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Christmas at Cranberry Cove

By June Foster

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Chapter One


Ryder Ethridge swallowed hard and then attempted to clear his throat a couple of times. He hadn't been on a date in how long? A year?
He took a few awkward steps into the living room of The Inn at Cranberry Cove, the elegance not adding to his confidence. The parquet floors, the ceiling-high oak bookshelves, a cheerful, welcoming fireplace against one wall, all spoke of sophistication that he wasn't accustomed to.
"Look for her in the living area," Ashton Atwood had said while juggling her baby in her arms. "Madison will expect you."
How could he turn down Ashton and James Atwood who owned the magnificent place? Sure, he'd told his friend and boss, Blake Sloan, he wanted to find the woman God had ordained for him, but now?
"She's an attractive lady with brown hair to her shoulders—the Cove's latest addition to the school district. Just take her to dinner. The bill's on us."
Ryder inhaled a breath and then took a few steps into the room.
Madison Mitchell lounged on the couch gazing at her cell phone. With a great shape and long hair, she exceeded Ashton's description of nice looking.
"Madison, I'm Ryder Langston." He held out his hand to her.
She flashed him a smile and rose from the couch. "Ryder, nice to meet you." She smoothed her sweater down over her jeans. "I would've known you anywhere. Ashton described you perfectly."
"I hope it was all good." He chuckled.
"My old college friend wouldn't steer me wrong."
Her easygoing personality set him at ease. "Shall we go into the dining room? I believe Ashton made reservations."
The aroma of beef, red wine, onions, and mushrooms drew him into the next room. He'd heard the rumors that Ashton had hired a new chef. The inn's owner assured him the chef's French cuisine couldn't be matched even among the best cooks in Seattle. They paused at the front desk, and then the hostess led them to their table.
"The waitstaff's doubled since Blake and I came to lunch last summer." He helped Madison into her seat by the window. "Gracie, Blake's new bride, was the lone server."
Madison peered at him over her crystal water glass, her blue eyes the color of the bay on a sunny day. "You're familiar with the town by now, I suppose. I've only been here a month. Ashton's given me a room until I can find an apartment."
"Yes, she told me. She's so generous, especially to her friends. Blake lived here until he and Gracie were married last month."
"I've heard the inn is quite the romantic place to stay, especially if you're looking for a spouse." Madison blinked her eyes.
Whoa. Was she out to find a husband? Sure, he wanted to get married one of these days, but rushing wedlock wasn't on his agenda.
Madison frowned. "Oh, I don't mean me. Ashton told me how she and James met here and then Blake and Gracie."
Heat rose in Ryder's face. "Oh, sure. I knew what you meant." Why had he told a little fib? He hadn't understood her meaning at all. And he hadn't offered to help Ashton out because he wanted to find a girlfriend. He merely desired to help the new teacher get acquainted with Cranberry Cove.
A waiter wearing black pants and a white shirt arrived at their table. "Good evening. Tonight's featured menu special is entrecȏte, concombre a la menthe, and served with gougeres."
Ryder lifted his brows. Though he was no country bumkin and had been raised in the city, the only part of the menu he recognized was the beef steak.
Madison glanced at the menu and then closed it. "I'll have the special for tonight."
Ryder nodded. "Me, too." Easy enough. Besides, if Ashton was right, every dish this chef created was delicious.
Madison flipped a strand of chestnut hair from her cheek. "Honestly, I have no idea what we're eating." She giggled.
"The first dish is beef steak, but I don't know what the second is." He glanced toward the marquee at the entrance of the room. "The third is gougeres. I saw it on a cooking show one time. I believe it's a dessert made from powdered sugar, cream, and puff pastry."
Someone cleared their voice. "You're partially right." A tall woman with dark hair stared at him. She adjusted a button on her white jacket. "Gougeres is not eaten as a dessert but at the beginning of a meal more as an appetizer. The delicacy is what you might describe in America as a cheese puff. And sir, you have mispronounced the word as well." Her pronunciation of gougeres rolled off her tongue sounding very little like what he'd said.
Ryder resisted the urge to climb under the table. He glanced at Madison with a forced grin.
Her lips were slightly parted, and her eyes twinkled, as if the woman's reprimand amused her.
He sat up straight and squared his shoulders. No sense in acting like a stupid kid. He arose, barely standing a few inches taller than she and held out his hand. "I'm Ryder Langston. You must be the new chef. Do you give French lessons? It would seem I need to brush up on my language skills."
A pink glow spread over the chef's cheeks, and she held out her slender fingers to him. "I'm Juliette Duplay." She glanced toward the waiter arriving with their plates. "I must let you eat before your food gets cold." She marched toward the kitchen.
The striking woman floated past the door and disappeared into the next room. If he ever had a chance to speak with her again, he'd make sure he didn't attempt to pronounce French words.

