One Summer (42 page)

“Don’t you worry.” After attempts to back up only sent the rear wheels spinning, the woman, who seemed to have sturdy pioneer blood flowing through her veins, dug into her coat pocket and pulled out a phone. “We’ll get you to the mall on time. Not that they can start without you.”

She punched a single number on the keypad. “No point in calling for a tow truck since we’re not all that stuck. The police will be here in a two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”

“You have the police department on speed dial?” Without the heater blasting from the dashboard, the temperature inside the car was plummeting. Since the black suede high-heeled boots that looked so fashionable in the city had definitely not been designed for Nebraska’s “still winter” weather, Madeline’s toes were already beginning to chill again.

“My youngest boy, Jeb, is on the force, so I keep his number handy. He’s the one who’ll pull us out.”

And, sure enough, before Madeline’s feet could turn completely to ice cubes, a huge black SUV with white doors came up behind them, blue and red roof lights flashing.

The officer who climbed out of the driver’s seat was large enough to have played linebacker on the Cornhuskers football team. He was wearing sensible snowpack boots, thick gloves, a parka, and a fur hat with earflaps. While his partner jumped out of the shotgun seat to set a flare and direct traffic, he walked toward the car, his feet crunching the plowed snow at the edge of the road.

“Third time this week, Ma,” he said in greeting. Although his expression was resigned, his blue eyes revealed relief that the accident hadn’t been worse.

“It wasn’t my fault,” she said. “The driver of the other car, who didn’t even stick around to see the trouble he caused, went across the line first.” She turned toward Madeline. “Tell him.”

“Your mother did a lot better than I would have under the circumstances,” Maddy said.

“Driven in a lot of snow, have you, ma’am?” he asked.

“No, but—”

“You must be the celebrity chef from New York City,” he said, cutting her off.

Madeline was about to explain again that she wasn’t a celebrity, but decided it wasn’t germane to their situation.

“She is. And we need to get her to the mall on time.” Birdy might be a good foot shorter than her son, but that didn’t stop her from pulling out her mom voice. “Jebediah, meet Chef Madeline Durand. Chef Madeline, this is my baby boy. Who I’m usually superproud of.” She drummed her mitten-clad fingers on the steering wheel. “Except for when he wastes time scolding his mother when she has important things to do.”

“Nice to meet you, ma’am,” he said politely to Madeline. “And I worry about you,” he told his mother.

“Well, that makes us even for all the years I’ve worried about you. Especially during those two tours in Iraq,” she shot back. “Now, if you don’t mind, we’re going to be late if we don’t get this show on the road.”

 

“That’s very good,” Madeline murmured after Officer Jebediah Hinlemeir trudged back to his Omaha police SUV.

“One of the perks of being a mother,” Birdy said cheerfully as snowflakes began to pile up on the windshield. “You get to boss around people bigger than you. Jeb’s about to become a father himself next month, but he’ll always be my baby. You and your husband planning to have kids anytime soon?”

“I do want children—someday—but we’re both occupied with our careers right now.”

Madeline wasn’t prepared to share the fact that she and Maxime weren’t exactly on the same page when it came to starting a family. Admittedly the time wasn’t right now, when she was forced to give every waking moment to her work and supporting Maxime’s far-flung enterprises. But she also didn’t want to reach forty-five without experiencing motherhood. Her own mother had managed to balance a career and a child, and never had Madeline felt the least bit neglected.

Maxime, on the other hand, feared that a child would take her focus off her career. Or, more likely, she often thought, off him.

“Well, you’re still young,” Birdy pointed out. “Of course, your husband’s quite a bit older, but age isn’t such a big deal for men. They’re not the ones with their eggs getting older by the day.”

And wasn’t that a fun thought?

It didn’t take long for Jebediah and his partner to pull them out of the snowbank, and within fifteen minutes the SUV was crunching its way across the mall parking lot.

“The nice thing about winter,” Birdy said, her optimism once again reminding Madeline of the grandmother who’d played such an important role in her life, “is that the snow fills in all the potholes.”

