Home at Rose Cottage (25 page)

“Oh?”

“We’re working,” he said, seizing on the most obvious solution.

“Nice try, pal. If you think that’s going to put Melanie off for long, you’re crazy,” Mike said. “Quick, call Jeff before my wife starts in on you again with the third degree about what work the two of you could possibly have planned when you’re both supposedly on vacation.”

“Thanks. I appreciate the backup and the information,” Rick told him.

Five minutes later he was able to track Jeff down on his cell phone. Jeff was already in his truck en route to meet Mike. Rick explained what he was after. “Any idea how I can find this Mrs. Keller?” he asked. “Is it too much to hope that a woman who bakes apple pies happens to own an orchard?”

“As a matter of fact, the Kellers have an apple orchard about fifteen miles outside of town,” Jeff told him. “They’re getting on in years, so they don’t harvest the crop themselves anymore. Their kids weren’t interested in running the orchard, so now they just open it up to families or local businesses to come in and pick their own apples. They make enough to supplement their Social Security, I guess.”

“And those pies of hers must bring in a tidy sum,” Rick surmised.

“I imagine they do. Everybody around here drives clear over to Callao to get them,” Jeff said. “She refuses to sell
to any other restaurant. Says the owner there was loyal to her from the start, so she’s going to return the favor.”

“Do you think the Kellers would be agreeable to letting me do a photo shoot at their place?” he asked Jeff.

“I can’t imagine them turning down a chance to be famous. They love company. I’ll give ’em a call and set things up. If they balk for any reason, you can always go to the Westmoreland Berry Farm. They have plenty of apple trees there. It’s a little early in the season, though. The apples aren’t ready for picking yet,” Jeff said, echoing Mike’s warning.

“Doesn’t matter. Maggie’s looking for a backdrop, not ripe apples.”

“Then let’s see what I can set up with the Kellers. I was over there not long ago checking on a blight affecting one of their maple trees. It’s a great setting for what you’re talking about. When do you want to go?”

“This morning, if it suits them,” Rick said eagerly. “I won’t be taking pictures today, but I’d like to look things over and make sure it will work.”

“I’ll call and get right back to you,” Jeff promised. “Is Maggie going with you?”

Rick chuckled. “When it comes to her magazine, Maggie’s a control freak. What do you think?”

“I’ll tell the Kellers to expect both of you. They knew Cornelia Lindsey, so I doubt it will be a problem.”

While he was waiting for Jeff to get back to him, Rick called Maggie. “Hey, gorgeous.”

“Don’t call me that,” she said testily.

It wasn’t the first time she’d reacted irritably to any suggestion that she was beautiful, but each time it threw Rick. Surely she knew how lovely she was. Hadn’t he spent half the night proving to her how enchanted he was with her body?

“Why not?” he asked, taking a stab at getting to the bottom of it. Knowing Maggie, though, she’d probably stonewall him.

“Because you know what real beauty is,” she snapped, surprising him. “Don’t insult me by pretending that I’m in the same league.”

“Are you crazy?” he asked, unable to keep an incredulous note out of his voice. “If you’re referring to the models I photograph, they can’t hold a candle to you. Their figures are perfect for the camera, but yours is perfect for real life.”

She sighed heavily at that. “Nice try,” she said softly.

“I’m not trying to placate you, Maggie. That’s honestly how I see you.”

“Why did you call?” she asked, clearly not buying a word he said.

Rick wanted to push harder and get to the bottom of her lousy body image, but this wasn’t the time. Her defenses were already firmly in place. He thought they’d made huge strides in their relationship the night before, but apparently not.

“I’ve found an orchard. Jeff’s making arrangements for me to take a look around. Want to come?” he asked, managing to keep his tone light. He refused to let a ridiculous argument over whether or not he really thought she was gorgeous spoil the morning.

“Absolutely,” she said, her mood abruptly shifting. She hesitated, then asked, “Is that why you took off so early?”

