by Meg Benjamin
“Great. Thanks, bro.” There would be no problem. Carol would go visit her aunt and uncle. On that, Ruth was set.
Because, if Carol went to the farm, Ruth would be free to stay with Liam as long as she wanted. He could even come to her place. Although maybe that wouldn’t be such a great idea. Maybe she should be able to go back home alone if things didn’t work out.
My, aren’t we a ray of sunshine? It wasn’t that she didn’t think things would work out between them. Well, it sort of was. She worried about it, anyway.
What if all the heat that had built up between them was just, like, smoke? What if it disappeared when they got down to having real, unadulterated sex? In a bed? With lots of time?
Ruth bit her lip. Nothing like a little performance anxiety. It’s just sex. You’re just in it for the sex. But the sex could turn out to be a disappointment. She could turn out to be a disappointment.
Someone knocked on the door of the cheese room, and she pulled off her latex gloves. Peaches was standing just outside, her golden hair tucked up under a chef’s beanie, her body wrapped in a canvas apron that was almost too long for somebody her size. “Do you have any plans for the raisins in the pantry? I was just going to make some simple spice muffins until I get a chance to do some grocery shopping this afternoon.”
“That’s fine. Use anything you want. We can always adjust the lunch menu later.”
“Great.” She started to turn back toward the kitchen, then paused. “There probably won’t be enough muffins for everybody today, but we need to get rid of the commercial stuff, too. They just delivered some cinnamon rolls and some sticky buns.”
Ruth shook her head. “Oh, Lord, I need to cancel that order.”
“For sure. We might use up what’s on hand today, though.”
Ruth watched her head back into the kitchen, pulling the hairnet tighter around her hair. She’d have to tell Carol about the chance to visit her aunt and uncle. Normally, she’d be delighted. These days, Ruth wasn’t sure what to expect.
Bec showed up around ten thirty to help with the cheese production. Ruth had divided her time between the kitchen and the cheese room, although Peaches didn’t need much help.
Mostly she was just keeping track of things, making sure Peaches wasn’t a mirage conjured up by her desperate imagination.
The coffee break crowd had grown close to pre-Barbara Jean levels as the news of Peaches’s muffins got out. They’d even managed to clear out the commercial cinnamon rolls and sticky buns. Lunch was looking like a possible sellout.
Bec grinned as she lifted the cheese knife off the shelf. “Looks like the crisis has passed.”
“If you mean Barbara Jean, it definitely has.” The Salty Goat was still full of the sweet, cinnamon smell of the muffins.
“Are you going to have to help with the cooking at lunch?”
Ruth sighed. “I’ll have to be there for the first thirty minutes or so, in case Peaches has questions. But she’s so sharp, I can’t believe she’ll need me for very long.”
“All’s well that ends well?”
“Something like that.” She grabbed a colander, ready to start sieving the custardy curds once Bec had finished her second pass with the knife. “I’d like to try some flavored cheese, now that I don’t have to keep running into the kitchen to help out every fifteen minutes.”
“Flavored with what?” Bec propped the cheese knife in the sink for washing.
“I’m not sure. Maybe chervil or tarragon. And there’s always basil.”
Bec smiled. “Liam’s making a basil saison. He said it would work well with your goat cheese. But I’m not sure basil beer and basil cheese would be a good combination.”
“Liam’s making beer?” She’d always thought of him more as Bec’s assistant.
“Liam was once one hell of a home brewer. He moved into management when Colin took over.” A shadow passed over Bec’s face, as it usually did when Colin Brooks’s name came up.
“And he wanted to make beer for my cheese?” Ruth wasn’t sure exactly why, but she felt sort of tingly about that possibility. Maybe it was the thought that Liam would go to all that trouble for her chevre.
“He likes your cheese.” Bec raised her eyebrows. “I think he likes more than that.”
Ruth’s cheeks flushed again. She was getting a workout in terms of embarrassment today. “Anyway. Flavored cheese. Let’s try tarragon. I’ve got some growing in the herb garden out back.”
