A Home by the Sea (3 page)

“The building near the corner.”

“Down the street from the art gallery? The one with the big fence?”

He nodded.

Grace noticed he said nothing more. “I saw half a dozen trucks parked in the back. The windows were reinforced with steel bars. Are you in law enforcement?”

“I work for the government,” Noah said quietly. A look passed between the three men, and he said nothing more to clarify the statement. Grace realized that he wasn't going to tell her anything else.

“Hey, get back inside here.” Noah looked down and caught another kitten making a bid for freedom.
“These guys are going to be real escape artists. We may need a perimeter gate and security lights.”

“Mom won't like it if they pee on her furniture, that's for sure.” Noah's older brother crossed his arms, smiling a little. “But that's one scene I might like to see.”

“Not in this lifetime. Your mother will know how to handle them,” Alex McLeod murmured. “She raised all kinds of animals when she was a girl.” His voice warmed. “Here we are, Ms. Lindstrom.”

“Call me Grace, please.”

“Grace, then, and a warm welcome to our house. Wait, please, so that Reed can help you over the snow.”

“Reed will not,” Noah said curtly. “Reed will be a good little boy and take the babies inside while I carry Grace over the snow.”

“Boys. They are always boys,” Alex muttered. He parked the Hummer as easily as if it had been a Prius. At the front door his wife emerged in a hooded coat that looked four sizes too big. Snow dusted her face as she moved onto the front porch. “She was worrying. She always worries.” Alex's voice filled with love.

The sound made something tug at Grace's chest. There were deep emotions here. She could almost feel them tug at the air around her.

She smiled when Alex leaped out and grabbed his wife, lifting her as if she weighed nothing. “See. I brought them back safely, just as I said.”

“And if you'll show some sense, you'll put me down so we can all get in before we freeze.” His wife's eyes shone as Alex kissed her. “Enough of that, you big pirate. Was that a cat I heard?”

“Four of them,” Noah said, scooping Grace up off the front seat. “Grace, meet my mother, Tatiana McLeod. Mom, this is Grace Lindstrom, and there are three kittens, a mother cat and a puppy inside that bundle Reed is carrying.”

Grace tried to smooth her hair and tug down the hem of her black dress, which was difficult considering she was still cradled in Noah's arms. “I'm sorry to intrude on you like this, Mrs. McLeod.”

“Intrude? I love guests, and unexpected ones are the best. I heard this storm could go on throughout the night so I've been cooking all afternoon. Now we are ready to eat. You can tuck your babies in before the fire. I have some old sweaters we can use for blankets.”

As soon as they were inside, Tatiana bustled away, giving orders over her shoulder to her two sons.

The small house was neat as a pin, the living room filled with framed pictures. Folded afghans covered two big wing chairs and a faded chintz couch. Books sat in neat stacks on two end tables, with bookmarks inserted, and a pair of old felted wool slippers sat in front of the fireplace. All these details came to Grace as she heard the happy ring of jokes and questions swirl around her. Energy
crackled everywhere, marking the bustle and arguments, measuring the depth of love and sharing in the house.

It was nothing like Grace's family. Grace had known unerring love and generosity, but her grandfather always behaved with reticence and careful restraint. Over the years silence had become natural and soothing. People didn't shove back chairs and run to the door in the Lindstrom house. Adults didn't jostle and joke, pounding each other on the back in fun. In fact, all the bustle and laughter of Noah's family made Grace keenly aware that she was an outsider.

She stared at Noah as he carried her through the living room. “You can put me down now, Noah.”

“Not yet.”

“Why?” Grace frowned as he carried her down a hallway covered with more family photos.

“Because I'm taking you to the kitchen. It's the warmest room of the house, and my mom has dinner waiting for us. We never keep food waiting.” Noah strode into a big room with wide bay windows overlooking a small backyard. Snow had drifted up, half covering a red wooden fence and most of the branches of the apple trees ranged along one side of the yard. More snow was falling, but inside all was warmth and laughter, and the air was rich with the fragrance of caramelized onions and roasting tomatoes. Little dumplings gleamed, fat and golden, on the stove.

Grace's mouth began to water. Fried dumplings were one of her
favorite
things. And something told her that Tatiana McLeod was an amazing cook. With some luck, Grace might even leave with a few old family recipes.

Noah set her down, and she moved toward a faded wing chair near the window. “Not there,” he said quietly. “It's better for you to sit over here, closer to the fire.”

“Why? Is something wrong?”

For a moment he hesitated. The pain in his eyes confused Grace. Had she said the wrong thing? “Noah, I don't want to bother your family. You probably have plans for tonight. Maybe I should go.”

“There is always room for one more chair at the table,” he said firmly. “A guest is never turned away.”

