Lila stared into the cow's big brown eyes and couldn't imagine cooking little Winston. "Veal's a very rich meat," she starting, wondering how she'd talk her way out of ordering the animal's death. "I'm not sure if that would be the best option for the dinner."
Ruth Anne smiled and gave her a small nod. Yeah, she's not buying it. Lila swallowed, feeling guilty for all the times she'd cooked veal in the past. The Happy Hollow farm was turning out to be an eye-opening experience. If she wasn't careful, she'd end up walking out of here a vegetarian.
"And if we're roasting Handsome," she said, trying to sound more professional than she felt at the moment, "then Winston would be too much meat."
"Of course," Ruth Anne said, leading them back out into the morning sunlight. "Don't need to roast a hog and butcher a calf, I agree. But I reckon you might want another option besides Handsome." She eyed Tony up and down. "For them few folks who don't eat pork."
Tony laughed and Jake put his arm around him. Lila almost blushed and turned away, following Ruth Anne around the side of the barn and to wide fenced-in area behind it. A small coop stood in the middle of the little yard, and all around it clucked a mass of fluffy white chickens with red crests and waddles.
"We got a mess of chickens. Just tell me how many you need. Fresh eggs too."
Lila watched as Ruth Anne grabbed a bucket from her husband and began tossing feed to the chickens. They ran over to the side of the fence, raising a fuss, and Lila almost laughed. Chickens were a little easier to deal with. She'd cooked plenty of whole chickens, and somehow their beady little eyes were easier to discount than Winston's wide, innocent brown ones.
"If you'd rather do fish than chicken," Ruth Anne was saying, pulling Lila's attention back to her, "I know Stinky and the boys can usually pull up a mess of catfish without too much work. His dad's got a couple ponds that he keeps stocked."
Stinky and the boys? Catfish was a ways from seared tuna and salmon fillets, but it wasn't outside her realm of experience. And it would go nicely with the southern-inspired meal she was currently contemplating.
"Enough of the protein," Ruth Anne said at last, leading them away from the chicken coop. "Let's look at the produce."
They walked down the long gravel drive until they reached a small outbuilding. The front had flaps which were pulled down, above which hung a sign advertising "Farm Fresh Fruits and Vegetables." The stand was closed for the day, it seemed, but inside held a treasure-trove of delights. Fat ears of corn, piles of red and gold apples, green beans, snap peas, peppers and onions and potatoes.
"We've had a mild winter so far, which enabled us to get in a late planting and so's we got a batch of fresh ones for you to choose from."
And what a hard choice it would be. "This all looks wonderful," she said to her hostess. Ruth Anne rewarded her with a warm smile. "If'n you want, start piling up your choices in these crates, and I'll git the boys to haul 'em down to the truck for ya."
Lila wasn't sure how long she spent in the produce stand, selecting the best and freshest items and piling them in the provided crates. When she'd finished picking the final apple, which she was already visualizing baking into a delicious tart, she realized that her hands were cold. She brought them up to her mouth and cupped them, blowing in them to bring back some warmth. Then she realized her nose was just as cold, and probably red to boot.
"Come on inside," Ruth Anne said as they trailed behind the men who were lugging the crates toward the SUV. "I got some apple cider on the stove. It'll warm ya right up."
Lila followed her hostess inside, shrugging out of her coat and moving to stand by the logs burning in the fireplace. Ruth Anne hustled into her kitchen, leaving her guest to look around the farm house.
The living area was comfortable, a wide, well-used sofa and a couple of recliners that had seen better days. An afghan covered the back of the couch, and a small quilt rode the back of the recliner. The walls were dotted with pictures, most of them of the farm.
Lila turned to the mantel and the array of family pictures placed there. She saw what must have been Ruth Anne and Chucky on their wedding day. The couple were smooching in front of a trellis covered in vines and white roses.
