Taste of Tara

by Shanna Hatfield

  “He did?” Tara asked, awed that the famed chef and owner of one of Atlanta’s most popular restaurants liked her creation. Chef Hamilton would be in charge of the kitchen at Magnolia Rose during the month of April, leaving his restaurant in the capable hands of his sous-chef.

  Tara hoped to glean any number of tips and tricks for culinary success from the man during her weeks at the plantation. To have him compliment something she made was incredible. Tara could cross one more item off her wish list. Praise from someone of Chef Hamilton’s caliber was in her top ten wishes she wanted to make reality. Maybe she could dazzle him with her pastry work enough he’d write a letter of recommendation for her. Although she liked Mr. Bonnell, she certainly didn’t plan to spend the rest of her career in his bakery.

  Filled with excited anticipation, Tara took a seat on the cream settee Ashley indicated and smiled at her employer. The woman poured sweet iced tea into tall glasses and handed one to Tara before taking a seat across from her on a matching side chair. “Wade would have joined us, but he’s busy meeting with the gentleman who handles the horses for our events. Although we keep a few on hand all year for our personal pleasure, Cutler Springs Farm provides the horses for our April activities. Conveniently, they are located just a few miles up the road.”

  While Ashley rattled on about the horses and the man who owned them, Tara’s gaze roamed over the room, taking in every detail to share with her mother. Melanie would want to know the exact shade of dusty rose on the walls, that the carpet looked like squares of navy and mauve mosaic tile, and the drapes appeared to be raw silk.

  Tugging her thoughts back to the conversation, Tara accepted a plate of treats Ashley held out to her.

  Hungry from her travels, Tara ate small bites of crustless sandwiches and a raspberry-filled tart. While she savored the food, Ashley discussed Tara’s duties, her work schedule, and expectations once the guests began to arrive the following Monday.

  “We’ll have forty adult guests, and six teens whose parents thought immersing them in a month of hands-on history would be a good learning experience.” Ashley giggled. “I would have hated it when I was sixteen, so we’ll see how that goes. Since the teens are from three different families, I hope they will become friends and keep each other entertained. I have a feeling it will be challenging to keep them away from their cell phones for long.”

  Tara silently agreed. Most of the teenagers she knew couldn’t go five minutes without their cell phones, let alone eight hours.

  “You’ll also be cooking for the staff, and, of course, Wade and me. If I’ve counted correctly, we should have sixty to seventy people a day, give or take a few for days off and the like.” Ashley set down her tea glass and studied Tara a few moments. “You are so lovely, Tara. You truly do put me in mind of a Southern belle with that fair skin, dark hair, and green eyes.”

  Tara blushed. “Thank you, Ashley. My mother didn’t give me the middle name of Scarlett without reason.”

  Ashley laughed and rose to her feet when Tara set her glass and plate back on the low table between them. “I’m sure you are tired from your trip. Let me show you to your room. As I mentioned, we’d love to have you jump into work starting tomorrow, but if you need a day to rest, we completely understand. We just want you to have ample time to become acclimated to our kitchen before the guests arrive next week.”

  “Tomorrow will be fine,” Tara assured her. “I’d like to go through the pastry area and make sure I have all the supplies I need and that the things I shipped have arrived.” Tara followed Ashley down the hall to a corridor that led to a long wing.

  “This wing of the house is where all the staff who don’t have accommodations elsewhere stays,” Ashley said. They went up the stairs then Ashley led her to a door at the end of the hall. “Originally, this served as a guest wing, so I hope you’ll find your room adequate.” She opened the door and stepped aside.

  Tara moved into the room and clamped her lips together to keep from squealing like her mother would have surely done. The room looked as if it had come straight from the set of Gone with the Wind. Her thoughts went to the scene in Scarlett’s bedroom when Mammy yanked on Scarlett’s corset strings while she held onto the bedpost.

  The four-poster bed in this room, complete with a lace canopy and white crocheted coverlet, made Tara hold her hands at her sides to keep from clapping them together like a high-spirited child. “It’s perfect, Ashley. I love everything about this room.”

