Blackberry Cove

by Roxanne Snopek

  But the baker made no secret of the fact that, at sixty-seven, she had no interest in starting over. She was ready to hang up her apron and go off in search of warm beaches and cold margaritas. And Abby was in no position to take on a struggling business, no matter how much potential it had.

  “I heard about Roman.” Goldie’s round, apple-cheeked face grew solemn. “How’s he doing?”

  Roman’s true condition was still under wraps. But news about ambulance trips traveled fast through Sunset Bay.

  “He’s restless and grumpy, which means pretty much normal.” Abby smiled. “I’m on my way to see him now and thought I’d bring him something to sweeten him up a bit.”

  Goldie sold a variety of muffins, turnovers, danish, scones, butter horns, croissants, and cinnamon buns. But looking them over, Abby realized that the outstanding fare at Sanctuary Ranch had spoiled her. Goldie’s muffins, while delicious, were made from a single base recipe. Whether blueberry, chocolate chip, or cranberry, they all tasted more or less the same.

  Same thing with the scones and turnovers. There was something to be said for consistency, certainly, and Goldie had her regulars who appreciated knowing exactly what they’d get each day.

  But her yeast breads and rolls were excellent, wonderfully textured with golden brown crusts, fine crumbs, and well-flavored fillings.

  “I’ll take a half dozen cinnamon buns,” Abby said.

  Goldie packaged up the treats, throwing in a couple of items Abby hadn’t seen before.

  “For Chaos,” she said. “I’ve been working on a new recipe. Let me know how he likes them.”

  Abby offered the treats to Chaos in the truck, so Goldie could enjoy his reaction. In ten seconds, all that was left were crumbs. She gave two thumbs up to Goldie, who beamed with pleasure through the window.

  Unfortunately, Roman’s reaction in the hospital was less enthusiastic. As soon as he’d patted Chaos and allowed the dog to give him a good sniff-over, he took the bag from Abby.

  “These aren’t from the ranch,” he said, looking at the package.

  “Good eye,” Abby said. “The box with the name Goldie on it is a dead giveaway but I guess for a man with a brain tumor, every cogent thought is worth celebrating.”

  “Don’t toy with me, girlie.”

  “Girlie?” She shook her head. “Look, my friend. I’ve got a high-powered ace up my sleeve. If you want me to keep hiding it, you’d best give me the respect I deserve.”

  Bantering with him always brightened his spirits.

  He took a large bite, chewed, swallowed. “Nothing against Goldie, but these are crap.”

  Abby took one herself. The texture was good, soft with just enough chew, but the frosting was a little sweet for her taste.

  “That’s the tumor talking,” she said, speaking around the mouthful. “These are delicious.”

  He ate a few more bites. “Okay, not crap.”

  “What a concession.”

  “But not as good as yours.”

  “You mean Daphne’s.”

  “You bake them, too. I’ve seen you.”

  She did, but she used Daphne’s recipes. Okay, she added a bit of her own flair, but she knew how lucky she was to learn at the knee of a master.

  “Next time, bring me something you baked yourself.”

  “You’ll be home before you know it, enjoying the lifestyle to which you’ve become accustomed, which already includes more goodies from Daphne’s kitchen than you know what to do with,” she promised. “As for me, I’m busy in the garden right now. I’m not inclined to do you any more favors until you talk to your son. This keeping secrets is going to eat a hole in my stomach.”

  Roman pushed aside the remains of his treat. “I told you, I’ll tell him when I’m ready. Maybe when I’m home.”

  “Promise?”

  “No, I don’t promise. I said maybe for a reason.”

  “What are you so scared of?”

  His expression darkened. With a flip of his hand, he sent the rest of Goldie’s baking sailing onto the floor. “He already wanted to ship me off to a home somewhere, before. When he finds out . . .” He trailed off, then cleared his throat, and went on. “You know that things are going to get worse. He’ll be relentless, pushing me around, deciding what’s best for me. I told you, I want to die at home.”

  “You’re selling him short, Roman. Everything he does is because he loves you.”

