Devour Me (Master Chefs Series #1) (16 page)

After
a third day home alone, she’d finally accepted Henri’s invitation to visit a
dairy farm in the rolling hills of the region of Alsace.

“Knowing
where real food comes from is important,” he’d argued.  “I also know this
organic farmer I think you’d like to meet.  And I took down the address of a
pigeon farmer.”

She
shook her head and grimaced.  “I still have a hard time wrapping my head around
the idea of killing and cooking a pigeon.”

Henri
shrugged.  “No different than killing or cooking a chicken.”

Pressing
a tight grin, she looked at him.  “Thanks.”

“For
what?  Introducing you to a pigeon farmer.”

“For
insisting I come with you.  This is nice.  I never thought the countryside
could be so spectacularly beautiful.”

He
looked out at the pastures, meadows and gentle valleys that surrounded them. 
“It is pretty, isn’t it?  If we have time, we’ll stop at a vineyard.  Alsace
has great white wines.”

They
stopped briefly at the pigeon farm, but Taryn still found herself unable to
digest the idea of eating pigeon.

“I
know I have to keep an open mind about these things,” Taryn said as she got
back in the car.  “But to actually see them in those cages…”

Henri
chuckled and drove off.  After skirting the city of Haguenau, Taryn noted a
subtle difference in the signs that dotted the roadside.  Her French was weak,
but she had a good idea of what a French word should look like.

“Is
it just me, or have we left France?”

Laughing,
Henri playfully slapped her thigh.  “If we leave the country, believe me, I’ll
be the first to let you know.”

“Then
what’s with all these… Are those Dutch names?  I mean Vosges and Betschdorf. 
That’s not French.”

“You're
very perceptive, but that’s not Dutch.  It’s German.”  He turned the car in the
direction of Walbourg.  “We’re very close to the French/German border.”

Their
next stop was a dairy farm.  Owned by
Monsieur Chartrand
, the farm was
set in the middle of some of the most beautiful countryside Taryn had ever
seen.  The rustic farmhouse was inviting in an old world way, and picture
perfect.  Everything about the look and feel of the farm spoke of old times,
old customs, and old ways.

Inside
the graying old barn, however, the old looking country farm was a marvel of
modern technology.  While milking was occasionally done by hand to show
visitors how it was once done, a lot of modern machinery now surrounded the
process of getting milk from a cow.

“I
can’t believe the cows aren’t freaked out by those pump things attached to
them.”

The
farmer, a middle-aged man with a sun dried face and calloused hands, looked at
her.  “
Dey like de pumps
,” he said in a heavily accented English.

Henri
patted the bovine between her big, brown eyes.  “
Est-ce que je peux prendre la
cariole  pour aller au ruisseau
,
Monsieur Chartrand
?”

“
Bien
oui, bien oui
.”

Taryn
looked at Henri for a translation.

He
took a hold of her arm and led her out of the barn and into the stable.  “If
you think the scenery was beautiful on the way here, wait until you see this.” 
All while murmuring gently to the horse, he led it out of its stall and deftly
hitched it to a small wagon.

“Where
are you taking me?”

Grinning,
he helped her up onto the wagon seat and pulled himself up beside her.  With a
quick but gentle flick of the reigns, he set the horse in motion.  “I love that
smell, don’t you?”

Taryn
sniffed the air and glanced sidelong at him.  “Really?  It smells a bit like
manure.”

He
shook his head.  “Beyond that.”

The
horse trotted at a brisk pace along a dirt path that led away from the barn and
farmhouse.  Soon the odor of manure diminished and left room for fresh country
air. 

“Ah,”
Taryn said with wonder.  She’d smelled fresh laundry before and had often
sniffed air deodorized with artificial scents, but nothing compared to this. 
“That smell.  Yes.  That’s…”

“Pure. 
Refreshing.  There’s nothing like real country air.  Breathe it in.  Fill your
lungs.  Feel it flow through your nostrils.”

She
giggled.  “You really like it out here, don’t you?”

“Nothing
better.”  He glanced at her.  “Don’t get me wrong.  I love Paris, but my
heart…” He pounded at his chest with his fist.  “My heart is out here.”

Pastures
of green seemed to go on for miles and miles.  “Are we still on Monsieur
Chartrand’s land?”