  Ashley nodded in understanding. “I hoped you would. We call this room ‘Tara.’ All of the rooms have names. In fact, we have little brass plates on the wall outside that state the name of each room. If you ever have to locate a specific room, that’s the easiest way to find it.”

  Tara grinned. “Thank you, again, Ashley. I promise to do a great job for you and Wade, and your guests.”

  “I know you will, lovey. Now, rest up. Dinner is at six. Tonight we’re dining in the kitchen and it is informal, so don’t feel the need to change. Everyone will be dressed casually.” Ashley stepped into the hall. “In case you don’t recall from your last visit how to find the kitchen, just go down the back stairs here then follow the corridor straight into the kitchen. See you later.”

  After Ashley closed her door, Tara took a moment to turn in a slow circle, taking in each detail of her room. She could almost picture Mammy standing by the bed tsk-tsking at something Scarlett had done or said.

  Full of emotion and exhilaration, she flopped back on the bed, trying to convince herself she wasn’t caught in a dream, but a delightful reality.

  Chapter Three

  Within twenty-four hours of her arrival at Magnolia Rose, Tara fell off cloud nine and back into real life. Although the plantation home had been updated with the most modern conveniences, the house was more than one hundred and eighty years old. At night, it creaked and groaned with such eerie sounds, she could barely get a wink of sleep. If she believed in ghosts, she would have sworn they walked the halls all night, moaning and groaning.

  The rain that had fallen intermittently since the morning after her arrival cast a gloomy pall across the sky and heightened the humidity. When she’d visited the previous month, she hadn’t noticed it being humid. In fact, it had been a bit nippy out.

  Now, though, it was warm and wet. Tara wasn’t used to such humid temperatures. Oh, sure, they sometimes got some humidity in Portland, but nothing like what she’d experienced the last few days.

  On top of that, she’d awakened that first morning to discover she was allergic to something. With watery eyes, a scratchy throat, and no idea what had caused it, she searched through her bag for anything that might help, but failed to find anything that would relieve her symptoms.

  Determined to purchase some over-the-counter medication as soon as she made it into town, she ignored her discomfort and took charge of the pastry area of the kitchen.

  For the entertainment of the guests, Wade and Ashley had kept the original kitchen. They had it updated with new appliances, refinished cupboards and refurbished counters. A guest walking into the room would think they’d stepped into a kitchen from decades ago, not one with every modern convenience cleverly disguised behind vintage facades.

  However, through a doorway behind the old kitchen was a state-of-the-art facility where stainless walk-in coolers, gas cook tops and grills, convection ovens, and multiple prep stations looked like something from a high-end restaurant.

  Chef Stuart welcomed Tara with a friendly grin when she ventured to the kitchen on her first full day of employment. Although he teased her about sharing the recipe for her Magnolia Bliss, she gently refused. She might give him the recipe when she returned to Portland, but not before.

  Flattered that he liked her dish well enough to request the recipe, she spent a few hours with him, going over menu plans and familiarizing herself with how he liked to run the kitchen. All the while, she mentally pinched herself to keep from succumbing to a full-on case of star struck fang
irl. The chef had been a judge on a popular cooking show, was a published author of two cookbooks, and hadn’t even turned thirty. Good-looking and charismatic, Stuart had the world by a string. Tara felt lucky to be hanging onto a little thread of it as his pastry chef for the next month.

  Between dabbing watery eyes and sucking on a stash of peppermints she’d found in the pantry, Tara began baking breads, muffins, rolls, and cakes. The more she baked now, the more prepared she’d be to feed sixty-some people three meals a day for the next four weeks.

  On Sunday, the kitchen closed to give everyone a day off before the guests arrived the following day. Ashley and Wade hired a driver to take those who were interested into town to shop or explore.

  Armed with a guidebook, a small digital camera, and a wad of tissues stuffed into the bottom of her purse, Tara joined the three other members of the staff eager to see the sights in the area. The driver parked in a popular historic part of town and let them know he’d be back in a few hours to pick them up.

