“I have to admit,” he began, reaching for the meat platter, “that I was skeptical when you said you cooked. As far as I’m concerned, keeping a home is becoming a lost art. Too many women—and men, too, I suppose—don’t value domestic skills anymore.” He helped himself to a generous portion of sliced roast.
Silently Tracy forked one thin slice onto her own plate.
Next he piled a mound of mashed potatoes on his plate and liberally poured gravy over both.
Tracy held her breath when he sliced into the meat and sampled his first bite. He winked at her and chewed.
And chewed.
And chewed.
An eternity passed before he swallowed, and when he did, she saw the lump slowly move down his throat.
“I—I hope the roast isn’t too tough,” she said.
“Not a bit,” he assured her, but she noticed that he reached for his water glass and drank until it was empty.
Filling her fork with mashed potatoes and gravy, Tracy tried her first taste of the dinner. The potatoes stuck to the roof of her mouth and the burned taste of gravy, which she’d tried to cover with powdered garlic, was so awful it brought tears to her eyes.
Duke was about to take a bite.
“Stop!” she cried, as if the mashed potatoes were laced with arsenic. She stood up, plate in hand.
He hesitated, fork poised in front of his mouth.
“Don’t eat that,” she shouted, then raced around to his side of the table. He stared at her in shock. Tracy grabbed his plate and rushed into the kitchen to scrape the contents of both plates in the garbage.
The time had come to tell the truth.
Duke was still seated at her beautifully set table when she returned. Rarely had Tracy felt like such a failure—and rarely had she felt so dishonest.
“What you were saying earlier—about women who lack domestic skills,” she said weakly. “I’m... I’m afraid I’m one of them.”
Tracy expected Duke to laugh and taunt her. What she didn’t expect was silence.
Duke dropped his napkin on the table and slowly exhaled.
“Say something,” she pleaded.
“Chinese or pizza?” he asked after another moment.
Tracy didn’t hesitate. “Chinese.”
He grinned. “You know, I would’ve eaten every bite, then complimented you on your efforts.”
“And died in the process,” she added. “I don’t require that kind of sacrifice from you.”
Duke looked away, and Tracy saw that he was struggling not to laugh.
“You knew, didn’t you?” she said, figuring out the source of his amusement.
“I guessed.”
“You might’ve said something,” she muttered, fighting down an attack of righteous indignation. “Instead, you let me make a fool of myself and—”
“What could I say?”
She didn’t know. Sighing, she shook her head.
“I’m honored you were willing to put yourself through this on my behalf,” he said. “Not every woman would’ve gone to all this trouble.”
“I wanted to impress you.”
“You have.”
“Sure, with how big a fool I can be.”
“No,” he countered swiftly. He wrapped his good arm around her waist and pulled her onto his lap. Her heart thumped, and a quivery feeling took hold of her stomach. It was like this every time he touched her.
“You know,” she said wistfully, “I’ve never told anyone this, but I always wanted to be a whiz in the kitchen.” Publicly she’d scorned cooking as a reactionary pursuit, something that repressed women. And yet, secretly, she’d found it rather fascinating, although she’d firmly believed she couldn’t afford to indulge in traditional female activities. Her rebellious nature had kept her out of the kitchen. Until now.
No man had ever mattered to her more than Duke. Over the years she’d dated lots of men, but she’d never wanted to impress any of them with her culinary talents. Only Duke.
She’d learn, she decided, and feel good about it. She understood now that preparing a meal for someone you loved wasn’t demeaning or repressive at all. It was another way of showing your love. Not that she’d be trading in her briefcase for an apron on a full-time basis!
* * *
Monday morning Ben came down the stairs from his apartment to find Mary with her arms elbow-deep in bread dough.
“Mornin’,” he greeted in the same gruff tone he generally used.
“Mornin’.” Mary didn’t turn to look at him.
Ben exhaled sharply. They hadn’t spoken since she’d rushed out of the café Friday evening. He was a crusty old bachelor who’d somehow managed to offer the men who sought his help advice on romance. But for himself, he wasn’t sure how to even talk to a woman.
He poured himself a cup of coffee and eyed Mary, wondering where to start. Normally he planned the day’s menu, and they worked companionably together.
“Looks like snow,” he said, although he hadn’t so much as glanced at the sky.
“Good chance,” she returned.
“One year at the beginning of October we got twenty inches in a single day.”
Mary made no comment, but continued to knead the dough with practiced hands.
Ben waited—for what, he didn’t know. “Damn it, Mary!” he barked.
She jumped at the sound of his voice, increasing his sense of guilt.
“Say something,” he ordered.
She finally turned to face him, her eyes flashing fire. “And just what do you want me to say?”
“You wanted to talk to me about baking your rolls for the Caldwells, right?”
“Yes,” she said huffily, “but you made it plain you weren’t interested, so I dropped the matter.”
“I thought you were going to ask me to give you a raise. I don’t want to sound cheap or anything, but you’ve barely started working here and—”
“A raise?” she cried as if he’d insulted her.
