by Lynn Cahoon
Angie unlocked the door into the kitchen. “Come in. How long have you been waiting out here?”
“Just a few minutes. Granny’s taking a nap, so I wanted to catch you now, before she finds me gone. She’d tell me to not bother you with this.” Erica followed her into the cool kitchen. The Potters had been her Nona’s neighbors ever since the two women graduated from high school so many years ago. They’d both raised their families and lost their husbands since those promise-filled days. Even though Nona was gone, Angie felt compelled to continue the relationship. Mrs. Potter was more like family rather than just being a neighbor.
Angie leaned down to give Dom some attention as she talked to Erica. The baby St. Bernard wasn’t much of a baby anymore. The dog was close to a hundred pounds as of his last vet appointment. She nodded to a chair at the table. “Sit down. I was going to warm up some tomato bisque for lunch. Maybe a ham sandwich to go with it? Have you eaten? You can tell me what’s going on over a meal.”
Erica shook her head. “I’ve been too upset to eat.”
Angie stood and took Erica’s arm, leading her to the chair. “Now you have to stay for lunch. What is wrong?”
Instead of answering her, Erica laid her head on the table between her arms and started sobbing.
Chapter 2
It took a while, but Angie finally got Erica calmed down and eating the proper lunch set in front of her. Dom had added his comfort by laying his big head on Erica’s lap and staring at her with his big brown eyes. Angie knew the power petting Dom’s soft coat could have on lightening her own mood. She sat down at the table and picked up a spoon, took a sip, and sighed, hoping the action would cause Erica to follow suit. It did, and in a few minutes, Angie noticed some color coming back into the young woman’s face. The power of food.
“So, what did you need to ask me?” Angie tried to make the question seem casual, hoping not to send Erica into waterworks again.
“I told you about my study group, right? They have a trip planned for next week to Cabo. I know, Mexico in the summer, not prime vacation time, but I’ve never been and it’s really cheap.” Erica looked at her with pleading in her eyes.
Angie felt her heart sink. As much as she liked the young woman sitting in front of her, she just didn’t have the money to lend her for even a cheap vacation. Every dime she had was sunk into the County Seat. She decided to put Erica out of her misery quickly. “That sounds wonderful, but I really…”
“I know it would be a terrible imposition to ask, but honestly, I can’t see letting her stay in that house all by herself. She’s fallen three times in the last few months. I’ve talked to her about getting one of those alarm systems, but she says she doesn’t need it.” Erica rushed through her words as if she needed to get them all out before Angie turned her down.
“Wait, what exactly do you want from me?” Clearly it wasn’t money, but she couldn’t see how much of an imposition checking in with Mrs. Potter would be for a week. “I’d be glad to help in any way you need. You should go with your group.”
Erica clapped her hands together in delight. “I knew I could count on you. I’ll have her over here on Monday morning before I leave for the airport.”
“Over here?” Angie’s eyes widened. What had she just agreed to?
“She’ll need a room on the bottom floor to sleep. I’d have you stay over there, but Dom wouldn’t be comfortable at our house. I know you work a lot, but she’s really not much trouble. She’ll watch television or read most of the time. I just want to make sure someone is watching out for her while I’m gone. I’ll make sure to pack her favorite books.” She glanced at her watch. “I’ve been gone too long. She’ll be looking for me. Thank you so much for your kind offer. I’ll be back early Sunday night, so I’ll come and get here as soon as I can. You’re the best.”
Actually, Angie thought as she cleaned up the lunch dishes, she was a complete fool. She’d been so worried that Erica needed money that she failed to determine the real reason for her distress until after she’d offered to help. Her words to Felicia, just a few hours ago, popped into her mind. What could go wrong?
“This will be fine,” she told Dom, who was watching Mabel, the lone surviving black-and-white chicken from her grandmother’s flock, out the screen door. “It will be like having a sleepover.”
