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Rocky Mountain Getaway

Rocky Mountain Getaway

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Rocky Mountain Getaway

128 página
1 hora
Jun 1, 2015


A cooking show shakes up a Colorado small town in this lighthearted novel from the author of The View From Here.

In Eureka, Colorado, no one is a stranger for long…

Spring is just around the corner when the residents of Eureka get the news that the Last Dollar Café will be featured on the popular TV show What’s Cookin’, USA? Soon everyone throws themselves into preparing their beloved town for the limelight—and no one more so than the show’s host, Faye Anne Reynolds. With ratings dwindling and her personal life a tangled mess of debt and regret, she needs this episode to be more than perfect, and she’s willing to do anything to make it so.

Librarian Cassie Wynock is right behind her, scripting her debut as Eureka’s star representative. Meanwhile, local Maggie Stevens is dragging her feet setting a wedding date to Jameso, and her friend, Barb, is tearing her hair out searching for the right building for her B&B. Nothing is going to according to plan, and when a freak snowstorm blankets Eureka, everyone will have to realize that micro-managing life isn’t possible—and letting good things happen takes a little faith, a lot of patience, and loyal friends.

Praise for The View from Here

“Cindy Myers strikes gold with this warm-hearted novel about friendship, family, and second chances.”—Deborah Smith, New York Times bestselling author

“Fans of small-town romances will enjoy visiting Eureka and its eccentric residents.”—Library Journal

“This novel is definitely one to add to your keeper shelf.”—RT Book Reviews, 4 1/2 Stars

Jun 1, 2015

Sobre el autor

Cindy Myers worked as a newspaper reporter, travel agent, and medical clinic manager before turning to writing full time. She’s written both historical and contemporary romance, as well as dozens of short stories and nonfiction articles. Her novel The View from Here was the winner of the Colorado Book Award. Former president of San Antonio Romance Authors, Cindy is a member of Romance Writers of America, Novelists Inc., and Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers. She is in demand as a speaker, teaching workshops and making presentations to both local and national writing groups. She and her husband and their two dogs live in the mountains southwest of Denver. Visit her on the web at cindimyers.com.

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Rocky Mountain Getaway - Cindy Myers


Chapter One

Julia Child probably never had to deal with things like this. Faye Anne Reynolds, celebrity hostess of What’s Cookin’? USA. put on her best America’s Kitchen Sweetheart smile and fought to keep a whine out of her voice. I’m sure we can come to some kind of understanding. Once I’m back in my office I’ll straighten everything out.

The bank refused your credit cards—both of them. And they say your check’s no good, either. The mechanic folded burly arms across his chest. The car stays here until you come up with twenty-five hundred dollars. In cash. Or you can keep the car and I’ll take back my new transmission.

Who had twenty-five hundred dollars in cash lying around? Not Faye Anne. But she had plenty of people with their hands out wanting the money, including Uncle Sam, who was threatening to seize her assets in lieu of tax payments she owed. One more reason to get out of Dodge for a while. The back of beyond in the Rocky Mountains seemed like a good place to hide from the IRS. And if she could get a great show out of the trip, maybe she’d pull her butt out of the fire yet.

She struggled to keep her smile in place. I really need the car to do my job to get the money to pay you, she said. "Every episode of What’s Cookin’? USA begins with me driving into town and parking in front of the restaurant featured in that week’s show." The yellow Mustang convertible was one of her trademarks, along with her red dresses, blond wigs, and June Cleaver pearls. She was young and hip, but also devoted to home-style cooking, small-town hospitality, and all the things that made this country great. People loved the yellow Mustang convertible. They loved her show. And they loved Faye Anne.

Or they had, until other, more gimmicky chefs had come along. There was a guy on A&E who was shooting up in the ratings with a show devoted to state fair food. If you could put it on a stick and fry it, he’d feature it on his show. Never mind that deep-fried butter would kill you—people tuned in every week to see what outrageous concoction he’d feature next. Meanwhile, Faye Anne’s producers were shaking their heads and making noises about not renewing her. If she didn’t find a way to regain her title as the Cooking Show Queen, her car wasn’t going to be the only thing repossessed.

I’m filming my next show in Colorado, she told the mechanic. In this gorgeous little mountain town called Eureka. A friend of mine went there on vacation and she sent me photographs of the scenery—fabulous. We’ve already planned the opening for the episode—me driving the Mustang down a series of mountain switchbacks, then pulling up in front of the Last Dollar Cafe. Don’t you just love the name?

You’d better find another Mustang—or twenty-five hundred dollars.

You can’t hold my car hostage. All right—the smile was slipping. But obviously, charm wasn’t going to work on this man.

