“They’d have been fine if they’d been in the refrigerator rather than the pantry.”
“I told you. I only dabble in cooking. I’m really quite uneducated.”
“All right.” She narrowed her eyes, but averted them when a smile threatened. “Then this is your first lesson in not wasting food.” She hesitated. “But I apologize for making a mess. I’ll clean it up.”
“You think I’m the least bit worried about the state of the kitchen? It’s brilliant to have it look used for a change. I’m only sorry you felt you had to work. I wanted you to relax.”
“She probably did,” Bonnie said, padding in behind David after leaving her own shoes at the door.
“Yeah. I . . . guess I did.” The truth of her own revelation surprised her.
David studied her a few seconds, seemed to see she meant it, and rubbed his palms together. “All right, fair enough. So can I ask what’s on the menu?”
“Junk Stew for starters.”
“Yum!” said Bonnie.
“Which is?” asked David.
“Pretty much anything you can find to put in the pot,” she said. “I had the chicken, I found a hunk of kielbasa, carrots, celery, onions, a little broccoli, some peas, and frozen corn.”
“Our dad used to make it,” Bonnie explained. “He would put just about anything in it. Even sauerkraut once.”
Rio exchanged wrinkled noses with her and they laughed.
“Sounds awful.”
“It kind of was.”
“What else we got?” The phrase sounded positively Americanized.
She pointed out the apple crisp beside the pie, another glass baking dish topped with mashed potatoes and filled with a green bean hot dish she’d memorized from an old cookbook—the one she’d miss most she’d decided—and a pot of water ready for the broccoli she’d found yellowing in the refrigerator crisper drawer.
“It’s only four-thirty.” Regret tinged David’s voice, and he drew a visible breath through his nose. “But I’d gladly have a go at eating early.”
“I’m going to make biscuits for the stew and cook the broccoli,” she said. “Twenty minutes more. You two could set the table.”
“Set a table?” David chuckled. “The last time I did that it had something to do with my mother being here.”
“I find that hard to believe for a proper duke,” she teased.
It was easy to relax now that she knew David wasn’t going to freak out over her kitchen takeover. And that Bonnie had survived her afternoon.
“What should be hard to believe is the duke supping with the scullery maid.” He raised his brows.
“I’d be happy to serve him in his chambers.”
“Oh no. You don’t want to see his chambers.”
In some weird, deep down place that wasn’t true. Very inappropriately, she did want to see them. “Then you’d best get over yourself, Your Highness.”
“English History One-Oh-One,” he replied. “No ‘Highness’ unless it’s royal, and I am not. You may address me as Your Grace.”
She sputtered and then burst out laughing. It felt nice. “Yeah? You can kiss my grace, buddy.”
“Rio.” He surprised her by grasping each of her upper arms and bringing his face close to hers. He smelled of wood shavings and horses—subtle and masculine. “If this were day two of your stay—I would.”
He let her go, and she nearly staggered backward. He winked, oblivious to what his unexpected touch had done.
“I . . .” She turned back to the stove, struggling to show as little frazzle as possible. “You . . . go wash up, the pair of you. And hop to on the table.”
Bonnie rolled her eyes at David. “This is only a little of how bossy she can get.”
Like the laughter, bossy actually felt pretty good. It dispelled the rampaging butterflies in her belly.
“She’s the cook,” he replied. “I guess she gets to make the rules.”
“Darn right,” Rio replied.
David contributed a bottle of white wine that came, he said, from his micro cellar of thirty or thirty-five bottles of wine, which had been stocked almost exclusively with gifts from people who knew far more about choosing good wine than he did. Whatever his lack of expertise, however, the Riesling he poured during supper was delicious. He offered to let Bonnie taste some with Rio’s permission, but Rio unequivocally refused. She wasn’t about to start their stay here off on that foot. Bonnie protested but, once again, in his calm-the-waves way, David simply produced a bottle of sparkling grape juice. His mother, he told Bonnie, was pretty much a teetotaler, so he always kept juice on hand. Bonnie was in good company.
