She needn’t have worried. During peak tourist months, getting a reservation in the sixteen-table restaurant is akin to winning the lottery. Patrons travel to the little town of River Valley just for the cuisine, aptly named Italian-Oregon fusion by Bell. Using all locally grown produce and proteins, Bell changes the menu seasonally while drawing upon her Italian culinary background to create truly unique dishes. “Whatever’s locally in season is what I use for all our entrées,” said Bell. “If it isn’t grown here, it isn’t going in my food. Our proteins come almost exclusively from 4-H projects from our town’s kids. We know they’re grown the old-fashioned way, without hormones or chemicals.”
Truly partners in every sense of the word, Bell and Tucker, both with young children, not only work together closely at Riversong but are also best friends. “Riversong’s a family-run business. It’s not unusual to see us here before opening with our children playing in the front while we work in the kitchen or office,” says Tucker, referring to Bell’s ten-year-old son and her two-year-old daughter. “That’s what I call a good work environment for mothers,” she added with a laugh.
Annie Bell insists this is the secret to their success. “Lee runs this place with love. I cook with love. Our customers feel it when they walk in and they taste it in every bite.”
Keeping with the family tradition, Tucker’s husband, Tommy Hernandez, a local singer/songwriter, plays Thursdays through Sundays with his band, Los Fuegos, in the bar after the dinner hour ends. A gem in this little town no one’s ever heard of, he covers not only his own songs (think big name country artists, and they’ve almost all recorded one of his songs) but many other folk and country hits. When you hear him play guitar and sing, you’ll forget you’re in Oregon and think you’ve been somehow transported to Nashville.
This food writer had such a good time with these good people that I didn’t want to leave. I’m looking for another excuse to make my way to River Valley again this summer. Whether you have to beg, borrow, or steal, get yourself a reservation sooner rather than later. And stay to hear the band. Ask Cindi the bartender (spelled with an i, not a y, she’ll be sure to tell you right away) for one of her hand-shaken margaritas. Just make sure to give your car keys to the hostess and stay at the Second Chance Inn next door where they deliver a basket of fresh Riversong scones and a poem to your door at 7 a.m. But not to worry, they won’t knock, just in case you’re sleeping off that margarita.
A must try if you’re able to score a table in the summer months is the Coniglio Sanremese con Fiori di Zucca, or, as they say in Oregon, Rabbit with Zucchini Blossoms. A fried zucchini blossom? Heaven.
* * *
“I guess we can’t ask for better than that,” said Annie.
“Nice plug for the band,” said Tommy, clapping his hands together. “The guys will be thrilled.”
“And Linus’s inn,” said Lee.
“I have to fetch his scone order,” said Annie. “I’ll take him a copy. I cannot wait to see his face.”
“Cindi’s going to get the biggest head over this,” said Lee, smiling. “I can just hear her now.”
They all laughed as Annie headed next door to see Linus.
Chapter 2
When she entered the inn’s lobby, Linus was at the front desk, typing at the computer. He was tall and slender and immediately gave the impression of hospitality and a feeling that in his care one would lack for nothing. His hair was dark and he wore it neatly slicked back—striking against his fair skin, still smooth despite the fact that he was in his early forties. Annie thought it was because he’d lived for so long in Seattle, where the sun didn’t appear but for three months of the year. Linus’s inn, aptly named Second Chance Inn, was opened a year after Riversong. He’d come to help Lee open the restaurant—he and Lee had been best friends for years before she lost her husband—and had loved the town so much that he decided to stay and open the inn.
Designed like the traditional inns of simpler times, with old-fashioned lamps and dark wood for the desk and trim, the only way one could tell it was a modern inn was the gas fireplace. The rooms were decorated in the boutique style, with a theme for each room and named after famous poets. Annie’s favorite was the Mary Oliver room, splashed with colors of the seaside, soft blues and greens.
