The Inn at Blue Hollow Falls

by Donna Kauffman

  Stevie’s Sweet Potato Pie

  Ingredients:

  1 stick of butter, softened to room temperature

  1 cup brown sugar, firmly packed

  2 cups granulated sugar

  4 large sweet potatoes, cooked

  2 eggs

  1 cup condensed milk (can substitute whole milk to reduce sweetness)

  1 teaspoon ginger

  1 tablespoon nutmeg

  1 tablespoon cinnamon

  2 tablespoons vanilla extract

  2 unbaked pie shells

  Directions:

  1. Preheat oven to 400° F.

  2. Make enough pie pastry to line two 9” pans or purchase two unbaked pie shells.

  3. Use large mixing bowl and hand mixer or stand mixer to beat together the cooked sweet potatoes and the sugar until just blended.

  4. Lightly beat the eggs, then blend them in with potatoes and sugar.

  5. Add the soft butter and blend.

  6. Add milk, spices, and extract. Mix well.

  7. Pour mixture into the prepared pie shells.

  8. Reduce heat to 350° F and bake 60 minutes or until toothpick test comes out clean.

  9. Remove from oven and allow to cool. Pie will firm as it cools. Refrigerate to firm further if desired.

  10. Optional: Garnish with whipped cream when serving.

  Read on for an excerpt from the next

  Blue Hollow Falls novel

  by Donna Kauffman,

  Bluestone & Vine.

  Seth Brogan scrolled through the playlist of Disney soundtracks on his ancient iPod, trying to find the one that wouldn’t make him want to poke his eyes out with a spork. Or his ears. “Here you go, big guy,” he grumbled. “Your favorite. You owe me.” The opening strains of “Be Our Guest” from Beauty and the Beast wafted through the cold, dry air inside the converted barn. His breath formed little crystallizing puffs of air as he spoke. “Now, I’ve got to go out and tend to me vines, lad,” he added, adopting the brogue of his Irish forebears. “Hold down the fort, aye?”

  Seth was rewarded with a snort from Dexter, but at least the auld beast didn’t spit on him. Llamas were champion spitters. He did, however, regard Seth steadily, those deep, soulful brown eyes of his almost as effective as Seth’s ma’s when it came to eliciting guilt. “You’ve got feed in your bucket. I’m not putting you in a stall. I know better than that.” Seth swore Dexter ducked his chin to intentionally look as pathetic as possible. Fortunately, Seth was on to his tricks. “I’d take you out there with me, but it’s still snowing to beat the band, and I’m not up to melting all the ice clumps out of your fur. You’re worse than the golden retriever I had growing up.”

  Dexter lifted his head, regarded him steadily, clearly unmoved by the speech. But the music seemed to mollify him enough that the beast didn’t follow Seth as he walked across the packed dirt floor to the makeshift office he’d set up inside the end stall. Knowing better than to look back or make any kind of eye contact that Dexter would immediately take as a change of heart, Seth grabbed his winter gear off the wall hooks with one hand as he checked his laptop to make sure the Wi-Fi was still on, hoping to see a reply from the new distributor he’d met the day before. Wi-Fi was a go, but no incoming mail. “Yet,” he murmured, still feeling optimistic.

  He zipped up his canvas overcoat, tucking his long braid inside the back before flipping up the collar, then tugged on his hat and pulled the furry flaps of the mukluk down over his ears, tying the straps tight under his chin, behind his beard. His best buddy Sawyer had given him the hat as a joke, claiming it went with Seth’s whole Viking vibe—Seth was well past the six-foot mark in height, with the build of a sturdy oak. Seth thought it was the best gift he’d ever gotten. It had been one hell of a winter, and it turned out the fur-lined hat and those earflaps were pretty much the best insulation a guy could have. Last on were heavy work gloves, layered over thinner insulator gloves that would hopefully keep his fingertips from freezing off. He pulled the Velcro wrist straps tight, took one step toward the big sliding panel doors at the end of the barn . . . and his cell phone rang. He swore quite colorfully and pulled the gloves and the heavy winter hat off, because he knew who that ringtone belonged to, and, chances were, he wasn’t heading out into the godforsaken snowstorm for at least another twenty minutes.