Her eyes moved down the line of pictures, stopping next at another photo of a couple, this one older. A dark-haired woman sat in the front of the frame, an older man behind her. The woman was big, bigger even than Lila's mother, but her face was kind if a little haunted. The man behind her stared off into the distance, a frown on a face that once might have been handsome, before the ravages of time. Neither of the photo's inhabitants were smiling. Compared to the joy she'd seen on Ruth Anne's and Chucky's faces in their wedding portrait, this picture was definitely a downer.
A larger picture held the center position of the mantel display. It was of a family, all gathered together outdoors, perhaps at a picnic. The same large woman sat in the middle, but a wide smile was on her face. Around her were a half dozen girl children in various poses. Lila quickly recognized Ruth Anne, the only redhead in the lot. Behind the girls and their mother stood two males, one the same grizzled man from the previous portrait, the other a young man, really a boy on the cusp of manhood.
Lila stared at the boy, overcome by a strange feeling of familiarity. He wasn't smiling, his expression was serious, dark brows hanging over light eyes, capped off by an unruly mop of dark hair. There was something about him...
"Here ya go," Ruth Anne said, stealing back her attention by handing her a cup of warm cider. At the same time the front door opened and the men came back inside, Ruth Anne fussing around them before she returned to the kitchen to fetch more cider.
"Well," Tony said, putting a hand on Lila's shoulder. "What do you think? Can you make something spectacular out of the farm's offerings?"
Lila bit her lip in consideration. The ingredients she'd been offered were superb, fresh, and certainly edible. Although they weren't quite what she had been expecting, she realized that they fit perfectly into a celebration of small-town America. Although she'd have to work hard to revise her menu, she thought she could really make the farm's products shine and keep the spirit of the town at the same time. "Without a doubt," she answered with a smile. "I can't wait."
Chapter Twenty
Alex Drake stepped out of the rental car and onto the muddy driveway. He'd suggested paving the damn drive a decade ago but instead he trudged through the muck up to the trailer's front door, wiping his boots off on the rickety wooden steps that led up to the door. He banged his fist against the metal screen door but got no response, so he opened it and the wooden door behind it, then stepped inside.
The dim confines of the trailer were depressing. Trash littered the floor, the coffee table was covered in empty bottles and cans and crushed cigarette butts. Although it had been new when he'd bought it, the condition of the dwelling now gave it the air of age and misuse.
Turning to the couch and the slumped figure dozing on it, Alex sighed. It was just past noon and the old man was already passed out, a half-filled glass clutched in his sleeping hand. Alex took a seat beside him, not wanting to wake him up. But he'd come to say his piece, and he'd say it.
"Pa," he said softly, shaking the old man's arm. "Wake up."
His white-haired father muttered in his sleep, his mouth gaping open, his face covered in several days' worth of whiskers. Another shake, and the old man's gray eyes opened.
"Alexander," he croaked when he caught sight of his son. "What're you doin' here?"
"Came to visit, Pa." His voice was rough. Alex cleared his throat.
"Ain't seen you in a spell." The old man sat up, let out a few ragged coughs, then set down his drink to light a smoke. "What happened? Lose all your big city money?"
Alex frowned. What a glowing reception. He noticed the chill in the air and stood, moving over to turn on one of the space heaters arrayed beside the couch. Alex knew the trailer had an electric furnace unit and forced-air heat, but it clearly wasn't turned on. Loo
king around, he noticed the candles dripping wax and a few lanterns scattered around. Was the electricity turned off? He wouldn't doubt it for a moment.
Alex had set up an account for his father several years back, and each month he put in a generous sum for upkeep. Obviously that money wasn't going to pay the bills.
"No, Pa," he said after a moment, turning back to face his father. "I came to invite you to dinner."
His father hmmphed loudly, then picked up his drink and drained it. That was the only response he gave.
"You know I offered to buy you a house," Alex said when he couldn't stand the silence anymore. He hated the thought of his old man rotting in this shitty trailer. The last time he'd been down to see him, Alex had tried to convince his father to move into one of the houses in town.
Pa had refused. Alex had had a devil of a time just convincing the old bastard to move into the trailer. He hadn't wanted to leave the old shack, so Alex bought up the land around it, having it cleared and a new trailer moved in down the hill from the shack.