Rio, on the other hand, was hard put to stick to one glass of wine. It was a glass more than she’d had in ages, and even though she sipped it, savoring the mild fruitiness despite wanting to guzzle it like the indulgent treat it was, the warm buzz filled her head, mellowed the conversation, and encouraged more friendly laughter. Bonnie talked about school and classes and where she’d thought about going to college if they moved West. The impromptu cooking session was feeling like a grand success when David pushed his plate away once his third helping of the stew was gone.
“This was brilliant! You are a kitchen wizard.”
She smiled with happy wooziness and drained the last of her wine. “Nah. I can follow a recipe, and I’ve memorized a handful of our staples. Give me a pound of hamburger and some noodles or potatoes and I can make it look good.”
“And taste good,” Bonnie added. “You are a great cook, Rio.”
She and Bonnie normally got along fine, but lately she’d spent so much time acting like a parent, such praise between them was rare. Maybe Bonnie was showing off, but regardless the compliment was nice.
“I concur, so far,” David said. “I’m reserving judgment for after the pie.”
“It’s one of her specialties,” Bonnie said.
Rio brought the pie, still hot, to the table and handed David the knife.
“Cut the pieces however you want them. Who’s here to tell us they’re too big?”
“You always tell me.” Bonnie grinned.
“Oh, go for broke. It’s your reward for complimenting the chef.”
“Really? Awesome.” She scooped out a giant slice as did David. Rio had eaten so much at lunch she barely had room for a sliver and opted for watching David’s reaction. It didn’t disappoint.
“This is just wrong,” he moaned through a mouthful, smacking his lips. “Nobody should eat decadence like this.”
“Stop trying to suck up.” Rio laughed. “It’s just apple pie.”
“It’s an Effie Jorgenson–caliber pie,” he corrected. “Around here, that’s the highest compliment we give.”
Despite herself, Rio’s chest swelled with pride. She opened her mouth to brush off the praise with solid Minnesota false modesty, but a loud knock at the back door halted her. David’s brows puckered, and he stood. A moment later he ushered Kim Stadtler into the room.
“Would you like a piece of pie?” he asked. “You’re missing out if you don’t.”
“No thanks.” Kim smiled. “I’m just here to invite you guys, Bonnie and Rio especially, on a trail ride. Jill’s taking some students out to the park to give the horses some fun.”
“A trail ride?” Bonnie’s fork clattered to the plate, the uneaten pie forgotten.
“Who’s going?” David asked.
“I talked Dawson into it.” Kim winked. “Chase might be coming over. Becky Barnes, Angie, Deena, a couple of others.”
“You should go.” David looked at Bonnie and then at Rio. “That’s a great group.”
“Will you come?” Bonnie asked him.
“I could get you out of my hair and get a little paperwork done.” He winked, but Rio wondered how true the sentiment was.
“I don’t know if we’re ready to jump on horses and go riding,” she said, although the idea sent her pulse skittering with excitement. “Shouldn’t we at least practice a lit
tle?” She turned to David. “Bonnie’s never been on a horse, and it’s been years for me.”
“But I have been on a horse.” Bonnie exchanged a secret smile with Kim.
“You what? When?”
“I put her up on Jill’s horse, Sun,” Kim replied. “We rode all over the big arena. She did great.”
Rio’s instinct was to grab her sister and run to the nearest padded room. They’d talked about owning horses their entire lives, but dreaming about horses and jumping willy-nilly onto the back of one were two different things.
“Without . . . permission? When I wasn’t here to—”
“To what?” Bonnie demanded, her complimentary voice gone. “To watch over me? Rio, stop worrying, for crying out loud, and start having a little fun of your own.”
“I’m not your mother, Bonnie, but I’m responsible for you.”
“Stop being so responsible then.”
She loaded one last giant bite of pie onto her fork and stuffed it into her mouth. When she’d finished it, she wiped her mouth and stood.
“I’m going,” she said. “Come along for crying out loud.”