The firm tone of his voice made Grace realize this was unswerving ritual, not mere social lip service. This welcome came from old-world hospitality, faithfully preserved in this house. Even if she was an outsider, the knowledge left her feeling a little warmer, harbored against the wind that shook the windows and blanketed the yard with drifts.

This was a real family. The kind Grace used to dream about as an unhappy child. Here there would be laughter and arguments and cooking together around a big stove. Somewhere over the passing years Grace had forgotten about those childhood dreams.

“Are your feet cold?” Tatiana McLeod bustled over, drying her hands on a linen towel.

The woman's gaze was keen, and Grace felt the force of that scrutiny. “They're recovering a bit. I smell something wonderful, Mrs. McLeod.”

“Call me Tatiana, please. You are smelling my
varenyky
. Dumplings, that is. You maybe call them perogies.”

“I love fried dumplings. Do you use sauerkraut inside or turnips and onion? Or simply potatoes?”

“Ah, you know about making
varenyky
. I am most impressed.”

“I spent some time in Poland last year. I stayed at the University of Warsaw to study for a month.” Grace did not add that she had written a series of articles for a professional English cooking magazine and had won an award for her series.

“Really? You must tell me more.”

“After Poland I visited the Black Sea and was lucky enough to interview the senior chef at the Hotel Odessa. He was a very nice man. He taught me all about varieties of borscht.”

Noah's mother looked at Grace with outright surprise. “Not many have the good sense to appreciate borscht or our dumplings.” Tatiana wiped her hands on her apron and smiled slowly. “It appears that you are one of the rare few.”

Without looking, Tatiana called to her older son, who was in the process of stealing a cookie from the plate near the window. “No snacking, Reed. You
will show good manners before our honored guest, please. That is understood?”

“Yes, Mama.” Reed shook his head. “Although how you have eyes in the back of your head is a mystery to me.”

“Years of practice, my love. There were times I needed them to survive,” Tatiana said quietly. “But enough of that. The food is ready, so now we will eat.”

I
T WAS A SMALL ROOM
,
filled with the rich smells that came from slow, loving preparations. Noah's brother sat beside a petite, animated woman who was sliding a toddler into a high chair. Laughter boomed as food was passed around to the accompaniment of praise and loud arguments. Clearly, everyone had an opinion and even the brothers seemed to know a good deal about cooking. Grace hid her surprise, swept up in the conversation swirling around her. This energetic, nonstop drama was nothing like dinner with her grandfather, though she instantly felt guilty for making comparisons.

Everyone was kind, offering food and including her in the conversation.

When she had eaten eight perogies and couldn't eat one more mouthful, Grace excused herself to go check on the kittens in the adjacent den, asleep before the fire in a clean box lined with soft flannel sheets. As she stroked their warm fur, she heard Noah lean down beside her.

“Everything okay in here?”

“Just fine. The little ones are sleeping and Mom
is getting a well-deserved rest.” Grace smiled as the tiny puppy looked up at Noah and thumped his tail in greeting. “I think he likes you.”

“Good. Because he's definitely on my wish list. But that's your call.” He picked up the puppy, his hands gentle. “You're something special, aren't you?”

Grace heard the rough tenderness in his voice. His words seemed to melt over her skin.

She pulled away from him, frowning. Angry at herself that she suddenly wanted to lean closer. “Of course you can have him. I couldn't have got them to safety without you. And it's clear that he loves you already.” She scratched the puppy gently under the chin. “What are you going to call him?”

“Ivan.” He saw Grace's questioning look. “As in The Terrible. Since he looks as sweet as sin.” His long fingers skimmed the puppy's head.

Grace couldn't seem to look away. “Well. That's…nice,” she said finally.

Noah shot her a look. “Something tells me that you aren't used to this kind of chaos. My family gets a bit noisy. At the table you looked a little shell-shocked.”

“I'm not overwhelmed. And I'm not fragile.” Yet, because she felt fragile at that moment, watching Noah stroke the puppy with those careful hands, Grace took a quick breath and squared her shoulders. “I can take care of myself nicely, thank you.”

“I didn't say you couldn't. I said that you weren't
used to all our noise and bickering. Dad tells me it's a Ukrainian thing. My mom, on the other hand, insists it's a
Scottish
thing,” he added drily. “So do you have a big family?”

Grace shook her head. “My grandfather is all. He likes things calm and orderly. Everything in its place.”

Noah sat down beside her on the rug. “Sounds nice.” He put the puppy carefully back in the box. “You're only staying here in D.C. temporarily, you said. What's your next assignment?”

“I have a magazine article to finish in Chicago and two workshops to teach in Oregon. Then probably three months in Paris.”

