More Than Words Can Say (37 page)

Still clutching her plastic bag, Chelsea walked across the dining room floor and toward the kitchen that lay at the far end of the room. As she neared she heard voices, again causing her to smile through her trepidation.

They’re already here . . . ,
she realized.

Pushing open the swinging kitchen doors, Chelsea walked in. The kitchen was like a welcome, comforting world that easily belied the chilly weather outside.

As if her advanced age meant nothing, Emily Rousseau was hard at work preparing some sauce or another. Jean, the French-Canadian chef who had worked for Emily for decades, busied himself with loading some vegetables and chicken parts into a stew pot. The wonderful aroma of fresh baked goods already hung in the air, as did the enticing scent of freshly made coffee. The four uniformed waitresses were also there, chatting among themselves as they loaded service onto trays for the dining room. Just then Chelsea smelled an intriguing aroma, and she smiled.

It’s the beginnings of coq au vin,
she thought.
Just like my first day at Lake Evergreen, when Jacques and Margot brought some to me. . .

Emily was the first to see Chelsea. Throwing her hands into the air, she rushed straight over and hugged her warmly.

“
Good morning, my dear!
” she said in French. “
I am so glad that you’re here at last!
”

Chelsea smiled broadly. “Now, Emily,” she said, “you know that over time I’m hoping to learn French from you! But until I get acclimated to working here, you have to oblige me and speak only English! It’s already bad enough that I’ve never done this sort of thing before . . .”

“Do not worry,
ma chère
!” Emily said insistently. “Everything will be just fine! You’ll see!”

Then Emily smiled wryly.

“And besides,” she added, “you are my boss now,
n’est-ce pas
? So I must do as you say!”

As if she still couldn’t believe it, Chelsea looked around the kitchen again.
It’s true, after all,
she thought.
I really do own the Blue Rooster. . .

As the others eagerly gathered around her, Chelsea looked back at Emily and she laughed.

“Well,” she said, “I guess you’re right. And I want to thank you all for staying on. Without you at my side, this will never work!”

Just then, Claire Jennings tentatively approached Chelsea. The waitress uniform she wore was brand-new, as were the freshly minted tears in her eyes.

“I want to thank you again so much for this job,” she said. “Pug and I were practically broke when you called. I promise you that I’ll do my best.”

Chelsea smiled at her. “I know that you will,” she said. “Did you find someone good to look after Rachel?”

Claire nodded. “My mother,” she answered.

After putting down her plastic bag, Chelsea took off her coat, gloves, and hat, and again stared into Emily’s kind old eyes.

“So . . . where do I begin?” she asked.

After handing Chelsea an apron, Emily put one arm around her shoulders.

“Come,
ma chère,
” she said, “and I will begin teaching you the ways of true French cooking, just as my mother taught them to me so long ago. It may seem confusing at first, but with time, you . . .”

While Chelsea listened to Emily, she smiled. At last, her life had fully begun anew. She had kept ownership of her cottage on Lake Evergreen, and she couldn’t possibly envisage a time when she’d ever let it go. She had also unraveled her late grandmother’s past, and other than trying to decide whether to tell her mother, her heart was at peace with it. Best of all, she had a new husband whom she loved beyond all reason and who had strongly agreed with her plan to stop teaching, move to Serendipity, and buy the Blue Rooster from Emily.

For her part, Emily had been delighted at the prospect of at last passing down her little café to the only grandchild of her great friend Brooke Bartlett. Brandon had suggested that in return for Emily’s guidance she be allowed to continue living upstairs rent-free, and Chelsea had heartily agreed. And besides, Chelsea had realized, for at least the first year or two she would need all the guidance that Emily could give her. It had also been Brandon’s idea to hire Claire.

This, then, was the plan that Chelsea and Brandon had explained to Allistaire Reynolds, that same day when she and Brandon had read Brooke’s second letter. Allistaire had handled the transaction, Adam had written Chelsea’s business plan, and Adam’s accountant had performed the due diligence on Emily’s books. And it had been Jenny Beauregard’s advice that Chelsea had sought out that day when Chelsea visited her by boat.

