Chapter Nine
After spending the last ten hours in the kitchen preparing for tonight’s grand ball, the final event during the living history experience, Tara needed fresh air.
She unbuttoned her chef’s coat and left it on a hook by the door then slipped outside. The day had rapidly progressed from bad to worse.
Chef Stuart had called in a panic that morning to let them know his wife had gone into labor with their first baby. A slew of dignitaries, restaurant critics, and celebrities could have been on the guest list for the evening and Stuart would still have missed the dinner. Nothing was keeping him away from his wife that day. Nothing.
As it was, he assured Tara she’d do great handling everything that needed to come out of the bakeshop and Jonas would oversee the rest.
Tara didn’t want to alarm Stuart, so she held her tongue. However, after watching the annoying little man work the last few weeks, she seriously doubted Jonas could handle anything well. He certainly wouldn’t handle it with grace, composure, or kindness. The moment he stepped into the kitchen, he started barking orders and raising the stress level in the kitchen to unnecessary heights.
Shoulders knotted with tension and stiff from spending so long bent over her work, Tara set a brisk pace as she walked along a path toward the barn and swung her arms back and forth, trying to loosen her muscles.
Yesterday and throughout the day today, she wondered what Brett had been about to say before they were so abruptly interrupted when he brought her back from seeing the sunrise. Tara wasn’t totally clueless when it came to men. She couldn’t help but consider what she saw in Brett’s eyes when he looked at her. Convinced what she hoped he’d been about to say had to be a result of her active imagination, surely it wasn’t a dream based in reality.
Brett and his family lived in a world Tara didn’t fully understand and wouldn’t ever fit in. They were old money, old southern traditions, and everything she’d always imagined she’d wanted when she’d fantasized about stepping into the pages of her favorite novel.
The hunky horse handler was just being nice to her because they both knew she’d be leaving soon. He could spend time with her as a little diversion without any worry of her wanting something more lasting or permanent.
As for Tara, she’d spent the last month falling in love. In love with the South, the beautiful plantations, and verdant countryside alive with spring. She’d fallen for authentic southern dishes and the scent of magnolias in the air. Most definitely, she’d fallen in love with Brett Cutler.
Despite her brain telling her it was a horrible, terrible idea, her heart cheered her on, loudly proclaiming he was the best thing that had ever happened to her.
Much to her dismay, she had to agree with her heart. Brett made her happy in ways she never dared dream. He made her think and wish. Just being with him made her feel beautiful, smart, witty, and amazing.
Yet, tomorrow she’d be on a plane headed back to what now seemed like her boring, predictable, somewhat unsatisfactory life in Portland.
By this point in her career, she expected to be the sous chef in a fabulous restaurant. Instead, she worked in a bakery for a kind old man who really should sell his business or retire. Tara spent as much time balancing his books as she did baking, and that was absolutely not what she wanted to do.
The few restaurants she’d worked in had been so disappointing. Men like Jonas always seemed to weasel their way up to a place of prominence by stepping on those who weren’t willing to advance their careers through lies or treachery.
Tara had been thoroughly annoyed with Jonas yesterday morning. He’d insisted on taking over baking the tarts for the ball tonight and had burned the first batch to the point they were blackened lumps. That was when Tara had arrived. By sheer force of will, she’d managed to refrain from screaming at him to get out of her pastry kitchen. Instead, he told her she should have been there earlier instead of off “gallivanting with the help” then stalked off.
Throughout the day, he’d made blunder after blunder, wasting more food than Tara had thrown out in her entire career. After Stuart’s call, Jonas had gone from slightly frazzled to completely frantic.
Tara had risen at four that morning to get started on all the baking for the day. To make the event as fun and authentic as possible, Ashley and Wade extended an invitation throughout their social circles for friends to gather for the annual Magnolia Ball. According to Ashley’s last count, they planned to have around four hundred guests, including those who had paid to be a part of the living history experience all month.
Tara had baked cornbread and buttermilk biscuits, and would make pans of popovers right before the meal was served. She’d also baked enough airy dinner rolls to feed a small army.
In addition, she’d baked cakes, pies, and created dozens of her special Magnolia Bliss dessert, at Ashley’s request.
Despite the turmoil Jonas created, Tara felt prepared for the evening ahead. That was the reason she indulged in a few minutes of fresh air before returning to her work.
She strolled past a pit that had been dug to roast pigs. The scent of the meat filled the air with a mouth-watering aroma.
“Smells delicious, guys,” she said to the two men overseeing the pit.
“It sure does, Miss Tara,” one of them replied, tipping his head to her as she made her way back to the house.
Before she even stepped into the kitchen, she could hear raised voices then the sound of loud clanging, like a pan dropping to the floor.