Noah gave a low whistle. “Impressive. But all that travel is going to put a kink in my plan to take you out to dinner.” He gave her a steady, straightforward look. “You're not involved with anyone, I hope.”

She wasn't—and she didn't want to become involved. But how was she going to extricate herself without being terribly rude?

Grace ran a hand through her hair, choosing her words carefully. “I…I was involved with someone. He was English. Wonderful. We were going to be married.” Her hands tightened, and she forced them to relax. “It didn't work out.”

“Sorry to hear it. What happened?” Noah asked quietly.

“Isn't that a little personal?”

“Probably. But as you can see, my family doesn't
stand on ceremony. So feel free to tell me to shut up and mind my own business.”

Grace looked out the window at the snow. “What happened was that his airplane was shot down while he was on a diplomatic mission in the Sudan. That was sixteen months ago.”

“I'm really sorry, Grace. Losing him like that—well, it must have been horrible.” Noah studied her face. “You two should have had a lot of happy years in front of you. Probably four or five kids in the works.”

In the works.

Grace closed her eyes tightly, imagining snow swirling against the window. She had wanted children badly. She had wanted a little house with roses at the front door and a knitted afghan on every armchair. She had wanted truth and laughter and trust.

Instead—there had been a thousand deceptions.

James had destroyed their chances when he'd had his first affair. And through each following affair another piece of their future had died. And through it all Grace hadn't guessed a thing.

But she wouldn't share those details with a stranger.

“I…I'm learning to deal with the loss. I keep trying to believe that everything happens for a reason.” She raised her chin, managing a smile. “Just call me Pollyanna.”

“Never. I'd call you strong. Focused. And very brave,” he said quietly.

He started to touch her hand, then cleared his throat and stood up quickly. A distance filled his face. Grace saw sadness drift through his eyes.

“Noah?”

He turned away as plates rattled in the kitchen. A chair slid out from the table.

“You two coming back to eat? Because I may have to finish these dumplings before they get cold,” Noah's brother called out, smiling when his wife, small and gorgeous, chided him and dug her elbow into his ribs. He leaned down to kiss her, while Tatiana urged more food on both of them. Reed's daughter toddled toward him, then crowed with laughter when he held up a long noodle and made it wriggle like a worm.

It was noisy, messy and achingly seductive.

This was what a big family felt like. Grace hadn't realized there could be so much energy and emotion contained in one small room.

She felt a sudden sense of regret that she had not grown up in this kind of big, noisy family. Growing up, there had been no brothers to tease her and no sisters to confide in. There was no father to offer calm guidance and no mother to protect and steer her. After all, she had never known her father.

And her mother was mostly a string of bad memories.

Grace rubbed her forehead. None of that mattered. She was in control of her life now, perfectly
content with her grandfather's love and support. She had a wonderful job doing what she loved most.

There was no room in her life for regrets.

Noah leaned over and pulled an age-softened alpaca afghan around her shoulders. “Everything okay?”

“Just daydreaming. Sorry.”

“Did you like my mother's dumplings?”

“They were heavenly. I notice she added a little bit of sour cream to her dough. That's unusual, no?”

“You caught that?” Noah raised an eyebrow and leaned back against the arm of the couch. “It was a custom in her family. You really do know something about foreign food, don't you?”

Grace didn't tell him that she had traveled through ten cities in Eastern Europe, interviewing cooks all along the way. She didn't add that she was planning to write a book on worldwide varieties of dumplings someday.

She looked up as Noah's mother crossed the room, holding out a cup of hot tea. “You left this, so I made you another. It is nice and hot.” Her eyes were shining. It was clear that she was delighted by the presence of her family, happy to see everyone eating well, safe here within her house. “You are well, Grace? The little cats too?”

“Wonderful.”

“You must eat more! You only had one bowl of borscht and a few perogies. Even Reed's little girl, in her highchair, can eat one bowl of borscht.”

“No more for me, I'm afraid. Your poppy-seed cake smells wonderful, so I have to save room for that.”

“You will have the first piece then.” Tatiana sat down beside her and held her hands out to the fire. “Did you enjoy your travels in that side of the world? Was there family to visit there?”

“I had a distant cousin from Slovenia. He was held to be quite a good cook. I was very little when I visited with my grandmother, so my memories are blurred. But I remember his borscht above everything. He labored over it, coaxed it and talked to it. When it was done, he served it from a big tureen in blue-and-white porcelain bowls and his finest silver. I think he would have been very happy with your version of the recipe.”

“I would like to have met him. It's always good to talk about old times and recipes with someone who cares for the past. You have been back recently?”

“Three years ago. I visited Austria and Eastern Europe on a cooking internship. I didn't get to stay long in one place, but it was fascinating. I learned the common threads that make any cuisine great.”

