Cherished

by HELEN HARDT

  “No oregano?”

  “Not in this version. Oregano is too harsh. It overwhelms the seafood.” He pauses a moment. “Did I just divulge my secret ingredient to you?”

  I chuckle. “The caraway?”

  “Shit.” He shakes his head. “I’m not sure I’ve even let Aunt Marj in on that secret.”

  “How did you discover it?”

  “What the hell?” he says. “In for a penny, in for a pound. Aunt Marj uses a pinch of anise in one of her red sauces, which I like, but I always felt it was just a bit too much. I did some research and tried caraway, and it gives it the same tang, only without the touch of licorice.”

  “Interesting.”

  “Do you cook?”

  “A little. I’m pretty good with most seafood. I’ve perfected cooking cod without drying it out.”

  “That’s a tough one. As you can imagine, I don’t cook a lot of fish. So maybe you’ll prepare your cod for me sometime.”

  Happiness explodes inside me. He means it. He really means it. We’re going to try this for the rest of my internship.

  And maybe…just maybe…he’ll want to keep going.

  But I can’t push. Jade’s warning is forever engraved in my mind. If I push him too hard, he may shrink back from me forever.

  “I’d love to cook for you sometime,” I say. “But I don’t have a kitchen at my disposal.”

  “You’ll cook here, of course.” He stirs the sauce.

  I smile. “All right. That will be fun. Though I’m wondering if I can get fresh cod here in Snow Creek.”

  “Hmm,” he says. “Probably not. So we’ll go to Aspen. Fresh fish is flown in daily.”

  “Aspen?”

  “Yeah, you’ve heard of it, right?”

  “Of course. But it’s so—” I stop myself. Affluent was the word that came to mind. Aspen, where all the Hollywood celebs go when they want to get out of LA. So of course they go to mini LA in the Rockies.

  “So what?”

  “Nothing. I was thinking it’s expensive.”

  “Ah… My privilege again. The Steel family has several properties in Aspen, each with a full kitchen. I thought you could cook for me there. Unless it’s too privileged for you.”

  “No,” I say.

  “You don’t want to go to Aspen?”

  “No, that’s not what I mean. I mean, no, it’s not too privileged for me.” I shake my head. “This isn’t going the way I want it to at all.”

  “Face it, Ashley. We come from two different worlds. I don’t think that’s a problem, but you seem to.”

  I shake my head again. “I don’t. I don’t at all. But Dale, this is so different from what I’m used to. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I love that you want to share your place in Aspen with me. I love that you want me to cook for you. I just… This is all so new to me, and I guess I’m having a hard time processing it.”

  To my utter surprise, he turns away from his cooktop and touches my arm. Sparks shoot through me.

  “It’s okay,” he says. “I understand.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Dale

  Even I’m surprised at my reaction.

  But I do understand.

  I was only ten when I came to the ranch, and it was difficult to comprehend its magnitude at first. Difficult to comprehend just how rich my new family was.

  “Thank you,” she says softly.

  “I said I’d try this, Ashley. I’m bound to stumble a few times. More than a few times, to be honest. I’ve never…”

  “Never what?”

  “Done this before.”

  She wrinkles her forehead. “But you said you were in love once.”

  I frown and look back at my sauce. Yes, I said that. I was talking about her.

  She presses, “If you were in love, didn’t you have a relationship? Go on dates? All that stuff?”

  I clear my throat. “Maybe my love was unrequited.”

  She huffs. “I can’t believe that.”

  I turn the heat down to low on the sauce and go to the refrigerator. “You were right. Fresh seafood isn’t readily available in this small town, but I managed to find some frozen sea scallops and large prawns. That will be our frutti di mare.”

  “Sounds delicious. Most frutti di mare includes squid, which I personally find kind of rubbery. But Dale…”

  I turn to face her. “I said I’d try this, okay? I want to. But you can’t pepper me with questions all the time. Yes, I’ve been in love once. That’s all I’m going to say for the moment.”

