by Nora Roberts
Her lips had curved, he thought when they began to pack up, but the smile hadn’t reached her eyes. He waited until they’d folded the blanket back into the well-depleted hamper.
“I got to second.”
She laughed, as he’d hoped, then snickered with the fun of it as they started the hike back.
10
Lucas poked his head in the kitchen of the cookhouse.
“I heard a rumor about blueberry pie.”
Marg glanced back as she finished basting a couple of turkeys the size of Hondas. “I might have saved a piece, and maybe could spare a cup of coffee to go with it. If somebody asked me nicely.”
He walked over, kissed her cheek.
“That might work. Sit on down.”
He took a seat at the work counter where Lynn prepped hills and mountains of vegetables. “How’s it going, Lynn?”
“Not bad considering we keep losing cooks.” She shot him a smile with a twinkle out of rich brown eyes. “If you sit here long enough, we’ll put you to work.”
“Will work for pie. I heard about the trouble. I was hoping to talk to Rowan, but they tell me she’s on a picnic with the rookie from California.”
“Fast Feet,” Lynn confirmed. “He sweet-talked Marg into putting a hamper together.”
“Nobody sweet-talks me unless I like the talk.” Marg set a warmed piece of blueberry pie, with a scoop of ice cream gently melting over the golden crust, in front of Lucas.
“He’s got a way though,” Lynn commented.
“Nobody has their way with Rowan unless she likes the way.” Marg put a thick mug of coffee beside the pie.
“I don’t worry about her.” Lucas shrugged.
“Liar.”
He smiled up at Marg. “Much. What’s your take on this business with Dolly?”
“First, the girl can cook but she doesn’t have the brains, or the sense, of that bunch of broccoli Lynn’s prepping.” Marg waved a pot holder at him. “And don’t think I don’t know she tried getting her flirt on with you a time or two.”
“Oh, golly,” Lynn said as both she and Lucas blushed to the hairline.
“For God’s sake, Marg, she’s Rowan’s age.”
“That and good sense stopped you, but it didn’t stop her from trying.”
“Neither here nor there,” Lucas mumbled, and focused on his pie.
“You can thank me for warning her off before Rowan got wind and scalped her. Anyway, I’d’ve butted heads with L.B. about hiring her back, but we needed the help. The cook we hired on didn’t last through training.”
“Too much work, she said.” Lynn rolled her eyes as she filled an enormous pot with the mountain of potatoes she’d peeled and quartered.
“I was thinking about seeing if we could bump one of the girls we have who helps with prep sometimes, and with cleanup, to full-time cook. But then Dolly has the experience, and I know what she can do. And, well, she’s got a baby now.”
“Jim Brayner’s baby.” Lucas nodded as he ate pie. “Everybody needs a chance.”
“Yeah, and that bromide ended up getting Ro’s quarters splattered with pig blood. Nasty business, let me tell you.”
“That girl’s had it in for Ro since their school days, but this?” Lucas shook his head. “It’s just senseless.”
“Dolly’s lucky Cards was there to hold Ro back long enough for some of the other guys to come on the run and wrestle her down. It would’ve been more than some oinker’s blood otherwise.”
“My girl’s got a temper.”
“And was in the right of it, if you ask me—or anybody else around here. And what does Dolly do after L.B. cans her?” Marg’s eyes went hot as she slapped a dishcloth on the counter. “She comes crying to me, asking, can’t I put in a word for her? I gave her a word, all right.”
Lynn snorted. “Surrounded by others, as in: Get the word out of my kitchen.”
“I’m sorry for her troubles, but it’s best she’s gone. And away from my girl,” Lucas added. As far as he was concerned, that ended that. “How would you rate the rookies this season?”
Marg hauled out a couple casserole dishes. “The rook your girl’s eating fried chicken with, or all of them?”
“All of them.” Lucas scraped up the last bit of pie. “Maybe one in particular.”
“They’re a good crop, including one in particular. I’d say most are just crazy enough to stick it out.”
