Читать книгу The Chef's Choice: The Chef's Choice - Kristin Hardy, Kristin Hardy - Страница 11

It was what she got for being nice, Cady thought as they drove up the highway to Portland. If she’d thought twice, she’d never have agreed to be stuck in the tight confines of a vehicle with Damon Hurst. He sprawled comfortably in the passenger seat, his lanky frame making the cab seem very small. It was impossible to ignore him. However much she tried to pay attention to the road, he was what she noticed.

He didn’t bother to make conversation. She wasn’t sure if that was a relief or if it left her to focus all the more on him. He just sat there in his leather jacket and stubbled chin, looking like something out of a blue jeans ad, looking like—

Cady cursed and stomped on the brakes as the car ahead slowed suddenly.

“A decent following distance might help with that,” Damon said mildly, though she noticed he reached up to grab the overhead handhold.

“If you’re going to be a backseat driver, change seats.” “You don’t have a backseat.”

“I know. So relax and enjoy the scenery.” She whipped over into another lane and onto the exit ramp.

“I can’t see it with my eyes closed,” he said through his teeth as the truck swayed with the quick succession of turns she made on the city streets.

Cady caught sight of a parking space and punched it to get through a yellow light and to the opening. “Well, you can open your eyes up now, sweet pea. We’re there."

“Thank God,” Damon said and slowly, carefully, released his grip. “Next time, I’m driving."

“There won’t be a next time.”

“I’m still driving.”

The square before them was filled with the color and hubbub of the farmers’ market. Canvas-tented booths in blue and green and yellow displayed boxes of lettuce in a bewildering variety, pyramids of the fall’s apples and potatoes and cabbage. Hothouse tomatoes provided flashes of red next to the vivid purple and green of rhubarb. Even though it was barely eight, the market was bustling.

Catching sight of a stand selling pastries, Cady made a quick beeline for it.

Damon came to a stop beside her. “What are you doing?”

“Breakfast,” she told him. “It’s the least I deserve after making the drive."

“Are you kidding? I’m the one who ought to be rewarded for surviving."

“Fine. You can buy us both drinks. I’ll take a Coke.”

“At eight in the morning?”

“It’s the best one of the day. What do you want here?” She gestured at the pastry and pulled out her wallet.

“A corn muffin, I guess,” Damon said, lining up before the coffee urn.

“A corn muffin and a cheese Danish,” Cady ordered.

They made their way over to a bench, exchanging booty. He watched her as she took a bite of Danish, washing it down with a swig of cola.

“You know you’ll die young eating like that?”

“That’s what people tell me,” she said, licking crumbs off her fingers with relish.

“Cream cheese and Coke. I don’t even want to think about what that combination tastes like.” He took a swallow of coffee.

“It’s not about the taste, it’s about the sugar rush, although you’d be surprised if you tried it."

He gave her a pained look. “Someone needs to educate your palate."

“My palate’s doing just fine, thank you very much. Okay—” she balled up her napkin “—let’s get going."

Damon swallowed the last of his muffin. “That didn’t count as part of the hour, by the way.” He tossed his trash into the nearby barrel. “The clock starts now."

“Then get going.”

It wasn’t what she’d expected. She’d thought it would be like going grocery shopping—pick and buy, pick and buy. Instead, Damon wandered down the rows aimlessly, stopping at this stand to sniff at a shiny red apple, that one to weigh a bunch of rhubarb in his hands and stare thoughtfully into space.

“You know, that’s the fourth place you’ve checked out the lettuce,” she said as he examined yet another head of brushy green stuff.

“Do you buy a car at the first place you go?” he asked, then shook his head. “Never mind, I’ve seen your truck."

Cady scowled. “What’s wrong with my truck? It got you here, didn’t it?"

He put down the head of lettuce and walked to the next stand. “Thank God for small favors."

“It’s under no obligation to get you home, you know. Speaking of home, when, exactly, are you going to start buying things? You are going to eventually, aren’t you?"

“Maybe. I don’t know.” He stopped at a vendor selling mushrooms and picked up a deformed orange thing that looked as though it had grown under someone’s back steps. Cady repressed a shudder. Her notion of cuisine ran toward pizzas and burgers, not something nasty that looked like an alien life form.

“If you’re not going to buy anything then what, exactly, are we doing here?"

“Recon.” He gave her an amused glance. “I want to see what’s out there, what I can get around here. If I can find something for tonight’s special, so much the better. Like these.” He picked up a different mushroom.

“What are they?” She stared suspiciously at the pointy, honeycombed fungus.

“Morels. Unbelievable flavor and texture.”

She watched as he sifted through the pile, hands quick, picking some mushrooms for his bag, leaving others. “I’ll take your word for it."

“What I need now are some ramps,” he said after he’d finished with the cashier. “I’ll sauté them up in a little ragout and put it over a poached haddock."

“I’m sure they’ll all come running. What are ramps, anyway?”

“Wild baby leeks that grow in the woods this time of year. They taste like a cross between onions and garlic. I can’t believe nobody’s got any here. We’ll have to hunt some down.” He started walking again.

