Safe in Noah's Arms Page 23

  While she coated a leg of lamb with olive oil and rosemary and put it in the oven to roast, and while she prepared a salad and put it in the fridge to chill, and while she made an apple pie to put into the oven to bake while they ate dinner, and while she chopped vegetables and grated Parmesan cheese for the risotto, her father and twin sat in the living room bonding.

  No wonder she was fuming. Neither had offered to do a thing to help.

  The fourth time she heard a burst of laughter from both of them, she stormed into the living room and said, “I could use some help in the kitchen.”

  Her father stared at her. “I thought you liked cooking.”

  “I do. I just don’t like being treated like a slave.” She stared at Marcie. “Are your fingers broken? Can you not chop a few vegetables?”

  Marcie glared back. “Yes, I can, and I will, but it wouldn’t hurt to ask nicely.”

  Her father laughed. Monica rounded on him. “Why is this funny?”

  “Because the two of you are fighting like real sisters.”

  Monica looked from one to the other before bursting into laughter herself. “Marcie, dearest sister, will you please help me in the kitchen?” she asked with exaggerated decency.

  “Of course, darling twin,” Marcie responded in kind. “Lead the way.”

  Their father followed them into the kitchen and sat at the table while they worked. “Is there anything I can do?”

  “In a minute you can make that great Thai salad dressing I like so much.” Monica handed him a small cutting board, a paring knife and a hunk of fresh ginger.

  “You got it.”

  She took the lamb out of the oven to rest, put the pie in and then served the salad in the dining room as a separate first course, watching the street through the front windows for Noah’s arrival. He’d become such a strong part of her life in the past few weeks.

  Rain pelted down, harder now.

  Drive safely, Noah.

  “Monica, I like the addition of peanuts to the salad.” Dad had opened a bottle of wine and poured each of them a glass of chilled white.

  She cleared the salad bowls then returned with the leg of lamb, still watching the storm through the window.

  “Dad, can you carve, please? Noah’s late, but the risotto won’t wait. He told us to start without him.”

  “He’s fine, Monica.” Dad must have heard the worry in her voice. “He’s capable. He’ll get here safely.”

  The wind howled around the house. Good thing the apple pie was close to done. She had a bad feeling they might lose power.

  She dished up the risotto. She should have been in the kitchen stirring it until the last minute, but such is life when you are both chef and guest. She’d had to let it sit for a few minutes, but added a touch of hot broth to make it creamy again, then finished with the Parmesan.

  Dad reached for his fork. “What kind of risotto is this?”

  “Broccoli.”

  “No asparagus?” Dad’s favorite.

  “Sorry, Dad. It’s too late in the season.”

  He tasted it. “It’s incredible, anyway. Thank you, honey bun. Excellent as always.”

  Monica happened to be looking at Marcie when Dad called her honey bun. She looked miserable. Monica made a mental note to have Dad come up with something special for Marcie.

  Funny how Monica’s relationship with Noah had opened her heart in other areas. She wanted her sister to be happy, too.

  “This is delicious,” Marcie said. “Is there anything you can’t do?”

  The question could have been sarcastic. Monica wasn’t completely sure it wasn’t, but took it at face value.

  “Yes,” Monica responded. She wondered how it felt to come into a family in which one daughter was already well-loved, while the other had no relationship at all with her father. Kill her with kindness.

  Monica continued, “I can’t make exquisite silver jewelry.”

  Mouth open, Marcie froze with her fork almost to her mouth and a small dollop of risotto fell back onto her plate.

  “You do make all of the fantastic jewelry you wear, don’t you?” Monica chewed lamb while she watched Marcie struggle with the compliment. Her jewelry really was exquisite. Monica would love a few pieces.

  “What? I mean, pardon?”

  “You make your own jewelry, don’t you?”

  “How did you know?”

  “Because every time I’ve seen you you’ve been wearing different pieces, but all of it with a strong signature. And judging by the way you dress, that signature is yours.”

  Monica watched Marcie try to parse the statements, maybe wondering if there was an insult in there somewhere. There wasn’t. Monica loved her jewelry.

  “You have talent.”

  Marcie put down her fork and clapped. “Impressive deductive reasoning, Sherlock.”

  One corner of Monica’s mouth kicked up ever so slightly.

  “Thank you.” She bent her head regally, all in jest, and it felt amazing to have fun with her sister. Might this all work out, after all? “I would love to own some of your jewelry. Will you show me the complete collection some time?”

  Just then Noah arrived, bursting through the front door then slamming it shut against the wind.

  “You made it.” Monica rushed to greet him and kissed him on the cheek. “I was so worried.”

  “It’s wild out there. There was hail out on the farm. I’m hoping all of the plants are far enough along to survive.”

  “Come in,” Monica said. “Sit down. I’ll make you a plate of food. The risotto should just barely be okay. The lamb is still warm.”

  “I could eat a whole lamb by myself. I’m starving.” He toed off his shoes and hung his raincoat by the front door, then came in and sat at the table across from Marcie.