“I guess we’ll see. That was damn good pie, Marg.”
“Are you after seconds?”
“Can’t do it.” He patted his belly. “My days of eating like a smoke jumper are over. And I’ve got some things I’ve got to get to,” he added when he rose to take his plate and mug to the sink. “When you see Ro, tell her I stopped by.”
“Will do. You’re close enough not to be such a stranger.”
“Business is good, and good keeps me pinned down. But I’ll make the time. Don’t work too hard, Lynn.”
“Come back and say that in October, and I might be able to listen.”
He headed out to walk down to where he’d left his truck. As always, nostalgia twinged, just a little. Some of the jumpers got in a run on the track. Others, he could see, stood jawing with some of the mechanics.
He spotted Yangtree, looking official in his uniform shirt and hat, leading a tour group out of Operations. Plenty of kids being herded along, he noted, getting a charge out of seeing parachutes, jumpsuits and the network of computer systems—vastly improved since his early days.
Maybe they’d get lucky and see somebody rigging a chute. Anyway, it was a nice stop for a kid on summer vacation.
That made him think of school, and school led him to the high-school principal he’d agreed to meet for a drink.
Probably should’ve just taken her into the office, had the sit-down there. Professional.
Friendly business started to seem more nerve-racking as the day went on.
No way around it now, he reminded himself, and dug his keys out of his pocket. As he did, he turned toward the lion’s purr of engine, frowned a little as he watched his daughter zip up in the passenger seat of an Audi Spyder convertible.
She waved at him, then jumped out when the sleek beast of a car growled to a stop.
“Hey! I was going to try to get over and see you later.” She threw her arms around him—was there anything more wonderful than a hard hug from your grown child? “Now I don’t have to, ’cause here you are.”
“I almost missed you. Gull, right?”
“That’s right. It’s good to see you again.”
“Some car.”
“I’m happy with it.”
“What’ll she do?”
“Theoretically, or in practice—with your daughter along?”
“That’s a good answer, without answering,” Lucas decided.
“Do you want to try her out?” Gull offered the key.
“Hey!” Rowan made a grab for them, missing as Gull closed his hand. “How come he rates?”
“He’s Iron Man.”
Rowan hooked her thumbs in her pockets. “He said I had to sleep with him before I could drive it.”
Gull sent her smirk a withering look. “She declined.”
“Uh-huh. Well, I wouldn’t mind giving her a run. I’ll take a rain check on it since I’ve got to get along.”
“Can’t you stay awhile?” Rowan asked. “We can hang out a little. You can stay and mooch dinner.”
“I wish I could, but I’ve got a couple of things to see to, then I’m meeting a client for a drink—a meeting. An appointment.”
Rowan slid off her sunglasses. “A client?”
“Yeah. Yeah. She’s, ah, got some project she wants to talk to me about, and she’s interested in trying for AFF. So I guess we’re going to talk about it. That. Anyway . . . I’ll get back over soon, mooch that dinner off you. Maybe try out that machine of yours, Gull.”
“Anytime.”
Lucas took Rowan’s chin in his han
d. “See you later.”
She watched him get in the truck, watched him drive away.
“Meeting, my ass.”
Gull opened the nose to maneuver the hamper out. “Sorry?”
“He’s got a date. With a woman.”
“Wow! That’s shocking news. I think my heart skipped a beat.”
“He doesn’t date.” Rowan continued to scowl as her father’s truck shrunk in the distance. “He’s all fumbling and flustered around women, if he’s attracted. Didn’t you see how flustered he was when he talked about his appointment? And who the hell is she?”
“It’s hard, but you’ve got to let the kids leave the nest someday.”
“Oh, kiss ass. His brain goes to mush when he’s around a certain type of woman, and he can be manipulated.”
Fascinated with her reaction, Gull leaned on his car. “It’s just a wild shot, but it could be he’s going to meet a woman he’s attracted to, and who has no intention of manipulating him. And they’ll have a drink and conversation.”