  He twitched. “I could do with a little less love, then.”

  From the towel on the floor, the big dog whined, as if hurt by his master’s comment.

  To hide her emotions, Abby reached over and patted his head. “It’s okay, boy. He’s only joking.”

  Only the abject fear deep in Roman’s eyes mitigated Abby’s desire to strangle him where he sat. How could he say something like that? How did he not see how truly rich he was to have a son who cared for him the way Jon did? She’d watched Jon’s face when he talked about Roman. His handsome features and expressive, deep blue eyes spoke of a parent-child bond Abby could only wish for.

  How could she make him see this?

  She sat on the edge of the bed and scooted closer to him. “Roman, you and Jon are so lucky to have each other. Don’t waste the time you have left on a fight he might not even want to have with you. Tell him the truth so he can help you enjoy the rest of your life. Give him that gift.”

  “Gift.” Roman sniffed. “No one wants a gift like that, Abby-girl.”

  “It’s either that, or he lives with the pain of knowing that when you needed him the most, you didn’t trust he’d be there for you. That you didn’t believe he cared.”

  He was quiet for a time. Abby watched the sheet over his chest move up and down. She sensed he was fighting a battle inside himself, and she was lucky he wasn’t yelling. She knew it was a huge sign of how helpless he was feeling that he’d unburdened himself to this extent with her.

  “I know he cares,” he said eventually. “But I won’t let him put his life on hold indefinitely. Maybe when I’m closer to . . . you know. But now, when it could be six weeks or six months, I can’t ask that of him.” He cleared his throat roughly. “He’s a good man. He’ll drop everything, as soon as he knows, which is why I can’t tell him now. Not yet. He’s got a future. I don’t. I’m protecting that. He’ll thank me for it.” He gave a bark of laughter. “Well, probably not because I’ll be dead. But he’ll come to appreciate it.”

  She shook her head, out of arguments. “I don’t know what to do with you. You’re so stubborn. You think the world is one big pissing contest and the first one to admit to any kind of human failing or weakness, loses. You have no idea that everyone else is feeling the exact same way.”

  “It’s not just that.” Roman’s customarily gruff voice was barely audible. “We’ve had our issues, my boy and I. I don’t want his last memories of me to be . . . like that. Like that look on your face. Sad. Pitiful. I won’t have it.”

  His voice broke.

  She reached for his arm, squeezed it, unable to respond.

  After a few moments, he found his voice again. “I want us to get along, to have fun, to sit in the garden and drink beer. That’s all.”

  “He’ll understand that. He’ll realize that your wishes are what’s important.”

  Roman shook his head. “He’s not ready. I’ll know when he is, and then I’ll tell him.”

  A nurse came in then with papers in her hand. “Congratulations, Mr. Byers. We’re kicking you out. Here are your walking papers. We need your signature here, here, and here.”

  She stooped to greet Chaos, who was wagging and grinning at her. “We’re going to miss you around here, you big sweetheart.”

  “Going home.” Abby turned and gave Roman her biggest, brightest smile. “What great news. I’m so happy for you. I can’t wait until you’re settled in again, with Jon. You two have so much to talk about.”

  “We just called him,” the nurse continued, while Roman took care of the p
aperwork, ignoring Abby. “He’ll be here in a few minutes to take you home.”

  She gathered the pages together, smiled, and left the room.

  “I didn’t promise,” Roman said, giving Abby a stern look. “I did not promise.”

  “We’ll see,” she said.

  Chapter Seven

  From Abby’s notebook:

  SANCTUARY RANCH CINNAMON BUNS

  Dough:

  1 teaspoon sugar

  ½ cup lukewarm water

  2 tablespoons traditional dry yeast

  3 cups milk

  ⅓ cup butter

  ⅓ cup sugar

  1 tablespoon salt

  2 large eggs

  9 cups all-purpose flour, approximately

  Filling:

  ¾ cup melted butter

  1½ cups brown sugar

  2 tablespoons cinnamon

  1 cup raisins (optional)

  To make dough:

  Proof the yeast: Dissolve one teaspoon sugar in lukewarm water. Stir in yeast and let stand in warm place for 10 minutes.

