Freshly picked tulips and flower arrangements created by Warren will be available for purchase, as well as baking and preserves from the ranch kitchen. Pack a blanket for a picnic in the apple orchard if you like and be sure to bring your camera. You’ll never find a more beautiful backdrop for family photos than the riotous display of red, orange, yellow, white, pink, and purple blooms set against the rolling foothills of Sanctuary Ranch.
Chapter Eight
From Abby’s notebook:
HONEY ALMOND CHOCOLATE BISCOTTI
These delicious twice-baked cookies are perfect for dunking in a cup of afternoon coffee. Though hard and crunchy when fresh, after a day or two the honey and nuts give them a slightly softer, chewier texture and more pronounced flavor.
1 cup all-purpose flour
1 cup whole wheat flour
¾ cup brown sugar
¾ cup unblanched almonds, chopped fine
¾ cup whole unblanched almonds
½ teaspoon baking powder
½ teaspoon baking soda
¼ teaspoon salt
½ teaspoon cinnamon
1 teaspoon instant coffee
½ cup chocolate chips
⅓ cup warm water (may need slightly more)
⅓ cup liquid honey
1 egg, beaten
1 tablespoon raw turbinado sugar
Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. In large bowl, stir flours, sugar, chopped almonds, baking powder, baking soda, salt, cinnamon, and coffee until well mixed. Add chocolate chips and whole almonds and mix well.
Stir liquid honey into warm water until blended. Stir liquid mixture into dry mixture. If it doesn’t hold together, add extra water, one teaspoon at a time until it forms a stiff dough.
Divide in half. Roll each half into a log about eight inches long. Place on parchment paper–covered baking sheet and flatten into a rectangle approximately ¾ inch thick. Brush with beaten egg for a nice sheen. Sprinkle with raw turbinado sugar.
Bake at 350 degrees F for 30 minutes or until firm and golden. Leave logs on baking sheet to cool for at least one hour.
When cool, remove logs from baking sheet and place on cutting board. With large serrated knife, cut each log into about 18 slices, approximately ½ inch thick. Place slices back on baking sheet, cut side down, and bake again at 350 degrees F for ten minutes.
Cool completely and store in tightly covered container.
Makes approximately three dozen.
Quinn stood at the gateway to the garden holding a tray of snacks from Daphne’s kitchen. It was her job to offer everyone a little bite on their way in, and to remind them to stop by the sales booth on their way out.
Talking to strangers was not her strong suit, and the day stretched long before her.
“Oh, is that a salted caramel brownie?” asked a teenage girl. Her stylish boots and perfectly ripped jeans made Quinn all too aware of her sneakers and hoodie.
“Best you’ll ever taste.” Quinn used the metal tongs to lift the paper cup containing the morsel and put it into the girl’s hand. “Enjoy the garden.”
The girl’s phone buzzed then and she left without replying to Quinn.
A group of middle-age women followed, all appreciative of the food, but more excited about the flowers.
They should be, Quinn thought. She and Abby had busted their butts getting it to look this nice. She actually didn’t know how Abby was still standing. Worked all day in the dirt, then up to Roman’s place to do whatever she did there, then back to the ranch where she spent half her nights in the kitchen, baking up a storm.
Abby said baking relaxed her. Quinn didn’t buy it but then, her sister had always been a little tightly wound and it’s not like she had a lot of other outlets.
She needed a hobby, instead of work, work, and more work.
A young couple was next, pushing a stroller containing a squirming, red-faced toddler.
Quinn liked kids. Kids didn’t judge. And parents were usually so frazzled, they were just happy to have someone to talk to.
She bent over and addressed the kid. “Would you like a cookie, honey?”
The little girl stopped fussing and blinked huge, black eyes.
Quinn looked up at the mother. “Our baker makes a version with almond meal, no whole nuts, no choking hazard.”
The mother’s face softened with relief. The child grabbed for the treat and immediately stuffed it into her mouth. “She’s teething,” said the woman. “These are perfect, thank you.”