She trailed along after him. “Not we, you. I’ve got a job, remember?"

“How about you quit and come be my forager? You grow stuff, you’d be good at it."

“I brought you to the market. Wasn’t that enough?”

“It would be if it was a real market.” He shook his head. “This is pathetic. Most of it’s from last year."

The criticism had her raising her chin. “I told you, it’s too early for fresh produce here. It won’t really get going until July."

“The green market in Manhattan had ramps and asparagus and squash blossoms last week."

“And it’s four temperature zones away from us,” she defended. “This is Maine. We have snow until April. We grow what we can. If you want more of a choice, feel free to drive down to Boston. In fact, feel free to keep going."

He studied her. “You don’t want me here, do you?”

Cady opened her mouth, closed it. “It’s not a matter of what I want. It’s my parents’ business and they think you’re the right guy for the job."

“You’re evading the question.”

“Okay, how about this? I’ve seen the headlines. I know your style. You don’t fit here."

He smiled. “You don’t believe in soft-pedaling things, do you?”

“Why waste the time?”

“And you think you know all about me.”

“Given all the press you’ve generated, it’s kind of hard not to.”

“Now who’s wasting time?” he countered. “Half of those stories are exaggerations, the other half are outright lies."

She folded her arms. “So, what, you didn’t throw people out of your restaurant?"

“Okay, I might have asked one or two people to leave early on,” he admitted. “You’ve got a restaurant, you know how they can be. In fact, I’d be a little shocked if you’ve never thrown someone out yourself."

“The customer is always right,” she reminded him, not bothering to add that she’d never had the choice.

“That’s funny coming from someone whose operating assumption seems to be that everyone else in the world is wrong but them.”

Her cheeks tinted. “We’re not talking about me.”

“I am.”

“Stop changing the subject. This is about you. Maybe I didn’t see you punch your sous chef but I know you yelled at him because I saw it."

“You saw it?”

She could have bitten her tongue. “My girlfriend was watchingChef’s Challenge.” “You don’t say.”

“And I know the story of the woman in your office is true because the husband named you in the divorce proceedings."

“Well, well. You have been studying up,” he said and something flickered in the depths of his eyes.

“What, are you trying to say it didn’t happen?” she challenged.

“I think that’s between her and me.” He reached out to catch the hood strings of the jacket she wore. “The same way it would be between you and me if anything happened."

“Nothing’s going to happen with us,” Cady returned, but suddenly it was hard to catch a breath.

“Mmm, careful what you say,” Damon murmured, tugging her forward a bit. “That sounds like a dare."

She should have been smacking his hand away. She should have been turning on her heel to go. She couldn’t understand why all she was doing was looking into those eyes as he leaned closer and wondering what it would be like if—

“Hey, Cady!” A shout came from behind her, releasing her from the spell.

She did move to smack Damon’s hand away then, but he’d already released her. She turned away without another word, not trusting herself.

“Pete,” she called and crossed over to the booth where a burly man with a graying close-trimmed beard waved at her.

“Hey, good to see you. Howya doing?” he asked from behind a table covered with baskets of tomatoes.

“Good. How’s Jenny?” she asked, thinking of his neat, compact wife.

“Good, thanks.”

Damon walked up to the stand to look at the tomatoes gleaming ruby red in the sun.

“Nice.” He picked one up, nodding to Pete. “Hothouse?”

“Yep.” Pete adjusted the NAPA cap on his grizzled hair. “Early Girl beefsteaks."

Damon sniffed the tomato he held and put it down in favor of another, turning it over in his hands. “How many greenhouses?” he asked.

“Two. Careful how you handle that.”

“What’s the square footage?”

Pete’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “You lookin’ to buy my tomatoes or my greenhouse?"

“Pete.” Cady stepped forward. “I want you to meet our new chef at the Sextant, Damon Hurst. Damon, meet Pete Tebeau."

“The new chef? Why didn’t you say so? Pleased to meetcha.” Damon found his hand enveloped by a hand the approximate size of an oven mitt. “Does that mean we’re not going to see you here anymore, Cady?"

“If I’ve got anything to say about it. Not that seeing you isn’t the highlight of my day, Pete.” She grinned at the guy and suddenly she looked young, mischievous and downright pretty.

And Damon kept his jaw from dropping, only just. She was flirting with the guy. This scratchy-tongued woman who had turned being a curmudgeon into a holy calling was joking around, chatting up a guy old enough to be her father.

“The highlight of your day? You’d be amazed at how many women tell me that.” Pete didn’t miss a beat.

Cady snorted. “You better hope Jenny doesn’t get wind of it.”

“She’s the one who says it most of all.”

It had all the hallmarks of an old game between them. It had all the signs of a long friendship. And he couldn’t stop watching her.

“So, how are the plans for the big weekend?” Cady asked.

Pete’s eyes gleamed. “Great, thanks to you. We’re in one of your cabins, harbor view, they said."

