"Happy birthday," he said, shaking John's hand.
"Thank you, Ryder. I hear you spoke to Max the other day. Is he going to sell you his land?"
"He hasn't given me an answer. Who did you speak to?"
"David. He still rates your chances about ninety to ten."
"Glad to know, I have a ten percent chance," he said evenly.
"Those were David's words, not mine," John said sharply.
He took a sip of his drink, surprised when the doorbell rang. He'd thought all family was present and accounted for. Then Leticia ushered his cousin Ford into the room. With dark hair and dark eyes, Ford definitely looked like both a Garrison and a Westbrook. After Charlie had died, he and Ford had been more like brothers than cousins, despite the fact that Ford was a few years younger.
"Oh, my," Catherine said, rushing over to give her son a hug. "I didn't think you were coming, Ford."
"Your guilt trip worked, Mom," Ford said dryly, greeting the rest of the family with a smile, finally making his way over to Ryder. "Man, it's good to see you, Ryder." He gave him a hug and a slap on the back. "It's been too damn long."
"I'll say. I'm glad you decided to come."
"I've been getting a lot of family pressure."
"How's life in Virginia? How's business?"
"Business is booming and life is good."
"Glad to hear it. I just wish you were a little closer."
"I'm close enough. I didn't expect you to come back to Eagle's Ridge, Ryder. In fact, I didn't think you'd ever leave the Navy."
"It has been a good change for me."
"My mother says you're revamping the airport. I'm happy to hear that. I'm tired of the puddle jumpers that only fly in a few times a day."
"Hopefully, that will change soon." He paused as Leticia came into the room to ask them to be seated in the dining room. "Showtime," he muttered.
Ford raised an eyebrow at his comment. "Is there going to be a show? I thought this was just the usual family dinner."
"It's going to be a dinner you won't forget," he said.
"In a good way or a bad way?" Ford asked.
He smiled. "Let's find out."
* * *
Bailey had cooked for important people in New York and in Paris, but she'd never felt as stressed as she did tonight. As the servers took out the entrée, she took a minute to wipe some moisture from her face.
She'd done everything she could to plan a menu that Ryder's grandfather would love. So far, through the soup and the salad, the plates had come back completely clean and the servers had told her that everyone was really enjoying the meal.
She thought the lamb was perfectly cooked, the side dishes providing exactly the right accompanying notes. And now she had one more dish to go—the chocolate soufflé. Glancing at the clock, she made a note of the time. She had twenty minutes to go until the soufflé was done. That should give the group enough time to make their way through their entrée and to have the servers clear the plates.
Then it would be time for the ultimate bit of decadence. Walking across the room to her bag, she pulled out a faded and yellow menu from the Parisian restaurant where Veronica had written about the first chocolate soufflé she'd ever tasted on their last night in Paris and how that bit of chocolate heaven had been the perfect way to end their honeymoon and start their lives together.
Reading Veronica's handwriting made her feel close to a woman she'd never met and had little recollection of even seeing from afar. But she felt like she knew her now after having gone through her bin of memories, most of which had to do with food and Paris, and most of which had resonated deeply within her.
She was exactly the right person to take over Veronica's, because while she might not understand the Westbrook way, she did understand Veronica. She just wished Veronica was still alive, that she could have spoken to her about her life, her love of French cooking, even her love of John Westbrook, because there was a Westbrook man in Bailey's heart now, too.
Walking over to the ovens, she stared at the soufflés, seeing the rise in the oven light, hoping they would not turn this amazing dinner into a disaster. She could have gone with a less troublesome dessert, one that might not flop at the very last second, but after having read Veronica's words, she'd known it had to be the soufflé. It was a risk, but one she had to take.
She took the next few minutes to clear away some space on the counters—space which was promptly filled again with dinner plates.
The female server, Paula, gave her a big smile. "Everyone is raving about the lamb," she said. "I've never seen so many happy diners. Rob and I are pouring coffee and tea now. How long until dessert?"
"Five minutes," she said, checking the ovens again.
"Got it."
As Paula went back into the dining room, she paced around the kitchen until the minutes finally ticked off on the clock. The servers came back into the kitchen, along with Leticia, who had been helping out throughout the service and the three of them stood back as she carefully took the first pan out of the oven.
She held her breath as she put each small soufflé dish on a plate. There was absolute and utter quiet from the other three people in the room as she finished off the soufflé with a dusting of sugar.
Finally, the servings were ready to be taken into the dining room. They each picked up two plates and for the first time that evening, Bailey left the kitchen. She wanted to serve all eight desserts at the exact same moment, which needed the four of them to make that happen. She would be blowing her cover as the secret chef, but it couldn't be helped, and it was the perfect time.
As they walked into the dining room, her gaze linked with Ryder's. He gave her a big smile, and that gave her the confidence she needed to take the last few steps.
She put one soufflé down in front of Ryder's mother, who looked more worried than happy when she saw her, and the second one went in front of John Westbrook.
She waited for him to look at her, to recognize her, to call her out, but none of that happened.
