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“So, what does a DNR officer do besides take a bunch of us resorters out in the woods to look for food?”
Resorters. Even that sounded pretentious.
“As a conservation officer,” he corrected her, “my job is to provide natural resources protection and ensure recreational safety, as well as provide general law enforcement duties.”
“That sounds like it came right out of a textbook.”
“It did.” Straight out of his employee handbook.
She smiled, causing those delectable dimples to reappear. “Do you like what you do?”
Here we go. The usual female digging. At first, Raleigh had liked the idea of what he did for a living—the whole man-in-uniform-with-a-gun thing. But then the limitations of his pay coupled with his desire to stay put in Northern Michigan had bothered her. Obviously too much. He should have believed her when she’d said she wanted to travel and eventually move away to a more urban area.
“I love my job.” Darren didn’t want to do anything else but grow within this region and climb the short ladder right here.
Bree nodded. “That’s good.”
Curious, he asked her the same. “What about you?”
“I play the cello.”
The cello. That was the instrument whose name he couldn’t remember. He stopped walking. “Hey, so that was you practicing before class.”
Bree grinned. “It was. Along with a woman who plays the violin in a string quartet here. There are practice rooms above the community room. Bay Willows is hoping to start a summer music school. They’ve bought up a couple of vacant cottages near the community building, but I suppose you know that.”
“I didn’t.” Something like that would only bring more people here. “You’re good.”
“I know.” There was no bragging in her voice. She’d stated a simple fact. Like any professional acknowledging a skill level.
“Do you give lessons, then?”
She spotted another morel and picked it. “Not really. I’m not into teaching little kids how to play, you know? I play with the Detroit Symphony Orchestra—well, I used to.”
“Used to?”
“I quit.”
He stared at her. She obviously wanted him to ask the reason, and the funny thing was, Darren wanted to know. “Okay. Why?”
“Last year, I applied for a two-year music residency that would encompass composing. I’d like to compose. And, well, recently I got called and accepted.” She let out a deep breath. “There, practice before delivery speech.”
He didn’t want to go there, but something about the vulnerable look in her eyes made him probe. “Is it a secret?”
“No. I’ve wanted to work under a composer for years, but I haven’t ever had the chance before. My parents don’t know yet, but then, it came together pretty fast.”
She looked old enough to make her own decisions. “And they’ll have a problem with it?”
Bree shrugged. There was obviously more to her story, but all she said was, “I’ll find out.”
He nodded and they fell silent, each one searching out mushrooms in opposite directions. After several minutes, he stood, stretched and spotted Bree a few yards away.
Her eyes were closed, her head tilted toward the sky. Her dark brown hair blazed with coppery color where the sun hit it.
His gut tightened. He didn’t want to care about why this woman worried over her parents’ reaction. He didn’t want to like her at all, but there was something about her that tugged at him. Like a rare wildflower that needed protection from getting picked.
At that moment, she opened her eyes, looked right at him and grinned. “I was listening to the sounds of the woods.”
He cocked his head. What was she talking about?
“You know, the birdsong and the breeze rustling those crepe-paper-looking leaves on those little trees over there.” She wasn’t putting him on.
“I can’t remember what they are. Some kind of aspen, maybe.” He wished he knew. He’d look it up.
“Interesting sounds out here.”
“Haven’t you been in the woods before?”
“I’ve summered here most of my life, but I’ve never ventured far from the main thoroughfares. Maybe Traverse City or Mackinac Island.”
He shook his head. “You’re missing the best parts of Northern Michigan.”
She turned interested eyes on him. “So, where are these best parts?”
He took the bait. “Open fields with hills rising behind them. A twisting river loaded with brookies. The Pigeon River Forest where elk roam. Come winter, there are awesome snowmobile trails, pine trees heavy with snow and blue moonlight.”
She gave him an odd look. “You sound like a poet.”
Darren kicked at the ground cover. He’d gotten carried away. “I appreciate the area, is all.”
“No desire to live elsewhere?”
“None.” He was a local. He’d always be a local even though he’d been an army baby. His mother had moved him and his brother Zach permanently to Maple Springs after their brother Cam was born. She’d wanted her kids to have a home, an anchor. Some of his siblings had flown far from the nest after high school, but Darren wasn’t a traveler. He’d gone to college only a couple hours away before attending conservation officer training academy.
The people who summered at Bay Willows came from all over. Mainly the Midwest, sure, but most were well-traveled and liked to tell where they’d been. They peppered their conversation with travel itineraries the way folks in old movies plastered travel stickers on their suitcases. Raleigh used to tease that he was backward, having never really been anywhere as an adult.
“Hmm.” Bree’s attention zeroed in on the ground. “Oh, here are some more.”
Glad for the distraction, Darren let the matter drop, because it didn’t matter. Bree Anderson was both educated and no doubt well-traveled. She was accustomed to a lifestyle he’d never had and never would have. With the supervisor position came a pay increase that would be more than enough for him. He didn’t care about making scads of money.
If Bree found him interesting, it was only temporary. He wasn’t the kind of guy a girl like Bree would keep for the long haul. Darren wasn’t good enough for the Bay Willows crowd. He’d learned that lesson pretty well. Darren only had to make a mistake once to know he’d never repeat it.
