the hardest part of the process. Nowhere did the instructions say what to do with the meat after it had been soaked in the spices. If Bree hadn’t remembered that her housekeeper had recently prepared the dish, she wouldn’t have had a clue that the chicken was supposed to be baked.
Pleased with her progress so far and feeling quite confident, Brianne paused for a relaxing cup of herb tea and straightened up the mess she’d made in the kitchen while the meat marinated.
Then she took out a Pyrex baking dish and carefully arranged the chicken pieces in the bottom. They looked drier than she remembered, so she poured the extra marinade over them before covering the dish with aluminum foil and slipping it into the double oven. Later, she’d bake some potatoes in the second oven.
Smiling, she took off the makeshift apron she’d donned at the outset of her foray into cooking. If this was all there was to feeding a big family, she certainly didn’t know what all the fuss was about.
Chapter Nine
B y dinnertime, the aroma permeating the house was so wonderful she didn’t even have to call her guests to the table. One by one they gravitated toward the kitchen, drawn there by hunger.
Bree tucked a tea towel into her belt to serve as an apron, the way she had before, and greeted them graciously. “The table’s all set. Just take your usual places. I’ll have everything ready in a jiffy.”
“Need any help now?” Mitch asked.
“If you’d get everyone a drink it would be nice,” she told him. “Ice water for me, please.”
“Coming up.”
“I want soda!” Ryan whined. “I always have soda.”
Mitch ignored him and set about pouring two small glasses of milk. Bud was silent. He looked as if he was going to burst into tears when his father put a glass of milk by his plate.
Busy peeling the foil off the top of the casserole dish, Bree asked, “When you finish there, will you get the baked potatoes, please? They’re in the top oven.”
“Okay. That sure smells great.”
“Thanks. Actually, I changed the recipe a little. I was afraid there’d be too much red pepper in it for the kids so I cut the amount in half.”
Holding an empty dish to put the baked potatoes on, Mitch cleared his throat. “Uh, excuse me? Did you say you added more red pepper?”
“No, I added less. Why?”
“Because I told you the marinade was ready when I left the kitchen. You didn’t need to add a thing to it.”
“What? You did not tell me that!”
“Yes, I did. I distinctly recall pointing out that it was already in the blue bowl.”
“Well, sure, but you also said you’d laid out all the spices. What was I supposed to think?”
“I don’t know. If you hadn’t thrown me out of the kitchen you could have asked me.”
“If I hadn’t let you into the kitchen in the first place we wouldn’t have a problem to ask about. I told you I could make dinner by myself.”
“Fine.” Disgruntled, Mitch turned toward the oven to retrieve the potatoes. When he opened the door, a cloud of steam and smoke billowed out. “What the…”
“What did you do?” Bree demanded.
“Me? Nothing.” He waved the fumes away with his hand and began lifting the remains of the potatoes with an oven mitt. “I’ll bet you didn’t prick the skins before you baked these.”
“How was I supposed to know to do that? There’s nothing in Emma’s files about baking potatoes.”
“That’s probably because it’s so elementary.” Mitch stared at her. “Haven’t you ever cooked anything before?”
“Not like this. And not lately, except for tonight.”
“I wanna send out for pizza,” Ryan hollered.
His father was not in the mood to fight with him, too. “That’s enough. We can’t send out for pizza because we don’t have a phone that works—thanks to you and your dog. And the road is washed away so the delivery guy couldn’t get it here, anyway.”
“I’m not gonna eat that,” the boy insisted, pointing at the remains
Pleased with her progress so far and feeling quite confident, Brianne paused for a relaxing cup of herb tea and straightened up the mess she’d made in the kitchen while the meat marinated.
Then she took out a Pyrex baking dish and carefully arranged the chicken pieces in the bottom. They looked drier than she remembered, so she poured the extra marinade over them before covering the dish with aluminum foil and slipping it into the double oven. Later, she’d bake some potatoes in the second oven.
Smiling, she took off the makeshift apron she’d donned at the outset of her foray into cooking. If this was all there was to feeding a big family, she certainly didn’t know what all the fuss was about.
Chapter Nine
B y dinnertime, the aroma permeating the house was so wonderful she didn’t even have to call her guests to the table. One by one they gravitated toward the kitchen, drawn there by hunger.
Bree tucked a tea towel into her belt to serve as an apron, the way she had before, and greeted them graciously. “The table’s all set. Just take your usual places. I’ll have everything ready in a jiffy.”
“Need any help now?” Mitch asked.
“If you’d get everyone a drink it would be nice,” she told him. “Ice water for me, please.”
“Coming up.”
“I want soda!” Ryan whined. “I always have soda.”
Mitch ignored him and set about pouring two small glasses of milk. Bud was silent. He looked as if he was going to burst into tears when his father put a glass of milk by his plate.
Busy peeling the foil off the top of the casserole dish, Bree asked, “When you finish there, will you get the baked potatoes, please? They’re in the top oven.”
“Okay. That sure smells great.”
“Thanks. Actually, I changed the recipe a little. I was afraid there’d be too much red pepper in it for the kids so I cut the amount in half.”
Holding an empty dish to put the baked potatoes on, Mitch cleared his throat. “Uh, excuse me? Did you say you added more red pepper?”
“No, I added less. Why?”
“Because I told you the marinade was ready when I left the kitchen. You didn’t need to add a thing to it.”
“What? You did not tell me that!”
“Yes, I did. I distinctly recall pointing out that it was already in the blue bowl.”
“Well, sure, but you also said you’d laid out all the spices. What was I supposed to think?”
“I don’t know. If you hadn’t thrown me out of the kitchen you could have asked me.”
“If I hadn’t let you into the kitchen in the first place we wouldn’t have a problem to ask about. I told you I could make dinner by myself.”
“Fine.” Disgruntled, Mitch turned toward the oven to retrieve the potatoes. When he opened the door, a cloud of steam and smoke billowed out. “What the…”
“What did you do?” Bree demanded.
“Me? Nothing.” He waved the fumes away with his hand and began lifting the remains of the potatoes with an oven mitt. “I’ll bet you didn’t prick the skins before you baked these.”
“How was I supposed to know to do that? There’s nothing in Emma’s files about baking potatoes.”
“That’s probably because it’s so elementary.” Mitch stared at her. “Haven’t you ever cooked anything before?”
“Not like this. And not lately, except for tonight.”
“I wanna send out for pizza,” Ryan hollered.
His father was not in the mood to fight with him, too. “That’s enough. We can’t send out for pizza because we don’t have a phone that works—thanks to you and your dog. And the road is washed away so the delivery guy couldn’t get it here, anyway.”
“I’m not gonna eat that,” the boy insisted, pointing at the remains
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