it?”

  “I was thinking something like raspberry cheesecake brownies, but I like your name better.”

  “It’s awesome. Are you going to serve it at the tasting room?”

  “No, the kitchen there isn’t set up for commercial baking. We’ll probably print out recipe cards, though. Lauren sometimes posts recipes on the website, too.”

  “I hope you already took pictures, because this isn’t going to last long.”

  “I did. And I already sent some with Jessie.” She finished her dessert and dragged her fork across the raspberry syrup on the empty plate, playing with the design while she formulated her next comment. “You know, it’s been so much fun being here with you and Becca.”

  He stopped with a fork halfway to his mouth. “I hope that’s not a prelude to saying you’re leaving.”

  “No, no. Not at all.”

  “Good. You scared me there for a second.” Zack finished the last bite and set down his fork.

  “I, uh...” Rowan picked up their dessert plates and carried them to the sink. She could hear Zack pushing back his chair. Without turning, she blurted it out. “I love you, Zack.”

  Silence. Slowly she turned her head to see him staring at her. Other than shock, she couldn’t read the emotion on his face.

  “This doesn’t have to change anything,” she hurried to assure him. “I know you said you never intend to marry anyone, and I know the plan is just for one year. I just—I felt like you should know—”

  With three steps he closed the distance between them and took her in his arms. She pressed a hand against his chest and then, as he captured her mouth with his, she slid her arms around him, pulling him closer as the heat of the kiss spread through her body and down to her toes. She heard distant bells ringing.

  It wasn’t until Zack lifted his head and listened that she realized he’d heard it, too. There it went again. Someone was ringing the doorbell.

  Zack didn’t move. “It could be Jessie, about Becca,” Rowan whispered.

  Zack shook his head. “Jessie would come to the back door.” He sighed. “But I suppose it could be someone with a veterinary emergency.”

  “I’ll get it. If they’re selling magazines, I’ll get rid of them.” She gave Zack one more quick kiss. “Hold that thought. I’ll be right back.”

  But when Rowan opened the door, Lauren was standing outside, waving an envelope. “Hi. Hope I’m not interrupting your dinner.”

  “We just finished. Come on in.” Rowan led Lauren to the kitchen. What was she doing here? Not that having your sister-in-law drop in should be an unusual occurrence, but with all she had to do at the farm, Lauren wasn’t prone to impromptu visits. “You’re just in time to sample a new dessert.”

  Zack greeted Lauren while Rowan prepared a plate for her. Ordinarily when Rowan would give Lauren a new dish to taste, Lauren was all about the food, but today she hardly glanced at it before she handed over a thick envelope. “Here. This came for you today, but I couldn’t bring it over until after the evening milking.”

  “You didn’t have to drive over here. I could have picked it up tomorrow.” Rowan didn’t recognize the return address. Something about a food show. Probably selling kitchenware or something. But why would Lauren have come over to bring an ad? “You know what this is?”

  “Yes. Maybe. Open it, already,” Lauren ordered.

  Rowan laughed. “Okay.” She used a kitchen knife to slit the top of the envelope and pulled out a stack of papers. She skimmed the cover page. “I don’t understand. Something about a recipe and a liability waiver and a cooking show.”

  “Oh, my gosh.” Lauren jumped up to read over her shoulder. “You won! I knew you would. This is great!”

  “What did she win?” Zack asked.

  “A recipe contest. Rowan, you remember when you made that chicken casserole and I said you should enter it in the contest advertised in Cheesemaker magazine?”

  “Vaguely.”

  “Well, don’t be mad, but I entered for you. Your recipe won five thousand dollars, plus the chance to compete in a television cook-off for the grand prize.”

  “Wow! Congratulations!” Zack got up and pulled Rowan into a hug. “I knew you made the best food I’ve ever tasted, but I didn’t realize you were a prize-winning chef!”

>   “I’m not. I mean, I’m not even trained.”

  “It says here they had over three thousand entries, and only six were chosen,” Lauren read. “Wow, the televised cook-off is in less than two weeks in Portland, Oregon. They sure don’t give you a lot of time to make arrangements. I hope you can find a decent flight and don’t end up taking a red-eye.”

  “Televised cook-off. How does that work?” Zack asked, releasing Rowan from the hug but keeping an arm around her waist.