Hiding the sting from Bonnie’s words, she shrugged tightly. “Sorry, it’s fine. Go ahead.”
“It’s an easy ride,” Kim added. “We’d love to have you come, too. Honest.”
“Thanks,” Rio said. “But I’d like to clean up here. Maybe a rain check?”
“Sure.”
When the girls were out the door, Rio scowled and picked up the wine bottle. She was just being stubborn now, and probably stupid, but she poured another half glass. The first gulp warmed going down but it didn’t curb the bite of Bonnie’s words. They’d just lost everything; why couldn’t she see that all Rio wanted in the world was to protect what was left—namely her? To her shock—again—David placed his hand over hers, cupping the wineglass and her fingers in his large, warm grasp.
“Do you always drink when you’re angry?”
“Never!”
“Don’t start now.”
“Okay, wait just a frickin’ minute. You have nothing to say about it. You are not my—”
“I feel responsible for you while you’re here.”
The words shot straight into the wound Bonnie had left. Rio sucked in a breath.
“That’s low, twisting my words to suit your argument. I’ve asked you to stay out of our business.”
“I don’t want to get in your business,” he said softly. “I am an impartial observer.”
“David—”
“Rio.”
“Oh what?” She huffed out a breath at his quiet insistence.
“Come riding with us. Why deny yourself just to prove you had a point?”
She hated that he could get into her head so easily. For someone who loved to back down from conflict, he didn’t seem to need avoiding conflict with her. Maybe the wine, maybe plain exhaustion, made her hold back another stubborn refusal.
“Are you going?”
“I’ll go if you go.”
She snorted. “How ridiculous is that?”
“Maybe I want to poke a bit of fun at your riding.”
“Excuse me?” Her heart hammered in disbelief.
“Rio, c’mon,” he chided. “Stop taking everything so seriously. I would never tease a new rider. Your sister was right. You should have more fun.”
There was not much she could say to get out of the activity after that. He helped her put the food away, marveling that they still had the casserole and an entire apple crisp for another dinner.
“Leave the dishes,” he admonished. “You cooked. Bonnie and I can clean up later.”
“That’s very liberated,” she said.
“No, not at all.” His eyes shone with the fun she was growing to recognize. “I have an older sister who was liberated with a capital “L” I’m quite afraid of girls actually.”
“I don’t believe you. What’s her name?”
“Penelope.”
“Penelope Pitts-Matherson?”
“Penny. She was Peepee and nothing for it. A tragedy. And I heard rumors that I was originally to be Phillip. Nickname for that over there is often Pip. Pip Pitts-Matherson. Nice.”
Once again he’d dispelled the tension. Rio giggled as she left the house. The afternoon had heated things up, and even though it was approaching six o’clock, the temperature had to have been in the eighties. Rio breathed deeply, pulling in the scents so different from what she’d been creating in the kitchen. Grass, animals, and hay mulled together in the warm August air—an outdoor feast for the nose.
“I’m not really dressed for riding,” she said, as they neared the barn. She could hear voices from inside, laughing, calling.
“We’ll get you a helmet,” David replied. “And I’ll bet Jill has a pair of heeled boots to lend you. She’s brilliant at having loads of equipment around for emergencies. Otherwise? Your jeans are . . . perfect.”
The way he hesitated over “perfect,” with emphasis not only from his accent but his eyes, heated the wine in her bloodstream. Her head swam a little with the thought that he might mean it as a compliment. Heck, she decided, she might as well make it perfect as long as she was going to fantasize.
Chapter Nine
* * *
“YOU CAME!” BONNIE threw her arms around Rio’s neck as if there’d never been a single cross word. “And David, too.”
Rio hugged her back, but didn’t get out a reply before Bonnie was off to join a gaggle of girls, where she chattered as if she’d known them for months instead of minutes. Typical Bonnie.
There were five teenagers along with Jill, Chase, and David. And herself, as good as a sixth child, she thought, nervous as she stood at the fringes watching the activity. How did Bonnie already look like she knew what she was doing?