Angie hadn’t had a roommate since college. She liked her quiet time where she could read or work on recipes, or sometimes, just chill. “Buck it up, it’s only a week,” she told herself as she went out to the barn to feed Precious. The baby goat was growing up, but Angie thought she’d always be small. As soon as she walked through the door, she heard Precious’s bleating welcome. The goat watched for her. For a while, Angie thought she cried all the time, but one day she’d turned on the baby monitor she’d installed for safety issues and realized the goat only talked when she entered the barn. After filling up the food and water dish, Angie sat inside the goat’s pen on the stool she’d bought for the barn and talked to her. Precious loved getting scratched under the chin and was surprisingly a good listener, watching Angie’s face as she talked, rubbing her head against Angie’s leg. Her way of showing her support, she assumed.
Dom made a chuffing sound as he lay outside the pen watching them. He didn’t like the goat, but at least he wasn’t scared of Precious as he had been when he first met her. Angie hadn’t meant to add the goat to her mini farm, but things happened and now she had a growing puppy, an elderly chicken, and a baby goat. She brushed off the straw from her pants and gave Precious a last rub on her head. “I guess life happens when you’re not looking.”
After feeding Mabel, Angie stopped at her garden and pulled out a couple large, firm green tomatoes. She’d missed something in the recipe this morning, she was sure of it. Maybe cooking at home would help her remember the steps as she sorted through her memories of Nona cooking. Of course, this wasn’t included in the recipes her grandmother had written down, because she’d thought it had been too simple. And yet, it was the one recipe Angie craved to replicate.
A text from Ian welcomed her when she returned to the kitchen. She read it aloud to Dom. “Teaching a group of fourth graders how a goat dairy works tonight. You sure you don’t want to come join in the fun?”
She sat the table and texted back. Working on a recipe. You want to come over afterward?
She took out a piece of paper and started playing with the recipe, writing out what she’d done earlier and considering changes to the breading mixture as she waited for a response.
When it came, she wasn’t surprised. They both had busy lives. But she was a tad bit disappointed reading it aloud to Dom. “Mildred wants to go over the dairy records. She thinks something’s off with the output. Breakfast tomorrow?”
She had a sneaking suspicion that Mildred Platt was lonely and just liked spending time with Ian. Angie texted a quick I’ve got plans to visit a farm. Have fun and talk soon, then put the phone down. She needed to be more open minded. More charitable. Mildred had just taken over the goat farm after last month’s events. She was still trying to get a hold of what she needed to do as well as continue her daytime job at the Cheese Commission. And Ian, well, the boy was a helper. He was always volunteering for one thing or the other. Community organizer and activist in a totally down-home, acceptable format for the more conservative River Vista townsfolk.
Besides, her life with getting the restaurant up and going was busy too. Maybe they were both too busy for a relationship at this time.
Feeling a little put out, she started cooking. She overcooked the first batch, the crunchy breading too brown and the tomato undercooked, hard and crunchy when it should be warm and almost melting. She put that batch aside and made another batch of flour mixture, this time backing out the sugar, which probably caused it to brown too fast.
The second batch turned out better, and before she turned in for the night, she had a rec
ipe that although it didn’t match the taste of Nona’s tomatoes, at least looked like the ones from her childhood. Frustrated, she cleaned up the kitchen and grabbed a memoir she’d been reading to take up to bed. She’d take a long bath, read, and have a glass or two of the wine she’d opened a few nights ago for dinner with Ian.
* * * *
Thursday morning she’d typically go into the office at the restaurant, but she’d mostly finished the paperwork yesterday, and the accounting could wait. She wasn’t meeting Estebe until later that morning, so after feeding the circus, she pulled out her waffle maker and tried a few different recipes. When she finally looked at the clock, she had just enough time to shower and get into town. She bagged up the waffles in three sections. One for the freezer for her, one to drop off with Mrs. Potter and Erica, and one for Felicia. Angie had a bad habit: She couldn’t cook for just one. Ever. Good thing she ran a restaurant.