It had still taken weeks for his sisters to convince the old man to leave the shack and give the trailer a try. Alex had been long gone by then, back to empire building in the big city. Now he wished he'd paid a little more attention to things. At least there was time to correct his errors now.
It seems like I've got plenty of mistakes to make up for, he thought, making a mental note to have a new account set up in one of his sister's names. Someone would have to make sure the bills got paid since Pa certainly wasn't.
"Don't want no house," his father said after a long pull off his cigarette. "The trailer's good enough for me." His cold eyes studied his son. "I don't need no fancy city house."
Alex felt the corners of his mouth turn down. His father's resentment was palpable. Why he begrudged his son's success when he could be reaping the benefits was beyond Alex's understanding. But then his father had always been a mean old bastard, and it seemed that things didn't change.
They've got to change, he argued with himself. Life isn't black and white. There had to be some middle ground between the drunken mess his father represented and the calculating businessman he himself had been for over a decade. If Alex had any hope of finding that middle ground, of building a life between his country roots and his city obligations, he'd have to straighten himself out. These thoughts had prompted his visit to his father's trailer, and he wouldn't let the old bastard drive him out before he'd done what he'd set out to do.
"Forget the house. I'd like to you accompany me to a dinner this Saturday night. At the Grange Hall. It's a little celebration I've set up to say thank you to Trouble Hollow."
His father quirked an eyebrow before crushing out his cigarette butt. "Say thank ya? That don't sound like you."
A grimace covered his face before Alex could stop it. Damned if you do, damned if you don't. It seemed like changing his father's opinion of him was impossible. "Well it is me," he said, unable to hold back the heat in his voice. "And I'd like the whole family to be there. You included. There's someone I'd like you to meet."
"I don't need no damn thank ya dinner," his father spit back. "You ain't never been grateful in your miserable life. All them times you hid your money from me, that ain't gratitude for bringin' you up."
"Bringing me up? Is that what you call it?" Bitterness almost choked off the words before he could get them out. "Stealing my money to buy booze and smokes. You call that caring for your family?"
"Worthless fuckin' family anyway," his father mumbled, sloshing clear liquid into his empty glass. Alex could smell the fumes from the moonshine from where he stood. In that moment he realized the futility of his coming here.
"I'm sorry you feel that way," he said, moving toward the door. "Let me know if you change your mind."
Before the screen door slammed behind him, he heard his father mutter, "Not fuckin' likely."
His hands gripped the wheel of the rental car tightly, his face a hard mask. Another failure to add to the list, Alex thought. A list that was growing at an alarming rate. He'd hoped that time would mellow his father, that the money he put in his account each month would soften him a little, even out his temper. It hadn't worked.
When he'd come up with the plan to return to Trouble Hollow and coax Lila out here with him, he hadn't considered his family much. But stepping off the plane and driving into town, watching the familiar countryside roll by, he'd begun thinking about things in a different way. His goal was still to get Lila back, but it had grown from a simple plan of surprise seduction to an entire reordering of his life.
If his plan worked and Lila agreed to see him again, to be with him, one problem would be solved but a whole new slew would arise. They could return home and face the high society set, force them to accept them and harden themselves to the teasing behind their backs. But Alex realized that they would just be continuing to live by someone else's rules. And that didn't appeal to him anymore.
One of the things he'd liked most about Lila, besides her killer breasts and warm thighs, was the way he felt with her. The way she relaxed him, let him be himself, a self that he'd started burying in college and was only now beginning to unearth again. Being back in his old hometown brought that feeling to a head. He hadn't expected to feel so comfortable here again.
He'd been staying with his little sister, Darlene, who wasn't so little anymore. She'd returned to the Hollow after college to open a small fabric store. She was still the rambunctious little troublemaker he remembered but she also seemed settled. Happy. Content. Which was more than he could say for himself. Suddenly he wanted that contentment. Success didn't have to be measured in dollar bills.