Ah, so that was what was really bugging her, he deduced. She thought he’d slipped away to avoid some sort of awkward morning-after scenario.

“You gave me an assignment. Of course I wanted to get started on it.”

“I know I have a reputation as a slave driver, but you could have waited till daybreak.”

He laughed. “Actually the sun was already up when I left. I thought you were awake for that kiss.”

“Then it wasn’t a dream.”

“Oh, no, darlin’, it was real. You try remembering that, and I’ll be there as soon as I hear back from Jeff.”

“I’ll be ready.”

The Kellers looked like a couple of those apple dolls Maggie had seen in a country craft shop years ago. Their wizened, nut-brown faces spoke of years in the summer sun. And like so many people who’d been married for more than fifty years, they’d started to look a bit alike with their wiry bodies and white hair cropped in similar short styles. Hers had a bit more curl than his. Both of them had bright blue eyes that sparkled with interest when they opened the door to Maggie and Rick.

“Come in, come in,” Matthew Keller said, his hearty voice a surprise. “Sally’s been baking apple pies this morning, if you’d like some before we go down to the orchard.”

Maggie glanced at Rick and was surprised that there was no trace of impatience in his eyes.

“I’d love some pie,” he said easily. “And we’d both enjoy hearing about the orchard before we take a look around.”

The old man’s eyes lit up. “Not many young folks want to listen to me go on and on about growing apples. Used to take some school kids down there in the fall, but all they wanted to do was run around and enjoy a day of freedom from classes. I suppose one apple tree looks pretty much like another unless you take the time to study them.”

As they sat down in the Kellers’ sunny kitchen, Sally
put huge servings of pie in front of them. Rick took a bite and sighed with pleasure. He beamed at Sally.

“No question about it, you are the culinary genius who bakes the pie they serve at the café in Callao, aren’t you?”

A huge smile spread across the woman’s face. “How on earth did you figure that out from just one bite?”

“Pie this good is not something a man forgets.” He turned to Maggie. “This pie is the reason the whole apple idea popped into my head last night. Have you ever tasted anything like it?”

Maggie had been so busy taking notes on what Matthew had been telling them that she hadn’t tried a bite of the pie. She put a forkful in her mouth and tasted the tart burst of apple, the hint of sugar and cinnamon, but it was the melt-in-the-mouth crust with its own hint of cinnamon that made her sigh as heartfelt as Rick’s had been.

“The crust,” she murmured around a second mouthful. “How do you get it to turn out like this, Mrs. Keller?”

“Please, call me Sally. As for the crust, I could show you,” the elderly woman offered, then waved off the idea. “What am I thinking? You said you write about food. You probably have one of those fancy, state-of-the-art test kitchens. I imagine you bake better than I do.”

“I can’t make a pie like this,” Maggie told her honestly. “I’d be honored if you’d tell me your secret and let me publish the recipe for my readers. Was this recipe handed down to you, or is it something you came up with on your own?”

Sally Keller’s expression grew thoughtful. “I don’t know if I could give away the recipe. See, folks around here think there’s something a little extra in my pie. I’d hate to ruin it for ’em. Besides, how many slices would
the restaurant sell if everybody around these parts started baking it at home?”

Matthew Keller turned to Maggie. “Where’d you say that magazine is published?”

“Boston. Most of the circulation is in Massachusetts.”

“See there, Sally, it won’t be a bit of a problem. We don’t know a soul in Boston.”

His wife gave him a chiding look. “Folks around here do travel, Matthew. And isn’t that boy of Lila Wilson’s somewhere up north?”

“He’s in New York,” Matthew retorted. “Now stop your fussing, Sally, and give Cornelia’s granddaughter the recipe. No sense keeping it to yourself till you go to your grave. Then no one will be able to enjoy it.”

“Haven’t you passed it along to your children?” Maggie asked her.

