What's Cooking? (19 page)

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"Have you ever been to Paris?" he asked, his voice oddly choked.

She shook her head. "You?"

"Several times."

"Then you'll be able to show me all the sights."

"All of them," he agreed. But none would be more stunning than she would be, her eyes lit up in excitement, her cheeks pink with anticipation. He wanted to book the trip right now, while they were still together. Who knew where either of them would be in a few months or even a few weeks? She could be back in Boston. He could be on assignment on the other side of the world. Parting seemed inevitable, though he was far more unhappy about it than he could ever have imagined he would be.

He met her gaze. "Let's book this now," he said with a sudden sense of urgency.

"Now?"

"Why not?"

"I have a deadline. I'm not like you. I don't get to pick and choose when I work. I have to plan vacations."

"You didn't plan this one," he reminded her.

"That's because it's more like a working vacation, which is why you're doing that photo shoot for me, remember? And speaking of that, how did things go this morning?"

"Great, I think," he said, accepting the change of subject with resignation. She obviously wasn't going to bend on the trip, at least not now. "I'm going to try to set up a makeshift darkroom this afternoon and see what I've got. It's not an ideal situation. I'd prefer to go back to my studio to do this, but I think we'll be okay."

The light promptly went out of Maggie's eyes. "If

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you'd prefer to go back to Boston, it's okay," she said, sounding resigned.

At yet more evidence that she was always prepared for him to bolt on her, he brought her icy hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. "Stop that," he ordered gently. "I would not prefer to go back to Boston. The only place I want to go right now is Paris, with you. Didn't I make that clear?"

"But?"

He cut off whatever objection she was about to utter. "Think about it, Maggie. We could leave as soon as you turn the material in. There are always going to be deadlines. We'll get back in time for you to meet the next one, or you can work up an idea in Paris. Next to art, ? food is one of the greatest contributions the French have made to the world."

She regarded him with a puzzled look. "Is there some reason you're so determined to go now?"

He tried to find a careful way to phrase it. "If we put it off, who knows what will come along to delay the trip later? We might never go."

"In other words, we might break up."

He hated that she'd jumped to that conclusion. It was exactly what he'd hoped to avoid. "I didn't say that," he insisted.

"But it's what you were thinking," she said with obvious confidence. "Are you already planning a way to end things with me? Is the trip to Paris some sort of consolation prize?"

"No," he said, shocked that she would interpret it like that. He searched for a more palatable explanation. "It's just that I'm a seize-the-moment man."

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"So you like to remind me every chance you get. But aren't you also the man who told me less than an hour ago that there's a lot to be said for restraint and anticipation?"

"Yes, but?"

Now she cut him off. "I want to anticipate going to Paris with you, Rick. I don't want some whirlwind trip that will start and end before I've even had a chance to think about it. I've always been way too impulsive. I'm trying to slow things down. I need to learn to savor what's going on in my life, not rush on to the next thing."

To his regret, Rick saw her point. Until the last couple of weeks, he'd never spent time savoring a relationship. He'd never had one last long enough for that.

Okay," he relented. "Paris will just have to wait."

"Don't look so glum," she chided, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "That doesn't mean we can't get a zil-lon brochures and guidebooks and spend every evening arguing over what we want to do when we get there. For instance, I'd like to take some cooking classes. I'll bet you'd prefer to see a photography exhibit."

"Is that supposed to be some sort of big deal?" he asked, laughing despite himself. "We can do both."

"You know what I mean," she countered. "We're not going to be able to do everything. We're going to have to prioritize and compromise."

"And take all the spontaneity out of the trip," he guessed.

"No way," she said, snuggling closer to him in the booth. "We can make love spontaneously whenever the mood strikes."

He gazed down into her passion-darkened eyes. "In

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that case, I think I'll book a five-star hotel with excellent room service."

Maggie chuckled. "You can scrap that notion right now, Flannery. We're talking about Paris. I want to see it."

He grinned. "I'll get a room with a view."