“What’s going on?” she asked as she pushed open the door and stepped into pandemonium. Food covered the floor. Not just a spilled pan, or two, but it appeared much of what the staff had spent the day preparing.
In the midst of the mess, Jonas grabbed a bowl filled with salad, ready to upend it. The man held a knife in one hand, waving it menacingly in the air, to keep everyone away from him.
“Stop!” Tara shouted running toward him with her hand held palm out, as if she was about to direct traffic. Her shoes hit a spot of spilled cream sauce and she skidded across the floor like a ballerina engaged in hockey game.
Jonas glared at her with a glazed expression, holding the bowl in front of him, as though he hadn’t yet decided if he’d follow her orders.
“Put the bowl down, Jonas,” Tara said. She grabbed the edge of the nearby counter to gain her balance then stepped in front of the man. “It’s okay. Just put the bowl down, Jonas. Everything is just fine.”
Jonas cackled and shook his head. “Fine? Oh, no. It’s not fine at all. The chef wanted me to create a masterpiece for tonight and this is slop. Slop fit for pigs. I’ll create something better. Something everyone will remember. They’ll remember me!”
“They certainly will,” a line chef said, slowly moving over to flank Tara.
“Did someone call security?” she asked in a tone low enough Jonas couldn’t hear.
“We did. They should be here any second,” the young man said. “One minute everything was fine, the next thing we know, he’s dumping out food and raving like a lunatic. If it wasn’t for that knife in his hand, Boyd would have tackled him.”
“It’s okay, Joe. Why don’t you go to the outer kitchen door and wait for security?” Tara suggested, keeping her focus on Jonas’ every move. She had no desire to get close enough for him to knife her, yet she couldn’t allow him to continue dumping out the food they needed to feed the hordes of people who would descend on Magnolia Rose in a matter of hours.
She edged closer to him, holding up both hands to show she meant no harm. “Look, Jonas, if you set down the bowl and your knife, I’ll help you with the menu. Okay? We can start from scratch. Do you think we should serve bisque this evening?”
“A bisque?” Jonas spat her direction. “Gumbo, woman! Our guests need gumbo, and bread with cracklings, and grits. I shall cook them all grits!” He set down the bowl but only so he could take the knife with both hands and turn toward Tara. “You’re in cahoots with the chef. Plotting against me, laughing at me. I won’t stand for it. I won’t!”
Jonas lunged toward Tara, slicing the knife across her palm before a body slammed into him, taking him down to the floor.
Tara stared wide-eyed as the two security guards zip-tied Jonas’ hands behind his back and pulled him to his feet.
By now, the unbalanced little man was sobbing. “My gumbo. My beautiful gumbo.”
Sirens sounded the arrival of the police just before Ashley and Wade charged into the kitchen. Ashley had obviously been dressing for the ball because half her hair was rolled up on big foam rollers while the other half dangled in damp strands around her flushed face. She had on a cotton robe that barely closed over the top of her hoop skirt, and she was barefooted.
“Oh, my heavens!” the woman said in a distressed tone as she rushed into the room. “Oh, no!”
Wade’s face bore a lather of shaving cream on one side and he wore a pair of hastily fastened breeches with no shirt.
At least they didn’t let vanity stand in the way of speeding to the kitchen to see what transpired.
Tara grabbed a clean dishtowel and wrapped around her hand to staunch the bleeding as Joe led the police into the kitchen where Jonas blubbered like a baby. After the police hauled him outside and took statements from the witnesses, those left in the kitchen silently surveyed the disaster area left in Jonas’ wake.
“What are we going to do?” Ashley asked. She stared from her husband to the food dumped on the kitchen floor. “Oh, Wade! This is a disaster!”
“Yes, it is, sweetheart, but surely all can’t be lost.” He glanced around the kitchen. “The meat outside is still roasting, isn’t it?”
“I just checked on it and it will be done right on time,” Tara said, stepping forward when everyone else remained silent. “It doesn’t appear Jonas made it into the pastry area, so all the breads and desserts should be intact.”
“If he’d ruined the Magnolia Bliss…” Ashley leaned against her husband, getting a blob of shaving cream on one of her curlers.
“The dessert is fine, but I’m afraid with Stuart called away, we are without a head chef.” Tara glanced at Boyd and Joe, wondering if one of them would step up and say they would take charge.
“Do whatever you need to, Tara. If you need more supplies, send some of the outside staff to town. If you need more help in the kitchen, we’ll have the housekeepers come in to assist. What do you need?” Wade asked, taking a step forward as his wife clung to his side.
“A big garbage can, some extra hands for prep work, and maybe a bandage.” Tara held up her bleeding hand.