“Heavens, no,” Sally said with a sad shake of her head. “The boys aren’t interested in cooking, and their wives are too busy to worry with baking anything from scratch. I tried to teach my daughter, Ellen, when she was growing up, the way my mama taught me, but she didn’t have the patience for it. Said there were too many calories anyway.”

“I don’t care how many calories it has,” Rick told her, “it’s worth every one of them. Best apple pie I ever had. You ask Willa-Dean—since I’ve been in town, I’ve been to the restaurant every day the pies are due in.”

Sally beamed at the praise. “Have another piece, why don’t you? You’ll burn off all those calories once Matthew takes you out for a look around. He’ll talk your ear off, too. Don’t be afraid to tell him to hush up when you’ve heard enough.”

Rick dived right into the second piece of pie, then sat back with a contented sigh. “Matthew, you have
to save me. Let’s go see the orchard. Maggie, are you coming?”

“I think I’ll stay and talk to Sally about the recipe. You can show me around later.”

When the men were gone, Sally gave her a knowing look. “Handsome fellow, that one. Your grandmother would approve.”

Maggie regarded her with surprise. “You think so?”

“Heavens, yes. She had an eye for a good-looking man. Loved your grandfather till the day he died, but that didn’t keep her from appreciating a fine specimen when she ran across one. Me, either, if the truth be told. Even at my age, it doesn’t hurt to look.”

Maggie laughed at the unmistakable sparkle in the woman’s eyes. “Something tells me you’ve given your husband fits, Sally.”

The older woman chuckled. “Indeed I did and I’m proud of it, too. Keeping things lively is what keeps a marriage going as long as ours has been.”

“And how long is that?” Maggie asked.

“It’ll be sixty-two years next month. I was only eighteen when we got married and I’m closing in on eighty now. I’d known Matthew from the time we were toddlers causing havoc during church services.” She grinned at Maggie and confided, “To tell you the truth, I never thought much of him till I turned sixteen and spotted the twinkle in his eyes when he saw me coming. There’s a lot to be said for a twinkle like that. Your young man gets it when he looks at you.”

Maggie was intrigued by the observation. “Really?”

“My goodness, yes. You haven’t seen it?”

Maggie thought about the way Rick looked at her and realized that Sally was right. There
was
a twinkle in his eye. She’d just never realized before that it was important.
She’d been too busy worrying that it meant there was nothing more between them, rather than realizing it was the spark that lit everything else.

She reached over and gave Sally’s hand a grateful squeeze. “Thank you.”

“What on earth for?”

“For making me see something that’s been right in front of my eyes all along.”

“Honey, if you haven’t seen that man’s attributes before now, you need more than a wake-up call. You need glasses.”

Maggie was still laughing over that one when Rick and Matthew Keller came back. Rick gave her a curious look.

“Did you get what you came for?” he asked.

“And more,” Maggie told him. She turned to Sally. “May we come back again? Rick will need to take pictures, and I’d like to watch while you do your baking.”

“Baking days are Monday and Thursday, but you’re welcome anytime,” Sally assured her, then glanced pointedly at Rick before giving Maggie a wink. “We’re way past overdue for some excitement around here.”

“S
o, what did you think?” Rick asked as he and Maggie drove back to her place.

“They’re remarkable people,” she replied enthusiastically. “Can you imagine being married for over sixty years? I am so impressed.”

Rick was startled that Maggie had picked up on the Kellers’ personal history, rather than the orchard setting. Usually she was totally focused on work. He had to readjust, then give her question some thought. To be truthful, he had never imagined being married at all. He’d always assumed he’d be lousy at staying put, much less staying committed to one woman. Over the last couple of weeks, he’d begun to wonder about that.

“Honestly, I never gave marriage or its duration much thought,” he replied.

“Why?”

“I never pictured myself married,” he admitted.

She regarded him with more curiosity than disappointment. “Really? Too many temptations?”

“Something like that,” he said evasively.

Rather than daunting her, his reply apparently sparked even more curiosity. She studied him intently. “What
about your own parents? Didn’t they set a good example for you?”