Shortly after Brandon proposed, Allistaire had also overseen the sale of Chelsea’s Syracuse town house and the listing of Brandon’s cottage. The cottage hadn’t sold yet but it was a highly desirable property, and come spring they would likely have their choice of buyers. They certainly didn’t need both cottages, and Chelsea’s was by far the more comfortable of the two. The equity from the sale of Chelsea’s town house—plus some extra help from her parents—had provided the funds needed for them to buy the Blue Rooster. Chelsea and Brandon would remain in Chelsea’s cottage until the weather soon forced them to move into Brandon’s house in Serendipity.

Chelsea knew that there would be things about her old life that she would miss. That was just the way of the world whenever a person left one existence and fully embraced another. But she also knew that she already loved her new life far more. And her late grandmother Brooke—the kindly old woman whom Chelsea had loved with all her heart—had been the catalyst that had so unexpectedly set everything in motion that first surprising day in Allistaire’s office some five short months ago.

Two hours later, Chelsea’s hands and apron had become stained with many of the various ingredients that make French cooking its best. While she wiped the perspiration from her brow, Emily gave her a knowing smile.

“You are doing well,” Emily said. “But it is now time for us to discuss the recipe book,
non
?”

“Yes,” Chelsea answered. “And I want you to know how much this means to me.”

“And to me, as well,” Emily answered. “Now, let’s see, shall we? Which one shall be first?”

After unzipping the plastic bag she had brought along with her, Chelsea took Brooke’s recipe book from it. As a tribute to her late grandmother, Chelsea had decided to add a few of Brooke’s recipes to the menu. But the little book contained more than just recipes, she realized. It also held memories of Brooke’s life that only she and Brandon fully understood. When she opened the old book, her heart again swelled with everything that Brooke had meant to her, in both life and death.

Thank you, Gram,
she thought,
for
teaching
me
so
much
,
and
for
allowing
me
to
know your secret past. Don’t worry about Brandon and me, because we’ll always be happy. In the end, we have you to thank for us finding each other.

As she perused her grandmother’s recipes, Chelsea came upon an intriguing one. Smiling, she turned and again looked into Emily’s kind old eyes.

“How about Clark Gable’s Grapefruit Cake?” she asked.

Emily nodded enthusiastically. “
That sounds marvelous!
” she spontaneously answered in French.

As Chelsea and Emily began assembling the needed ingredients, Chelsea smiled . . .

Chapter 37

T
hat same afternoon, Brandon was busily washing his Jeep down near the shoreline of his property when Jeeves suddenly bared his teeth and growled. Jeeves was never wrong, and his insistent warning always meant the same thing.

Someone was coming.

It wasn’t Chelsea, Brandon knew, because she was still at the Blue Rooster. As Jeeves snarled and bristled, Brandon dropped his sponge into the bucket of soapy water and turned to discover who it was.

Just then Pug Jennings’s old truck turned off Schuyler Lane and came roaring nearer. Knowing that there was nothing else for it, Brandon stood his ground, hoping at the same time that no one else was following Pug. If Pug was alone and unarmed, Brandon knew that he could handle him. But if Pug had brought any “friends,” the situation would be entirely different. As his ranger instincts kicked in, Brandon glumly remembered that his back was to the water.

As Pug drove nearer it appeared that no one was following him, causing Brandon to relax a little. But not too much, because with Pug, one never knew what to expect. Hoping that Pug wasn’t drunk again, Brandon grabbed Jeeves by the collar and pulled him aside.

As Pug stopped his truck and shut down the motor, Brandon looked Pug sternly in the face. Pug exited the truck, then he removed the half-consumed cigarette from his mouth and stomped it into the ground. His twisted expression was odd and quite unlike anything Brandon had seen from him before.

For several moments they simply stared at each other like two gunfighters, each man sizing the other one up in that silent, menacing way such men once did. After looking Brandon up and down, Pug started walking nearer.

Brandon held up his free hand. “You can stop right there, Pug,” he warned. “I don’t know why you’re here. But whatever you’re selling, I don’t want any.”

