by Donna Fasano
And she felt no fear. No disquiet.
She did, however, experience a poignant hitch of emotion that made the love she felt for this man deepen just a little more.
“I love you,” she whispered.
His throat convulsed when he swallowed against the sudden emotion that softened his gaze. “I never thought I would hear you say that. I love you too, Sara.” His voice grated roughly as he repeated, “I love you too.”
He searched her face for only a moment, then bent his head to kiss her. He gathered her up in his arms and crushed her to him in a tight hug.
“Whoopsie!”
Landon broke off the kiss, but the two of them continued to hold one another as though they’d come to a silent agreement that they’d wasted enough time apart. They glanced across the room.
Heather and Cathy stood grinning in the kitchen doorway.
“Looks like Geneva isn’t the only one wanting a Snickerdoodle.” Heather sang the name of the cookie in off-key notes.
Cathy cracked up. “Sorry to interrupt you two, but we want dessert.”
Obviously, she was anything but sorry.
“It’s okay,” Sara told them. Then her tone lowered to a hush as she warned Landon, “Never let them see you sweat. Or they’ll become relentless.”
“Gotcha,” Landon said. “Let’s show them just how okay it is.”
He kissed her then, deeply, thoroughly, and Sara felt her pulse race even though they had a half-drunken audience looking on.
“Woo-hoo!” Cathy cheered. “Forget the cookies. They’re going straight for the pumpkin pie!”
Sara and Landon laughed so hard they had to stop kissing. She hugged him to her. Holding him felt good. It felt right. And Sara knew they really would be okay.
* * *
Sara’s Yeast Rolls
Makes 24 rolls
1 (1/4 ounce) package active dry yeast
1 cup warm water (110º-115º F)
1 teaspoon sugar
1 egg
2 tablespoon extra virgin olive oil
1 teaspoon salt
3-4 cups all purpose flour
In a small bowl, dissolve the yeast and the sugar in the warm water. Let sit until frothy, about 10 minutes.
Add egg, oil, salt and 2 ½ cups of flour. Beat until smooth. Stir in enough of the remaining flour to form a stiff dough.
Turn out onto a floured surface and knead until smooth and elastic, about 8 minutes. Place dough into a greased bowl, turning once to coat. Cover with a kitchen towel and let rise in a warm place until double in size, about 1 hour.
Punch dough down and turn out onto a floured surface. Divide dough into half. Divide each half into 12 equal-size pieces.
Roll each piece into an 8 inch long rope. Tie each rope into a loose knot, tucking under the ends. Place 2 inches apart on greased baking sheet. Cover the sheets with kitchen towels and let rise until double in size, about 30 minutes.
Pre-heat oven to 350º F. Bake rolls for 15-18 minutes or until golden brown. Remove from baking sheets to wire racks. Serve warm with butter.
Geneva’s Ambrosia
Serves 8-10
1 (8 ounce) container whipped topping
2 cups shredded coconut
1/2 cup walnut pieces
1 (8 ounce) can fruit cocktail, drained
1 (8 ounce) can pineapple tidbits, drained
1 (11 ounce) can mandarin orange slices, drained
2 cups mini marshmallows
1 (10 ounce) jar maraschino cherries, drained and halved
In a large bowl, gently mix together all ingredients until well-combined. Stir gently; orange slices are delicate. Refrigerate for at least 1 hour before serving. Can be made a day ahead.
Sara’s Snickerdoodles
Makes about 2 1/2 dozen cookies
2 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
2 teaspoons cream of tartar
1 teaspoon baking soda
3/4 teaspoon salt
1 cup butter, room temperature
1 1/2 cups sugar
1/2 teaspoon vanilla
2 large eggs
Coating –
1/4 cup sugar
1 1/2 tablespoons ground cinnamon
Whisk together the flour, cream of tartar, baking soda, and salt. Set aside.
