Читать книгу A Temporary Courtship - Jenna Mindel - Страница 11
ОглавлениеDarren glanced at Bree as she slid from the passenger seat of the van, and he shook his head. She was dressed in light-colored cropped pants and shoes that were barely more than slippers. He’d be surprised if she stayed clean. Unless she was the prissy type that wouldn’t get her hands dirty. She’d go home empty-handed if that were true.
She looked nothing like his ex-girlfriend, but Bree came from the same place. Overdressed for roaming around outside, she might as well have been cut from the same cloth as Raleigh.
He had ten people to look after. He needed to quit focusing on one. It was up to him to show them respect for the woods. And that meant staying alert. “Gather around, please.”
Darren passed out plastic whistle lanyards to each person as they stepped close. “Stay in pairs at all times, and if you get turned around, just blow your whistle. I’ll find you.”
He waited for them to slip the whistles over their heads, and then he held up the wild edibles pamphlet. “Open your booklet to page three, and take a good look at the picture of the morel mushroom. Notice the pattern and the shape, with the bottom closed around the stem. That’s what we’re looking for. Stay away from the blobby-looking ones. They’re false morels. There are also caps that are open on the bottom like an umbrella. They’re edible, but use caution. They make some people sick. I’ll go through what you find before we leave to make sure they’re all safe. Any questions?”
Stella raised her hand.
“Stel?”
“We shouldn’t eat them now, right?” She knew that but was trying to help him out.
He hadn’t even thought about mentioning it and appreciated the reminder. These people didn’t know what they were doing. This was a novelty. A vacation treat. “Right. They need to be cleaned of grit, and there might be a rare stowaway bug inside. Morels are way better cooked, in my opinion. I’ll show you how to clean them when we return.” He checked his watch. “Okay, we’ll meet back here in forty-five minutes.”
“Darren, will you find the first morel for us before we split up?” Stella asked.
He noticed everyone nodding in agreement. Okay, maybe he wasn’t so good at leading this class. They had no clue what to look for and where. He’d almost sent them away without showing them. All because he’d been in a hurry to get rid of them. Especially Bree.
He gestured for them to follow and headed for a wooded area, keeping his gaze focused on the ground. “They’re dark, a blackish-tan triangle. Look around these ash trees. See the gray bark?”
He noticed that Bree watched his every move and copied it. She bent down low but didn’t touch anything. “Oh! Is this one?”
He leaned close to her, still bent over and staring at the ground. He could smell her perfume, or maybe it was her shampoo. Whatever it was, it stopped him cold like a sucker punch to the gut. The soft, flowery scent teased his senses and begged him to move closer.
He didn’t.
He couldn’t go there. Some things might smell good at first but ended up rotten. Spoiled rotten. He’d found that out much too late.
He took a knee and waited for the rest of the class to gather round. “This is exactly what we’re looking for. Morels. Take care where you step and look around. Where there’s one, there are bound to be more. Pinch off the stem so the roots stay in the ground. Like this.”
He offered the mushroom to Bree.
“I get the first one?” Her fingertips grazed his palm as she scooped it up and dropped it into her plastic bag.
“You found it.”
She grinned at him. Proud of herself.
Another sucker punch. The jaws of attraction snapped around him like a rusty old trap digging in deep. He couldn’t let it poison his blood. Or his brain by giving it room to grow.
“Here are some!” one of the women announced, not far away.
Darren stopped staring at Bree and jogged over to inspect the finding. Sure enough, his class was on a roll as another morel was found, then another. “Good job. I think everyone’s got it.”
He pulled a small red onion bag from his pocket and joined the hunt.
“Why that kind of bag?” Bree came up from behind him. She had several mushrooms bulging from the bottom of her plastic grocery store variety.
“It lets the spores fall and reseed.”
“Oh.” She didn’t wander far from his side.
Why’d she stick with him? He’d hoped she would have joined Stella’s group of three ladies. He heard laughter and shouts as more found mushrooms, and Darren silently thanked the Lord for small favors. They hadn’t been skunked on his first class.
“Should I pick these little ones?” Bree asked.
He stepped closer. They were small white morels yet to mature. “Go ahead. They’ll get picked by somebody else if you leave ’em.”
“So, people come way out here?”
He nodded. “A lot of people. I’ve run into campers from downstate, Ohio, even Indiana, up here picking on state land. Gather as much as they can to enjoy or sell.”
“I’ve had morels before at a golf club dinner but never gave much thought to where they came from.”
