The Accidental Bride

“I’m working on it. I can’t wait for my cooking classes tomorrow.”

Grace cleared her throat. “Great.”

“Well, I just wanted to call and say thanks. You’re all the best.”

“I’ll tell Caro and Livie you called. You have the list of instructions from your doctor, right? No alcohol. No caffeine. No heavy physical exertion.”

“I’m up to speed, Grace. Don’t worry. Forget about painting the hall. Focus on having a great time with Noah. And tell him I said hi, okay? Remember that I want his mother’s meatloaf recipe. She has some secret ingredients I can’t figure out. Maybe roasted paprika?”

Grace laughed. “I’ll tell him you asked.”

Jilly stifled another yawn. “Did I tell you I saw a shooting star tonight? There was a tail of light that burned over the ridge. I’m taking it as a sign that good things are coming.” Jilly hesitated. “I … met a man at the airport today. He had a wonderful dog. There was something about him.” She turned, watching stars twinkle over the dark line of mountains. “Something intriguing. He was so controlled and contained. I couldn’t read him at all.”

“No way. You can read anyone.”

“Not him.” Jilly smoothed the wool blanket, wondering why she couldn’t get the man out of her mind. “Well, I’d better go. Make sure Caro doesn’t work too hard. The contractors will drive her nuts.”

“Olivia’s taking over now that she’s back.”

“Good. Caro’s too nice.”

Grace chuckled. “I’ll tell her you said that. You take it easy up there. Have a great time.”

“That’s the plan.”

After she hung up, Jilly leaned against the cool glass doors. Her whole body felt relaxed and somehow lighter. Tonight she might actually be able to sleep. Though she had never told her friends, she had been plagued by crippling insomnia for months. Nothing seemed to help.

But tonight Jilly thought she could sleep for a week.

Yes, she was going to take that shooting star as a very good sign.

Things were finally looking up.

AT 6:45 A.M. SHE WAS UP.

She had slept better than she had for months. Totally energized, she was ready to plan for her classes. She paced back and forth, admiring the huge stone fireplace, waiting for someone to appear at the reception desk.

Her sunny mood began to fade when no one appeared. She tried the offices, but all were empty. Frowning, she followed the noise of rattling dishes back to a serving area. The drifting aroma of coffee and bacon told her the kitchen wasn’t far away.

Jilly waved to a harried woman in a resort uniform. “Can someone help me?”

“Dining room is down that hall, ma’am. I’m afraid breakfast doesn’t start for another ten minutes though.”

“I’m really looking for someone at the reception desk. I want to find out about the cooking retreat.”

The woman blinked at Jilly. “Come again?”

“Cooking. The classes?” Jilly said the words very clearly. “I’m signed up but I haven’t found any details posted. Who should I talk to about that?”

“Well … I guess …” The woman put down her tray of clean silverware and gestured to a closed door off the kitchen. “Head chef is back there. Maybe he can help you.”

“Thanks. Sorry to bother you.” Jilly crossed the hall, noting the outdated cooking ranges and cramped food prep areas. The resort could definitely do with some renovations. Meal service during peak guest seasons would be a nightmare.

Not your problem, O’Hara. You’re on vacation, remember? Let somebody else worry about the cleanup and the details of the food prep.

She stopped at an entrance with a carved wooden door, listening to the deep voice inside.

“I know the guest reviews have been good. But how can I upgrade the menus on the current budget, Mamie? And my staff is too small. Two cooks and six kitchen staff for a resort this size? It’s impossible.”

Jilly hesitated. She didn’t want to eavesdrop. And the conversation seemed to be growing volatile.

Suddenly the man’s voice boomed out in a laugh. “Sure, sure. I’ll just keep asking. So what about the Henderson wedding? Still on for Friday? I know how you love a big resort wedding.”

Jilly peeked through the door. A short man was sitting at a postage-stamp-size desk. Cookbooks lined neat shelves all the way to the ceiling. “Check. The cake is baked.” He tapped on a computer as he spoke. “We’ll start the decorations tomorrow. You still planning for one hundred guests?”

There was more silence, broken by the soft tapping of computer keys. “Will do. Come by at lunch. I made that ginger ice cream you like.”

The chair creaked again and Jilly heard the typing resume. She knocked on the door.

“Come on in. It better be important. I’ve got a wedding menu to finish.”

Jilly stepped inside. “Sorry to bother you, but I’m hoping to get some information about your cooking retreat classes. They start today, but I can’t find any signs posted. I thought I’d ask back here.”

The resort’s executive chef swiveled his chair around slowly. “Cooking classes?” His ruddy face slid into a grin. “Very funny. Wait a minute.” He tilted back in his chair, studying Jilly. “Do I know you?”

“I don’t think so. I arrived last night.”

The chef drummed his fingers on the tidy desk. “I recognize you now. You’re Jilly O’Hara of Jilly’s Naturals. I read an article about you last week. Look at these.” He opened a drawer and rummaged excitedly, then pushed a jar across the desk. “Mango Chipotle Salsa. A mix made in heaven. I used it last night as a basting sauce for grilled pork. So why are you here at Lost Creek Resort?” He made a kissing motion to the air. “Why aren’t you in your kitchen producing more great salsas?”

Jilly liked him instantly. She had to smile when he pulled three other flavors of Jilly’s Naturals products from the drawer. “It’s kind of … an enforced vacation. I’ve been a little under the weather, and my friends set up this trip as a surprise. But they told me I was going to a cooking retreat. There aren’t any classes here?”

“Sure, but not for cooking. Somebody must have made a mistake.”

No cooking? That couldn’t be right, Jilly thought. Could her friends have been confused?

Maybe she should call Caro and—

The chef broke into her tangled thoughts. “Nothing serious, I hope. About you being under the weather.”

“No. Just working too hard—you know how hectic it can get in a kitchen.”

“Tell me about it.” He held out a beefy hand. “Name’s Ralph MacDermott. My friends call me Red. Not for the hair, but because I burn. It’s the Irish in me. Tell me what you think of the resort so far.”

Jilly took the cup of tea he poured from an electric pot behind his desk. “Everything’s beautiful. You’ve got a nice, tidy kitchen. Very clean and well organized.” In politeness she didn’t add that it was also cramped and forty years out of date. But cooking magic came from people, not appliances.

“We manage pretty well, most of the time. Ski season gets a little crazy. Skimageddon, we call it.” He sipped some tea and then studied her some more. “Had a chance to look at the menu yet?”

“No. I fell asleep last night. The air here is amazing.”