“Right.” Bec gave her another grin. “I’ll go cut some stems.”
Lunch was as busy as Ruth had thought it would be. Carol wandered in around eleven, and Peaches put her to work making sandwiches. Ruth figured being expected to make sandwiches would remove at least some of the appeal for her daughter—it was probably a lot more fun to do when Barbara Jean had forbidden her to do it.
She corralled Carol around one thirty, handing her one of Peaches’s grilled cheese sandwiches and some milk. “Have a seat.”
Carol narrowed her eyes. “Why?”
“Because I want you to eat lunch sitting down.” Ruth managed not to grit her teeth. Sometimes she thought Carol was contrary just as a matter of principle.
“Okay.” She subsided into one of the window seats.
“How was making sandwiches?”
“Fine. I don’t think Peaches really needed me. She just wanted company.”
“That’s okay. She probably appreciated the help, too.” Ruth dropped into the chair opposite. “Uncle Brett wants you to go to the farm and keep your aunt Ginger company for a couple of days. She’s feeling blue because Will’s gone. He’s going to pick you up this afternoon, so you need to go home and pack a few things.”
Carol sighed. “Seems like everybody wants my company these days.”
Not everybody. Not all the time. Ruth managed to keep her smile in place. “It feels good to be popular, doesn’t it?”
“Right.” Carol’s forehead furrowed. “What about your date with Liam Dempsey?”
Ruth blinked. “What about it?”
“You’ll do it even if I’m not here, won’t you?” Carol looked concerned all of a sudden.
Ruth narrowed her eyes. Why would her daughter care whether she went out with Liam? That seemed slightly weird. “Of course.”
“You already had Bunny lined up to babysit. Will you still have to pay her?”
Ruth shook her head. “Nope. I already cancelled.”
Carol’s frown became more pronounced. “That doesn’t seem fair. Suppose she’d turned down other jobs to babysit me?”
“Don’t worry about it.” This time Ruth did grit her teeth. The last thing she needed was her daughter playing Jiminy Cricket.
“But—”
“Carol, go home and pack. Bunny’s fine. I’m fine. You’re fine. And your aunt Ginger needs you. Go.” She pushed herself up from the table. “I’ll swing by after closing to say goodbye.”
Carol looked like she still wanted to argue, but apparently she knew a losing battle when she saw it. “Okay. You’ll have to tell Peaches I won’t be able to help anymore until I get back.”
“I will. She’ll be okay. She’s getting everything set up in the kitchen the way she likes it.”
Carol gave a mighty sigh, pushing herself up from the table. “Okay. I’ll go pack. If you’re sure you can spare me here.”
Ruth controlled her grin. “I’m sure.”
Her daughter the martyr headed for the door, ready to sacrifice herself for the good of her aunt. The fact that she’d be spoiled rotten by her aunt and uncle was a minor point.
Only one question remained for Ruth. Did she tell Liam before dinner, or after?
…
Just as Peaches had predicted, Tim Stanton installed a new cook the next afternoon, but Burt McCullough didn’t impress anybody, least of all Liam. He looked like a refugee from a greasy spoon with his unwashed hair and stained T-shirt. It went without saying that his cooking wasn’t close to being in the same league a
s Peaches’s, and he was unfailingly surly to both Liam and the waitresses. By the second hour of McCullough’s tenure, they’d all started to avoid him. It was easier to just make up answers to customers’ questions about the food than to try to get an answer from him.
Then a customer sent back his burger for being overcooked.
Nobody wanted to tell McCullough, but the waitress couldn’t very well leave the customer sitting there with no food. Predictably, McCullough didn’t take it well.
“What the fuck?” he yelled. “It’s a fucking hamburger, not a T-bone. Who the fuck cares if it’s medium or medium rare? Who the fuck asks how you want your hamburger, anyway? It was fucking cooked. That’s all he should fucking care about. I’m going ram this fucking burger down his fucking throat.”
Liam was caught between grudging admiration for the way McCullough managed to work the word fuck into every sentence and reluctance to have the tavern thrown into chaos. Chaos never produced tips.