Rick didn’t talk about his family. In fact, in relationships as fleeting as most of his had been, he’d never talked much about anything important. The shallow women with whom he’d been involved were more than content to discuss the celebrity world in which he traveled.

“Tell me about
your
parents,” he suggested, hoping to buy himself some time.

He glanced over and saw at once that Maggie wasn’t fooled a bit by the tactic, but she answered anyway.

“I think my folks will eventually be just like the Kellers, still madly in love when they’re eighty,” she said. “Back at the beginning, though, I suspect most people thought they’d never last a year. My mom’s the epitome of the Southern steel magnolia. She has a sweet demeanor and a backbone that doesn’t bend. My dad’s this boisterous Italian guy from Boston. They’re both so strong willed, you’d think they’d clash over everything.”

She grinned. “And sometimes they do. My father shouts. My mother replies in icy tones.”

“Who usually wins?” Rick asked.

“Eventually they compromise. And when it comes to anything that really matters, they may fight about it in private, but publicly they present a united front.”

“And they taught you and your sisters to do the same thing, didn’t they?” Rick asked, trying to imagine what it would have been like to have family that stuck together through thick and thin. His hadn’t stuck together at all. He and his mom had occupied the same space, but they’d hardly been united.

“Absolutely,” Maggie said. “Melanie, Ashley, Jo and I have very different personalities, but give us a common
enemy and we band together.” She gave him a sideways glance. “I gather your family wasn’t like that.”

“What makes you say that?” Rick asked testily, irritated that she’d apparently seen right through him.

“Because you avoided my question so neatly. People who come from happy homes tend to brag about them.”

“I suppose.”

“Tell me about your dad.”

“There’s nothing to tell,” he said tersely.

Maggie clearly didn’t buy it. “There’s always something to tell,” she chided.

Rick frowned at her. “Okay, fine. He left when I was very young. End of story, at least as I know it. I never saw him again.”

Maggie regarded him with a shocked expression. “Oh, Rick, I’m so sorry. You must have missed him.”

“You can’t miss what you never really had.” He risked a glance and spotted the sympathy welling up in her eyes. It made him want to curse. This was exactly why he never talked about his past. He didn’t want anyone feeling sorry for him. His life had been what it was. He’d survived it. He was probably stronger because of it. That was all that really mattered.

“And your mother?” Maggie asked more gently.

“Got lost in a bottle,” Rick said succinctly.

“Which is why you barely drink at all,” Maggie guessed.

“I suppose. I know alcoholism is a disease, but I don’t know if it’s inherited. I always figured why take chances,” he said. “Now let’s talk about something else. Did you look around at all while we were at the Kellers’? Any idea what pictures you want? I have some thoughts, but I’d like to hear yours first.”

Maggie looked as if she might insist on poking and
prodding into his personal life some more, but instead she merely sighed. “No. You’re the one with the eye for this sort of thing. Tell me your thoughts.”

Rick seized the chance to move on to neutral turf. “The orchard would be fantastic, if that’s the way you want to go. The trees are loaded with apples, and the light filtering through the leaves on a sunny day will be amazing.”

“But?” Maggie prodded.

He wasn’t surprised she’d recognized his unspoken message. “But I think you should use shots taken in the kitchen.”

She gave him a startled look. “Why?”

He tried to put his gut instinct into words that wouldn’t sound absurd. “A couple of reasons, actually. People are always more interesting than scenery. And because Mrs. Keller’s hands tell a story,” he said, hoping Maggie would understand. One glance at her, though, and it was obvious that she didn’t.

“They do?” she said, evidently bewildered. “In what way?”