Quinn stood up and turned the tray around. “Can I tempt you with the grown-up version? It’s chocolate-almond-espresso and it’s delicious.”
“Does it come with coffee?” asked the father. His dark complexion clearly showed where the baby’s coloring had come from.
Quinn grinned and pointed him to the snack station. “Of course.”
She watched as they walked to get their drinks. The woman looked to be about Abby’s age, resembled her too, with that red tinge to her hair and that creamy skin. If Abby had a baby, she’d get to be cool Auntie Quinn.
But that wasn’t likely to happen, not while they stayed out here in the back of beyond.
“Are we allowed in, too?” came a familiar, crabby voice.
She looked up, and started. It was their neighbor, Roman Byers, leaning heavily on his cane, his friendly dog, Chaos, at his side. He always seemed mad about something, though he was nice to his dog, which made her feel better about him. Today, though, he sported a big black eye, which didn’t exactly warm him up.
“Hi, Mr. Byers,” she said. “Of course you can come in.”
“Ignore the shiner. The other guy looks worse.”
“Dad. Next you’ll be telling people that I beat you.”
Mr. Byers’s son was with him. He had the kind of movie-star hotness that made her even more nervous.
She wasn’t sure what to say, so she held her tray out of reach and bent to pat the dog. Most service dogs were trained not to interact with people but ranch dogs were different. Part of their job was to help their people in social situations. She liked that. Some days she wished she had a dog to help her in social situations.
“Hi, Quinn,” said Jonathan. “You’ve met my dad, right?”
She stood up and rested the tray awkwardly on her arm to give them a little wave.
“Yeah,” she said, turning to Roman. “Do you, um, want a snack?”
“Later. I want to see those flowers Abby’s been going on about.” Roman scowled and pushed past her.
Jon gave her an apologetic smile. “He’s a little ticked, I think. He’s gotten used to her visiting him. Doesn’t quite get it that people have jobs.”
“This place is crazy right now. Everyone in town must have read your article.”
He felt a little burst of pride. It was a small favor that cost him nothing and was having exactly the effect he’d hoped for here at the ranch.
He selected a tiny chocolate tart and popped it in his mouth. “Oh, man,” he said, wiping a crumb from his lip. “That’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted. Who makes those?”
“Abby.”
He glanced over to where Abby’s red jacket was visible among the blooms. “When does she have the time?”
“She doesn’t sleep a lot. Enjoy the flowers.”
“I will. Thanks.” She let him take a second tart before he left and watched him walk toward her sister. His head didn’t turn once to the flowers, but stayed trained on Abby.
Interesting, thought Quinn.
Maybe what her workaholic sister needed wasn’t a hobby.
Maybe she needed a boyfriend.
* * *
Roman was quiet after their trip to Sanctuary Ranch to view the flowers.
“You tired, Dad?” He slowed the car over the bumpy driveway leading home. Roman tried not to let Jon see when he was in pain, but the old man had a white-knuckle trip on the oh-shit bar above the door. Riding in a car was one of the worst positions for his hip.
“Tired of people,” Roman said. “All those tourists, kids running through, making a mess. After all the effort Abby put into it.”
The bruising from the cut on Roman’s head had settled out underneath one eye. The doctors said it would take longer than usual to resolve because of the blood thinners they’d needed for the clot in his leg.
Some people would have wanted to hide while it healed. Roman said it gave him a rakish mystique and if people didn’t like it, they could look elsewhere. In fact, since coming home from the hospital, he acted like his energy had been renewed, as if all the new bumps and bruises were badges of honor.
“You want to take a nap before supper?”
Jon planned to make an old favorite, angel hair pasta and marinara sauce. Roman claimed hospital food had destroyed his taste buds so Jon was pulling out all the stops. So far, only the baking Abby brought by seemed to tempt him.