  Monica noticed a look on Marcie’s face that she found odd. Unless she was mistaken, Marcie might be a little too in like with Noah. Would that cause problems?

  “I hauled out tarps and covered the herbs. They’re the most delicate crop.”

  With a burst of wind, hard bits of ice pounded the windows. Monica handed him a full plate of food and said, “You brought the hail into town with you.”

  When they were all settled in, her dad asked, “What’s happening with the benefit?”

  They’d been having such a nice dinner. Monica had actually been enjoying herself, but her tension returned in spades at her dad’s question. Monica might be trying to be nice to her sister, but she still didn’t want her working on the benefit. It was Monica’s baby. She’d never taken on this kind of challenge before and had a lot to prove—to herself, to her father and to the town.

  Maybe there was a part of her that wanted to show off for Noah, to prove to him that she was useful, that she was so much more than she appeared.

  In a flash of insight, she understood that she still felt she had to prove herself to him.

  No. She didn’t want to share this particular spotlight with Marcie.

  With more insight, she realized that she would share her father with Marcie, but there were limits. Marcie couldn’t have a piece of every part of Monica’s life, especially where it intersected with Noah.

  A flash of lightning lit the skies, followed too soon by a clap of thunder that sounded like it hit the roof.

  The lights went out.

  Galvanized into action, Monica felt her way along the walls to the kitchen to retrieve candles from the pantry. Dad followed and pulled a flashlight and small lantern from one of the drawers.

  “Grab the matches, Dad.”

  Her father turned on the flashlight and led them back to the dining room by its narrow beam.

  “We can finish eating by candlelight.” Monica snagged a couple of brass holders from the side
board, slotted tapers into them and lit the candles. “The oven will stay warm for a while, so I think the pie will cook through.”

  They finished eating their dinner with the wind still howling around the house and the town beyond the windows in darkness, all talk of the benefit forgotten and replaced by worry about the weather.

  Monica thanked whichever gods had caused the blackout and distracted Marcie and Dad.

  After dinner, she got the ice cream out of the freezer quickly. Who knew how long they would be without power? The pie was cooked through and Monica dished out ice cream onto each slice.

  They ate in silence, the atmosphere surprisingly cozy and chummy, maybe because of how unusual the situation was.

  “We’ll have to leave the dishes for the morning. No water,” Monica said.

  “Just for the record,” Marcie said, “I was going to offer to do them before you could order us to.”

  In the darkness, sitting in a small intimate circle of candlelight, Monica replied, “I believe you.”

  Noah and Marcie carried the dishes to the kitchen and stacked them neatly to be dealt with in the morning.

  “I don’t think anyone should go home tonight,” Dad warned. “This storm doesn’t seem to be abating. I’m worried about flooding. Monica, you can sleep in your room. Marcie, you have your room in the guest bedroom. Noah, there’s a small room Monica used to use for sewing. It has a single bed in it. You can sleep there.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate it. But if you don’t mind, I’ll sit up for a while. I’m worried about the farm. I don’t think I could sleep.”

  “That’s fine. I’ll leave the lantern down here for you. Girls, I’ll take you up with the flashlight.”

  “I filled the Brita to the brim earlier in case of a blackout.” Monica picked up a candle and retrieved the water from the fridge. “I’ll bring it upstairs. We can take turns brushing our teeth.”

  “Good thinking,” Marcie said.

  Everyone seemed subdued by the unusual turn of events.

  Monica approached Noah while Marcie and Dad stood at the bottom of the stairs waiting. She kissed him, explained where the sewing room was and then went to bed.

  She tried to sleep, tossing and turning for a couple of hours. In time, she gave up trying and crept down the hallway to the sewing room.

  Empty. Noah wasn’t there.

  Curious, she tiptoed downstairs in the darkness to the living room.

  Outside, the gale had stopped its furious pounding against the windows. Rain fell in soft patters, released from its earlier frenzy by the dying wind.

  Only the glow of the small battery-powered lamp on the corner table illuminated the living room. She stepped close.

  For a couple of years an unfinished jigsaw puzzle had sat on that table. Every so often Monica and her dad would do a bit of it and then leave it again for months on end. They hadn’t done anything with it since last Christmas.

  The puzzle lay complete on the tabletop, finished by Noah as a strange gift to her, she was certain, like a cat dragging home a dead mouse for its owner.

  Earlier in the evening after dinner, she’d complained that it had sat there too long, which bothered her, so he must have finished it. How had he done it so quickly? The man was brilliant.

  It was as pretty as she’d thought it would be.

  She heard the soft exhalation of a breath and spun around. Noah lay on the sofa fast asleep, his broken arm grasped by his right fingers. Foolish man. Why hadn’t he gone to the guest bedroom as instructed?

  Quietly, she left the room, returning momentarily with a blanket. She covered him and tucked it around him.

  She turned to go, but a hand snagged her wrist. She gasped.

  His eyes were open. Gaze unwavering, he raised her hand to his mouth and placed his lips inside of her cupped palm. His damp breath warmed her skin while his tongue traced her life line.

