by Judith Bowen
Marty offered to let her use the kitchen on Wednesday while she was at choir practice, so Zoey decided to halve the recipe. Marty had said her crew would eat the resulting cake in a “jiffy.” It was also a chance to try out the new pans she’d purchased in a wedding specialty shop on South Granville Street in Vancouver.
If the recipe was sound and the pan size worked, then everything depended on the oven. Not all ovens were created equal, she’d discovered; she’d made wedding cakes in ovens ranging from a high-tech Dacor to a decidedly low-tech wood and coal stove at a northern Ontario reception she and Charlotte and Lydia had catered for a mutual friend. Even run-of-the-mill electric or gas ovens often had hot spots that could jeopardize the final product.
Usually, in the general excitement of a wedding, no one cared much. But Zoey did. A perfect cake was a matter of pride. Double pride, now that a certain someone thought she was not only a rotten cook, but a careless person who gave little thought to concerns and worries others might have.
Interestingly, no one else had taken her to task for disappearing over the weekend. Elizabeth hadn’t even mentioned it. Mind you, Elizabeth might not have realized she was gone, whereas everyone on the Triple Oarlock would have noticed that her rental car was gone for three days. Marty hadn’t brought up the subject either, though.
No one, other than Cameron Donnelly, mentioned anything. The man was just too—too ridiculously serious! What gave him the right to take her to task for her decisions? You’d think he had enough to worry about, considering his plans to marry off his brother.
With her help.
But then Zoey wondered if Cameron was still part of the plan. If there was a plan. He’d been quite definite when she offered an update in the barn: he didn’t want to know. That might mean he’d changed his mind about either his plan or her suitability.
Zoey dumped the butter called for in the recipe into a large mixing bowl. She tried hard not to think of what else had happened Sunday evening—The Big Bad Kiss. She’d decided it was just an act of primitive, feudal male frustration. What else could account for such rudeness? Grabbing a woman and kissing her! Well, he’d certainly proved there were still men who simply couldn’t abide a strong woman standing up for herself. Men who might even believe that kissing her the way Cameron had would bring her right into line. Show her who was boss. Show her what she was missing by being so ornery and independent. Yeah, right!
Falling into step, preferably behind them—that was what some men liked in a woman. The feudal type. They preferred their women modest and obedient.
Not her. De-fin-ite-ly not her!
Sugar. Two and a third cups. Zoey dumped it into the bowl and began to cream the butter-sugar mixture with an electric beater. The appliance moaned and groaned, then began to zip along as the mixture softened. She stuck a finger into the pale yellow mixture and tasted it. Mmm. Next, two cups of egg whites, then vanilla, flour and baking powder.
Zoey couldn’t find an egg separator, but she located a small funnel and found that if she cracked the eggs into it, the whites slipped through into her measuring cup and the yolks stayed back. Wow, an invention! Her dad would be pleased. She’d tell Marty about the yolks, which she planned to leave in the fridge so she could use them for pancakes or something.
The sun had been streaming in the windows of the scrupulously clean, tidy kitchen for the past hour or so, but now the world outside turned dim and white as snow began to fall. Zoey put part of the batter into one of the smaller pans and added spices and chopped dates and raisins to the other portion. Then she poured it into the second pan and stuck them both in the oven. She hummed “It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas” as she washed up, getting more furious by the minute as she obsessed about Cameron’s high-handed behavior.
One part of her wished she knew how to get back at him; the other part, the more grown-up sensible part, said forget it. Yes, unexpected, annoying and unwelcome but really…no harm done. She’d had her share of unwanted New Years’ and mistletoe kisses; how was this much different?
“Surprise!” Zoey whirled at the sound and the feel of a hand across her eyes from behind—right into Ryan.
“Oh!” She giggled at the streak of creamy white left on his cheek by the spatula she held. He grinned and hugged her.
“Suits you,” she teased, turning to the sink again to rinse the soapy bowls and utensils.
“Mmm.” He drew one finger across the streak of batter and tasted it. “Hey, not bad. When does this stuff come out of the oven?”