  Ready to explore a city that had reached legendary status in her imagination, Tara found a pharmacy and purchased an assortment of allergy medication. She took a few, hoping the medication would soon begin to work and alleviate her symptoms.

  The travel guide she’d hoped would lead her on a grand adventure proved worthless. She ditched the heavy book and explored on her own.

  Lured by old architecture and a desire to see as much of the city as she could in her limited leisure time, Tara wandered down block after block. She took a photo of herself standing in front of a sign that said Peachtree Street and texted it to her mother. The woman begged for frequent updates of what she’d seen and experienced.

  A beautiful garden caught her interest and she wandered into it, admiring the plants, flowers, and bushes that were so foreign to her. After making her way to the center of the park, she sat on a bench for a while and watched people come and go. Her stomach growled and she decided to find a place for lunch. Disoriented by her trip through the various walking paths, she exited the park in a spot that didn’t look familiar and continued walking.

  A few blocks later, she found herself in a neighborhood that seemed dark even in the broad light of day and not entirely safe.

  Unsettled, she hurried her pace. A man with a straggly beard sat on his porch step and eyed her, motioning her to come closer. “Come on up here, baby. Ol’ Tony is fixin’ to show a purty gal like y’all a good time.”

  Tara kept her eyes glued to the street in front of her and walked faster. She’d gone about half a block when she heard footsteps behind her and realized she had to be the stupidest girl on the planet. She grew up around a big city and knew better than to go off alone, especially in a questionable neighborhood.

  Afraid to turn back, she didn’t want to see what Ol’ Tony had in store for her. Perhaps her paranoia was getting the best of her and causing her to imagine someone following her. Frightened, she jogged to the end of the block and turned the corner.

  Just ahead of her, a person she recognized from Magnolia Rose spoke with an older gent in a wheelchair. In truth, the man from the plantation was hard to miss.

  If Bradley Cooper had a doppelganger with sun streaked blond hair, this handsome man had to be him. The day she’d noticed him riding one of the horses at Magnolia Rose, she’d hesitated for a moment to admire his muscular form, engaging smile, and blue eyes. Tara couldn’t be blamed for watching him. Even the most stalwart prude would stop in her tracks to take a gander at the good-looking man.

  Unfortunately, no one had introduced them. The possibility existed it wasn’t even the same guy. The one at the plantation always wore a black cowboy hat. This man’s blond hair gleamed in the sunlight. Odds were minimal there could be two Bradley Cooper doubles running around Atlanta, and she was convinced this one had to be from Magnolia Rose.

  As she rushed toward the gorgeous man, he shot her a strange glance and looked behind her. His gaze narrowed as he held out a hand to her. “Did you wander off again, honey? You could get into trouble doing that, you know. It’s time for us to leave, anyway.”

  Grateful for his assistance and the little fib he spouted to ward off whatever was behind her, Tara reached out and clasped his hand in hers. She cast a quick glimpse over her shoulder. Two burly ruffians turned around and headed back in the direction she’d come from.

  She would never, ever go off alone like that again.

  A cackle from the figure in the wheelchair drew Tara’s attention. Tufts of white hair stuck up all over his head like randomly attached hunks of cotton candy. The old man fixed his faded eyes on Tara before he smirked at the young man. “You got something you need to tell me, son?”

  Tara’s hero smiled and shook his head. “No, Uncle Gerald, I don’t have anything to tell you. Are you sure you’re doing okay? I’d be glad to take you home with me,” he said, taking a step closer to the older man.

  Since Tara still held his hand in a death grip, she moved forward, too.

  Gerald chuckled. “I’m as good as an old fogey like me is going to get, kid. Y’all go on to lunch. This pretty lady looks like she could use a nice glass of tea, or something a little stronger.”

  Tara wondered if she appeared as wild-eyed and terrified as she felt. Her heart, which had jerked into a strange, staccato tempo the moment the man on the porch had called out to her, had yet to settle back into a regular beat. With it pummeling the inside of her chest, she considered the possibility of it leaving a bruise.