  Then he let go, closed his eyes with a smile and settled in under the blanket.

  She was left to hold that bit of sexy sweetness inside her fist and to wander back to bed unsettled and hyper-alert.

  By morning, the power was back on.

  True to her word, Marcie did last night’s dinner dishes, with Noah’s help.

  Monica heard them murmuring in the kitchen and wondered what they were discussing.

  She sat in the living room with her dad and told him about all of the work she’d been doing on the farm.

  “Dad, Judge Easton might have thought he was getting revenge on you in making your daughter work on Mom’s farm, but he did me a huge favor. I love the work.”

  “Really?” She didn’t blame him for his skepticism. Who would have thought?

  “I seem to have an aptitude for it. Not at first, of course, but Noah has taught me so much. I love watching the plants grow. It’s wonderful to nurture them to maturity. And of course, as a cook, I love using the produce.”

  She told him about that amazing evening teaching kids how to cook fish en papillote.

  In his smile, she thought she detected pride in her. She sure felt proud of herself.

  The growth she’d experienced this summer had been nothing short of life-changing. Who would have thought, when her summer had started so disastrously, that it would turn out so well?

  “And Noah?” Dad asked quietly.

  “Noah is a great man. The work he does is inspiring.”

  “About the benefit—”

  “Done,” Noah shouted from the kitchen. “The last dish is washed. What’s for breakfast?”

  Saved yet again, Monica bounced up from the sofa like a jack-in-the-box. “I’ll make it.” Anything to get away from her dad’s questions, which she knew were heading toward how to include Marcie.

  She made bacon and eggs, because the power hadn’t been off long enough to ruin anything in the fridge.

  They sat down to breakfast.

  “Noah, I don’t honestly know what your farm is about. You don’t eat or sell any of the food?” Marcie studied him as though he was a rare insect. “You give it all away?”

  “That’s right. I’m a registered charity, so I can’t sell the food. I support myself through my store.”

  After he finished telling her about his farm, Marcie said, “Sounds like a great idea, Noah. I’d love to help out.”

  Monica’s heart sank. As hard as she tried to communicate telepathically that she didn’t want Marcie anywhere near her and Noah on the farm, he didn’t seem to catch her reluctance.

  This was another area she wanted to keep as hers and hers alone. She was learning rapidly how many boundaries she had in sharing her life with Marcie.

  “That would be great. Right, Monica?”

  She stared at her plate. She might be helping Marcie to become accepted in town, but Monica still wanted the separate life she’d always enjoyed. The confusion she’d first felt when Marcie arrived in town was returning.

  “You should also give her a role in the gala barbecue.” Dad finally got it out. Spirits sinking, Monica knew she could no longer avoid this conversation.

  “I would like you to donate some of your jewelry for the silent auction I’m setting up,” she told Marcie.

  Would that be enough?

  “Come on, Monica, you can do better than that,” Dad urged.

  Obviously, far from enough.

  “Dad, I know what I’m doing. This is my project. Why can’t you let it go?”

  “Because I want both of my daughters involved.”

  “But this has nothing to do with Marcie.”

  “Why can’t you open your heart to her and show generosity of spirit?”

  “In the past couple of weeks, I’ve shown my generosity by taking her around town. I’ve opened many doors for her.”

&nb
sp; “You can do more. You can include her in this.”

  “I repeat, this is my project.”

  “It’s mine, too,” her dad said.

  “How is it yours?”

  “I was your first sponsor. I put you in touch with other corporate sponsors.”

  “You don’t have faith that I could have done this on my own, do you?” To her horror, her voice cracked.

  “Monica, you’ve never done anything like this before.”

  “Wasn’t there that one event,” she began quietly, “that you did on your own for the first time?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Did you expect others, your parents and friends, to have faith and support you?”

  “Yes, with good reason.”

  Monica’s blood ran cold. “Why should your parents have been sure of your success, but you aren’t sure of mine?”

  “Because you have no experience with anything.”

  “With anything? You think I’m useless?”

  “No, but I...this isn’t coming out right.”

  “Monica,” Noah said, “why not just let Marcie help?”

  Noah’s siding with her father felt like betrayal. “Don’t you trust me? Why would you think I would need Marcie’s help when I’ve told you all of my amazing ideas and how much work I’ve already done?”

  “I didn’t mean that you would need her help, per se, but an extra pair of hands would be useful.” His expression seemed to be pleading with her to give an inch.

  “Because Marcie knows so much about fund-raising, right? Right? This woman who’s had no exposure to it should help me—me, who you don’t seem to think is capable despite the exposure I’ve had.” Through with shredding Noah, she returned her attention to her father. “Throughout my childhood, I watched you in action and I learned, and yet you think I can’t do this on my own. Marcie has had no exposure, none whatsoever, yet you think she should be given an active role. You don’t see anything wrong with this scenario?”

  “She deserves a chance to learn, too. Do it, Monica,” her dad ordered.

  “So I’m to make up for your mistakes. I pay the price for the poor decisions you and my mother made.”