  “Don’t be mad at me,” his baby sister blurted, before he’d even had a chance to say hello.

  “Happy Friday to you, too, Mouse. And don’t be silly. I love you,” he said, quite sincerely, even as he girded himself for what was to come, certain it wouldn’t be anything good. It never was with Mouse. Normally she went for over-the-top ego stroking mixed with her own brand of adorable, youngest-of-six wheedling, because she knew he was a sucker for it. The latter part, at any rate. So, this rather alarmist preamble didn’t bode well. Not at all. “Also Ma would skin me alive if I so much as ruffled even one of your pretty red ringlets, so you’ve got that going for you.”

  “I’ve cut them all off, so you’re safe.”

  His eyes widened in momentary surprise, even as he laughed. “Well, I’m not the one you have to worry about then. Does Dad know? You might be responsible for making a grown man cry.”

  “It was for Locks of Love, so he can’t say a word. Well, he could, and he probably will, but it’s charity, and one thing he’s got a softer spot for than my pretty red ringlets is a sick child. Besides, I think I’ve humored him long enough. I’ve been wanting that blanket off my neck for ages. And before you say it, I look like an old Irish nanny with it pinned up. I love my new style; I think it suits me.”

  “Sounds like everybody wins,” Seth said, well aware of the benefits of being neutral whenever he could manage it.

  “You should have been a mediator,” she said. “Now you’ve officially got the longest hair of the lot of us. Mr. Man Bun.” He could picture the cheeky grin on her pretty, gamine face. “As much as Dad loved those red curls of mine that always reminded him of his sainted grandmama, God rest her soul,” she said in a dead-on imitation of their old man, “he certainly hasn’t been a big fan of yours.”

  “I had my head shaved for ten years while I served in the army. I’m reveling in my freedom from hair tyranny.”

  “Well, if you’re wondering what to get Dad for Christmas—”

  “The man bun and the even more fantastic man beard stay as is. Anyone with a differing opinion on that is welcome to try to come at me with the cutting implement of his or her choice.”

  “Don’t look at me. I get it. It’s like my life in reverse,” Moira Brogan said, then laughed. “You probably don’t want to know this, but every time I post a photo of you on one of my social media accounts, women of all ages get downright swoony. Man buns and beards are total click bait, as it turns out.”

  “Click what?”

  “Personally, I don’t see it, but then they didn’t have to grow up with you slathering your face in pimple cream.”

  “You must be confusing me with Aiden. The only thing I slathered my adolescent face with was shaving cream, being as I was so manly I had to shave by the time I was fourteen.”

  “You have a very active imagination.”

  He chuckled. “So, what was it you thought I was going to get mad about? Why the call?”

  “Oh,” she said, all the cheeriness evaporating from her tone. “Right.”

  He lifted his brows and waited.

  “So, remember back when I was an undergrad, I got accepted into that program one of my professors was heading up, to do a semester abroad at Oxford?”

  “You mean before the douchebag—and I only use that term to preserve your tender ears from what I’d really like to call him—was arrested on felony corruption charges? Yes, I remember that. Almost cost you your scholarship because he was one of your biggest supporters.”

  “Yes, well, if you recall, it also cost me my semester abroad as that whole program fell apart when the new department head opted not to follow through
.”

  “I do recall. But that was ages ago. You’re done with school now, so—”

  “I am,” she said proudly, “and studying for the Washington State bar this summer. Speaking of which, you know I moved back home. Ma and Dad thought it made sense not to incur any further debt until I got everything sorted out.”

  “I do. But?”

  There was a pause, then a sigh. “I’m twenty-five years old, Seth. With two degrees. The latter being a law degree from Stanford. Only now I’m back in Seattle, living at home, and it’s like I’m sixteen all over again. Dad actually said something about me missing curfew last night at dinner. Curfew!”

  Seth grinned, knowing Mouse would pop him in the shoulder if she could see his expression right then. “And you wonder why I moved across the country to Virginia when I got out of the service?”