“What the hell do you know?” she challenged, and stomped off toward the barracks.
Amused, Gull hauled the basket back to Marg.
He’d no more than set it down on the counter when someone tapped knuckles on the outside door.
“Excuse me. Margaret Colby?”
Gull gave the man a quick summing-up—dark suit with a tightly knotted tie in dark, vivid pink, shiny shoes, hair the color of ink brushed back from a high forehead.
Marg stood where she was. “That’s right.”
“I’m Reverend Latterly.”
“I remember you from before, from Irene and Dolly.”
Catching her tone, and the fact she didn’t invite the man in, Gull decided to stick around.
“May I speak with you for a moment?”
“You can, but you’re wasting your breath and my time if you’re here to ask me to try to convince Michael Little Bear to let Dolly Brakeman back in this kitchen.”
“Mrs. Colby.” He came in without invitation, smiled, showing a lot of big white teeth.
Gull decided he didn’t like the man’s tie, and helped himself to a cold can of ginger ale.
“If I could just have a moment in private.”
“We’re working.” She shot a warning glance at Lynn before the woman could ease out of the room. “This is as private as you’re going to get.”
“I know you’re very busy, and cooking for so many is hard work. Demanding work.”
“I get paid for it.”
“Yes.” Latterly stared at Gull, let the silence hang.
In response, Gull leaned back on the counter, drank some ginger ale. And made Marg’s lips twitch.
“Well, I wanted a word with you as you’re Dolly’s direct supervisor and—”
“Was,” Marg corrected.
“Yes. I’ve spoken with Mr. Little Bear, and I understand his reluctance to forgive Dolly’s transgression.”
“You call it a transgression. I call it snake-bite mean.”
Latterly spread his hands, then linked them together for a moment like a man at prayer. “I realize it’s a difficult situation, and there’s no excuse for Dolly’s behavior. But she was naturally upset after Miss Tripp threatened her and accused her of . . . having low morals.”
“Is that Dolly’s story?” Marg just shook her head, as much pity as disgust in the movement. “The girl lies half the time she opens her mouth. If you don’t know that, you’re not a very good judge of character. And I’d think that’d be an important skill to have in your profession.”
“As Dolly’s spiritual advisor—”
“Just stop there because I’m not overly interested in Dolly’s spirit. She’s had a mean on for Rowan as long as I’ve known her. She’s always been jealous, always wanted what somebody else had. She’s not coming back here, not getting another chance to kick at Rowan. Now, L.B. runs this base, but I run this kitchen. If he took it into his head to let Dolly back in here, he’d be looking for another head cook and he knows it.”
“That’s a very hard line.”
“I call it common sense. The girl can cook, but she’s wild, unreliable, and she’s a troublemaker. I can’t help her.”
“She is troubled, still trying to find her way. She’s also raising an infant on her own.”
“She’s not on her own,” Marg corrected. “I’ve known her mother since we were girls, and I know Irene and Leo are doing all they can for Dolly. Probably more than they should, considering. Now you’re going to have to excuse me.”
“Would you, at least, write a reference for her? I’m sure it would help her secure another position as a cook.”
“No, I won’t.”
Gull judged the shock that crossed the man’s face as sincere. Very likely the reverend wasn’t used to a flat-out no.
“As a Christian woman—”
“Who said I’m a Christian?” She jabbed a finger at him now, pointedly enough to take him back a step. “And how come that’s some sort of scale on right and wrong and good and bad? I won’t write her a reference because my word and my reputation mean something to me. You advise her spirit all you want, but don’t come into my kitchen and try advising me on mine. Dolly made her choices, now she’ll deal with the consequences of them.”
She took a step forward, and those hazel eyes breathed fire. “Do you think I haven’t heard what she’s been saying about Rowan around town? About me, L.B., even little Lynn there? About everybody? I hear everything, Reverend Jim, and I won’t give a damn thing to anyone who lies about me and mine. If it wasn’t for her mother, I’d give Dolly Brakeman a good swift kick myself.”