Local ingredients were desirable, and some of the finer restaurants in town paid top dollar to serve local morels. Darren didn’t frequent those places anymore. The places Raleigh had dragged him to. Give him plain cooking at Dean’s Hometown Grille in town any day. But his breakup had chased him from going there. Too many sympathy glances and gossip.
After Raleigh left him, Darren didn’t go anywhere he might run into her. He’d stayed away from downtown Maple Springs, where she lived with his best friend, Tony. He’d stayed away from Bay Willows and the memories there, too. In fact, he pretty much stayed away from women in general. Too often they tried to turn him into someone he wasn’t, like Raleigh had. She’d told him that he’d never change and was stuck in a rut doing the same thing all the time.
Maybe that was true, but Darren loved what he did. He’d grown up here, where the summer residents and tourists bloated the population from a mere two thousand to ten times that number, crowding out those who lived here year-round. Some of his friends had tried to emulate them in manner and dress. Tony had been one of them. Never content to embrace where he came from, Tony wanted more. Tony wanted too much and took more than he should have.
Darren glanced at Bree and spotted a mushroom at her feet. He bent to pluck it. If she wanted to know where morels came from, today’s outing answered it. A person couldn’t put a price tag on finding these. “They come from right here.”
“I almost stepped on that one.” She laughed and kept walking forward, slow and hunched over. Her hair fell like a curtain, draping her face from view. Her gray slip-ons were dirty at the toes, and her pants had streaks of dirt on them, too. She wore a gold-colored windbreaker that made her easy to spot. That color also made her eyes glow. Like a cat’s eyes.
Darren wasn’t real fond of cats. Even his parents’ cat drove him nuts with all its hollering for attention, only to run away if he tried to pet it. Women were like cats in that way. He preferred dogs. Dogs didn’t tease.
“Ooh, here’s another couple.” She picked them properly and foraged on, poking her fingers under dead leaves and raking through the clumps of grass here and there.
Well, she wasn’t prissy. He’d give her that. He found a few more as well and checked his watch. Twenty minutes to go. He stood and glanced around the woods. Stella was out of sight, as were several others, but he heard lots of chatter. No one lost. That was good. Real good.
“So, what does a DNR officer do besides take a bunch of us resorters out in the woods to look for food?”
Resorters. Even that sounded pretentious.
“As a conservation officer,” he corrected her, “my job is to provide natural resources protection and ensure recreational safety, as well as provide general law enforcement duties.”
“That sounds like it came right out of a textbook.”
“It did.” Straight out of his employee handbook.
She smiled, causing those delectable dimples to reappear. “Do you like what you do?”
Here we go. The usual female digging. At first, Raleigh had liked the idea of what he did for a living—the whole man-in-uniform-with-a-gun thing. But then the limitations of his pay coupled with his desire to stay put in Northern Michigan had bothered her. Obviously too much. He should have believed her when she’d said she wanted to travel and eventually move away to a more urban area.
“I love my job.” Darren didn’t want to do anything else but grow within this region and climb the short ladder right here.
Bree nodded. “That’s good.”
Curious, he asked her the same. “What about you?”
“I play the cello.”
The cello. That was the instrument whose name he couldn’t remember. He stopped walking. “Hey, so that was you practicing before class.”
Bree grinned. “It was. Along with a woman who plays the violin in a string quartet here. There are practice rooms above the community room. Bay Willows is hoping to start a summer music school. They’ve bought up a couple of vacant cottages near the community building, but I suppose you know that.”
“I didn’t.” Something like that would only bring more people here. “You’re good.”
“I know.” There was no bragging in her voice. She’d stated a simple fact. Like any professional acknowledging a skill level.
“Do you give lessons, then?”
She spotted another morel and picked it. “Not really. I’m not into teaching little kids how to play, you know? I play with the Detroit Symphony Orchestra—well, I used to.”
“Used to?”
“I quit.”
He stared at her. She obviously wanted him to ask the reason, and the funny thing was, Darren wanted to know. “Okay. Why?”
“Last year, I applied for a two-year music residency that would encompass composing. I’d like to compose. And, well, recently I got called and accepted.” She let out a deep breath. “There, practice before delivery speech.”
He didn’t want to go there, but something about the vulnerable look in her eyes made him probe. “Is it a secret?”
“No. I’ve wanted to work under a composer for years, but I haven’t ever had the chance before. My parents don’t know yet, but then, it came together pretty fast.”
She looked old enough to make her own decisions. “And they’ll have a problem with it?”
Bree shrugged. There was obviously more to her story, but all she said was, “I’ll find out.”
He nodded and they fell silent, each one searching out mushrooms in opposite directions. After several minutes, he stood, stretched and spotted Bree a few yards away.