Ashley groaned and fainted against Wade. He swept her into his arms in a move Tara might have admired as quite gallant. At least she would have if she hadn’t been preoccupied with setting the kitchen to rights and coming up with an elaborate southern meal for four hundred people in less than three hours.
Wade gave her a pointed look. “I trust you, Tara. Get that hand taken care of first, then, if you wouldn’t mind, please oversee the dinner tonight.”
“I’ll take care of it, Wade,” Tara said, although she had no idea what she was going to do. Stuart had carefully created such a lovely menu. They’d all worked so hard the past few days to implement his plans. Now, the beautifully crafted food they’d prepared looked like a toxic dump site in the middle of the kitchen floor.
With no time to worry about trivialities like the pastry chef taking over the kitchen, Tara sucked in a deep gulp then raised her voice enough to carry throughout the large room. “Someone please grab the first aid kit. If there is someone who isn’t afraid of a little blood, please come with me. The rest of you, start cleaning up this mess so we can get to work. We’ve got a lot of food to prepare and not much time to do it.”
Everyone burst into action. Tara marched in the direction of the little alcove where Stuart had a desk, computer, and small table where he sat and wrote menus.
Tara stopped at a wash station and scrubbed her hand, pleased to see the cut was just a surface wound. Although it bled profusely, she didn’t think it would hamper her ability to work.
“Here, let me see.” A deep voice from her side sent a little thrill coursing through her. She looked up into Brett’s concerned face as he took her hand in his and gently probed the wound. “Looks like he sliced the skin, but it isn’t deep. It’ll bleed, but it should heal quickly if you keep it clean.”
“What are you doing in here?” Tara asked. Unsettled by the tingles racing up her arm at Brett’s touch, the possessive way he looked at her made her languid. She read the emotions of fear, anger, and relief mingling across his handsome features.
“I heard the sirens. I was down at the barn getting the horses ready to take some of the guests for a carriage ride. Joe told me what happened.” Brett led her over to the table and gently pushed her into a chair. He took the first aid kit from one of the men who worked in the dish pit and opened it. After applying ointment to Tara’s hand and bandaging it, he pulled a latex glove from a box on the table and slipped it over her hand. “You make sure you keep that covered all evening. I don’t want it getting infected.”
He straightened and studied her, staring intently into her face. “Do you want to rest awhile? No one would blame you if you did. Joe and Boyd can handle things.”
Tara shook her head. “I don’t think either of them is eager to be in charge and frankly, they don’t have the experience. Not that I do, either, but someone has to figure out what we are going to feed the guests besides roasted pork and dessert.”
Brett chuckled and slipped his hands around Tara’s upper arms, drawing her to her feet. “Now, that would be one Southern dinner they’d never forget. I have complete faith in you to pull off a grand meal.” He kissed her cheek then stepped back. “If you need my help, call my cell. I’ll be here for the party anyway, so I can be in the kitchen in five minutes flat from anywhere in the house.”
Tara wondered how fast he’d run if she sent him a plea for help, but she wouldn’t find out. She had to do this on her own.
“Thank you for your care and encouragement, Brett. I’ve got a lot of work to do and not much time to accomplish it.” Tara patted his chest with her uninjured hand and stepped around him.
The next two hours passed in a blur as she, Joe, and Boyd ravaged the pantry and coolers for every bit of usable food they could find. Wade sent in a few extra people to help cut up vegetables while Tara rallied the kitchen staff and they returned to meal preparations.
“Add more bacon to the hominy, Joe. No one ever complained about having too much bacon.” Tara tipped her head toward a large pot the young man stirred.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, giving her a rascally smile then stepped back and yelled. “More bacon, boys. Miss Scarlett wants more bacon.”
The entire kitchen staff had resorted to calling her Miss Scarlett when she morphed into a take-charge woman with an attitude that left no doubt she would pull off this meal.
Although the dinner wasn’t exactly what Stuart had planned, they managed to serve plenty of delicious southern food.
Tara gave most of the credit for their success to the hardworking staff and a small portion to her mother. For Tara’s sixteenth birthday, Melanie had presented her with a copy of a Gone With the Wind cookbook. After spending hours making each dish in her youth, Tara could cook any recipe in the book from memory. With no time to consider if it was a good decision, she whipped out a menu using several recipes from that little cookbook.
Throughout the hectic evening, she worked at a feverish pace. A few times, she’d glanced up and found Brett standing in the doorway, watching her. Each time, she smiled and he either winked or nodded, and then returned to the party.
Up to her neck in dinner preparations, she wouldn’t allow herself to think about how handsome he looked in his fawn-colored breeches and dark blue coat and top hat. His blond hair gleamed in the bright kitchen lights and his shoulders appeared broad enough to carry the weight of the world. If one of the dashing heroes in the romance novels Ellen loved to read came to life, Brett would have been the perfect choice to play the character.