  “Looks like it’s one of those competitions where they give you some special ingredient and you’re supposed to invent a recipe on the spot. Rowan is great at that.”

  “What’s the prize?” Zack asked.

  “Full tuition for a four-year degree from West Coast Culinary Institute,” Lauren read.

  Just for a moment, Rowan thought she saw a cloud pass over Zack’s face, but it vanished so quickly she decided she’d imagined it. “Wow, that’s huge.”

  “I can’t compete in a televised cook-off,” Rowan protested.

  “Why not?” Zack and Lauren asked at the same time.

  “Because I—” Am a complete imposter and not nearly good enough to cook on television. But how could she say that, after Lauren had demonstrated her faith by entering Rowan’s recipe in the contest? “I need to be here to drive Becca and Charlotte to camp.”

  Zack shook his head. “Jessie and I can cover that.”

  “Last-minute airline tickets are bound to be expensive,” Rowan told them.

  Lauren pointed to the letter. “They’re part of the prize. It says here they will reimburse your airfare. Your hotel and meals are covered, too. And it says you can’t claim the five-thousand-dollar prize unless you agree to compete.”

  Zack touched her cheek to make her look at him. “What is it, Rowan? If it were me, it would be the cameras, but you’re great at that sort of thing.”

  She let out a sigh. “I’m an amateur cook. I’ve never had formal culinary training, just what I’ve picked up from Gran and from cooking videos. I’d embarrass myself.”

  “But this is a contest for amateur cooks.” Lauren flipped to the second page. “And it says here you’re allowed to bring six signature ingredients of your choice. If you wanted, you could take some of the cheeses from Now and Forever Farms and use them in your dishes.”

  “That would be great marketing,” Rowan admitted. “If the judges liked what I created anyway.”

  “Of course they will.” Lauren tried a bite of the dessert. “If this is any indication of your creative powers, you’ll be a shoe-in.”

  Was it possible? Not that she would win, but that she could hold her own in a national cook-off? Cooking had always been special to her, something she did independently of her mother. If she went on television and bombed, would that ruin cooking for her forever? But even if she bombed, five thousand dollars would buy a lot of rodent chow. “I don’t know.”

  “You’d be great,” Zack said, “but I’ll support whatever you decide.”

  That did it. Zack had faith in her, and in her ability to decide for herself. If she bombed, so what? It wasn’t as though she was planning a culinary career. “I’ll do it. Thank you, Lauren, for sending in the recipe.”

  Lauren passed the letter back to Rowan. “I can’t wait to call Patrick. Should I tell Bonnie, or do you want to?”

  “I’ll call Gran.” Rowan glanced at the papers. “It says here I can take someone with me. I assume you wouldn’t be able to get off work on such short notice?” she asked Zack.

  He shook his head. “Christine is taking vacation then.”

  “Lauren?”

  “I can’t. I’m still short a farmhand right now.”

  “In that case, I’ll get Gran to come with me. After all, she’s the one who taught me to cook.”

  “Bonnie will be so proud,” Lauren said.

  “I just hope I can give her something to be proud of.”

  “Your recipe beat out three thousand others,” Zack pointed out. “You should already be proud. I sure am.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  “CHECK YOUR PANTRY and familiarize yourselves with the equipment. In one hour, report to makeup and preshow interviews. If you have any questions, Caro—” the producer pointed toward a college-aged woman with a red ponytail “—can help you. Good luck!”

  As the other five contestants scrambled to their respective areas, Rowan stood, heart hammering, still not entirely sure this whole thing wasn’t a dream. One of those dreams where she was trying to get somewhere, but her feet were stuck in quicksand.

  “Nervous?” Caro asked her.

  Rowan nodded and licked her dry lips.

  “They may not look it, but they’re just as nervous as you.” Caro inclined her head toward the others. “You know that guy who threatened to quit because there was no pink salt on the pantry list?”

  “Yes?” He’d taken the role of temperamental chef to the extreme, yelling about the salt and storming outside. Twenty minutes later, he’d reappeared, and so had jars of pink salt for everyone.

  “It was an excuse. He just didn’t want to toss his cookies in front of you all.”

  “Oh.” Another potential disaster Rowan hadn’t considered. Maybe it was good she’d been too nervous to eat much breakfast.

  “Go check out the ingredients. Touch the equipment. You’ll find it calming.”