Plus, it ruined the laid-back ambiance they’d all worked to establish, Liam most of all. He still had some loyalty to the tavern, or at least to what the tavern had been once upon a time.
He motioned the waitress out of the kitchen, then turned to McCullough himself. “It’s not a big deal. The guy’s probably from California or something. Just put a burger on the flat top for a couple of minutes a side, and send it back out. He’ll be satisfied and the rest of us can get on with the afternoon.”
McCullough’s face was still scarlet. He was at least three inches shorter than Liam and built like a fireplug. His mouth twisted in derision. “‘Just put a burger on the flat top for a couple of minutes a side and send it back out.’ Jesus, where did you learn to cook, anyway? You don’t know a damn thing about it, asshole. You think I’m going to throw out a good burger just so some fucking cocksucker from California can see his food bleed? Fuck him!”
Liam gritted his teeth. Dealing with McCullough was shaping up to be a pain on a good day. And this day was definitely veering toward lousy. “Jesus, McCullough, keep it down. You want to drive away every customer out there? They can already hear us yelling.”
McCullough’s face managed to turn a deeper shade of red. Was it possible to have a stroke just from being pissed off? “I don’t fucking care—” he began.
Liam grabbed a burger patty from the parchment sheet sitting next to the stove and tossed it onto the flat top for a minute or so, then he grabbed a spatula from the implements and flipped it. “Give me a bun.”
McCullough stared at him, open-mouthed. Then he handed him a bun.
Liam flipped the burger into the bun, added the toppings and put it on a plate. “Done.” He turned back toward the dining room, moving fast in case McCullough threw something.
The waitress was standing outside. She looked as shocked as McCullough had. Liam shoved the plate into her hands. “Here. Go.”
She nodded, turning back toward her station.
Liam stepped back behind the bar, taking a quick survey of the room. A few customers were staring his way—they’d probably heard at least some of McCullough’s explosion. But most of the people seemed to be absorbed by the Colorado Rockies game on the big screen TV. Crisis averted. Calm prevailed.
At least this time.
He poured a beer for a customer at the end of the bar, who took a cautious glance toward the kitchen. “Everything okay back there?”
“Sure. Just part of working in the hospitality industry.” Liam gave him a clenched-jaw grin. “Care to see a menu?”
The man shook his head quickly. “Beer is fine.”
A half hour later, Liam heard the kitchen door swing open. He didn’t bother to look up, occupying himself with the margarita he was mixing.
“You,” Tim Stanton growled. “Into the office. Now.”
Well, great. Liam had been banking on Stanton’s being smart enough to realize that his new cook was a disaster. But banking on Stanton’s intelligence was never a good idea. He handed the margarita to the customer with a practiced smile and headed off after his boss.
At least Stanton didn’t look as pissed as McCullough had. “That was quite a stunt you pulled,” he snapped as Liam walked into his minuscule office space. “McCullough’s still steamed about it. I had to talk him into sticking around for the rest of his shift.”
Liam shrugged. Obviously, there was no point in arguing about McCullough. Stanton should figure out the mistake he’d made in hiring him soon enough. Theoretically.
Stanton narrowed his eyes. “What do you know about Peaches leaving?”
Liam shrugged again. “She left to work at the Salty Goat. That’s about all I know.” Or anyway, it was all he was going to admit to knowing. He hadn’t exactly gotten Peaches the job, but he’d definitely helped.
“Your sister works there, right?”
“She makes cheese there part-time.”
“Did she offer Peaches the job?”
“No, sir.” On that point he could be truthful since Bec had known nothing about his plans.
“Did you have anything to do with it?”
Liam paused. He had no idea how much Stanton already knew. “I took her to lunch, and the cook walked out while we were there. The owner offered her the job.” With any luck Stanton hadn’t heard about their impromptu triage in the kitchen at the Salty Goat.