They
crested a small hill and Henri pulled the horse to a stop.  “You see that creek
down there?”

Taryn
looked down, but Henri guided her gaze further out.  “Way out over there.”

The
hills rolled on and on, lazy and lush with only the dirt path cutting through it
like a dusty dull ribbon.  In the distance, Taryn spotted the sparkling
reflection of water gurgling its way down the creek.

“Yeah,
I can see it.”

“Monsieur
Chartrand’s land ends at that creek.  It curves over there.”  He pointed to
their right.  “And over there, his property ends with that forest.”

“Wow. 
That must feed a lot of cows.”

He
grinned and nudged the horse on.  “Have you ever been to the country before?”

She
turned to him.  “Does Cape Cod count?”

With
a charming chuckle, he shrugged.  “I don’t know Cape Cod.”

Taryn
shook her head.  “No, Henri.  I’ve never really been to the country.  I’ve
lived in New York my whole life.  We went to the beach in Jersey a few times,
went out to the mountains in the Catskills, but I’ve certainly never been on a
farm before.”

He
reached for her hand.  “Then I’m happy to be the first to introduce you.”

Laughing,
she leaned playfully into him.  He was so easy to be around; so uncomplicated. 
There was never a dark cloud of moodiness that threatened to erupt; never a streak
of anger bubbling over.  It was nice being with him; safe.

As
they made their way down to the creek, Taryn let the rocking motion of the
wagon lull her into a deeply relaxed state.  The stress of the past week faded
and bliss caressed her like a warm summer breeze.  When the wagon suddenly
stopped, she took in the sight Henri had wanted to surprise her with.

The
creek of pure, clear water splashed over large stones then fell in gentle
cascades.  A large apple tree grew on the very edge of the creek, offering the
only hope of shade.  Beyond it, a field of corn rose high, blocking their view
to the right offered a sense of intimacy.

“I
thought this might be a nice change of pace from the days at the Institute,”
Henri said.  “I’ve always loved this particular spot.  After the immensity of
endless fields, this little nook…”

“I
see what you mean.”  Taryn hopped off and looked around.  A pair of cardinals
fluttered around, chasing each other in their own little ritual dance.  “This
is heaven.”  Taryn turned to see Henri reach for a basket in the wagon.

Blushing,
he held it up.  “Lunch for two.”

He
was so sweet.  Taryn knew he wanted to please her, but began to wonder what had
really brought him to invite her on this trip.  Keeping a platonic grin on her
lips, she helped him set a blanket on the ground then sat and watched him as he
pulled a variety of items out of the basket. 

“You
brought enough to feed an army,” she said.

“Just
because we’re out of the city doesn’t mean we can’t eat well.”

“Let’s
see,” she said as she picked up each item he set down.  “The French cheeses; 
Brie
de Meaux, Camembert de Normandie
, and…
Munster Géromé
? But Munster
isn’t French.”

He
grinned.  “Again, very perceptive.  Munster is a city in Germany where it is
said the monks there once made this cheese.  However Munster is also Latin for
monastery and some say Irish monks settled here and made the cheese.  Either
way, it is a cheese that is made in this region.”

“Oh,
that’s cool.”  She continued her itemizing.  “Pears, apples, and green and red
grapes; refreshing to the palate.
Paté de foie gras, terrine de sanglier
and
confit de dinde
; all sounds good.  A baguette; of course.  A bottle
of fine wine from Alsace… wow, let me try to pronounce this one;
Gewurztraminer.”

“Close.
It’s pronounced gah-vorts-trah-meener.”

“Well,
we can’t have a picnic without that, right?  And, for dessert,
profiteroles
. 
Wow, you went all out.”

“Think
I forgot anything?”

“Coffee?”

Grinning,
he pulled out a thermos.

“I
was only kidding,” Taryn said with a hoot of laughter.

“Just
in case you need a caffeine boost after all this food.”

While
Taryn cut off a chunk of soft camembert, Henri opened the bottle of wine and
poured two glasses.  “Here,” he said as he opened the brie.  “Try this.”  With
a spoon he carved out a small piece, squished it into the spoon with a fork
then poured a sip of wine over it.