“Would you like to see your horse?”
David materialized beside her, and she breathed a sigh of relief. He held out a pair of pull-on, ankle-high boots.
“Okay.”
“And try these. They’re Jill’s extra paddock boots. If they don’t fit, well, fake it for now.”
A moment later she’d doffed her running shoes and tugged on the boots. They were half a size too large, but they’d work.
“They feel fine,” she said. “Thank you.”
“Sure. C’mon.”
He led her to a stall and slid the door, which whispered open on sibilant rollers. Jill could feel her eyes widen at the gleaming horse in front of her. “Holy cow,” she murmured.
“More of a holy horse, wouldn’t you say?” he teased back. “And, actually, he is as close to heavenly as I’ve got. This is Tully. Short for Tullamore Dew. Like the good Irish whiskey.”
“Hello, Tully.” Rio forgot her anxiousness even though the stunning animal towered over her. She touched his muzzle and then stroked his neck and sides. He shone like golden brown liquid.
“He’s Irish Draught—an old friend now at nineteen. He’s big, and he’s fast if you want him to be but not if you don’t. We’ve had him do pretty much every job on the place, so he’s well trained. You’ll have a great ride with him, I promise.”
“He’s beautiful.” Rio turned back to the horse. “You’re beautiful, aren’t you?” Tully snorted and lipped her fingers. Rio laughed, enchanted, all shreds of anger, fear, sadness, gone. For the moment she had a horse. She turned back to David. “Thank you.”
“I’m glad you’re coming with us.”
It took solid strategic planning to get nine horses tacked up, nine people mounted, and three dogs underway. Jill and Chase’s little black-and-white dog, Angel, the sweetest, smartest dog Rio had ever met, led the pack. Kim and Dawson had brought their handsome golden retriever, Roscoe. And Fred, a Corgi mix that belonged to David’s only employee, Andy, who lived in a small apartment above the barn, trotted right along on stumpy legs that didn’t look as if they’d carry him across the farm much less for an two-hour trail ride. David assured her that, short legs or n
ot, Fred would outlast them all.
Tully’s big-strided, rocking walk was only one of the hundred sensations rushing at her like a tsunami when Rio rode out of the stable yard and into the pasture at the rear of the group with David. Sitting astride the big gelding seemed as natural as she remembered from her only two riding excursions ten years before. She relaxed into the comfortable Western saddle and let her hips roll and her spine undulate with the motion.
Her stomach effervesced with delight, the hot evening breeze reached through the vent holes in the helmet David had found for her, the collective crunch and stomp of thirty-six hooves muffled the chatter from the kids ahead of her.
Out of habit she watched Bonnie closely for the first fifteen minutes. Her sister rode in an English saddle, with no horn, no heavy stirrups, and no deep, padded seat. She seemed secure enough, and Rio marveled. The little socialite was taking to riding like she took to everything else she put her brain to—effortlessly.
“What do you think?” David had kept mostly silent as the group left his property. Now they headed through an open field two abreast on a grass track, and he drew beside her on the gray gelding he rode—a tall, gorgeous thoroughbred named Going to Bedlam he fondly called Gomer. “Are you glad I made you come?”
She allowed her mood to shine through a smile. “Yes. I didn’t expect to get to do something like this.”
“You can’t avoid horses around this place. We’re all nutters. We play with them, work with them, talk about them. You’ll find out fairly quickly if you’re a deep-down horse fanatic.”
“What’s not to be fanatic about? Do you all know how lucky you are?”
A fan of smile creases appeared beside each eye. “Nobody takes this for granted. You’ll see the hard work that goes into an evening like this.”
“I didn’t mean to imply I thought it wasn’t work . . .”
But, truthfully, she had. Deep inside, beneath the thrill of this experience, lurked jealousy. A touch of envy because these people had been born into circumstances where work could pay for fun like this instead of where work couldn’t quite pay all the bills.
Beauty and the Brit Page 10
