Blossom Street (Books 1-10). Debbie MacomberЧитать онлайн книгу.
like cornbread, Mother,” Paul supplied.
“I know what they are,” she said between clenched teeth.
“Paul loves my hush puppies,” Tammie Lee twanged in her eagerness to continue. “My mama told me they got their name from hunters who threw leftover ends of the cornbread to their dogs to keep ‘em quiet at night.”
“This is the recipe you’re submitting to the Seattle Country Club Cookbook?” Jacqueline was convinced she’d never be able to show her face in public again.
“Oh, and I asked Mama for Grandma’s recipe for Brunswick stew, which is my daddy’s all-time favorite. My grandma was raised in Georgia before she married my grandpa and moved to Tennessee. I was almost eighteen before we moved to Louisiana, so I really consider myself a bluegrass girl.”
“Brunswick stew,” Jacqueline said. That at least sounded presentable.
“It’s a southern version of chili. Mama always served it when we had a barbecue. Mama has Grandma’s original recipe and I’ll need to change it a bit. Everyone uses pork or chicken nowadays, instead of possum or squirrel.”
One more word from this woman and Jacqueline was afraid she’d keel over in a dead faint.
“I hope you give them your recipe for deep-fried okra,” Paul said as if he’d never tasted anything so good in his life. “You wouldn’t believe what Tammie Lee does with okra. I swear I’ve died and gone to heaven.”
Once and only once had Jacqueline sampled the slimy green vegetable. It’d been in some kind of soup dish. Never having seen it before, she’d lifted it from the bowl and been repulsed by the thick slime that had dripped from her spoon. She’d nearly gagged just looking at it and now her son was telling her he enjoyed this disgusting vegetable.
“I have a recipe for pecan pie that’s a family favorite and I’d be happy to share that, too.”
“Actually, I think it’s because of Tammie Lee’s cooking that we got accepted by the country club.”
Jacqueline had to bite her lip to keep from reminding Paul that she’d been volunteering there for years. Her charity projects had been some of the club’s most successful fund-raising events. Reese’s name carried plenty of weight, too, but apparently their son hadn’t taken his parents’ longstanding contribution into account. Oh, no, he assumed it was Tammie Lee’s method of cooking road kill—squirrel, for heaven’s sake!—that had opened the doors.
“You do seem to be full of good news,” Reese said, grinning in a way that conveyed his delight.
“Yes,” Jacqueline agreed, making an effort to look equally delighted. She was trying, trying hard, but it was difficult.
“I declare I don’t know any couple happier than Paul and me,” Tammie Lee drawled. “I can’t believe any man has as much love for a woman as Paul does for me, especially since we found out about the baby.”
“We’re thrilled to have you as part of our family,” Reese said.
“I can feel your love,” Tammie Lee said, looking at Reese. “And I can’t thank you enough for welcoming me the way you have.”
Paul’s eyes connected with Jacqueline’s. He knew her feelings. She might be able to fool Tammie Lee, but her son knew her all too well. Until now, Paul had protected his young wife from her disapproval. At one time, mother and son had shared a special closeness, but since the advent of Tammie Lee, that had virtually disappeared.
In that moment, Jacqueline saw the fierce challenge in her son’s gaze. She knew that if she said one word to hurt Tammie Lee, he’d never forgive her.
11
CHAPTER
CAROL GIRARD
Carol placed the bouquet of fresh flowers in the center of the dinner table and stepped back to examine her handiwork. She’d walked down to Pike Place Market early in the afternoon and purchased the white lilies and red astromeria, along with fresh salmon and just-picked baby asparagus spears. She’d arranged the flowers herself, using a porcelain vase that had come with the roses Doug had sent on their last anniversary.
For so many years, all her efforts and energy had gone into her career. When she’d first quit her job she’d faltered, unsure of how to fill her days. She would’ve been completely lost if not for her online support group. These women had become as close as sisters; they all struggled with the problems of infertility and gave each other information and encouragement. She was heartened to discover that several of the other women had started knitting for relaxation and a sense of accomplishment. Carol shared those goals, but for her knitting was also a symbol of the life she wanted to live, would live—as a mother.
Everything had changed for the better the day she’d found the knitting shop on Blossom Street.
After meeting Lydia and the others last week, it was as if a whole world had opened up to her. For the first time she looked upon her condo as more than a place to sleep and occasionally entertain. It was her home and she decided to make it a real one, with small feminine touches that conveyed her love for her husband and soon-to-be child.
Usually when her brother stopped by they went out to eat. This evening, Carol was cooking their meal. Rick had sounded troubled when he’d phoned and she wanted to create a comfortable, intimate atmosphere where they could talk freely. The shopping and flower-arranging had taken up most of the afternoon, but she’d loved every minute of it. Six months ago she would’ve scoffed at the idea of arranging flowers or spending a morning wandering the aisles at a local farmer’s market. Now those small domestic activities were a source of pleasure and satisfaction. Because she was doing them for her family.
Rick called from the lobby and Carol hurried to meet him at the door, hugging her brother hard as soon as he stepped inside.
“Well, well,” Rick said, leaning back, apparently surprised by the warmth of her greeting. “I didn’t expect to be knocked off my feet.”
“Sorry. It’s just that it’s so good to see you.”
Rick laughed and looked around the condo. “Where’s Doug?”
“He phoned—he’s running late. I’m sure he won’t be much longer.”
She glanced at her watch as she led Rick into the living room. Doug hadn’t shown nearly as much enthusiasm about this dinner with Rick as she had. “Would you like a beer?” Her brother preferred ale to hard liquor. He only drank when he was twenty-four hours from flying.
“I’d love one.” He sat down where he had an unobstructed view of the waterfront and was quiet for a long moment as he gazed out the window. He accepted the beer and smiled his thanks. “Can I do anything to help with dinner?”
“Not a thing. Everything’s almost ready.”
“You’ve done all right for yourself, little sister,” he said, sounding almost sad. He tipped back the beer bottle and took a drink.
“So have you,” she told him.
Rick chuckled softly. “Have I?”
“My goodness, Rick,” she said, trying to lighten his somber mood. “You’re a pilot for a major airline. It’s your dream come true.” Her brother had worked his way up through the ranks. For as long as Carol could remember, Rick had talked about being a pilot. From the time he could drive, he started hanging around airports, talking to the pilots, learning what he could.
He smiled as if in agreement. “I should be happy, then, right?”
“You aren’t?” She went into the living room, abandoning the salad she’d set on the counter. The finishing touches could wait. Sitting across from him, she leaned close. “What’s wrong?”
“Sorry, sorry.” He laughed off the