“I’ll make sure Lynne puts you in guesthouse two,” Cady said. “It’s got the prettiest view of the water. You can sit out on the deck in the morning with your coffee. Jenny’s going to love it."

“I hope so. I want her to be happy.”

“After twenty-five years, Pete, I think you can be pretty sure she’s happy."

“Yeah, but she’s had a rough time lately, what with losing her dad and all.” He took his cap off and turned it around in his hands. “I want to give her a special anniversary, something she’ll remember."

Like a weekend at the Compass Rose, Damon translated. “You’re coming to the inn for your anniversary?” he asked.

Tebeau nodded. “This weekend. Usually I just take her out and buy her a lobster. I figured twenty-five years deserved something more, though. This young lady helped."

The young lady in question flushed and looked away.

“Tell you what,” Damon said. “Come to the restaurant for dinner while you’re there. I’ll make you a special meal. Off the menu, I mean, just for you two. What does your wife like to eat?"

Tebeau thought a moment. “Garlic, shrimp, crab cakes. And mushrooms,” he added.

Sometimes you just had to go with your instincts. Damon picked up two baskets of tomatoes. “I know just what to make for her. You know anyone who sells ramps here?"

“Ramps?” Tebeau took the tomatoes and set them on the scale.

“Wild leeks. White flowers, green leaves about so big.” He measured. “I sauté them up with morels and asparagus and you’ll think you’ve died and gone to heaven. If I can find them. Got any ideas?"

“Maybe.” Pete took the money Damon offered. “Old Gus Cattrall next door to me, he’s got all kinda stuff growing in the woods over on his place."

“Great,” Damon said. “Does he have a stall here?”

Tebeau shook his head. “Naw. Mostly he just sells stuff out of a cart on the road. Never seen him put out—what did you call them, ramps? But if he’s got ‘em growing, I bet he’d be happy to let you pick them yourself."

“Just tell me who to call or where to go.”

Pete handed Damon his change and loaded the tomatoes into a box. “Thing is, Gus isn’t likely to cotton to strangers walking around his property. He knows you, though, Cady. You’d better come instead."

“Me?” she asked blankly. “But—”

“Sure. This guy’s got my curiosity up. Why don’t you come over to my place tomorrow morning about six? We can catch Gus before he gets working. If he’s got any of those ramps growing you can bet he’ll know where and we can just pick ‘em. Easy as pie."

“Easy as pie,” Cady said under her breath. “All right, Pete, sure. As long as you’ve got time."

“Absolutely.”

“Then I’ll see you tomorrow. Damon—” she directed him a thunderous look “—we’d better get going."

He had better sense than to argue. Cady marched to the end of the row in silence, though he could see from the set of her shoulders that she had plenty to say. He figured he’d just wait her out.

He didn’t have to wait long.

“Happy with yourself?” she demanded as soon as they were out of the square.

Now was not the time to smile, he reminded himself as he followed her down the street. “Happy why?"

“Oh, you got your trip to the market, now you’re going to get your wild onions."

“Leeks.”

“Whatever.” She stopped beside her truck. “You’re good at getting people to do what you want, aren’t you? You’re a regular puppeteer."

He couldn’t help laughing at that as he set the tomatoes and mushrooms in the truck bed. “I’m flattered that you think so much of me."

She glowered. “Oh, I think of you, all right. I think all kinds of things about you."

“Good.” In the sunlight, her hair gleamed cinnamon and copper. He could see a light dusting of freckles on the bridge of her nose. “You know,” he said as she opened her mouth to continue, “for someone who tries to come off so tough, that was a pretty nice thing you did for Pete."

She stared at him, momentarily disarmed. “He’s a friend,” she muttered finally. “I want them to have a nice time."

“They will, thanks to you.”

“And you,” she said, then blinked as though the thought had ambushed her.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I believe you just said something nice to me."

The flush that spread across her cheeks made her look even more delectable. “Don’t try to distract me."

There was something that kind of delighted him about that bemused look she got on her face when she felt she was losing control of the situation. “Oh, I don’t know, I’m beginning to think distracting you could be interesting. Very interesting,” he added.

He reached out, then, to touch, running a finger across her cheek to her chin. Softer than he’d expected. She might dress and act like a tomboy but Cady McBain was all girl. Her eyes flashed with surprise, awareness, the hazel green darkening to amber. He saw the desire flicker even as he felt it himself.

All it would take was bridging that distance to find out how it would be with her. He couldn’t help wondering. And even as he told himself it wasn’t smart, he leaned in toward her.

The chirp of a horn had them both jolting apart.

Damon snapped his head around to see a blue Escort packed with a trio of what looked like college-age girls.

“Hey, you leaving?” the gum-chewing passenger called out the window.

“Definitely,” Cady answered from behind him, opening the driver’s door.

He turned to her. “Why the rush?” he asked. “We’ve done everything we need to do here.” “You think so?”

“I know so,” she said. “We’re done with this.”

“No.” Damon got in on the other side and shut the door. “That’s one thing I’m pretty sure of. We’re not done with this by a long shot."