Lilac Lane

by Sherryl Woods

  “Not at all. And she’s a lovely young woman,” Kiera added with unforced enthusiasm. “I spoke to her just last night. She’s very excited to be coming back on Saturday for another visit. She’ll stay with me.”

  “With you? Why is that?”

  “I think she feels more comfortable having a safe refuge just now, a little distance from this man she doesn’t even remember. This is a very emotional time for both of them.”

  “And you don’t mind?” Nell prodded, never sure when she might cross a line and stir Kiera’s temper. It was every bit as mercurial as Moira’s. How they’d both descended from a man as easygoing as Dillon was a mystery.

  “Not a bit,” Kiera said with a hint of amusement as if she saw right through Nell’s cautious questioning, but was willing to endure it to stay away from even trickier turf.

  “She’s an easy guest,” Kiera continued. “And I want to do whatever I can to ease the way for the two of them. I feel a great deal of compassion for both of them. I know how difficult it is to work through an emotional minefield with family you barely know. It took my father and me quite a while to mend fences and feel comfortable with one another, as you well know.”

  “Still, this reunion of theirs must leave less time for you and Bryan to figure out things between the two of you,” Nell persisted. “It’s an awkward time to have a third person underfoot.”

  “There’s nothing to be figured out,” Kiera said, her tone going flat and defiant.

  And there it was, Nell thought with a sense of triumph at the revealing flash of temper in Kiera’s eyes. It practically dared Nell to keep probing, but she knew when to end a game as well as she knew how to begin it. She resolved to turn the questioning over to Dillon. Perhaps he could get to the bottom of whatever was bothering his daughter. Despite Kiera’s cheerful words about Bryan and his daughter, Nell sensed there was some resentment there. This was the Kiera of old, a hint of bitterness just below the surface. Of course, if she were right, Dillon might very well blunder in and make a mess of it. She’d need to do some careful coaching before sending him on the mission.

  “Where are the others?” Kiera asked with a trace of impatience. “I thought we were to begin at nine.”

  “Nine thirty,” Nell corrected, not mentioning that she’d deliberately given Kiera an earlier time to allow for this conversation that was going absolutely nowhere.

  “Ah, there they are now,” she said, relieved to hear her granddaughter and the others coming in the door. She took note of Kiera’s unmistakable disappointment that Bryan wasn’t among them. He’d begged off this morning and, since it had suited Nell’s purposes, she’d let him.

  “Okay, now that we’re all here, Luke—why don’t you tell us how the cooking competition is shaping up,” Nell said enthusiastically, deliberately turning her attention away from Kiera and onto business.

  “I know it’s the talk of Sally’s,” Bree said. “Every time I go in there, someone’s pulling me aside to find out how it’s going. They each have an opinion about whether Bryan or Kiera will win their ethnic main dish category. The split’s about fifty-fifty. Some are loyal to Bryan because they know him and have tasted his stew at the pub. Others think Kiera has the edge because of her heritage and her ties to us.”

  “It’s the same at my bookstore,” Shanna said.

  “And at the quilt shop,” Heather added. “In fact, I had an idea. To be sure that all of these people show up for the actual competition and participate in the tastings, why don’t we come up with the tokens or coupons or whatever we’re going to use and start selling them in advance in all the shops?”

  Luke’s expression brightened. “I know I could sell a lot at the pub. All of our customers, even the ones just visiting town, are excited about it. They’ve gotten into the spirit of the competition because they’ve met both Kiera and Bryan. And some know the other chefs who are participating, too. They might well be drawn back for the festival.”

  “Fantastic,” Nell enthused. “Shanna, could you look into getting something printed, either tokens or coupons, whatever the printer can come up with. Use your powers of persuasion to see if they’ll give us a discount.”

  “Of course,” Shanna said at once. “Mack might even be able to do them at the newspaper. I know he’d donate them.”