“Gossip is—”
“What plumps the grapes on the vine. If you want to do her a favor, tell Dolly to mind her mouth. Now I’ve got work to do, and I’ve given you and Dolly enough of my time.”
Deliberately she turned back to the stove.
“I apologize for intruding.” He spoke stiffly now, and without the big-toothed smile. “I’ll pray the anger leaves your heart.”
“I like my anger right where it is,” Marg shot back as Latterly backed out the door. “Lynn, those vegetables aren’t going to prep themselves.”
“No, ma’am.”
On a sigh, Marg turned around. “I’m sorry, honey. I’m not mad at you.”
“I know. I wish I had the courage to talk like that to people—to say exactly what I think and mean.”
“No, you don’t. You’re fine just the way you are. I just didn’t like the sanctimonious prick.” She aimed a look at Gull. “Nothing to say?”
“Just he’s a sanctimonious prick with too many teeth and an ugly tie. My only critique of your response is I think you should have told him you were a Buddhist woman, or maybe a Pagan.”
“I wish I’d thought of that.” She smiled. “You want some pie?”
He didn’t know where he’d put it after the fudge cake, but understanding the sentiment behind the offer, he couldn’t say no.
LUCAS’S STOMACH JITTERED when he walked into the bar, but he assured himself it would settle once they started talking about whatever she wanted to talk about.
Then he saw her, sitting at a table reading a book, and his tongue got thick.
She’d put on a dress, something all green and summery that showed off her arms and legs while her pretty red hair waved to her shoulders.
Should he have worn a tie? he wondered. He hardly ever wore ties, but he had a few.
She looked up, saw him, smiled. So he had no choice but to cross over to the table.
“I guess I’m late. I’m sorry.”
“You’re not.” She closed the book. “I got here a little early as the errands I had didn’t take as long as I thought.” She slipped the book into her purse. “I always carry a book in case I have some time on my hands.”
“I’ve read that one.” There, he thought, he was talking. He was sitting down. “I guess I figured doing what you do, you’d be reading educa
tional books all the time.”
“I do plenty of that, but not with my purse book. I’m liking it a lot so far, but then I always enjoy Michael Connelly.”
“Yeah, it’s good stuff.”
The waitress stepped up. “Good evening. Can I get you a drink?”
When she shifted, Ella’s scent—something warm and spicy—drifted across the table and fogged Lucas’s brain.
“What am I in the mood for?” she wondered. “I think a Bombay and tonic, with a twist of lime.”
“And you, sir? Sir?” the waitress repeated when Lucas remained mute.
“Oh, sorry. Ah, I’ll have a beer. A Rolling Rock.”
“I’ll get those right out to you. Anything else? An appetizer?”
“You know what I’d love? Some of those sweet potato skins. They’re amazing,” she told Lucas. “You have to share some with me.”
“Sure. Okay. Great.”
“I’ll be right back with your drinks.”
“I so appreciate you taking the time to come in,” Ella began. “It gives me an excuse to sit in a pretty bar, have a summer drink and some sinful food.”
“It’s a nice place.”
“I like coming here, when I have an excuse. I’ve come to feel at home in Missoula in a fairly short time. I love the town, the countryside, my work. It’s hard to ask for more.”
“You’re not from here. From Montana.” He knew that. Hadn’t he known that?
“Born in Virginia, transplanted to Pennsylvania when I went to college, where I met my ex-husband.”
“That’s a ways from Montana.”
“I got closer as time went by. We moved to Denver when the kids were ten and twelve, when my husband—ex—got a difficult-to-refuse job offer. We were there about a dozen years before we moved to Washington State, another job offer. My son moved here, got married, started his family, and my girl settled in California, so after the divorce I wanted fresh. Since I like the mountains, I decided to try here. I get fresh, the mountains, and my son and his family, with my daughter close enough by air I can see her several times a year.”
He couldn’t imagine the picking up and going, going then picking it all up again. Though his work had taken him all over the West, he’d lived in Missoula all his life.