The cool air of the lobby felt good to her overheated skin. She was still sweating from the workout. She resisted the urge to smell under her armpits. Linus would not approve.
“Morning,” said Linus. He pursed his lips and cocked his head to the left. “How was the workout?” He wore his customary designer linen suit. No tie today. It was summer. Even Linus took the summers off from ties.
“Awful.”
“Already dreading it.” Linus patted his flat stomach and rolled his eyes. “But I have to go. John already called to remind me it was a gym day. One of the many problems with being in love with a younger man.” He handed her a sticky note. “Write down everything you did.”
“You realize John and Tommy actually like to work out. It’s weird.”
“And annoying.”
They laughed. “You have the scone order for me?” she asked as she scrawled out the workout routine.
He handed her a sheet of paper with the guests’ names and their requests. Guests were given a choice of blackberry, cinnamon, or pumpkin scones. In the summer, almost every guest chose blackberry. In the winter, it was an almost even amount of cinnamon and pumpkin.
Linus tapped the top of his computer monitor. “Guess what?”
She looked at him blankly. “I don’t know. What?”
“I passed both my written and flight exam. I just got word from my instructor. I can officially fly a helicopter now.”
“Already? I didn’t know you were taking the test. It feels like you just started taking instruction.”
“I was a nervous wreck over the test so I kept it to myself in case I didn’t pass.” He put his hand on his left hip. “But seriously, how butch am I?”
“Super butch.” She gazed at him. “I’m impressed. I know it was a tremendous amount of work.” A little less than two years ago, Linus had announced at dinner one night that he wanted to become a helicopter pilot. He couldn’t explain his reasons exactly but Annie had understood. There were certain desires and ambitions that were undeniable. One could pretend for a period of time they were ridiculous or unattainable but in the night when our demons asserted their darkness, the thoughts would come, haunting, perhaps even mocking—you must try. This is all. Try. Choose what you love, even if it’s difficult. Even if no one understands but you. “What will you do with it now?”
“I don’t know. My instructor said I can use his helicopter if I wanted to take friends out and things. Or maybe I’ll volunteer during fire season to search for fires or something.”
“That’s even more butch,” she said. “Proud of you, honey.” She took the magazine from under her arm and set in on his desk. “Page 56.”
“No way.”
“Yes way.”
Linus read it in silence, shaking his head as if in disbelief. After he finished, there were tears in his eyes. “We’ve made it, babe. Like really made it.”
“Food and Wine!” She clapped her hands together and squealed. “Food and Wine. It’s not like we haven’t had good press before but this is just beyond.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a man coming down the stairs. She moved to the side of the desk, not wanting to be in the way.
“Mr. Webber, how are you this morning?” asked Linus.
Webber? Oh yes, he’d eaten at the restaurant every night for two weeks. Drake Webber. You can tell he’s rich, Billy, her assistant chef, had said. Just by his name. She turned to get a good look at him. He was handsome. Quite handsome, in a dark and brooding kind of way, like a character from one of those British miniseries Lee and her grandmother Ellen devoured. He wasn’t particularly tall, but was slender, with a sophisticated carriage. He wore a pair of tan linen slacks and a
silky looking T-shirt that draped over his muscular chest perfectly. Expensive. Probably some designer she’d never heard of. Linus would know, of course. His hair was dark and freshly washed, slicked back from his forehead. He smelled wonderful, too, just a hint of cologne and shaving cream. And here she was, without makeup or a shower. Her gym clothes were wet and clinging. Not to mention she probably smelled.
“I’m fine,” he said to Linus. “I came to ask you for some information.” His voice was subdued. And his eyes were sad, although a beautiful light blue. Unusual, she thought, for someone with such a dark complexion.
“What can I help you with?” asked Linus.
“My house is finally finished,” said Drake. “And I’m in need of staff. Do you know any good housekeepers and gardeners?”