Pug stopped and looked into Brandon’s eyes. Then to Brandon’s surprise, he lifted his open hands up in a gesture of conciliation.

“I just wanna talk,” he said. “You suppose we could do that without tryin’ to take each other’s heads off, for once?”

“I suppose,” Brandon answered warily. “Let’s go inside.”

Given their history, Brandon didn’t really want Pug occupying his cottage. But if Pug wanted to talk, he was willing to listen. As he followed Pug up the porch steps, his mind raced.

Brandon gestured toward two rockers on the porch, and the men sat down. Brandon’s nerves were still on edge, and for a time Pug remained cautiously silent, as if he couldn’t begin. When he finally turned and looked at Brandon, for the first time in three years Brandon could find no sense of malice in his eyes.

“I wanna apologize,” Pug said simply.

Brandon was stunned. “
Apologize
. . .
?
” he asked.

Pug nodded. “You taught me one hell of lesson that day, back at my trailer. I needed to have some sense pounded into me, I guess, and apparently you were the right one to do it. And now I’m actually glad that it happened in front of Claire. Took me down a peg or two in her estimation too, and that was somethin’ else that I’d been needin’, it seems. After Rachel got better, we had a long talk about a lot of things. Or as best I could, after you got done with me . . .”

Then he shook his head and pointed at his throat where Brandon had struck him. “Damn, but that ranger stuff really works. I wasn’t right for days . . .”

Unsure of what to say, Brandon thought for a moment. “It was never my intent to harm you permanently, Pug,” he finally answered. “But when you took the first swing, I knew I had to put you down.”

“I know,” Pug said. “Anyway, I haven’t had a drop of booze since then, and I know that I’m the better for it. But it was more than just your shellacking and Claire’s overdue badgering session that finally set me straight.”

“And what was that?” Brandon asked.

Pug stared down at his callused hands. “It was the way you come out and tended to Rachel, despite how you knew I hated you so bad,” he answered. “You risked runnin’ into me and gettin’ a fight started, just so’s you could tend to my little girl. That took balls. If you hadn’t come, there’s no tellin’ how bad she might have got.”

“Thank you,” Brandon said. “But I was just doing my job the best I could.”

“And then there’s the other thing . . . ,” Pug said quietly.

“What other thing?”

“Claire now workin’ at the Blue Rooster for you wife,” he answered. “When she told me that Chelsea asked her to come and work there, she also said that it was your idea. And so I wanna thank you for that, too. We were about broke when that job turned up, and I have you to thank for it. I just thought that I should do it in person, is all.”

And then, as if there was something even more heart wrenching that he wanted to say, Pug again went silent for a time. When at last he looked back at Brandon, his expression had become especially contrite.

“I know somethin’ else now, too,” he said.

“Yes . . . ?” Brandon said.

“You were also doing your job the best you could when Mallory died,” he said, his voice a near whisper. “Just like you did with Rachel. I get that now. But when Mallory died, the booze got in my way and it blinded me. Anyway, I want you to know that I don’t feel that way no more. And I’m sorry for the way I treated Chelsea, too. She never done anything to me, and she didn’t have that comin’. She must be a good woman, Brandon, ’cause after the way I treated her, she sure as hell had no reason to be kind to us like that.”

Then Pug actually smiled a little, and he again rubbed his neck where Brandon had struck him. “But someday I wouldn’t mind learnin’ that throat thing you used on me . . . ,” he said.

Despite his caution, Brandon couldn’t help but smile, too. It was small, brief smile, but it was a beginning.

“I did everything that I could for Mallory,” Brandon said. “I loved her too. But she’s gone now, and you have to accept that. And although it took me a long time to do it, I have.”

Pug turned and looked out over the lake. “Then I’m glad for you,” he said. “I guess that some of the reason I got so crazy about it all was because she was with me that day, when she got wounded. And it was my gun that went off, you know . . . If I’d got her to the hospital faster, or if I’d been able to stop the bleedin’, then maybe she’da had a chance. But I couldn’t . . .”

“Like me, you did your best,” Brandon said. “That’s all
any
man can do.”

Pug nodded. “I know that now . . . ,” he said.