Beat the butter, sugar, and vanilla until light and fluffy, about 4 minutes. Add eggs, one at a time, and beat until well incorporated. Scrape down the sides and bottom of the bowl.
Add the flour mixture to the butter mixture in three batches, mixing each addition just until the flour is mixed in. Do not over mix or cookies will be heavy. Wrap the dough in plastic wrap and chill for 30 minutes.
Pre-heat oven to 400º F. In a small bowl, mix together the coating: 1/4 cup sugar and 1 1/2 tablespoons cinnamon.
Shape tablespoon-sized mounds of chilled cookie dough into balls (or use a medium size cookie scoop). Roll each ball in coating mixture and place 2 inches apart on baking sheets.
Bake 8 – 10 minutes or until puffed and set. Cookies should be light golden.
Cool on baking sheets for 10 minutes, and then remove to a cookie rack to cool completely. Cookies will keep in an airtight container for 4 – 5 days.
Heather’s Fresh Cranberry Sauce
Makes 8 – 10 servings
2 12-ounce bags fresh cranberries
1/2 cup water
3/4 cup orange juice
1 1/2 cups sugar
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1/2 cup walnut pieces
1 15-ounce can Mandarin orange slices, drained
Place cranberries in a 2 quart pot. Add water, orange juice, sugar, and cinnamon. Simmer, stirring often, until all cranberries have popped, about 20 minutes. Remove from heat.
Gently stir in walnuts and orange slices. Pour into a serving bowl and chill thoroughly. Best made a day ahead.
Cathy’s Brown Sugar & Cracked Pepper Bacon
Makes 9-12 strips
1 pound thick-sliced bacon
4 tablespoons dark brown sugar
Fresh cracked black pepper to taste
Pre-heat oven to 350º F. Line a jelly roll pan or roasting pan with foil. Pan should be large enough to hold a cookie cooling rack. Place the cookie cooling rack on the foil-lined pan and brush the rack with a little oil to prevent sticking.
Lay bacon on the rack in a single layer.
Sprinkle the brown sugar and black pepper on the bacon.
Bake until brown and crisp, about 30-35 minutes.
Sara’s Layered Pumpkin Cheesecake
This dessert is a smaller version of Sara’s restaurant-style cheesecake mentioned in the book.
Gingersnap crust –
2 cups gingersnap cookie crumbs (about 32 cookies)
1/4 cup ground walnuts
1/4 cup butter or margarine, melted
Cheesecake –
4 8-ounce packages cream cheese, softened
1 1/2 cups sugar
4 eggs
1 cup canned pumpkin (not pumpkin pie mix)
1 1/2 teaspoons ground ginger
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg
Pre-heat oven to 300º F. Grease a 9-inch spring form pan with cooking spray. Wrap foil around the outside of the pan to catch any leaks.
Prepare crust: Mix together cookie crumbs, walnuts, and butter. Press mixture into the bottom of the pan, going up side 1 inch. Bake 8 – 10 minutes. Cool for 5 minutes.
In a large bowl, beat the cream cheese until smooth. Add the sugar, and then add the eggs, one at a time, beating until incorporated. Measure out 3 cups of the cheese mixture and spread evenly over the crust.
Add pumpkin, ginger, cinnamon, and nutmeg to the remaining cream cheese mixture in the large bowl. Mix with a wire whisk until blended. Spoon pumpkin mixture over the cream cheese mixture in the pan.
Bake for about 1 hour and 30 minutes, or until sides look set and center jiggles just a little when moved.
Turn
off the oven, open the oven door about 4 inches, and leave cheesecake in the over for 30 more minutes. Remove from oven, set on cooling rack. While cheesecake is still warm, run a knife around the edge. Cool in the pan for 30 minutes. Cover loosely with plastic and refrigerate overnight.
When ready to serve, run a knife around the edge again. Carefully remove the spring form. Store leftover cheesecake in the refrigerator.