Rick bit back a sigh. Maybe it was something only a photographer would notice. “They’re weathered and gnarled,” he explained. “Those hands have lived, yet I imagine when she works the dough for her piecrusts, they have the gentle touch of a mother. I think the whole spread ought to be shot indoors. The house is a wonderful, turn-of-the-century farmhouse and the setting is tranquil, but the kitchen’s what it’s all about. It’s not some sterile test kitchen. It’s homey and filled with light. One look at that kitchen and you can practically smell the aroma of the pies as they come out of the oven. And once readers get a look at Sally Keller, they’ll want to know her. You’ll have a feature that’s about more than food.”

When he finally wound down, he caught Maggie’s amused expression. “What?” he demanded.

“I never thought I’d hear you going on and on so eloquently about a kitchen,” she teased. “Or about a woman who’s not in a fashion spread.”

He grinned. “Hey, the bedroom’s not the only important room in a house. I get that.”

“Apparently so.”

“Well? What do you think? You’re the client.”

“I think you’re remarkable,” she said softly, her eyes shining with excitement.

Rick’s gaze shifted from the road to her and back again. “There’s nothing remarkable about me, aside from an eye for a pretty picture.”

“Don’t do what you’re always accusing me of doing,” she scolded. “Don’t sell yourself short.”

Uncomfortable with the topic yet again, Rick was relieved to see Melanie pulling into the driveway at Rose Cottage just ahead of them. “Uh-oh,” he said. “Company.”

Maggie took one look at her sister and groaned. “You know this isn’t good, don’t you?”

Rick laughed. “It may not be good for you, but it’s great for me. I can drop you off and hightail it out of here before the awkward questions start rolling off the tip of your sister’s tongue.”

“Coward,” Maggie accused.

“Damn straight. Besides, I had to answer quite a few of her questions first thing this morning.”

She regarded him with surprise. “You did? Why?”

“She interrupted my conversation with Mike to see what she could find out about how we’re getting along.”

“Oh, no,” Maggie said with a groan. “I am so sorry.”

“That’s okay. It could be worse.”

“How?”

“It could have been Ashley,” he reminded her. “She’s the one with courtroom cross-examination experience, and something tells me she’d come after me like I’m a hostile witness.”

“More than likely,” Maggie agreed. She gave him a wistful look. “You’re really going to run off and leave me here to face this alone?”

“Yep, and I’m doing it without so much as a twinge of guilt,” he said. “I have things to do.”

“Such as?”

“I need to get on the computer and order film. I have enough to get started, but I’ll need more. And I need to call my agent and tell him to agree to whatever terms you offer when you call him.”

“Wow! Whatever terms I offer?” she asked, clearly delighted.

“Don’t get carried away. I never work for peanuts.”

“How about apple pie? Will you work for all the apple pie you can eat?”

“You’ll have to do better than that. Mrs. Keller likes me,” he said confidently. “She’ll give me as much pie as I want. And there’s always that café in Callao. Willa-Dean saves pie for me.”

Maggie frowned at him. “Not every woman in the world falls for your charm, Flannery.”

“Maybe not,” he agreed. “But Mrs. Keller and Willa-Dean did.” He winked at her. “And so did you. What more do I need?”

Maggie shot him a disgusted look as she climbed out of the car. “Fine. Run away. Will you be back later?”

“Call me when your sister’s gone.”

Melanie strolled over just in time to hear his comment. “Don’t tell me you’re taking off?”

“You bet I am.”

“But I have so many questions for you,” Melanie said.

“Exactly,” he retorted. “Like I told you this morning, ask your sister. I don’t kiss and tell.”

“Then there has been kissing?” Melanie asked, her expression triumphant. She linked an arm through Maggie’s. “We definitely have a lot to talk about.”

Rick chuckled at the scowl Maggie shot in his direction. Better her than him, he thought as he headed for the safety of his room at the bed-and-breakfast. He’d already answered way too many tough questions for one morning.

“My, my, looks to me like things are heating up between you and the hunky photographer,” Melanie commented as she made herself a cup of tea, then sat at the kitchen table, clearly prepared for a long visit.