  * * *

  While yeast is proofing, heat milk in microwave or saucepan until very warm but not boiling. Stir in butter, sugar, and salt. Cool to lukewarm.

  In large bowl, combine milk mixture, eggs, and dissolved yeast. Stir in five cups of flour and beat well for 10 minutes. Gradually add only as much flour necessary to make a soft dough.

  Turn onto lightly floured work surface and knead until smooth and elastic, adding additional flour only as necessary. (Too much will make the buns tough and dry.)

  Place in well-greased bowl and flip once to grease entire surface of dough. Cover with parchment paper and a damp cloth and let rise in warm place for about one hour, or until doubled in size.

  Punch down dough and return to floured work surface. Divide in half and roll each piece into a 9 x 13 inch rectangle. Brush generously with melted butter, sprinkle with brown sugar, cinnamon, and raisins, if desired. Roll up from the long side, until you have two 13-inch logs. Pinch edges to seal. Using a sharp knife, cut each log into nine 2-inch slices and place on large, well-buttered pan. Cover loosely with parchment paper and let rise until doubled in size, about 45 minutes.

  Bake at 350 degrees F on middle rack of oven for 30–35 minutes. Invert onto wire cooling rack while still hot.

  Makes 18 large buns.

  By the time Jon had loaded his father into the vehicle, they were both hot and irritated. Chaos was so excited to have Roman back, he could barely control himself. Jon finally put him on sit-stay on the grass beside the parking lot, while he figured out how to adjust the passenger seat so Roman would be comfortable.

  “It’s a half-hour drive, Dad,” he said. “I don’t want you to be in misery the whole way.”

  Roman had to wear compression stockings now, because of the clot, which made traveling in the seat of a car even more uncomfortable.

  “I’m in more misery standing out here watching you. Let me sit down and I’ll figure it out myself.”

  “Fine,” he heard himself say, and smiled.

  With a grunt, Roman lowered himself into the seat, leaned back. He squinted and tugged down the visor, then rested his head and closed his eyes. “Seat’s fine. Just get me home to my own chair.”

  Abby had gone ahead to open the gates and put on the kettle. She wanted him and Roman to be able to relax and talk, she said. She’d brought cookies.

  But when they got there, straightaway, Roman insisted on taking a nap. With Chaos at his side, he limped into the bedroom and banged shut his door.

  Abby looked between the door and the kettle. “I’ve got tea and everything. He makes me so mad.”

  “No big deal, Abby. There’s lots of time to visit.”

  “Yes, but . . .” She looked away. “I made him cookies. It’s a new recipe. Coconut pecan. I wanted to see if he liked them.”

  “I can taste test them for you.” Jon took one from the plate and bit into it. His eyes widened as he chewed.

  “Well?”

  “Delicious.” He swallowed. “Crunchy, chewy, nutty. You invented these?”

  “Hardly. But I didn’t follow a recipe, if that’s what you mean. You should tell your dad about your job. He’s worried that being here is causing trouble for you. He’d rest easier if he knew that you’d gone back to freelancing.”

  Jon flinched at the sudden change in subject and glanced at Roman’s door. “Shh. I’ll tell him when he wakes up.”

  Abby raised her eyebrows.

  “I will. Sheesh.” Though he wasn’t looking forward to it. Roman had definite opinions about everyone at Diversion and Jon wasn’t interested in hearing the inevitable I-told-you-so’s.

  He thought of a follow-up question he’d been meaning to ask Abby.

  “You mentioned working as a dog-walker,” he said.

  “Yeah. Why?” Her voice was guarded.

  “Did you do any other work in Hollywood?”

  She turned away. “I helped out with craft service a few times. Why do you ask?”

  “I’m a curious guy, remember? Did you enjoy it?”

  Thanks to his work on the Arondi story, he sometimes forgot that not everyone connected to the film industry was dirty. He wanted to reassure himself that Abby had been untouched by the ugliness.