She nodded, her expression suddenly thoughtful. "That could work."

Rick's grin spread. "How about a little of that spontaneous sex back at your place right now?"

"My sister's there," she reminded him with undisguised regret. "And to be honest, I think we've already shocked her enough for one day."

He sighed dramatically. "Too bad."

"It really is," she said. "But she'll be gone tomorrow."

"What time?"

"Early, I imagine, since that case she's so worried about starts on Monday. I'll call you the minute she's out the door."

Rick didn't want to wait a second longer than necessary. "Call me when she's packing the car," he replied, not even trying to hide his eagerness. "I'll get a head start."

"And risk one more confrontation?"

"Why not? We've done okay so far. Besides, Ashley's not the kind of woman you want to get the idea that she has you running scared."

"You understand her very well."

"It's not that hard. Your sister is like every other ambitious overachiever I've ever met. She's totally focused and absolutely driven. She needs to learn to loosen up before that spring that's wound so tight snaps on her."

"I couldn't agree more," Maggie said. "She's the one

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who reminded the rest of us that Rose Cottage is the ideal place to unwind. She needs to take her own advice and spend some time here. She needs an entire month at least."

Rick chuckled. "I'll tack a week in Italy on to our trip, if you can get her to agree to that."

Maggie grinned. "Now you've made it interesting. I'll get to work on her tonight. With all these bets you're making lately, I could turn out to be a very expensive date."

"I'm not worried. You can let me know how much success you had with your sister when I see you in the morning."

"I'm very persuasive," she told him. "You, of all people, should know that."

"But I'm putty in your hands," Rick retorted. "Your sister's made of cast iron."

"Steel," Maggie corrected.

Rick regarded her quizzically. "Steel?"

"As in steel magnolia. Ashley may not be Southern like our mother, but she inherited that stubborn streak and willfulness. Did I ever tell you what an admirer our mother was of Gone With the Wind? Thus our names. I was named for the author. Jo's the only one who escaped. Her name came from Little Women. We figured that was because mother saw herself as Scarlett, so she wasn't about to name one of us that."

Rick nodded. He could see that the steel magnolia description fit Ashley perfectly. "Then I really don't have a thing to worry about, do I? Ashley will spend a month at Rose Cottage when we finally have scientific proof that the moon is made of green cheese."

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"Don't be so sure of yourself," Maggie said. "I might have a few tricks up my sleeve you don't know about."

"1 certainly hope so," Rick said enthusiastically. "Maybe you can show me one tomorrow."

Maggie shook her head. "Do you ever think about anything besides sex?"

"Sure," he said easily. "Photography and my makeshift darkroom are calling me right now, in fact."

"Will you have some pictures for me to look at in the morning?"

"Sure." He winked at her. "But not till after we've done some catching up."

"Catching up?" she asked, her expression innocent. "Do you think we'll have a lot to talk about less than twenty-four hours from now?"

"Who's going to be talking?" he asked, then tossed some cash on the table to pay for all those sundaes.

"Like I said, a one-track mind," she commented, as she slid past him.

Rick was pretty sure the space wasn't half as narrow as she pretended it was. She'd just wanted a chance to brush those delectable hips of hers against him. He supposed she was pleased to note that it had the desired effect. He was instantly hard as a rock.

He caught her arm and leaned down to whisper in her ear. "You're playing with fire, Maggie."

She beamed up at him, an impish gleam in her eyes. "I know. See you in the morning."

"Or sooner."

"Oh?"

"Who knows? It might be kind of fun to try sneaking past Ashley's room in the middle of the night."

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"Don't even think about it," Maggie warned, looking worried.

Rick laughed. "Now look what you've done. You've turned it into a challenge."

"Everything's a challenge to you, if it suits your purpose," she remarked, then strode off in the direction of her car.

Rick stared after her. She was right. Where she was concerned, just about everything was a challenge. He couldn't recall the last time a woman had provided him with this much entertainment.

