He cast a darkling glance at the cookies. Looked like he was stuck with them. Oh well—maybe Laurel liked oatmeal.
Laurel…just one more block and he’d be with her again. He smiled as his mind wandered idly over the past few days. It was going to be hard to leave when he had to go back to Dallas.
He slowed down to turn into Laurel’s driveway, then caught sight of Sarah throwing a ball back and forth with the older boy in the front yard again. On impulse, he turned the big Cadillac into the Bridgeses’ drive.
Sarah, softball in hand, walked over to him with a welcoming smile. Rolling down his window, he proffered the offending bags of cookies.
“I got my arm twisted by some nice PTA ladies outside Office Depot and thought your kids might like these.” He jiggled the bags. “They’re oatmeal.”
Sarah took the cookies from him. “Thanks. The boys will love them.” She positively glowed at him, which made him feel guilty.
“Well, actually, I’m just trying to get rid of them,” he confessed. “I can’t stand oatmeal.”
She laughed and winked. “Jase Redlander, you are a sly dog, but I like your style. Just keep plying me with cookies, and Laurel will have some competition.”
“I should be so lucky,” he said, waving good-bye. Backing out, he zipped across the street, where he belonged.
This was getting to be quite a day. He’d been welcomed with open arms at First Bosque Bend National, been given a guest card for the Bosque Club, run into an old friend, and been winked at by Sarah Bridges, head cheerleader. She was talking to him too—just light, harmless banter, but it was more conversation than he’d ever had with her in high school.
*
As soon as Jase was out the door, Laurel started leafing through the vintage cookbook she’d found in the pantry. This afternoon she would learn how to cook. She couldn’t depend on being treated to a SuperBurger again tonight, especially now that the refrigerator and pantry were stuffed with groceries, but Chicken Maryland looked easy enough, and she did have a bird in the refrigerator, though God only knows why she’d bought it.
After tying on Mama’s apron, she laid the slippery fowl on a towel and lopped off its wings and legs the best she could, then hacked at the rest of the carcass until she’d separated it into four somewhat equal pieces. They’d probably look okay with breading on them.
The dipping and shaking were sort of fun, but making bread crumbs to roll the chicken pieces in seemed too labor-intensive, so she used crushed crackers instead.
She paused to clean up the counter. All of this would have been a lot easier if she’d seen anyone cooking when she was growing up, but the kitchen had always been the private domain of the housekeeper, first Mrs. January, then Mrs. Claypool.
Mrs. January retired when Laurel was twelve, and Mrs. Claypool left right after Mama died. Loyalty could only stretch so far when there wasn’t any money left for paychecks.
Now the pieces of chicken had to dry for more than half an hour. The recipe implied they would be safe sitting out, but the temperature in the kitchen must be over eighty now. It was the hottest room in the house, whether the oven was on or not, and, while she may not know anything about cooking, she did know one shouldn’t leave raw meat out for any length of time.
It would probably be safer to “dry” the chicken in the oven on low heat for a while, then “brown” it at what—maybe 400 degrees?
The doorbell rang. Who now? Lolly was in Dallas and Jase had a key. This couldn’t be good. Laurel washed her hands and hurried down the hall. She opened the door cautiously, prepared to slam it shut at the first sign of trouble, but the stranger on the porch stepped back a pace, smiled, and ducked his head deferentially.
“Ms. Harlow? My name’s Kel. K-E-L. Pendleton Swaim thought you might be able to help me.”
So this was Pen’s house guest. He was younger than she’d thought he would be and seemed somewhat unsure of himself. Her brows drew together. He didn’t look like showbiz—no flashy clothes, no big-toothed smile, no leathery tan, no overenunciated bell-like tones. Instead, his jeans were worn, his white tee looked like a Walmart special, his voice was soft, his tone deferential, and he had the clearest blue eyes, the longest eyelashes, and the sweetest smile she’d ever seen.
But she had dinner in the oven and needed to tend to it.
“I can’t talk now. I’ll probably be free tomorrow morning, but call me first. Pen has my number.” Although Lord only knows how he got it.
Kel nodded his head and smiled again. “Thanks. That would be just fine.” He looked back for a second and lifted hand as he stepped off the porch. “See ya.”
Laurel stood in the entryway for a moment before closing the door and hurrying back to the kitchen. What a lamb. Was he Pendleton’s latest lover? Seemed awfully young for him. She’d never been able to tell gay from straight, but the gentlemen who’d lodged with Pen over the years were usually older and more dapper.