Her comment warmed my insides. “But I didn’t tell Hadley and Salem that I was coming because they would insist that I stay at the house.”
“As you should.” She turned on the stove burner and set the tea kettle to boil.
“Yeah, except there’s no room. And you know there’s no room. And since I’m going to be in town—clearly—for an extended period of time, I thought crashing at The Regal Beagle was a good idea.”
“You just quit your job. Do you think staying at the most expensive place in town is a wise financial decision?”
“Definitely not,” I said. “But it was the only option.”
“No, it wasn’t. We can make space for you here. The den—we can move one of the trundles from upstairs.”
“You all keep really early hours,” I pointed out. “So even if I did make the den my makeshift bedroom, a five a.m. wakeup call is not my idea of a fun time.”
“Valid point, sugar,” she admitted. “I still don’t like the idea of you staying at The Regal Beagle. It’s a lovely place, but it feels wrong not having you stay with us. But it is what it is, I guess. Who picked you up from the airport?”
“I rented a car. I got my license. Didn’t Salem or Hadley tell you?”
“They did. Congratulations. You rented a car, eh? Why did Brooks bring you to the Ridge, then?”
“Last night, I was driving to The Regal Beagle, and I wound up in a ditch.”
“Poet!”
“I’m fine,” I assured her. “Everything’s fine. The car is at Sandusky’s. Brooks came to my rescue. He was on his way to The Regal Beagle last night because his RV is being worked on.”
“Yes, I know about his RV.”
“He wanted to take me to the hospital, but I refused. Because I was fine. No headaches, nothing, I swear.”
“I see,” she murmured.
“I really am fine,” I assured her. “But those moose crossing signs are no joke. A mama and her baby trekked across the road. I didn’t want to hit them, so I swerved and that’s how I wound up in the ditch.”
“I’m glad you—and they—weren’t hurt. So what are you going to do while you’re in town?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
“I have an idea. You can help me around here.”
“Help you how?” I frowned. “I’m a city girl. I don’t have the slightest idea of how a ranch works.”
“You can help me in the garden,” she suggested. “We’ve had a warm summer, so everything kind of exploded. I’m going to need an extra set of hands to help pick all the veggies and then purée, chop, and can them. What do you think? Would you be up for helping me?”
“I suppose I can do that,” I said. “Canning’s not really in my wheelhouse either, but hey, I’m down to learn something new.”
“And while we’re doing that, I was thinking you could jot down some recipes for me.”
“Recipes?” I asked.
“Yes. People have been after me for years to write a cookbook. Might as well give ’em what they want. I just haven’t had the time or inclination to organize all my thoughts and put all my recipes in one place. But maybe you can help with that?”
I gasped. “You’re going to give away your trade secrets?”
“I’m not going to live forever, contrary to popular belief. It would be nice to have something on record, you know.”
“I’d love to help you do that,” I said with a smile. “It would give me some purpose while I figure out my next step.”
“All right, well, glad to hear it. But seriously, sugar—you can’t stay at The Regal Beagle for the next week and a half. That’s just not good sense, and you know it.”
