A Small Town Thanksgiving

by Marie Ferrarella

  “I don’t see you plucking,” she agreed. “I see you passing that chore off to someone else.”

  He came to a stop before one of Forever’s four traffic lights. It was red, as was his impatience since there was no traffic heading the opposite way.

  “Is that it?” he asked.

  “Is what it?”

  “Is that why you’re asking all these questions about whether or not I was going to hunt the family’s Thanksgiving turkey? Because you’re afraid once I brought it back, I’d make you pluck the feathers off the bird?”

  “No,” she denied with feeling. “I just don’t like the idea of you tracking down and shooting a poor, defenseless bird.”

  “Defenseless?” He hooted. “Obviously you’ve never been charged at by an angry turkey,” he concluded with a laugh. “They can make you really fear for your life. Those beaks of theirs are vicious. Good thing turkeys can’t climb a tree.”

  “A turkey chase you up a tree?” she asked, unable to keep a straight face. Picturing the scene vividly in her mind had her laughing out loud despite all attempts to remain impassive.

  “Not me, Gabe,” Mike told her. “Dunno what he did, but whatever it was, it got this fat old turkey moving like a feathered freight train, charging right at him. Gabe came running by for all that he was worth, but that old bird just kept on coming.”

  She wasn’t sure if he was pulling her leg, but for the sake of argument, she decided to act as if she believed him.

  “What happened?”

  He shrugged, as if it was a foregone conclusion, given what he’d just said about climbing a tree. “The turkey finally went away.”

  If the bird was angry enough to charge, she assumed that he would have been angry enough to hang around for a while.

  “Just like that?” she questioned.

  Mike shrugged again. He didn’t like elaborating if it wound up placing any attention on him. And he’d been the one to get the turkey to stop treeing Gabe.

  “It took a little doing,” he allowed.

  “And just what was it you were doing?”

  He was beginning to feel that they were too evenly matched—she asked too many questions. “How did you know it was me?”

  “Because you’re telling the story and you haven’t mentioned anyone else being there besides Gabe and the turkey. I doubt if the turkey just changed his mind, shrugged and strolled away. So,” she repeated, “what did you do?”

  He had a feeling she wasn’t going to back off until he told her. Might as well not draw this out any longer than it already was.

  “I tossed a few well-aimed rocks his way—just enough to sting,” he told her.

  That implied an awful lot of knowledge on his part, she thought. “And you’d know just how much that would be?”

  To which he grinned. Not smiled, grinned, she noted. Like her question amused him. She wasn’t altogether sure she liked that.

  “I’m a country boy,” he told her. “That kind of thing is second nature to us.”

  “Kind of like God saying you’ll never get to drive a flaming red Ferrari, but you’ll know how big a rock to use to make a turkey feel a sting?”

  “Yeah, kind of like that,” he granted, playing along. Without realizing it, he’d completely passed by the feed store and had gone on to the emporium.

  Mike quickly pulled up into the first empty space he saw before he passed by this, too, and had to circle around to get back here.

  Getting out, he told her, “You can stay in the truck if you want.”

  Even as he said it, he had a feeling that she wasn’t about to stay put.

  And he was right. The next moment, Sam was jumping down from her seat. “And miss out looking for a thirty-two-pound turkey? I don’t think so.”

  Okay, he’d play along, Mike thought. The boards creaked beneath his feet as he went up the steps leading into the emporium.

  “Doesn’t take much to entertain you, does it?” he quipped.

  She had no idea why, but the question took her back to yesterday evening in the study. To the unexpected kiss that lit up her very blood and how it all but set fire to her veins.

  “No,” she said softly, walking through the door he held open for her, “it doesn’t.”

  * * *

  “WHAT DID YOU BUY?” Miguel asked, stunned as he stared at the multiple grocery bags that his son had brought in and was still bringing in.

  The kitchen table, which was more of a work area than a place where they ate their morning meal, was completely covered with bags. There were grocery bags on the chairs and on the floor, as well. From the looks of it, most were filled to capacity.

  “I gave you a list,” Miguel called after his son as Mike went back to the truck for one last trip. “This looks like you bought out the store.” The last time something like this happened, it was because there were flash flood storm warnings and they had stocked up on supplies. But the forecast for the next week was for clear skies. “You know something I don’t?” he asked.

  “Don’t look at me,” Mike protested, coming in with the last load. Both his arms were filled. He set these bags down on the floor, as well. “This was her idea.” He nodded toward Sam.

  Miguel looked quizzically at his houseguest. “It was your idea to clean out the emporium?”

  “Don’t worry, I paid for the groceries I bought,” she assured him. Sam was fairly bubbling with excitement as she thought about taking part in the upcoming Thanksgiving celebration.

  “I was not worried about who paid for it, I am just wondering what all this is for—and where we are going to put it,” Miguel told her.

  “Well, since you’re having so many people here for Thanksgiving,” Sam answered, “hopefully, this’ll all be going into their stomachs within the week.”