“Make yourself at home, why don’t you?” Maggie grumbled, wondering why anyone had ever thought Rose Cottage was serene. Her life had been in upheaval ever since she got here.

“This was my home, at least for a while,” Melanie replied, obviously undaunted by Maggie’s sour mood. “And technically, I suppose it’s Mom’s, now that Grandmother’s gone.”

“Whatever.”

Melanie gave her a knowing look. “Is Rose Cottage working its magic on you, too? Is love in the air?”

“You are so annoying,” Maggie retorted, sidestepping the question. “What on earth does Mike see in you?”

“I don’t annoy him,” Melanie replied easily. “I save my best pestering for my sisters.”

“How unfortunate for me.”

“Don’t complain. You were right in the thick of all the pestering that went on here when I was first seeing Mike. It’s my turn now. Come on, Margaret, talk. If you don’t spill all your secrets to me, I can have Ashley and Jo here this weekend.”

Heaven forbid! Maggie thought. She frowned at her sister. “What do you want to know?” she asked cautiously. She wasn’t about to divulge more than she absolutely had to.

“I want to know what’s going on with you and Rick, of course. In detail. For a man you claim to have run away to avoid, he seems to be around a lot.”

“Typical man. He doesn’t know when he’s not welcome,” Maggie claimed.

“Or he’s determined to change your mind,” Melanie suggested. “Is that it? Is he wooing you?”

“Wooing me?” Maggie echoed incredulously. “Where do you get this stuff?”

“We were raised by a Southern belle. In Mama’s world, men wooed women.”

Maggie laughed. “Yes, I suppose they did. Can you imagine Dad doing all that wooing?”

“Actually, I can,” Melanie said, her expression thoughtful. “Have you ever heard how passionate he gets over the freshness of the ingredients for one of his famous Italian dinners?”

“And you think that translates to other passions?”

“Of course.”

Maggie thought of Rick’s passion for photography, of his growing passion for the Northern Neck of Virginia. She supposed there were some parallels to his passion for her.

Melanie eyed her curiously. “Is Rick as passionate
for you as he is for the perfect shot of some model in a bikini?”

Maggie blushed even as she gave a shrug. “Maybe.”

Her sister’s gaze narrowed. “Why don’t you look happier about that?”

“It’s not the passion that worries me,” she told Melanie. “It’s all the rest. What if there isn’t anything more?”

“Have you ever spent one dull moment with him?”

“No,” Maggie admitted.

“Then I don’t think that’s something you need to worry about.”

“But we haven’t known each other that long. We could still run out of shared interests.”

“You don’t have to marry the man right this second,” Melanie reminded her.

“I know that,” Maggie snapped. Marriage wasn’t the issue. The problem was that she was likely to fall in love with him way before she knew if they had anything besides sex in common. “How did you know Mike was really the one? You didn’t know each other that long before you got married.”

Melanie’s expression turned nostalgic. “I was looking out this very kitchen window one day and I just knew. He’d taken every miserable thing I’d dished out and he’d kept coming back. He couldn’t say the words, but he showed me every day that he was steadfast and that he loved me.”

Maggie snapped her fingers. “Just like that?” she asked skeptically.

“Pretty much. It was as if everything suddenly fell into place. Stop worrying, Maggie. You’ll know it, too. It’ll be one of those lightning bolts Mama used to tell us about.”

“Really? Then explain all the other times I thought I was in love. Those turned out to be disasters.”

Melanie gave her a sympathetic look. “I had one of those, too, if you’ll recall. Believe me, in the end there was no comparison. Trust me, Maggie. When it happens, you’ll recognize the difference.”

“I hope so.” Maggie gave her sister a wistful look. “I want Rick to be the one.”

“Maybe he is.”

Maggie forced herself to ask the question that had been tormenting her from the beginning. “What if I think he is, but he doesn’t get it?”

“Then you’ll survive,” Melanie said confidently. “But I don’t think it’s something you need to worry about. I’ve seen the way he looks at you, remember?”