Read Online Crime Rib (Food Lovers' Village) by Leslie Budewitz - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Leslie Budewitz
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with us for dinner and music tonight. Chiara, Jason, and me.”
“It’s a date. Another adventure.” Whether he meant the music or me wasn’t clear. And didn’t matter.
The door chimed as we signed off and a family entered. Regulars this summer, the kids went straight for the huckleberry chocolates while the dad picked out cheese, pesto, and salami. The mother carried a basket of produce gathered from our sidewalk cart. We chatted as I rang up their purchases, still feeling the glow from my phone conversation.
Like Adam’s campers, this family would head home soon. Meanwhile, they were cramming in summer fun: hikes, river floats, even a trip down a mountain zip line.
All things I loved. Except for my regular Friday afternoon ride with Kim, I hadn’t done much of anything this summer except work. Maybe, when Adam was back for good, that could change.
That thought was almost as tasty as a huckleberry truffle.
But what about Rick Bergstrom? “Farm boy,” as Tracy called him, had made more visits to Jewel Bay this summer than our sales volume justified. We met for lunch at Ray’s—he liked those Reubens, too—or took a walk on the Nature Trail above the Jewel River. Another Montana kid who’d left for a few years, he’d worked for a food importer in L.A. before returning. He loved food and business as much as I did.
You’re thirty-two
, I told myself.
You can date two guys at the same time.
I bent over to scoop a balled-up napkin off the floor and spiked it into the wastebasket.
Hah. I barely had time for one guy, let alone two.
And I didn’t have time to go riding. But this was my last chance for a moment to call my own until Summer Fair faded into memory.
By quarter to three, the Merc shone, and I felt no guilt about slipping out.
Two feet into the courtyard, I screeched to a halt. I’d been so focused on the shop that the remodel-in-progress had slipped my mind.
“Not to worry.” Liz stood at one of the new tables, covered in cardboard and potting soil, a classic red geranium in hand. “It’s a basic principle of organizing and remodeling. Things always look worse before they look better.”
“Not worse, exactly.” I surveyed the space. The cobblestones had been hosed off and the loose stones replaced. Tables had been assembled and chairs unboxed, but not yet paired and arranged. Half the annuals lay gasping for dirt, their already-potted siblings huddled together, waiting for their assignments. Painstakingly chosen outdoor art was stacked along the north wall. The word was “chaotic.” “Just—unfinished. Oh, my, gosh, the fountain!”
I stared in awe. It looked exactly as it had in the metalsmith’s sketch. But no water flowed and pieces of pipe lay scattered at the base.
“Not to worry,” Liz repeated, practically pushing me out the back gate. “It’s just a part. Bob will have it running in no time.”
Telling me not to worry pretty much guarantees that I will. “Liz, what’s the problem?”
She smiled as she closed the gate behind me. The Merc’s business had been faltering when I’d taken over last spring, and while we were doing well—extraordinarily well—we had no room in the budget for missteps. Or major parts. There’d been no reason to rush—I didn’t know what the Merc was going to do with the space yet anyway—but Liz had insisted.
I was starting to feel funny about the whole thing.
A good hard ride would chase the unease away. Followed by a long, hot shower and an evening with a tall, dark, and handsome guy.
I really do love August in Jewel Bay.
* * *
I learned to ride in junior high, when Kim Caldwell and I became best friends. For years, we spent hours every week at the corrals, on the trails, or in the arena. Back then, she’d intended to become head wrangler, and me her trusty sidekick. Eventually, my parents bought me my own mare, although we’d stabled her with the Caldwells’ herd. Folly was long gone, and I’d found a new ride:
“It’s a date. Another adventure.” Whether he meant the music or me wasn’t clear. And didn’t matter.
The door chimed as we signed off and a family entered. Regulars this summer, the kids went straight for the huckleberry chocolates while the dad picked out cheese, pesto, and salami. The mother carried a basket of produce gathered from our sidewalk cart. We chatted as I rang up their purchases, still feeling the glow from my phone conversation.
Like Adam’s campers, this family would head home soon. Meanwhile, they were cramming in summer fun: hikes, river floats, even a trip down a mountain zip line.
All things I loved. Except for my regular Friday afternoon ride with Kim, I hadn’t done much of anything this summer except work. Maybe, when Adam was back for good, that could change.
That thought was almost as tasty as a huckleberry truffle.
But what about Rick Bergstrom? “Farm boy,” as Tracy called him, had made more visits to Jewel Bay this summer than our sales volume justified. We met for lunch at Ray’s—he liked those Reubens, too—or took a walk on the Nature Trail above the Jewel River. Another Montana kid who’d left for a few years, he’d worked for a food importer in L.A. before returning. He loved food and business as much as I did.
You’re thirty-two
, I told myself.
You can date two guys at the same time.
I bent over to scoop a balled-up napkin off the floor and spiked it into the wastebasket.
Hah. I barely had time for one guy, let alone two.
And I didn’t have time to go riding. But this was my last chance for a moment to call my own until Summer Fair faded into memory.
By quarter to three, the Merc shone, and I felt no guilt about slipping out.
Two feet into the courtyard, I screeched to a halt. I’d been so focused on the shop that the remodel-in-progress had slipped my mind.
“Not to worry.” Liz stood at one of the new tables, covered in cardboard and potting soil, a classic red geranium in hand. “It’s a basic principle of organizing and remodeling. Things always look worse before they look better.”
“Not worse, exactly.” I surveyed the space. The cobblestones had been hosed off and the loose stones replaced. Tables had been assembled and chairs unboxed, but not yet paired and arranged. Half the annuals lay gasping for dirt, their already-potted siblings huddled together, waiting for their assignments. Painstakingly chosen outdoor art was stacked along the north wall. The word was “chaotic.” “Just—unfinished. Oh, my, gosh, the fountain!”
I stared in awe. It looked exactly as it had in the metalsmith’s sketch. But no water flowed and pieces of pipe lay scattered at the base.
“Not to worry,” Liz repeated, practically pushing me out the back gate. “It’s just a part. Bob will have it running in no time.”
Telling me not to worry pretty much guarantees that I will. “Liz, what’s the problem?”
She smiled as she closed the gate behind me. The Merc’s business had been faltering when I’d taken over last spring, and while we were doing well—extraordinarily well—we had no room in the budget for missteps. Or major parts. There’d been no reason to rush—I didn’t know what the Merc was going to do with the space yet anyway—but Liz had insisted.
I was starting to feel funny about the whole thing.
A good hard ride would chase the unease away. Followed by a long, hot shower and an evening with a tall, dark, and handsome guy.
I really do love August in Jewel Bay.
* * *
I learned to ride in junior high, when Kim Caldwell and I became best friends. For years, we spent hours every week at the corrals, on the trails, or in the arena. Back then, she’d intended to become head wrangler, and me her trusty sidekick. Eventually, my parents bought me my own mare, although we’d stabled her with the Caldwells’ herd. Folly was long gone, and I’d found a new ride:
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