Stanton’s eyes were still narrowed. “Peaches leaving is one prime fuckup. Lucky I found McCullough to fill in, because I’ve got no time to waste on this place what with getting Antero Steaks up and running. If I find out you had anything to do with Peaches leaving, you’re out. And I’ll make damn sure nobody else hires you in this town.”
Liam was fairly certain nobody else in this town would listen to Stanton, who was a well-known asshole. And in reality, it didn’t matter whether anyone listened to him or not—Liam was already headed for Park City. But if Black Mountain Tavern ever got back to operating the way it was supposed to, like a smooth-running craft beer establishment, it was a potential customer for Antero Brewing. He didn’t want to mess up that deal if he could avoid it. “Peaches took the job at the Salty Goat because it paid better and because it gave her a chance to bake. It had nothing to do with me.”
“That better be the truth,” Stanton growled. “You don’t want to see me angry.”
I don’t want to see you at all. Liam kept his bland smile in place. “Anything else?”
Stanton shook his head slowly. “Just keep it in mind. I’m watching you, Dempsey.”
“Right.” Liam nodded. “I need to get back to the bar. We’ve got customers.”
“That’s another thing. Stay the hell out of the kitchen. McCullough’s in charge there, not you.”
Leaving McCullough in charge of the kitchen was probably a recipe for disaster, but Liam would hold his peace for now. “Fine with me.”
“Get back to work. And tell the goddamn waitresses we only cook burgers one way—well done.”
Liam headed back to the bar, still gritting his teeth. The burgers might be well done, but they were the only thing at the Black Mountain Tavern that qualified. More and more, it was looking like he’d made the right decision to get out of the place before it hit bottom.
Chapter Twelve
When Thursday finally rolled around, Ruth had almost managed to get her nerves under control. It was just a date, after all. With an attractive man she liked. An attractive man she liked who already had intimate knowledge of her body and was about to have even more.
Well, maybe those nerves weren’t as under control as she’d thought.
She wasn’t sure why she was so jittery. Her life was going more smoothly than it had been for several weeks. Carol was off being coddled at Brett’s farm. She and Bec were turning out enough goat cheese to satisfy her commercial customers as well as her walk-ins. And she had Peaches Guidry in the kitchen. That was a definite stress-reliever.
Peaches had taken over the grocery shopping since taking over the cooking. They were using
the end of the Palisade peach crop for kolaches and the first of the raspberry crop for scones. She was working on a cheesecake recipe using goat cheese, and when she had it perfected, they’d probably top it with whatever fruit was in season and sell it to the evening walk-ins—although Ruth thought the cheesecake was already as close to perfection as it could get.
The kitchen was clearly back on track, and she had standing-room-only during coffee-break time when they stocked and restocked the pastry case.
Life was good, and Ruth was terrified about her date.
She was trying hard not to think about that fact.
Now she was restocking the flavored cheese section of the deli case with the batch they’d made yesterday—tarragon and rosemary, mostly. She hadn’t had a chance to make the basil, although after talking to Bec she wasn’t sure she wanted to. It might sound like she was trying to mimic Liam or create a connection that wasn’t there.
It’s just sex, Ruth. No commitments here. Nothing to be afraid of. That was true. But it didn’t do much to quiet her nerves.
Liam hadn’t called or stopped by to tell her when and where to meet him. She could always ask him to pick her up at the house and then just let him stay.
Nothing like being obvious. But the thing was, they were already obvious. She was pretty sure they both knew what was going to happen that night. And it wasn’t like either of them had shown any reluctance.
By the time Liam called at four, she was close to a basket case. He, on the other hand, sounded perfectly normal. “Hey, are we still on for tonight?”
“Sure. Do you want me to meet you?”
“That would work. Or I could come to your place.”
All of a sudden she didn’t want him at the house. Having him find that she was by herself and waiting seemed way too obvious. She wanted at least a little surprise in the evening. “I can come to the tavern. What time do you get off?”
“Seven. Why don’t you come by at six thirty? Maybe I can get out of here early for a change.”
“Will do. See you then.” She’d tried for breezy, but she was afraid she sounded like an airhead.
