Page 17 of Betrayed

“Okay—how much?” he asks as he puts it down.

I tell him and then nod at the scoop on the wall.

“That’s the one you want—just start scooping it in whileIget the butter ready.”

Really good pie dough can be made with lard or shortening or butter—to me, butter tastes the best.Itcosts more than using the shortening but the name of the diner isThePieShopso the pie has to be perfect.AsCookiesays, we don’t skimp on ingredients.

I get the butter out of the freezer—we have these huge blocks of it—and start grating it into fine pieces.Thesecret to flaky, tender pie dough is to freeze the butter and use ice water.Everythinghas to be as cold as possible.Youalso don’t want to knead it too much and overwork the dough.

I explain all this toKaneasIdump the butter in and get the mixer started.Oncethe butter is incorporated into the flour,Istart adding ice water from a huge pitcherIkeep for this purpose.

“Wow—it’s really coming together,” he remarks, raising his voice to be heard over the sound of the mixer.

“Yup—and this is where we stop.Wedon’t want to overwork the dough.”

I turn off the mixer and the dough hook stops revolving.Iunhook it and clean the excess dough off.Nowcomes the tiresome part—getting the dough out.

“Now what?”Kaneasks, looking honestly interested.

“Now we need to get this dough out of the mixer and onto that table.”Ipoint to the stainless steel worktable whereIroll out the dough for all my pies.

“Okay.”Tomy surprise, he reaches down and unhooks the mixing bowl.Thenhe lifts it like it weights next to nothing and asks, “ShouldIjust pour it out onto the table then?”

I stare at him in surprise.Imean,Iknew he was strong—he’s got all those muscles and he lifted me last night and carried me to bed likeIweighed about as much as a feather pillow.Whichisnotthe case, by the way.Butthis is really impressive—that metal bowl is heavy enough on its own, let alone filled to the brim with dough!

“Yes, the table,”Isay faintly, watching as he carries the big mixing bowl over and pours out the doughy contents like it’s no big deal.Hismuscles bulge as he works andItry not to notice. “Great—thank you,”Isay.

“ShouldIwash the bowl now?” he asks, raising his eyebrows.Ilike how good he is at offering to help.Lotsof men won’t do that.Charlescertainly won’t—he won’t lift a finger around the house because he says it’s “women’s work.”IfI’mbeing honest, that’s one reasonI’mnot in a rush to marry him.It’salso the reasonIhaven’t asked him to move in with me, even though he’s been hinting he’d like to for some time now.

I show my big brother the sink and he gets to work on the bowl whileIstart sorting out the crust.Ikeep some for today’s pies and wrap the rest to put in the cooler for tomorrow.ThenIstart making the fillings.

TodayI’mmaking three kinds of pies.Bananacream, sinceCookiebought a load of bananas that need to be used up,Lemonmeringue, since we also have a lot of lemons, and a new oneIjust made up called, “DoMeDirtyPie.”It’sa variation on a whiskey butterscotch praline pie that usesKahluainstead of whiskey and has chocolate instead of butterscotch.It’sgoing to be really good—Ijust know it.

Kane finishes cleaning the mixer and asks what else he can do.I’mstill making fillings on the stove, soIask him if he knows how to roll out pie crusts.

He shakes his head.

“No, butIcan learn.”

“Here.I’llshow you.”

I put the vanilla pudding for the banana cream pie to the back burner to cool and come over to the worktable.Itake out a rolling pin, flour the surface, and begin rolling, talking asIdo.

“Roll up and down twice, then rotate it and do it again.Keepit up until you have a perfect circle about ten inches across,”Itell him. “Wehave nine-inch pie plates, but we need some extra to crimp on the edges.”

Kane watches me do one more and then tries one himself.It’sa little lopsided, but not bad.Thenext one he does is even better.Bythe third,IknowIcan leave him alone and go finish the fillings.

We keep going this way.Withmy big brother’s help, it takes me a lot less time to get the pies done.Imake the yeast rolls with dough that’s been rising overnight andIeven have time to whip up a batch of honey buns—which happen to beCookie’sfavorite.

If you’re thinkingI’mgoing to try and sweeten him up beforeIask him if he’ll giveKanea job, you’re absolutely right.Idon’t care if that sounds manipulative—Ifinally have family back in my life andI’llbe damned ifIlose my brother again so soon!

Cookie comes in just as the honey buns come out of the oven, all fragrant and gooey.Hiseyes get wide as he sees the delicious treats…then narrow as he seesKanestanding there in his pink frilly apron.

“Well, well…what’s all this about?” he grumbles. “Ithought your brother was leaving after you two caught up last night.”

“He’s not leaving—he’s decided to stay a while,”Isay, rather breathlessly. “Buthe needs a job andIthought sinceCedricleft and you need a dishwasher maybe?—”

“Now hold on just a second.Holdon.”Cookieputs up a hand to stop me.Hefrowns up atKane. “Thistrue?Youwant a job?”

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