  She nods, her lips trembling slightly.

  I expect her to fight me. To continue her interrogation.

  But she stays quiet for a few minutes. I sauté the scallops and prawns in olive oil and garlic until they’re cooked through—only about ten minutes. Overcooking will ruin them and make them rubbery, which Ashley apparently doesn’t like. I actually agree with her on the squid, though I like the flavor.

  I turn to the next burner to check on the linguine. It’s perfectly al dente, so I turn down the heat and then pour it through the colander sitting in the sink.

  I plate the linguine quickly, topping each with a generous portion of the sautéed scallops and prawns and then a half cup of marinara. I garnish with a few fresh basil leaves.

  A loaf of Ava’s fresh Italian bread already sits on the table, along with a bottle of Italian Barbera d’Alba.

  “Have a seat,” I tell Ashley.

  She complies, and I slide a plate of food in front of her.

  “Smells heavenly.” She gestures toward the wine. “No Steel wine tonight?”

  “I thought you might appreciate something different. We do make a great Italian blend, but there’s nothing quite like a Barbera d’Alba with tomato-based foods.”

  “I agree.”

  Not that I expected her to disagree. I’m right. I uncorked the bottle earlier to let it breathe. I pour a tasting portion into her goblet. “What do you think?”

  She swirls it in her glass and smiles. “Is this a test?”

  “Of course not. But I’m interested in your opinion.”

  She sinks her nose into the glass. “Mmm. Dark cherry, violet, and”—she sniffs again—“our previous conversation about caraway and anise notwithstanding, I’m getting a touch of licorice.” She takes a sip and holds it in her mouth a few seconds before swallowing. “Not very tannic but a lovely acidity. I’m getting mostly the dark cherries again, with a little lavender and violet on the finish.”

  I nod.

  “How’d I do?” she asks.

  “I told you. It wasn’t a test.”

  “I know, but your opinion means a lot to me.”

  “Okay.” I fill her glass and then my own. Then I take a taste. She’s right on target. I’m getting everything she said. I swallow. “I agree with you. The only thing I’ll add is a little vanilla on the finish. In fact…” I take another taste. “Make that bourbon vanilla.”

  She takes another sip. “Yeah, it’s subtle, but it’s definitely there. I can’t believe I missed that.”

  “I’ve been tasting wine a lot longer than you have. You may have the education, but there’s no substitute for actual experience.”

  Oddly, she doesn’t argue the point. In fact, she nods.

  “You’re right,” she says. “I’ve learned a ton at school, but it’s mostly theory. Sure, we’ve done some tastings in lab settings, but the real world is different.”

  She doesn’t even know the truth she speaks. My real world—which she sees as one of riches and privilege—holds secrets I may never release.

  I wash the thought from my mind. I made a promise to Ashley and a promise to myself. I’ll be with her during this internship. For two more months. I’ll hide the beast inside me as best I can. To be with her. To have her. To let my heart feel what it wants to feel.

  If I start thinking about the dark secrets I hide, I won’t get very far with those promises.

  I gesture toward her plate. “D
ig in. I want to know what a coastal girl thinks of my attempt at seafood.”

  “I already know I’ll love it.” She twirls linguine on her fork and then spears a piece of scallop before bringing the utensil to her mouth. Her eyes widen as she chews and swallows. “It’s wonderful. I’ve never tasted anything like it.”

  My cheeks warm. I know I’m a great cook. Aunt Marj has sung my praises for years, and she’s a better chef than those in most of the finest restaurants. But to hear the praise from Ashley’s pink lips means more to me than my aunt’s most formidable compliment.

  My lips nudge. I want to smile. Why am I holding back? I feel good, so I should smile. After all, I made that promise to Ashley and to myself. Yes, I need to hold back on emotion, but this is just a smile. What can it hurt?

  I let my muscles go as she takes another bite, and her eyes widen once more.