  Rowan pulled a chef’s knife from the block and checked the blade. It had recently been sharpened, but she stroked it along the honing steel to align the edge. Caro was right; it did help to touch the familiar equipment. Rowan smiled. “Thanks for the tip.”

  “Anytime.”

  “Caro,” one of the contestants called, “do you have the manual for this blast chiller?” Caro hurried away.

  Blast chiller? Rowan wasn’t even sure what that was, much less how to use one. What if they were expected to make something that required a blast chiller? What if—Rowan shook her head. She needed to focus. Remembering a technique someone had taught her, she sucked in a long breath and slowly exhaled while focusing on something in the distance: in this case, the empty bleachers in the back of the studio. Wait, the bleachers weren’t completely empty. In the center of the top row, Gran waved wildly and blew a kiss. Rowan grinned and waved back.

  Thank goodness for Gran. She’d spent the entire three-and-a-half-hour flight listening patiently to every disaster scenario Rowan could come up with and helping her brainstorm possible solutions. Finally, when Rowan had run out of possible calamities, Gran had laughed. “I swear, you could worry the horns off a billy goat. You’ve been cooking beside me since you were knee-high to a grasshopper. You know how to make good food.”

  Gran thought she could do it. So did Lauren, and Patrick, and Zack. Even Becca had solemnly assured her she was the “bestest cook in the whole world.” Rowan pushed back her shoulders, waved once more to Gran and went to hear about blast chillers.

  * * *

  THREE HOURS LATER, the bleachers had filled with fans who cheered when the show’s host, Etoile—a celebrity chef so popular she needed only one name—walked out onto the stage area. Etoile in turn introduced a panel of judges: a local restaurant owner, a food critic and a popular cookbook author.

  “We have contestants here from across the United States, from Georgia to Alaska.” Etoile dropped her voice to a mock whisper, like a golf announcer. “For the first round, our contestants will have forty-five minutes to produce an appetizer, using at least two of the signature ingredients they brought with them, plus the secret ingredient they’re receiving now.”

  Caro set a covered plate in the center of each contestant’s work area. Rowan, on the far left, received the last one. Caro whispered, “Good luck.”

  “Thanks.” Rowan resisted the urge to wring her hands and instead tried for a zen-like smile as the camera panned past.


  “At the end of this round, two contestants will be eliminated,” Etoile continued. “Contestants, when the timer starts, you may reveal your secret ingredient.” Rowan put her hand on the dome. “Get set. Go!”

  Rowan lifted the lid to reveal a glass bowl filled with something crimson. Rose petals! Portland was known as the city of roses. She should have expected something like this. Okay. She’d brought six different cheeses from Now and Forever Farms as her signature ingredients. Too bad she didn’t have time to make the rose petals into jam. She could bake it over Lauren’s scrumptious double-cream brie. Hmm, maybe a rose petal syrup, instead. No time for puff pastry—ooh, but if she hurried, she could make a savory shortbread. The dough usually needed an hour of chilling time, but the blast chiller, which she’d learned was simply a superfast freezer, could save the day.

  Working quickly, she created a dough of flour, butter, sharp cheddar and rosemary in the food processor, and then set it to chill while the oven preheated. Meanwhile, she chopped the rose petals and mixed them, along with some herbs and seasonings, with soft goat cheese, which she formed into a log and rolled in minced pine nuts. The shortbread dough was cool enough to work with, so she swapped out the cheese log for the dough, rolled it out, cut it into rounds and put it in to bake.

  “Next we have Rowan Vogel, from Palmer, Alaska.” Etoile spoke from over her shoulder, and Rowan jumped. For a moment, she’d forgotten all about the cameras. Funny, now that she was cooking, she wasn’t nervous anymore.

  She smiled but kept working, getting out a saucepan and bringing water to a boil. “Hello, Etoile. I’m so excited to be here.”

  “And what are you creating for us today with the rose petals?”

  Rowan added sugar, rose petals and a curl of lemon zest to the water. “It’s a syrup to go over a goat cheese spread on rosemary cheddar shortbread rounds.” The timer sounded. Did she walk away in the middle of her interview? She couldn’t very well let the shortbread burn just to be polite. “Excuse me, please.” She hurried back to remove the baking sheet from the oven and the goat cheese from the cooler before returning to stir the syrup.