“Certainly,” said Linus. “I have several recommendations.” He pulled his phone out of his suit jacket pocket. “Let me look up the numbers for you.”
“Wait,” said Annie, before she could stop herself. “Are you the one building the big house up on the hill overlooking the river?”
He stared at her for a moment. She felt herself blush. Why did she talk so much? She needed to learn to keep her mouth shut, she thought, pulling on a coil of hair next to her ear. Her mother always told her she asked too many questions.
“That’s right,” he said, in a tone that implied that it was none of her business.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry,” said Annie. “It’s just been the talk of the town. You know, who was the mystery family moving in there?”
“It’s not a family,” he said, his face twisting as if something pained him. “Just me. Excuse me.” He turned back to Linus. “I need the number for the chef at Riversong.”
“That’s me,” said Annie, surprised.
Drake Webber’s eyes moved down the length of her. “But you’re so small. And young.”
“Not that young,” she said. “Thirty.”
“That’s young,” he said, with a smile more like a grimace.
She shrugged, feeling suddenly vulnerable. “Why do you want my number?”
“I’ve enjoyed my meals there more than I can say. I’ve tried almost everything on the menu, as a matter of fact.” When giving someone a compliment, thought Annie, a person might smile or give some indication of pleasure. But this man’s face was stone cold.
“I’m glad to hear that,” she said. “I try my best.”
“Best restaurant I’ve eaten at in a long time. And I eat out a lot in Seattle.”
“Oh, you do?” she said, already forgetting her vow to squelch her natural curiosity. “You’re from Seattle?”
“I was.” He paused, glancing towards the window. “But now I’m from here.”
“Why here?” asked Linus. Apparently curiosity had gotten to him, too. Normally he would not have asked a personal question of one of his guests, especially a guest like Drake Webber.
“I’ve retired,” said Drake.
Retired? This man couldn’t be more than thirty-five. It must be some kind of high tech career. Figures, she thought. He was the type of man who had everything: good looks, intelligence, and money.
Drake looked over at Annie. “I want to offer you a job.”
“A job?”
“Yes, a job.” He said it slowly, as if she were a child.
“I have a job.”
“I’m quite aware of that.”
“The best job.”
“How sweet.” He obviously didn’t mean what he said by the sour and mocking expression on his face.
“Sweet?”
“Yes, very provincial. Like this town.”
“I’m from Los Angeles, actually.” Why did she feel the need to explain that to him? She glanced over at Linus. His face was flushed and his eyes piercing, almost glaring at this rude guest.
“I couldn’t care less where you’re from, actually.” Drake emphasized the word actually, mocking her. Despite her tired muscles from earlier, her body tensed. What a jerk.
Drake Webber went on, seemingly unperturbed. “Anyway, it’s not a full-time gig. I just need someone to come by my home once a week and make meals to put in my freezer.”
She flinched, uncertain what to say. “Like I said, I have a job.”
“I’ll make it worth your while.”
“I have a son. I’m not really available for a second job.”
“How hard could it be? Come to my house on Mondays when the restaurant is closed and make meals for the week. My kitchen is quite adequate—now that it’s finally finished. Apparently the contractor and his workers keep a slower pace than we do in Seattle.” He said this with more than a small hint of disdain in his voice.
There was no way she would work for this rude and inconsiderate man. She couldn’t put love in anything she made for this man.
“Monday’s my only day off and I like to spend it doing things with my son.” Why didn’t he just come eat at the restaurant if he liked her food so much? He could obviously afford it. “But you’re always welcome in our restaurant.”
“I’ll pay you five-thousand dollars a month,” said Drake. “Plus whatever the cost for ingredients.”
She stared at him. “Five thousand? Every month?” Surely he wasn’t serious. Five thousand additional dollars a month would make an enormous difference in her life. She could set that money aside for Alder’s college. A year of cooking for this insidious man would be enough for two years of college tuition.
“You heard me,” said Drake.
