Rance had walked back into the kitchen half an hour later, and he stopped at the kitchen island. A bunch of carrots and an onion sat beside a cutting board with a wicked-looking knife beside it.
“Not for breakfast,” she responded, moving from the sink to open the oven. With kitchen mitts, she reached in and withdrew the pan covered in foil, setting it on top of the stove.
“Breakfast has been kept warm in here.” She unwrapped and then set a plate with crisp bacon, scrambled eggs, and two slices of buttered toast on the breakfast bar. “I heard the shower shut off and then tried to time it to still be warm enough when you came in here. It should still have some warmth. So, sit down and eat.”
“What about you?”
“I already had mine and now I’m working on the roast that I’m making for a late lunch, since the morning is on its way toward midday. It will be good for leftovers later, also. That is what I need to chop the carrots, onions, and peel the rest of the potatoes to complete that meal.”
Rance began to eat as he watched her return to the sink and peel the potatoes. It was not something he could have imagined her doing just a couple days ago. “Thanks for the breakfast.”
“You are welcome. I’m afraid I only felt safe with scrambled eggs. I have tried the over-easy type but that’s a crash and burn situation for me.”
“Scrambled is always good. And the bacon is nice and crispy…just the way I like it.”
“Me, too. Limp bacon is a waste of a good pig.”
The smile came back and he matched it. “I do know how to slice carrots and onions. I can make that contribution to our meal. If Your Honor agrees to allow me to approach it.”
“As long as you agree to not shed any blood on our dinner components. Your sister shared with me some of your earlier cooking attempts. While she was trying to teach you to fend for yourself when you headed to college.”
“I really need to have a discussion with my sisters…both of them. They delight in sharing stories. I should share some of the ones I have about them.” He stood and walked to stand beside her at the double sink, washing off his empty plate and placing it in the dishwasher with others waiting for a full load.
Rolling up his sleeves to the elbows, he moved to the island to begin the task at hand.
“Hold on,” she said, “you have to be properly attired to be my sous chef.” She picked up an apron that had been folded and was waiting at the end of the counter. He had noted she had a bright yellow one tied around her waist with strawberries scattered over it when he had arrived in the kitchen. The one she had for him was dark blue with big white daisies on it and it had to go over his head and tied around the waist.
“I see the smirk,” he pointed out. “Is this necessary?”
“It is if you wish to help.”
He picked up the knife but before he could begin on the carrots, which had been washed and prepared for their fate, she removed the knife from his hand.
“We don’t want to hack them up or cut huge chunks… We need them to look like this.” She demonstrated on one carrot. They were uniform and almost perfect rounds in small sizes. She then demonstrated with an onion, cutting it into diced pieces. “There you go.”
“I will do my best.”
She returned to slicing potatoes, and he had his back to her as he concentrated on the task before him.
“So how did your phone call go? I take it that since you haven’t tossed me into your jeep and called in a helicopter in a race to get rid of me, that it’s not good news today?”
Neither of them stopped their preparations due to the question.
“I don’t think I would be tossing you anyplace. I think at the sound of that chopper overhead, you would be waving it down and on board before I leave the deck. But you are correct, no news. There are a lot of people working around the clock.”
“Sorry. You’re still stuck babysitting.”
“It’s not babysitting.”
“But it’s not the drama of a car chase or hunting down vicious drug criminals, solving bank robberies or any of the macho things you marshals prefer. I have had a few of those cases before my bench, so I do have an idea that babysitting is the bottom rung.”
“It is all part of the elements of putting criminals behind bars and upholding the…the laws…that…” She turned to look at him.
“Is there something wrong?” She stepped over to his workspace, and she bit back an urge to laugh outright. Something told her it would not be a welcome response to the problem he was having.
“Everything is just fine.”
She stepped to the cabinet and rummaged through a couple of the drawers. “I saw these earlier,” she said and turned with a matchstick in her fingers. “Put the end of the this between your teeth and breathe through your mouth. It takes the sting out of those onions.”