When she was ready, she gave Dom a hug, telling him to guard the house. He leaned into her like she’d just said she was leaving him forever and ever. Hopefully he’d be gentle with Mrs. Potter in the house next week. Angie couldn’t be here all of the time, but she could adjust her schedule to make sure Mrs. Potter was safe.
As she drove, she turned her thoughts to the farm she was visiting. What did she need at the restaurant that the other suppliers didn’t have? Sweet corn would be coming on soon, and she wanted to do a multitreatment that highlighted the sweetness of the vegetable. Around here, corn on the cob was a summer tradition. Maybe she could play with that idea. She’d started to wrap her head around a possible dish when she reached Main Street. Estebe stood in front of a black Hummer, arms crossed and watching down the street for her. She went past the restaurant, pulled a U-turn in the middle of the deserted street, and parked behind him. Her newer SUV looked tiny compared to the military-style vehicle he drove. He moved to the passenger-side door and opened it for her.
“I’ll drive.” He didn’t say anything else for a couple of blocks while they drove out of town. Then he looked at her. “You look very nice today.”
Angie glanced down at the sundress she’d thrown on. She tried to dress up when she met new suppliers. The act of courtesy seemed to be appreciated by the more traditional farmers she met with. Besides, it was supposed to get in the nineties today. It was either shorts and a tank or a light cotton dress. She realized he was waiting for an answer. “Thanks.”
He reached for the radio, then paused. “Do you like music?”
Angie pushed away the nagging thoughts Felicia had stuck in her head. Estebe was trying to be kind. Any discomfort she felt must be double for him, since she was his boss. “I do. Play whatever you like. I like a wide variety of stuff.”
When classical music filled the vehicle, Angie was surprised. She’d expected maybe classic rock or even a band from his cultural roots, but not an exquisite baroque symphony. She nodded. “This is lovely.”
They didn’t talk again until he reached the farm. “I have to warn you, my cousin fancies himself a ladies’ man. He may turn his attentions on you for more than just the chance to sell his produce to the County Seat.”
“Oh, I didn’t realize this was your cousin’s farm. Anyway, warning taken, but you have to realize I can take care of myself. I don’t fall easily for pickup lines.” She pulled her phone out of her purse. “Do you think he’d mind if I snapped some pictures? I like to photo document where our food starts.”
“Take as many as you like. Javier is very proud of his farm.”
Estebe’s tone told her there was more of a story behind the words than he was letting out. She tried to read his face, but she saw no emotion before he turned away and climbed out of the vehicle. As she reached to open her door, he was there, his hand reaching for hers to help her out onto the dirt driveway.
A man came out of the brightly painted red barn with a large PF inside a circle, painted in black on the doors. A matching charm hung around his neck on a silver chain. The man’s smile lit his face. Where Estebe could be classified as broodingly handsome, his cousin was a lighter version, maybe not as handsome, but more open, friendlier.
“Estebe, my cousin. How are you?” Javier pulled Estebe into a bear hug that even Angie could tell felt fake but required.
“I am fine.” Estebe stepped back and turned toward Angie. “This is Angie Turner, owner and head chef of the County Seat. I told her you had the best produce in the area.”
“And you didn’t lie.” Javier turned toward Angie, holding out his hand. “But you didn’t tell me how breathtakingly beautiful your boss is. What, are you trying to keep her to yourself?”
Angie wondered how she should play this. She didn’t want Javier to have the wrong impression, but she also didn’t want to insult the man, especially if she wanted to forge a business relationship with him. She settled for a noncommittal response. “Thank you for inviting me over today. I’d love to see what you’re growing.”
Javier apparently took the hint, as he laughed and slapped Estebe on the back. “All business, then? We’ll talk more at the festival at the end of the month. You’ve been way too quiet lately.” He turned to Angie. “Follow me.”
As they walked toward the barn, Javier talked about the farm and its beginnings. He told her how he inherited it from his father, whose own father had built the area from a small acreage to the multiacre farm it was now. As they got closer, a young woman burst out of the house that sat next to the barn and called his name.