“Not for another twenty minutes,” she said, checking the timer. “Want some tea?”
How domestic. Making a pot of tea. The two of them sitting in the window seat, across the table from each other, talking. Ryan leafed through the local paper.
“Looking for something?”
“I’m trying to find a good second-hand snowmobile,” he said.
“Oh?”
“Sure. Great winter fun if we get any more snow. I think Lissy will get a kick out of it, too.”
“I thought you might be looking for a job,” she said idly, glancing out the window at the falling snow.
He frowned at her. “Job? Now why would you say that?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Elizabeth tells me you’re quite a whiz with figures. I gather you’ve done some work for Arthur. I just wondered if ranching’s what you really want to stay with. That’s all,” she said, smiling.
Ryan’s expression of interest in her offhand remark changed as he looked behind her. Zoey half turned.
Cameron had entered the kitchen silently, on stocking feet. He’d placed one hand on the refrigerator handle. “Any more of those cinnamon rolls Marty made yesterday?”
How long had he been standing there? How much had he heard? Not that it mattered. They were hardly discussing how to make a pipe bomb.
“I think so, on the shelf at the back,” Zoey said. She’d noticed the gooey-looking pecan-and-caramel rolls earlier and had been thinking she’d share one with Lissy once she got home from school.
Zoey watched as Cameron carried the pan of rolls to the counter, got out a cutting board, and cut off one section, on an absolute square. You’d think it was brain surgery, she thought with a grimace. Was this the way he did everything—so deliberately and precisely, as if the fate of the world depended on it?
“You finish up that statement for the bank, Ry?” he asked as he returned the rolls to the fridge.
Ryan sighed and closed the newspaper. “Not yet, Cam. You want me to go get Lissy?” Zoey looked quickly at the kitchen clock. It was nearly half past one, about the time the school bus arrived at the end of the lane.
Zoey got up. “I’ll go get her today.” She opened the oven door, gingerly tested the surface of the nearest cake with her index finger, then retrieved two pot holders and bent to lift out the pan. “These are ready to come out.”
“Never mind, I’ll get Lissy,” Cameron said. He pushed a wire rack toward Zoey, positioning it on the counter so she could put down the cake. “Man, that smells good. What is it?”
“A cake!” she said, pushing a lock of hair back from her overheated face. He was acting as though nothing had happened, she thought crossly. “I’m testing the recipe I’m using for Edith and Tom’s wedding.”
“You’re making the cake?” He couldn’t have sounded more shocked. “A wedding cake?”
“Yes.” She tested the cake with a toothpick, which came out clean, took out the other pan and set them both to cool. Then she untied her apron and hung it carefully on the peg behind the door. “Amazing, isn’t it?”
He caught her triumphant glance. Zoey held his eyes boldly. She wasn’t giving up anything with this man, not one miserable inch.
“Ain’t that great, Cam? We get to eat this! After she’s done fooling around with it, that is.”
Cameron stepped toward the window and frowned at the swirling snow. “I’d better clear the road again before Marty comes back. Any gas in the Do
dge?” Zoey had seen both men clearing the lane with an older pickup equipped with a front-end snow blade.
“I think so, Cam. Listen, you want me to go for the kid? I can finish up those figures when I get back.”
“No,” Zoey said, stepping forward. “Let me—please.” She reached for the fleece jacket that she’d hung over a kitchen chair earlier. “You both have work to do and I need to wait until the cakes cool, anyway. Lissy can help put the icing on. She’ll like that.”
She slipped into her jacket and took her mitts and toque out of one of the pockets. She’d bought new sage-green mittens and a knitted, Nordic-style hat in Vancouver.
Cameron still looked skeptical. “Maybe I’d better go for her….”
“It’s no problem. Believe me.” Zoey tucked her hair into her toque. “That rental car has snow tires, the works. It’ll be a piece of cake.” No one laughed, so she didn’t either.
“Okay,” Cameron said.
“Don’t you trust me with your daughter?” she said, frustrated with his reluctance. “I’ve never had an accident, if you want to know. Well, one—” she might as well be completely honest “—but I was rear-ended. Not my fault.”