Chaos leaped out of the backseat, then planted himself in front of the passenger seat, so Roman could use his harness for leverage.
“Nah.” He grunted as Chaos pulled him upright, then exhaled. “I’ll sleep when I’m dead. I’m going out to the blind. There’s a northern spotted owl in the area.”
“Really?” The blind wasn’t far from the backyard but the path was rough. Roman had fallen there before.
“Yup,” Roman said. “Read about it on one of my birding sites.”
“I meant—”
“I know what you meant.” Roman limped away from the car, leaving Jon to close the door. “This is a threatened species. I’ll probably never get another chance to see it. So I’m going.”
“Or you could rest now and see it later.”
“I could die in my sleep and never see it.”
“Don’t be morbid.”
“Don’t follow me. I’ve got the dog. We’ll be back for supper.”
He stopped to grab his binoculars from the patio table, and the walking stick that stood next to the door. Chaos, knowing where they were going, galloped toward the gate at the back fence, his tail fanning the air wildly.
Jon watched them go, unsure if he should follow behind or let them be. Roman wasn’t his usual self but Jon couldn’t say if this was a good thing or a bad thing. He was certainly taking interest in the world, which was a heck of a lot better than the depression he’d fallen into after his original injury. Then, Jon had worried that Roman was simply waiting to die.
Now, Roman acted like he wanted to wring every bit of life from each day.
It was good, he told himself. Yet he kept a close eye on the back gate while he puttered about the kitchen.
As first one hour passed, then another, he grew annoyed. His father insisted he was able to judge his own ability, but Jon didn’t have to look back far for evidence that Roman’s judgment wasn’t what it used to be.
What if Abby hadn’t come around that morning? How long would Roman have lain in the bathroom, bleeding and unable to move? What if Jamie and Gideon hadn’t been riding in the forest the day his father had slipped while walking with Sadie and Chaos?
And what about the events Jon didn’t know about? There were scorch marks on the kettle that made him think it had burned dry at some point. The lint trap in the dryer was so thick it could have been used as a carpet. Roman never remembered to turn off his heating pad. The mayonnaise in the fridge had been best before January 2016.
Scores of little things showed that Roman wasn’t safe on his own anymore.
At least Chaos was working out. Roman had been furious when Jon first brought the puppy home, unwilling to allow another dog into his heart, unwilling to accept that Sadie was dying, unwilling to believe that another creature could attain her skill level.
They’d almost given up, too. Chaos was a young energetic dog and Roman was older and frailer than he’d been when he’d trained Sadie. It wasn’t until after Sadie’s death that Roman had finally begun bonding with the pup. The training they received at the ranch had helped them become a team.
Jon looked out the window again. It was a beautiful day. Roman was probably fine. Chaos would come back alone if Roman fell.
Probably he was dozing under the big tree where he watched for owls, too stubborn to take a nap, because it had been Jon’s suggestion.
While the olive oil heated in the pan, Jon opened three tins of Italian plum tomatoes and crushed a handful of garlic cloves. They’d both have garlic coming out of their pores after this, but it would be worth it.
He wouldn’t have chosen this dish if Abby was planning to stop in. But until the garden hop was finished, she had little time to spare.
And it wasn’t as if they’d be kissing.
Though he wouldn’t mind it if they were.
She intrigued him like no woman had in years. He marveled now that he’d barely noticed her last summer. Her burnt chestnut hair and flawless skin, her long, lean limbs, strong from outdoor work, the way her legs moved beneath those loose jeans, the soft swell beneath the endless supply of white T-shirts she had . . . He must have been brain dead not to see it then.
But he’d been distracted by Roman, and always pressed for time, flying back and forth for work.
Now, with no reason to rush back to Los Angeles, and seeing her as often as he did, he knew there was something special there, and not just the body hiding beneath her work clothes. He had the sense she was someone truly rare, worth taking the time to get to know, even though she didn’t like to talk about herself.