  “Not as much as dog walking, but it paid better.” She took a sip of tea, and hesitated as if editing her thoughts. “Quinn and I got asked to be extras a few times, too. It was exciting at first. All those big stars, the lights and cameras, the makeup, the beautiful people. I never got to be more than Crowd Person Number 8. But Quinn’s hair was very on-trend, so the back of her head actually made it into a few scenes.” She gave a little laugh. “It felt very glamorous—until it got boring. We had to be there at six in the morning and hang around all day and sometimes they didn’t even end up using us. Still, the money was good and it beat waiting tables or cleaning toilets. Best gig I’d had at the time, actually.”

  “Why did you quit?” Jon asked.

  Her expression changed, went casually blank in the manner of people who were about to diverge from the truth. A chill rippled up the back of his neck.

  “Quinn was too young,” she said, brushing a cookie crumb off her sleeve. “It took too much time away from school. She was letting her grades drop. I was very glad to get her out of there.”

  “Is that when you left L.A.?”

  She nodded. “Quinn needed a change. I needed to lower our expenses. Seemed like the right move.”

  It was a plausible reason, but he had a feeling they were dancing around something more. At the very least, she must have heard the rumors.

  At the worst . . . He didn’t want to think about the worst.

  “Abby,” he said, “you look like you are remembering something unpleasant.”

  He waited for her to reply, but she didn’t bite.

  “Did you ever meet a producer named Richard Arondi?” he asked, finally.

  She gave him the same calculated stare but this time, behind that bland expression, he saw something ignite.

  “No,” she said. “And I hope I never do.”

  THE SPRING FESTIVAL GARDEN HOP CONTINUES WITH A VISIT TO SANCTUARY RANCH

  By Jonathan Byers—exclusive to the Sunset Bay Chronicle

  Set against the rolling foothills and within walking distance to the ocean, Sanctuary Ranch may be the best-kept secret of the area.

  Established by aunt-and-niece team Olivia Hansen and Haylee Hansen-McCall, this little-known gem of the Sunset Bay area is a rustic resort offering guests a boots-deep opportunity to experience life on an organic, cruelty-free, sustainable working cattle ranch. Or they can go beachcombing, ride horses, eat great food, and simply unplug and unwind in the wild coastal beauty.

  This is more than a dude ranch, though. Its raison d’être, as hinted at in the name, is the sanctuary they provide for dogs, horses, and even sometimes, people.

  “We’re all strays here one way or anoth
er,” Hansen-McCall says. “In rescuing others, we rescue ourselves.”

  Hansen-McCall runs a boarding and training kennel called Companions with Purpose on the property, through which she trains assistance dogs. Her pet therapy program is in demand in nursing homes and schools as well as Sunset Bay Memorial Hospital.

  Olivia Hansen, whose passion is horses, says riders are amazed to find out that their mounts were once untrained, unwanted, or abused animals. Some guests return year after year specifically to catch up with horses they’ve bonded with.

  This month, the quiet ranch is opening its gates so the public can share in their beautiful five-acre oasis filled with crocuses, daffodils, hyacinths, and irises, and especially, the dozens of tulip varieties that are now bursting into color.

  Interested visitors can also watch dog agility and training demonstrations, and enjoy pony rides for the little ones, but the blooms are the main attraction and they are spectacular.

  When Abby Warren offered to redesign the flower gardens, the owners had no idea that she had something like this in mind. “Abby has the soul of an artist,” says Olivia Hansen.

  Warren, however, credits to teamwork and Mother Nature. “We have the perfect soil and microclimate. Everyone pitched in to prepare the beds. After that, it’s easy.”

  In truth, nothing’s easy on a ranch except the sleep afforded by fresh air and exercise, and even then, for those accustomed to city lights and noise, it’s an adjustment.

  Warren admits it took time for her and her sister, Quinn, to adjust to the quiet. Like everyone at the ranch, they came to escape something else but instead, found a home and even a family, something the Warren sisters have never known.

  “Every day here is a joy,” Warren adds. “I never want to leave.”