Rick spent the afternoon in the darkroom processing film and making a few prints frjom some of the best negatives. The photos were good, but he still didn't have the one shot that would take the layout from ordinary to extraordinary. He wanted something with both Sally and Matthew in it, but so far Matthew had been stubbornly resistant to the idea.

Since he wasn't going to be seeing Maggie, he picked up the phone and called the Kellers. "Mind if I take a drive out there this evening?" he asked Sally.

"You'd be welcome," she said at once. "Come for supper, why don't you? Will Maggie be with you?"

"No, her sister's still here," he reminded Sally. "I think they have an evening of girl talk planned."

"Well, Matthew and I will be glad to save you from that. Drive on out now. I'll have dinner on the table in an hour. It's Matthew's favorite, chicken and dumplings."

"Sounds fabulous. I'm on my way."

By the time he got to the farmhouse, the sun was starting to drop in the western sky, splashing the orchard

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with a softer light than anything he'd seen so far. He regretted leaving his camera behind. It wasn't a mistake he would make again.

"Wish you'd stop trying to imagine the perfect picture and hurry up," Matthew grumbled from the doorway. "A man could starve around here waiting for you."

Rick chuckled. "I see you're in a cheerful frame of mind."

"Sally's had me moving things around again. The woman thinks the furniture shouldn't stay in the same place more than a month or two, then she gets a dang-fool notion to move it again."

Rick regarded him with worry. "You shouldn't be moving furniture."

Matthew uttered a derisive snort. 'Tell that to my wife."

Rick intended to do just that. He walked into the kitchen and came to a full stop as the aroma of dinner hit him. The chicken and dumplings were bubbling on the stove, and if he wasn't mistaken, there was an apple pie in the oven. Sally was standing at the counter whipping potatoes by hand. Her face was flushed, but she gave him a welcoming smile.

"Don't you start in on me, young man. I heard what that man said to you, but it was Matthew's idea to move the sofa. Said it would give him a better view of the TV without the glare from the setting sun."

Rick turned back to Matthew. "Why didn't you say something this morning? I could have moved it for you."

"The day I can't push an old sofa around the room is the day I lie down in my bed and die."

"There's no sense in being foolish, though," Rick

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told him. "When help's around, there's nothing wrong with taking advantage of it."

"Oh, stop fussing about the sofa, both of you," Matthew grumbled. "If you want to worry about something, worry about Sally and her refusal to get that slippery rug away from the foot of the stairs. One of us is going to slide right out the front door one of these days, you mark my words."

Sally gave him an impatient look. "That rug is perfectly fine. It's been there twenty years, and neither of us have fallen yet."

Rick looked from one to the other, expecting to find sparks of real anger about to flare into something ugly, but then Matthew walked over and pressed a hard kiss to his wife's mouth.

"Stubborn old woman," he said gently.

"Mule-headed old coot," she retorted just as affectionately.

Rick bit back a sigh. So, this was what it was like to grow old with someone, to know them so well that the taunting and bickering ended in a kiss, not a free-for-all.

He wondered if his mother, whom he hadn't seen in years now, had ever learned that lesson. Probably not. She'd gotten too used to arguments being settled with fists and nothing he'd ever said to her or tried to do to protect her had ever been enough to get her to change the sort of relationships she had. For years it had broken his heart, but when he'd realized he couldn't save her, he'd left home to save himself.

He glanced across the room to see Sally studying him with a worried frown.

"What's on your mind?" she asked him.

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"Just thinking about things I couldn't change," he said.

"What's that mean?" Matthew asked, as they sat down for dinner.

"Don't push the boy," Sally said. "He'll tell us as much as he's willing to."

"Thank you," Rick said gratefully. "It's not something 1 intend to discuss. It'll only ruin our dinner."

"You ever told Maggie?" Sally asked.

He shook his head. "Some, but I've never told anyone all of it. Talking won't change anything." The beatings that had shaped his early life were a secret no one would ever know.