Still, he wasn't sure what he wanted for his future, besides to share it with Lila. They could return to their lives, return to his empire building. Or he could sell off everything and live very comfortably on the interest on his earnings. But he wasn't sure either of those options would make him happy. Then what would?
Being with Lila, he answered his own question. Waking up each morning with her in my arms. Seeing those beautiful hazel eyes filled with love instead of tears. Letting her cook me delectable dinners each night, before we made love for hours in our warm bed. That was as far into his fantasy future as he'd gotten.
Maybe that's all you need for now, he thought. Let's not get ahead of ourselves. We haven't even gotten Lila back yet. Shit, we never even really had her to begin with.
Alex nodded to himself, and his grip on the wheel relaxed. First things first, win back the woman he wanted to spend forever with. With a smile he turned into his sister's driveway to continue his plotting.
* * *
After a late lunch of delicious cider-baked ham and fresh bread, Lila decided to tackle the menu. Roast pig was sure to be popular, but she'd never roasted one herself. She was out of her depth and wasn't afraid to admit it. Although she considered firing up her laptop to do some research, she quickly discovered that there was no wifi in Mrs. Wheaton's rooming house. She'd have to find her recipes the old fashioned way, it seemed.
With a little looking, she discovered a stash of old cookbooks in Mrs. Wheaton's kitchen. She'd stacked them on the table, settling down to page through them slowly. Hours later, Mrs. Wheaton bustled around her, setting down a plate of warm food before her. Lila ate it gratefully as she continued to skim the cookbooks and make a list of any required ingredients. It was an hour until midnight when she finally stood, stretching to alleviate the soreness in her back.
The next morning she presented Tony and Jake with a list of needed ingredients. "If you can point me in the direction of the store, I can pick these things up."
Jake and Tony eyed each other, then Tony plucked the list from her hand. "No need," he said. "We'll handle this. I'd like to suggest that you get together with Mrs. Wheaton today. She's been hired to assist you."
Lila's brows rose in surprise. "Are you sure you can handle it? It would be easier if I went, since I'm probably more familiar with the i
ngredients I need."
Jake took the list from Tony and scanned it. "I've got this. No worries."
Lila gave them a bemused grin, then wandered off to find Mrs. Wheaton. The older woman was busy in her kitchen, as usual, and Lila took a seat at her table.
"I hear you've been hired to assist me."
Mrs. Wheaton turned around from the sink of dishes she was washing and gave Lila a smile. "Yep, I have. The boys figured it'd be easier if you had someone already familiar with the town to lend you a hand. We can do some of the cookin' in my kitchen today, then I'll help you get set up at the Grange Hall tomorrow morning."
Lila decided she should be grateful for any help that she could get, and Mrs. Wheaton was a talented cook. "Thanks for the help," she said, then proceeded to give the rooming house owner a run-down of her menu.
"That sounds great, Miss Lila," the older woman said with a grin. "I think we should concentrate on the pies today, and maybe set up the bread dough to proof overnight. Chucky said he'd be droppin' off the chickens later this afternoon, so we can get 'em all cut up too."
Mrs. Wheaton's advice ran parallel to her own thoughts, and Lila was pleasantly surprised, her anxiety about tomorrow's dinner beginning to fade.
All day long they worked together in Mrs. Wheaton's homey kitchen, and Lila felt some of the stress she'd been hanging on to since her business-destroying public disaster start to melt away, leaving behind the gentle warmth of comradery and a hard day's work.
Cooking had always made her feel more calm. Her concentration was focused only on perfecting a dish, and that left little time for the petty anxieties that could plague her every other second of the day. In the kitchen she could let go and just be.
Mrs. Wheaton was a treasure, full of gentle friendliness and an amusing sense of humor. She bustled around her kitchen, humming along to the country music coming out of her antique radio. Lila didn't consider herself a country music fan, but before long her head was bobbing in time to the songs. For some reason, the twangy strings and fast-paced beats made her tap her feet before she realized it. The music, coupled with the atmosphere and the company, served to relax her more than a hot bath and a bottle of wine could.
Worth the Risk: (A Contemporary Bad Boy Romance) Page 70