*****

Juliette hung her apron on the hook near the door to the laundry room and glanced around at the spotless kitchen. The servers, who were also responsible for kitchen cleanup had done a good job. The faint aroma of entrecȏte lingered in the air. Since she'd smelled it all evening, she was barely aware of the tantalizing aroma of the dish now, one of her favorites.
Her French dishes appeared to be a hit at the inn if the increase in the number of diners indicated anything. She glanced around at the few additions Mr. and Mrs. Atwood made at her request: the new six-burner stovetop and the new ventilation system. Yet, the space wasn't as large as the kitchen in which she'd created her culinary delights back home in Nice—nor was her small house next door anything like the luxury in which she'd been raised. She missed that kitchen at Hotel Duplay, as well as her family. She rubbed her neck and cast off the thoughts which only brought more tension. But returning to France wasn't an option. Nor would it ever be.
Juliette peeked into the dining room, now empty and the overhead lights off. Even her prep and cleanup helpers as well as Tony, her sous chef, had gone home. She returned to the kitchen and glanced out the window toward the house she'd rented from Mrs. Babbage, the spry old lady who left for a year to stay with her ailing sister in New Jersey.
A shadow beyond the deck crossed the backyard. A chill raced down her spine, and she crept to the door leading out to the gardens.
A man strolled along the path around the rose bushes, his hands folded behind him. He stopped and glanced upward as the moon peeked out from behind a cloud and glinted on the stone walkway. Ryder Langston, the guy who'd brought a guest to dinner tonight. A twang of guilt prodded her. She'd embarrassed him in front of his guest—she supposed his date.
Juliette opened the back door and stepped out onto the deck.
He looked up at her and then ran a hand through his hair. "Oh, Ms. Duplay. I didn't expect to see you."
She took the steps into the yard and approached him. "Juliette, please. May I call you Ryder?"
"Well, sure."
"I realize now I might have embarrassed you in front of your friend. I'd like to apologize."
"It's obvious I've never been to France nor eaten French food before. No problem." He grinned. "So, where are you from in France?"
"Nice." Give as little information about yourself as possible. "Nice is in southern France on the Mediterranean."
"You must miss the beaches and the architecture."
Oh, how she did, but she couldn't remind herself that she might never see them again. She turned away, a nightbird's song boring an ache into her heart. Perhaps Ryder hadn't noticed the sadness her face must've displayed. She curved toward him again. "I'm grateful for my job at the inn. James and Ashton have been very kind, especially helping me find a place to live." She shifted from one foot to the other. "Speaking of my little rental, I need to leave. I'm really exhausted." She ambled toward the trail through the hedges that divided the inn's property and Mrs. Babbage's cottage.
"Wait!" Ryder raised his voice and drew closer to her. "An interior light in your house just went on and then off. Do you have a roommate or are you expecting company?"
As if her feet had brakes, she froze. She lifted her gaze to peer toward the hedges again. A light bobbed on the side of the house. Hands turning to ice, she gripped her fingers into a ball. An uninvited person who was up to no good skulked around her place.
Ryder stepped in front of her. "Let me check before you go home."
No, leave me alone formed on her lips, but she didn't speak. Why should she trust this man? He could be an agent sent by—she gulped. "No, don't bother." Juliette held her breath to better listen for any sound.
She heard only the crunch of leaves and then silence.
"Could be the reflection of a vehicle on the street," Ryder said.
"Yes, merely a light from a car." She headed toward her house. She couldn't continue to live in fear, could she? So frequently these days, her imagination ran wild. Like tonight. 

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