Taryn
opened her mouth as he guided the spoon to her, feeding her. The soft cheese
and Chardonnay blended perfectly over her tongue.  She tore off a piece of the baguette
and stuffed it in her mouth over the cheese and wine. “It’s like a Swiss fondue
in my mouth.” Her muffled voice was filled with laughter.  “This is really
good.”

They
settled in to taste the various cheeses and patés while taking in the beauty of
their surroundings.

“You
know,” Taryn said as she glanced at Henri.  Her belly was already stuffed with
bread and paté, but she enjoyed the big, juicy grapes with tiny bites of
cheese.  “When you invited me out here, I thought you were going to take me to your
farm.”

He
nodded.  “So did I.”

“Is
Monsieur Chartrand your father and you didn’t want to tell me?”

Laughing,
he reached for another fistful of baguette, but seemed to have no interest in
eating it.  “No.  My father’s not quite that old.”  Leaning into her, he put
his cheek to hers and pointed far down the green hills to their left.  “My
farm… my family is over there.”

She
turned to him.  “But we’re so close.  Why…?”

“I
was afraid… if I brought you to my home… to meet my parents, you’d…  I didn’t
want to scare you off by being too… presumptuous.”

Smiling,
she looked into his eyes.  “You really are an old fashioned guy, aren’t you?”

“I
was raised in an old fashioned way, by old fashioned parents in an old
fashioned part of the country.  What can I say?”

“I
think it’s sweet, but I wouldn’t have thought any less of you because you
introduced me to your parents, Henri.  I mean, we’re friends; practically
co-workers in a way.”

Chuckling,
he looked down at the picnic blanket then slowly brought his gaze back to her. “I
guess I’d hoped…” His voice was a soft whisper. “I enjoy working with you. You're
easy to talk to, and you make me laugh.” His fingers found her cheeks and chin.
“So beautiful…”

He
leaned in and kissed her; his lips tender and questioning.

For
a brief moment, Taryn leaned into the kiss.  His lips were soft and the kiss so
innocent and pure.  It lacked the harsh demands and high expectations she’d
become used to. Warmed by the whole atmosphere that surrounded her, by his
sweet touch, she surrendered to the kiss, but quickly pulled back. “Henri,” she
mumbled as she brought her fingers to her lips. “I’m sorry, I can’t.”

Henri
frowned. “It’s Chef King, isn’t it?”

Taryn
shook her head. “No…”

“Then
what is it?” Henri asked. “We’re in the middle of the most romantic place in
the world…”

Taryn
silenced him with her finger to his lips. “I…”

Henri
looked earnestly at Taryn, his eyes filled with longing. He took her finger
into his mouth and sucked on it and closed his eyes. “You taste as sweet as you
are.” He kissed her fingertips. “I would be good to you, I would treat you as
the lady you are, I would…Chef King would only hurt you, Taryn.”

“Henri…”
Taryn tried again. As much as she wanted to forget Errol King, as much as she
wanted to break from him and have a normal relationship with a man she could
call a boyfriend, she couldn’t stop wanting him.

Chapter 18

A
fter the aborted kiss, Henri drove Taryn down
to his own family farm. His parents, Gilles and Yvette, were kind and inviting,
while Henri’s younger brothers, Pierre and Bertrand, were curious and
intrigued.

“
Elle
est joli
,” Bertrand said as he shyly glanced up at Taryn.

“Of
course she is beautiful,” Henri said as he patted his younger sibling on the
head.

They
all had dinner together and Taryn was charmed by them all. The atmosphere was
light and cheerful; the food plentiful and full of flavor.

“I
see where Henri gets his culinary talent,” Taryn said.

Accompanied
with a robust red wine, the dinner hour was filled with tales of Henri’s
childhood, anecdotes of farm life and a few colorful fibs from the two younger
boys.  After dinner, Yvette showed Taryn the room she’d sleep in.

“I
hadn’t really thought we’d be staying overnight,” Taryn told Henri after his
mother left them.  She looked around the small, but cozy room.  “I didn’t even
bring anything.”

“I’m
sorry.  I should have mentioned how far away from Paris this was.” He looked
down at the floor. “I guess I thought you’d choose not to come if I told you
we’d be going five hours from Paris.”

“Don’t
worry.  I don’t mind.  It’s nice out here.  I like the change of pace.”

He
nodded. “Let me know if you need anything.”