She looked at Linus. He was staring at Drake Webber as well. She could see in his eyes he was thinking about Alder, too. She would be a fool not to do it, no matter how dreadful the man.
Drake continued, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his pants. “The main thing is that once I go inside my house, I will not be coming out again. I plan on having everything delivered that I need. If you come and cook for me and I hire a maid and a gardener there is no reason I need to come off my hill.”
What did he mean? Not come off his hill? “But, but,” she said, stuttering, “why would you do that?”
He glowered at her, his eyebrows low over his eyes. “That is none of your business. I don’t need the details of my personal life spread all over town.”
She shook her head, wanting to give an angry and defensive retort, but nothing came out of her mouth.
“I’ll ensure that you keep your mouth shut about my affairs by having you sign a confidentiality agreement,” said Drake.
“Fine,” she said, hot and damp with perspiration. “But there’s no need. Despite what you think of our little town and our residents, none of them cares two cents about you or your future as a hermit.” Even as she said it, she knew it was a lie. The town would be buzzing about Drake Webber the moment they saw him move into the big house on the hill. He never comes out. He’s a hermit.
“Regardless, I’ll send the paperwork over to the restaurant this evening.”
“I haven’t said yes.”
“But you will. No one turns down the kind of money I just offered unless they’re a fool, and I’m assuming there’s a brain behind your guileless persona.” He paused, tugging on his left ear, his eyes cold. “I’ll expect you Monday.”
He turned, as if to go.
“Wait,” she said. “I need your phone number. I’ll want to talk about what you like to eat and any allergies or whatever.”
Linus handed her a sticky note and a pen.
“My number’s 206-555-9898,” he said. “I’ll eat anything. I’m allergic to shellfish.”
“Okay, good to know,” she said.
With that, he turned on his heel and walked back upstairs.
She turned to Linus. “What just happened?”
“No idea.” He peeled off another sticky note and wrote “Grocery List” at the top. Below, he jotted, “Large package of shrimp.”
They giggled like girls passing notes in school. “You’re bad,” she whispered. “Very, very bad.” Then, gl
ancing at her watch, she started. “Wow, it’s getting late. I have to get home and see Alder. I promised I’d meet him and Ellen at the river.”
“Have fun, doll. I’ll see you later.”
She blew him a kiss and headed out into the warm summer morning.
At the river that afternoon she fed Ellen and Alder tuna sandwiches, made with celery and pickles and fresh dill between slices of thick, crusty French bread. Ellen, her neighbor and friend, was Lee’s grandmother. She looked after Alder and Lee’s little girl, Ellie-Rose. The kids called her Momo—Ellie-Rose’s version of grandma. Ellen, a retired high school English teacher, was in her late seventies but looked younger because of her sinewy strength and feisty attitude. Ellen had lost Lee’s father in a car accident when he was a young man, and although she didn’t talk about it often, Annie knew that both Alder and Ellie-Rose were sources of joy to her after such a devastating loss. “Never a replacement for my boy, mind you,” she said to Annie once. “But it softens it some, having these two to love.”
Now, Alder and Ellen’s dog, Goldie, both dripping wet from the river, plopped next to Annie onto a beach towel. “Can I have another sandwich?” asked Alder.
Annie handed Alder another tuna sandwich. Goldie looked at her, wagging his tail, ever hopeful that this would be the day he received a sandwich. “None for you, Goldie,” she said. “This would make you very sick.”
Alder gobbled his sandwich in five big bites, washing it down with chocolate milk that left a brown mustache on his upper lip. She handed him a napkin. “Where does all this food go exactly?” Her son was newly ten and growing taller every day but his width hadn’t caught up with his height. His ribs pressed against his skin and his legs were skinny with knobby legs.
He looked at her, his round, brown eyes serious. “Momo says it goes to my brain.”
She smiled. “That must be it.”
“Darn right,” said Ellen.
The River Valley Series Page 31