  Mike cleared off one chair and wearily sank down in it for a couple of minutes. When Sam had gotten going, it seemed like there was no stopping her. He found himself hurrying after her with the grocery cart and barely keeping up. She might have been shorter than he was, but she moved a hell of a lot faster when she wanted to.

  “You realize you’re supposed to stuff the turkey, not the people, at Thanksgiving,” Mike pointed out.

  She was about to answer him when Rosa came in. The moment the older woman saw the grocery bags all over her kitchen, a stunned squeal escaped her voice as, her hands on hips, the housekeeper cried, “What have you done to my poor kitchen? Why are all these bags here? Are we having a charity drive?”

  “Don’t worry, Rosa, I’ll put everything away,” Sam assured the other woman. Then she turned back to Miguel and continued with her explanation. “I thought, since you were having all these people here and you were nice enough to invite me, too, that I’d bake a few things, make a few side dishes, things like that,” she told him, her eyes shining. “I like to cook,” she added, “but there’s never anyone to cook for but me and it seems like a huge waste to go through all that trouble for just one person,” she said quietly. Alone, she tended to eat uninspired meals over the sink. She was really looking forward to next week.

  Her voice picked up, sounding eager again as she said, “I hope you don’t mind.” With that, she swiftly swung around to say the very same thing to Rosa, well aware that it might have technically been Miguel’s kitchen, but Rosa was the one who ruled over it.

  Rosa responded first before her employer. “Well, if Mr. Miguel doesn’t mind, I would certainly not mind the help,” Rosa told her.

  It was obvious to the others that the housekeeper was more than won over by this enthusiastic little blonde collaborator and was only being slow to agree because Rosa felt she was supposed to hold out a little.

  “I do not mind,” Miguel told his housekeeper, then turned to look at Sam. “But I do not want you to feel that you have to do a
ll this for some reason.” he said to Sam. “Because you do not. Besides, my daughter and daughters-in-law are all coming early to help Rosa prepare the evening meal.”

  “I know I don’t ‘have’ to,” Sam answered. “But I really want to.” Her smile was wide and sunny as she continued taking the groceries into the storeroom where she intended to unpack them. “How do you want this arranged?” she asked Rosa, nodding at the bags she was holding. “By size, by type or maybe alphabetically?”

  In response, Rosa took the two bags Sam was holding. She put them back on the table, then dramatically took one of Sam’s now empty hands and connected that hand to one of Mike’s.

  “Do something with her,” she ordered Mike, then informed everyone in the room, “I will take care of the unpacking and the putting away.”

  With that, the diminutive housekeeper picked up the two grocery bags she’d put on the table and marched into the storage room.

  The sound of Miguel’s wholehearted laughter followed her out. The set of her shoulders told everyone who was watching that despite her seemingly gruff manner, the housekeeper was indeed smiling.

  Perhaps even grinning.

  The young woman who was his houseguest seemed to have that sort of effect on people, Miguel noted.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Sam was up before dawn even had a chance to send faint shafts of light peering in through her window.

  It was Thanksgiving morning and she had a lot to do.

  The very thought that she did had her grinning broadly to herself. It felt good to be involved, to have a list of tasks to do for people she had come to care about a great deal.

  Even though she was up and ready before six, Sam didn’t stop for breakfast. There was no time to linger over a meal. She did, however, stick her head into the dining room every so often to see if Mike, Ray and their father had finished eating. She explained that she needed to commandeer the room. She refused to tell any of them why, but requested that they stay clear of the room until it was time for dinner—which was a good ten hours away by Mike’s reckoning.

  Mike had shrugged his shoulders, told himself that whatever she was up to was her business and after finishing his breakfast, he had gone about his chores as usual. After all, horses and cattle didn’t quietly vanish just because it was Thanksgiving or Christmas or any other holiday for that matter. They needed to be fed and tended to 365 days a year without fail.

  But around noon, when his rumbling stomach usually made him pause to have some sort of lunch no matter if he was at home or on the open range, Mike’s curiosity finally got the better of him.

  It wasn’t so much about what was going on in the dining room as it was about what the person who was implementing all this secrecy was doing.

  Just exactly what was Sam up to that she didn’t want any of them to see?

  Prepared with an excuse if she suddenly began questioning his “barging” into the the kitchen, Mike made his way there.

  From the sound of it as he approached, he would have said that the recently expanded room had become the hub of activity today. There was far more noise coming from the kitchen than he would have guessed that two women could possibly make without something like a vintage 1967 Camaro being involved.

  The heat from the oven was the first thing he became aware of as he ventured into the kitchen.

  Rosa had the oven door open and she had slid the huge turkey out just enough to make basting easier for her. Especially since Angel, Gabe’s wife and Miss Joan’s chief cook, had apparently arrived early and was now in the midst of helping her prepare the main course.

  The turkey seemed to fill up the entire opening.

  Just as he walked in, Rosa looked up and Angel turned to look over her shoulder.