  She swallows. “Wow.”

  “I’m glad you like it.”

  “I do. It’s delicious. But the ‘wow’ was for that gorgeous smile on your face. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen you smile like that.”

  I know she hasn’t.

  “You should smile more often,” she goes on.

  “I’m just glad you like the dish.”

  She returns my smile with her own dazzling one. Unlike me, Ashley smiles a lot, and every time it’s better than the last. Her whole face lights up, and my heart wants to leap out of my chest.

  “Are you going to eat?” she asks.

  My plate sits in front of me, the food still untouched. I’ve been entranced by her smile. I pick up my fork and swirl pasta onto it. “I’ve eaten this at least a hundred times.”

  “But never with me.” She smiles again.

  True words. I bring my fork to my mouth and savor the goodness of the linguine frutti di mare. The flavors dance on my tongue.

  And damn, it’s never tasted better.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Ashley

  Dale doesn’t talk much more as we finish the pasta, but that’s okay. I’m used to him being quiet. All I care about is that he’s here, I’m here, and we’re going to be together for the rest of my time in Colorado.

  It’s not forever, but it’s a start.

  And in the end, if three months are all I have of Dale Steel, it will be enough. One day with this man is better than a century with any other.

  What if I don’t want to let him go at the end?

  I brush off the thought and secure it in the Scarlett O’Hara file in the back of my mind. I’ll think about that tomorrow. More likely, in two months.

  Dale refreshes our wineglasses and gestures to my empty plate. “Would you like some more?”

  “Maybe just a little.”

  He takes my plate and refills it with a half portion, his own with a full. Then he replenishes our salad bowls as well. These Steel boys all love to eat. They work so hard they can probably put away four thousand or more calories a day. I’m going to have to watch it while I’m here. Very easy to overeat all this delicious food.

  When we finish our second helpings, Dale clears the table. “I didn’t have time to make dessert,” he says. “But I have some homemade brown sugar vanilla ice cream that Aunt Marj made.”

  “Sounds great. I’d like to finish my wine first.”

  He nods.

  I lift my glass. “We didn’t toast.”

  “I guess we didn’t.” He picks up his glass. “Salute.”

  I smile. “Cheers in Italian. Appropriate for the meal, but I was thinking more along the lines of ‘to us.’” I clink my glass to his.

  His expression tightens.

  Oh, Dale. You’re still fighting this.

  His silence goes on for a few seconds that seem like days. Until finally—

  “To us.”

  His voice is low and rich, its burgundy color saturating me.

  He means it. He really means it.

  We both take a sip. I want desperately to probe him with questions about his unrequited love. Who wouldn’t love Dale Steel? I yearn to break down his walls, get inside him, help him see the wonder of all he is.

  Don’t push. I’ve gotten this far, and I can’t ruin it. Even though Dale is trying, part of his countenance is still rigid. Any mistake on my part, and our whole deal could be off.

  This man means everything to me, and I can’t risk losing what he’s offered.

  I smile, take another sip of my wine, and set the glass down. “Tell me something about yourself,” I say.

  He widens his eyes. “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. Anything. I know very little about you.”

  “I’m sure Dee filled you in.”

  “Just on your personality. How you’re a little hard on people sometimes.”

  “And I suppose you agree with her?”

  I can’t hold back a laugh. “I’d say it was an understatement. With regard to me, anyway. Then I see you during tastings, and you’re smiling and jubilant.”

  “My job at tastings is to sell wine. You should understand that, given your sommelier aspirations.”

  “I do understand that, but you prove that you do have people skills, despite what Ryan says.”

  “I do. I believe I’ve told you before that I bring them out when necessary.”

  “Tell me why.”

  “Why what?”

  “Why do you only bring them out when necessary?”

  He takes a sip of wine. “There’s no simple answer to that question, so I’ll answer another. You want me to tell you something about me. Something you don’t know. Here goes.” He inhales, exhales slowly. “My favorite color is blue.”