Cameron gave her a long, hard look. “Of course I trust you. I—” He held up his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “Hell, what can I say? Go ahead and get her.”
Thanks would be nice, she thought as she bent to pull on the long, leather boots she’d bought in Vancouver. They weren’t the warmest or the most waterproof in this climate. Nor did the soles have much traction. But they looked good. She was tired of the fashion-challenged rubber clump-along boots she’d been using. And it wasn’t as though she’d be spending the entire winter out here in the sticks where things like looks didn’t matter.
The falling snow lent the world a mute, surreal aspect. Sound was deadened, but the crunch of snow under her boots seemed unusually loud. The whole ranch was quiet; she couldn’t even hear an animal, a cow or calf, bawling anywhere. The dogs, appearing suddenly in the white swirling snow to yawn and whine at her feet, were the only source of movement and sound.
Glancing back, she saw that the ranch house looked cosy and warm. A refuge in this quiet, dead, white world. Zoey shivered and slid behind the wheel of the rental car, parked on the pavement strip beside the garage. To her relief, it started on the first try. She fastened her seat belt while the wipers took care of the two or three inches of soft snow that had settled on the windshield already.
Nothing to it, she thought, easing toward the lane that led to the public road, just over a kilometer away. As she’d said, piece of cake.
Speaking of which, the cakes had looked great coming out of the oven. Once she put the two of them together with apricot filling, completing her experiment, she’d let everyone else try a piece, too. Not until Lissy had helped her with the frosting, though.
Mary Ellen wanted everything to be perfect for her stepmother. At least Zoey was confident now that her contribution would be. Or close, if she didn’t mess up on decorating the cake.
Zoey drove slowly. Trees that lined the road on both sides waved in the sudden blasts of wind that blew loose snow across the road, momentarily reducing visibility to zero.
It was colder than it had been earlier, and the surface of the lane, frozen hard underneath the soft new snow, was slippery. The back end of the vehicle slid to the left once, and Zoey took her foot off the accelerator, instantly regaining control. Winter driving. She wasn’t used to this anymore.
The school bus hadn’t arrived when she got to the road, so she turned the vehicle and parked in the small lay-by. She yanked the heater to full blast and left the headlights and wipers on. Then she waited, her gloved hands gripping the wheel, while she searched for lights coming down the main road.
When she realized she was holding her breath, she let it out a snort of amusement, released the wheel and switched on the radio. Mall-music Christmas carols filled the small space. It was cheery company, at least. There was something about the blowing, swirling snow and the feeling that she was the only human being for miles around that gave her the creeps.
At last, she saw headlights approaching, and an instant later, there was the jolly orange school bus with the door opening wide. Zoey jumped out of the car and hurried toward the bus.
“You looking for Lissy?” the driver called, glancing back into the interior. He wore a Santa cap. “She’s a-comin’. Lots of stuff to bring home from school today, eh, Lissy? Nice weather, ain’t it?” he asked, addressing Zoey. “Here she is.” He winked and smiled again as the little girl appeared and made her way slowly down the big steps. The flashing red lights and the children’s faces pressed against the foggy glass, watching, made everything seem normal for a minute or two.
Then the bus was gone in a roar of diesel fumes and a swirl of snow thrown up by the tires, and it was dim and very quiet again.
“You came to get me?” Lissy said, as Zoey took her lunch box and backpack. “Where’s my dad? Oh, boy! I get to ride in your car!” She skipped through the heavy snow to the passenger side and clambered in when Zoey threw open the door.
“Buckle up!” Zoey ordered when she’d settled herself in the driver’s seat.
“Okay.” Lissy fastened the seat belt around her, with Zoey’s help, and clapped her snowboots together, leaving big clumps of fresh snow on the floor mats. “Here. This is some Christmas stuff we made today. It’s for decorating.”
Zoey took the handful of creased artwork and an open envelope that held a length of paper chain in festive red and green construction paper. “Did you make these all by yourself?” She laid everything carefully on the back seat.