  “Of course he would,” Bree said. “He’ll do anything for Gram. If need be, we can put cousin Susie on the case. He hasn’t been able to deny her anything since the day they got married. And now that they’ve adopted their little girl, he just wanders around in a happy daze all the time.”

  Nell nodded, pleased with the enthusiasm she was hearing. “Luke, how many chefs were you able to persuade to participate?”

  “Counting Bryan, we have ten from around the region, including Baltimore and Washington—and Bryan even recruited an old culinary school friend who has a restaurant in northern Virginia. The entire region will be well represented and their customers might be lured here to support them. It’s a much better response than I’d hoped for. I thought that would be enough for the first year,” Luke reported.

  “Excellent,” Nell said. “And publicity? How’s that coming?”

  “I’ve posted the list on the festival website, the town’s site, the pub’s website, and Mack has put it in the upcoming events section on his newspaper website, too,” Luke told them. “We probably have at least two or three challengers for every one of the professionals.”

  Nell chuckled at his enthusiasm. For a man who’d been reluctant to get involved, he’d done very nicely. “You’ve done good work, Luke.”

  “That’s not all,” he said. “I talked to an appliance store about hooking up stoves that day in return for a sponsorship listing in all the advertising. They’re in and will even donate a couple of the high-end models for a silent auction. We’ll have a huge tent on the green with the stoves around the perimeter so people can watch the cooking. The tasting tables will be just outside along with the jars for casting votes. I think it’s all coming together.”

  He sat back, grinning as the others applauded.

  “Don’t be so smug,” Bree taunted. “Next year, we’ll just put you in charge of all of it. You’re proving to be a worthy successor to Gram.”

  His grin faltered at that. “No way. This is a one-time thing for me.”

  “We’ll see,” Bree said. She turned to Kiera. “Kiera, have you been testing your recipe? We’ll all come by the cottage one night if you want to try it out on us.”

  Kiera looked startled, as if she’d been only half listening. “To be honest I hadn’t thought of practicing. I’ve been making my Irish stew all my life.”

  “It might not hurt to do a run-through, though,” Bree said. “When was the last time you made it for hundreds of people?”

  Kiera blinked. There was no mistaking the sudden panic in her eyes. “Hundreds of people? I thought there were only a few judges.”

  “We did talk about that,” Nell acknowledged quickly, “but then we decided it would be more fun if everyone had a chance to vote for their favorite.”

  “And if Gram has anything to say about it, the crowds will be double or triple past years’,” Luke said. “She’s promoting this thing all over the region. I heard it on a Baltimore radio station the other day. To be sure, we’ll only be giving each person a small sample, but it will add up before the day is done.”

  “Oh dear,” Kiera whispered. “Do the others know this?”

  “Bryan does,” Luke said. “He was there when the announcement came on, but he’s used to cooking for a crowd. He took it in stride.”

  Kiera drew in a deep breath. “Then I suppose I’d better be prepared,” she said stoically. “Bree, everyone, would one night next week work? I’m off on Tuesday.”

  “Then Tuesday it is,” Bree said readily. “Everybody in?”

  “I’ll be there,” Heather said eagerly. “I’m dying to see if I’m getting any better at detecting the spices in things. Yours may differ
from what Bryan uses.”

  “But there will be no discussion of that in front of Kiera,” Nell said sternly. “Or in front of Bryan. That would amount to giving away insider information.”

  “Not a word,” Heather promised.

  “I’ll be there, too,” Shanna said.

  “What about me?” Luke asked. “Aren’t I invited?”

  “Something tells me you might be in the enemy camp,” Bree told him. “I think we’ll make this a girls’ night. Gram, are you coming?”

  “I’ll be there,” Nell said. “Luke, you’ll tell Moira?”

  “I can tell her,” Kiera said. “I’m with Bree. I’m not entirely sure where Luke’s loyalties lie.”

  “Hey, you’re my mother-in-law. You’re family,” Luke protested indignantly.