But there was the challenge. She flirted back with him, but somehow still held herself aloof, as if she’d already decided that there would be nothing more between them.
It bugged the hell out of him.
And made him more determined than ever to figure her out. He could stay a bit longer, maybe do some more freelance stuff, work on the book proposal noodling in the back of his mind. He still needed to convince his dad to consider moving, and who knows how long that would take?
He’d have to land another job soon, but for now, maybe it was okay to set that aside, hang out. Be a tourist.
Maybe Abby would show him around.
The tomato sauce bubbled merrily in the pan, sending its rich, garlicky aroma throughout the house.
He glanced out the window again. “Come on, Dad,” he muttered. “You’ve been gone long enough.”
Chapter Nine
From Abby’s notebook:
Once blossoms fade, use gentle cuts to shape and thin overly exuberant spring-blooming shrubs and trees.
The peonies were poking pink and green fingers up through the black soil and Abby could already see that the spread of the blooms would be wider this year than last. She’d carefully worked around the roots in fall, making sure not to disturb them as peonies were sulky flowers that did not appreciate interference. That’s okay. She was good at waiting. Gardening was nothing if not an exercise in delayed gratification.
Delayed gratification. Story of her life.
“I’ve been hauling compost for two hours,” Quinn announced, swiping a gloved hand across her forehead. “Isn’t it time for a break?”
Quinn seemed her usual self, Abby noted with relief, which meant that Jon hadn’t brought up the subject of Richard Arondi in their interview. Abby had no desire to stir all that up again. Quinn was doing so well now. She was becoming friends with Sage, breaking out of her shell in a normal way, as opposed to the frenetic, desperate, dangerous ways she’d sought company in the past.
“You’ve been participating with Mother Nature in the creation of new life,” Abby replied. “Come on. Channel your inner goddess.”
“My inner goddess currently requires more of the lilac-and-lily side of nature and a little less of the shoveling shit side. Also, I’m hungry. I’m going to see if there’s any coffee cake left. Want me to bring you a piece?”
“No, I’m good.” She wouldn’t mind working alone for a while. Quinn was in a talkative mood, which was good, but Abby found that she got more done when she could get into
the zone. The tulips were holding up and bringing with them a torrent of visitors. The garden had to stay perfect for another week or two.
High above them, a hawk rode the thermals, screaming its thin, piercing cry. The damp breeze was scented with rotting pine and cedar chips, composted mushroom manure, and the salty spray of the Pacific, far below.
There was something healing about working in a spring garden. It was a lot of work, certainly. But it was so full of potential. That’s what excited her. Potential, with a little mystery. Which perennials would return, in what condition? What, if any, volunteers would appear? Last summer, several new stands of lavender shoots had appeared in an area where nothing else had taken.
New growth meant established plants were always a little different from year to year, and—
“Abby!” Quinn’s voice broke into her musings. “Come look what I found.”
Abby propped the rake against the wheelbarrow and walked to the edge of the vegetable garden, to where Quinn was bent among the shrubbery.
“It’s a baby bunny,” she said softly, as Abby knelt beside her.
The creature fit into Quinn’s palm, a tan-colored scrap of fur with bright shining eyes that didn’t blink and a tiny pink nose that twitched continuously.
“She’s so small.” Quinn stroked the little back, which made the animal quiver.
“How do you know it’s a girl?” Abby asked.
Quinn shrugged. “I don’t. Isn’t she cute? She shouldn’t be out here all alone.”
Abby’s heart sank. “She’s probably from a nest nearby. The mother might be watching right now, waiting for you to leave her baby and go away.”
“Or,” Quinn said, “she could be moments away from being eaten. My inner goddess is telling me that I’m the heroine of Calliope’s story right now, Abby.”
“Calliope?”
“Everyone needs a name.”
A stubborn note had entered her voice and Abby knew there’d be no arguing with her. She celebrated the strength Quinn had gained in the past few years but with strength came battles.
Blackberry Cove Page 9