“What else was I to think?”
Mary planted her hands on her hips and glared at him.
Ben knew he owed her an explanation, but he felt awkward making it. He wasn’t accustomed to explaining his actions, and it bothered him that he needed to do it now. “I haven’t had many employees over the years.”
“So I gathered,” she said, and it seemed to him that her voice was a bit less exasperated. “I wasn’t asking for any raise, Ben Hamilton. All I wanted to know was whether you’d mind if I baked an extra batch or two of my cinnamon rolls for the Caldwells’ guests, come winter.”
Ben nodded, indicating she should continue.
“Naturally I wouldn’t bake during the hours I’d be working for you.”
“Naturally,” he echoed.
“It would mean staying in town one weekend a month and using the ovens on Saturday mornings. I’ll miss visiting my grandchildren, but that can’t be helped.”
Ben often used the ovens himself on the weekend.
“Of course, I’d bake in the morning so you’d have free use of the ovens later in the day.”
Ben could see she’d thought everything through.
“Since I’d be using your kitchen and your ovens,” she went on, “I’d be willing to pay you whatever you felt was fair.”
“I see. Are the Caldwells supplying the ingredients?”
“No, I’ll pay for those myself.”
Ben could see a problem in the making. He didn’t know how they were going to keep everything separate. Her flour, his flour. Her butter, his butter.
He mentioned this.
“I hadn’t thought about that,” she murmured.
“Perhaps we could sell the cinnamon rolls as a Hard Luck Café specialt
y. You could bake while you’re on duty here, and we’d divide the profits.” As far as Ben could see, his idea was advantageous to them both.
Their eyes met and Mary smiled shyly. “That sounds good.”
“Does that mean you agree?” he asked.
“Yes. Thank you, Ben,” she said, and returned to her dough.
The woman might be skinny, but she knew how to cook. And bake. Furthermore, she seemed to know just how to bend his will to her own. And for the first time in his life, Ben didn’t object to bending a little.
He’d stopped thinking of Mary as a nuisance. To his surprise, they worked well together. He no longer minded sharing his kitchen with another cook, and the fact that Mary was a woman hardly bothered him at all.
* * *
Not once in the week that followed did Duke say anything about returning to Hard Luck. Tracy didn’t press him for fear he’d think she’d grown tired of his company. Nothing could be further from the truth. If anything, she’d come to rely on spending all her spare time with him.
He brought her the plans he’d had drawn up for his house, and together they’d gone over each detail. It astonished her that anyone would undertake such a project, but Duke seemed to know what he was doing. At any rate, he revealed no qualms. According to what he’d told her, he could have the project completed the next summer. True, he’d need help with certain aspects of the construction, but he’d already lined that up.
Tracy was working on a project of her own. She was teaching herself to cook. With the guidance of a basic cookbook, she practiced making a number of uncomplicated recipes. She didn’t let Duke know what she was doing, hoping to surprise him in the near future.
Janice stopped off at Tracy’s office just before five-thirty one day.
“You seeing your friend again this weekend?” she asked.
Tracy, fresh from the courthouse, was eager to escape. To her great relief, the trial had ended that afternoon; to her even greater relief, she’d won. Now she looked forward to seeing Duke with no distractions or obligations to worry about. Before his visit she’d always been one of the last to leave the building. Not anymore.
“Yes,” she said, slipping some papers she needed to read into her briefcase. “We’re driving to Leavenworth early Saturday morning and spending the day there.” Tracy looked forward to the trip with childlike excitement.
“Are you getting serious about this guy?” Janice pressed.
“Yes,” Tracy replied. She was serious, very serious. Neither one had discussed it, but Tracy knew Duke felt the same way about her.
He must.
Janice crossed her arms and leaned against the side of Tracy’s desk. “Gavin asked about you the other day,” she said casually.
Gavin seemed like a stranger. Tracy could hardly believe the two of them had once dated—or that she’d ever seen him as more than a friend.
Gavin took pride in being sensitive to a woman’s needs; he always agreed with Tracy on social, political and sexual issues. He kept current on the latest trends and “correct” ideas. He never argued with her, never expressed an outrageous opinion. He was a good person, but compared to Duke, he was boring.
Duke wasn’t insensitive, Tracy had discovered. The things he’d said and done in the past had been part of a game with him. He’d looked for ways to irritate her, enjoyed sparring with her, delighted in provoking her. Granted, he was a traditionalist and they’d never agree on everything. That, she figured, should keep life interesting for both of them. She understood now that she’d willingly participated in their volleys, that they were an effective way of dealing with her attraction to him. And vice versa, she strongly suspected.
“Tell Gavin I said hello the next time you see him,” Tracy replied without giving the matter much thought.
“He asked me out,” Janice announced. She seemed to be waiting for Tracy to object.
“I hope you accepted,” she said, snapping her briefcase shut.