  That’s what I get? Granted, I didn’t put any limitations on the question. So I’ll roll with it. “Really? That’s surprising.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’ve never seen you wear blue. You wear black or green. I think you wore a white shirt one time.”

  “I look good in black and green. They both bring out the color of my eyes.”

  “You’ll get no argument from me there. You have the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen. I’m puzzled, though.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you seem almost… I don’t know. Like your looks don’t matter to you.”

  “My looks aren’t who I am.”

  “Exactly my point. So why do you wear colors that show off one of your best features?”

  He takes another sip of wine.

  Ha! He can’t answer. I’m loving this.

  Finally, “I guess I don’t know.”

  “It’s okay, you know. Everyone wants to accentuate their best features. It’s simply…human.”

  “Except my looks…” He stares down at his wineglass.

  “What?”

  He jerks his head back up. “Nothing. All’s fair now. Your turn. Tell me something about yourself.”

  I take a sip, draining my wineglass. The smooth Barbera is like silk on my tongue. I want to open up, tell him everything about my past. Let him inside me the way I want to be inside him. But it’s too soon for that. I feel it in my bones.

  “Okay,” I say. “My favorite gemstone is the garnet.”

  Then my heart thuds. Did I just tell him my favorite gemstone? Is that going to sound like I’m gunning for a gift of jewelry? From this man who doesn’t love me? Who wants me but is only willing to commit to me for two months?

  Should’ve gone with the whole favorite color routine.

  I totally wasn’t thinking.

  He stands and takes our empty wineglasses to the sink. “Coffee?” he asks.

  I open my mouth to remind him I don’t drink coffee, when—

  “Sorry. You don’t drink coffee.”

  “No.”

  I guess the gemstone conversation is over.

  He starts a pot of coffee, for himself, I presume, and then turns to me. “Come with me. I want to show you something.”

  “Okay.” I stand and follow him to his bedroom, trying not to think abou
t how I woke up here alone.

  He walks to his large chest and opens the top drawer. He pulls out a large velvet jewel box and opens it, showing it to me.

  I gasp. Nestled on the black velvet is a garnet necklace. Three strands of tiny gems put together in a woven pattern so that it looks almost like rope. It’s beautiful and unique, like nothing I’ve ever seen.

  “It was my mother’s,” he says. “My real mother. Her name was Cheri.”

  I drop my mouth open. Is this the same man who told me Jade was his real mother? His language perplexes me, but only for a moment, as I can’t draw my gaze from the beautiful piece of art in the velvet jewel case.

  “There wasn’t much to recover from the house after her suicide. We don’t have any photos of her, and there wasn’t much of value, so most of it went to charity when the Steels adopted us. But a few things remained. This is one of them.”

  “It’s amazing.” Garnets, despite their beauty, aren’t overly expensive, so it’s not unusual that Dale’s biological mother would have a piece such as this. I reach out and touch it, running my fingers over the tiny facets.

  “It’s not worth much,” he says. “I had it appraised a while back.”

  “Garnets are my favorite, but they’re considered only a semiprecious stone,” I say. “I guess that shows you about my taste.”

  “You have impeccable taste in wine.”

  I laugh. “I like what I like. To me, a garnet is more beautiful than a diamond.”

  “Because it’s the color of red wine,” he says. “Of a dark Syrah.”

  Funny that I never considered that angle. I just adore the deep red. But he’s right. It’s the color of Syrah.

  The color of Dale’s voice.

  He takes the piece from the box. “Turn around.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m going to put it on you.”

  My jaw drops. “Dale…”

  “I’ve never seen it on anyone. I certainly never remember my mother wearing it. And my other mother—Jade—never wore it either. She kept it for me and gave it to me when I turned eighteen.”

  “And you never let anyone wear it? Not even the woman you were in love with?”

  “No. Now turn around.”