By the time the servers carried out dessert, Tara was ready to crawl into her bed and sleep for a week. Two hours later, after the last of the dishes were in the dish pit and the leftover food stored, she slumped down at a table and rested her head on her crossed arms.
“Tara? Do you need anything?” Joe asked as he stood on the other side of the table, glancing at her in concern.
“Thank you, Joe, but I’m fine. I just need a minute before I drag myself off to bed. Thank you for all you did today. I’ll make sure Stuart knows how helpful you and Boyd both were.”
The young man smiled. “If you hadn’t stepped in, the dinner wouldn’t have happened. Make sure you tell Stuart that.”
Tara smiled and wished him a good night. She removed her filthy chef’s coat and tossed it in the nearby hamper. She peeled off the glove covering her injured hand. Glad it had been her left hand, she’d still been able to work unimpeded by the wound since she did most everything with her right hand. Other than being unable to lift some heavy pots, she hadn’t given the wound much thought.
Blood had soaked into the bandage and dried, so she decided she better change it before she went to bed. She started to unwind the gauze Brett had wrapped around it when a pair of big, tanned hands pushed away her fingers. She gazed up at Brett’s face, wondering why he’d come back to the kitchen.
He smiled. “Hey, there, Tara. Or shall I say Miss Scarlett? I heard Joe and Boyd, and the others, teasing you earlier.”
“They needed something to laugh about. It’s been a stressful day,” she said in a quiet tone, too tired to pull her hand away from his. Honestly, she liked the feel of his warm hand cradling hers while his strong fingers gently pulled away the bandage.
After looking at the cut, he applied more ointment then wrapped her hand in a clean piece of gauze. “It looks good. You shouldn’t have any problem with it.”
“I didn’t realize you had medical training,” she teased.
“I’ve been around enough to pick up a few things,” he said, straightening and studying her. He looked anxious as he drew her up beside him, wrapping an arm around her waist to keep her steady. “You’re dead on your feet, honey. What can I do to help?”
“Nothing,” Tara muttered, burying her face against his solid chest. He smelled so good, like leather, sunshine, and rugged male. She knew she smelled like bacon grease, spices, and something deep-fried. It wasn’t an altogether pleasant scent, and certainly not one to make her feel the least bit feminine or pretty.
At the moment, though, she was too weary to care. Instead, she relaxed against Brett and closed her eyes, wishing she could stay right where she was for the rest of her life.
“Tara?” Brett asked, kissing the top of her head.
“Mmm?” she tried to open her eyes, but found her lids refused to obey her commands.
“You really are incredible,” Brett whispered, then swept her into his arms.
Tara knew she should protest or at least suggest he set her down before he gave himself a hernia. Before she mustered the ability to pry one eye open, he carried her up the back stairs and looked at the nameplates by the doors until he found the one named Tara.
“Do you have your room key?” he asked quietly.
“Yep,” she said, feeling drunk for the first time in her life. She didn’t know if it was from the fatigue that had overtaken her body or the hot swirl of sensations caused by Brett carrying her up the stairs in his powerful arms. Whatever the reason, she’d lost the ability to think straight or speak with any degree of intelligence. “It’s in my pocket. Wanna get it?”
Brett chuckled. “I think you better fish it out, Tara.”
“Okey-dokey.” She unfastened a cargo pocket on the leg of her chef pants and pulled out a key, dangling it from her fingers. “I’ll undoor the lock.”
“You do that.” Brett bent his knees until she could reach the lock on the door. She inserted the key and then turned the knob, opening the door. He stepped inside her room and started to set her down, but she wrapped both arms around his neck and gave him a tight hug.
“You’re the nicest, nicest man I ever met, Brett.” She giggled. “I made a rhyme.”
“Yes, you did,” he agreed, carrying her over to the bed and gently setting her down on top of the coverlet. He loosened her hold and clasped her hands between his. “You’ve had a very long, very trying day, Tara. Get some sleep, sweetheart. I’ll see you tomorrow. Okay?”
“Okay, Brett.” She closed her eyes and started to flop back on the pillows, then sat upright, grabbing Brett’s hand before he turned to leave. “You really are the best guy in the world. I love you so much.”
“I love you, too, Tara.” He pressed a tender kiss to her forehead and squeezed her hand. “Now get some sleep. We’ll talk more tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow,” she repeated, rolling onto her side and falling asleep.
Brett pulled a quilt from a rack in the corner and covered her with it. Bending down, he brushed the dark hair away from her face and kissed her temple. “Sleep well, Tara.”
He backed out of the room, turning off the light and shutting the door behind him.
Although Tara’s declaration of love was made when she was obviously incoherent, he couldn’t help but hope she really did love him. If so, perhaps he still had a chance of getting her to stay.