  Rosa was smiling as she nodded her approval. Not of him, but of the turkey he had purchased and brought home. Everyone agreed that it had to be the largest turkey in the county, possibly several counties. More importantly, it was guaranteed to feed everyone in his family three times over. There would be plenty for leftovers to send home with various family members when they left the ranch late tonight.

  The kitchen was a cauldron of warm, tempting scents and smells all blending together so that it was difficult for him to separate them—not that he really saw any need to do that. The combined aroma was an absolute feast for his senses.

  “Looks like you’ve outdone yourself again, Rosa, Angel,” he said, complimenting the two women.

  “It goes faster—and better—when I have help,” Rosa qualified, nodding at Angel and then toward the kitchen table.

  Sam was standing at the table, patiently rolling something between the palms of her hands, then placing the end product on what looked like a flat piece of metal. He had no idea what she was doing. Usually able to adjust to his surroundings, Mike was not at home in a kitchen beyond opening a refrigerator and helping himself to whatever edible thing he found there. How it had become edible was beyond his need to know.

  Sam’s creation was lined up in three long rows on the metal sheet, which in turn had some kind of paper on it.

  Mike moved closer to the table now, his eyes never leaving the woman who seemed completely preoccupied with her work.

  “Is being covered from head to foot with flour part of the process?” Mike couldn’t resist asking her. Even as he asked, he reached out to brush away some of the flour that had gotten on her cheek.

  As if suddenly coming to life, Sam pulled her head back. “If you want to be useful, go talk to your father or your brother.”

  He didn’t understand the connection. “How is that being useful?”

  “Well, if you’re in there, it’ll keep you from hovering over me,” she told him.

  Because her hair had fallen into her eyes as she nodded toward the kitchen doorway, she tried to push it back with the back of her wrist. Her hands were covered with flour, bits and pieces of ground almonds and dough, all of which she was shaping into tiny balls before she dusted the whole tray with powdered sugar. She then placed the tray into the oven to bake for ten minutes above the roasting turkey.

  She didn’t succeed in pushing back her hair, but she did get more flour on her forehead and a little rained down on her chest.

  “Here, let me at least do that before I’m banished into exile.”

  He said it so seriously Sam didn’t realize he was teasing until she saw the amused glint in his eyes. But then her vision became just a shade blurry when she felt his fingertips skim along her skin as he gently moved the wayward strand of hair back and into submission.

  He deliberately left the dusting of flour on her shirt although he was sorely tempted to brush it away.

  “Better?” he asked, his voice low and, as far as she was concerned, sexy as hell.

  There was a fire inside of her. A fire that had nothing to do with the temporary blast of heat from the oven and everything to do with the man standing over her, making her pulse race with dazed wonder.

  She swallowed, feeling shaky. “Even better if you get out of our hair,” she told him, the inside of her mouth as dry as the panhandle in the middle of July.

  Mike raised his hands in mock surrender. “Already gone,” he told her as he edged his way toward the doorway.

  Not hardly, Sam couldn’t help thinking.

  He’d barely crossed the threshold and disappeared from view before Rosa told her quite firmly, “He likes you, that one.”

  Angel seconded her opinion.

  Inhaling at the wrong time because the blatant statement had caught her completely off guard, Sam began coughing. When it looked as if she couldn’t stop and Angel’s hitting her on the back didn’t help, Rosa poured water into a glass and placed it at her elbow on the edge of the table.

  “Drink,” she ordered rather than encouraged.

&
nbsp; Sam almost choked on the water, but then she finally managed to stop coughing and catch her breath. Her eyes had become watery in the process.

  “And I see that you like Mr. Mike, as well,” Rosa concluded from the display she’d just been privy to. Exchanging glances with Angel, Rosa nodded, satisfied with what she’d seen and with the conclusion she’d drawn from it. “He is a good man, the younger Miguel, just like his father. He was always very quiet, even as a little boy,” the housekeeper recalled, returning the turkey to its place inside the oven. It had hours left to go. “But he has not been so quiet this last month.” Rosa looked at her and it felt as if the small black eyes were literally penetrating her skin, “I think you are the reason.”

  Taking a deep breath, Sam deliberately focused on what she was doing. There were still two rows of cookies to form.

  “Me?” Sam asked in surprise. She could feel her pulse starting up again. This was making her feel light-headed. “I think you’re imagining things, Rosa.”

  “And I think you are denying things,” the petite woman countered. “But if seeing what is in front of your face makes you uncomfortable, then please, go ahead and deny it. But no matter how much you do, it does not make it any less true.”

  Angel said nothing, but her smile said it all as far as Sam could tell.

  Well, there was apparently no winning here, Sam thought. When outmaneuvered, change course—that was her motto.

  The next moment, Sam very carefully guided the conversation toward the meal they were working on for tonight and her contribution to it.

  One look at Rosa’s face told her that the housekeeper knew what she was up to, but for now, the woman had obviously decided to allow her to slide.

  Which was just fine with Sam.

  All she wanted was to get through the evening without making anyone ill. Just the thought of the dinner this evening had excitement pumping through her veins.