 

The kitchen setup in the store was as good as promised. As she entered the area to the enthusiastic applause of all the women—along with a few men—who’d braved the weather to show up, Madeline felt almost like a rock star.

Birdy had warmed up the finished dish Madeline had sent ahead, sending the rich aroma of wine gravy and braised meat wafting throughout the store.

“That scrumptious smell’s goin’ to be drawing them in from all over the mall,” Birdy predicted.

Which appeared to be true, as the crowd grew while Madeline demonstrated how to caramelize meat in a sauté pan from the company with whom her agent had negotiated an endorsement deal. Birdy had gone all out, setting up a camera that allowed those in the back of the crowd to watch on a large-screen television.

“Sizzling is good,” Madeline said as the olive oil danced. “This part takes patience because you want the meat to be nicely colored on all sides. That’s what elevates your dish to perfection.”

She took the ribs out of the pan and put them on a plate. “Now we’ll sauté our
mirepoix
—which is simply a fancy French name for a mixture of cut celery, carrots, and onions—in the drippings from the meat.”

Again, the assistant had come through with the prep work.

“The fat in the pan is bringing up more meat flavors into the veggies,” Madeline said as she stirred them. “We’ll cook them just until they’re tender. An interesting little bit of trivia is that
mirepoix
is named for a duke who was a field marshal for King Louis the Fifteenth. According to the stories, despite being incompetent, he was given the post of ambassador because the king appreciated his wife’s charms.”

As always when she shared it, the rumor of alleged infidelity raised eyebrows.

“Whatever Mirepoix’s failings, the man could definitely cook. He gave his name to lots of different sauces, but this one has become the standard.”

As she went on to demonstrate how to deglaze with basalmic vinegar and red wine, Madeline at first thought the eighteenth-century courtly gossip was the cause of the murmurs humming through the crowd.

Then she noticed a couple sharing an iPhone, while others around them had begun busily tapping into various smart phones.

Curious, she glanced over at Birdy, who, after looking up from her own phone’s screen, went as pale as the onions sautéing in the pan.

The older woman hustled over to Madeline. “Now that Chef Madeline’s been good enough to share her wonderful culinary tips with us, Julie will be serving the final result,” she announced. “And I know you’ll all enjoy it.” She took hold of Madeline’s arm and dragged her behind a tall counter filled with shiny upscale coffee makers. “What’s wrong?” Madeline asked.

“I don’t know how to tell you this, dear, but one of the women in the crowd apparently hit on a YouTube video while Googling your name. My guess is she’s a shopper who didn’t know about you being here today and went online to find out more about you.”

“Which video?” The network kept several of her past shows on their Web site.

Birdy winced. “It’s hard to explain. Maybe I’d best just show you.” She handed Madeline her phone.

The screen was small and a distracting glare from the store’s bright overhead lights at first made it difficult for Madeline to make out what she was seeing.

It appeared to be a man and woman having sex. Energetic, hot, sweaty sex. Fortunately, the phone’s sound had been muted.

Madeline was still wondering what this had to do with her when realization struck like a meat mallet to her head.

It wasn’t just
any
man. The crescent-shaped birthmark at the base of his spine gave him away.

It was Maxime.

Her husband
.

Proving, Madeline thought as white spots like snowflakes began to dance in front of her eyes, that not everything that happened in Vegas
stayed
in Vegas.

New York Times
bestselling author

 

JoAnn Ross

Former Navy SEAL Sax Douchett returns to his home
town and is hailed as a local hero. But starting over is
difficult when he unearths a long-buried secret that
reunites him with a past he’s never forgotten.

 

Part of that past is Sheriff Kara Conway, a girl who’s
always held a special place in his heart. But as he
cautiously reconnects with Kara and bonds with her
young son, another long-held secret in Shelter Bay
threatens their second chance at a life together…

“Ms. Ross just keeps getting better and better.”

—Fresh Fiction

 

 

 

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