“I thought I should talk to you first,” her friend said, sounding awkward and unsure. “I mean... I know you like Duke, but eventually he’s going to leave, and then there’ll be Gavin again.” She flung a stray lock off her shoulder in a gesture that looked like a challenge.
“There’ll be Gavin again,” Tracy repeated.
“He’s crazy about you.”
“No, he isn’t,” Tracy said, almost laughing. “You just think he is. Listen, Janice, I haven’t got time to talk now—I’m meeting Duke. If you want my permission to date Gavin, you’ve got it.”
Janice didn’t say anything for a moment. “You’re sure?”
“Absolutely positive.”
“What...what if things don’t work out between you and Duke?”
“They will,” she said with utmost confidence. Duke might not know it yet, but he’d find out soon enough. She reached for her briefcase and smiled. “As for Gavin—go get him, Jan. He’s all yours.”
Her friend returned a brilliant smile. “Thanks, Trace.”
“No problem,” she said on her way out the door. She should’ve recognized that Janice was interested in Gavin much sooner, and was sorry it had taken her so long. She had an excuse, though: love had blinded her.
* * *
The following morning Duke and Tracy headed out of Seattle on their way to the German town of Leavenworth. Duke drove her car. Tracy had packed a picnic lunch full of goodies from the deli, and the day stretched before them like an unplanned adventure.
“You’re going to love this,” Tracy assured him. “The entire town celebrates Octoberfest.”
“The only Leavenworth I’ve ever heard of is a prison,” he mumbled, and took his eye off the road long enough to glance her way.
“This is no prison,” Tracy said, then went on to describe the town with its elaborate old-European buildings. “It’s like stepping into a fairy tale,” she concluded.
Duke frowned. “A fairy tale. We’re driving three hours for that?”
“A fairy tale with beer,” she amended.
Duke grinned. “Now you’re talkin’.”
Tracy rested her head against his shoulder. “The most amazing thing happened to me last night,” she said, remembering her short conversation with Janice.
“Oh?”
“My friend—a good friend, at that—asked me if I minded if she went out with Gavin.”
“Mr. Sensitive?”
“Right.”
“What did you tell her?”
Tracy thought she heard an edge in Duke’s voice. Was he jealous? “There’s no need to worry.”
“I’m not worried,” he insisted. But when she didn’t continue the conversation, he prodded her. “Aren’t you going to tell me your answer?”
“I thought you weren’t worried.”
“I’m not, but I’ll admit to being mildly curious. After all, this is the very man you used to toss in my face as a paragon of virtue.”
“Oh, hardly.”
“You most certainly did,” he said with ill-disguised impatience.
“As far as I’m concerned, Janice can do whatever she wants with Gavin.”
Duke gave her a cocky smile. “That’s what I thought you’d say.”
“Oh, are we getting overconfident or what?” she teased.
“No,” he answered simply. “I don’t have any hold on you. You can see anyone you please. It just so happens that I please you.”
At one time, not so distant, his words would have inflamed her. Now they amused her.
She was surprised when Duke grew quiet. She enjoyed the playful banter they often exchanged.
“Tracy,” he said, his voice harsh with regret, “I have to get back to Hard Luck.”
She opened her mouth to protest and knew it would do no good. He’d alre
ady stayed far longer than she’d had any right to hope.
“Trust me, sweetheart, I don’t want to go, but I have to.”
“When?” she asked, trying to hide her dread.
“Soon. In a couple of days.”
“When will I see you again?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t get down this way very often.”
“I probably won’t be able to fly up to Hard Luck until spring.” And spring seemed a million years away. Tracy couldn’t bear the thought of waiting until the ice broke on the rivers before she saw Duke again.
The silence between them grew oppressive. “There’s one option,” she said.
“You mean meeting halfway? I’ve thought about that and—”
“No.” She cut him off, thinking fast. Her eyes rounded with excitement. “There’s another way.”
“I’ve thought about it over and over,” Duke said, sounding discouraged, “and I can’t come up with anything.”
“But, Duke, did you ever consider the obvious?” She paused. “We could get married!”
Nine
“Married?” Duke almost drove off the road. He couldn’t believe his ears. Married? Him? To Tracy? The woman needed her head examined.
First, he wasn’t the marrying kind. Never had been, never would be. Second, Tracy? And him? A polished city woman and an outdoors guy? A sophisticated attorney and a down-and-dirty Alaskan bush pilot? Forget it!
“Well?” Tracy said excitedly, studying him. “What do you think?”
Duke opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Myriad objections tangled themselves on the end of his tongue. Then, because he couldn’t formulate a clear response, he said tartly, “In case you need reminding, there are certain things the man does in a relationship, and proposing marriage is one of them.”
“Fine. I’m listening.” She laid her head on his shoulder, and the warm feelings he’d experienced every time they were together, every time they touched, continued. As soon as he saw the stars in her eyes, he should’ve realized what was going on in that brilliant mind of hers. He wanted to slap himself upside the head for even making this trip to Seattle. All he’d managed to do was set them up for trouble.