  At least the danger of being accosted on the dirty street had made her temporarily forget her allergy problem and the humidity. Either that or the medication she took earlier had finally kicked in.

  The man beside her finally nodded his head at the old man. “Fine, Uncle Gerald. I’ll be back to check on you next week. If you need something before then, you call me. Okay?”

  “Sure, son. I’ll do that. Thanks for the grub.” Gerald turned his wheelchair around and pushed himself up the walk to a house that stood out against the others in the neighborhood because it bore a recent coat of paint and appeared as though someone had recently added new boards to the porch. He stopped in the doorway and grinned back at them. “Stay out of trouble, you two.”

  “I could say the same, Uncle Gerald.” The Bradley Cooper look-alike watched as the old man wheeled into the house and closed the door before he glanced down at her. His towering height made Tara inordinately blissful. At almost five-ten, she often stood at eye level with many men. If she wore heels, most didn’t like to get too close to her.

  Since she had to tip her head back slightly to look into her rescuer’s gorgeous face, she figured he had to be a few inches over six feet. Sunlight kissed the top of his golden head and accented his tanned skin.

  If Tara was given to flights of fancy, she would have said he made her positively want to swoon. Or maybe it was the run-in with men intent to do her harm that caused the tightness in her chest and the lightheaded feeling making it hard for her to stay on her feet.

  “You work at Magnolia Rose, don’t you?” her hero asked in a deep voice that sounded both rugged yet gentle.

  “I’m the pastry chef. You work with the horses, right?” she asked, blindly following as he led her to the passenger door of his pickup.

  He grinned as she climbed up to the seat and continued staring at him. “I do. My name’s Brett Cutler.”

  “That’s a great name, Mr. Cutler,” Tara said, unaware that she still held his hand firmly with her own.

  He smiled at her. “If you let me have my hand back, I can take you to the plantation, or wherever you’d like to go.”

  Tara gazed down at the large, tanned hand with lean, supple fingers nestled against her smaller, pale hand. The sudden thought that they looked right together, felt right together, flitted through her mind before she released it. Embarrassed, heat seared up her neck and across her cheeks as he jogged around to the driver’s side.

  Once he started the truck, her stomach growled
and the color burning in her cheeks intensified. He merely grinned. “Do you think, if I offered to feed you lunch, you’d eventually tell me your name?”

  “No lunch is necessary. My name is Tara Tarleton. I’m in the area to work at Magnolia Rose for the living history event this month. I came into town today to explore with a group. Although I know better, I went off on my own and found myself in a somewhat disturbing situation. Thank you for your help.”

  Brett smiled. “My pleasure. It’s not every day I can rescue a beautiful damsel in distress.”

  Tara didn’t think her blush could burn more fiercely, but it did. “It was stupid of me to wander off like that, especially when I had no idea where I was going.”

  “Yes, it was,” he agreed, turning and driving down a wide street. Almost immediately, the rather rundown neighborhood morphed into nicer homes then gave way to businesses. Brett parked in front of a restaurant and turned off the ignition. “I was going to grab some lunch anyway. You might as well join me.”

  Tara tried to gauge if he was just being nice or really didn’t care if she accompanied him. Unable to read him, she was too hungry to give it more thought. “If you’re sure I’m not intruding on anything, I’d like to join you. I do feel like I interrupted your visit with your uncle, though. My apologies.”

  Brett ran around the truck and opened the door while she untangled herself from her seatbelt. He held out a hand to her and she took it, reluctant to let it go once her feet landed on the sidewalk.

  He didn’t seem to mind as he gave her hand a squeeze and led her inside. Once they were seated at a table, enjoying glasses of cold lemonade, Brett leaned back and grinned. “Gerald isn’t really my uncle. He lost a leg back in Vietnam when he was just a kid. He was a mess when he returned. After bouncing in and out of jail and spending a few years homeless, he finally found a job he liked and managed to buy that house. When he lets me, I do a little work on it to keep it from falling down around his ears. I’ve always called him Uncle Gerald. He doesn’t have any family of his own and it makes him happy to claim a worthless guy like me as his kin.”