Two Hearts in Winter
Original Copyright
Copyright © 2016, Donna J. Fasano
All Rights Reserved
Two Hearts in Winter
Paperback ISBN: 978-1-939000-32-3
eBook ISBN: 978-1-939000-33-0
This book may not be reproduced in any form, in whole or in part (beyond that copying permitted by U.S. Copyright Law, Section 107, “fair use” in teaching or research, Section 108, certain library copying, or in published media by reviewers in limited excerpt), without written permission from the author.
Chapter One
Dust motes floated in the dry, chilly air, winking in the long shafts of winter sunlight that glinted through the attic’s dormer window. The soft, yellowy light pooled on the rough plank floor. A lifetime of boxes and bric-a-brac littered every nook along with half a dozen mismatched lamps, a grimy rocking chair, its caning dry-rotted in spots, stacks of leather-bound books, unused furniture pieces, and dozens of other trinkets and gadgets that were once treasured but now looked dated and grubby.
Heather Phillips stood for a moment, listening to the quiet that utterly and completely pervaded the house. She should have become used to it after nearly a month of forced silence, but she had to admit that it was getting to her. Then a faint sound had her tilting her head and she smiled. Even with the house closed up tight against winter’s bluster, even all the way up here among the highest bones of The Lonely Loon, Heather could make out the muffled rhythm of the ocean waves.
Two short steps made it possible for her to peer out of the wavy glass of the dormer and see the wide expanse of slate gray water. The boardwalk in front of her B&B and the sandy beach beyond the seawall were both devoid of people at this early hour of the morning. The sea called to her; she suspected it did the same to every single one of the seven thousand or so permanent residents who called Ocean City, Maryland home. During the hot summer months, tourists poured into the town like sweet, luscious lemonade and the population often surpassed a quarter of a million. Jam-packed with vacationers or utterly desolate, the relentless waves took no notice; they kept crashing against the shoreline, day in and day out. A reassuring constancy.
There was something about the Atlantic Ocean that calmed Heather. A deep and abiding soul serenity is how she thought of it. True tranquility that couldn’t be found any place else on earth. Not for her, at least.
The thoughts made her mouth twist in a wry smirk. This wasn’t the time to become bogged down with weighty thoughts. Cathy and Sara, her two best friends in the world, would tease the hell out of her for what they’d deem as silly profundity. The three women were as close as sisters. Closer, really, since Heather knew of quite a few siblings who couldn’t stand to be in the same room with each other for more than ten minutes at a time. Friends were your chosen family, of that she was certain.
The mental shake she gave herself was all she needed to get her thoughts back on the right track. Cathy and Sara were stopping by to celebrate tonight. Heather had a thousand things on her to-do list. She’d climbed the narrow attic stairs with a task in mind, and she had better get to it.
Glancing to her right, she spied the boxes of Christmas decorations and made a bee-line for them. Who waits until Christmas Eve to decorate for the holiday?
She shook her head and heaved a sigh. She did. This year, anyway.
Luckily, the outside of the building had been decorated during the first week of December. She’d hired a crew of four men who had painstakingly strung tiny white lights along every straight edge of the building. The electronic icicles that had been installed were a new addition to the decorations this season. Heather had found them in a catalog, and when the long, narrow lights were turned on, they gave the illusion that icicles were actually dripping from the eaves. Thick tubes of red lighting had been coiled around the white columns of the front porch, turning them into fat candy canes, and a huge wreath made of live evergreen branches and sporting a fluffy, red bow greeted visitors at the front door. She breathed in a hefty whiff of pine every time she entered her home. When the house was lit up at night it shouted Christmas spirit, she didn’t mind saying.
However, the day the lights had gone up had also been the day mayhem had broken loose and Heather had discovered just how serious her one and only lodger had been about the peace and quiet he’d felt he had paid for. Heather had been quick to offer reassurances that the job would be completed in one day. And it had been, but only because she’d paid the crew overtime and a nice bonus so they’d finish up as quickly—and quietly—as possible.