* * *
On the drive back to Maple Springs, Bree peered into her plastic grocery sack at the pile of blackish-tan edibles heaped there. She breathed in the soft, earthy smell of fungi. Nothing too strong or pungent, she had trouble coming up with a comparison for the aroma. She’d picked these delicacies in the woods, with her own two hands.
How cool.
“How many do you have?” Darren’s voice sounded awfully gentle for such a gruff guy.
“Uh.” Bree looked up. She sat up front again, in the passenger seat. “I don’t know.”
Darren’s mouth curved into a half smile. “Considering how long you were staring into that bag, I thought you were counting them.”
“Nope, just smelling them.” She didn’t want to explain what a novel experience this had been for her. Different than what she was used to and, well, it had been fun. Really fun. But more importantly, it had made her feel strong. Capable. Empowered?
Okay, maybe that went too far.
He chuckled, the sound a soft rumble from within his chest. Maybe he wasn’t as gruff as he pretended to be.
Bree’s phone whistled with an incoming text, and she pulled it from her coat pocket. Briefly she closed her eyes after she’d read the name. That made three this week. “Excuse me.”
“No problem.”
Call me when you get a chance. Want to see how you’re doing. Philip.
Bree had no intention of calling him. Instead, she replied with a text.
I’m fine. Helping with one of my mom’s classes. Thanks.
She scanned two previous messages that were similar. One had been Philip checking that she’d made it safely to her parents’ summer cottage. She was okay with that one, but the next two? Really, Philip needed to let it go. He needed to let her go.
Bree slipped the phone back into her pocket as the van pulled up to the community building. Clutching her cache of mushrooms, she got out with the rest of the group and headed inside.
“Gather in the kitchen and I’ll show you how to clean and cook the morels,” Darren called.
“I know how to cook mushrooms.” The grumbly guy named Ed had a decidedly sharp tone.
Bree glanced at Darren. He looked calm enough despite the flush of red that tipped his ears.
“We all do. In fact, you can prepare morels any way you’d normally cook or sauté other mushrooms. Personally, I like to bread mine. It’s no problem if you prefer not to stick around.”
Bree looked back at Ed.
The old guy wasn’t appeased by Darren’s offer to leave. “Now look here—”
“I’d like to know how you cook them,” Bree quickly interrupted.
Others agreed. Situation diffused.
Bree relaxed as the tension eased and Ed nodded for Darren to continue. As if he was somehow in charge.
Darren had been beyond patient when they’d run late because there were so many mushrooms to find and pick. No one had wanted to leave. Including Bree. Who’d have guessed she’d enjoy roaming the woods so much? She didn’t even care that her shoes were dirty or her pants filthy from wiping her fingers on them.
Darren showed that same patience now in the face of Ed’s belligerence as he emptied his morels into a bowl in the sink. “Cleaning is easy. Just soak them in salt water, swish them around a bit, and then rinse and drain like so. Get as much water off as you can. Then you’re ready to cook.”
Bree watched as he laid the washed mushrooms out on paper towels. And the questions started to fly.
“Can you dry them for storing?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“String them up to air-dry or use the lowest setting on a dehydrator. I’ve seen them laid out on an old window screen in the sun to dry.”
That got their class buzzing with chatter.
“What about freezing?” another asked.
“Freeze after drying, or freeze after sautéing. If you freeze after picking, don’t wash them. If they’re wet you’ll ruin them.”
Bree nearly laughed at Darren’s clipped answers. He looked like a man who wanted out of there. His earlier patience had worn thin. She watched as he quickly melted a huge glob of butter in a frying pan before dredging the mushrooms in a flour mixture. He threw the coated morels in the pan.
The group murmured likes and dislikes while the intoxicating smell of melted butter and sizzling mushrooms teased Bree’s senses. Her stomach grumbled in response.
“Not good for my diet,” one of the ladies said.
Several agreed. But Bree didn’t care. Those things looked and smelled delicious.
“What’s that mixture you use?” Ed sounded almost polite. Not quite, but still.
Darren took his time answering, turning the morels over in the pan. “Flour, salt and pepper. Seasoned salt works, too.”
Bree scanned their group huddled around the island waiting as Darren ladled those butter-fried mushrooms onto a paper towel–lined plate.
He lifted the plate to share. “Be careful. They’re hot.”
In this batch, there were enough mushrooms for everyone to try a couple. Bree waited till the end before she took her two. The anticipation was worth it. She closed her eyes while savoring the buttery, mild mushroom taste.
“Well?” He tipped his head. Did he really want to know what she thought?
Bree soaked his interest up like a sponge. “Firm texture and subtle flavor. These are really good.”
Darren smiled. Big and broad like his shoulders.
And Bree was momentarily stunned. At a loss for words, all because of one smile from one interesting, burly man sharing a moment, an actual connection with her—over cooked mushrooms!
She popped the last morel into her mouth and mumbled, “I’ve got to run.”
* * *
Class wrapped up quickly after Bree scurried out. She reminded him of his sisters who’d up and bolt when they’d suddenly remember they left their curling irons plugged in somewhere. But surely that couldn’t be it. Bree’s hair was straight and shiny. Would that thick mass of mink-colored tresses be soft or coarse to the touch?
He scowled. Not the kind of thoughts he should have.
“What? Did you find some grease that we missed?” Stella and a couple other women had helped him clean up in minutes.
“No. No. It’s nothing.” He gave them a nod. “Thank you, ladies. Next week, same time and place.”