Her eyes were closed, her head tilted toward the sky. Her dark brown hair blazed with coppery color where the sun hit it.
His gut tightened. He didn’t want to care about why this woman worried over her parents’ reaction. He didn’t want to like her at all, but there was something about her that tugged at him. Like a rare wildflower that needed protection from getting picked.
At that moment, she opened her eyes, looked right at him and grinned. “I was listening to the sounds of the woods.”
He cocked his head. What was she talking about?
“You know, the birdsong and the breeze rustling those crepe-paper-looking leaves on those little trees over there.” She wasn’t putting him on.
“I can’t remember what they are. Some kind of aspen, maybe.” He wished he knew. He’d look it up.
“Interesting sounds out here.”
“Haven’t you been in the woods before?”
“I’ve summered here most of my life, but I’ve never ventured far from the main thoroughfares. Maybe Traverse City or Mackinac Island.”
He shook his head. “You’re missing the best parts of Northern Michigan.”
She turned interested eyes on him. “So, where are these best parts?”
He took the bait. “Open fields with hills rising behind them. A twisting river loaded with brookies. The Pigeon River Forest where elk roam. Come winter, there are awesome snowmobile trails, pine trees heavy with snow and blue moonlight.”
She gave him an odd look. “You sound like a poet.”
Darren kicked at the ground cover. He’d gotten carried away. “I appreciate the area, is all.”
“No desire to live elsewhere?”
“None.” He was a local. He’d always be a local even though he’d been an army baby. His mother had moved him and his brother Zach permanently to Maple Springs after their brother Cam was born. She’d wanted her kids to have a home, an anchor. Some of his siblings had flown far from the nest after high school, but Darren wasn’t a traveler. He’d gone to college only a couple hours away before attending conservation officer training academy.
The people who summered at Bay Willows came from all over. Mainly the Midwest, sure, but most were well-traveled and liked to tell where they’d been. They peppered their conversation with travel itineraries the way folks in old movies plastered travel stickers on their suitcases. Raleigh used to tease that he was backward, having never really been anywhere as an adult.
“Hmm.” Bree’s attention zeroed in on the ground. “Oh, here are some more.”
Glad for the distraction, Darren let the matter drop, because it didn’t matter. Bree Anderson was both educated and no doubt well-traveled. She was accustomed to a lifestyle he’d never had and never would have. With the supervisor position came a pay increase that would be more than enough for him. He didn’t care about making scads of money.
If Bree found him interesting, it was only temporary. He wasn’t the kind of guy a girl like Bree would keep for the long haul. Darren wasn’t good enough for the Bay Willows crowd. He’d learned that lesson pretty well. Darren only had to make a mistake once to know he’d never repeat it.
* * *
On the drive back to Maple Springs, Bree peered into her plastic grocery sack at the pile of blackish-tan edibles heaped there. She breathed in the soft, earthy smell of fungi. Nothing too strong or pungent, she had trouble coming up with a comparison for the aroma. She’d picked these delicacies in the woods, with her own two hands.
How cool.
“How many do you have?” Darren’s voice sounded awfully gentle for such a gruff guy.
“Uh.” Bree looked up. She sat up front again, in the passenger seat. “I don’t know.”
Darren’s mouth curved into a half smile. “Considering how long you were staring into that bag, I thought you were counting them.”
“Nope, just smelling them.” She didn’t want to explain what a novel experience this had been for her. Different than what she was used to and, well, it had been fun. Really fun. But more importantly, it had made her feel strong. Capable. Empowered?
Okay, maybe that went too far.
He chuckled, the sound a soft rumble from within his chest. Maybe he wasn’t as gruff as he pretended to be.
Bree’s phone whistled with an incoming text, and she pulled it from her coat pocket. Briefly she closed her eyes after she’d read the name. That made three this week. “Excuse me.”
“No problem.”
Call me when you get a chance. Want to see how you’re doing. Philip.
Bree had no intention of calling him. Instead, she replied with a text.
I’m fine. Helping with one of my mom’s classes. Thanks.
She scanned two previous messages that were similar. One had been Philip checking that she’d made it safely to her parents’ summer cottage. She was okay with that one, but the next two? Really, Philip needed to let it go. He needed to let her go.
Bree slipped the phone back into her pocket as the van pulled up to the community building. Clutching her cache of mushrooms, she got out with the rest of the group and headed inside.
“Gather in the kitchen and I’ll show you how to clean and cook the morels,” Darren called.
“I know how to cook mushrooms.” The grumbly guy named Ed had a decidedly sharp tone.