  “But your pub’s reputation is at stake,” Bree taunted. “That makes you suspect.”

  Luke glanced from one woman to the next, then turned to Nell. “Now see what you’ve done, Gram? It wasn’t enough that you stirred up my staff, but now you’ve got my family divided.”

  “All in the name of a good cause,” Nell said blithely. “And it seems to me things are going along swimmingly.”

  Kiera’s sigh was loud enough to be heard over the laughter. They all turned in her direction. She shrugged off the attention. “I’m just thinking that Nell’s playing a little fast and loose with the definition of swimmingly.”

  *

  Kiera walked into the pub after the disconcerting meeting at Nell’s to find Mick seated on his favorite stool at the bar. Since it was only lunchtime, his presence was suspicious. And when he hastily jammed something into his pocket and the man talking to him darted away, her suspicions deepened.

  “Mr. Pennington seemed to be in a bit of a hurry,” she said mildly. “And you’re here much earlier than usual.”

  “Just catching up with a few people,” Mick said.

  “And that paper you were quick to hide from me, what was that about?”

  “Just a little business.”

  “You and Mr. Pennington, a man in his eighties, are involved in a business venture?”

  Mick managed to keep his gaze steady. “We are.”

  “Is he building a new house? Wouldn’t that be your specialty? Or perhaps he’s putting on an addition to that lovely home of his a few blocks from here, the one that’s been in his family for two generations? Is it in need of renovations?”

  “It’s not that sort of business.”

  Kiera put her hands on her hips and faced him down. She had to give him credit for his steady nerves. He never once so much as blinked.

  “Mick O’Brien, are you in here taking bets on this cooking competition? What would the police think about your being involved in some sort of illegal gambling? You’re a pillar of the community.”

  “Call the chief and ask him,” Mick encouraged, a grin spreading across his face. “I have a record of his bet right here in my pocket. And you might not want to be so high and mighty with him. He put his money on you.”

  Kiera groaned. “You’re incorrigible.”

  “If you’d asked Megan, she would have told you that when you first arrived in town.”

  She marched past him and went into the kitchen, where Bryan was busy chopping herbs he’d brought from his garden.

  “Do you realize that Mick is out there taking bets right under our noses?”

  Bryan laughed. “And this is the first time you’ve noticed it?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes. And where were you this morning? You missed the committee meeting.”

  “You would have known that I was going to see one of our produce suppliers if you hadn’t taken off so early,” he said mildly. “I stopped by to give you a lift to Nell’s on my way into town.” He practically pushed her down onto a stool and set a glass of ice water in front of her. “Now, what are you really upset about? I doubt it’s Mick’s betting or my missing a meeting.”

  She sighed heavily. “This whole cooking thing has gotten out of hand. I just found out I have to prepare stew for hundreds of people. I’ve never cooked for more than a half dozen in my life.”

  Bryan tried to fight a smile and lost. “I’d say that gives me an edge, then.”

  “I don’t have pots big enough to make that amount of stew.”

  “You can use some from here,” he said. “Just multiply your recipe.”

  “I know how to do the math,” she grumbled.

  “Okay, then what’s really bothering you?”

  “I thought it might be fun, but everyone’s taking it so seriously. What if I give them all food poisoning or something?”

  “Has anyone ever gotten food poisoning from your cooking?” Bryan asked with exaggerated patience.

  “No, but there’s a first time for everything.”

  “Think of it this way—if they taste mine and yours to judge fairly and get sick, they won’t know which stew made them ill, will they?”

  She scowled at him. “And that’s supposed to be a blessing?”

  “Kiera, are you afraid of losing?”

  “Losing? What makes you think I’m going to lose? I’ve been making Irish stew practically my whole life, while you’ve been making it for how long? A few years?”

  “Which would make it doubly humiliating if you were to lose to me.”

  “I’m not so easily humiliated,” she declared, then stood up, her fine spirit restored. She cast a defiant look at him. “But I am not going to lose.”