  “I know, I know,” she said, sighing. “I’m not ungrateful. I’m not. But I’m the only one of us at home. The focus is pretty intense.”

  “Dad always worried about you most, Mouse. He knew you were the last one, and I think he wanted to slow things down, make your childhood last a little longer, and that came out as him being super strict. Ma, she just misses having her house full of running feet and squabbling kids. The silence is probably deafening.”

  “Except when Aiden or Kathleen bring the grandkids,” Moira said, referring to their oldest brother and sister. “Then it’s mass chaos. And about as suitable for studying as my old dorm room. Worse, really. I love my niece and all of my nephews to pieces, but it’s like a Mickey Mouse frat house when they’re here.”

  Seth chuckled again, knowing it was true. “So, what, you want a plane ticket to London? Isn’t it a little late for an exchange program?”

  There was a brief pause, and then she said, “You remember my favorite Christmas movie, right?”

  Having spent the first eighteen years of his life in a house mostly filled with women had taught him a few things, so without hesitation, he said, “Sure.” Then prayed like hell she didn’t ask him to name it.

  “I watched it again over the holidays, and . . . I got an idea.” She let that hang, as if he should easily put two and two together at this point. The pause on his end must have gone on a beat too long, because she said, “The Holiday? Jude Law, Cameron Diaz?” When he still said nothing, she added, “Kate Winslet?”

  “Oh,” he replied, when it finally clicked. “The house swapping one, right.” What could he say? He liked Ms. Winslet. Then he did put two and two together, and his brows furrowed. “What have you gone and done, Moira Aileen?”

  “Well,” she said, the wheedling tone finally surfacing. “I am trying to save money like Ma and Dad want me to. I’ve managed to scrape together the airfare and basic living expenses working part time at the pub, so I’m not dipping into my savings.”

  That also had him lifting his brows. Their folks owned and ran a traditional Irish pub where all six of the Brogan kids had put in countless hours of indentured servitude. Or, at least that’s how it had always felt to all of them but Aiden, and never more so than for the family’s youngest, who had gone out of her way to make sure she put in as few hours as possible. “Did you now?” he said, a smile in his voice.

  “I did,” she repeated, not taking the bait. “I’m being smart about this, Seth. Uncle Sam will come calling on me to start paying my avalanche of student debt shortly. And once I start working, that will be my sole focus for years to come. There won’t be time or money for any travel, especially not the across-the-pond kind.” She paused for a breath; then the sweet, affectionate cajoling tone returned. “This is my last chance for a little adventure, big brother.”

  “So, what, you want me to tell Ma and Dad that you’ve invited a stranger to come live with them for a bit?”

  “Actually, Ma and Dad weren’t all that upset when I explained the idea to them.”

  That had his brow lifting again. “I can’t imagine Dad’s being okay with your going off to stay in some stranger’s home—”

  “That’s just it; she’s not a stranger. Well, to me personally, she is, but you remember Katie MacMillan, my first college roomie? She was straight over from Ireland, going to university in the States. It’s her cousin I’m trading with, and Katie’s meeting me there, to get me all settled in. Ma and Dad loved her, remember? Being from the old country, and all, as they put it. Nana Aileen talked to her for hours when she came home with me for Christmas freshman year, remember? They were both from Donegal. I think Ma and Dad are okay with this because it means I get to go see our homeland. I’ll be the first of us kids to go, Seth. You’ve seen more of the world than any of us, so surely you understand the need to explore beyond our own backyard.”

  The excitement in her tone was palpable, and he did indeed understand the itch.

  “So, are you just calling to get my blessing, then? Because it sounds like you’ve got it all figured out.”

  “Not exactly.”

  And just like that, he went right back on full alert. “Moira Aileen?” he said, caution in his tone.

  She rushed right back in. “So, Katie’s cousin . . . she’s looking for a getaway herself. She’s been to the States before, but this time she really wants to just tuck up and get out of the fray. She was hoping for something longer, like three months. But she agreed to the six weeks, so that’s probably all it’s going to be. I promise.”

  “Okay,” he said, still suspicious.