Bree glanced at Darren. He looked calm enough despite the flush of red that tipped his ears.
“We all do. In fact, you can prepare morels any way you’d normally cook or sauté other mushrooms. Personally, I like to bread mine. It’s no problem if you prefer not to stick around.”
Bree looked back at Ed.
The old guy wasn’t appeased by Darren’s offer to leave. “Now look here—”
“I’d like to know how you cook them,” Bree quickly interrupted.
Others agreed. Situation diffused.
Bree relaxed as the tension eased and Ed nodded for Darren to continue. As if he was somehow in charge.
Darren had been beyond patient when they’d run late because there were so many mushrooms to find and pick. No one had wanted to leave. Including Bree. Who’d have guessed she’d enjoy roaming the woods so much? She didn’t even care that her shoes were dirty or her pants filthy from wiping her fingers on them.
Darren showed that same patience now in the face of Ed’s belligerence as he emptied his morels into a bowl in the sink. “Cleaning is easy. Just soak them in salt water, swish them around a bit, and then rinse and drain like so. Get as much water off as you can. Then you’re ready to cook.”
Bree watched as he laid the washed mushrooms out on paper towels. And the questions started to fly.
“Can you dry them for storing?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“String them up to air-dry or use the lowest setting on a dehydrator. I’ve seen them laid out on an old window screen in the sun to dry.”
That got their class buzzing with chatter.
“What about freezing?” another asked.
“Freeze after drying, or freeze after sautéing. If you freeze after picking, don’t wash them. If they’re wet you’ll ruin them.”
Bree nearly laughed at Darren’s clipped answers. He looked like a man who wanted out of there. His earlier patience had worn thin. She watched as he quickly melted a huge glob of butter in a frying pan before dredging the mushrooms in a flour mixture. He threw the coated morels in the pan.
The group murmured likes and dislikes while the intoxicating smell of melted butter and sizzling mushrooms teased Bree’s senses. Her stomach grumbled in response.
“Not good for my diet,” one of the ladies said.
Several agreed. But Bree didn’t care. Those things looked and smelled delicious.
“What’s that mixture you use?” Ed sounded almost polite. Not quite, but still.
Darren took his time answering, turning the morels over in the pan. “Flour, salt and pepper. Seasoned salt works, too.”
Bree scanned their group huddled around the island waiting as Darren ladled those butter-fried mushrooms onto a paper towel–lined plate.
He lifted the plate to share. “Be careful. They’re hot.”
In this batch, there were enough mushrooms for everyone to try a couple. Bree waited till the end before she took her two. The anticipation was worth it. She closed her eyes while savoring the buttery, mild mushroom taste.
“Well?” He tipped his head. Did he really want to know what she thought?
Bree soaked his interest up like a sponge. “Firm texture and subtle flavor. These are really good.”
Darren smiled. Big and broad like his shoulders.
And Bree was momentarily stunned. At a loss for words, all because of one smile from one interesting, burly man sharing a moment, an actual connection with her—over cooked mushrooms!
She popped the last morel into her mouth and mumbled, “I’ve got to run.”
* * *
Class wrapped up quickly after Bree scurried out. She reminded him of his sisters who’d up and bolt when they’d suddenly remember they left their curling irons plugged in somewhere. But surely that couldn’t be it. Bree’s hair was straight and shiny. Would that thick mass of mink-colored tresses be soft or coarse to the touch?
He scowled. Not the kind of thoughts he should have.
“What? Did you find some grease that we missed?” Stella and a couple other women had helped him clean up in minutes.
“No. No. It’s nothing.” He gave them a nod. “Thank you, ladies. Next week, same time and place.”
“See you then.” Stella walked away and then turned back. “You did a great job today, Darren. Thank you.”
Warmth filled him, mixed with shame at spurning her concern this past year. “You’re welcome. Good to see you again, Stel.”
“And you, as well.” She winked and left with her small entourage of elderly friends.
Darren could count on her for good buzz on his class. Maybe this time around, his regional boss would see that he was ready to deal with anyone. Even the Bay Willows crowd.
When he climbed into the van, he blew out his breath. Not bad. His first wild edibles class was done, along with today’s shift. And he hadn’t run into any problems or his ex. All that stressing over nothing. He’d have to face her one of these days, but not today.
Starting the engine, he checked his rearview mirror, caught a glimpse of a pink-and-green-striped bag on one of the seats and groaned. His day wasn’t over yet. He’d have to return that purse to the owner.
He reached back and grabbed it. Hesitating only a moment, he looked inside. Rifling through a woman’s purse was not something he relished, but after digging around lipstick tubes and travel packs of tissues, he found a wallet. As he opened that, a driver’s license with a picture of Stella greeted him.