Anger turned Javier’s handsome face into something cruel and hard. For a second, Angie thought he was going to yell at the woman. Instead, she saw his face soften. “I’ve got business to deal with, Heather. Go back inside.”
Heather looked from Javier to Angie and then to Estebe and pulled the flimsy short robe she wore closer to her chest. She didn’t answer, just nodded and disappeared back into the house.
Javier went on with his story like he hadn’t even been interrupted. “Of course, now we pasture our sheep close to home, no open range for us anymore. One of the traditions I was more than happy to give up. Spending summer at the sheep camp was difficult for a young man.”
Estebe snorted. “You survived. Some boys would love to spend their summers out on the range, no one to tell them what to do. Being able to ride all day.”
“You were always in love with the romantic notion of our cultural heritage.” Javier turned away from his cousin and toward Angie. “The old stories do give me an excellent opening when I’m courting a new woman to my bed.”
The disgusted sound coming from Estebe made Angie’s lips curve. If anything, this visit had been a great font of information about her sous chef. “So, what’s in season now?”
“We’ve added a small watermelon to our fields this year. They are just starting to ripen, not like the traditional melon that will be ready in late August. And of course, we’re producing more Roma tomatoes than we have demand for. Those plants just keep on giving fruit. Maybe you would like to see what we have available this week?”
“That is why we came,” Estebe grumbled.
Javier just laughed, ignoring the tone, and opened the barn door. “Then come on in. We’re open to the public on Fridays and Saturdays, but the community frowns on us selling on Sunday, so we stay closed.”
“And being closed lets you go drink on Saturday night without concern,” Estebe added, his tone low.
Angie wasn’t sure Javier had heard the comment until she saw his face turn to stone for a second, and his eyes narrow toward his cousin. Apparently, there was no love lost between the two men. Just what Angie didn’t need was to stumble into a family feud. She snapped a picture of the display stands, then went over to where the gleaming red tomatoes were set up. Picking one up, she smelled the sweetness before even taking a bite.
A vision of a fresh marinara sauce—or no, bruschetta with garlic butter on the toasted bread and
the tomatoes and roasted peppers on top. She glanced around the rest of the vegetables and found the pepper section. Gleaming green and yellow peppers from jalapeños to sweet banana filled the section. She turned to Estebe and started listing what she wanted and in what quantity, her mind already on the recipes she’d add to Friday’s menu as a special, then depending on the new items’ reception with patrons, she would keep them on until the season changed up or she found something new to highlight.
She’d almost forgot about the hard feelings between the men as she made arrangements for Javier to deliver to the restaurant tomorrow morning and boxed up a small selection to take home and play with tonight. She’d have to bake some focaccia bread as soon as she got home, but she thought the dish would highlight the ingredients perfectly.
Angie was still lost in her head as they returned to the Hummer. She let Estebe open her door and then grabbed a notebook and started scribbling notes. As he pulled out of the driveway, he turned down the music. “You were happy with Javier’s selection, then?”
“Happy? I’m over the moon. It’s what I’ve been looking for, a small farm that focuses on specialty produce. I’m going to open one of the watermelons tonight and see if I can come up with a small salad for the weekend. After I get the bruschetta just right. If you have any ideas, let me know.”
Estebe smiled then. “I am glad you enjoyed your visit.”
He turned the music back up and left Angie to work in her notebook, lost in her thoughts about the perfect dish. When they arrived back at the restaurant, Estebe parked behind her car. “I can keep driving if you need more time to work.”
Angie glanced up from her notes, realizing they were outside the restaurant. A woman passing by on the sidewalk with a Yorkie paused to look at the car and its inhabitants. Angie waved at her and the woman hurried off. Weird. She tucked her notebook into her tote and turned to Estebe. “Thank you so much for the introduction to your cousin and his farm. I’m sure his produce will be a great addition to the menu.”