  “Seattle is a great place, you know I love my hometown, but it’s not really . . . you know, tucked away.” He heard her take in a slow breath. “The Blue Ridge Mountains, on the other hand . . .” She let that trail off.

  His mouth dropped open, then snapped right back shut. “You didn’t.”

  “Seth, you’ve got that big old place out there, and, God knows, it couldn’t be more remote. It’s perfect! What better place for Pippa to hide out than at a gorgeous mountain winery in the middle of nowhere?”

  “Pippa?”

  “Katie’s cousin. And she won’t be in the way, honest. She’s very self-sufficient. And the very last thing she’s going to want to do is draw attention to herself.”

  Hide out. Moira had said this Pippa needed to hide out? “What is she hiding from?” he asked. “An angry ex? Her family? Or what, she’s an international fugitive from justice? What’s really going on here, Moira? What did you get yourself involved in?”

  “You won’t be harboring a fugitive from justice. Jeez.”

  “I’m not harboring a fugitive from anything at the moment. What is she running from, Mouse?” Seth waited, but when she didn’t say anything, he said, “You do recall that my stint for Uncle Sam was with Special Forces. I’m good at interrogation.”

  “Okay, okay!” Moira let out a long breath. “So, it’s like this. Pippa is Pippa MacMillan.” She paused, but when he didn’t say anything, she added, “The Irish singer.” Still nothing from him. “She’s a much bigger star in the UK, like practically Bono big, but she’s had some crossover success here in the States. She’s a folk singer, so not exactly a household name here, but over there she’s famous.”

  “If she’s some big-time star, why does she need to swap anything? I’m sure she could rent a place anywhere she wanted to go, for as long as she wants.”

  “She could, yes, but then it would be all official, and folks would know. When I contacted Katie to tell her about my idea of a house swap, I asked her if she knew anyone who’d be willing. She and her cousin are pretty close. I knew she was some famous singer or whatever, but I don’t follow folk music, so I never really got just how big a deal she was. Back when Katie and I were roomies she was really just beginning her rise to fame. Anyway, Katie knew Pippa was going through some stuff, and she thought this might be the perfect way for her to duck out for a bit without it being all official, like it would if she had her business manager or personal assistants involved in making reservations and renting things in the U.S. Word would get out. But if Pippa just swaps
, she can hop a private plane, come here, rent a car on her own, and no one will be the wiser. I mean, I’m sure she’ll tell someone she trusts so no one worries that she’s suddenly vanished,” Moira hurried to add. “She just needs to get away from everything and everyone for a bit. Katie told me she’s had some health issues and—”

  “For the love of God, Mouse, please tell me you’re not sticking me with some stressed out, spoiled celebrity who’s doing her own brand of self-rehab by—”

  “Seth, it’s not like that,” Moira broke in; then her tone softened, and grew a lot more serious. “She’s—she had some problems, but not the drug or drinking kind. She had some kind of surgery on her vocal cords, and she needs to rest. It’s all very hush-hush, and I don’t know all the details myself. Katie swore me to secrecy, so you can’t say anything.”

  “That’s the least of your concerns at the moment,” he said darkly.

  “Seth,” she said, quietly now. “Please? If word got out about it over there, she’d be the target of every paparazzo on the planet. She needs to rest, and for that to happen, it needs to be somewhere she can be incognito. I need to study, and I want my time abroad before my post-grad, real life kicks in. It’s the perfect swap.”

  “Except for the part where you involved me without even asking.”

  “I’m asking now,” she said, sounding suitably abashed.

  “And no one in her inner circle is going to question someone suddenly coming to hang out at her place?”

  “She has a few places. This one is in the village where she grew up. Katie said she bought it to keep a foothold in her hometown. She only goes there to spend the occasional holiday with her family. Katie is going to meet me there, introduce me around as her friend, and say that Pippa was kind enough to loan me her place for a bit to study. It’s all good.”

  “If Pippa is as big a deal in the UK as you say, won’t someone here recognize her? I live in the land of folk music. And social media is global. One tweet, and it would be all over in an instant.”