Gone Country (Rough Riders #14)(29)

“So it’s not necessarily my bad technique?”


She laughed. “No. Throw it in the freezer for a few minutes and it’ll be fine.”


“Thanks.” When Gavin turned around, Vi was giving him a thorough inspection. “Do I have flour all over my clothes or something?”


“No. Sorry. It’s just…we’ve never been in the kitchen together like this and I wondered if your…if Grace taught you to cook.”


“Not really. I learned in a helluva hurry when my ex wouldn’t touch the stove and Sierra’s first word was McDonald’s. Did you teach your sons to cook?”


“I cooked for the all the boys growing up. I figured their wives would cook for them after they got married. That worked for Quinn since he and Libby tied the knot pretty young. Chase…I suspect he ate fast food all the time he was on the road. Now he and Ava have a personal chef, which boggles my mind.” Vi fussed with her ruffled shirtsleeves. “However Ben is a good cook. He grills a mean steak. Sad to say he didn’t learn that from me. I tend to char meat to the point it’s inedible if I cook it over an open flame.”


“Same here.” Gavin removed the dough from the freezer. He reached for the rolling pin, trying not to feel self-conscious that Vi—who was probably a blue-ribbon-winning pie maker—scrutinized his every clumsy move. When the dough gummed up yet again, he was tempted to whip the blob into the sink and flip on the garbage disposal, conceding defeat.


“Gavin, would you be offended if I offered to help you?”


“God no. I’d be grateful. And Sierra only said Rielle couldn’t help me, so that leaves us both in the clear.”


Vi snorted and pushed up her sleeves. After she washed her hands, she tackled the dough like a pastry chef, expertly rolling out two perfect dough circles. “Is the filling ready?” She peered over the tops of purple zebra print eyeglasses. “I assume Little Miss wants a double crust pie?”


Little Miss was an apt description. “Yes, although technically, I think that should count as two pies.”


She snickered and transferred the dough into the pie tin.


Gavin opened a can of cherry pie filling. Before he dumped it into the shell, Vi placed a hand on his arm. “You know what would jazz that up? Almond flavoring. I’ll bet there’s almond liquor in the bar.”


He returned to the kitchen with a bottle of amaretto. She handed him a measuring cup and he stirred the liquor into the pie filling, then spooned the mixture into the pie shell and slid the pie tin across the counter.


He found her pie-making skills fascinating. His mother had never baked. Vi stretched the dough over the top, slicing away the extra and pinching the edges together. She brushed egg wash over the dough and cut three long slits in the top before popping it in the oven. “I know I’m not supposed to covet things, but I really want an oven like this. And as long as I’m making confessions, I haven’t made my own piecrust in years. I buy the frozen ones. No one knows the difference.”


Gavin grinned. “Your secret is safe with me.”


Vi arranged the extra scraps of dough on a cookie sheet and sprinkled cinnamon and sugar on each piece. “This will make a good afterschool snack. I know Sierra doesn’t need the information for her history project for a while, but I thought I’d bring it over early. If she wants more information on the McKays, she can ask Carson and Carolyn. They have all the family archives, dating back to when the McKays bought the first piece of land in Wyoming in the late eighteen hundreds.”


His eyebrows rose. “The McKays have been here that long?”


“Yep. The McKay ranch is one of the oldest working ranches in Wyoming. Of course, the original land is a tiny cow pasture compared to what they own now.”


He and Sierra shared the same love of history. She’d been itching to get her hands on documented family history. “I’m sure Sierra will be in touch if she has any questions.”


“There wasn’t a whole lot to give her on the Bennett side. We moved a lot and my father was very clear on the evils of material goods because you couldn’t take them to heaven.”


“I remember you mentioned your father was a preacher.”


“He preferred the term man of God.”


“Sounds like you had a rough upbringing.”


“I did.”


“I’d like to hear about it.” That wasn’t so hard to admit.


“Well, then I’ll need something stronger than coffee to have this conversation.” She poured a shot of amaretto into her coffee cup. “Elmore Bennett was a Baptist minister. We didn’t travel to exotic locales spreading the word of God—although Wyoming seemed exotic after living in the South. My father was a difficult man.” She tossed the booze back. “Correction. My father was a pious man, but verbally abusive. He utilized the fire, brimstone and punishment part of religious teachings to keep us in line.”


“What was your mother like?”


“The perfect preacher’s wife. I don’t think she had a thought in her head except for the ones my father put there. She loved me and my brother and sister, but she’d always save her own skin first when it came to dealing with my father.”