The box at the top of the stack was light but unwieldy. The items inside shifted when she picked it up and she lost her grip. The resulting thud of the box hitting the floor made her eyes grow wide, and she immediately went still, listening for footsteps or shouted complaints from down below.
She realized that her jaw was clenched and her fisted hands were pressed tightly against her solar plexus.
That’s when her irritation flared. This tip-toeing around was getting ridiculous. Over the course of the past month she’d learned new habits—turning the knobs when closing doors so the latches wouldn’t click, wearing thick socks or slippers so the heels of her shoes didn’t tap against the oak floors, listening to her favorite rock and roll station on Pandora with her iPhone and ear buds rather than letting it blare out while she was cooking or cleaning—all for the sake of her guest’s expectation of silence.
With a sigh, she quickly let go of her annoyance. As the proprietor of a B&B, she was all too aware that her livelihood depended on her ability and willingness to accommodate the needs of those who came to stay at The Lonely Loon.
“But that doesn’t mean I have to like it,” she muttered, shoving another box out of her way.
She could groan all she liked, but the truth of the matter was she loved her job. She thoroughly enjoyed meeting and catering to the guests who came to stay at The Loon. Owning and operating her own successful business was a blessing. So many people hated what they did to earn a living. She had the good fortune of enjoying it.
The silver tinsel Christmas tree she’d come for sat behind another large box and Heather wrestled it from its resting place. She owned several fake trees and rotated them each year. The tinsel tree was easy to set up and only required one light bulb. The small, rotating color panel in the base lit the entire tree. Easy was the way to go this year.
Once she had the tree set up in the great room, she’d come back for the boxes of ornaments and garland. She started down the attic steps, wiggling the six-foot tree this way and that to maneuver it down the narrow stairwell. About halfway down, she stepped on one of the branches. A metal barb poked through her sock and had her yelping. Her other foot slipped on the step, and she landed on her rump with a painful jar that radiated up through the full length of her spine. The tree kept going, thumping down the remaining steps, through the doorway, hitting the hall table like a battering ram, knocking over the brass candlesticks, and sending the angel figurine flying into the air before it hit the floor with a crash, pieces of ceramic skittering across the landing.
A door opened on the floor below, and the sound of heavy footfalls racing up the stairs made Heather groan right out loud. She didn’t know what bothered her more, her bruised butt or the trepidation that suddenly swarmed in her chest like a hive of angry wasps. The last thing she needed was a lecture from an irate male.
“What the…?”
As he stood on the third floor landing, he took in the tree, the smashed figurine, the overturned candlesticks. Heather could tell h
e hadn’t seen her sitting on the bottom step of the attic stairs.
She’d never seen eyes like his, color so black it was impossible to tell where the irises ended and the pupils began. And his hair was just as dark, thick, wavy, obsidian locks that hung over his high forehead and the tips of his ears. His features were honed, hawkish even, made sharper by his perpetual frown. He was an unhappy man.
Maybe labeling him like that was unfair. She hardly knew him. Granted, he had been living in the house for nearly a month, but they’d had little contact save for the few moments each morning they’d spent together while she served him breakfast which was almost always done in silence.
Grave? Austere? Focused?
Heather swiped her hair back from her face and the movement drew his attention.
He came closer, skirting the tree that now leaned, cock-eyed, against the hall table. He reached out his hand to her. “You fell down the stairs?”
“Stair,” she told him. “Just one. Maybe two. Sorry about the noise.”
She took his hand and he helped her to stand. The tiny pinch of pain at the small of her back forced her to wince.
“You’re hurt,” he said.
“Just my dignity, I’m almost certain,” she assured him with a weak smile. It took every ounce of her self-control not to reach around and slide her hand over her bottom to test for tenderness. That would have to wait until later. She tilted her head this way and that, moved her shoulders up and down, shifted her hips. “I think I’m going to live.” She attempted to cover her embarrassment with a smile and realized he hadn’t released her hand.
