Page 71 of His Forgotten Colton Fiancee
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West Brand was a total enigma. She’d tried to coax out details of his past, his childhood, and he’d shut down like a machine.
Maybe he didn’t have a nice childhood and didn’t want to discuss it. But it couldn’t have been as hectic and unsettled as hers, always moving from one home to another, a nomadic lifestyle she detested.
Moving until she’d gone off on her own, determined to settlein one place, find one special man to love and marry.
She’d agreed to settle down with West before the explosion. Maybe it was time to see what kind of man he really was.
Clearing her throat, she pointed at his cell. “Does that even work out here?”
West thumbed through his phone, put it away. “Sometimes. More of a habit than anything.”
“Good. No more phone time. I need your help.”Quinn looked at the oven. “Special Agent Brand, I’m going to make you a special dinner.”
West’s nose wrinkled. “Tofu again?”
She grinned. “No. I’m setting aside my usual vegetarian preferences for tonight. But I’ll need you to make another trip into the grocery store. And I do hope you like bacon.”
His dark eyes lit up. “Real bacon? Not that fake stuff?”
“Real bacon.” She handedhim a list. “Be prepared to exercise tomorrow ’cause, honey, you won’t want to stop eating.”
While he took the truck into town, she took her journal from the suitcase and began jotting notes. Bits of memory, slices of childhood.
Nothing from the present.
Now was not the time to recall her attacker’s hot breath on her neck, the hissing words he spat at her, the ill-concealed fury inhis rough hand as he clapped it over her mouth...
As if sensing her distress, Rex pushed his nose into her lap. Quinn patted his head. The dog proved himself an excellent caretaker and guardian. Almost as nurturing as West himself.
Needing to stay busy, she started gathering the pots, pans and mixing bowls she needed for dinner. The cabin was surprisingly stocked, but West had mentionedhis friend rented it out sometimes during the summer to vacationing families.
By the time West returned, her aplomb had, as well. Rex greeted him at the screen door with a happy woof and wagging tail.
West unpacked the bag, set down the bacon, spices and okra, and put the chicken in the refrigerator. “Can’t I get some idea of what you’re making?”
“Creole chicken.” Quinn pointed toa handwritten recipe. “My special mixture I made when I was a teen.”
“Can I help?”
She liked this about him. He didn’t nose around the kitchen, like Rex was doing, but offered. “Start slicing the okra after you wash it. And then get a cookie sheet. I bake my okra. Makes it less gooey.”
Soon they stood side by side in the kitchen, working in a comfortable rhythm as bacon sizzled inthe big cast-iron skillet on the stove. She washed and cut the chicken into smaller slices, dried them with a paper towel and rubbed the garlic clove onto the skin.
Cooking soothed her, and she needed something familiar after being alone in this big cabin with West. No need to instruct him either, for he was turning the bacon, making sure it didn’t burn.
Next, he finished slicing the okra.She told him to set it on the cookie sheet, sprinkle it with salt and pepper, and add a little olive oil.
After he did, West slid it into the oven. He watched her work, his gaze thoughtful. “You never did tell me when and why you fell into catering.”
Funny, that was a memory she did recall.
“I started cooking to nurture my mother.” Quinn crumbled the bacon and added it to the chicken,tomatoes and Tabasco. She sprinkled in parsley. “I remember parts of my childhood. She worked hard and came home so exhausted. Food was my outlet, my way of telling her I cared. She’d sit, eat a few bites, and her whole face would light up. That meant the world to me.”
“You put your love, your caring, into your creations.” West slid his arms around her midsection. Quinn stiffened but did notpull away.
She kept working. “Those were the good times, in between all the steps.”