Lissy nodded proudly. “Yep. And I even made my dad a surprise for Christmas.” She leaned toward Zoey. “It’s a decoration with my hand on it and we painted it and put sparkly stuff on and everything!”
“I see.” Lissy must mean a drawing or one of those plaster of Paris creations using a mold of the child’s hand. She could remember making them in school.
Zoey put the car into gear and gently pressed her foot on the accelerator. The back wheels slid sideways and the engine raced briefly. Zoey’s stomach lurched. This wasn’t supposed to happen.
“Whoa! That was fun,” Lissy said, looking up at her with bright eyes.
“For you, maybe.” Omigod. She’d been so adamant with Cameron about her driving skills. This new snow was treacherous. The tires spun and again Zoey recovered control. She’d have to drive at a snail’s pace all the way back to the ranch. They’d wonder what was taking her so long. Well, better safe than sorry.
They inched along, Zoey praying silently that they wouldn’t meet a vehicle coming in the other direction. Who would it be, though? If it was Ryan or Cameron, she’d gladly get either one of them to drive her vehicle, with her and Lissy as passengers. She wished now she’d let Ryan come to meet the school bus. Or Cameron.
The wind burst a dollop of snow over the windshield and for a few seconds, Zoey couldn’t see a thing. Lissy seemed delighted. The strains of “We Three Kings” resounded through the darkened interior of the car. Although it was only ten to two, the storm had obliterated all daylight. Distances were impossible to gauge. Obviously the child had no idea of what could happen. Why would she? She was five years old. Adults looked after things in her world. Zoey was the adult on duty here, entrusted with the girl’s safety.
They’d come to a complete stop while the wind blew snow in front of them and now, gingerly, Zoey pressed the accelerator again. The car began to spin slowly and awkwardly. She tried to steer in the direction she wanted to go, as some long-ago driving school lesson popped into her brain. They stopped sideways on the road.
Even Lissy seemed a little overwhelmed by this latest movement. She stared questioningly at Zoey, as though reconsidering the possibility that Zoey had been putting on a show for her benefit.
“Never mind, honey. We’ll just take it a little slower. The road’s pretty slippery.”
“We can walk if we want to,” Lissy said. “My dad and I’ve walked before, lots of times.”
“Not in this weather,” Zoey muttered under her breath. Or in her boots. She’d heard horror stories of prairie folk who’d gone out to the barn to feed cattle in a blizzard and been lost, frozen to death mere yards from the barn or house. The rental car was warm and it was full of gas. If they had to stop and wait out the snow they would. They had a heater. Zoey even had half a roll of Lifesavers in her handbag and a few linty jujubes. They wouldn’t starve.
Actually, the storm seemed to have abated slightly. The road was clear in front of them now and the wind had died down. Zoey pressed a little harder on the accelerator. So far, so good. Perhaps that had been the worst of it, back there, near the junction with the public road.
Gaining a little confidence, she sped up. She’d been going at barely a walking pace. They’d take forever getting back at this rate.
The car responded smoothly and picked up speed. Then the sickening sensation of whirling, heaving all over the road, began again, and this time Zoey couldn’t control the car’s movements, no matter which way she turned the wheel. Lissy screamed. The car lurched toward the side of the narrow road. They ploughed through a soft snowbank and then Zoey felt a huge, ear-ringing bump as the car came to a stop at the bottom of the snow-filled ditch.
“Lissy! You all right?” There was no answer. “Lissy!”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
FRANTICALLY, ZOEY REACHED over to the passenger side and felt around for the girl. The headlights had been buried in a snowbank and, reflected back, gave a weird greenish glow to the interior. “Lissy!”
“I—I’m scared,” came the tremulous reply. Thank goodness the child was all right! “I w-want my daddy.” She began to cry.
“We’ll be all right, honey, don’t you worry. You’re not hurt anywhere, are you?” Zoey wanted to ascertain that before anything else. Why hadn’t she brought her cell phone? It was in her apartment and she’d come straight from the ranch house to pick up Lissy.