His gaze was on the soufflé in front of him. His weathered, old face seemed to lose its color. In fact, he almost seemed to shrink in front of her. She heard him suck in some air, and she suddenly worried that he was in some actual physical discomfort.
"Grandfather," Ryder said. "Are you all right?"
"Chocolate soufflé," John muttered, a bemused note in his voice.
"It looks good," Ryder said.
She probably should have left the table and gone back to the kitchen with the servers and with Leticia, but she couldn't seem to pull herself away. While everyone at the dinner party seemed to realize there was something going on that they didn't understand, no one said a word or started to eat their dessert. All gazes were on John.
He finally picked up his spoon with shaky fingers and dipped it into the middle of the chocolate soufflé.
Bailey held her breath as he pulled out a chunk of the soufflé, happy to see it was the perfect texture.
John put the bite into his mouth and then swallowed. Setting down his spoon, he finally lifted his head and looked at her.
There were shadows in his dark eyes—pain and sadness and yet also the hint of pleasure…or was she just imagining that?
"You're the chef?" he asked.
"Yes," she said.
"The meal took me back to my honeymoon in Paris. The dishes—they were all familiar to me."
"Because you shared them with Veronica," she said softly.
"How did you know?" he asked in confusion.
"Veronica made notes on restaurant menus and postcards about your time there. She said the chocolate soufflé was the perfect ending to your honeymoon and the perfect start to your life together. I thought it would be good for tonight, better than a birthday cake and hopefully just as delicious."
His face tightened, his lips drawing into a taut line, and she could see he was struggling with his emotions—feelings most people probably didn't think John Westbrook had.
/> "I'll leave you all to your dessert," she said.
"Wait," John said, as she started to leave.
She turned around, afraid she'd left her escape too late.
"Who are you?" he asked.
She thought she heard Ryder's mother make a quick gasp, but she couldn't look away from John Westbrook's commanding gaze. She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. "I'm Bailey Tucker."
His jaw dropped. "Tucker," he echoed, surprise and dislike in his tone. "You're Max Tucker's granddaughter?"
"I am."
John's gaze moved from her to Ryder. "You set this up? You let a Tucker into my house?"
"Yes. I wanted you to taste Bailey's food, to see how good she is, despite her last name. She's interested in renting Veronica's, opening a new restaurant in that space, one that will do Grandmother's memory proud," Ryder replied evenly.
"What?" John sputtered. "You think I'm going to rent Veronica's to a Tucker?"
"She's amazing chef. You just had one of the best meals of your life, didn't you?"
"I thought it was wonderful," Ryder's mother said unexpectedly.
"I did, too," another younger man at the table said. Bailey was surprised to see Ford Garrison. She hadn't seen Ryder's cousin since high school, but he still looked very much the same with his dark hair and eyes.
After Ford spoke, there was a chorus of approval for the meal she'd just served them.
But John Westbrook was still silent—thoughtful. She didn't know if she should go or stay. Ryder had made a good pitch, but there hadn't been an answer. She gave Ryder a helpless look.
He frowned and turned back to John. "Don't you agree that the meal was incredible, Grandfather?"
John took another few seconds to put together an answer. "Yes," he said finally. "Thank you."
It wasn't a rave, but she'd take it. "You're welcome. Happy birthday." And with that, she left the dining room.
When she got into the kitchen, she put a hand on the counter and blew out a breath.
Leticia gave her a concerned look. "They know?"
She nodded. "Yes."
"What did John say?"
"It took him awhile, but he said thank you."
Leticia smiled. "That's good."
"I'm not sure if it was good, but at least he didn't throw the soufflé at me."
"He has more bark than bite," Leticia said. "The man feels more deeply than anyone would expect."
As Leticia went back into the dining room to help clear the plates, Bailey thought about Leticia's words. She had seen emotion in John's eyes tonight. John Westbrook might hate the Tuckers, but he'd loved his wife, and tonight a Tucker had given him a taste of an old memory. Maybe that taste had turned a little sour when he realized she'd done the cooking and wanted Veronica's restaurant, or maybe as Ryder hoped, John would finally realize that carrying an old feud through the next several generations was completely pointless.
But whatever was going to happen probably wouldn't happen too fast. It had taken John forever just to say thank you. She felt a little like Ryder had felt when he'd spoken to her grandfather—that while both men might be softening just a little, they were still a long way from saying yes to anything that involved the other family.
The door to the kitchen opened, and Ryder and Ford came into the room.
"That was incredible," Ryder said, giving her a hug and a kiss.
"Thanks," she said, with a breathless smile.
"Do you know Ford?" Ryder asked.
"I remember you from high school. You're Ryder's cousin," she said.
"And you're Adam and Zane's little sister," Ford returned. "I couldn't quite believe it when you showed up in the dining room. A Tucker in the Westbrook house? That was some drama."
"It was Ryder's idea."
"And it was a good one," Ryder put in.
"I think that's still to be seen. I hope my presence didn't spoil your grandfather's birthday."