At least he knew where she lived. He’d been there many times, with and without Raleigh. He used to stop in to fix a thing or two around Stella’s cottage. Who took care of that now? Tony? He doubted that. Tony wasn’t exactly a fix-it kind of guy. He’d call a repair man with the excuse that he had more money than time.
Tony knew all about money. From the world of high finance and investments, his best friend had spoken Raleigh’s language far better than Darren ever had. The sting of their betrayal still lingered. It wasn’t easy to lose his bride and best man in one day—one horrible day that had changed everything.
He pulled into the small driveway of Stella’s cottage with the screened-in porch and looked around. No cars were parked nearby other than Stella’s little black Buick. He stepped onto the porch. Crisp white wicker furniture with brightly colored cushions had been casually arranged. A vase stuffed with tall, fake flowers stood sentinel on the glass-topped side table.
And this was only the porch.
He finally knocked on the door.
“Darren, what a nice surprise.” Stella wore a red-and-white-checkered apron, looking very much like anyone’s grandma, only a lot brighter. She applied more makeup than most. “Come in.”
He lifted her purse. “I’m just dropping this off. You left it in the van.”
“Oh, my. I didn’t even miss it. Don’t get old.” She opened the screen door wide and it squeaked. The thing needed a good dousing of lubricant on the hinges. “Come in for a bit, would you?”
He’d fix the door before he left. Giving Stella a nod he said, “You’re not old.”
“Thanks, but we both know I am.”
He followed Stella into the small summer cottage. She lived alone. Raleigh once said that her husband had died only a couple of years ago.
A lot had happened in those two years. Darren had lost out on his bid for the supervisor position, and then he’d met Stella’s granddaughter. It had been a whirlwind romance, one that Darren reeled from still. Memories sliced through him as he walked past the dining room into Stella’s kitchen. He could almost hear Raleigh’s laughter and the way she’d teased.
It hurt.
“Cookies? I made them this morning.”
Darren sat down with a sigh. “Sure.”
She patted his shoulder. “How are you?”
“I’m okay.” Broken hearts mended with time but never forgot.
“Have you talked to Raleigh?” Stella bustled about the kitchen, stacking cookies on a plate and then pouring him a tall glass of milk.
“Not much to say, is there?”
Stella gave him a long look. “I suppose not.”
The question he didn’t want to ask nagged like a loose tooth until he finally spit it out. “Is she happy?”
Stella nodded. “She appears to be. Tony’s always buying her stuff. His last gift was a diamond ring.”
Darren clenched his jaw. He hadn’t seen them in months. Nineteen months, three weeks and a few days, to be exact.
She stared him down with a fierce gleam in her eyes. “You’re a good man, Darren. Much too good for my granddaughter.”
That surprised him, and he grunted around a mouthful of chocolate chip cookie. Stella’s granddaughter had stormed into his life and changed it. He’d forever be the spurned groom nearly left at the altar when his bride ran away with his best man after rehearsal. They’d taken off for the honeymoon and had the gall to come back and live under Darren’s nose in town. Was it any wonder that people in town looked at him with pity?
He drained his glass and slammed it down on the table. Fortunately, he didn’t break the thing, but the loud thwack startled Stella.
He stood. “I’ll fix that squeak in your screen door.”
Stella smiled up at him. “Do that and I’ll make you dinner. I was thinking chicken marsala with those morels we picked. Stay and eat with me.”
He looked into her eager face. A few more wrinkles creased around Stella’s blue eyes since the last time he’d seen her. For a woman in her early seventies, she was spry. Energetic and a good listener. She’d always been a good listener. Dinner might be a little earlier than he was used to, but food sounded good right now. What harm could there be in staying?
“Okay. I’ll stay, on one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“What else needs fixing around here?”
Stella grinned, obviously pleased. “Well, there is a leaky faucet upstairs.”
“Now we’re talking.” Darren knew where the tools were kept and got to work rummaging for what he’d need. Really, he should have stopped in and checked on Stella sooner.
He could hear her humming while she scattered pots and pans in the kitchen. The phone rang. Stella still had a landline.
“Yup, now’s good.” Stella’s voice dropped to a whisper.
He headed up the stairs so he wouldn’t overhear her private conversation. Halfway up, it dawned on him that Stella might be talking to her granddaughter and his gut twisted. Surely, Stella had enough sense not to invite Raleigh over while he was here. He backed down a few steps and strained to listen, but Stella had already hung up the phone.
She was humming again.