  She flounced out of the kitchen before he could see right through her bravado and realize that he’d stumbled onto the truth. How would she ever show her face in the pub again if she lost? What sort of consultant would that make her? She truly would have to go back to Ireland then. And with every day that passed, she wanted a little more desperately to stay.

  *

  After her visit to Chesapeake Shores, Deanna was incredibly grateful for her work at the research lab. She could lose herself in reading the detailed case studies, asking the questions she was constantly jotting down on her tablet that was never far away or looking into a microscope trying to see what the expert scientists saw.

  The true blessing was their endless patience and willingness to share their knowledge with the young people who were so eager to learn. She, Milos and others might be assigned no more than grunt work, but they had access to so much more if they took advantage of the groundbreaking work going on all around them.

  Though she’d already made plans to go back to see her father on Saturday, once those plans were made, she tried to push all of the resulting emotional turmoil from her mind. Work helped.

  As she left for her tiny apartment at the end of the day, she heard her name called by a familiar voice and looked up to find Ash sitting on a bench. She regarded him with dismay, knowing that she’d been deliberately avoiding his calls since meeting her father, uncertain of what to say to him or how to make amends for how harshly she’d been judging him and her mom for keeping so much from her.

  She sighed deeply and sat down beside him. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

  “And didn’t want to talk to me, obviously.”

  She nodded. “I’m sorry. It’s been a very confusing time.”

  “Sweetheart, don’t you think I know that? I want to help you, not make anything more difficult.”

  And there was that generosity of spirit that had made her entire life so much easier.

  “I owe you an apology,” she said softly.

  “For what? Being confused? Never. For being angry? You had every right to feel betrayed.”

  “Stop it!” she said, tears gathering. “You’re being too nice.”

  He chuckled. “I didn’t know that was a crime.”

  She nudged him with her shoulder. “Not a crime. It just makes me feel even worse. You’ve given me a whole lifetime of love and support, and the very first time you disappoint me, I had no right to act like such a spoiled brat.”

  This time Ash actually l
aughed. “Sweetheart, I have seen some spoiled brats in my day, and you don’t even come close. You were hurt. Your mother and I kept some pretty big secrets from you. You felt betrayed. I get it.”

  She searched his face for signs of hurt, but all she saw was the same love and acceptance that he’d never once withheld from her, not even when she’d crashed his beloved classic Chevy Camaro trying to avoid a very slow turtle crossing a busy highway.

  “Did you have dinner?” he asked. “Because I’m starving. Is there a good Italian restaurant nearby?”

  “There’s a great one,” she said. “And I’m starving, too.”

  When they stood up, she walked into his open arms and took comfort from the fact that he still gave the best hugs ever. “We’re good?”

  “We will always be good.”

  She tucked her arm through his and led the way to a neighborhood Italian place that was filled with the smells of oregano, tomatoes and garlic.

  “The pizza is to die for, but so is the spaghetti and the vegetarian lasagna,” she told him.

  “Your mom would have approved of that.”

  She grinned. “That’s what I thought, too, the first time I tasted it.”

  “But I’m in the mood for pizza with the works,” he said. “How about you?”

  “You read my mind.”

  After they’d placed their orders and were sipping on their sodas, Ash put his aside. “Are you ready to tell me how it went when you met your biological father?”

  “I know you’re not going to believe this, but he reminded me a lot of you,” she said. “I went in there, guns blazing, taking out all of my pent-up emotional baggage on him.”

  “How’d he react?”

  “He just let me have my say and then he set out to prove that at least some of the things I’d accused him of were completely untrue.”

  “Such as?”

  “I told him how horrible it was that he’d never even tried to find me.”

  “And he could prove that he had?”

  Deanna nodded, still a little shaken by the effect of seeing the proof in black and white. “A great big box full of proof,” she said. “The last check to his private investigator was dated just a month ago, as was the man’s report that the trail was still cold.”