“I can tell you what those are.” Tatiana swept the table with a lingering glance. “Not salt. Not the best extra-virgin olive oil. It is love that melds the flavors and tenderizes the meat. It makes the thinnest of ingredients go down with wonderful flavor. Is it not so?”

“All true. Even fine ingredients can be ruined by an angry chef or a cook trying to cut corners.”

Tatiana McLeod squeezed her son's shoulder and smiled slowly. “I like this young woman. You will bring her here to dinner often, Noah. I think she could teach me some things, and that I would enjoy very much.”

“It would be my pleasure, Mama, but that is for the lady to decide.”

Grace had been watching the box by the fire, and suddenly she saw the towel rise and begin to creep over the sides of the box, carried by two inquisitive kittens. The puppy was right behind them, awkward and stumbling on his small, wobbly legs. “Excuse me. I see trouble.”

Grace lunged to collect her charges. One of the kittens mewed and climbed up against her chest, purring loudly. Grace didn't move, swept by a feeling of contentment so rich and heavy that all movement was beyond her.

Noah grinned as he slung one arm around his mother's shoulder. “Hard to get irritated when they're so cute. But that one could be trouble. He's going to be a real explorer.”

“Just like you,” Tatiana said quietly. “Always moving. Always curious about every little thing. ‘Why does it rain, Mama? What makes the sunset, Mama? How do you make your best borscht, Mama?'”

Noah ran a hand through his hair. “I sound like a menace.”

“Not a menace. A normal and very wonderful child.”

“A menace,” Noah muttered, looking sheepish.

Someone called for Noah's mother, and she returned, pulling on a fresh apron as she headed through the kitchen.

As three generations of McLeods laughed and joked and argued, Grace felt a sudden longing to be home with her grandfather, eating Swedish meatballs at the kitchen table, catching up on all the news at the animal shelter and the small population of Summer Island. Peter Lindstrom wasn't growing any younger, and although he had always enjoyed perfect health, Grace knew that could change at any moment. And how could she bear that?

A hand touched Grace's shoulder. “Hey. Is everything okay? Do you need some help with your little climber?”

“No, I'm fine. They're all so incredibly cute.” The littlest one snuggled against her chest, rolled onto his back and heaved out a sigh of contentment.

“They definitely know a good thing when they see one. Smart, all of them.”

Noah reached down and rubbed the mother cat gently beneath the chin. She pushed at his hand, eyes slitted with pleasure, purring softly.

“They all like you, Noah. I think you make them feel safe.”

“We always had at least two pets running through the house when I was growing up. Controlled chaos, my father called it. What about you?”

“We didn't have pets at home. There was no time. My grandfather was a vet, and when I was fourteen he took over the care of the county animal shelter. Then when the county's finances became rocky, he took personal responsibility for the shelter.”

“He must be a very good man.” Noah leaned back, braced on one elbow. “How did he manage it? Food, rent, medicine—it had to cost an arm and a leg.”

“It's been difficult. Lately I think he's been drawing from his savings, but he refuses to discuss it with me or anyone else. The animal shelter is a labor of love. I help out as much as I can when I'm home, but it isn't enough. In fact, I've been thinking lately that I should choose my workshops by location. That way I can be home with him more often.”

“It's a hard call, but I'm sure you'll do the right thing. Growing up with an animal shelter sounds great. How many dogs and cats did you take care of?”

“Every week was different. Some weeks we had five or six dogs and maybe a dozen cats. Some days we would have four times that many. That's when it got rough. Luckily we had lots of volunteers from Summer Island to help out.”

“Summer Island? So you grew up at the beach?”

“Just a small one. The Oregon coast is very rocky
there, with cliffs right up to the water. Growing up, I thought it was the most magical place on earth. Even now after I have traveled to all kinds of beautiful places, I still think Summer Island ranks in the top five. Of course, I'm biased.” She leaned back, cuddling the kitten closer to her chest. “You don't need to keep me company, Noah. Go finish your dinner. I'll be fine with my little friend here. And I really should get home before it's too late. Tomorrow I have an important project to prepare for.”

Noah shook his head. “I'm afraid you aren't going anywhere tonight. They've just issued a county-wide safety alert. No one should be out on the streets tonight except in an emergency. There are collisions all over the state from the whiteout, and the security personnel have their hands full.” He glanced at his watch. “My mother is making up a bed for you here in the den. Anytime you want to sleep, let me know.” He cleared his throat. “She was going to give you my old room, but Reed, his wife and their daughter are going to sleep up there. The temperature is supposed to drop and there have been intermittent power outages, but we'll be fine. When my father built this house, my mother insisted on having two fireplaces so that we'd be prepared for all kinds of storms. That was another remnant of her tough childhood back in Ukraine. Things are different for her now, but I don't think you ever forget.”