I’m not holding your car hostage, he said. I’m hanging on to my transmission until it’s paid for.

She couldn’t very well drive the car without a transmission. Deep breath. She could handle this. She always did. She hadn’t let dirt-poor parents, bad teeth, her lack of a degree, a cheating ex, or the threat of bankruptcy defeat her. Over the last ten years, she’d charmed and cajoled and worked to get to where she was today, complete with new teeth, an honorary doctorate, a divorce, and a mini-mansion outside of Dallas. Never mind that the house was in foreclosure and the degree was from the University of Lehigh Heights. What mattered was that she always found a solution to her problems. She made things work.

Take your transmission, she told the startled mechanic. Just give me back the Mustang.

What do you think? Danielle cupped her palm beneath the bowl of the spoon and held it up to Janelle’s lips.

Janelle sipped and looked thoughtful. A little more salt, she said. And just a hint more spice. A sprinkle of nutmeg, maybe?

Exactly what I was thinking. The tension in Danielle’s shoulders eased. She tossed the spoon in a basin of soapy water and reached for the nutmeg. I know it’s right if we’re both on the same page. Partners in life and in the Last Dollar Café, Danielle and Janelle were a perfect pair, both with a taste for good food and a love for the small town where they’d made their home.

Pumpkin soup for the first course, then? Janelle walked to the whiteboard to the left of the back door of the restaurant kitchen and picked out a red marker.

Yes. And for the appetizers I was thinking the stuffed mushrooms everyone loves so much. Danielle tasted the soup again and nodded. It’s perfect now. She scribbled a note about the seasonings in the margin of the notebook propped on the counter beside her.

Only salad, main course, sides, and dessert to go. Janelle tucked a stray wisp of her short platinum hair beneath the pink and black paisley bandana tied around her head. Are we going to be ready by the time she gets here?

No, but we’ll fake it. Danielle arched her back, trying to ease the ache from standing over the stove all day. She’d worked the breakfast and lunch rushes while Janelle backed her up at lunch and handled the dinner orders. They’d shut the doors early, promptly at seven, and convened in the kitchen for more menu planning and recipe testing.

It’s going to be great, Janelle said, her German accent rolling the R in great and sending a shiver up Danielle’s spine. Such a sexy voice. Who wasn’t a sucker for an accent? Add in the tall, blond, blue-eyed goddess attached to it and . . .

Why are you smiling at me that way? Janelle asked. Did you hear what I just said?

Sorry. I was daydreaming.

"Then daydream us a menu that will impress Faye Anne Reynolds and the What’s Cookin’? viewers."

Right. Save the fantasies for later. Danielle furrowed her brow, concentrating. We want local food, right? So for salad, that means arugula and maybe radishes from our cold frames. That’s the only produce in our garden right now.

Maybe arugula with pine nuts and goat cheese? And a dressing made with frozen raspberries left over from the ones we picked last summer.

Danielle could almost taste it. That’s perfect, she said. And for the main course, what do you think of lamb?

Of course. Janelle scribbled this addition to the list on the white board. Those rosemary roasted chops you made last spring—so yummy.

Can you believe this is really happening? Danielle hugged herself, as if she could somehow hold in her excitement. The Last Dollar on the most popular cooking show on TV? Somebody pinch me.

Janelle leaned over and obligingly pinched Danielle’s upper arm—but not hard. We’re going to have our fifteen minutes of fame, she said. But we won’t let it change us, right?

I don’t know. Danielle patted her dark braids. I might start wearing a tiara to work.

People around here wouldn’t even blink, Janelle said.

It was true that Eureka, Colorado, tucked high in the Rocky Mountains, tended to attract people who marched to a different drummer. Maybe that was why she and Janelle had been so welcome here—though, more likely, people simply appreciated having a place in town to eat really good food.

A rattling noise startled Danielle from her musings. What was that?

I think someone’s at the door. Janelle pulled back the curtain and peered out into the darkness. Then she flipped on the outside light and pulled open the door. Maggie! What are you doing out there?

Maggie Stevens, a petite redhead who’d moved to town a little less than a year before, slipped into the warm kitchen, bringing a gust of chilly night air with her. I saw the light and thought I’d see if I could catch you. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. It smells divine in here.

Pumpkin soup. Want some? Danielle asked, already reaching for a cup.

I didn’t come here so you’d feed me, but if you’re going to twist my arm . . . Maggie settled onto a stool at the farmhouse table that served as the room’s chief work surface and unbuttoned her coat. I’m starving all the time these days.

Of course you are. That baby’s using up all your energy. Danielle handed Maggie the bowl of soup and glanced at the prominent baby bump beneath her friend’s sweater.

I guess so.

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