"It didn't. He finished every last bite of his soufflé, and now he's in the living room, sitting by the fire with everyone. Seriously, Bailey, every single course was perfect."
She beamed at him. "I tried really hard."
"You didn't try; you succeeded."
"I agree," Ford said. "You're an excellent chef, and I'd love to see Veronica's reopened."
"Thanks, but even if John liked the meal, I'm afraid he just won't be able to get past my last name. But I've done all I can do. The rest is up to him." She wearily tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She was suddenly exhausted. "I better clean up. You two should go back to the party."
"We have everything under control," Leticia interrupted. "You don't need to do anything more, Bailey."
"Don't be silly. I always finish the job to the very end." She looked back at Ford. "Will you be in town for Founders' Day weekend?"
"I don't know if I'll be here that long," he said. "I may take off tomorrow."
"That soon? Why such a quick visit?" Ryder asked.
"I like seeing Eagle's Ridge and my family for short visits," Ford said. "No time for too much drama." He glanced at Bailey. "How are Adam and Zane these days?"
"They're great. They're getting ready for the spring season. They'll be sorry they missed you; they're in Seattle for a few days for a trade show. They'll be back tomorrow night. If you decide to stay longer, you should give them a call."
"I'll catch them the next time," Ford replied. "I'm going to head back to the living room. It was nice to see you again, Bailey."
"You, too."
"I'll be right there," Ryder told Ford. Then he turned to her, and put his hands on her waist. "Can I say I'm impressed now?"
"You can," she said, as he took another quick kiss. "But you should go back to the party."
"I want to see you later."
She wanted to see him, too, because every time his mouth touched hers, she wanted more. But she was also exhausted. "I'm really tired, Ryder. I'm going to go home and crash. And you should spend tonight with your family—with Ford."
"You could go to my place and crash."
"Tempting, but I wouldn't be much fun."
"You're always fun, but it doesn't always have to be about that," he said, a serious note in his voice. "I just like being with you."
"I like it, too," she murmured, aware that they were not alone in the kitchen, even though she was barely conscious of the activity going on around her. "But tonight has been—a lot. I feel like I put all my cards on the table, but I still don't know if I won, if it will be enough."
"I understand how you feel. I felt that way after I spoke with your grandfather."
"I understand your mood from the other day a lot better now." She gave him a smile, but he didn't return it. She could see there was something else going on in his head now. "What?"
"I was just thinking…"
"About?"
"It doesn't matter. We'll talk later."
"Tomorrow," she agreed.
He kissed her again and left the kitchen.
Clean-up, then bed, she told herself. She didn't want to think or worry or plan anymore. She just wanted to rest. Tomorrow would be here soon enough.
* * *
Ryder paused in the hall outside the kitchen door. He could hear family conversation coming from the living room, but he wasn't ready to join them yet. Bailey's recent words had made him think about things in a different way—and it wasn't a particularly good way.
She'd told him that she wanted her own restaurant, that she knew it for certain now.
What if his grandfather wouldn't let her lease Veronica's? Would she be able to find a place in town that suited her needs?
Even if she did, would it be right for her?
He'd just seen Bailey shine in a way he'd never really imagined. She wasn't just a good chef; she was an incredible chef. She had talent beyond talent. Was she really going to be happy cooking in a small town like Eagle's Ridge? She could be anywhere in the world—New York, Paris, London, Rome—places she'd
already told him she'd been and loved. Her dreams had taken her far from home. And they hadn't really brought her back now.
She'd come home to Eagle's Ridge because it was a safe haven, a place to be comforted and nurtured, to be with family and old friends.
Was it really where she was meant to stay?
And if it wasn't, would he have to let her go?
Seventeen
Bailey woke up early Wednesday morning, the force of the wind and the pounding rain waking her from her deep, exhausted sleep. It was almost seven but dark as midnight. Throwing on her robe and slippers, she went down the stairs and into the living room. Her dad was in the kitchen and on the phone with someone. As she drew nearer, she could hear the tension in his voice.
"I'll be right there," he said. "Thanks for letting me know."
"What's wrong?" she asked, as he hung up the phone.
"One of the front windows blew out at the diner. Chuck Hayes was driving by and saw the glass on the street."
"I'll get dressed," she said quickly.
"I can't wait for you, Bailey."
"Of course not. I'll be there as soon as I can. I hope there's not a lot of damage."
"Me, too," he said grimly. "I'm also worried about your grandfather. I heard the river is coming over the road. I was about to head up there when Chuck called."
She met his troubled gaze and remembered how high the river had been near her grandfather's house on Sunday. "I'll check on him as soon as I get dressed."
"Bring him back here," her dad said. "He won't want to come, but you need to convince him."
"I will." That promise might be a little difficult to keep, but she'd give it her best shot.
After her dad left, she jogged back to her room and threw on her clothes, taking just a minute to brush her teeth and pull her hair into a ponytail, and then she headed out the door.
The wind and rain swamped her with a fierce fury that was much stronger than she'd expected. She had to battle just to get to her car.
Ryder (7 Brides for 7 Soldiers Book 1) Page 16
